Archive of Our Own ^beta

Twenty-one days ago, it started like an itch. Spock disregarded the small annoyance. 

Two days ago, Spock collapsed in pain. 

He had never felt anything like it. Was it some ailment due to his hybrid status? Was he dying? It felt like he might be. But it didn’t appear to be anything Dr. McCoy could help him with. 

Spock sat down at his private terminal and initiated a secure transmission to the Vulcan colony. He had prearranged the video conference call in advance, so a Vulcan healer immediately responded. 

“Healer Sochan, thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

“Spock,” Sochan acknowledged. “Tell me what ails you.”

“It is difficult to describe.” Spock’s hands fidgeted in his lap outside of the viewscreen range. He had prepared a simple account before making the call. He should stick to the script. “For twenty-one standard days I have been experiencing a sense of wrongness, like something is missing. It has manifested itself in headaches as well as an itching sensation that has become quite painful. And, in the last two days, unpredictable spasms and bouts of unconsciousness.” Spock paused. There was no point in consulting a healer without absolute candor. “There have also been dreams. In the dreams, I am not alone. There is always someone there. The figure is shadowy, unclear, but present nonetheless.”

“What is your impression of the figure in your dreams?”

“How do you mean?” 

“Positive? Negative? How do you feel towards the individual?”

Spock blinked. He was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Vulcans did not ask one another about their feelings. But this was a healer. Sochan would not ask were it not important to the diagnostic. Spock must answer if this meeting was to be beneficial. He had sought the healer’s aid, and if the healer believed this aspect to be important then it must be so. “Safe. Secure. A sense of belonging.”  

Sochan looked down at the PADD in his hands. “Your medical records state you are unbonded.” 

It was not a question, so Spock waited. He was uncertain what his bonding status had to do with his ailment.

“Your childhood link to T’Pring was severed upon her death. Describe how that affected you.”

“Minimally,” Spock replied. “Our link was shallow, and I had not communicated with her since departing for Starfleet. Psychically, I did perceive her death. But it was one death of many that I was affected by at that time.” Spock did not have to elaborate on that point. All Vulcans had felt the deaths of their people when Vulcan was obliterated. “Physically, I was fatigued for three point five days.”

“After the three point five days?” Sochan prompted. 

“Nothing reportable.”

“Have you become close to anyone on your Starfleet ship, the…” Sochan checked his PADD. “Enterprise?”

Spock furrowed his brow. “I fail to see how my personal relationships are relevant to this discussion.”

“This is not a discussion, this is a diagnostic consultation. Answer the question.” 

Sochan’s voice was uninflected, but Spock gripped his hands together as an outlet for his frustration. His reactions were wildly beyond his control due to his symptoms. “I briefly pursued a romantic relationship with a human woman. The relationship has since been terminated.”

Spock anticipated disapproval, but Sochan gave no outward sign of it. 

“Did you engage in any telepathic linking with her?” Sochan asked.

“No, our interactions were strictly non-psychic.” 

At this, Sochan’s eyebrows did rise, and Spock wondered if the healer was judging him. Spock’s discomfort with the line of questioning was increasing. The healer pressed, “Perhaps there were moments of accidental psychic connectivity?”

“No,” Spock said firmly. 

The healer would not let the matter drop, however. “Was there ever a situation in which you were perhaps holding hands and sent your consciousness across the link unintentionally?”

“No, Healer. I am certain I did not.” 

“Spock, I am at a loss. Perhaps this is a matter of your hybrid genes. You may have to come to the colony for further examination.”

Spock was horrified by the prognosis. Leave the Enterprise? His decision to stay in Starfleet instead of going to the colony in the first place had been heavily influenced by his older self’s words. Do what feels right, his counterpart had advised, and then offered to assist in the colony’s efforts in Spock’s stead. Spock had wanted to stay in Starfleet – to join the Enterprise crew – and his older self’s words had clinched the deal. He was able to be First Officer aboard the finest new ship in the fleet – under its fine new Captain – without the guilt of abandoning his people. The Enterprise had given his life  new purpose. What if his leave of absence became permanent? What would be his purpose then? 

Sochan interrupted Spock’s spiraling thoughts. “Have you had any telepathic engagements with anyone else in the months following T’Pring’s passing?”

