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The first time Spock touched Jim’s mind was when he throttled him on the bridge, the same day they met.

His shields were down, battered and compromised from the day that had passed and all that was still ahead of them, and the skin to skin contact let everything in.

The main thing Spock felt from that contact was Jim’s projected regret. Everything in his mind was shouting I’m sorry, and later, while the ship made its crawl back to Earth on impulse, they both apologised properly.

At the time, Spock’s mind had been in shambles, and Jim was projecting so hard that it could hardly be considered a proper touching of minds. Since then, there had been hundreds of little touches, but Spock’s shields held strong.

The first time they melded was on Ombar III, a pre-industrial planet. Their purpose had been to observe but not get involved, and most certainly never reveal that they weren’t local.

It had been a simple mistake, a small slip-up; Spock taking off his hat somewhere they believed was hidden because the fibers were scratching his sensitive ears, Jim pulling out the communicator to contact the ship, and someone had spotted them.

A lot of screaming and shouting later, they were running through the forest, dodging spears and arrows.

Or, at least, Spock was dodging them, because Jim had been hit, first in the leg and then through the back, and the arrows must have been coated with something, because loss of blood alone shouldn’t have caused Jim to go into shock so quickly, even as Spock picked him up and carried him with as much gentleness as he could to a hole in the undergrowth where they could remain hidden for a while.

Spock laid Jim down on his side and attempted to remain calm. With the arrows still in place, Jim wasn’t losing too much blood, and Spock didn’t want to remove them for fear that they might be barbed. He knew that because Jim had already called the ship, then was forced to close the line suddenly, the crew of the Enterprise knew that there was something wrong and would be searching for them on sensors. Allhe had to do was to keep Jim alive until they were found.

Still, Jim lay shivering and quiet, and while he had gotten hit on previous missions and often lost more blood than he was losing now, he had never before acted like this, which confirmed Spock’s earlier suspicion—there was something on the arrows, some kind of poison.

There was only one way Spock knew to slow the effects of poison—to slow its movement in the bloodstream. But Jim wasn’t Vulcan, and even if he were, he wouldn’t be able to control his body functions in this state.

There was only one thing that Spock could do.

Muttering a quick apology which he hoped he would be able to repeat, Spock placed a hand on Jim’s face and delved into his mind.

Jim’s mind was a mess.

Spock didn’t mean to think it, but that was his initial reaction. He had only ever melded with Vulcans before, their ordered thoughts and discipline keeping everything static and in its rightful place.

But Jim’s mind, his Human mind, was never taught to conform like that, and there was a certain beauty in the chaos.

Spock’s curiosity nearly overwhelmed him, but as much as he wanted to continue and explore, he had a purpose for this meld. Either way, such an intrusion was unthinkable without Jim’s consent.

So he delved deeper, attempting to find the core of Jim’s mind, the part of it aware of the body and its functions. The Human mind was, even in its own illogical order, organized differently than a Vulcan one. He couldn’t help but admire the fact that, underneath all the chaos, it was organized.

And there, at the very base, he found the body functions. Slowly, gently, he lowered Jim’s heartbeat and respiration, attempting to heighten his blood pressure as much as he believed was safe for a Human.

He could feel the poison slowly crawling from his leg and back up towards his heart. There was still time. They would make it. They had to.

Spock was in too deep, he knew, beginning to lose his own sense of individuality, but he had to stay, had to keep Jim like that until they got back on the ship, until the good Doctor could pull out the arrows and find an antidote to the poison.

He barely felt as the transporter swept over them, completely disconnected from the outside world and barely tethered to his own body as he was. He barely noticed as both their bodies were hauled onto a gurney, carried to sickbay, and placed on a biobed.

He did, however, notice the sharp pain that cut through Jim as the arrows were removed, and he hurried to slow the flow of blood in case something more needed to be done with the open wounds. He blocked the pain from Jim’s mind even though Jim wasn’t lucid enough to care yet.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the poison started to dissipate from Jim’s body, getting flushed away. He slowly, gently, allowed Jim’s pulse, respiration, and blood pressure to return to normal, then disengaged from the meld.

Pulling himself back was hard. He had never before melded for so long, nor nearly as deeply, as he did that day with Jim. He felt coated in Jim’s mind, as if it were trying to hold him back, keep him there, and even as he disengaged he could still feel Jim’s essence all over his own mind, as though Jim had reached back through the meld and made himself at home there.

Spock pulled his hand away from Jim’s face, and collapsed with exhaustion.

Spock awoke in his own biobed, late in the ship’s night, with voices drifting from the biobed next to his.

“He saved your life, Jim.” That was the Doctor. “I don’t know how he did it, but he kept your pulse and respiration down throughout the whole ordeal—if it weren’t for that, the poison would have reached your heart before you even beamed back to the ship.”

“I think he melded with me,” Jim said softly, his voice rough, and Spock had to take a deep breath and calm himself in preparation for the anger that would surely result from such an assault on his being.

“Yeah, that’s what M’Benga said. He also said to keep the two of you attached. Don’t tell him I said it, but he did the right thing, and I’m grateful for it.”

“Why, thank you, Doctor,” Spock said. He could no longer eavesdrop, it was inappropriate.

“Oh, good, the hobgoblin is awake,” McCoy muttered, then headed towards Spock’s own biobed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Perfectly adequate,” Spock replied. “May I return to my quarters?”

“Not before I have a proper look at you, you don’t,” McCoy grumbled, and Spock allowed him to poke and prod with his machines until he finally cleared him, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

Spock didn’t bear a glance at Jim before leaving sickbay.

“Spock,” Jim said, dropping his tray in front of Spock’s in the mess hall during lunch two days later.

“Captain,” Spock replied nonchalantly, brutally shoving down his anxiety. “Did the Doctor already allow you to leave sickbay?”

“I’m on medical leave for another week, but I’m no longer confined to sickbay. I want to thank you.”

Spock blinked at him. “I was simply doing my duty. As my Captain, I could not allow you to die when there was something I could do to stop it.”

“Yeah, well, M’Benga told me how private you guys are about melding. I get it, sharing your thoughts and feelings like that is very personal. I want to show my appreciation.”

“That is not necessary. Captain, if you were Vulcan, if we were on Vulcan, what I have done would be a breach of privacy and a violation equal to rape on Earth. I have done what I felt I had to do in the moment, but I would not begrudge you if you decided that I went too far, that I violated you and your mind, and should you wish to press charges or court martial me, or simply transfer me off the ship, I would go willingly.”

“What? Spock, I’m thanking you for saving my life! I know you did what you had to, I could never begrudge you that! You would never do something like that unless you knew you had to, and I trust your judgment wholeheartedly. Please don’t think you hurt me.”

Spock stared at him. He could never have foreseen this. Of course, his Captain was caring, compassionate, and deeply empathetic, but to accept the non-consensual meld so easily—even Vulcans, aware of the logicality, of the need in this situation, would most likely at the very least ask for a transfer. To be violated in such a way and feel grateful—Spock couldn’t even imagine.

“Please, Spock, you’re my friend. I don’t think you could hurt me if you wanted to.”

“I have hurt you in the past,” Spock couldn’t help but say.

