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The first thing Jim felt, as his consciousness awoken, was warmth. Not necessarily in temperature, no, but in…essence. He was floating, he thought hazily; floating in something that surrounded him, protected him. It was like being underwater, but he felt no burn in his lungs, felt no pressure to resurface.
“Spock!” McCoy said, from somewhere far-off. “Where’s Jim?”
Jim opened his mouth, half-expecting it to fill with water, smiling when it did not. “Bones,” he said, “I’m right here.”
Only that wasn’t…right. The words came out, but the voice wasn’t his, and the essence all around him was changing, shifting. There was pressure now, mounting quickly, and all of a sudden Jim felt the force of another consciousness turn to him.
The warmth vanished and a wave of cold slammed down on him. He fell—not through air, he thought, trying to draw in a breath to shout as he felt the world turn under him; there was no air here. And as soon as he thought that, he began to claw at his throat.
And then he was standing, on solid ground (or something like it, he thought) and the warmth was far away, a distant memory, as solid barrier walls materialized all around him. And he was alone—breathing, standing, but ripped out of where he had been, and he staggered.
“Doctor,” said the voice of the consciousness (he knew that voice, he knew it), “I believe we have a problem.”
“I’ll say!” McCoy’s voice was taking on a particularly irritated tone, and beyond those walls, beyond the borders that made up the entire world for Jim, he felt a flash of emotion. It was muted—he couldn’t tell what it was, but the shape of it flashed silver, like a fish, lashing its tail before fading.
Annoyance, Jim realized, looking around. The consciousness—whatever it was that made up his whole world, it was annoyed.
“Spock,” McCoy said again (there it was again, that word, Spock, and it felt like it meant everything), “where the hell is the captain?”
“I believe, Doctor,” the consciousness responded, “that he has somehow become part of my own mind.”
Spock, Jim thought, and then: Spock!
His first officer. His best friend. And the entirety of the being that surrounded him, the consciousness above and below him, and all around him.
Dizzily, Jim thought for a moment that he might understand how religions were founded.
“Spock!” he shouted, trying to collect his shattered wits. “Spock, I’m down here!”
“Yes, Captain, I see you.” The words reverberated through the walls. “Please forgive the imprisonment within these barriers. At first I could not tell who or what you were, but even so, I think it is wise to keep a sharp delineation of our respective persons.”
“What? What the hell are you saying?” McCoy said irritably. “Jim, are you in that big green head?”
Jim opened his mouth, then paused. Something was slowly materializing in front of him, and he reached out towards it, squinting as it took form.
And then he recognized it, and he almost laughed as an ephemeral communications device dropped into his hands.
“Bones,” he said, flipping it open, hearing the words reverberate in Spock’s voice, pitched lower, always deliberate, “do you remember shore leave with the Argellians? Remember that café where the girls are so—”
Another emotion banged into the walls, rattling them, and Jim paused. This one had felt like a shark circling by. “Spock, are you all right?”
“Fine, Captain,” Spock’s own voice, slightly more clipped than normal, answered him. “Doctor, if you need more proof—”
“No!” McCoy yelped, and Jim heard him clearing his throat. “No—that is, I’m fine for proof. Jesus, Spock, I’ll pay you to never hear you talk about Argellian girls again.”
“Payment will not be necessary, Doctor,” Spock said flatly, and despite the circumstances, Jim felt a laugh trying to make its way out of his mouth.
“All right. All right, Jim, I believe you.” The sound of footsteps accompanied McCoy’s voice, and Jim realized that he must be pacing up and down the transporter room. “Next question: what the hell did you do with your body?”
A communications device beeped. Jim looked down at his hand, but he felt something else—something at his side.
His hand reached down, and he felt, somehow, Spock reaching as well. Fascinating, he thought, then wondered if it had been his thought.
“Spock here,” said his first officer.
“Mr. Spock?” That was Ensign McLaren, Jim thought; part of the landing party who’d remained on the planet they’d just left. (Yes, he thought. We’d just left the planet. We were in the transporter beam. That’s right.) “Mr. Spock, something’s gone terribly wrong! The captain just collapsed down here. Are you all right, sir?”
“Fascinating,” Spock said, and somehow Jim knew that this one was internal. Meant just for me floated as a scrap of a thought across his brain, and he scrubbed it as quickly as possible. Aloud, he said, “I am unhurt, Ensign. Prepare to beam up landing party, alongside the captain.”
“Well, that answers that.” McCoy’s voice was taking on a new quality that Jim had heard a million times before: the oh for god’s sake what have you done now Jim tone, the one that always made him feel a bit of an embarrassed schoolboy. “All right. Jim, you hurting in there?”
“I’m all right, Bones,” he said, and McCoy grunted in satisfaction.
“Good. How about you, Spock?”
“Negative, doctor.” Jim let out a little sigh of relief, then wondered how he’d done that when he didn’t need to breathe. “I am quite well, after the initial revelation.”
“Huh!” McCoy exclaimed. “Yeah, I’ll bet looking up to see old Jimbo standing right in those circuit boards gave you a scare.”
“Fear is a human emotion, Doctor,” Jim heard, but at the same time, a new feeling—this one like a wave slapping up against a sea wall—made itself known.
Emotion, Jim thought. Spock had always resisted the idea that he was susceptible to human feelings—but, he thought, had he really resisted? He’d quirked his eyebrows and asked Jim politely to not insult him with such a comparison, and if Jim was being honest, he’d never really believed it.
It had all seemed part of the game—the one they played without knowing what the stakes were, the back-and-forth, it seemed, that they could not help. And now—now there was real evidence of Spock’s feelings, right on the other side of that wall. And Jim still had no idea what they were.
“Captain,” Spock said, in that quiet way that only he could hear. “I would ask you not to speculate too closely on these matters. Keeping these barriers erected is not entirely easy, and it becomes more difficult when your curiosity begins testing bounds.”
Ah. Jim thought that if he had blood, he would have blushed. “My apologies, Mr. Spock.”
“None are necessary, Captain.” A wry tone entered into Spock’s voice. “I regret to say that I do not have much experience in hosting guests within my own mind.”
Jim smiled. “Quite all right, Mr. Spock,” he said, sitting down and leaning against one of the barriers. “Though next time, if you have the chance to add a vase of fresh flowers or two, it could brighten up the place.”
“My god,” McCoy muttered, and Jim realized he’d been speaking aloud. “Somehow, this is even worse when I can only hear one half of the conversation. Jim,” he said, raising his voice, as if speaking to Jim over a distance, “we’ve just beamed your body aboard.”
“Interesting,” Spock said, and Jim felt Spock’s hand reaching out, touching the softness of a cheek, a temple, the edge of a mouth. His mouth, he thought, the idea making him almost dizzy. “Captain, this is most unusual. It is as if we are already—melded.”
Bonded, whispered a voice, so quiet that Jim barely heard it, cut off abruptly. “Yes, melded,” Spock said, and Jim wasn’t sure if he was imagining a slightly louder volume. “I can attempt to make contact, Captain, but there is nothing in your mind to make contact with.”
As if you are dead, the same voice whispered. Jim, do not die. Do not perish before me once more.
“Ah,” Jim said. “Could you—try to put me back, perhaps?”
“I have been making such an attempt.” Spock’s voice was measured, but the waves of emotion were stronger now, hitting the barriers with more strength. “Captain, I am afraid we will have to find another solution.”