“I took some information from a Romulan officer on a mission. And then…” Spock hesitated. How could he answer yes, with an alternate version of myself? He could not. Just before Spock had embarked with the Enterprise, his older self had initiated a meld to impart some information – and warning – about his timeline. Spock hadn’t thought anything of it. It had been enlightening, certainly, to engage a mind so like his own yet with such different, and quantitatively larger, life experiences. But could that shallow meld be responsible for his present troubles? He would not know if he did not speak of it. But he could not speak of it. Could he? 

He would stall.

“I wish to continue this conversation later, if that is possible. My duties await.”

“That is acceptable.”

“Thank you for your time, Healer Sochan.”

Sochan nodded, and Spock cut the feed. He entered a different set of codes and waited for the call to be answered. The Enterprise was still close enough to the colony that the subspace transmission should permit a live call. Only a few minutes passed before an image appeared on the screen.

“Spock, I was not expecting your call.”

Spock studied his older self. They had not spoken since before the Enterprise set out on its mission, but the months showed little on the already weathered face. The Vulcan had silver gray hair, and his eyes were wizened by his many years. 

“I must ask you whether anyone in the colony knows your true identity.”

“Yes. I have informed the council. And our father.”

“May healers be informed?” Spock asked.

“You wish to speak to a healer about our connection? What has caused you to seek such aid, young one?” The creases in the elder’s face deepened, visibly radiating compassion and concern.

“I am not well,” Spock admitted. “I am experiencing a mixture of physical and psychic pain that I cannot explain. Or manage,” he added the last part quietly. “It is only logical that I seek aid.”

“Yes, logical indeed,” the older Spock agreed. “You may tell the healers anything that may help you.” The elder tilted his head. “Perhaps there is something with which I can assist you?”

“The healer suggested my problem may be the result of my being half-human. Was this a medical problem for you?” Spock asked.

“No,” came the quick reply, which relieved Spock greatly. He may not have to leave the Enterprise after all, if his dilemma was not particular to his unique genetic makeup. 

“I have another question,” Spock said, and the other Vulcan gestured for him to continue. “The healer gave significant attention to telepathic encounters I have had in recent months. Ours was the only one that was significant. Could anything have gone wrong in a melding of minds so closely related?”

“There is no precedent of which I am aware.” The older Spock closed his eyes, appearing thoughtful. “It could be explained by a number of theories, but I do recall that our consciousnesses were gravitating towards one another, producing unaccounted sparks of connectivity that were unrelated to the intentional imparting of information, which was the purpose of the meld.”

“Sparks, yes, an apt metaphor for what I recall. Do you think anything was transmitted between us through those unanticipated neural bursts? 

“It is possible. But Spock,” the elder looked seriously at his younger self. “Will you not tell me what troubles you? My responses could be more useful if I knew the relevant issues.”

“It is private,” Spock said shortly.

The older Spock sighed almost inaudibly but did not press the matter. “Do you have any further questions for me?”

“No. That is all. Peace and long life.” Spock raised his hand in the Vulcan salutation. 

The other Spock mirrored his gesture. “Peace and long life.”

Spock ended the transmission. He stared at the empty screen, processing the two conversations. The healer did not say what was wrong with Spock, but he had conveyed suspicions that it had to do with something awry with Spock’s telepathy. His older self confirmed the problem was not an inevitability due to his half-human heritage. Nevertheless, the meld with his older self was the only bilateral telepathic link Spock had formed recently. Spock was hardly an expert on telepathy, much less its medical consequences, so he would have to trust the healer’s interpretation of the information he would present when they resumed their transmission. 

Satisfied that he had dealt with the situation to the best of his abilities, Spock changed out of his science blues into a long, navy robe that his mother had given him not long before the emergency call from Vulcan. For weeks, it had smelled like Vulcan’s red-earth. Spock had been reluctant to have it cleaned. But then he had scoffed at his own sentimentality and placed it in the laundry. Scant hours later he’d changed his mind and went to retrieve it, but it had already been washed. Now, it smelled like his Starfleet uniform. Lemon-fresh and sterile. 

Suddenly, Spock doubled over in pain. The tremors threw his body into a fit that ended as abruptly as it began. Chest heaving up and down, Spock lay on the deck of his quarters. He could not perform his First Officer duties in this condition. So far, he had not lost control while on duty. But at this rate of progression, it was inevitable that he would. 

Spock stared up at an imperfection in the ceiling. There was one crack in a sea of gray. One crack in the otherwise smooth surface. But one crack could splinter and bring down the whole structure. Spock wondered where in his body hid the imperfection that was causing his own deterioration. Could it be patched, like the crack on the ceiling? Spock did not know. 