“Only because I was pushing you,” Jim insisted. “And that was before we were friends. And even then, you apologized, and you volunteered to help when you knew that I would most likely fail and die without you. You don’t have a truly violent bone in your body.”

“As bones do not have minds and therefore do not experience emotions or feelings, it is physically impossible for my bones to be violent.”

“See? You agree with me!” And Jim gave him such a wonderful, blinding smile, that Spock couldn’t find it in him to contradict his statement, let alone continue their earlier conversation.

If Jim did not understand the full weight of what he had done, then who was he to explain it? Who was he to ruin what they had?

Above the planet Tantalus V, Simon van Gelder became increasingly frantic, until Spock volunteered to meld with him to get the full story. His mind was full of walls and blocks and unmasked pain, the mental landscape brutalized and barren.

On Janus VI, the Captain ordered Spock to meld with the Horta to ease their communication. Under the pain, her mind was clear and organized, beautiful yet simplistic, love bursting from every corner.

In the Malurian star system, Spock melded with NOMAD to gather more information. As a machine, its mind was perfectly ordered, yet incredibly cold. It had no mindscape, only lines of code.

3.28 years after their first meld, on the Melkotian planet, Spock finally got to touch Jim’s mind again.

As before, the situation was not ideal. If Spock was not meticulous, the possibility of the other three dying was incredibly high, and it wouldn’t do to lose any one of them.

Especially not Jim, whose mind was familiar to him despite only touching it once, who required far less attention on Spock’s part because of how much he trusted him, believed in him.

Jim’s mind was clearer than it had been, no pain or poison clouding his senses. Spock was once again surprised by the order in the disorder, but knew he couldn’t dally. Delving deep once more, he reaffirmed Kirk’s belief that the bullets would be fake, and forced himself out of that wonderful mind before his very soul decided to stay there forever.

The bullets went right through them, completely harmless, and the Malkotians let them go.

Three weeks later, another way mission went wrong, and Jim and Spock were forced to spend a few hours on Morkai II, after an ion storm moved over the planet and blocked their transporter. Morkai II was known for its harsh biomes, somewhat of a marvel in the way the planet’s surface  switched so quickly and starkly between environments. One moment they had been running through a jungle to escape yet another mob that considered them demons, and the next they were running through a desert, nothing protecting them from the harsh evening sun, the sand spreading out for miles.

Luckily, the locals had elected to stay within the jungle, and not continue to chase after them, most likely believing they would die from exposure. Unfortunately, it seemed increasingly likely that they would be right.

Spock had grown up on a desert planet, used to the hot days and freezing nights, but Jim, who grew up in Iowa, might have been used to quite chilly weather but had never experienced such blistering heat.

They had managed to find shelter about an hour after entering the desert, a small cave carved into a mountain by some long ago stream or ocean, and they settled in as far into the shade as they could. Jim had already lost a considerable amount of fluids at that point, sweat sticking his hair to his brow and his shirt to his back. Spock aided him in removing his clothing so that he could lay against the cold rock  and helped in wiping away his sweat.

They didn’t have an emergency kit on them, so they had no way to source water or food without braving the desert again. The Enterprise would not come back into transporter range for another 6.9 hours. It was quite likely that Jim had already suffered from a heat stroke and would continue to overheat despite the cool stone. Without proper medical care, Spock estimated that Jim would not survive until the planet’s nightfall, which was approximately 4.7 hours away.

Once again, the only logical course of action would be to slow Kirk’s metabolism, to help him cool down on his own, and hope that he would last until rescue came.

“Jim,” Spock said, and Jim hummed, opening his eyes blearily. “I do not believe that you will survive until the Enterprise arrives without medical attention.”

“You know, they say that if you tell a patient they’re going to die, they die because they give up, more so than because of the actual cause,” Jim said, his voice rough.

“I have seen the evidence confirming that, in Humans, of course. However, that is not what I meant. I believe there is a way to help you last longer. If we were to meld, I would be able to slow your metabolism, reducing your body temperature and allowing you to survive longer in this environment. I would also be better able to assess your physical state.”

“Asking permission this time, huh?”

“You were unconscious last time. I could not ask for your consent. I have already apologized, but I would do so again should you require it.”

“I’m teasing you, Spock.” Jim laughed weakly. “Besides, don’t you know it’s not consensual if there are extenuating circumstances? Especially if it’s a matter of life or death. Like, if someone put a gun to my head and told me to fuck them, I wouldn’t exactly be able to say no.”

“I apologize.”

“Then again, if it was your life on the line, and I had to sleep with you so you won’t die, I’d do it in a heartbeat. That’s a good analogy for this mindmeld stuff, right?”

Spock wasn’t sure where Jim could have come up with that idea. He hadn’t seen anything in his mind the last two times to insinuate that he was aware of pon farr, but then again, he never really had the opportunity to. Still, he nodded. It was an apt comparison.

“Well, what are you waiting for, then? Go ahead and save my life. Blanket permission, as it were. You’re always welcome to meld with me to save my life.”

Much of that might have been the delirium catching up with him, but Spock was still touched by Jim’s words. Of course, there was no such thing as ‘blanket permission’ when it came to consent, and Spock would ask again when Jim was lucid, and again every time he was made to force this onto him—though, ideally, it would not happen again.

Jim’s mind let him in easily, like digging his feet into sand, warm and welcoming. It quickly turned to quicksand, however, and Spock was sinking deeper and deeper, free falling into the deepest crevices of Jim’s mind, like sand flowing into a cave left by some burrowing animal.

Spock gathered himself, the sand of his being, attempting to leave no trace behind as he traversed through the cavern of Jim’s mind, knowing so well where he was headed despite how everchanging these melds were.

At Jim’s core he found his metabolism, and slowed it to a near stop, as close as he could get without damaging him.

After a few moments of maintaining that equilibrium, Spock went on to check Jim’s physical state. He was indeed suffering from heatstroke and running a fever, which Spock attempted to lower manually. He suffered a few scrapes and bruises while running in the jungle, but nothing that wouldn’t heal with time. Still, Spock attempted to dull their pain.

Then he settled down in Jim’s core and watched, waiting until the Enterprise made contact with them again, and ignored his deep desire to explore. He knew what Jim wanted him to know and what was necessary for his survival. He required nothing more.

When Spock he was in his own body once more, aboard the Enterprise, laying on a biobed in sickbay, with Jim in the bed next to his. He could not remember making contact with the Enterprise, nor beaming back on board.

“Good, you’re awake.” McCoy’s voice startled him. “Can’t believe you’d pull that stunt again. Scotty had to find you on sensors once you didn’t answer our hails. Some people thought you were dead.”

“As you well know, Doctor, both the Captain and I are quite resilient. I could have lasted multiple days on that planet without outside aid, and the Captain is quite stubborn.”

“Yes, he is. Still, and I can’t believe I’m saying this again, he wouldn’t have made it without you.”

“He is well?”

“Look at that, I give him a compliment, and he still completely ignores me,” McCoy muttered. “Yes, he’ll be okay after a few more days of rest. And so will you. I’m putting you on medical leave for the next 24 hours. I don’t care how resilient you Vulcans are, these melds take a lot out of you, and you need your rest. And meditation, according to M’Benga.”