“Good news is,” McCoy said, from somewhere by Spock’s feet, “your body’s working fine. Breathing, heart pumping blood—if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in some kind of coma.” Jim heard the sound of fabric shifting as McCoy stood. “But I’ve never seen anything like this before. Have you, Spock?”
The waves grew stronger, and this, Jim knew, could almost guess, if he was (ha) logical about it. McCoy is asking for Spock’s help. That means he’s already begun to run out of options.
“I have not, Doctor,” Spock said aloud. “But if you will excuse me, I shall go and look through the medical annals of my people. Telepathic incidents are certainly not without precedent, and I shall see what I can ascertain. If—” Spock broke off, and Jim frowned at the hesitation. “If you will excuse…us, Captain?”
“Ah,” he said. “Yes—fine. Is Scotty in the room?”
“Aye, sir,” Scotty said, his voice sounding slightly strangled, and Jim could only imagine the scene that had played out in front of him.
“Sorry for all this, Scotty,” he said into the communicator, humor leaching into his tone. “You’ve got the conn until further notice.”
“Aye, Captain.” Footsteps sounded as Scotty headed out of the room, and Jim turned to where he was fairly certain McCoy was.
“Bones,” he said, “please have my body taken to sick bay. I’ll do my best to get back in it as soon as I can.”
“You’d better,” McCoy said, and Jim heard the sound of him running a hand through his hair. “And if you feel even as much as a twinge, either of you—”
“We shall come to you directly, Doctor,” Spock finished. Jim glanced upwards—the gray barriers were standing true, but the calmness of Spock’s words belied the internal storm brewing just outside the walls. “But I must say, my head feels…a little full, perhaps, but it gives me no pain.”
“Same here,” Jim added. “It’s an odd entanglement, but I’m certainly unhurt.”
“I’ll bet,” said McCoy, and Jim could feel his friend rolling his eyes. “Some entity decided you two needed Get-Along Body, huh?”
“I beg your pardon,” Spock said stiffly, as Jim stifled a laugh. “The captain and I have always gotten perfectly well as two men in two bodies, Doctor. To suggest otherwise is—”
“—illogical, illogical, I know.” Jim got a brief image of his friend’s face—a snapshot of McCoy, squinting strangely at him. Did you send me that, Spock? “Well, maybe you two can explore that harmonious relationship as you try and get back to being your own people. There’s living in each other’s pockets, and then there’s—”
“All right, Bones,” Jim said gently, holding up his (Spock’s?) hands. “We’ll take care of it.”
+++
Three hours and sixteen minutes later, according to an internal calculation that Jim, apparently, also had access to now, he was beginning to be impressed with just how much could go wrong in connecting with someone telepathically.
“Really?” he said, staring at the document in front of him. (If he tried to think too hard about how he could read Golic, his non-existent head started to spin, so he tried to focus on the words themselves.) “They remained melded for two months?”
“And four days, Captain.” A shiver of feeling touched the walls, and Jim tried not to poke at it. Calm, he remembered. Keep the barriers up. Of course Spock would want to maintain some semblance of privacy, with his captain invading his head—even, Jim thought, if it meant having even less of an idea of what his first officer thought than usual. “They were an unusual case—a healer and patient, working through distinct trauma and shock together. The patient’s mind was close to broken, and the therapist was prepared to undergo an extended period of time helping them recover. Though unfortunately,” Spock said, “I do not see much of a parallel to our situation, Captain. I am not a trained healer, and I—have found, over the years, that I have an affinity for your mind as it is.”
Like your mind, the small voice whispered, and Jim wondered again where on earth it was coming from. Like, like, like.
“Well,” he said, covering for his confusion and slight embarrassment. “Thank you very much, Mr. Spock. I confess I have a great appreciation for yours as well.” Another emotion—larger, gentler than the one before—brushed by the walls, and Jim took a deep breath, exercising all of his self control. “But then what on earth could have caused this?”
“Perhaps we must retrace our steps,” Spock said, and Jim felt them both rise to Spock’s feet. “We were about to transport up. Did anything unusual happen, to your memory?”
Jim sighed, leaning against the wall. “I’m not sure. We’d gone down—your team was collecting plant samples, the ensigns were on guard duty, and as far as any of our readings showed, we were the only life forms on the planet.”
“Correct,” Spock intoned, and began to pace. “Once the samples had been collected, we informed the doctor and Mr. Scott that we were ready to beam up. The ensigns and scientists were to remain on the ground, taking extra time to prepare the samples for transit. We were to beam up ahead.”
“And then—” Jim squinted. “And then—we were having a discussion.”
Spock paused, very briefly, but Jim caught the thunderous rush of feeling quickly rushing towards the walls and then ceasing altogether. “Yes, Captain.”
“And—” Jim frowned. “And I said something. Something that caused a…reaction, of some kind.”
“You said,” Spock said quickly, as if he were in a rush to get it out and over with, “that I must be glad our mission is almost up, so that soon I will not have to live with ‘messy, illogical humans’ getting underfoot every day.”
“Oh.” Jim frowned. “And—well, pardon me, Spock, but aren’t you?”
He felt Spock take a breath, felt lungs that were not his fill up and then deflate. “I am not glad, Captain. Nor do I wish a quick end to this mission.”
“I see.” Jim blinked, his own mind moving rapidly. “Then I am…sorry to have caused offense, Mr. Spock.”
“Offense is a human tradition,” Spock said, almost as rote, and Jim bit back the rising impulse to counter with the fact that he could feel all of Spock’s feelings, many of them suspiciously human, just beyond the border walls. “But if it would alleviate any concern on your part, Captain, I accept your apology.”
Jim paused. “Well,” he said, after no lightning had flashed and no thunder had roared, “I guess it wasn’t the conversation.”
“No,” Spock agreed, and Jim could hear the frustration, not just thrashing against the walls but sitting low in his words. “We will remedy this, Captain. I swear it.”
“I know,” Jim said. “I believe in you, Spock.”
I could fail you, Jim, whispered the voice at the edge of consciousness. Aloud, however, Spock only said, “Thank you, Captain. Between your leadership and my superior intellect, I am certain we will figure out a solution soon.”
But Jim heard the thrash of feeling against the walls and wondered if Spock was always like this, on the inside: emotion rattling against walls of hard, impenetrable logic, kept caged like a tiger. It must be incredibly hard, he thought, with a flash of sympathy.
“I am certain that you are correct,” he said gently, eyeing the barriers as he did so; they creaked, but did not fall. “Looking at the last four years, there’s been very little we haven’t been able to do, when we’ve worked at it together.”
“Your logic is sound,” Spock said, and the little voice whispered something furiously in Golic that he couldn’t quite translate. “I should ask—Captain, is there anything else that you require at the moment?”
Jim couldn’t help chuckling to himself. “A couch might be nice,” he said, and all of a sudden the couch he rested on was there, had always been there. “Why, thank you, Mr. Spock. We’ll make a hostess of you yet.”
“It is the least I can do, Captain.” Spock hesitated. “I—I cannot imagine that being confined to my head like this would be an enjoyable position.”
Not for you, Jim, said the little voice. Not for the man who walks among the stars, who found his way onto a ship and into a million adventures and tomorrows.
