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“Come on, Mr. Spock. Let’s go mind the store.” Jim nodded to Bones and swept out of Sickbay before the doctor could think of anything to say. Spock, the tips of his ears still verdant with embarrassment—whether over the fact he’d tried to kill his captain or the fact he’d actually smiled when Jim had walked into the room safe and sound, Bones didn’t know—murmured, “excuse me,” and a moment later was gone as well. McCoy made his way to his desk and slumped down behind it, reaching into the bottom drawer for that bottle of Kentucky sour mash that he kept for real emergencies. The last few days damned well qualified, in his opinion. He dug out a glass and poured himself a measure, sitting back in his chair and sipping it, feeling the exhaustion hit him as the last of the adrenaline he’d been running on left his system.
Well, at least Jim’s alive and Spock’s over his hormone fit—I think. Bones shuddered and tossed back the rest of his drink. He hoped Spock was over it; a homicidally horny Vulcan was even worse than the standard Starfleet-issue model.
“Captain!”
Jim stopped, hand on the controls, as Spock hurried down the corridor and into the lift. Jim allowed the door to shut behind the Vulcan and then spoke to the computer. “Bridge.” The lift started smoothly, carrying them up a dozen decks in a matter of moments. Spock, as far away from Jim as he could manage while still being in the same lift car, stared straight ahead, hands clasped tightly behind his back—a bit more tightly than usual, Kirk noticed, glancing at Spock and seeing the whitened knuckles. It was funny; he and Spock had ridden in this lift in silence probably a hundred times—but it had never felt awkward until now. Finally, Spock turned to him.
“Captain,” he said quietly, that green flush once again appearing across his cheekbones and at the tips of his ears. “I...I wish to extend my most sincere apologies for...for...”
Suddenly, Jim was very tired. It had been a long fucking week, and right now, he just wasn’t sure he could handle any more soul-baring on Spock’s part. He knew that wasn’t fair; this whole pon farr thing had obviously been traumatic as Hell for his First Officer and friend, but right now, cracked ribs still healing and bruises still circling his neck like a collar, Jim just didn’t have the energy. He held up a hand, and Spock stopped in mid-syllable.
“Look, Spock,” Jim said, trying not to sound as bone weary as he actually was, “it’s over, okay? I know you never meant for all that to happen, but right now, we’ve got to make up some time and get to Altair Six before Command decides to come back down on my head like a metric ton of titanium bricks, okay?” Even as he said it, Kirk knew he was being unfair—T’Pau had already gotten Command off his ass. But he just couldn’t deal, not now.
After a moment, Spock nodded stiffly.
“Understood, sir.” His voice was very quiet and very flat, a tone Jim hadn’t heard since his first week on board, when he and the Vulcan First Officer were trying to get to know each other. Something deep inside Jim’s gut twisted, leaving him feeling sick and sour. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something else to say...
But the lift doors opened, and they were on the Bridge. There was no time and no space to say anything, not right then.
The presidential inauguration on Altair Six was every bit the snooze-fest Jim had anticipated; Starfleet had no more needed to send three ships of the line here than they’d needed to send stuffed mushrooms across 12 quadrants. For four days, Jim got up every morning, got into his dress uniform, beamed down to the planet, and stood around at a series of formal receptions, tea parties, garden parties, evening cocktails, etc., etc., etc. He smiled, he chatted, and he spread Federation cheer around like a plague virus. It was boring as Hell, but it was part of his job, so Jim did it. He could have used his First Officer at his side to share some of the load, but Spock had asked to stay aboard the ship and Jim, not wanting to push the issue, had allowed him to. If he were honest with himself, Jim knew that for the first time in a long time, he didn’t even really want Spock standing at his right shoulder—the whole cluster-fuck on Vulcan was still haunting Jim, as hard as he tried to forget about it. The very fact that he didn’t want his best officer and best friend anywhere in the vicinity—Jim knew that sooner or later, he and Spock were going to have to deal with what pon farr had wrought. But not now. So Jim did his duty and left Spock on board the ship to do his. It was better that way—Jim guessed.