Spock was still lying on the floor when he heard the door chime sounding. He hurriedly drew his limbs in a position from which to rise, but the door opened before he commanded it to. His Captain strode in and came to a halt seeing his First Officer sprawled on the ground in a half-sitting pose. “Oh, I’m sorry, Spock. Were you meditating?”

Would that I had been, Spock thought to himself. “I would have said you could enter had you given me the opportunity to do so.” 

Kirk should have been chagrined from the light chastisement about knocking before entering, but possibly he’d been knocking for a while and Spock hadn’t responded due to his indisposition. Kirk just gave a lopsided smile. “Well then, it works out for both of us. Do you want a hand up?” 

Spock nodded, and they clasped arms. As Kirk pulled him up, Spock felt much better. Much, much better. Puzzled and delighted, Spock kept his grip on Kirk’s forearm and hand, relishing the first moment of completely pain-free existence he’d had in a week. His head wasn’t even buzzing, and the itching was soothed. He felt Kirk try to ease his hand out of Spock’s Vulcan-strong grip, and Spock knew he should let go. But he was reluctant to do so. The moment of indecision was dragged out too long.

Kirk laughed awkwardly. “Steady there, Commander.”

Spock brought his eyes into contact with Kirk’s. Had he never noticed how blue they were? Blue like a rare oasis in the Vulcan desert. Blue he could drown in. 

Kirk tugged at his hand and Spock released him. 

“I wanted to get your opinion on some operational improvements Scotty wants to make in engineering,” Kirk said.

“Certainly, Captain. Please, sit.” Spock pointed to his desk chair. Perhaps it was time to requisition a second chair, given the frequency of Kirk bringing work to his quarters. 

Spock was not used to having others in his private quarters. As an instructor at the Academy, he did not take social or professional calls in his room. The Academy had conveniently located common areas specifically designated for such encounters. But on the Enterprise, Kirk did not designate spaces for different purposes in the same way. When Spock had once suggested taking their discussion out of the Captain’s quarters, where he’d been corralled, and into a conference room, Kirk had looked at him askance, asking why they should waste time going all the way to another deck just for the Captain to have a conversation with his First Officer. Kirk had even gone so far as to suggest that the very idea was illogical. Spock wasn’t sure about that, but he’d relented and a precedent had been set.  

“No, Spock, you sit. You’re barely steady on your feet. I must have yanked you out of that meditation too fast.” Spock acquiesced and sat down. Kirk tossed him a PADD and animatedly stalked the room. “I’m fine with Scotty making modifications, but I want to know if they’re safe.”

Spock glanced down at the sketchily-drawn diagrams on the PADD. “The proposed design is not standard regulation.”

“I know.” Kirk waved his hand as he continued walking around Spock’s quarters. “My concern isn’t the regs themselves. I want to know, in your educated opinion, whether you think it’s likely to blow up in our faces.”

“I will have to study the calculations more thoroughly to answer that question,” Spock said. “Will tomorrow be soon enough?”

“Yes, that’s great.” Kirk stopped pacing. “Well, that’s all. I’ve got a poker game with Sulu and Chekov in the rec room. Get some sleep, Commander. That’s an order.” He smiled as he said it.

“Yes, Sir,” Spock acknowledged. The Captain frequently spent his evenings in social engagements with the crew. But not with Spock. Spock was not interested in poker, and Kirk had not specifically invited him to play. It did not matter, in any case. He would read Scott’s report and then sleep. 

The dreams that came with sleep should not be welcome, as they were yet another symptom of his physical and psychic illness. Nevertheless, they were welcome. They offered a respite where he felt loved and wanted unconditionally by the unknown, shadowy figure who now appeared every night to soothe and comfort the hurts of the day. Spock knew this was a concerning development, but he reasoned that sleep was always beneficial. 

Spock woke up with a fever and chills wracking his body. He wrapped the soft robe tighter around himself and padded into the fresher to splash water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. His dark brown eyes looked unusually hollow and glassy. His normally pale face was even more pallid, and a slight sheen of sweat edged along his hairline. 

He pushed his bangs off of his forehead messily and walked back into the main room to sit down at the terminal. He stared at the blank screen. He should check for messages. 

He fiddled with the computer controls, but did not turn on the monitor. He could make out his reflection in the black screen, but it was distorted like looking into the rounded curve of a spoon. He did that sometimes while waiting for his plomeek soup to cool to an ingestible temperature. 