“Very well.”Spock closed his eyes, and smiled internally as the doctor began cursing at him under his breath. If he wanted him to rest, he would rest—but he would not leave the Captain’s side.

Once they were both released from sickbay, Spock returned to his usual duties, while Jim whined about not being allowed to do anything fun. Spock indulged him in a game of chess, the only entertainment he could find while in a resting state.

“I don’t remember much, I think I was half delirious for most of it,” Jim said once the subject of his health had come up. “But I remember you asking for my consent to meld. I think I might have been insensitive about it.”

“You brought up a very good point of consent with extenuating circumstances,” Spock said.

“The one time you think I’m smart, and I can’t even remember what I said. Figures.” Jim chuckled.

“I often find you to be highly intelligent,” Spock said. “It is simply that you often, as the Doctor would say, ‘don’t use that big brain of yours’.”

This time Jim laughed in earnest, and Spock offered him a small smile.

“You know I’m not mad at you for melding with me to save my life again, right?” Jim asked once they sobered up and the game continued.

“I am aware. However, as you yourself have stated, there could not be true consent in such a situation.”

“I feel like we’re talking in circles.” Jim took Spock’s queen. “Okay, how about this: you meld with me now, outside the line of duty when there’s no threat to either of our lives, learn that I’m fine without and don’t view it as a breach of privacy or whatever, and then you don’t feel as bad doing it when it’s necessary. Okay?”

“There is no such thing as ‘blanket permission’ for something such as this, Jim,” Spock said softly.

“I’ll be able to revoke my consent at any moment, and I know you’ll respect that. So, how about it?”

Perhaps Jim didn’t realize quite what he was offering, but he seemed earnest, and he had melded with Spock in the past, so it wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to him. Not to mention, being more familiar with Jim’s mind could be beneficial on future missions, as the need for melds seemed to increase exponentially.

“I would not be opposed to melding with you,” Spock said.

“Good. So, how do you want to do this? Should I sit here? Maybe move to the bed?”

“The bed would be optimal.”

They got up, and with only a bit of awkwardness settled on Jim’s bed, sitting side by side.

“There may be things in your mind that you wish for me not to see. To make sure that I don’t, picture something in your mind, perhaps a room in which they are gathered, and place it behind a wall, or a closed door. Even though you are unskilled and I would likely be able to break through such shields with minimal effort, I will not.”

“Okay, I think I’ve got it.” Jim furrowed his brow.

“Very well.” Spock raised his hand and placed his fingers on Jim’s meld points. It would be a relatively shallow meld, so he should only require one hand. “Are you certain you wish to proceed?”

“Yes, Spock, I am,” Jim said, certainty and mild impatience passing through their skin-on-skin contact already.

“My mind to your mind.” Spock did not wholly require the ritual words, but they helped him center himself, and he had heard that they put psy-null people at ease. “My thoughts to your thoughts.”

He began to reach, slowly and gently, without any danger making him rush. Jim’s mind was open and welcoming, as it always was, bathed in warm light.

This time, Spock didn’t sink in the sand, didn’t fall into the caverns of Jim’s mind. Instead, he stood on the surface, careful not to drift too deep, and took in his environment.

Every mindscape was different. Many Vulcans envisioned theirs as a city in the desert, every building having a specific, well defined purpose, everything logically organized. With enough practice, anyone could turn their mindscape into whatever they wished, but without that active change, a person’s mind would hide nothing, and show who they truly were.

Spock was on a beach.

The sandy shore spread for miles on either side, and before him the ocean sat calm and wide, dark, inky water glittering in the sunlight like billions of stars. Behind him were fields of corn as far as the eye could see, and on the horizon was a pale mountain range. The sky was clear of clouds and the sun was bright, though the air was chilly and the breeze coming from the ocean was strong, smelling of salt.

The only thing that looked out of place was a small shack, brick and wood walls placed haphazardly, looking very old and quite abandoned. Spock was uncertain as to why Jim had chosen that specific configuration, but he knew better than to ask.

“Jim?” he called, his voice carrying on the wind.

Beside him, digging his feet into the sand, looking simultaneously like he had been there for hours and like he had never seen this place in his life, Jim appeared.

“Is this what my mind looks like to you?” Jim asked.

“This is how your mind represents itself,” Spock corrected. “Every mind is unique, but it would appear the same no matter who was touching it.”

“Can I see yours?” Jim asked with no hesitation, his eyes shining.

“Very well,” Spock said, and in a moment the world around then tilted, shifted, blurred and changed until it was completely unrecognizable.

The sky was a deep, warm red, turning to orange as it neared the horizon. Great, sharp mountains rose around them, the terrain rocky and sandy, only sparsely sprinkled with plantlife. Three suns shone in the sky, and the great purple shadow of T’Khut rose over the mountains, hiding half of its great mass behind them.

Jim looked around in awe.

“The LLagon mountains,” Spock explained. “On Vulcan-that-was. I came here often as a child. It aided me in meditation.”

“How come your mind looks like a specific place, but mine is such a mishmash of things?”

“It is your mind, Jim. Only you can know the meaning behind every detail of it.”

Jim continued looking. Spock felt strangely exposed. Of course, as they were in his mind, Jim could most likely see his entire being. However, as he was unskilled and did not know what to look for, Spock should not have been worried about what Jim could see.

“You said everyone’s mindscape is different,” Jim said, and Spock nodded. “If that’s the case, and you have a real place as your mindscape, wouldn’t there be someone else who also has the same place as theirs?”

“It is not unheard of for multiple people to have similar mindscapes; in fact, most Vulcans make theirs appear , as the city they live or grew up in on Vulcan. However, each one will have inconsistencies, things that are different to the real world. Most notably, the interior of the buildings, where memories, thoughts, and feelings reside, will differ greatly from person to person.”

“You don’t have any buildings here,” Jim said.

“I have other places to keep my thoughts,” Spock said, answering the unasked question. “If I had not told you to envision a room for your own, you most likely would not have had any buildings in your mindscape, either.”

“I don’t think I put that house there,” Jim said. There was  something in his voice that made Spock’s tongue turn to bitter ash and the wind turn sour and cold.

“Then where did you hide your thoughts?” Spock asked, ignoring his curiosity for the moment.

“I didn’t,” Jim replied simply, the air turning strawberry-sweet. “I don’t have anything I want to hide from you, Spock. Nothing that isn’t buried from myself, too.”

“You know what is in the house.”

“Yes.” The world around them shifted, gravity loosening, sights blurring, before everything settled again and they were back on the beach, the sky now gray with foreboding rain clouds. “I don’t want to open the door yet, I don’t think.”

“I understand,” Spock said, and without thinking, offered, “Should you wish to explore it at a later date, I would be glad to offer you meditation guidance.”

Jim stared at him, then smiled. “Thank you, Spock. I appreciate it.”

The air still smelled sour-sweet, wind still too cold for comfort, but the sun was breaking through again, just as the rain began to fall. Spock was drenched in instants, but Jim grinned up at the sky, where a rainbow was clearly visible over the fields of corn, and Spock’s chest warmed so much that there was steam coming off his shirt.

After a few more moments enjoying the other’s company, Spock spoke again.

“Perhaps it is time to end the meld. It is getting late.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jim said, finally looking back down at him. He laughed at the sight. “Sorry for drenching you.”

