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Kirk emerges from his sonic shower with a sigh of relief, glad the day is coming to an end. Something has been prickling over the usual easy efficiency of his crew, and it's started between Uhura and Spock. He doesn't think it's a fight - there hasn't been one since their breakup so long ago - but it's tension and worry and Uhura shooting meaningful glances at him throughout her shift. Spock, for some reason, has fallen back into his routine of cool stoicism, and the sudden shift from what had been an easier, friendlier working relationship has bothered the whole crew.
Spock is sitting at the edge of his bed, which isn't surprising after so many years together, but what is surprising is the fact that he's fully dressed. Usually he's either naked or clad in a pair of Federation-issue pajama pants in some weak attempt at modesty before Kirk removes them. On top of that, he's sitting in that uncomfortable, ramrod-straight way of his that indicates something has gone terribly wrong.
Kirk sits next to him, legs sprawled every which way. "You and Uhura bickering?"
"We had a discussion earlier in our shift, but I would hardly classify it as 'bickering.' A disagreement, perhaps." Kirk can't figure out that tone of voice. It's eerily similar to when he first met him at his hearing, distant and detached.
"It's got her looking at me like I should be fixing something."
"There is nothing to fix." Finally, there's a hint of something in that voice. But it's a something that makes Kirk's heart twinge, and his hand goes to the small of Spock's back in an attempt to be comforting.
"What happened?"
Spock fidgets for a moment - and that's troublesome on its own, the fact that he's bothered enough to fidget - before reaching for his communicator. They were upgraded recently; they have the ability to save several hundred messages to replay at any time. He fiddles with the buttons before handing it to Kirk.
A small holovideo of Sarek appears looking especially solemn and severe. "Spock," Sarek begins with a nod of his head, and then he launches into a speech that makes Kirk's stomach clench:
"We have made every effort to ensure that all of our people make the journey to New Vulcan so that we may establish our colony. There are far fewer Vulcans left than any of us expected. We had estimated that only ten thousand of us remain; our latest census indicates our numbers are less than five thousand. As a result, bonding rituals and reproduction have become our highest priorities in reestablishing ourselves.
"I am, as you know, aware of your relationship with your Captain. Were our people not so endangered I would not ask this of you. But with the future of the Vulcan race in dire jeopardy, I must request that you return to New Vulcan to take part in the koon-ut-kal-if-fee with a new mate of our choosing.
"Remember, Spock, that currently our race is an endangered one. Vulcans must make every effort to ensure it does not become an extinct one."
Sarek holds up his hand in the usual V formation. "Live long and prosper."
The words are dead weight in Kirk's gut as the holovideo of Sarek blips out. He hands back the communicator wordlessly, unable to think of something to say.
"Uhura was on the bridge when I received the message," Spock explains quietly. "She felt it necessary to make her opinion on the matter understood."
"What was her opinion?" It's hard to get the words out; he's developed a sudden case of cotton mouth.
"She encouraged that I ignore the missive or explain to my father that I cannot take part in the ritual."
For some reason, that surprises him. Uhura has always been just a little bit sharp with him ever since he took up with Spock, never quite believing Kirk really wanted him. To hear her voice her support is a pleasant shock in the midst of his utter terror. "And what was your opinion?"
Spock, who up to this point has been relaxing into the hand at his back, goes stiff again. The silence goes on uncomfortably long before he speaks. "I do not wish to see my people endangered."
And here it is, the moment Kirk has been dreading for years. The moment where his belief that this has been too good to last proves correct. How can he possibly stand up to hundreds, thousands of years of cultural history that should be passed on? "Then you should go," he says quietly, and he's proud of himself for keeping his voice so steady.
Spock turns on him as though he's been physically assaulted, his eyes dark and burning and almost accusatory. "You truly believe the matter to be as simple as this?"
"Fuck no it isn't simple, Spock," he snarls, rolling to his feet so he can pace. He can't stay still for this conversation or he'll go out of his mind. "Sarek made it pretty damn clear that it isn't about what you - what we - want. It's not about being simple. It's about making a load of Vulcan babies so that there'll be new generations of pointy-eared bastards squashing down their emotions for years to come." He's not fighting fair and he knows it, but he can't bring himself to care when his gut feels like it's about to go into reverse.
Spock catches his wrist in a bruising grip, pulling him closer so he can hear the man almost hiss, "You would begrudge my people their survival?"
Kirk winces at the grip. The pain throbbing through his wrist cuts through the instinctive temper, and he has to admit to himself that he's on the losing side here. He threads his fingers into Spock's hair, the gesture gentle and reassuring even as his other wrist is being crushed. "No. I wouldn't." The words seem to tame something in Spock's eyes, and he releases Kirk's hand, arms falling uselessly to his sides. "We'll chart a course for New Vulcan tomorrow."
Spock looks ... lost, somehow. As if he expected more of a fight. As if he hoped for more of a fight. "Yes, Captain," he whispers.
"Jim," Kirk responds, and he finds himself pushing Spock back into the sheets, crawling over him and straddling his hips, a part of his temper flaring up again. "God damn it, Spock, you don't get to go back to 'Yes, Captain' now."