He drummed his fingers on the desk – the only outward sign of his consternation. He wanted to go to the Bridge to report for duty, but he would be sent away to Sickbay at first sight. Maybe that’s where he belonged. He would go see McCoy after his consultation with the Vulcan healer. Meanwhile, he should confirm his absence from Bridge duty. He flipped on the shipwide communicator and hailed Uhura. “Commander Spock here.”

“Receiving,” Uhura responded.

“Call my replacement for alpha shift.” 

“Yes, Commander,” Uhura replied. Then her voice softened. “Spock, are you oka–”

“Spock out.”. He terminated the transmission and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in the folds of his robe. His thoughts were dark. Pessimistically, his mind began to brainstorm all manner of disastrous possibilities of what was wrong with him and what his fate would be. He had contracted a terminal disease and would be dead in a month. His illness could only be cured by moving to the colony, permanently. He was allergic to the Enterprise. He was allergic to the Enterprise crew. He could only be saved by bonding to an unknown Vulcan chosen by the Council. His pain was a permanent disability that he had to live with forever. And so on.

It was time to contact the healer again. Spock initiated the call. 

“Healer Sochan,” Spock greeted.

“Commander Spock.” Sochan gave a shallow nod and proceeded without delay. “We will continue where we left off. State any telepathic linking you have participated in since T’Pring’s death.”

“I must inform you that there is an older, alternate version of me who is currently residing in the colony. He is known as Selek, but his true identity is known to the Council. He came from the future in an alternate timeline. It is with him that I mind-melded.” 

Sochan looked as shocked as a Vulcan could look, which was to say his eye twitched and his head tilted. “Assuming what you say is true, then you essentially melded with yourself. That is very interesting. Is your other self bonded?”

Spock considered this, thinking of what he saw in the meld. “I believe so. But the status of his bondmate was…confusing. I assumed the faint, disjointed presence was due to his having come from an alternate time and space, that perhaps they had been separated by that journey.”

“Spock, based on the information with which you presented me, I will now offer my diagnosis.”

Spock sat up in his chair in anticipation.

“It is my medical opinion that you are suffering from the effects of an incomplete bond. The symptoms are consistent with that. However, you have no bondmate. This anomaly I hypothesize to be the direct result of mental communion with your other self. His bond triggered an identical one within you.” 

“So someone must anchor the bond?” Spock hypothesized. He had not intended to seek a Vulcan bondmate this early in his life, but it was not an insurmountable task. It would be a rushed courtship, but Spock could take a leave of absence from the Enterprise, find a suitable bondmate on the colony with help form the Council, bond, and return to his chosen life as an officer in Starfleet.  

“No, Spock. You must understand. This bond is not seeking any receptive individual. It is seeking the exact person to whom your older self was bonded in his timeline. You cannot choose your bondmate.” 

Spock froze.

After delivering the news, Sochan briefly looked away, as if he too wanted to turn away from the egregious wrongness of Spock’s situation. But then Sochan schooled his face again. “You must discover the identity of your unknown bondmate, find that person in this timeline, and complete the bond. Your symptoms should dissipate then cease entirely when you have done this.”

Spock was bewildered. He did not think anything worse could be said. He was proven wrong. 

“The question is whether your intended bondmate perished in the destruction of Vulcan. If that is the case, you cannot be helped.” 

That possibility had not even occurred to Spock. So many had died. Yes, many had been evacuated, but the odds were not negligible that this mystery person was dead. “But, if my…bondmate” – Spock had trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that he was apparently already bonded – “is dead, why these symptoms? Shouldn’t the effects be dampened and the bond closed?”

Sochan nodded. “That is, in fact, precisely why I estimate your bondmate is alive. The bond is seeking completion with this individual. The other possibility is that your ailment is something gone terribly wrong – an unconquerable loss over a bond that was never yours and can never be. Such an irreparable breach would destroy you.”

“And a forced bond with someone I may not even know is not terribly wrong?” Spock retorted. He could hear the bitterness in his own voice, and though it disturbed him, he could not tamp it down. He touched his forehead with trembling fingers.

Sochan remained cool despite Spock’s outburst. “Spock, your Vulcan bondmate will make do, for they will understand your subjugation to the bond’s whims. You will make do. Take consolation that you will live.”

Spock tried to bring himself back under control, forcing his face into a suitably calm façade. He was not quite sure he achieved it. 