“Oh, I’ve had worse,” Jim said, trying to keep his voice level. “Remember when I was taken prisoner with Uhura and Chekov? I had to wear that awful harness, and it chafed.”
“You do seem to have a habit of finding your way into difficult situations,” Spock observed, and Jim couldn’t help but crack a smile.
“Why, Mr. Spock,” Jim said, “have you forgotten the difficult situations you yourself have gotten into? You are the only man I know to ever have their brain kidnapped.”
“Don’t remind me, Captain,” Spock said dryly, and Jim laughed again. “I suspect I am also the only person to have assisted in my own brain reconstruction surgery after the fact, too.”
“You’re setting records everywhere you go, Mr. Spock,” Jim agreed, and smiled as he felt the little voice speak again, too quietly to be heard, but full of a quiet joy. “Perhaps we’ll set some more before this mission is through.”
He was unprepared for the renewed slam of feeling against the walls, and the voice turned from joyous to anxious. Don’t want it, it said, and then cut off abruptly.
“Captain,” Spock said, and now the walls really creaked, “I apologize. I believe I must take a point of rest, and then meditate, to improve the strength of my mental shields. Ideally they will create a more comfortable resting place for you, as long as you are here.”
Jim blinked, trying to adjust. “Yes—yes, of course, Mr. Spock. Please take the time to rest.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Jim leaned back onto the couch as he felt his friend ready himself for bed, thinking furiously and trying (absurdly, he realized) not to think too loudly. It was clear that he must not think too much, either—he grimaced. At least, he thought, he had always had the luxury of his own thoughts; with this being denied to him, keeping up Spock’s walls could become very, very tricky.
“Goodnight, Captain,” Spock said, and Jim felt Spock’s body settle into the first officer’s bed. “My shields should remain up while I sleep, so you should pass a pleasant hour or so while I rest.” He hesitated for the barest moment. “I apologize if you find it—boring, however.”
“Boring? In your head?” Kirk smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Spock. I’ll play some games of chess in my head.”
“A worthwhile pursuit, Captain,” Spock said, the words belying the little voice that whispered, Chess with you is my preference, and if I had favorites, it would be my favorite, Jim. “Enjoy your games. I shall see you in several hours.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Spock,” Jim said, and settled back as his friend slowly began to slumber all around him.
It was strange, Jim thought, being within the mind of a sleeper. The waves and gusts of feeling outside the barriers began to slow, and like Spock had said, the walls themselves stayed strong. And then there was a strange moment—a transition, from one to the other—and Spock sighed and rolled over, fully asleep.
Jim let out a shaking breath he’d been holding, allowing, for the first time, a wave of fondness to arise within him. And that, he thought, a little regretfully, is all the emotion I can show for now.
It would be worth it. When it was all over, and Jim hadn’t done anything stupid and foolish to jeopardize the most important friendship in his life, when they still had a year to spend together, it would be worth it.
Jim settled back, got himself under control, and was beginning to visualize a chess board when he noticed the door.
It was a small, sketchy thing, he saw; only partially there, and somewhat half-formed. But it was there, and Jim found himself rising, taking a step forward.
He didn’t want me going outside the walls, Jim thought. But—no, Spock had said that he would ensure the walls did not collapse. Doorways had not been mentioned.
As he watched, a doorknob, looking very solid, appeared.
“Hmm,” he said aloud. And as if in response, the door creaked open.
Jim smiled, stepping forward, and nearly gasped as he was met with a wave of wet heat.
Blue skies. Golden corn. Iowa summer. One of those perfect summer days, he thought wonderingly, from when he was a boy.
Dried husks crackled under his feet as he stepped forward, fully through the door. In all directions, there were cornfields, and far in the distance, his house. His house, he thought, with his mother and father and Sam (alive, alive, all alive his mind chanted). He would hurry home, he would hug his brother, tell him how important he was to him, tell him that under no circumstances was he to take a position on Deneva.
And then all of a sudden, there was Spock, rising tall amid the corn, stepping forward to meet him, looking around curiously, and a wave of warmth that had nothing to do with the heat hit him as he smiled at his friend.
“Captain,” Spock said. “This is—most unusual.”
“You must be dreaming,” Jim said, looking around. “Unless you’ve ever been to Iowa, that is?”
“Negative.” And he’d been hearing Spock’s voice, but oh, he’d missed his face, missed what he looked like when he was looking around in wonder and curiosity. “This must have come from a memory of yours, Captain.”
“That’s right.” Jim looked around. “My house—my family’s house, it’s right over there. Then the neighbors—the McLellans to the south, the Learys to the north, and then the Daniels—”
That’s right, he thought; to the west had been the Daniels’ farm. They’d been the only family with children in the area, and the oldest, Hector, had been Jim’s age. They’d been close as anything as children, and then, when they got a bit older, on summer days like this, they’d left their chores behind to meet in the barn that the Learys never used, and Hector would lean back, and Jim would kiss his long column of throat and then move down—
“Captain,” Spock said warningly, and Jim flushed crimson.
“My most sincere apologies, Mr. Spock,” he said, feeling the heat of embarrassment suffuse him. “I—I forgot myself. I certainly can’t imagine that you’d want to share in the knowledge of my—ahem.” His face felt like fire. “My past—dalliances.”
“It is all right, Captain,” Spock said, studiously avoiding meeting Jim’s eyes. “I quite understand how the past can bring up new resurgences of emotion. I am—pleased, truly, that you have had fond memories of this place.”
“Most of them were—ah, a little more tame,” Jim said, turning his eyes up to the sky and grinning. “I lived here until I was fourteen. Bet I could still name all of our cows, if I tried.”
“I do not doubt it.” Spock’s voice was gentle, and when Jim looked over, he was staring out over the horizon in an unfocused manner (as if he had just whipped his head away, Jim thought, and tried to bury it as quickly as possible). “While you lack the eidetic memory shared by my kin, Captain, I have often noted that you have excellent recall.” He paused. “Were you—happy, Captain? Here, on Earth?”
“Yes,” Jim said, without hesitation. “Yes, I was, and then—” He paused, took in a breath, felt the emotions rising up, all the anger guilt grief hunger hunger hunger, and gently pressed them back. “What I mean is, is that I was—happy here, as long as I lived here.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t go back, though. After all,” he said, looking over to Spock. “Who could go back to Iowa if they’ve seen space for themselves?”
“I do believe there are those who would return home at the first opportunity.” Spock looked around. “However, I doubt that I could count you among their number.” A pause, a gust of warmth, whispering safe joy contentment. “You, or myself, Captain.”
“Mm.” Kirk stretched, lifting his arms above his head, feeling his shirt ride up just above his waistband, and feeling another warm gust of air begin to swirl around him. “Some men, Mr. Spock, have never been comfortable staying in one place for too long.” He opened his eyes and sighed. “But it is occasionally pleasant to return to the place of one’s youth. Do you wish to return to Vulcan someday, Mr. Spock?”
He was unprepared for the gust of wind that nearly lifted him off his feet. Fear was the first feeling he could identify, and then pain and desire and no no Captain Jim my Captain my Captain no no no—
“No,” Spock said aloud, the word ground out between his teeth, and the wind decreased. “No. I will not give in.”
“Spock,” Jim said, gasping for breath, and Spock’s eyes widened marginally.