In the weeks following Altair—and Vulcan—Jim did his best to pretend everything was back to normal. Spock showed up for every shift on time and did his work with his usual flawless efficiency. He was never wrong, never sloppy—and never really there. Jim could tell. The dark eyes were as blank as an android; the generous mouth was drawn tight at all times. Spock never actually looked at Jim, not once. He seemed to look right through him, even during staff meetings. Yet his manner was so perfectly respectful and his work so perfectly perfect that there was nothing Jim could call him on.
Deep inside, some part of Jim knew that he needed to get Spock into a room and thrash out all the unspoken loads they were both carrying—but every time he even thought about exposing that raw place in his psyche; every time he even considered admitting to Spock—or to himself—that he’d lost some simple trust that had buoyed him up through every crisis—well, Jim just couldn’t make himself do it. So he stayed silent, as did Spock, and the gulf between them widened day by day.
“Jim!”
Jim turned around in the corridor to see McCoy heading towards him at a clip.
“Hey, Bones. Something I can do for you?”
“I need to talk to you about Spock,” McCoy said as he fell into stride with his captain.
Jim felt that coldness in his gut that he only got when he was worried. He pushed that away and nodded.
“Okay.” He turned into his quarters, and McCoy followed him.
“So,” Jim said, sitting down behind his desk and offering McCoy a seat as well, “What about Spock?”
Bones dropped into the visitor’s chair and looked at his captain, incredulity and impatience warring for dominance in his expression.
“You haven’t noticed?”
That coldness hit Jim’s gut once more, but he fought it back again.
“No, I haven’t noticed,” he said, allowing just a hint of pique to color his words. “If you have something to formally report, Doctor, then do so.”
McCoy’s expression turned as cold as Jim’s insides. “Very well, Captain; consider this a formal report,” he replied. “Mr. Spock isn’t eating—again. I’ve been monitoring his diet card; he’s eating perhaps one meal every 26 hours, with an average calorie intake of 820. He’s lost at least five kilograms, and he didn’t have it to lose. He’s working double shifts, some days triple shifts—“
“He’s what?”
“You haven’t checked the duty roster?” McCoy asked, obviously disgusted. “You didn’t find it odd, captain, sir, that Spock’s on the Bridge for the entire Alpha Shift every single day, and he’s still getting all the research done in the Physics lab, the Astronomy lab, the Computer Science lab, the...”
“God damnit, McCoy, I’m not his keeper!” Jim snapped, defensive.
“Since when?” Bones retorted. “I thought monitoring the workload and well-being of your senior officers was part of your job, captain, sir!”
Jim opened his mouth—then closed it. “Okay,” he said quietly, wearily. “I guess...I guess I haven’t been paying much attention to what Spock’s been up to lately.”
“No, I guess you haven’t,” McCoy agreed, equally quiet. He leaned forward, blue eyes looking past the surface as they often did, scanning Jim’s face and seeing signs of tension and fatigue. “Jim—what’s going on with you and him?”
“Nothing,” Kirk replied. “He....we’ve hardly exchanged six words outside of duty since....”
“Since Vulcan,” McCoy finished for him. Jim nodded, body slumping in his chair.
“Okay,” McCoy said gently. “I could drag both you and Spock down to my office and engage in the galaxy’s most uncomfortable group therapy session—but I won’t.” He raised a hand as Jim looked up.
“I won’t—provided that you speak to Spock and clear the air. If I had to guess, Jim, I’d say that Spock is probably carrying a pretty heavy load of guilt, and he’s dealing with it like he deals with all emotions—stifling it and letting it eat him alive.”
“All right,” Jim agreed. He looked down at his hands, hating the very fact that he felt compelled to ask this question—but he did anyway. “Bones, he isn’t....I mean, the pon farr, it hasn’t...come back?”
“I don’t think so,” McCoy replied reassuringly. “Spock let me take his vitals without threatening to break my neck, and they’re normal. Furthermore, he hasn’t been throwing bowls of soup at the bulkheads. Jim,” he continued, his voice kind, “you’re Spock’s best friend. I understand why you’ve acted...remote since Vulcan, and I’m sure the logical part of Spock gets that, too. But I suspect the other part of him is hurting, and I think you need to do what you can to repair the breach.”
