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“oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me”
(from Tintern Abbey, Wordsworth)
Years later, Kirk still felt a thrill of apprehension getting into a turbolift or elevator. Not fear, not anxiety, just a vague, strange sort of quivering in the pit of his stomach that reminded him of old fears. The feeling didn’t happen if Spock was with him, but Spock so seldom was, during the routine daily work that took him around StarFleet Headquarters.
“Do you suppose that’s why I chose this apartment, Spock?” he asked once, after telling his bondmate about the fluttering feeling he’d experienced that day while using an elevator in a nearby shopping complex. “Because of the stairs?”
“Perhaps it did affect you, subconsciously. However, that is moot. The apartment is convenient for both of us, proximate to our place of employment, and aesthetically pleasing.” Spock joined him at the window wrapped his long arms around Jim’s chest. “If the sensation bothers you...”
“It doesn’t bother me. You’ve taken care of that. It just... surprises me at the oddest times.” He shuddered, remembering the mindless terror he’d felt, so long ago. “First time for many things. No, I owe a lot to turbolifts. I don’t mind a little discomfort now and then.”
“I find that the association, for me, is rather more pleasant than otherwise. It might even be interesting to repeat the experience.”
“Including the injuries and the smoke, lover? Didn’t anyone ever tell you ‘you can never go home again’?” He turned around and lifted his head to be kissed. Spock obliged, taking the conversation inward.
/That is along the line of ‘never drinking from the same river twice?’ Mmmmm, you have been eating chocolate./
Much later Spock watched his mate sleeping, undisturbed by dreams or fears. The Vulcan loved the abandon that was Kirk, asleep. Sprawled over most of the bed, all his muscles loose, the covers thrust aside... the covers that were for Spock’s comfort. Kirk never complained of the heat, insisted on keeping the bedroom at a uniform 28 degrees for Spock’s comfort. So much in their lives, done for each other’s comfort.
For so long now. 20 years? “Twenty one years, seven months, twenty three point 5 days standard,” he said softly, his innate time sense still ticking over on Federation Standard time. Terran Mean Time. Zulu. Whatever. “Whatever?” he asked himself.
“Turbolifts.” The bedroom was large. All the rooms were large. The bathroom was as large as the kitchen. “You are as beautiful to me today as you were then,” he whispered to the sleeping man, then let his mind roll back to that day in orbit around Deneb 4. It should have been routine, picking up delegates for a conference. Engineer Scott had completed the modifications to the guest decks to accommodate their high-gravity occupants, new technology that Scotty had fussed over and complained about. “It’s just not right, Mr. Spock. There’s somethin’ amiss in the equations, but I canna put my finger on it.”
“The installation appears to be functioning correctly. I, for one, am extremely uncomfortable in these quarters.” He disliked the sensation of being more than double his normal weight. “It uses considerably less power than the old system, is far more efficient in distribution, and...”
“Very well, Mr. Spock,” the captain had cut in. “I don’t like being heavy either. Shall we repair to the bridge?”
Young. Spock fought the sensation to cross to the bed and touch the sleeping man. They’d both been so young then. Too new to each other to understand that an uneasy feeling in Montgomery Scott was to be treated like a full red alert. Too new to one another’s species to have breached the barrier of duty and companionship, and moved on to friendship. Despite... despite one young Vulcan’s feelings toward his captain...
“If you come across anything to support that intuition, Commander, let me know. In the meantime let’s review our course, Mr. Spock. There should be plenty of time for some efficiency drills for the youngsters.” Spock had felt his eyebrow climb then, and it did again now. For the 31 year old Captain James Kirk to refer to anyone as a ‘youngster’ was surprising. He’d followed his captain into the turbolift, unsuspecting that his life was about to change forever. No one watching them would know that he was secretly admiring the way Kirk’s pants snugged over his buttocks. He’d allowed himself, in those early days, to think of his attraction as purely aesthetic, that his feelings for Jim were similar to his feelings for a lovely piece of music, or a sculpture.
“What a silly youngster I was,” he whispered. He partially shut the door to the bedroom, leaving a hand span so that the light from the living room arrowed across the bed, and returned to his desk.