"Jim," Spock returns quietly, reverently, grabbing his hips so hard that Kirk can already feel the bruises forming. "Jim," he says again, pulling both of them into the middle of the bed, spreading his legs so Kirk can settle between them. "Jim," he whispers brokenly into the side of his neck, eyes squeezed shut as if he's in pain.
Kirk stops talking. He doesn't know what he'd say anyhow, and they can say plenty without speaking a word. He makes short work of Spock's uniform, shucking his pajama pants into the same careless pile. His hands are everywhere - in the fine black hair, tracing the pointed ears, tracing roughly along his ribs until he can feel the heartbeat on the right side. He doesn't kiss him so much as mark him, teeth digging in at his collarbone, around each nipple, at the tender skin just above his navel, around the slight jut of a hipbone. He needs to see evidence of himself on Spock's body, needs to see the years of learning him, loving him before it's all taken away from him.
There is nothing gentle left in either of them. While Kirk brands his body with sharp bites and bruises, Spock digs blunt nails into his shoulders and arms and scrapes downward, tongue pressing into the thin lines of red and shuddering at the taste. "T'hy'la," he whimpers into Kirk's ear, spearing fingers into his hair and pulling sharply so they're face to face again.
The pain shivers through Kirk's nervous system, indistinguishable from pleasure. "Yeah," he whispers back, voice gone hoarse and broken.
"I want-" Spock starts, licking his lips and correcting himself. "I need you in me." Kirk nods, reaching for his dresser where he keeps their collection of lubrication. Spock grabs his wrist, the sudden strength in the grip causing the bones to ache again. "No."
"Gonna hurt if we don't," he rasps, and feels like an idiot for saying it. They already hurt. It's pervading, all-encompassing, impossible to think of anything else.
Spock spreads his legs impossibly wider, hitching one around Kirk's hip. "I do not want the memory of this encounter to fade."
He can't help the way his hips cant forward, the way his cock presses up against him without pressing into him. "I-" A part of him doesn't want Spock to remember the pain. He wants him to remember the bruises, the branding, the wanting. He doesn't want him to hurt.
"Please, Jim," comes the heated whisper in his ear, and Kirk can't possibly deny him.
He lets himself push forward, breaching the impossibly tight muscle and watching the breath fly out of Spock's chest with a hiss. He tries to ignore it, pushing into him slowly, carefully, until he's fully sheathed in him.
Spock's chest is heaving and tinged all over with a green flush under mottled green bruises, severe eyebrows knit together against the burn of penetration. He shifts around uncomfortably, every move of his body indicating that it wants to throw Kirk off and recover, but Spock's bone-crushing grip on him speaks otherwise.
"Jim," he whispers again, and there's an aching want in that word that pierces through Kirk, makes something in him bleed. He thrusts forward, trying for an angle that drives into his prostate, for something that will distract him from the burn. He must have succeeded because Spock's mouth drops open and a long groan escapes.
And then there's nothing but the joining of their bodies: the scratching and scrabbling of their hands, the heavy thrusting of their hips, the rough gasps and hitching in their breath. It's hard and painful, bruising and aching, and when Kirk comes he can hear Spock whimpering at the burn of semen against raw and damaged tissue. He reaches between them to stroke Spock to completion, and the shuddering and the mess has never felt so empty before.
Kirk pulls out of him almost too quickly after that, wincing when it forces another whimper from Spock. He settles next to him, one arm looped tightly around his waist, his free hand cupped around his cheek, their foreheads pressed together as if they can will themselves into one being.
There are a million things Kirk wants to say. Things like, "I love you." Things like, "Sweetheart" or "T'hy'la." Things like, "Let's run away to a deserted planet where no one can find us."
What he says instead is, "Get some sleep. We'll go tomorrow."
Spock doesn't say a word. He rests his fingers against Kirk's temple as if to mind meld with him, then thinks better of it. He nods minutely, fingers resting against Kirk's chest instead, and they drop off into a restless sleep.
*******
"Yes, Captain." Chekov looks worried, his gaze darting nervously from Spock's station to Kirk's chair.
"Chart a course for New Vulcan."
He can feel the eyes of every crew member on him. All except Spock, who keeps his gaze firmly on his own viewscreen. He keeps forgetting how quickly rumors spread aboard a starship.
"Captain, we have no official business pressing on New Vulcan," Uhura says, her eyes accusing.
"We do now. A member of our crew wants to go home." If his voice hitches on the word 'home,' the crew is smart enough to ignore it. "Ensign," he repeats with a little more urgency.
"Yes, Captain." It takes him longer than it should to type in the coordinates, as if he's waiting for someone to stop him, but moments later they're at maximum warp.
With the Enterprise hurtling towards New Vulcan, Kirk finds that he simply can't stand to stay and watch. "I'm going to Sick Bay to inform Doctor McCoy of the change in plans," he announces. "Sulu, you have command."
"Yes, sir."
No one asks why he doesn't simply use the intercom.
*******
"Tell me again why you're pretending this isn't all fucked up?" Bones mutters. He's been the best friend Kirk could ask for, grimacing and drinking and mock-gagging his way through every conversation involving Kirk and Spock up until this point ("Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a sex therapist!"), and turning into the staunch support he needs now that it's all gone to hell.
"I'm not pretending. It is all fucked up." Kirk takes another swig from his glass, dropping it back to the table for a refill. "But he needs to do it."