“It is of no consequence. The water isn’t real.”

“Maybe so, but you’re probably still cold. Let’s get you out of here.”

With a final secret smile, Spock began pulling back. He rose, broke through the clouds, and then they were separated once more.

Somehow, somewhere along the way they had laid down, sprawled on the bed. Jim’s eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks damp.

“I didn’t realize I was crying,” Jim said, his voice rough yet surprised.

“That was the rain,” Spock said, rising from the bed. “I will return to my quarters. Goodnight, Captain.”

“Goodnight, Spock. And—thank you.”

“What for?” Spock paused right before the door to the bathroom connecting their two rooms.

“I enjoy your company. I was bored as hell before that game. You helped me pass the time.”

Spock knew there was something more Jim meant to say but didn’t, but he nodded and wished him goodnight again before returning to his own room.

He decided to forgo sleeping. Instead, he spent the next eight hours in deep meditation.

Jim had not asked for help in meditation, so Spock did not offer again. In fact, it seemed as though Jim was choosing to ignore the whole ordeal, so, when he was injured on an away mission again two weeks later, and Spock was once again down to only two options—meld with him, or let him die—he wasn’t sure that the Captain’s ‘blanket permission’ still held.

Even so, he delved into Jim’s mind again, sank into the sand and fell through those caverns, back into Jim’s core, where he kept his heart beating and his breath moving. Unlike the last time, where it was dark and damp, there was now a warm glow all around him, though Spock was uncertain where it had come from. It couldn’t be Jim’s own life force, as Spock was currently the only thing keeping him alive.

When they disengaged again in sickbay, McCoy didn’t even bother to offer him thanks. It was becoming a too-common occurrence, and neither one of them wanted to point it out. Spock managed to make it back to his quarters before collapsing from exhaustion.

Jim woke up three days later. His heart had stopped twice while Spock was sleeping. He was barred from away missions for a month.

Not that that stopped him, mind you.

Still, at least the next time they had been forced to meld in the line of duty, Jim wasn’t actively dying. Spock was willing to praise the difference.

Gandra IV was a class-M planet with pink trees and blue flowers, where the bushes were tall but the people were taller. In fact, Jim had made a reference to them looking like a breed between a blue giraffe and an electric toothbrush, and while Spock had berated him for being culturally insensitive, he could see the resemblance.

Their skin was various shades of light gray, and they sported long necks, held up straight and proud, towering above the away team. Their narrow shoulders were covered in long, flowing robes, and their perfectly round faces sported short, flat mussels and were framed by blue and mint green markings.

The Enterprise was sent to the planet to make first contact, but upon arriving, the away team—consisting of the Captain, First Officer Spock, and Lt. Uhura, as well as two security officers—found that the universal translator really struggled with the Gandrians’ buzzing language.

They had been greeted by the Gandrian Head of Government and the Officer of Foreign  Affairs, his wife.

He was taller than her, his long robes white in the front and black in the back, with a large strip of fabric draped over his shoulders to frame the while with an upside down arch. His gray skin was lightly dappled with a soft, mint green, and the sides of his face sported dark blue spots, while the spots on the top of his head were a light, sky blue.

His wife was dressed in teal robes with a sky blue cape trailing behind her. Her markings matched the colors of her robe almost exactly. Despite being shorter than the Head of Government, she still towered above Spock, the taller away team member, by at least 40 centimeters.

At first, the two had appeared startled—or, as startled as they could appear, considering how different their faces were from most Humanoid species—and they buzzed between themselves hurriedly. Uhura had quickly set the translator to work, but even once everyone calmed down and contact was established, it only caught about one word in three. It was enough for introductions and a short explanation of who they were and why they were there, but they needed to do better before proper contact and potentially negotiations for joining the Federation could be established.

Uhura and Spock worked tirelessly on reworking the translation matrix to fit their language, while Jim and the security officer watched and took in their surroundings. They had beamed down in the Head of Government's office, to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to themselves so as to not cause a riot. The room was sparsely furnished, with tall ceilings and walls made of dark wood. The floor was carpeted with burgundy, and a large window behind the main desk was the main source of light.

A few hours later, Spock and Uhura were done, and proper conversations could begin. Compared to most first contact missions the Enterprise crew did, this one went surprisingly well. The Gandrian language still sounded buzzing and off, even through the translator, but they didn’t seem to take offense with anything that was said.

Jim headed the negotiation, as he always did, as was his duty as the captain. He explained all the benefits of joining the federation, as well as some of the potential drawbacks, with clear, confident words, his voice ocean waves lapping the shore, his eyes sunny-bright.

It was towards the end of their visit, after the Gandrians said they would think their proposition over, that another piece of crucial information was revealed: the Gandrians were telepaths. And, as a gesture of goodwill, and to make sure these aliens weren’t deceiving them, they asked to meet minds with every person of the away team.

“There are regulations for this,” Jim said after asking for a moment alone to discuss it.

“Indeed. You all would have learned to shield at the Academy, and there would have been telepathic safeguards placed on any new sensitive information you would be given,” Spock said.

“Yes. So there’s no issue on that part, as clearly we haven’t been projecting—”

“While Starfleet Academy’s telepathic shielding course doesn’t fully protect your mind, it does, at the very least, help mute you, even subconsciously.”

“Yes, Spock, we know our Human thoughts are very loud.”

“I meant no offense, Captain. In fact, residing on a ship as big as the Enterprise was made considerably more comfortable thanks to the Academy’s training. I had to maintain my own shields much more thoroughly while still living on Earth.”

“Will you two stop flirting for a minute and let the Captain finish his sentence?” Uhura broke in.

“Thank you, lieutenant. As I was saying—regulations, for telepathic communication during first contact with an as-of-yet unfamiliar species. Ideally, there’s a telepath from a well documented species on board to act as a conduit, make sure that nothing potentially harmful can get through.”

“As I am both a telepath and currently on the away team, it would only be logical for myself to act as conduit.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Spock?”

“I am capable of making my own informed decision, Captain.”

“I wouldn’t exactly consider this informed—” Jim started, but Uhura cut them off before things could escalate.

“With all due respect, Captain, Commander—without our cooperation, they might not agree to continue negotiations. This is important to them.”

Spock gave him a pointed look, then turned to the Gandrians and told them of the agreement they had reached.

Spock melded with the Head of Government, who was apparently passing the information along telepathically to the Officer of Foreign Affairs. They were joined for only ten minutes before Spock opened his eyes and reached his free hand out for the next in line.

Uhura went first, the most eager to engage with the Gandrians in their own language, on their ‘home turf’, as it were. The Head of Government eagerly explored her mind, her vast arrays of linguistic knowledge, and with Spock’s help, bestowed upon her the understanding of his language.

Security Officer Polix was next, and the Officer of Foreign Affairs took a particular interest in his Denobulan family structure, asking about his children at length. Then came Security Ensign Mix, who told them both about Trill biology, which they seemed to find fascinating.

And then there was Jim.

Even though they were quite familiar with each other’s minds at this point, Jim still hesitated. It would be the first time they melded on a safe away mission, and the first time with another presence there.