***
They were talking, discussing ship’s business. Spock remembered noting that Kirk was never still in a turbolift. He had noticed it on previous occasions. Kirk had a tendency to bounce on the balls of his feet, eyes darting around, hands clasped tightly behind his back as if to keep them out of mischief. When the lights had flickered the first time Spock saw Kirk’s whole body tense.
“What was that?”
Before he could draw breath to reply, the world fell apart. The floor beneath them twisted, there was a horrible roaring noise and Spock was swatted to the floor under a killing weight. In sudden blackness he was lifted again, flying, and then lying in a crumpled ball in the dim red haze of the emergency light, filtered through smoke. It was absolutely quiet. He strained his ears, not comprehending what could have happened, when he realized that the quiet did not include anyone’s breathing except his own.
“Jim!” He sat up, staring around. Jim was jammed between him and the wall of the lift, twisted in a strange ball, seemingly lifeless. Spock reached for him, and as he touched one shoulder Jim drew a breath, a long, agonized, choking breath. Relief flooded the Vulcan. The human must have suffered a temporary paralysis of the diaphragm, had his ‘wind knocked out’. “Captain. Are you alright?”
Careful not to jar anything, in case the captain had broken bones, Spock eased him away from the wall and onto the floor. His eyes were still shut, and his breathing was increasingly laboured. “Captain? Jim?”
“Status.” It was a shaky whisper. Spock felt a flood of relief that Kirk was alert enough to understand his surroundings.
“The turbolift is jammed, sir. From the angle of the floor I expect it will have to be disassembled to be removed. Ship’s status unknown, sir. You appear to be injured.”
“Does the comm work?”
Spock felt a flush of shame that he hadn’t considered the communicator yet. He got to his knees and skidded across the slanted floor until he could reach the buttons, unwilling to raise his centre of gravity in case there was another upheaval. “No response, sir.”
A moan brought him instantly back to Kirk’s side. Kirk’s eyes were closed tight, and he was attempting to curl into a ball on his right side. “Are you injured, sir?”
There was no response except that harsh breathing. Spock could see, even in that dim light, that Kirk was pale, and that he was trembling. “I twisted my knee, I guess,” he replied, voice cracking. “Can you get us out of here, Spock?”
Spock sat back on his heels and inspected the small space. The emergency door in the roof had half-buckled, but he doubted his ability to get Kirk up there in his condition. However, that did not preclude someone getting in or out that way. “The hatch is open and bent. I shall go and assist our rescuers. If the turbolift system is down it may take some time for them to pinpoint our location.”
“No!” It was a hoarse shout. “Don’t leave me here!”
Spock settled slowly back beside the captain, biting back the words about logic and rescue, and surveyed the shaking form. Realized, suddenly, that this was not a normal human reaction to pain that he was witnessing. This was stark, irrational terror.
***
“You are claustrophobic.” Kirk almost screamed at the Vulcan to shut up and talk about something else, anything else, help him get through this nightmare. He knew it was stupid, but it was his worst fear, stuck in a lift between decks, the ship endangered and him unable to help, injured and oh, god!
He began to retch, the pain in his knee overwhelming, the fear like a fist in his belly. Then, miracle of miracles, Spock seemed to understand.
Hot hands grasped his shoulders and held him, the hot Vulcan body scooting up to spoon behind him, hugging him tightly. “I will not leave. I will remain here with you until help arrives. The air is clearing. Soon we will be in sickbay and Doctor McCoy will be fussing over your knee. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Kirk felt the worst knots relaxing. Spock actually seemed to care, to understand that this wasn’t normal, wasn’t just... cowardice. “I don’t think so. Yes, I think I might have cracked some ribs. No! No, don’t let go. I... I’d rather be able to feel you there, then I don’t have to open my eyes.”
***
“Understood.” Spock lay quietly, holding the panting human. He let the waves of panic and shame roll over him, channeling them away to meditate on later. Strange, how cool Jim felt against Spock’s belly. “Perhaps you would like to review our flight plan now. It would distract us both from our discomfort.” He continued to talk in a soft, low monotone, stating facts, not requiring the human to do anything except listen. On another level he was reviewing his knowledge of this disorder. It was highly unusual that someone so afflicted would have made it to the rank of captain. Perhaps the triggering event had occurred after Kirk had taken command of the Enterprise.