"You know half breeds tend to be sterile, right?" Kirk can't even muster up the energy to be offended by the terminology. "He's lucky he was born at all with the differences between their physiology and ours, and there's a damn good chance he's been shooting blanks his whole life."
"Doesn't matter. If there's any chance that he can reproduce, he'll do it."
"And you're just fine with all this. No problem with him picking up some Vulcan chick to pop out his spawn."
"Yeah, I'm fine with it."
"Bullshit!" Bones slams down his glass with enough force to make the bottle wobble a bit. He grabs it and fills both their glasses again. "Damn it, Jim, the first person you ever attempt monogamy for is ditching you for a wife he's never met and kids he can't even make and you're fine with that?"
"No, I'm not fucking fine with that." He tosses back another gulp of bourbon and it burns down his throat. "But it's his life, his people. If he needs to be there trying to make babies for the good of the species, I'm not going to stop him. I've been in the way of his plans on New Vulcan ever since they found a new planet to colonize. It stops now."
"The hell you have," Bones growls, and he accidentally takes a swig from the bottle rather than his glass. "He had his chance to stay there after the Narada was blown apart. He chose to stay with us. I'm no expert in self-repressed Vulcan bullshit, but I'm pretty sure that means he'd rather be with us."
"Yeah, well, that was before he learned there were only five thousand of them left." He leans back in his chair, head dropping back and staring at the ceiling. "Look, Bones, it's killing me trying to be mature about this. I'd love to head down to Engineering and have Scotty start wrecking up the dilithium crystals so we can't go anywhere. But he told me this is what he wants. So we're going."
Bones stays seethingly silent for a moment, glaring at the space next to his glass. Finally he grabs it and mutters, "To the fuckers who leave us."
Kirk gives a weak, trembling sort of smile then, grabs his glass and downs the rest in one gulp. "Where're the alcohol diffusers? I've gotta go play Federation Captain in front of Sarek soon."
*******
He sees everything in crystal clarity and wishes he didn't, because then it wouldn't be so painfully obvious that something in Spock has changed. He doesn't casually reach out to touch Kirk's shoulder. They don't brush accidentally against each other. There are no more conversations in meaningful glances over the rest of the crew's heads. Spock steadfastly refuses to meet his gaze at all, his posture stiff and rigid, open to no one. Years of easy comfort and familiarity have vanished forever, and he's back to being the cold professional that infuriated him so much during their dealings with Nero. Even Uhura seems put off by the sudden shift in their first officer, keeping close to Kirk as if drawing support from his presence.
Sarek graciously gives them a set of rooms to stay in while they prepare Spock for his koon-ut-kal-if-fee. Kirk can't bear to be a part of that circus, so he orders Uhura to stay with him (not that it would have mattered, because she seems determined not to leave him alone despite his new attitude towards the crew) and he wanders all over the colony.
What they've managed to build so far is impressive, but it's nowhere near the technological advances that were apparent on Vulcan. Buildings and rooms are nothing so much as caves, some occurring naturally in the rock and some carved out through other means. He sees no evidence of the strange pods used in Spock's earlier education, but he does stumble upon a group of children surrounded by Vulcan men and women, each of them rattling off a question and the children answering more or less in unison.
That group of maybe four dozen are the only children he sees. He finds a few teenagers, tall and skinny and severe, and a smattering of young mothers with toddlers, but it becomes painfully obvious that they're a dying race. It's obvious in the lack of little ones at mothers' hips, at the tiny makeshift classroom with only a half dozen teachers barking out formulas and histories. It's obvious in the faces of the older ones; they look pained and pinched under those stoic Vulcan masks, worried for the future of their people.
And surrounded by those faces, those masks, that sense of restrained anxiety and fear, Kirk sees that he can't stand in the way of this kind of progress.
He returns to his room, feeling much older somehow for being here.
*******
Kirk has to squeeze Uhura's arm to keep her from glaring too obviously.
"She doesn't even like him," Uhura hisses at him as they walk back to their rooms.
"How can you tell?" Kirk mutters. All the Vulcans are like that here, composed and detached. He misses seeing warmth in dark eyes, relaxation in the line of rigid shoulders.
"Spock told me their history. They grew up together. She was engaged to a man named Stonn, but he died when Vulcan was destroyed. Spock is essentially her back-up plan. She's only going through with it for the good of the species."
He can't help snorting at that. "At least they're marrying for the same reasons."
Uhura looks horrified. "You can not be joking about this."
He follows her into her quarters, collapsing roughly into an uncomfortably stiff chair. "It's not a joke. She's doing it to increase the reproduction ratio around here. So's Spock. Common ground's always good if you insist on having a ball and chain."
She looks as though she'd like to punch him. He'd almost welcome that. She clearly needs to take her temper out on someone. "How can you let him do this?"
He raises an eyebrow at that, an unconscious mimic of Spock. "You wanna try and stop him? Go right ahead."
"I'm not the one he developed a bond with," she returns furiously. "In fact, I'm the one who got dumped in the wake of that new bond and I'm angrier than you are."
Usually this is where he argues the matter and points out that it was an amicable split that occurred before he and Spock did anything that could have been construed as cheating on Uhura. But he's too damned exhausted for that. "Have you seen any of what's going on on this planet?"