“Furthermore, you may find that the bondmate chosen by your other self is an equally good match for you. After all, you and your bondmate are the same elemental entities then as now, regardless of temporal displacement.”

Spock latched onto this notion with the most human of hopes. 

Sochan raised his hand in the ta’al, and Spock did as well. “Live long and prosper, Spock.”

“Peace and long life,” Spock returned. 

The transmission ended. Spock touched his lips. A bond. Ironic that a union so revered and desired among his people was proving to be the source of his greatest pain. Like his peers growing up, Spock had hoped that one day he would find such a relationship that was stalwart and true enough to bear a bond, which was more than the kind of shallow link he’d had with T’Pring. Not every Vulcan did so, and Spock figured his chances were slim, given that he was only half-Vulcan and a bond of this nature was so…Vulcan. So utterly alien to humans, who were psi-null. How to explain a connection that tied both physical and psychic selves together within oneself and then bound the twined rope to another? The metaphor of an inflexible tether was as good as any other. 

Spock felt tied-up even now. He pictured himself wrapped in a rope like a snake’s prey. It would choke him unless he found the other end, where his mysterious bondmate must pick up the slack. Spock’s fate was now bound up with someone else’s. Someone not of Spock’s choosing. Someone Spock may not even know – probably didn’t know. Someone who hadn’t chosen Spock – who may not even want Spock. 

It was hard to conceive of such an individual willing to bond with a half-human, half-Vulcan hybrid. Although it was easiest to imagine that person would be Vulcan, it wasn’t a certainty. Spock never felt he fully belonged on Vulcan. But then he felt the same way at Starfleet Academy surrounded by humans. The Enterprise was rapidly becoming his ideal home. He knew his place here, and he was valued – valued for his skills and for his contribution to the mission and the success of the crew. But was he valued for his company? Spock longed to forge closer relationships with his shipmates, but he was tentative about it and was lacking in those qualities necessary for such friendships. He did not care for idle gossip, gambling, or drinking. He preferred silence during mealtimes and privacy for physical exercise. He avoided casual touch. 

And now he would soon be thrust into the deepest and most profound of all relationships. He was hardly prepared. He was still figuring himself out. How impossible an endeavor it seemed to learn someone else at the same time as learning oneself. Whoever his bondmate was, Spock hoped they were wiser than he was. Someone who knew themselves and could help Spock adjust to being in a true partnership – a true union of souls. 

Spock strummed his fingers on the keypad for the terminal, hesitating in contacting his older self to learn the identity of his destined-to-be bondmate. The identity was important knowledge. Life-altering knowledge. Knowledge out of Spock’s control. Fated. When he was born under the Hythina constellation in the year 2230 in Shi’Kahr, was it determined then who his bondmate would be? 

Destiny no longer seemed like a comforting idea as it had in his youth. It was stifling. Tethering him to a fate that was already spoiled due to interference in the time/space continuum. Finding a bondmate was a lifelong pursuit, and the finding was supposedly a miraculous experience. A remnant of Vulcan’s ancient mysticism. Spock thought he had seized destiny by the reins when he chose Starfleet over the VSA. Had he? 

His thoughts were illogically circular and provided no resolution. He keyed in the code for his older self, who answered quickly.

“Greetings, Spock. Have you changed your mind and wish for further discussion?”

“I require a name,” Spock said tersely. “An identity that you have knowledge of. Intimate knowledge. It is an invasion of your privacy, but I must know.”

“Whose identity do you seek? My reticence in divulging further information about my timeline than I already have is due to my desire for you to experience your life unencumbered and uninfluenced by my own.”

“Then you have already failed,” Spock informed him solemnly. His tone was not incriminating so much as sorrowful. “I must know the identity of your bondmate.”

“Spock, I do not think--” 

“Your bond was replicated in me. An exact copy. I am suffering from an incomplete bond to your bondmate in this timeline.”

The older Spock’s eyes widened. “It cannot be.”

“It is so,” Spock affirmed.

“How?” 

“I do not know. But the sparks we spoke of carried far more import than we suspected. They were neural bursts of recognition. Perceiving itself, my consciousness evidently duplicated what it found in you, reproducing the same circumstances. The same effects. The same bond.”

“Can it be undone?”

“The healer did not indicate that was a possibility. The bond has fully integrated into my psyche. It is the source of my…infirmity.”

“You are not ready to learn the identity of this individual,” the older Spock cautioned.