“Yeah.” Jim took in a deep breath and let it out. “Okay,” he said at last. “Okay.”
It was the end of another 20-hour work day. Having literally run out of tasks to perform in the Physics Lab, Spock decided he would adjourn to his quarters for a few hours. He had not consumed any nutrition in the last 37.4 hours, and he knew that if he did not eat something, McCoy would be informed and would once again insist that Spock come to Sickbay for monitoring. There was no need; there was nothing medicine could do for him. However, it was illogical not to eat, even if every mouthful seemed to stick in this throat. Perhaps some soup, Spock thought and then a short period of meditation before Alpha shift. Spock palmed the entry plate next to his door and stepped into his quarters—to find Jim Kirk sitting at his desk. Spock stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the captain, who was sitting precisely where Spock had been on that day when Spock had finally been forced to confess what was wrong with him, just why he had to get to Vulcan. The memory of that moment burned through Spock’s mind like a splash of acid, and he felt his tired body suddenly go rigid with tension.
“Hey,” Jim said quietly. “I let myself in. Your door was unlocked, as usual.” The hazel eyes looked Spock over, really seeing him for the first time in weeks. Jim felt a pang of guilt as he noticed the gaunt figure, the hollow cheeks, and the tired eyes.
“I do not ever lock my door,” Spock replied. “That would indicate a lack of trust in my shipmates.” He took a few steps to his left, as wary as a le-matya finding a predator in its nest. “However, unless you are here on ship’s business, captain, I am somewhat fatigued and therefore...”
“Yeah, working 39 hours at a stretch and not eating will do that.”
Spock stiffened further. “I see Dr. McCoy has been carrying tales.”
“Damn it, Spock!” Jim’s palm slammed down on the desktop. “Bones is worried about you; can’t you understand that? I’m worried, too. You’re not eating; you’re not sleeping. How do I know that you’re not still suffering from...” He stopped abruptly as a wave of color washed over Spock’s face and he clasped his hands behind his back, looking over Jim to the far wall.
“Sir,” Spock said remotely. “I can assure you that my...biology....is no longer unbalanced. I am no danger to anyone on board this ship.” With a supreme effort of will, he made himself meet the captain’s eyes. “Not even to you,” he finished softly.
The broad shoulders slumped. “Spock, I....I didn’t mean....I wasn’t worried about that....” But Jim trailed off, feeling his own face heat up. He had been worried about that, at least a small part of him had. And Spock wasn’t stupid—and he knew Jim far too well. Feeling about a hundred years old, Jim got to his feet.
“I’m...sorry I disturbed you,” he said at last. “I’ll let you get some rest. Just...just stop driving yourself quite so hard, okay? You...there’s no need for you to prove anything, Spock. You should know that by now.” He was to the door by now, and he turned to see Spock still standing in the center of the room.
“Just...just let it go,” Jim said quietly intense, and then he stepped out into the hall, knowing what an utter hypocrite he was. He hadn’t let it go; how could he expect Spock to do so?
A few nights later, the dreams started.
Nothing was working. He’d tried every fighting technique he knew, all of his Command training, and it was hopeless. Spock had overcome him easily, almost effortlessly, and now, Jim was down, pinned to the unforgiving sands of Vulcan, grit and small pebbles digging into his back, burning just like the slash mark across his chest burned, burning just like the sun of Vulcan beating down, burning like Jim’s throat and lungs as Spock wrapped the ahn’wun around his neck and pulled tight. Jim’s fingers clawed at the garrote, but even as he tried to get free, he knew it was hopeless. Spock’s knee was on his chest; Spock’s face, almost unrecognizable, glared down at Jim as he yanked the ends tighter and Jim began to black out...
And then---then it all went away. The pain, the fear, the grief—all vanished as if a cool wave had bathed Jim’s mind and soul. Everything made sense now. Even as he was dying, there was no more pain or fear, only love, love and acceptance that was all-encompassing, worth any price, any pain, even as he struggled to breathe and knew he was dying...