Still, Jim walked up to Spock and allowed him to place his hands in the correct position. Then they were in his mind, the beach spreading before them once more.

“Your mind is intriguing, Captain,” the Head of Government said.

“I’ve been told that every mindscape is different,” Jim said. “What makes mine intriguing?”

“That—house,” he said, and neither Jim nor Spock missed the way he hesitated.

“What about it?”

“It does not belong to you,” he said, and Spock stared. Jim, however, grimaced.

“Then there’s no need for you to go in there,” Jim said, his voice strained. The air sizzled with an upcoming thunderstorm.

“Indeed not. If you were one of ours, I would offer help in dismantling it. I’m uncertain how Humans go about such things, but I would still recommend doing what you can to take it down, it is—” he made a sound like a shrill whistle, a concept untranslatable into words, but the way the house caught fire and the sky filled with black smoke was indicative enough of his meaning.

“I will leave now. I have seen what I need.” Instead of rising, as Spock often did, the Head of Government sizzled and faded into smoke and glitter, like the transporter effect turned dark blue.

Without saying another word, Spock disengaged from both melds. Jim appeared bewildered, staring wide-eyed at the Head of Government.

“Thank you all for your honesty and your openness,” he said. “We will consider your offer, and send our answer to you in no more than a local two weeks from now.”

“Thank you for your consideration.” Jim’s voice shuddered, his eyes blank, running on autopilot. “Kirk to Enterprise. Five to beam up.”

The world around them disappeared into golden sparks, the whir of the transporter loud in Spock’s ears, his mind full of cotton.

“We still have much to discuss,” Spock said after their post-mission meeting had concluded.

“No, I think we covered it all,”Jim said, organizing the PADDs on his desk.

“We must discuss what the Head of Government said about the house in your mind.”

“No, we don’t. It’s fine. I can take care of it on my own.”

“You are not mentally adept. You know nothing of telepathic meditation techniques. You will not succeed at dismantling it on your own.”

Jim glared at him, but Spock held fast, though, in reality, he was uncertain of what he claimed. Jim was a highly intelligent individual, a quick study, and incredibly determined. When he set his mind to something, he would certainly achieve it. When he believed himself capable of overcoming something, then he certainly would.

However, Spock had long since grown to recognize his Captain’s moods, the way they shone clear in his voice rather than his face.

Jim would not take care of the house on his own. He was avoiding it.

“Drop it, Spock.”

This was also a tone of voice Spock recognised. He first heard it when Jim offered assistance to Nero, and it had been the first time he understood the meaning of one’s blood running cold. He had never expected to hear that tone of voice directed at him.

He dropped it.

Silently nodding, he got up, grabbed his own PADD from the pile, and left the room.

The following days were stressful.

Jim had been avoiding him, but Spock was still weary of inciting the Captain’s wrath, so he stayed away, holled up in the labs.

Three days after that fateful first contact, Spock woke up with a headache. He quickly searched for the source, but when he could find none, simply suppressed it. There was the possibility of a stress headache, considering he had been in the labs more than usual, working on delicate and time-sensitive projects. If that was indeed the cause, then Spock need only wait until his projects were done and it would go away on its own. As it were, it was not painful enough to be notable.

Except, the headache didn’t go away, and five days after that mission he found his efficiency had dropped by 3.7%. While it was not a massive drop, coupled with the headache, it was the beginning of a worrying pattern. As he was one of the most efficient people on the ship, even a minute drop in efficiency could cause potentially catastrophic damage.

And so, on the sixth day, he made his way to sickbay, to endure Doctor McCoy’s beads and rattles, so that the ship could continue to function adequately.

“My, my, Spock, am I dreaming, or did you actually come to sickbay out of your own free will while Jim’s not strapped to one of the beds?” McCoy teased, leading him to one of the biobeds. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I have been experiencing headaches,” Spock said, laying down on the bed.

“They must be some serious headaches if you came to me for it.”

“They are manageable. However, my efficiency has dropped by 3.7%, which I deem unacceptable.”

“Well, let’s see.” MyCoy scanned Spock and furrowed his eyebrows. “There’s a slight hormonal imbalance which could explain the headaches. Your stress hormone is higher than usual, and your dopamine levels are a little low.”

Spock froze. Could it be—?

“Thank you, Doctor, I am now aware of the problem.” Spock rose, but McCoy shoved him back down.

“Now wait just a second, Spock—I’m the doctor here, I make the prognosis, and you sit there and look pretty. Now, what exactly do you think the problem is?”

“We do not speak of it, even amongst ourselves,” Spock said, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Is it that pon farr thing everyone’s been talking about?” McCoy cut him off.

“You—How do you know that term?” Spock’s blood was rushing in his ears.

“Ever since Nero, Vulcans made more of their medical information available to professionals, especially to Starfleet doctors who have Vulcans on their ships.”

“It is shameful,” Spock started, but McCoy cut him off again.

“It’s a normal biological function, Spock, there’s nothing shameful about it.”

“Will you cease doing that?!” Spock said harshly, and McCoy startled.

“Doing what?”

“You continuously cut me off and act as though you are more knowledgeable than me!”

“Spock, control yourself,” McCoy said, his voice calm and sharp, and it was more instinct than anything that made him comply. “You’re not going into pon farr. I studied the symptoms, and while you’re experiencing a mild hormone imbalance right now, it’s not the same ones nor is it nearly to the same degree as pon farr. Along with your headaches and your irritation, my best guess is that you’ve been working too hard and stressing yourself out. Even Vulcans can experience burnout, and this is a pretty classic lead-up to that.”

Spock quieted and thought it over.

“It’s not stress,” he said, his voice even once more. “I have completed many projects and taken on fewer, as I also believed that to be the source of the headache. I am less busy, and yes, less stressed than I had been, yet if anything the symptoms are getting worse.”

“Give it time, maybe pick up a hobby,” McCoy said, finally letting Spock up. “When was the last time you played chess with our dear old Captain?”

“The Captain had been avoiding me,” Spock said, a hint of irritation returning to his voice.

“Really? Why?”

“During our missions on Gandra IV, the Captain and I melded in the presence of the Head of Government, and he had noticed something in the Captain’s mind which should be dismantled and eradicated. When I attempted to bring it up with the Captain afterwards, and to offer my knowledge and ade, he became angry and dismissed me.”

“Jim’s touchy about a lot of things,” McCoy sighed. “You need to approach him as if nothing ever happened. He’s very unlikely to be the first one to do it. He’s very good at pushing people away.”

“I see.” Spock got off the biobed. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Anytime, Spock.”

One entire week after the mission to Gandra IV, Spock managed to slide into the turbolift before Jim closed the doors in his face.

“Captain,” he greeted.

“Mr. Spock,” Jim replied coolly before ordering the lift to deck five.

“Would you be interested in a game of chess?”

“I’ve got reports to file,” Jim said, staring straight ahead instead of looking at Spock like he usually did when they talked. His foot was tapping the floor impatiently.

“Once you are done,” Spock tried again. “20:00 hours?”

“I don’t know if I’ll be done by then.”

“As the Doctor says, you wouldn’t want to work yourself into an early grave.” This at least got a hint of a smile out of Jim.

“Oh, have you been hanging out with Bones again?”