“Captain,” he said, grabbing onto Jim’s arm as he stumbled. “I can only apologize—”
“No, no, Mr. Spock, it’s your head. I’m the one poking around.” Jim took a deep, shaking breath. “And I should be the sorry one. I did not realize—”
“I will not speak of it.” Spock’s mouth had thinned out into a tight line, Jim realized, and his back was ramrod straight. “That is. I do not wish to speak of it, Captain.”
Don’t make me think about it, the voice whispered. It hurt, it hurt, to hurt you.
“Then we won’t speak of it,” Jim said, touching his hand to Spock’s shoulder briefly. “I do not wish to—to hurt you, Spock.”
“On the contrary.” Spock took a breath in, then looked out to the horizon.
His expression changed. “Captain.” Spock pointed out across the cornfields. “Look. The sky is beginning to…ripple, for the lack of a better word. I—believe I am awakening from this dream.” He turned to Jim. “You should return to your shielded area, Captain. You will be safe there. When I awaken, I—cannot promise that it will be similarly safe beyond their bounds.”
“All right.” Jim nodded, turning back to the door, and moving back inside.
It was like someone had thrown a blanket over his head, he felt dimly. The warmth of the summer vanished as he stepped back inside the boundary; his senses folded back into themselves, and he was, all of a sudden, aware of Spock’s body shifting around in bed.
A feeling shifted around now, outside the walls, and all of a sudden Jim was desperate to know what it was. He listened, concentrating—the winds, he was beginning to realize, were often positive emotions, while the ones that drove themselves into the walls with force were the painful ones. How strange, he allowed himself to think briefly, as he felt Spock beginning to come back to full consciousness, that my stoic officer should be so inclement.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he said aloud, as he felt Spock’s mind come back to life.
“Jim,” Spock muttered, and then, “Captain. I am unaware of any particularly important sun in our system at the moment, much less of myself having any connection with one.” There were new feelings, Jim realized; winds, and more forceful emotions, too, and Jim wondered for a moment what it would be like to be caught in the storm outside, with all that raw pleasure and pain.
He stifled himself before those thoughts could go any further, and made himself smile. “A figure of speech, Mr. Spock, of course. How are you feeling?”
“I am well.” Spock sat up, and Jim felt the muscles of his body begin to move towards his uniform. “I do feel as if I have understood more of Earth than I did previously.”
The images appeared behind Jim’s eyes: corn, blue sky, lazy white clouds, a house in the distance. Jim’s own face, golden, turned up to the sun, eyes closed, arms stretching over his head, shirt riding up—
The images vanished abruptly. “Captain,” Spock said, fresh alarm in his voice, and a new wave slammed into the barriers. “I am afraid our link is deepening. I do not know what is—happening, exactly. But if you will permit me saying so, I am extremely competent when it comes to mental shielding. You should—” Spock broke off. “You should not be getting any indication of my thoughts while inside the barrier.”
Jim paused. “Thoughts?”
“Pictures,” Spock said, and a new emotion slid alongside the wall, grating against it with a high whine. Embarrassment, Jim thought, then wondered how he knew. “Perhaps a voice. All things, Captain, which you should not be experiencing.”
“Well,” Jim said, stretching his legs out and carefully refusing to think about anything. “They’re not particularly telling, if you’re worried. Your privacy—”
“Jim,” said Spock, and the voice was so gentle. “I am not concerned about my privacy. I am concerned about you falling too deeply into my mind—too deeply to return. We must remain separate—for your safety, Captain.”
“I understand.” Jim smiled, sitting down on the couch. “Don’t mind me; I’ll just be sitting here.”
He felt Spock hesitate before he heard the words. “It might be—prudent, perhaps, to teach you how to create mental shields of your own. Understand, of course,” and the words were accompanied by a clang against the walls, “I would not expect you to run them at the same level that I do. That, Captain, would take years of meditation. But it could be helpful, perhaps.”
“I quite agree.” Jim spread his hands. “How do I begin?”
“First,” Spock said, and there were new emotions, new feelings, all of which were quieted quickly. “First, close your eyes. I—” There was a brief pause. “Usually, Captain, I would ask you to center your breathing, and focus on the natural rhythm of your body.”
“Ah.” Jim leaned back. “Well—Mr. Spock, I could concentrate on yours. That is,” he said, hearing the storm picking up speed outside, “I am within your head. I could, perhaps, reach out—feel the movement of your heart and lungs. If you think it would help,” he added quickly.
“I do not think that will be necessary,” Spock said, just a touch more rapidly than usual, Jim noticed. “You are already in the purest form possible—you are entirely disconnected from the physical, entirely in the realm of the mental. In which case, all we must to do begin is….” He trailed off. “Think, Captain, of a memory to center yourself in. Not Iowa—perhaps a moment on the bridge. Something recent, but stabilizing. You do not need to picture the people, but imagine yourself in that room, wherever it may be. It should be a place that calls to you—where you feel safe. In control.”
Almost before Spock had finished speaking, Jim had closed his eyes and begun to imagine. Slowly, the image took form around him—the quarters, so much cleaner than his, with everything straightened and shelved. The red curtains, casting an odd light over the room. The chess board in front of him, both sides in starting positions.
“Captain,” Spock said, and Jim looked up to see Spock in his chair. “This is an unexpected memory.”
“Well,” Jim said, allowing himself a slightly embarrassed shrug. “We play chess every night, Spock. I guess it worked its way into my psyche.”
Outside, Jim heard the wind howl. “Very good, Captain,” Spock said calmly, as if he could not hear it. “I have joined you in this moment—but with your shields up, you should be able to push me out easily enough.” He spread his hands, inviting Jim to do so. “Try it, now.”
Jim concentrated. Out, he thought at Spock. Out of my place, out of my home, out of my sanctuary.
“Very good, Captain,” Spock rumbled, and now he was once again on the outside. “You are a quick study. They may not offer much resistance against outside forces, I am afraid, but if the boundaries between us begin to crumble, you may take refuge—” A slight smile entered Spock’s voice. “In my quarters, as it were.”
“Thank you, Mr. Spock.” Jim grinned up into the ether. “I’m afraid I’m not much for meditation as an individual. Perhaps this will teach me some form of patience, if nothing else.”
“I hope it is not too painful a lesson,” Spock replied, and Jim felt his heart soften.
“Being trapped with you, Mr. Spock,” he said, before he could stop himself, “is highly preferable to any other form of imprisonment, I believe.”
There was a brief silence. Then: “I do believe I would agree, Captain,” Spock said, and Jim leaned back, smiled gently, and stifled his emotions.
+++
McCoy, Jim learned, had taken them both off of duty until further notice. “The captain and first officer cannot be the same person, Jim,” he said, when Jim had Spock walk down to the sick bay to ask about it. “I’ve checked the regulations. And no, before you say it, they were not thinking about this specific instance, but as far as I’m aware, this could set a precedent. Understand?”
“Understood, Doctor,” Spock said, before Kirk could get ahold of the vocal chords. “We will find some way to pass our time, I am sure.”
“‘Some way,’ ended up being looking over Spock’s metaphorical shoulder again, reading more documents in perfect Golic until he felt his eyes about to glaze over.
“So no one’s ever had a case like ours,” he said, many hours later, as he directed Spock’s hand to move a chess piece in his direction. “There’s been body-switching, body-and-mind-melding, some instances where both souls left a body entirely, but—”
“But never two souls in one body,” Spock finished for him, moving a pawn two squares forward. “We would seem to be a scientific marvel, Captain.”