"Besides the reconstruction and the desperation?"
He nods. "That's exactly what I mean. There are five thousand Vulcans left. I don't think I saw more than a hundred children today, if that." He lets that number sink in for a moment. "Maybe there's more. Maybe they're in groups all over the colony and I only saw one of them. Either way, it's still not enough to keep the population steady for the next generation, much less the generations following."
She sits next to him, apparently calm enough now to stop standing and glaring at him. "Vulcan pairs usually only produce one or two children," she murmurs. "In the past few hundred years they sometimes didn't produce any and devoted themselves to other pursuits instead. If they don't start producing at a higher rate..."
"There won't be any left in the next few hundred years," he finishes the thought.
She's quiet for a moment, shaking her head at her own thoughts. "I still don't see how you can just ... let him go."
He shrugs. He doesn't care to get into a long discussion about feelings and emotions with the woman Spock had to hurt to come to him. In fact, he doesn't really want to talk about his feelings with anyone, and he longs for another bottle of bourbon with Bones. He rallies to finish the discussion. "I've kept him from New Vulcan long enough. He's wanted to come here ever since we finished with Nero. He only stayed because..." He's unsure of how to continue without telling her about his experiences on Delta Vega.
She manages to smirk at him. "I know about Ambassador Spock, Captain."
It's a palpable relief, not to have to skirt the issue or try to explain it. "How?"
"It came up during Spock's report to Admiral Pike."
Oh. In that case, the whole crew probably knows by now. Since the universe hasn't come to a screeching halt, he continues. "The Ambassador stayed here in his place to start up the new colony. But this is something only our Spock can do. I'm not going to keep him from what he feels he needs to do."
She gives him a look he can't decipher. "I don't know if I should be pissed at you for not fighting this harder, or proud of you for letting him go."
"You should probably stick with being pissed," Kirk mutters, standing and making his exit. "I know I am."
*******
"The Lieutenant is asleep."
The voice is cold, aloof, distant, and it sets his heart beating wildly in his chest. He rolls out of his bed instantly, standing just in time to see Spock enter.
It's been a little over a day since Sarek's missive was received, but it feels like weeks since he's seen Spock, ages since he's been able to touch and talk and feel. He clamps down on the urge to throw his arms around him and drag him to bed, convince him not to go through with this. "Something wrong?" he asks, and he doesn't care if he sounds as if he's hoping for some kind of disaster.
"I merely wished to inform you of a ritual which will require your presence tomorrow."
Spock won't look at him, keeps his gaze locked either on the floor or on the far wall. His posture is absolutely wooden, so unyielding that he looks as if he'll break if he makes a wrong move. His face is utterly frozen in place, telling Kirk nothing.
He's a stranger in a familiar body, and it makes something in him bleed all over again. "What do you need?" he asks, and what little hope he had is gone.
"In order to facilitate a telepathic connection with T'Pring at the koon-ut-kal-if-fee tomorrow, it appears a ... previous connection must be severed." His breath hitches in the middle and his spine tenses further, if it's even possible.
Kirk isn't stupid enough to pretend he doesn't know what's happening here. "They want to erase anything that links your mind to mine."
He hesitates before answering as if he's tempted to launch into a long, wordy lecture about Vulcan ceremonies and traditions. He visibly stops himself. "Yes."
He rubs distractedly at his chest as if to stem the nonexistent wound gaping open there, lowering himself to sit at the foot of the uncomfortably stiff bed. "Do they get rid of all the memories you have of me?"
There's a brief moment where a wrinkle flickers between Spock's eyebrows, where the corners of his lips seem to turn down for the barest second, but it's gone almost before Kirk can process it being there at all. "The ritual is meant to purge only my previous telepathic connections created through the use of a mind meld. Memories should not be adversely affected."
Kirk isn't sure how he feels about that. A part of him is glad that he's not being erased from Spock's existence, that he'll remember him and remember what they had. Another part of him thinks it might be easier if Spock forgot they ever knew each other.
Another part is still bleeding, bleeding, bleeding, and he can barely breathe around it.
"What time?" he whispers hoarsely.
"At 0700 by Federation standards."
It's four hours from now. He doesn't know how he'll spend the time. He can't sleep through this kind of pain unless he has Bones beam down with some heavy-duty sedatives. "I'll be there."
Spock says nothing in response, turning on his heel to leave the room. It rips into Kirk that this is the last time he'll have Spock to himself, and he finds himself reaching out to grab his wrist.
There's a quiet gasp that must have come from Spock, because Kirk can't feel any air left in his lungs. He doesn't understand how touch-telepathy works for Vulcans, can never be sure what Spock is getting from him whenever they touch like this. But he takes the moment to pour everything he's feeling through that one point of contact, the sorrow for what they've lost and everything he gained by virtue of being Spock's colleague, Spock's friend, Spock's lover.
Spock turns his head so Kirk can't see his face, wrenching his wrist out of his grasp, and exits as quickly as he can manage without breaking into a full-out run.
Kirk stares after him for a long time before picking up his communicator. "Bones."
"Someone better be fucking dying. Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Beam down. Bring the bourbon."
There's a long silence. Then, "Yes, Captain."