Jim sat bolt upright in his bunk, drawing in a sobbing breath, feeling his chest burning as he fought to get oxygen into his lungs. One breath, two—and now he was breathing again; there was no rope wrapped around his neck; he wasn’t dying on the sands of Vulcan; he was safe—but the joy and peace, they were gone as well.
Jim forced himself to lie back on his bunk, curiously close to tears.
McCoy was often in Sickbay in the middle of the night. There was no real reason for him to be; the Gamma shift people were perfectly competent and he was only a quick intercom call away, but he supposed it was a holdover from his years as an intern—he just preferred to be on-call if anything happened. Besides, those quiet hours gave him time to catch up on his paperwork, and if he wanted a nap, there were plenty of beds. So Jim wasn’t all that surprised to find Bones in his office one late night, about a week after the dreams started.
Bones looked up from his padd, surprised. “Jim? What’s up?”
“Can I...can I talk to you?”
“You already know the answer to that.” McCoy got to his feet and hit the button that turned his office window opaque and let his staff know he was in a consultation. “Sit down, Jim.” He waited until Kirk had dropped into a chair and then resumed his own seat.
“What’s going on?”
Jim scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling foolish now that he was actually here. “You’ll probably just think I’m crazy.”
“Not until you flunk a few dozen ink blots.” Bones leaned forward slightly. “What is it, Jim?” he asked again. “You know you can talk to me and it won’t leave this room.”
“I know.” Jim sighed and leaned back. “I...I’ve been having dreams for the last week or so, every night, usually two or three times a night.” He fell silent. Bones waited a few moments, but it was obvious that Jim wasn’t going to talk.
“So you’ve been having dreams. All the same dream?”
Jim nodded jerkily. “Pretty much.”
“Nightmares?”
Jim shook his head. “Not really—I mean, they should be nightmares, but...”
“Okay, dreams not nightmares—but still upsetting,” Bones said calmly. “What are the dream about?”
Jim looked down, suddenly feeling—not embarrassed, maybe just—okay, maybe embarrassed. “About Vulcan,” he said in a low voice. “About the fight.”
“That’s not surprising, Jim.” Bones kept his tone calm and matter-of-fact. “You were put in a pretty lousy situation, after all. Fighting Spock to the death wasn’t on your “To-Do” list, I’m pretty sure.”
From somewhere, Jim found a smile. “No, I hadn’t penciled that in.”
“All right, so you’re dreaming about being on Vulcan and fighting Spock in the kah-if-fee—but it’s not a nightmare?”
Jim shook his head strongly. “No. I’m down; Spock’s got me pinned with that garrote around my neck; I’m fighting to get away, but I can’t, and then....” He trailed off, feeling embarrassingly close to tears once more.
“And then?” Bones said, very gently.
“And then—it’s like something touches me, deep inside, and all the fear goes away, all the pain. All I feel is peace and happiness, the kind I’ve never really felt in my life, and then...”
“And then?”
Jim looked up; McCoy was astonished to see tears in those eyes that were always dry, even in the midst of catastrophe. “And then I wake up. I wake up, Bones, and it’s so terrible, so cold. I’m so cold and so empty...” Jim pressed his lips tightly together and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control. Bones was silent for several moment, giving Jim time and space to compose himself.
“I’m sorry,” Jim said at last in a low voice. “I know it sounds ridiculous, letting myself be upset by a dream.”
McCoy shook his head. “Dreams can be very real, Jim,” he said softly. “And losing a dream can hurt every bit as much as a punch to the gut.” He fell silent again, obviously thinking.
“How are you and Spock doing?” he asked at last.
Jim looked up, surprised. “Spock? What does he have to do with this?”
McCoy gave him the kind of look Jim’s instructors at the Academy had bestowed on him the few times he’d not been able to come up with an answer. “Come on, Jim. You and Spock—the friendship has been damaged ever since Vulcan. Now you’re having dreams about being on Vulcan, and even though Spock is kicking your ass in the dream, you’re happy and at peace—until you wake up. I don’t have to fire up my Freud hologram to interpret that dream, Jim.”