“Well, that’s some small comfort, anyway.” Spock’s hand moved Jim’s knight up a level. “Check, Mr. Spock.”
“Indeed.” Spock moved his bishop. “If there is to be a solution for our trouble, it would seem that it will fall to us to devise one.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Jim moved his queen forward. “And that is checkmate, I believe.”
“Your mental shields are strong.” Carefully, Spock gathered up the pieces, setting them back into their storage compartment. “I should commend you, captain. It is not easy to keep one’s moves secret from a trained Vulcan.”
Jim squinted, listening to the wind whistle and thump. “Spock,” he said, “are you huffy?”
Spock paused, just a little too artfully. “What is huffy, Captain?”
“Oh, you are.” For a moment, sheer delight rose up in Jim. “You’re huffy that I’m living inside your mind and I still beat you at chess!”
“This sounds like a human emotion,” Spock said, “and I—”
“—do not feel, yes, of course, Mr. Spock.” Jim lay back on the couch, his hands resting on the back of his head. “But regardless, Commander. You are huffy.”
“Very well,” Spock said, and his voice was warm, almost indulgent. “Then I should wish you goodnight, Captain. Perhaps you will have found a way to avoid insulting me on the morrow.”
“I’ll do my best.” Jim smiled. “Goodnight, Mr. Spock.” He hesitated, then said, “And pleasant dreams.”
“The same to you, Jim,” Spock said, and Jim had only a moment to luxuriate in the usage of his first name before a door began to sketch itself out on the wall.
Jim smiled, reaching for the doorknob, expecting to step out into Iowa, or the Farragut, or even Vulcan.
Instead, he walked out onto familiar cobblestones and froze.
“As you know,” Kodos was saying from the stage, and all of a sudden Jim felt fifteen again, half a boy and half a man, holding a six-year-old Kevin Riley to his chest and gripping the hand of a twelve-year-old Thomas Leighton. “As you know, we are facing down dire circumstances. These are times that require harsh, calculating decisions—decisions that no man should have to make.” Kodos took a deep breath, and Jim remembered it all. He knew the speech by heart. “I have chosen today to take that burden from you. None of you will be given over to the agony of choosing who will live and who will die.
“Instead,” Kodos said, and Jim thought he saw a flash of dark hair, of pointed ears, out of the corner of his eye (but why would Spock be here, he wondered, when he never came here, when he never knew this pain?), “your fates have been decided for you. Half of you have been chosen, based on genetic potential, to live. The other half have been chosen to die. I have divided you up as a people,” he said, and Jim remembered, here he’d had to raise his voice because the people had begun to panic and clamor, and Kevin had begun to cry, “as fairly as I know how. Those meant to live will live, and those who would have had short lives, poorer lives, lower lives, will simply die here. As it was meant to be.”
He inclined his head, but Jim was already running, dragging Kevin and Tommy through the crowd because he remembered what came next. Above him, phaser shots began to fire, and he saw them fall out of the corner of his eye: his aunt, his uncle, his cousins, one by one.
Jim had only been fifteen. He’d been dizzy with hunger, violent with desperation, and he could only watch as he lashed out with a fist, strengthened from working on the new colony’s farms all summer, and tore the phaser out of a soldier’s hands. With the press of a button, the man vanished into a red haze, and Jim was still moving, dragging the kids forward with him, running and running into the woods, where they’d be safe for awhile—
“Captain,” said a voice, and no, no, that wasn’t right, because he wasn’t the captain, he was just a kid with a poster for Starfleet on the wall, and sure, his mom had said she’d let him apply when he was sixteen, but that wasn’t the same thing—
“You are Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise,” the voice said, and Jim couldn’t falter, couldn’t stop running, but the words felt familiar and the voice felt like something akin to home. “You are the youngest captain in Starfleet, aged thirty-five, and a man that I am proud to serve under. You have saved my life, again and again. You—” The voice faltered, but Jim’s brain was working again and yes, that was right, he was the captain. “You had a brother, named Sam. Your nephew, Peter, is currently being raised by your parents back on Earth, and they mentioned in their last letter that he was taking an interest in Starfleet. You are—” Spock broke off, and Jim was rising, rising again, thirty-five and back in control.
“Spock,” he said, and thought, he shouldn’t be here, not in this broken place.
And then the dream changed. Cobbles gave way to sand, the sky went bright red, and Jim tumbled down, landing in front of the door and looking out over the Vulcan combat arena.
“No,” he said aloud, watching T’Pau approve the match between them. “No. I won’t do it, I won’t fight him.”
T’Pau looked past him, and as he turned, another man came into view—sandy-colored hair, dressed in command gold, with a furrow between his brows.
Because I was ready for a wedding, Jim thought dizzily. And I didn’t realize—hell, I didn’t know.
“It begins!” T’Pau said, and faded away as quickly as she’d come.
Startled, Jim looked around. T’Pau, T’Pring, Stonn—everyone had gone. It was only the other Jim left, and of course—
“Spock,” he breathed, as his best friend charged his other self.
Dream Jim, he thought, was not doing a good enough job of defending himself. “Spock!” he heard him yell, as the Vulcan shoved him bodily to the ground. “Spock, you don’t need to do this!”
Jim squinted. This was familiar—but something was wrong, somehow. It hadn’t quite happened all like this—no, something had definitely been different.
“Spock,” he called, but Spock didn’t hesitate, shoving Dream Jim into the ground, again and again, and fuck, Jim couldn’t let Spock do this again.
He saved me, Jim thought, feeling his legs beginning to move, finally, as he ran towards the center of the arena. I can save him, too. I can bring him back.
“Spock,” he breathed, sliding on the sand, knocking Spock over onto his back.
Dream Jim faded away, without as much as a murmur, and Spock, who had been briefly surprised, was no longer. His hands gripped Jim’s wrists, and with barely any effort, he had flipped their positions. Jim felt his back hit the hot sand, felt the breath leave his mouth as Spock hovered over him.
But that’s not how it was, Jim thought hazily. He had a weapon.
And then Spock’s leg was nudging Jim’s apart, and his fingers were sliding in between Jim’s, and the realization slammed into Jim that this was not a bad dream.
“Spock,” he gasped, feeling the press of Spock’s hardness against him as Spock lowered his mouth to Jim’s. “Oh—”
There were no words, as Spock bit at Jim’s lip, sucking it into his mouth, but there did not need to be, for this, Jim thought. Spock’s mind was pouring into his, and it was white-hot and seeking, looking for more, more, more—
“More,” Jim gasped aloud, as Spock’s mouth made its way down his neck. Yes, Spock, yes, more.
Mine, Spock’s mind answered, as he thrust a hand between them, and Jim shuddered in his grip. Mine, mine, t’hy’la, mine.
T’hy’la? Jim questioned, even as his shirt came off, briefly tangling in his arms before he thrust the whole bundle away to lie in the sands. I am in your head, but I don’t know that word.
But even as he thought the question, it was answered—images, hundreds of thousands, tumbled past his vision, so quickly he could barely see them. A barely-there smile from Spock, on the bridge. Spock diving in front of a poisoned dart for him, shouting his name. A whispered, “Jim,” in an elevator, as his fear subsided in the face of the man in front of him. And a million other things, Jim thought, a million moments, all building up to this word. T’hy’la, Spock was saying; soul of my soul, mind of my mind.