*******
Morning comes with a soft pattering sound on the rock, and Kirk realizes it's sprinkling. The land is so parched that the moisture is gone the moment it hits the ground, but it's a comforting sound in the midst of so much chaos. He wonders vaguely if it ever rained on Vulcan, wonders if it's yet another change to hundreds of years of history.
Bones jabs him with one of his energizing hyposprays designed to keep him running for a few hours despite having almost no sleep. The fact that he uses one at all says something, because they're usually kept under lock and key in his office. Kirk must really be looking like hell for Bones to be sticking him with it.
Uhura arrives to collect them, and she seems unsurprised to see Bones with him. They dress, straighten their uniforms, and make for the temple without speaking so much as a word between them.
The temple is built almost like a pyramid with a large orb balanced at the peak. Uhura murmurs something that sounds like, "Kol-ut-shan," but Kirk can't help but feel that it looks just like one of the pins Spock sometimes wears on his uniform. The inside is sparse and severe, much like Spock's quarters on the Enterprise, but he takes no comfort from what he finds inside.
Spock and Sarek are at the back of the building having some sort of conversation that borders on looking displeased. T'Pring is sitting on a long pew nearby, fingers laced firmly in her lap, not looking at her future husband or father-in-law. There are Vulcans scattered throughout the building, some sitting patiently to wait for the ceremony, some standing in corners whispering, many of them staring at Kirk, Uhura, and Bones.
"What are we, the freak show?" Bones snarls.
"They're not used to having humans among them," Uhura reminds him.
They continue to bicker back and forth when Kirk spots a familiar face among the crowd. He slips away in between an argument about confronting the gawkers, making his way to the last pew in the temple.
"I had wondered if I might see an old friend here," comes the rumbling voice he knows so well. It's older, has more gravel to it, and it's the closest thing he's heard to warmth in days.
"Ambassador," he returns with a nod of the head, sitting next to him without waiting for an invitation. "Came to see yourself get hitched?"
"I came to observe the proceedings," is the careful answer.
Kirk waves vaguely at the back of T'Pring's head. "You marry her in your universe?"
The older Spock's lips twitch up in amusement, and it's comforting to see a Vulcan who doesn't immediately try to squash down an expression. "I came dangerously close to doing so." At Kirk's raised eyebrow, he continues. "We were bonded as children. When I returned to Vulcan for my pon farr, she invoked the right of kal-if-fee." Seeing the confusion on Kirk's face, he clarifies: "She demanded that I engage in battle for the right to bond with her permanently."
"Who'd you have to beat up for the privilege?" Kirk asks, and he's smiling for the first time in days.
"You," Spock replies, and Kirk lets out a short bark of laughter that echoes in the stark silence of the temple. He tries not to care about the other Vulcans staring at him in shock.
"How badly did you kick my ass?"
"I believed for a short time that I had killed you. Doctor McCoy had drugged you without my knowledge such that it appeared I had won the battle."
He wishes he could have seen that. It sounds a lot more interesting and exciting than what's going on here. "So you married her after you killed me?"
"I asked her why she demanded that I fight my Captain - my friend - for the right to have her hand. She informed me she had mutual feelings of affection for a young man named Stonn and had hoped the outcome of the battle would end in her favor, allowing her to bond with the man she chose rather than the one chosen for her."
Kirk blinks at the name. "Uhura told me she used to be engaged - betrothed, whatever it is - to a guy named Stonn, but he died when Vulcan..." He doesn't finish the sentence. Spock knows all too well. "This is her back-up, or her way of doing her duty to her people."
Spock nods in agreement. "I can believe that of a younger T'Pring who has lost the one she loved." He's silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "How will you schedule Spock's visits to his new mate to ensure they are fulfilling their obligations to our society?"
Kirk tries hard not to laugh; he can't believe Spock's just asked when they're going to be dropping off his younger counterpart for conjugal visits. "He's staying," he explains, and some of the humor wears off when he says it out loud. He still can't quite believe this is happening.
Apparently neither can the Ambassador, turning to stare at him in shock. "He is not returning to the Enterprise?"
"No. He's staying here so he can help recolonize."
"But the Enterprise needs him. You need a first officer. You need a science officer."
He tries for a charming grin, knows it's a failure by the look in Spock's eyes. "You looking for a new job?"
"Spock should be on the Enterprise," the Ambassador says firmly, brushing off the joke with a wave of his hand.
"In another universe, he would have been," Kirk murmurs, watching as Sarek greets an older Vulcan woman in ceremonial robes. Apparently the ritual is about to begin. "In another universe, his mother never died and Vulcan wasn't destroyed. He wasn't part of an endangered species." He shrugs helplessly. "It's a different reality, now."
Kirk sees Sarek beckoning him out of the corner of his eye and he stands, feeling as though he's about to face his executioner. He squeezes the Ambassador's shoulder affectionately, turning to exit the pew when he hears that old, gravely voice again. "In my reality," Spock says quietly so that only the two of them can hear, "I returned to the Enterprise after my altercation with T'Pring and spent the remainder of my years at the Captain's side. That is as it should be, no matter what other complications arise."
He manages a weak smile. "As it should be," he repeats quietly, nodding to show he's heard the man before heading off to deal with his younger counterpart. It strikes him as odd that the bride is already at the front of the temple and he's the one walking down the aisle with all eyes fixed on him.