“Indeed.” Spock decided on a change in tactics. “In fact, he had suggested a game with you would cure my ills.”

“Are you sick?” Now Jim looked at him, concern written all over his face.

“Apparently, I am suffering from mild stress headaches. Recreation would aid in my recovery, and would allow me to return to full efficiency.”

“Well, for the good of the ship, I suppose I could find some time to aid my First Officer in recovery,” Jim teased, and Spock offered him a small smile. They were on the right track.

Spock entered Jim’s quarters at 20:00 hours on the dot, to find that Jim had, in fact, not finished his reports, and was still hunched over his desk.

“Oh, hi Spock.” Jim blinked blearily at him. “Sorry, I’m not done yet. I think my brain’s too melted for chess right now, anyway.”

“Would you like assistance, Captain?”

“No, it’s fine.” He yawned. “I think I’m gonna call it quits for today. I’ve been so tired lately, don’t know why.”

“Perhaps you require more rest.”

“I’ve been getting plenty,” Jim said, getting up and stretching. “Actually, this might be the most sleep I’ve gotten since taking over the Enterprise, maybe even before.”

“Do you usually find it difficult to sleep?” Jim wasn’t exactly shewing him, but he was acting more closed off than usual, not looking at him. Spock didn’t want to leave, though, so he did his best to continue the conversation.

“Yeah,” Jim said, but didn’t elaborate.

“I am gratified you are getting more sleep,” Spock said.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to be too tired and have my efficiency drop, right?” Jim smiled, but his voice was pained in a way it wasn’t when he usually teased Spock.

“While your efficiency is important to the running of this ship, it is not the main reason I care about you getting enough sleep. It is because you are my friend, Jim.”

Jim froze, blinked, then sucked in a breath.

“Thanks, Spock,” he said softly. “I appreciate it.”

“If you are amenable—” Spock started just as Jim settled on the bed, and he looked up at him questioningly. “If you are not too tired, I would…appreciate your company. I feel that I have not seen you in a long while.”

“You see me every day when you give me your report,” Jim said.

“We have not spent any time together outside of duty in 6 days, 22 hours, and 38 minutes. To use a Human term—I miss you.”

Jim’s expression softened.

“I—I missed you too, Spock. I’m sorry. I just—I have this tendency to push people away when they get too close, and you—it’s hard to be distant when you’re literally inside someone’s mind, you know?”

“Indeed,” Spock said. He sat down next to Jim on the bed, in a way oddly reminiscent of how they sat exactly one week before. “I had a brother, Sybok. He was v’tosh k’tor, a Vulcan who rejects logic and embraces feelings, and for that he was exiled. He wasn’t always that way. We had grown up together. His mother had died at a young age. He was always incredibly kind. He was patient with me, taught me logic and ways to deal with my emotions that might not have been taught in school but worked better for me than the standard methods. He had been the perfect brother.

“We melded often, as children, strengthening our family bond, learning each other. I knew before anyone else when he began to change. It had been a particularly harrowing day in school. I had gotten into a fight with a few other children, and when I got home and told him about him, he exclaimed that prejudice was illogical. He had vowed to teach my bullies a lesson. I knew that he was becoming emotional, that he was going against so much he had taught me, but I had always looked up to him, and even though I could see how he was allowing his emotions to rest closer to the surface, I would not tell.

“He was a very powerful telepath. I got into a fight one too many times, and he already knew who my bullies were. To this day, I do not fully know what he did to them, but they were forever changed. Many left with him when he was exiled. The others never bothered me again. Still, I can never forget what they said and did to me. Revenge had never been the answer. If I had said, back then, what I knew was becoming of him—But I had not, and what is, is. I wonder, still, with the power he had, he need not have reached for my bullies—he could have taken the part in me that reacted to them.”

Jim, who had been listening with rapt attention, finally reacted.

“But that would change you, who you are as a person—he wouldn’t have wanted to do that, because he cared about you, and loved you as you were.”

“Indeed. Jim, I do not know what the house in your mind is, or what it means to you. I do know, however, that it causes you pain. I would very much like to free you of that pain, but if you wish to keep it, I will not bring up the matter again.”

Jim smiled at him. “Thank you, Spock. I really appreciate that.” When he didn’t continue, Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim elaborated. “I don’t really know what to do about it yet. I suppose I always knew it was there, ever since it’s been there, I guess, but…I guess I never really knew it, didn’t realize it. It’s such an ingrained part of me. I have to think it over.”

“Of course,” Spock said, getting up. “I am glad we had this talk, Jim. I will leave you to rest now.”

“I’m glad, too. And thank you.” This time, Spock didn’t ask what for. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jim.”

Spock's headache didn’t disappear over the coming days, despite easing his workload and spending more time relaxing in Jim’s company. In fact, it appeared to be getting worse.

Two weeks after the mission to Gandra IV, Spock’s efficiency had dropped by 38.9%.

He had avoided going to sickbay, hoping that things would improve after a time, but despite frequent chess games and doing much of his work from the bridge, his deteriorating state was worsening, and he was becoming short tempered with his subordinates. Even Jim had begun to notice.

And so, he took himself to sickbay, and came under McCoy’s machines once more.

“Your stress hormones are even more elevated, but your dopamine has remained stable, if still a little low,” McCoy told him, gesturing for him to get back up. “I can do a brain scan to try and see if there’s something there causing it, but beyond that, I don’t know what to do besides offer you painkillers.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but that will not be necessary. I am willing to undergo a scan, but I should return to my duties.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” McCoy said.

Spock didn’t wait in sickbay for the results of his scan. Despite what he told the Doctor, he had no more duties to perform, but he did have a scheduled chess match with the Captain.

They were half way through the game, discussing ship’s business and what Jim liked to call ‘gossip’, but which Spock called ‘being aware of potential changes of status between crew members which might affect their duties’, when Jim got up to grab another cup of tea, and jostled the board. His captured knight tumbled off the table and onto the floor, and Jim and Spock both reached for it at the same time, their hands touching as they grabbed it.

And then Spock was falling, rolling, crashing into wet sand.

“Jim?” Spock called, alarmed.

“Jesus, Spock!” Jim was right there at his side, helping him up.

“That was not supposed to happen.” Spock took in the familiar surroundings. The sky was clear and the air was crisp.

“I know. You didn’t even touch my face this time.”

“It would not be wise for me to remain in your mind while we are not aware of the cause of the meld,” Spock said. “It could be dangerous.”

“Okay,” Jim said, his voice tight as he took a step back, and a gust of wind blew past them.

A minute passed, but Spock was still standing on the beach of Jim’s mind.

“Something is holding me here,” Spock said, his brow furrowing.

“What?” Jim startled.

“Whatever it was that caused us to meld without conscious thought is not allowing me to leave your mind,” Spock explained.

“So what do we do now?”

“I am uncertain.”

The chilly wind was whipping at their clothes and making the corn rustle. Spock turned his back to the sea, and allowed the wind to direct him. The house was creaking and moaning with the powerful blows.

“I know that I have promised not to ask,” Spock started, “but what is in the house, Jim?”

Jim looked at him, then looked at the house. He sighed.