Kirk was silent for a few moments. It was just one of the characteristics that Bones admired about him; he always listened to others’ opinions, and then really considered them before simply discarding them.
“I think you’re right,” he said at last. “I...I miss him, Bones. He’s right there on the Bridge, but he’s not there at all, and I miss what we had.”
“Then I think you need to mend what’s broken,” Bones said quietly. “I think Spock would if he could, but I’m not sure he has the necessary tools. You do, Jim.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jim got to his feet. “Thanks for listening, Bones.”
“It’s why they keep me around,” McCoy replied. “Now go find the pointy-eared computer and get your friendship back online. You’ll sleep better—and maybe he’ll start sleeping occasionally.”
Jim could have gone back to bed, but he was too restless and keyed-up. No time like the present, he thought nervously, trying to think of what to say to Spock. He took a deep breath and clicked on his computer.
“Computer, location of Commander Spock.” Maybe he’s asleep.
“Working. Commander Spock is in Observation Room 5.”
Okay. Jim took a deep breath and headed for the lift.
Jim hesitated outside the door of Observation Room 5. It was a small room, not used too often, and for a moment, he wondered if Spock had picked it to find a quiet place to meditate. Don’t be stupid. If he wanted to meditate, he could do it in his quarters. Still, Jim stood outside for another moment before finally working up courage to knock.
There was silence for an instant, and then Spock’s voice said, “Come.”
Jim opened the door and stepped inside. Spock was on the far side of the room, apparently looking out the view port. The ship was on standard patrol at sub-light speed, so the stars were visible. Even as the door swished shut behind Jim, Spock kept looking out at the stars.
“Spock?” Jim hesitated. “Can we...may I talk to you?”
With obvious reluctance, Spock turned away from the window—but he didn’t meet Jim’s eyes. With a sinking heart, Jim saw that Spock looked even thinner and more tired than he had ten days or so before. “Sir,” Spock said with a stiff nod.
“Spock, it’s not ‘sir’ here; we’re both off-duty.” Jim gestured towards the long, narrow couch that was the room’s only furnishing. “Sit down...please.”
Spock did so but so rigidly that he might as well have been standing. Carefully concealing his nervousness, Jim sat down as well. Neither spoke; Jim was trying to figure out what to say. At last, Spock broke the silence.
“Sir,” he said, voice still monotone. “If this is a discussion regarding my request for a transfer...”
“What?” Jim didn’t mean for it to come out so loudly, but his voice echoed through the room.
Spock looked at him, really looked, for the first time since Jim had walked into the room. “My apologies,” Spock said quietly. “I assumed you had checked your in-box and seen the request.”
“No.” Jim’s heart was pounding as if he’d run a mile, and he felt his throat close. “No, Spock. You...you can’t.”
Spock raised one eyebrow. “Starfleet Regulations, Section...”
“Goddamn it, Spock, don’t quote me regulations!” Jim was on his feet, every muscle tensed as if ready to fight or...or what? What the Hell was he going to do? Spock was correct; under Starfleet regs, he had every right to transfer, and Jim knew only too well that there would be a half-dozen captains lined up to offer him whatever job he wanted on whatever ship he fancied.
Jim sat down slowly, looking at Spock, who hadn’t moved. “Will you at least tell me why?” he asked quietly.
Some of the rigidity left Spock’s body; indeed, he almost seemed to slump. “I would think it obvious,” he said, talking to his hands. “You no longer trust me; I....intimidate you.” He made himself look up. “And you are...angry with me,” he finished quietly. “I...I cannot bear your anger, not each and every day. Please understand, Jim; I do not blame you. The destruction of our friendship must be laid squarely at my door.” He looked down at his hands again. “I simply cannot continue here, mourning what was and knowing it was my fault.”
“Spock.” For a moment, Jim couldn’t find the words. To think that Spock had been carrying this burden, blaming himself, getting ready to give up the Enterprise, his ongoing scientific work, all his friends, everything familiar to him....