He stands in front of Sarek and the older Vulcan woman, arms crossed over his chest and awaiting orders. Sarek acknowledges him with a slight nod. "Captain Kirk. This is T'Pau, one of the Vulcan elders. She has agreed to oversee the telepathic purge as well as the koon-ut-kal-if-fee."
He can hear an uncomfortable movement somewhere in the temple, sees Uhura and Bones shifting in their seats as if to stand next to him for support. He keeps them in their place with a glance. "T'Pau," he repeats to show he's heard the speech, and because he can't bring himself to say it's a pleasure to meet her.
If he's broken etiquette somehow, the Vulcans don't react to it. Sarek instead turns to his son, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "Spock. I wish to inform you how proud I am of your decision to return to your people. You have spent many years diverted by a perhaps understandable interest in human pursuits," and here his gaze turns meaningfully to Kirk, "and I am grateful you have put aside that interest in order to fulfill your obligation to your people."
Kirk looks over Sarek's shoulder at Spock's face, and he's shocked by the wildness in his eyes. It twists frighteningly in his gut, too reminiscent of the look on his face when Kirk was goading him on about the death of his mother so many years ago. Spock's face appears impassive but those dark eyes are feral, furious, and Kirk hesitates to step forward when T'Pau beckons him to do so.
Sarek leans forward to impart one last word of wisdom before his son is bonded to another, voice pitched low and meant only for Spock to hear. But Kirk is close enough that he hears him whisper, "Your mother would be proud of you."
Something shatters under the wild eyes and they go utterly blank, and Kirk realizes it's even more terrifying than the earlier savagery. He fights down the urge to wince when Spock's fingers find the contact points on his face necessary for a mind meld, obeying whatever orders T'Pau has been giving in Vulcan.
Kirk's not sure what makes him do it. It could be the horrifying blankness in Spock's face. It could be part of the ritual he's unconsciously responding to. But he sets his fingers at Spock's temple, thumb caressing over his cheekbone as he awaits the ritual's passing.
He expects a migraine to tear through his skull, expects pain and too-bright lights and the sudden absence of a connection he feels even when they're across the room from each other. He's prepared to hurt, prepared to clench his jaw so they won't hear him cry out.
He isn't prepared for Spock's mind passing into his own with an ease born of years of familiarity. He isn't prepared for the sudden onslaught of emotion thundering through his skull, pulling him under waves of devotion and loyalty. He sees Spock's fury as a black and tangible thing, but it's not directed at him. The only thing directed at him is Jim and love you and t'hy'la.
He isn't sure what he's projecting back. Shock, that's an absolute certainty, but his emotions are jumbled between the euphoria of having Spock in his mind one last time, the desperation to keep him there, the grief at losing him like this.
It's over as suddenly as it began. Spock's mind recedes from him, but his fingers are still curled over Kirk's temple. There's steel in his gaze now, a determination he recognizes. In the periphery of his vision he sees Spock's free hand drop to Kirk's utility belt, grabbing his communicator. "Lieutenant Scott."
"Aye, Commander," comes the familiar Scottish accent.
"Beam us up."
The bright beams of light are already surrounding them when Scotty's cheerful, "Aye!" echoes through the temple.
*******
They walk in on Chekov trying desperately to explain something to the viewscreen in nervous, broken English, Sulu nudging him whenever he reverts to Russian in his panic to speak with the individual. Uhura rushes to her station, Kirk to his chair, Bones following him and muttering to himself.
"I demand to speak with my son," comes the furious voice from Chekov's console, and it's the first time Kirk has heard anything but cool, quiet neutrality from Sarek.
"I am here, Father." Spock makes his way to Chekov's console, hands clasped behind his back, the very image of the stoic, collected Vulcan.
"Is there any logical reason to refuse completion of the koon-ut-kal-if-fee as you had previously agreed?"
"There are several logical reasons, Father," Spock returns coolly. "For one, I have already cemented a bond with a mate of my choosing. In Vulcan tradition, this constitutes a koon-ut-kal-if-fee that has already taken place, even if an elder was not present to oversee the rite properly."
"It is for this reason that we arranged for the purge," Sarek returns. Kirk has never heard such fury in such a quiet voice.
"Secondly," Spock continues as if he hasn't even heard his father, "T'Pring clearly does not wish to consummate a bond between the two of us due to her grief at the loss of Stonn, to whom she had been bonded previously."
"That bond was not presided over by an elder, and is therefore subject to the same conditions as your bond with the Captain. It is just as easily purged from the mind."
"Thirdly, I do not believe it wise to raise children in an environment ruled by obligation and duty rather than genuine familial love and affection." And before Sarek can raise any objection to that, he goes on. "Finally, you informed me that my mother would have been proud of me had I gone through with the koon-ut-kal-if-fee. I cannot agree. She was proud of both my Vulcan and human heritage, and I do not believe she would have supported the forced bonding of two individuals who are only taking part in the ceremony out of a sense of obligation."
Sarek pauses at that, his rage buffered by the mention of Spock's mother.
"You told me once that you married her both because it was logical and because you loved her," Spock continues. "I ask that you permit me the same freedom of choice, even in times as desperate as these."