“I think it’s a manifestation of my trauma,” he said. “Everything I’ve been bottling up and repressing for years. It looks like the old barn, where the horses were kept when I was a kid. It was pretty run down already, and after we sold the horses it was really neglected. I used to hide there when things got really bad at home. Frank wouldn’t follow me out through the fields, I was too small and quick for him, and he knew I’d eventually come back, since I had nowhere else to go.”

The door of the house slammed open, and the wind was pushing harder at them.

“Perhaps it is time to dismantle it,” Spock said softly.

“I’d really rather not.”

“The door has opened, Jim. Everything that was locked in there is free to escape now.”

“Then I’ll just close the door again,” Jim said stubbornly.

“You know that won’t work,” Spock said. “Jim, I am still unable to leave your mind. Unless you wish to be stuck like this for the foreseeable future, we must find out what is keeping us here. I believe that whatever it is is in that house, and we must dismantle it to get there.”

“What happened to my consent and my right to privacy?” Jim asked bitterly.

“You said, the first time we melded outside of duty, that there is nothing in your mind you wish to hide from me.”

Jim blinked at him and smiled bitterly. “And you said there was no such thing as ‘blanket permission’ when it came to melds.”

Spock looked at him solemnly. He had no reply to that. Jim was right.

Jim sighed, then straightened with a determined expression.

“Aright. Might as well do this now.” He started walking towards the house, and Spock quickly followed. They were only a few steps away when Jims stopped suddenly.

“I need you to promise me you’re not gonna think any less of me because of what we might find in there.”

“Whatever we find is in your past. The person you are now is all that matters, and who you are now will not change.”

“Won’t it?” Jim’s eyes were wide and pleading, but Spock knew not what for. “This house has been a part of me for so long. Won’t taking it down, releasing all that is inside, change me? How do you know you won’t hate me?”

“Jim,” Spock said gently, stepping closer to him and cupping his face. “You are my friend. If my elder counterpart is to be believed, you will always be my closest friend. Whatever is in that house will not change that.”

Jim’s eyes shined with tears, and Spock let him go and took a step back, giving him space. Jim swallowed, sniffed, and turned back to the house. With a deep breath, he walked through the door, Spock following close behind.

The view they found on the other side was incredibly similar to the one they had left behind—corn fields stretched before them as far as the eye could see, but there was no beach and no mountains, only a two-story house in the near distance.

“That was the house I grew up in,” Jim said, and in a few steps they were right in front of the front door.

The door opened for them, and they stepped in, finding two blond children playing on the carpet in the living room, an older, bearded man on the couch, watching them.

“My brother, Sam,” Jim said softly, “and my stepfather, Frank.”

“Why would you repress this memory?” Spock asked.

“I don’t remember a lot of my younger years,” Jim said. “My elementary school counselor said I was suffering from a severe lack of familial contact, leading to symptoms of depression, including short term memory loss. It didn’t affect my studies that much, but I don’t have many memories from before age ten.”

“What happened when you were ten to change the pattern?”

“I’ll show you.”

Jim led Spock back outside, where the summer Iowa sun beat down harshly on them. There was shouting coming from inside the house now, and Spock strained to listen.

“—get the hell out of the house! When your mom comes back, she can deal with you!”

The door slammed open, and Sam Kirk, now looking older, sped out, quickly followed by Frank.

“Go ahead! Go! Run away!” Frank taunted. “You think I give a damn?”

The door slammed open again, and young Jim ran out after them.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“As far as I can get,” Sam replied, continuing to walk.

“Which won’t be far enough,” Frank added, continuing after him. This is my house, not yours, not your mother’s.” He turned to Jim. “What do you want, Jimmy?”

Jim looked over at Sam. “I just don’t want my brother to go.”

“What you want doesn’t matter,” Frank snarled. “You’re no one. And I asked you to wash the car. How many damn times do I have to repeat myself?” Even though his voice was considerably softer than it had been with Sam, when Frank took a step forward, Jim took a weary step back, his eyes downcast. Frank turned back to Sam, said, “Go,” and returned to the house.

Jim rushed up to Sam. “Please stay.”

“I just can’t take this anymore. Mother had no idea what it’s like when she’s not around—d’you hear him talking like he’s our dad? That’s not even his car you’re washing, that’s dad’s car!”

Sam turned away and continued walking, and Jim rushed after him.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam said, “you always are, always doing everything right—good grades, obeying every stupid order—” Sam stopped walking and turned to face him. “I can’t be a Kirk in this house. Show me how to do that and I’ll stay.”

Jim looked down. He couldn’t.

“I’ll see you,” Sm said, turning around and continuing to walk.

This time, Jim didn’t go after him.

“I washed the car,” adult Jim said, “and then I stole the keys and drove it down the road, as fast as I could go. Then I drove it off a cliff. It was the first time I did any act of rebellion. Sam wasn’t there to take Frank’s wrath anymore, so I got the brunt of it. I suppose neglect is easier to suppress than a good beating.”

Spock stared at him, eyes wide, and even had he wanted to he wouldn’t have been able to hide the dark clouds of his grief and anger rolling and covering the sky.

“Stop that,” Jim said. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It is not pity that I am feeling,” Spock said, his voice rumbling thunder. “This is anger.”

“There’s no need for that, either. I got caught by a police bot. I told the people at the station everything. Frank was arrested by the end of the day, and I was shipped out to a home for at-risk children until they could get in touch with my mom. They didn’t, but it was fine. I liked it better there anyway.”

The storm clouds may have dissipated during Jim’s explanation, but now the sky was steel gray, and the ground beneath them was cold and hard. The wind blew powerfully as the landscape around them changed. Where before there were flat planes, now a forest rose around them, mountain peaks visible through the leafless branches. A fine film of wight-gray dust covered everything and danced in the air.

“I don’t want you to see this,” Jim said, his voice tight, and Spock looked at him. He was hunching, attempting to make himself look small, or perhaps as though he was suffering from a stomach ache.

“Jim, it’s alright.” Spock placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Jim flinched away.

“No, it’s not. This is so much worse, so much worse than Frank could ever be, I can’t, I don’t—I don’t want you to be here, to see this.”

“What is this place, Jim?”

Jim looked up at him through tears that were now streaming down his face, and spoke with a voice rough from screams he hadn’t made yet.

“Tarsus IV.”

Spock’s blood ran cold, and the particles of dust froze in the air as Spock realized what they were.

It had been on all the news channels, in every broadcast. Scientists considered what could be done to save the future, while philosophers considered what should have been done.

4,351 people dead, families torn apart, hundreds still starving and suffering from long-term effects ten years later.

Jim had been there.

It started raining.

Jim looked up at the sky with unseeing eyes, and Spock couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked pale and sullen, his face sunken in, his clothes tattered. He was so young.

There had been enough distance, with Frank. Enough time had passed and enough justice served. Or perhaps, it was too far gone, for Jim to look from the outside like he had. But this, this was close, and raw. This was a part buried so deep and yet so intrinsic to Jim’s being, that he simply could not step away. The Jim Kirk that had gone through Tarsus and the Jim Kirk that stood in front of Spock now were one and the same, down to the pit of their empty, starving stomachs.

“Jim,” Spock said, and his voice shook like leaves in the breeze. “Jim,” he said again, stronger, louder.

The boy looked at him, his eyes pale and cold, gray as the clouds above them.