“Spock, please,” Jim said. “That’s...this isn’t all your fault. Yes, I was angry. I’ll admit that now; I should have admitted it a long time ago. When we ended up on Vulcan, facing each other with weapons, I was furious—at T’Pring, T’Pau, and yes, even you. I couldn’t break through to you; I couldn’t make you see that you were trying to kill your best friend—and it made me angry. I nursed that anger, brooded on it—and took it out on you. I’m sorry, Spock, so very sorry. But please believe me; I’m not angry anymore.”
Spock’s expression didn’t change. “Perhaps not—but the damage is done.” Those eyes, ringed in black, looked steadily into Jim’s.
“You...can’t forgive me?” Jim felt a sick spasm run through him.
Spock shook his head. “There is nothing to forgive; you have the right to your anger,” he replied. “However....I must go, Jim. Everything has changed, and I must accept that. Please, let me go with dignity.” He rose to his feet. Jim looked up at him, too stunned even to think clearly.
“So...that’s it? You’re walking away?”
“It is...for the best,” Spock said. He turned to leave.
“My God,” Jim whispered, more to himself than to Spock. “My dreams...they were omens of this.” He shivered feeling the creeping cold once more, feeling the emptiness inside that had been his companion every time he awoke.
Spock was halfway to the door—but he stopped. “Dreams?” He turned and looked at Jim, a faint frown appearing. “Jim, what dreams?”
“Does it matter?” Jim asked bitterly. He got to his feet. “If you want a transfer, I won’t stand in your way.” He turned and looked out the viewport, waiting for Spock to leave, praying he would before the pain that was thrumming along every nerve got too severe for even Jim Kirk to hide.
“Jim.” Like a ghost, Jim could see Spock’s reflection as the Vulcan approached and stopped just behind Kirk. “What dreams?” Spock asked softly. “Jim, I need to know.”
Jim closed his eyes against the pain and the note of pleading in that low, velvety voice. Unnoticed, he clenched his fists hard enough to dig his nails into his palms.
“They’re always the same,” he said. “We’re on Vulcan; you’re trying to kill me. But then, just as you have me down and helpless, just when you’re choking the life out of me, I....I can’t explain it, Spock. All I know is that in the dream, there’s no pain, no fear, nothing that should be there—just joy and peace.” He made himself open his eyes, made himself turn around and face Spock squarely.
“And then, I wake up,” he said quietly. “I wake up, and all that joy and peace are gone. I’m cold, and I’m alone, and that’s how I’ll be forever. I know it in my heart, even if there’s no logic to it.” He spit out the word as if it were poison. “I’ll live alone and....” He made himself say it. “And I’ll die alone.” He shuddered as the burden of it, the sheer agony of the knowledge, bore down on him once more. Jim’s shoulders slumped and he stared down at his feet, not wanting to see Spock walk out that door.
But Spock didn’t walk out. “Jim,” he breathed. “Oh, Jim, what have I done to you?”
Puzzled, Jim lifted his head, turning to face the Vulcan. “Done? Spock, what do you mean? My dreams aren’t your fault.” He stared at Spock, seeing an expression on his friend’s face that Jim had never seen before, hope and concern and something else all mixed together. Jim swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Or are they?” he whispered.
Slowly, Spock nodded. “I suspect....” He drew even closer, coming to within inches of Jim’s body and raised one hand.
“I am sorry to ask this of you, but it is necessary,” he murmured. “May I have your thoughts?”
Jim blinked. “You mean, like you did with the Horta?” A smile flitted across his lips at Spock’s nod. “Well, I doubt if I’m as interesting as a silicon-based life form with ten thousand children—but go ahead, Spock. I trust you,” he finished softly. Jim closed his eyes as Spock gently laid his fingers against brow, cheek, and jaw. “My mind to your mind,” Spock all but whispered the words. “My thoughts to your thoughts...”
For a timeless moment, nothing happened. Then, Jim felt it. Barely breathing, he felt that cool wave wash through him, bathing his mind and body in pure sensation, not a physical touch but no less real—and no less full of love. Jim caught his breath, feeling that essence wrap itself around him like a weary traveler coming home to a loved one’s embrace.