Heart of my heart, Jim thought back, and was rewarded by Spock’s hand gripping him, moving over him, as he felt his hips buck up into Spock’s hand.
But this was pon farr, Jim remembered, and Spock would not be looking to stop there. No, Spock’s hand was moving, taking off his own uniform, and Jim had just enough time to admire his hard chest before the rest of his clothes were off and Jim couldn’t help looking down, couldn’t help sucking in a breath at the hard green cock that stood out between his legs.
“Spock,” he said, his voice almost pleading, even to his own ears, as Spock’s large hands gripped his waist. “Spock, please—”
Mine, Spock thought, and in real life, Jim knew, this would not work. Even with Spock’s natural lubrication, even with everything, it wouldn’t work like this.
But this was a dream. So Jim gasped sharply, his eyes rolling up into his head as he felt the blunt head at his entrance, gripping at Spock’s shoulders as he moved further in, achingly slow for a moment as Jim felt his body adjust.
Then: “T’hy’la,” Spock rasped aloud, and pressed further in. Jim heard himself moan, heard himself whine, and wrapped his legs around his first officer as he began to move in earnest.
It hadn’t happened like this, Jim thought dizzily, clutching at Spock’s back as he buried his head in the juncture of Jim’s neck and shoulder and bit. Spock had been hard, yes—and so, he remembered, with a brief flash of shame that was immediately buried under waves of lust, love, longing, want, had he—but they had had weapons, and Spock had clearly seen him as an obstacle to mating, not the object.
But, he thought, bringing his lips to Spock’s again, had some part of Spock wanted this, instead? Had some dimly present part of his mind seen his captain, lying on his back in the sand, flushed and helpless, and wanted?
He was answered with more images: Spock, a week before the pon farr had taken full hold, his hand desperately moving over his cock in his own quarters, “Jim,” on his lips as he came. The desire (and it had been strong, Jim realized, stronger than anything) to beg Jim for assistance, rather than go back to Vulcan. The awful feeling of horror and shame and revulsion, of coming back to himself, having killed the captain, and realizing he was still hard.
Don’t feel ashamed, Jim thought back fiercely, pouring as much feeling as he could into the kiss, moving his hips in time with Spock’s, feeling the throbbing heat begin to build low in his gut. I know what you wanted, now, Spock, and I would have given it to you, if you’d asked. I’d give you anything.
More images poured into his mind, but these, he realized in wonderment, were not those that had already happened. Instead, they were fuzzy, shapeless images, the meaning only conveyed by the emotion behind them: Jim, waking up next to Spock. Playing chess over dinner. Their fingers brushing, deliberately, all over the ship. Jim’s smile, turned towards him, in full force. The two of them on Vulcan, looking out at a beautiful city. A total and complete end to the alien princesses.
This last one, Jim felt, was directed with force, and he felt laughter bubble up, even as he felt his pleasure mounting. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he mumbled, feeling Spock’s fingers slide over his. A Vulcan kiss, times five. “No more girls, huh? No one else but you?”
None, Spock thought back. None but me.
Spock’s breath was becoming ragged, Jim felt, and he didn’t think he was going to last much longer either. “Spock,” he moaned, his nails dragging down his back. “Spock, c’mon—close—”
Spock growled at that, and Jim felt his breath hitch in his chest. Come, then, came his thoughts. Come for me, t’hy’la.
His hand moved down, over Jim’s cock, and that was all it took. Jim’s back arched up off the sand, his vision going white, clenching down as he felt Spock’s teeth sink into his neck, hips moving faster and faster as he found his own completion, coming deep inside of Jim.
And with that, Jim felt the last of the barriers between them breaking down. He was Jim and t’hy’la and Captain Kirk but he was also S’chn T’gai Spock and First Officer and Commander Spock and t’hy’la, t’hy’la, t‘hy’la, the word for them, the word for their bond, repeating over and over again.
Spock, Jim thought, or perhaps Jim, Spock thought, or perhaps there was no longer a difference between them. Perhaps they were one and the same, sinking in and in, deeper and deeper.
A tiny warning bell began to ring in the back of their mind, but they were no longer paying attention. They were one, they were one, and there was no end to Spock, no start to Jim, and they were floating in that warmth that had been there at the very beginning—a warmth that was them, they realized, that was everything they felt; the reflection of emotion, stretching back and back and back, endlessly beautiful and glowing—
Cold.
Air rushed in—Spock was awake, Jim dimly recognized, and Jim was alone.
“Spock,” he gasped, aching, breathing, reaching, finding only concrete brushing his fingertips, only muted sensation, only cold air and solitude and no Spock, no Spock, where is Spock—
It was too much. For a brief moment, he felt his consciousness waver, felt someone, somewhere reach back out. And then everything was black.
+++
Spock woke up screaming, a searing pain in his head. The pain was everything—it was leaking out of his eyes, wavering off his skin like hot summer air, and he couldn’t tell where it was coming from but everything was agony.
Separate, he thought. Solitary. Alone. Where one had once been, now two stood—and Spock realized that he was not the only one screaming.
“Jim!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Jim, Jim, answer me!”
Spock, he heard briefly—and then nothing.
All at once, the pain was gone—Spock staggered back with the relief of it—but as he reached, scrabbled for Jim, down in the dirt of his mind, he felt the panic building.
“Spock!” McCoy, clearly in the middle of his sleeping shift, burst into the room. “Oh, god. Spock, I said, you feel a twinge—”
“He’s gone,” Spock gasped, breathing in shakily. “Doctor, he’s gone, he’s gone, I can’t find him—”
“Spock,” McCoy said, and he must be looking horrible, Spock thought, because McCoy did not hesitate to place a firm hand on his shoulder. “Spock—get ahold of yourself, man!”
“He’s gone.” Spock searched around, grasping for any of his emotional control that he might have remaining. “Doctor—I felt him, he was here, and then—”
“Breathe.” McCoy’s hand was an anchor, and Spock forced himself to inhale, then exhale. For Jim. For Jim. “He was here, now he’s not—so where’s he gone?”
“I don’t know,” Spock whispered. He was here—we were one—and then—
Hot shame burst through as he remembered the events of the previous night. He had only meant to shake Jim from his terrible dream of Tarsus IV, he thought—had only wanted to bring him somewhere safe—but he thought Jim and safe and somehow they’d ended up on Vulcan. In the arena.
Jim should have shaken him off. Spock had expected him to shake him off, once he’d realized that it was that dream. He’d expected Jim to retreat, throw up the mental shields they'd worked on, and politely ask Spock to transfer off the Enterprise as soon as they were back in separate bodies.
He hadn’t expected Jim’s eyes to flutter, Jim’s lips to part, Jim’s hips to cant upward—
Jim is not to blame, he thought fiercely. It is me. It is my fault. I did this, I hurt him, and now—now my t’hy’la—
He couldn’t go on in that direction. He couldn’t.
“Spock,” McCoy was saying, from somewhere outside his mind. “Spock, you must listen to me. You’ve shared a mind with him. Where could he have gone? Souls—as far as I am aware—don’t just up and vanish!”
“Soul,” Spock repeated numbly. His soul is not the problem, he wanted to say, it is his mind—his beautiful mind, the one that I briefly held within me. “I—don’t know. Jim—”
A spark jumped. It was faint, ragged—but Spock gasped, clutching at the bedsheets underneath him.