“Jim, this has passed. It was ten years ago. You are no longer here.”

“But I feel it,” Jim said with a voice as thin as the fragile branches on the naked trees they stood beneath. “If this isn’t real, why am I cold, and hungry?”

“We are in your mind,” Spock said. There was desperation, golden steel, tugging at his very being. “This is a world you knew. It has hurt you, but it has passed. You don’t have to stay here.”

“I have a responsibility,” Jim said, in an echo of Spock’s own words from long ago, when he wished to leave but couldn’t, “to my kids. If I go, who will feed them, and protect them, and make sure they don’t get hurt? Who will bury them?”

Despite having not seen them, Spock knew who Jim was talking about, knew their faces and their names and their dead parents, knew everyone who didn’t make it—and everyone who did.

“Your kids are safe, Jim. They left here, ten years ago, just as you did. They are safe, and healthy, and well fed. There is nothing left for you here.”

“Are you here to take me away?” Jim asked, voice small, and for the first time since they had entered his mind, he sounded like a child.

“Yes, Jim. I’m here to help you. I can take you somewhere safe.”

The rain had switched to snow, but Spock barely felt the cold as it melted in his hair. He reached out to Jim, who was rapidly filling out in front of his eyes, growing up, calming down.

“You are safe, Jim.”

“I still get hurt,” Jim said, but he took Spock’s hand. “I still get into fights and drink to drown the memories, and sleep around just to feel like someone needs me.”

“You have not done that for a long time, Jim. You’ve overcome so much, and I am proud of you.” Spock hugged him close. “It’s time to let go, to leave this in the past.”

“I don’t want to take down the house,” Jim muttered against Spock’s chest, his tears mingling with the melted snow.

“We can make a memorial. We can fix it, or rebuild it. But it cannot remain as it is. You are hurting.”

“Not anymore,” Jim said, and all around them pink flowers grew through the snow, and the trees filled with bright green leaves. “Thank you, Spock.”

“You are most welcome, t’hy’la.”

The sun broke out from between the clouds, and Spock realized suddenly what had been keeping him there.

While it was true that the house needed to be dismantled, and that Jim needed to find release, Spock knew that wasn’t the whole truth—if it were, Jim would have been the one stuck in his own mind, drawn to that house. No, the thing keeping Spock there was a single wod, the sun shining bright and hot above them.

T’hy’la.

“Can we go home now?” Jim mumbled, and Spock hugged him tighter.

“Of course,” he said, and a moment later they were both on the floor of Jim’s quarters, holding each other close, with Jim’s knight clutched tight in Spock’s hand.

Jim was asleep. Spock could feel the exhaustion of the whole ordeal pushing down on him, as well, but he forced himself to disentangle from Jim’s embrace and get up. He replaced the knight on the board, then bent down and picked Jim up from the floor, carrying him bridal-style to the bed, when he laid him down gently.

He gently brushed Jim’s hair away from his face, taking in his relaxed expression, then left to return to his own quarters. He had much to think about.

The next day, they received confirmation from Gandra IV that the Gandrians are willing to open negotiations with the Federation, and the Enterprise was diverted to return.

Spock’s headache completely disappeared after his unexpected meld with the captain, and while his efficiency was still lower than usual, it was getting better as well. In fact, if it weren’t for Jim avoiding his eyes and not even making smalltalk with him, Spock would have considered everything to be back to normal.

They pushed the engines a little to get back to Gandra in less than a day, and met the Federation ambassador there. As the ones to make first contact, it was important for the Enterprise to be there for the beginning of talks, especially since they were still nearby.

It was mostly just a formality, so Jim, Spock, and Uhura beamed down in their dress uniforms and made smalltalk with the Gandrian representatives. It was going well, the translator working flawlessly this time, until the Gandrian Head of Government approached them.

“I’m glad you accepted our proposal,” Jim said, his voice only a little tight, and Spock wondered whether that would survive translation.

“We considered it very carefully, Captain. Of course, many things may still change over the course of the talks.”

“Of course.”

“Before they begin, however, I would like to meet your mind again.”

Jim startled, and Spock blinked. Jim turned to him, and he inclined his head. Whatever Jim should choose, Spock would play along.

“Is there a specific reason for that?” Jim asked.

“Your mind had opened,” the Head of Government said, and Spock lowered his shields minutely in an attempt to sense Jim’s mind, but the rudimentary Starfleet shields were still in place and holding strong. “I want to see. You may refuse me, of course, and suffer no ill will. I understand mental privacy is very important to Humans.”

“It is,” Jim confirmed, “but I am willing. I would prefer to take this somewhere a little more private, though.”

The Head of Government led them down the corridor away from the main hall and into a private room, and Spock prepared for the meld. He hadn’t touched Jim since their meld the night before, and he was uncertain if they would experience the same reaction again, so he melded with the Head of Government first.

Jim’s ocean was calm, the waves gently lapping at the sand on the beach. The sun was low in the sky, painting the world in golds and reds. The wind was gentle and mildly warm.

And where the house had stood was a large stone, an obelisk, glowing and glittering like thousands of fireflies.

“That is not yours, either,” the Head of Government said. ”But it does belong here.”

“What is it?” Jim asked.

“It’s a bond,” Spock answered, awed.

And it was, glowing and pulsing with a heartbeat that was not Jim’s own, but that still inexorably belonged to him.

“I will leave you,” the Head of Government said, and faded to glitter just like last time.

“A bond?” Jim asked.

“Indeed. And a powerful one, at that. I have heard legends, but I had never expected—” Spock turned to him, eyes wide. “Jim. I—I must show you something. You must promise that you will give me your honest reaction, and hide nothing from me.”

“Okay…?”

Despite Jim’s clear confusion, Spock explained no more, simply nodded and made the world tilt and turn and fade and shift, and then they were standing on the LLangon mountains, and before them, stretching from the Forge to the surface of T’Khut, was a great pillar of golden threads, intertwining and shifting and glittering with tiny fires.

“That—” Jim gasped, his eyes wide. “That’s me.”

“Indeed,” Spock said. He found it the night before. After the meld with Jim, he retired to his quarters to meditate, when he found the bond.

The t’hy’la bond was something to be cherished, revered. It was incredibly rare, forming only between those with the most compatible minds and the closest connection. Before the time of Surak, they were what Vulcan warriors most sought after, to help stave the fires of battle, to help mend their wounds, to hold and cherish and protect on equal ground. They were one and separate, never and always touching and touched.

Jim understood, and the bond thrummed with his pulse.

“I love you,” he said, his voice soft yet full of conviction, and Spock had never seen the sky of Vulcan appear so blue. “I knew for a long time. You’re so important to me. When you told me to hide what I didn’t want you to see, I almost wished you would see my love during the meld. I didn’t want to have to tell you myself. If you just stumbled on it yourself, then it would feel like it wasn’t my fault. I thought it would make you less likely to run away.

“I could never run away from you, Jim. I cherish you. Even without the bond, I would put down my life for you—and I have, in the past. You are everything to me.”

Jim smiled, soft as light itself, and Spock stepped forward.

It didn’t matter that it was only the manifestation of themselves, because when their lips met the whole universe lit up, and a truer touching of minds there never was.