A minute or an hour later, Jim felt Spock gently withdraw from his consciousness. He opened his eyes, unconcerned that they were filled with tears and met Spock’s gaze, unsurprised to see the sheen of moisture in those deep brown eyes as well.
“Forgive me,” Spock murmured. “Emotional transference is an effect of the mind-meld.”
“What happened to us?” Jim was dazed, almost unsteady on his feet, but then he suddenly realized that Spock had his arm around Jim’s body, holding him steady, keeping him safe.
“When we were on Vulcan, when I was fevered, tormented, my very mind and heart aflame, I reached out—and you reached back,” Spock said gently. “We formed a bond in that moment. Your dreams were caused by the bond reaching, seeking its fullness, just as my dreams have been.”
“You’ve been dreaming, too?” Jim whispered. Spock nodded.
“That is why I felt I must leave,” he said. “I believed that my dreams were the product of my fevered imagination. I did not believe that you could ever....want me.”
“But I do.” Suddenly, Jim was surer of that fact than he’d ever been of anything. “I do want you, Spock. You must have seen that when you touched my mind. I do want you; I can’t imagine my world without you. Please, don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me.”
“I will not.” Spock drew Jim closer and with a sigh, Jim rested his head against that strong shoulder, wrapping his arms around Spock in turn and feeling the peace and comfort that had eluded him for so long. They stood locked together, supporting one another, with only their breathing to break the silence. Finally, Spock raised his head, looking at Jim.
“You are fatigued,” he said tenderly. “You should get some rest. I too should sleep. It has been more than 94 hours since I have done so.”
Jim didn’t ever want to leave this room; he didn’t want to live one instant past this perfect moment, but the knowledge of Spock’s weariness gave him the strength to do so. He moved back slightly, loosening his hold on Spock but sliding his hands up to clasp his shoulders.
“I’ll let you go,” he said, “but first, may I kiss you, just once?”
Wordlessly, Spock nodded, and Jim stepped back into his embrace. They were almost the same height, so Jim tilted his head up ever so slightly and found Spock’s mouth. He’d never in his life kissed another man, but that didn’t matter now. Spock’s lips were warm against his, and they relaxed as Jim probed gently, opening beneath the human’s gentle caress as Spock responded with all the pent-up hunger he’d denied for so long, pulling Jim into a tight embrace as their lips learned one another’s contours.
At last, Jim broke the kiss, leaning back to look into Spock’s eyes, which no longer held any shadows. “Wow,” he said softly. “I’m sorry we have to wait another six-and-a-half years, but it will damned well be worth it; I can tell.”
Spock looked puzzled for a moment—and then, he actually chuckled.
“Oh, Jim.” His voice held a mixture of amusement and affection. “You do not honestly believe that Vulcans only mate once every seven years.”
“They don’t?”
“Certainly not,” Spock replied, a faint smile still touching his lips. “We must mate every seven years; we may whenever we so desire.”
Jim felt another surge of pure joy well up inside of him, and he wrapped his arms more tightly around Spock. “So, do you desire?” Spock suddenly hid his head against Jim’s neck, his body trembling slightly.
“I do,” he whispered, “so very much. But not tonight. You need your rest, as I need mine.”
“Okay,” Jim murmured. “I want this to be perfect for you, so I’ll wait until I’m not half-asleep.” He gave Spock one last kiss and stepped back.
“Come on,” he said. “The sooner we’re rested, the sooner I can show you just how much you mean to me.”
“You do not have to,” Spock said softly. “I have seen it all.” He lifted one hand, extending his index and middle fingers together towards Jim.
“Do as I do,” Spock said. Jim, wondering, reached out and touched his own fingers to Spock’s. Instantly that feeling of utter love, complete security rolled through him once more.
“Parted from me, and never parted,” Spock said tenderly.
“Never and always, touching and touched,” Jim whispered.
“I await thee.” Spock brushed a kiss across Jim’s brow and left. Jim stood alone—but never again alone—waiting for the morrow.