“Doctor,” he said, digging his fingers into his palms. “Doctor, we must—please, help me up.”
“Jesus,” McCoy muttered. “This wouldn’t happen if you two would just take care of yourselves—or, barring that, take care of each other—”
Take care of each other. It was an echo in the back of his mind, but all of a sudden, there was a fuzzy, blurry image.
“The sick bay,” he said, and could have thanked a number of gods that he did not believe in for the fact that McCoy did not pause or hesitate or ask anything else before throwing Spock’s arm over his shoulder and hobbling the two of them down to sick bay.
“Hurry,” Spock said, his teeth gritting together. Hang on, Jim, just hang on. “He’s—weak.”
“We’re almost there.” McCoy cursed under his breath. “When this voyage is done, I am writing a new book on rare diseases. Maybe I’ll put you on the cover.”
“Ha.” Spock stumbled. “Very—very funny, Doctor.”
“Hell, you really must be sick.” Spock tried not to read McCoy, tried not to feel his feelings through their touch, but the thrum of worry sick hurting Spock Jim danger was almost impossible to ignore. “Come on, Spock—through this door.”
Spock stumbled in, collapsing by the bedside of a breathing, sleeping body.
Jim, he half-sobbed in his mind, clutching at the captain’s hand with his. Jim, come back, come back to me—
Spock. The spark was livelier now. Spock—trust me on this—mind-meld again.
Spock bit off the exclamation that they’d tried that before, blindly feeling for the captain’s face. “My mind to your mind,” he whispered, ragged, feeling the psi-points tingle under his fingers. “My thoughts to your thoughts.”
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then there was everything.
He was Spock, he knew. He could see where he ended, but it was—blurring, blurring into Jim, who was on the other end—Jim, who was smiling that easy smile at him—Jim, who was stirring in the bed beside him, and now McCoy was seeing it too.
“Jim!” he yelled, and then, “Nurse! Nurse Chapel!”
The connection was restored, but the pain was not there—in fact, Spock thought, as he raced towards Jim, as Jim’s eyelids fluttered, he felt better than he had in ages. “Jim,” he whispered.
“Spock!” his captain was calling, and Spock was sliding the last few feet, wrapping his arms around him, feeling his edges bleed, just enough for him to hear the beat of tired worry fear joy love love love under Jim’s skin.
And then he was back in himself, looking out with his own eyes as Jim, gasping and wide-eyed, shot up in bed and took a trembling breath in.
+++
“Bed rest for a week,” McCoy had said, pointing hypos at both of them, “and don’t you dare even twitch so much as a finger. I’ve got eyes in the back of my head and if you two move an inch, I will know, and so help me, Jim, I will break out the restraints.”
“Bones,” Jim had responded, wide-eyed and placating, and Bones had practically snarled at him.
“I just spent,” he’d declared, “two days trying to figure out what could possibly combine two people into one body, and one extremely panicked hour trying to figure out what to do with one person in one body! And then—then you—” swinging on Spock, who had looked up in mild surprise, “—you do some Vulcan mumbo-jumbo, and I’ve got a patient gasping like a fish out of water! And, need I mention, both of the idiots involved in this are the captain and first officer of the entire ship!”
“Doctor,” Spock had tried, but McCoy had been on a rampage.
“I don’t care,” McCoy had continued, pinching the bridge of his nose, “what kind of shenanigans you two get up to in your spare time. But whatever you did—and don’t tell me you didn’t do something, Jim, I know you—landed the worst two patients on this ship in my sick bay, at the same time. So you will both lie there, looking properly chagrined and drinking your chicken soup, or I will bring the wrath of God and man down on you two!”
“Missed you too, Bones,” Jim had said meekly. The doctor had growled something in wordless frustration, thrown up his hands, and marched out the door.
And now, Spock thought, taking the final breath and coming out of his meditation, now his captain lay on the bed beside him.
And, he realized, without looking around, he was looking right at him.
“Welcome back,” Jim murmured, and Spock felt the tips of his ears flush green.
Calm. Control. “Hello, Captain,” he said, turning his head to see a soft smile on Jim’s face.
Jim tilted his head. “You’re…worried.”
“Mm.” Spock inclined his head. “Yes.”
“About….” Jim waved his hands vaguely. “This?”
“I felt you die, Captain.” He had not meant for the words to come out; they simply tumbled out of his throat. “I held your mind in mine and I watched it fade to nothing.”
“My god.” Jim reached for his arm, and of all things, Spock was not ready for the influx of love calm care assurance. “I’m so sorry, Spock.”
“Apologies are unnecessary, Captain.” Spock gently extricated his arm. “I do not tell you this to harm you, Jim. It is to say—that I am….” He tried to keep the distaste out of the next word. “Rattled. If you must know.”
“So am I.” Jim stretched. “It’s not every day that you have a new facet of Vulcan culture opened up for you.”
Spock’s face burned. “Captain,” he said, somewhat stiffly, “do you want me to request a transfer?”
“What?” shock hurt confusion pain love. “Spock,” Jim said, “no. What do you—do you want to transfer?”
“Not particularly.” Spock pressed his lips together, trying to choose his words. “I would prefer to remain here, on the Enterprise.” He risked a glance over, and Jim’s face was a study in sheer confusion. “With you.”
“Then why—” Jim wet his lips. “Why ask about it, Spock?”
He tilted his head, opening his mouth, but somehow, Jim was beating him to it once again. “Oh.” He closed his eyes, briefly. “You—Spock. Don’t you know what I want?”
“I do not.” I don’t know enough. “That is—I require further clarification.”
“Okay.” Jim nodded, and Spock felt the pulse of nervousness come across their bond. “Well—you, is the main thing.” He ducked his head and chuckled, a little bit. “I, uh. Hope that was clear. But—well.” Delicately, cautiously, Jim reached for Spock’s hand, and Spock couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him at the feeling of warmth care regard affinity love. “Do you remember—ages ago, that trip to New York?”
Spock thought, privately, that he would never forget it; the freezing tenement they’d shared, the way his hands never quite got warm, the way they’d shaken so badly that Jim had had to light the menorah while Spock had murmured the blessings his mother had taught him. “Of course, Captain.”
“Edith Keeler said something there.” Jim winced, taking the unintentional pulse of jealousy with good humor. “All right, fair enough. But she said—something about you. Being by my side, in any world.”
Spock remembered the words. He was fairly certain that, if he looked hard enough, he’d find them burned into his psyche. “Yes, Captain.”
“Then—that’s what I want.” Jim’s face was beautiful and painfully earnest, and turned up to Spock. “I want to be by your side. I’d like you by my side, if you want to be there. I—I like having my own body back, but I like.” His face was flushing red as Spock watched on, “I like being close to you. And I—I like the word that you said.” He took in a breath. “For what we are. That one.”
T’hy’la, Spock supplied unconsciously, and Jim beamed at him.
“And,” he continued, as Spock opened his mouth (to say what, he wasn’t sure), “I have a theory about—all of this. Or at least, I think I know how I got back. When I—broke off from you—” He paused, wincing in sympathy along with Spock at the memory of the pain. “It was like I was…holding on through you. Like my connection to you kept me afloat. And it didn’t just anchor me to you, it anchored it to me.”