There's something going on behind Sarek's dark eyes, but he's better at hiding it than Spock is. When he speaks, it is calmer, quieter. "You should be with your people."
"And so I am," Spock returns with an ironic nod of the head. "I will remain with the people whom I feel have greater need of me. However, as I know you do not share my opinion on the matter, I urge you to seek the services of Ambassador Spock. I believe he can assist the plight of my people as well as I can."
Sarek betrays nothing in his face, but secretly Kirk wants to laugh out loud at the utter confusion the man must be feeling. Spock is hardly an uncommon name on Vulcan, and he's willing to bet he never made the connection between his son and the older Ambassador who discovered New Vulcan. He nods slowly, his hand appearing in the traditional Vulcan greeting. "Live long and prosper," he murmurs, and then the viewscreen goes blank.
There is a heartbeat of silence on board. And then everything goes to hell.
"Captain, I have transmissions on hold from both Ambassador Spock and Lieutenant Scott," Uhura informs him. "Which would you like to address first?"
"We need to chart a new course for Andoria," Sulu jumps in. "We've had orders come in from Starfleet informing us they need rescue workers."
"Da, a terrible earthquake has destroyed several villages," Chekov adds, and his pronunciation wavers between the W and the V. "They need several search and rescue teams as soon as possible."
"You owe me two bottles of bourbon," Bones tells him, punching him affectionately on the shoulder before ambling off to the turbolift.
"Captain, there is a matter of utmost importance we must discuss at your earliest convenience," Spock tells him, and finally there's warmth in his eyes again. "I will await your presence in my quarters." And he's in the turbolift right behind Bones.
Kirk lets the usual chaos of his ship flow over him for a moment, relishing the familiarity before he springs into action. "Lieutenant Uhura."
"Yes, sir?"
"Send Lieutenant Scott's transmission to Chekov's console. Chekov can update him on the situation just as easily as the rest of us can. I'm counting on you to address Ambassador Spock's needs for the time being. Tell him the Captain is currently unavailable. Lieutenant Sulu, chart a course for Andoria at maximum warp. Contact Starfleet to tell them we're on the way." He rises from his chair, stretching the cricks out of his neck before he finishes his business. "And Sulu?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"You've got command for the time being. Don't bother me unless you've broken the ship or killed somebody."
Sulu breaks into a ridiculous grin. "Understood, sir."
Kirk makes his way to the turbolift.
*******
"T'hy'la," Spock whispers huskily against his lips when they have to part for air, pressing kisses along his jaw and and neck. "T'hy'la," he whispers again when he lips travel to Kirk's ear, nuzzling at the rounded shell with his nose.
Kirk is gasping for breath, hands fisting in the fabric still, pressing his forehead against Spock's neck and trying to get enough air in his lungs to speak. "Don't-" he starts, but it comes out hoarse and broken. He swallows a few times and tries again. "Don't pull that shit on me ever again."
"Never," comes the fierce whisper against his temple. "I could not bring myself to bond with another as I have bonded with you." Spock presses a series of kisses to each of the points he uses when he mind-melds with him. "I could not complete the purge. I could not bear to explore my own mind if it had no trace of you."
And that, Kirk knows, is the Vulcan equivalent of a sonnet. For as much as they treasure their logic, their endless stores of knowledge, their ability to be cool and collected and analytical, any verbal admission that they might want an overly emotional human mind melding with their own is the ultimate confession of love and devotion.
Kirk slides his hands under the tunic, moaning at Spock's sudden shudder. He feels like fire under his touch, which means his hands must be feeling like ice to Spock, but he makes no move to cringe away from him. Spock shrugs out of the fabric easily, fingers digging in to the back of Kirk's neck when he presses a kiss to a discolored bruise at his collarbone, fading evidence of what he thought would be their last night together. He kisses each one over his chest, every press of his lips an apology for the pain.
"Enough," Spock murmurs into his hair, grasping the hem of his uniform shirt and pulling it over his head. "No more apologies." And Kirk falls a little bit more in love with him for understanding what he was trying to do. He presses a hand against the right side of Spock's ribcage, feeling the strange sensation of a heartbeat there. "Come to bed with me," Spock whispers quietly, intimately in his ear, long fingers tugging gently at his hip.
He never verbalizes it like that, never requests anything out loud, and the words melt down Kirk's spine, making him shiver despite the overwhelming heat of the room, of Spock's skin, of their bodies together. "Yeah," he replies hoarsely, and he's following him into familiar linen sheets, kicking their shoes unceremoniously to the floor and working on removing the rest of their clothing.
It's a slow-going process because Kirk finds he can't stand to be away from the slick heat of his skin for long, pressing his chest against Spock's, tangling their legs together as soon as their pants are off, burying his face in Spock's neck and pressing hot, licking kisses there while one of Spock's hands fumbles around on his dresser. It returns slick with lubrication, fingers tracing reverently over his cock, his tightening balls, and then further back. Kirk's breath hitches in his chest as he tosses a leg over Spock, opening and exposing himself to sure, gentle fingers working over him, around him, pressing into him slowly.