Spock caught himself before asking, remembering from the literature that the trick was to distract the sufferer from his predicament, not to focus on it with questions about its origins. There would be plenty of time for that later. For now he was satisfied to feel the pounding pulse slow, and to feel the deep terror easing. He concentrated on speaking softly, on trying to project his own calm on the human without going to far as to invade his thoughts. Kirk would not welcome such an invasion.
Or would he? Spock did a lightening review of his options. If Kirk’s affliction became public knowledge, his days of commanding a starship would be over before they had truly begun. Human medicine still couldn’t always deal with the subconscious properly. Jim Kirk would find himself behind a desk before he’d finished his first year in space.
“Sir... Jim.” He hesitated, then the trembling in Kirk’s usually strong frame decided him. “I can assist you with this.”
“How!” It was a harsh bark, half laughter. “McCoy can’t touch it, doesn’t even dare try. How can you help.”
“McCoy...” Spock swallowed his outrage, realizing that McCoy, in breaking regulations by keeping Kirk’s problem a secret, was doing no less than Spock would in his place. And, in fact, doing less than Spock was about to propose now. He began to tell Kirk more than he’d ever told another non-Vulcan about the mind rules.
***
Jim felt himself grasping at this hope of salvation like a drowning man grasping for a life vest. He barely understood most of what Spock was saying, just the essential fact: Spock could come into his head, into his very thoughts, and take the fear away. The fear, the fear of fear itself; the debilitating, destructive... “Please. Oh, if you can make it go away, please, you know what will happen if they find out.”
He heard himself begging, couldn’t stop. It was like a litany inside, once started it had a life of its own. “please, please make it stop, please,” He kept his eyes tightly closed, grabbing at the Vulcan in renewed terror as the hot body eased away from him, “don’t go, please, make it stop, don’t leave me!”
Spock shifted his grip carefully, and Jim’s panic subsided a little as he realized Spock wasn’t moving away, just moving. He felt those hot, delicate fingers like moth’s wings on his face, and then...
Calm. The relief was so sudden and so complete that he sobbed aloud, and then went limp. He felt Spock inside him, in his thoughts, soothing and easing the areas that ached in the aftermath of fear. And gentle probing, a query... whence comes this fear? And for once Jim felt no apprehension in looking back, back to imprisonment and confinement and the nightmare vision of Doctor Roger Korby...
***
Spock made the connection before Kirk did. Korby hadn’t caused the disorder, merely triggered it, years after the fact. The original terror was deeply buried in Jim Kirk’s past, in a blocked up tunnel on Tarsus, where children died around him and he hung on grimly to life in the dark, stuffy, death-ridden nightmare of being buried alive. /and yet, you survived/
/we were rescued/ puzzlement. Who would rescue them? Who knew they were there? Kirk stiffened again, and then the answer arrowed out of the dark past, and Spock acknowledged it with wonder. /you dug yourself out,/ he offered, seeing the truth and forcing Jim to see it as well. /you dug yourself out with your hands, and you saved more than half of those with you/
/I../ Kirk’s remembered terror dissolved, turned into a terrible grief for lives lost, and a new pride at how brave his young self had been. /I did that?/
/You did that, Jim./ The Vulcan felt the wonder of Jim’s life spread out around him like a banquet. There was so much here, so many amazing things that an emotional being could experience! The temptation to explore, to use this wonderful opportunity to learn more about his mother’s people than his mother had ever taught.../you are amazing, Jim. So much experience, so much pain, and joy, and so strong/
***
Jim was floating in the aftermath of fear. He felt weightless, held and comforted by the Vulcan. Strange, that one so emotionless could understand so well. And he realized, even as the thought occurred, that Spock was far from devoid of emotion. He merely controlled his emotions, and did not allow them to rule his actions. A wave of affection flowed over him, and he was smiling in its wake before he realized that the emotion wasn’t his. And that affection was only the beginning. The hot fingers fell away from his face.