“What?” Spock felt his brow furrow, felt the surge of affection for Jim’s infectious smile, which widened even further with the pulse of feeling.
“T’hy’la,” Jim said, and Spock bit back the impulse to tell him to keep his voice down. “It’s—not just something mental, right? It’s something physical. It needs a body to tie to—so when I was torn loose from you, this time, I had something to go back to. Because it was connected to you.”
Spock opened his mouth, then closed it. “I...see,” he said slowly, looking out the window.
“Something’s still wrong,” Jim said, and Spock concentrated on not yanking his arm back. “Or—oh, I’m sorry, Spock. It’s just…hard not to read, when you’re right there.” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Bones.”
“I would appreciate that, Captain.” Spock breathed in, then breathed out. “You see, Captain—”
“Jim,” Jim interrupted, and Spock felt his heart contract.
“Jim,” he murmured, and watched Jim’s eyes go heavy-lidded. “You see—Jim—that is…not what a t’hy’la bond is supposed to do. It is, as you surmised,” he continued, “a facet of Vulcan practice, stemming from the days of our warrior ancestry. When we would ride into war, a t’hy’la was a battle-partner—someone to live and die for. A friend, a brother.” His eyes, very briefly, flicked over to Jim, and then away. “A lover. But it is rare, especially today.”
“Is it?” Jim tilted his head, sitting up.
“Indeed.” Spock nodded. “I know of no others with a t’hy’la. They may exist, out there in the world, but—” He forced the next words out. “As far as I am aware, it is just you and I.”
“Exploring something new,” Jim said, and there was unutterable fondness in the words. “Once again.”
“Yes.” Spock felt his eyes crinkle at the corners, and Jim smiled in response. “And, Jim—what that is, is. But it is…an undertaking.” His eyes found Jim’s. “Even without a t’hy’la component, a bond like this—it is not supposed to exist without an extended period of connection, to allow the bond to strengthen. I cannot say that I am sorry for it, especially since it saved you, but it is not normal, Jim.” He took a breath. “It is stronger than it should be, and has taken deeper root than you have asked for, and if you want to start from a place of simply—being near one another, then—”
“No, no.” Jim was shaking his head, and reaching out his hand, and Spock was weak but he was reaching back. “Can’t you feel it, Spock? Can’t you…feel what I feel?”
“I can,” Spock murmured, under a new onslaught of joy love warmth regard desire. “But feelings are—ephemeral, Jim. What you mean to say is more important, I find.”
“Then let me say this.” Jim scooted closer, leaning off of the bed. “If you wanted to stay with me for the rest of your life, as a first officer and nothing more, I’d welcome you at my right hand. If you wanted to move in and be my roommate and play endless games of chess, I’d enjoy every game. As it is, I imagine that’ll likely be the case, for—” His cheeks flushed, and Spock heard the murmur of math in the background of his mind. “Oh, about four or five more years.”
“Ah.” Spock felt the green blood rise to his own cheeks. “In that, Jim, I believe I have unintentionally misled you. It is not that that can only happen during the pon farr, but that it will happen during the pon farr, whether we wish it or no.” He stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Jim's eye.
“Oh,” Jim said, and then, “oh. Oh, okay.” He glanced up at Spock, and looked away very quickly. “Well, then. That’s something off my mind.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Spock said softly. “And—Jim—I believe that in terms of wanting, we may be in accord.”
Jim grinned at him, and the images flooded through Spock’s mind once again: Spock in Iowa, trying to milk a cow. Jim with coffee, Spock with tea, playing chess together. Both of them on the bridge, brushing up against one another. A new set of quarters, with a larger bed.
“Starfleet regulations demand that each set of quarters have one bed, large enough for one person and no more,” Spock said, unthinkingly, and flushed as Jim burst out laughing.
“Oh, Spock,” he said, affection suffusing his tone, and reaching out his other hand.
And so it was, at that moment, that McCoy came charging back into the sick bay.
“What did I say?” he intoned, eyes flashing like lightning, and Jim lay back quickly against the bed. “Both of you—bed rest—now.”
Spock leaned back, catching Jim’s eye and feeling his pulse of love mild fear laughing poor Bones.
“Never know what it is with you two,” Bones was saying, “and I don’t even know where to start with this. Forget a book. I’m writing an encyclopedia.”
“A worthy ambition, Doctor,” Spock said calmly, and very carefully tamped down his expression as Jim sent him an image of a red-faced McCoy with actual steam shooting out of his ears.
“Oh, it is, is it?” McCoy rolled his eyes. “You, mister, are going to be in a lot of trouble once we can get a Vulcan healer out here to explain what in God’s name went on between the two of you.”
“Well,” Jim said, and Spock thought that you did not need to be telepathic to read this particular tone of Jim’s.
McCoy’s eyes darted between them. “Oh, no.” He looked over at Jim. “I,” he announced, “am going to go lock myself in my office and have a drink. How much I drink will depend on how much you tell me right now, and so I am going to ask, Jim, if you ever had any love for me, to please spare me the details.”
“Silent as the grave, Bones,” Jim said, grinning unabashedly, looking over at Spock, who returned the smile with a pulse of warmth care affection love—
“I’m going to be sick,” McCoy said, and turned on his heel as Jim laughed and laughed.
+++
“By the way,” Jim said, much later, moving his queen forward and upward, “they figured out what caused it, finally.”
“Oh?” Spock raised an eyebrow, carefully poking around the edges of Jim’s mind. “T’Sau was stumped.”
“I remember,” Jim said, grimacing at the memory of the Vulcan healer, who had gone toe-to-toe with Bones on nearly everything, the entire time she was aboard the ship. “But as it turns out, it wasn’t her fault. Do you remember the planet we beamed up from? And the plant samples?”
“Of course.” Spock felt his brow furrow as he carefully picked through Jim’s layers of thought. Where does this man keep his chess strategies?
“Well,” Jim said, chin on his hands, “it was this one little plant in the transporter beam that caused all the trouble. Sulu’s over the moon about it—apparently it’s a heavy hallucinogenic, but with promising medical properties. But it was caught in the beam—”
“—and split me from my body,” Jim finished. “What a little thing, to cause so much distress.”
There. “Indeed, Captain,” Spock said, moving his pawn.
“Oh, no.” Jim looked down at the board. “Spock, what have you done?”
“Checked you, I believe,” Spock began, and watched as Jim moved his rook in from out of nowhere.
“Checkmate,” Jim said, and one of these days Spock was going to stop losing to a messy, illogical human in a simple game of chess.
“But not today,” Jim responded to the unspoken thought. “I just can’t believe it took something like this to bring us together.”
Spock decided to allow himself a small, indulgent smile, here. “T’hy’la,” he intoned, reaching for Jim’s hand, “I believe I would have found you in every universe. I belong by your side, remember?”
“We belong with one another,” Jim corrected, touching his fingers to Spock’s. “Even if you cheat at chess.”
Spock shrugged. “In a competition where one side must emerge the winner, and one side has an advantage that does not technically oppose the rules, only a fool would refuse to use that advantage.”
“That,” Jim said. “Or someone who’s good at chess.”
“I will not have my name besmirched in my own quarters,” Spock said, enjoying the smile breaking out over Jim’s face.
"Yes, you will," said Jim, pressing his fingers to Spock's once again.
"Yes," Spock repeated softly. "I believe I will, t'hy'la."