Kirk groans at the first sensation of a fingertip opening him, a slur of unintelligible syllables in his ear coaxing him to relax. His toes curl in the sheets when that finger slides all the way into him, crooking against his prostate for a moment before pulling back, trying to work a second finger in with the first. He's whining and groaning against Spock's skin, and at any other time he might find it just a little bit humiliating how easily he's falling apart, but he can't bring himself to care. He shuts himself up by leaning forward for another kiss, trying to suck all the sweetness out of Spock's mouth as he works his fingers in and out of him.
"Stop," he whimpers against his lips when those knowing fingers crook against him again, back arching at the sensation. "More, I need more," he babbles, trying to press his cock up against Spock's, needing the friction, the feel of him.
Spock rolls them so Kirk is flat on his back, pressed against cool linen on one side and burning Vulcan skin on the other, hands never breaking contact with him. He hikes both legs up around Spock's hips, wrapping his legs around him securely. He doesn't care how wanton it makes him look, as long as he gets what he wants, what he needs. He fists a hand in Spock's hair desperately, the other scrabbling at his back. "Please," he whispers against his ear, trailing his lips along Spock's jaw. "Please, oh please..." Spock's the only partner he's ever had who can reduce him to begging for it.
Spock pulls back to line his hips up properly, and then he's piercing into him, splitting him open as he pushes his cock into him, the stretch of it making Kirk shudder and dig his fingers into Spock's shoulders, desperate for more contact, more skin, more heat, more anything. He lets out a thin, needy moan when he feels Spock's groin pressed right up against him, the throb of his cock pulsing against his insides, the heaving of his chest pushing him further into the bed. "Spock," he whimpers, twitching and shivering under him, trying to make him move.
Spock licks his lips and tries to say something, shaking his head when all he can manage is a groan. He circles his hips against him, pressing and rubbing, teasing him as he tries again. Finally he shakes his head, unable to speak, trailing his fingers up Kirk's arm, over his shoulder, along the tight cords in his neck, finally settling over his face. He murmurs something in slurred Vulcan, and Kirk doesn't recognize any of the words but he nods breathlessly anyway. It doesn't matter what he's saying; anything Spock wants, Kirk will gladly give him just to keep him here, keep him close.
He penetrates Kirk's mind at the same time he pulls back and thrusts smoothly into him, the dual sensations making him cry out and attempt to pull him closer. He's overwhelmed by the sudden torrent of feeling thundering through him. There's no tangible evidence of Spock's anger now, nothing to distract him from what he wants, and Kirk is drowning in the sensations of longing, loyalty, love. He tries to drive all that he is back at that downpour of emotion, the way he bled to see Spock pushing him away, the pain at seeing him detach himself from their life together, the desperation to see warmth in his eyes and pleasure in his face. He shows him without words all that he's meant to Kirk; the capable officer who has his back in a fight, the scholar who breaks down his plans and rebuilds them into something better, the man who makes the Enterprise feel like home, the lover who makes him feel devotion and passion in ways he never imagined he could.
There's a hitching, shuddering gasp coming from one of them, and Spock is thrusting into him with a madness he's only seen in him during his pon farr. He can't hold out anymore, can't make it last, and with a sharp cry Kirk is gone, coming in hot spurts all over Spock's stomach, breath dragging out of him in a hoarse whimper when he senses through the mind meld the moment when Spock comes with him. He feels dizzy, giddy, drunk on sensation as Spock manages to keep their minds connected as they ride their orgasms together, and he can't remember or care which one of them is which anymore.
Spock's strength gives out on him and he collapses on top of Kirk without a trace of his characteristic elegance, clinging to him like a lifeline. Kirk lets him, encourages him, wraps an arm around his back and threads a hand into his hair to keep him close, inhaling the sweaty, musky scent of him.
They shiver and quake together for what seems like an inordinately long period of time. Spock's fingers eventually slide from Kirk's temple to rest over his heart. They rearrange themselves more comfortably, Spock slipping out of him and then tangling their legs together to keep them pressed close together, his head resting against Kirk's shoulder.
Kirk enjoys the serene silence of the moment for a long time before he attempts to speak. "What changed your mind?" he asks quietly.
He can feel Spock's mouth brushing against his skin when he replies. "I do not believe my mind was ever made up one way or the other. Taking part in the koon-ut-kal-if-fee with T'Pring seemed the logical thing to do, even if it was not what I wished to do." He moves back enough to pull himself up so they're lying face to face, pressing his forehead against Kirk's. "However, I believe the catalyst of my decision to return to the Enterprise was my father's last words before the purge."
He has to chuckle at that. "It's all about your mother with you, isn't it?"
Spock doesn't laugh with him, but the corners of his lips relax and slowly form into a warm smile. "She was a fascinating, brilliant woman for whom I have the utmost respect and love. I am certain she would not have supported my father's plan."
Kirk smiles with him, tangling his fingers with Spock's over his chest. "You think she would've approved of us?"
"You are overly emotional, reckless, loud, and utterly without tact when you decide it is not worth your energy." The apparent insults are belied by an arm around his waist pulling him impossibly closer. "You are also capable of understanding Vulcan mannerisms, willing to do anything to protect those you consider family, and loyal to the death. Therefore, yes, I do think she would have approved."
"Thanks, I think." Kirk leans into him with a quiet murmur of contentment, drifting lazily into sleep surrounded by everything he loves and everything he needs.