“Spock?” He opened his eyes, to see Spock’s large black ones inches from his own. Spock was the one in fear now. Jim could feel it, some sort of link between them, forged in the meld. “Why are you afraid of it?”
“You are my Captain.” Voice hoarse, as Jim’s had been earlier. “I am of Vulcan. I cannot act on such emotions. I have admired you, but... It is illogical, and it is... I have no experience of such feelings,” he finished, helplessly.
Jim’s own affection swelled up. His ever stoic first officer, his mine of information and his strong right arm. Spock loved him. It was the silliest, most illogical, sweetest thing he could imagine. He lifted his face and brushed the fire-hot lips with his own. “Let me teach you, then. Because, illogical as it sounds, I think I love you too.”
“I beg your pardon?” Jim leaned up and kissed him again, more soundly this time, and both felt the shaft of desire that shot from Spock’s crotch straight to his brain, branding them both. “Oh.” Spock collapsed onto his side, trembling.
“Shhhh, it’s alright.” He tried to sit up and gasped as the pain from his ribs struck him, hard. “Damn! I think I’m hurt worse than we thought, Spock.”
“You have,” Spock said, panting, “four broken ribs, a dislocated right kneecap, a fracture of the right tibia and a badly sprained right shoulder. I think, that if you wish to explore this further, we should wait until a more...”
“I wish to explore? I think this is something *we* wish to explore,” Kirk said, but eased himself back down, wincing. “Will you help me?”
“Sir?” Spock propped himself up again on one elbow, surveyed the battered face below his own. “You are also getting a black eye.”
“I think it’s a bit late for ‘sir’, don’t you?” he asked softly, and was rewarded by a slight quirk of the fine lips that was as close to a smile as he’d ever seen on Spock’s face. “Will you kiss me?”
“I’m unfamiliar...”
“Wing it, Mister.”
***
Spock leaned down and touched his lips to Jim’s, and for a moment was unable to breath as a shock, like electricity, ran all through his body. Desire! He’d read of it, heard people speak of it, but the experience made all descriptions pale. Then Jim opened his lips and Spock felt his tongue tracing, touching, probing. He moaned and his eyes closed. Down the link that still joined them he felt Kirk’s arousal and it fueled his own. He found himself exploring Jim’s mouth as if in hunger, then moving from the mouth to kiss the line of Jim’s jaw, lick the outlines of Jim’s ear.
Jim groaned and moved under him, and the stabs of pain made them both catch their breaths. Both acknowledged the danger of further explorations, the agreement easy to reach through their link. “Later, then,” Jim whispered. “Oh, but not too much later...”
Spock felt his brand new erection jerk at the words. He felt dizzy, anticipating this, more of this, more new... with Jim. With him.
“Down here, Morrison! Sir! Captain, Mr. Spock, can you hear me? Are you injured?”
“Damn,” Spock whispered, and was rewarded by Kirk’s spontaneous giggle.
***
Twenty one odd years later, Spock sat at his desk, remembering. How he had carried Jim out of the lift and laid him on the stretcher. How McCoy had confronted him in Sickbay.
“I don’t know what happened in there, Spock, but Class One Phobias don’t just *go away*. If you’ve been messing around in his mind...”
“Did you ask the Captain what happened, Doctor?”
“He... dammit Spock, he just said you were very supportive, and that it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. But... don’t get me wrong, Spock. I know you Vulcans can do damage if you’re not careful. Aw, hell, I’m sure you were careful. Whatever you did, he’s cured. I’m grateful for it.”
“Then I suggest we leave it at that. How are his injuries? When will he be able to resume duties?”
Spock rose again and shut down his equipment, then paced back to the bedroom door and looked in at his sleeping partner. Kirk was on his back now, legs and arms thrown wide. It was the heat, of course, he always sprawled out naturally for maximum cooling. Spock paced over and surveyed the wealth of tanned flesh. Those first couple of years had been rough, so many temptations for both of them. And then Pon Farr, having to plan that elaborate deception to keep him free for his true Bondmate.
Kirk’s brow furrowed in sleep and he twitched, then rolled onto his side and relaxed again, still taking up most of the bed. Spock began to undress, planning how he would wake Jim up.