“Be that as it may, I must or I will continue to weaken until I am completely debilitated. I will die.” Spock’s hope that his bondmate’s identity would be uncomplicated was rapidly waning.

“He is human.”

Spock digested the information. Male. Human. The former was not as unexpected as the latter. So much for relying on his bondmate to guide him through the Vulcan aspects of the bonding. 

His other self leaned in closer to the screen. “James T. Kirk. Your Captain.”

Spock was stunned. “You said nothing of this when you encouraged me to serve under him on the Enterprise,” he accused. Panic rose within him. Instead of being able to suppress it as he usually could, the sensation flooded him. Fears bubbled up, one after the next. “Kirk will not want this with me. I don’t want this with him.”

“I did tell you your friendship with him could be life-defining. Are you not on the path to becoming friends?”

“On the path?” Spock echoed, mind clouding over. 

He had not felt so undisciplined since Kirk had provoked him on the Bridge. He remembered Kirk’s neck under his hand, vulnerable arteries pulsing rapidly like the blood that had burned behind his own eyelids. 

“We have barely set foot on the path, much less walked it. Since I have known him, he has been a constant challenge to me. This has worked out…fairly well in a professional capacity, but on a personal level I rather dislike him.” 

Spock pursed his lips as flashes of other interactions played in his mind – the way Kirk had looked at him across the Bridge when they escaped the black hole, the time Spock could barely restrain his smile when he submitted his candidacy to be Kirk’s First Officer, and the frisson of excitement they shared going over the mission itinerary and personnel reports for the first time. 

“No, that is…not entirely accurate. I respect him. I see the merit in his command. I chose the Enterprise. I wanted to be the First Officer. His First Officer.”  

Spock’s head hurt as he tried to reconcile all the disparate data points. Failed overtures. Miscommunications. Doubt. What he and Kirk had together was not enough on which to forge the kind of bond that had been thrust upon. 

“But he does not understand me. Nor I him. Not really. We are not even friends. To be bonded and not even friends?” 

Something was breaking inside him. And it hurt on every cellular level. The threads of his control were entirely gone.

“Spock…” 

But Spock had worked himself into a frenzy. “This is…intolerable.” His voice rose higher. “Intolerable!” He found a target for his anger in the face on the screen and slammed his hand down on the console so hard the screen nearly cracked. “This is your fault!”

“Spock…” The older Spock’s too-familiar eyes were sorrowful as he held up his palms. To deny? Apologize? Placate? It didn’t matter.  

The door to Spock’s quarters buzzed. Spock whirled around at the untimely interruption. “Leave me be!” 

It was Kirk, of course. Impeccable timing as always – finding Spock at his weakest and going in for the kill.  

“Spock, what’s going on?” Kirk asked from the other side of the door. “I was coming to see what kept you from the Bridge, and I can hear you shouting. Let us in or we’ll come in.” 

Spock sagged against the back of the chair, mentally and physically exhausted.

“Calm yourself,” the other Spock advised. “If what you say is true about your incomplete bond, then you do not wish to scare him.”

“I already have,” Spock reminded the elder, “when I choked him on the Bridge. Was that not what you intended when you sent him back to the ship? To compromise me? It worked then. It’s working now.”

“I am sorry.” The sentiment was sincere, but hollowly received. “And you must know I never intended to trigger a bond.”

“Spock, I’m using my override code,” Kirk warned from the corridor.

Spock was surprised Kirk hadn’t already done so. Had Spock finally gotten through to him that he did not appreciate being barged in on? That was progress. But it was a ridiculously small amount of progress. It would hardly make a dent in the walls that would need to be torn down between them if Spock was to survive, if Kirk really was his unchosen, unwitting bondmate. 

Spock used the time Kirk was opening his door to regain some scraps of control. He steadied his breathing, though he couldn't lower its fast pace. 

The Captain and Doctor entered his quarters and took turns staring at him. Spock bristled under their scrutiny.  

Kirk spoke first. “Are you sick? I told Bones you might be, based on how bad off you were yesterday. I wasn’t that surprised you weren’t on shift today.” 

McCoy stepped in. “It’s regulation that you at least inform your CMO when you take off sick.”

“I know,” Spock acknowledged. 

McCoy looked askance at Kirk. Kirk shook his head slightly, then turned back to Spock with pleading eyes. “Talk to us. Please.”

McCoy’s attention had been drawn to the still-active terminal. “Is that a Vulcan healer?” he asked irritably, pointing to the image on the screen.  

Kirk recognized the older Spock, of course. “I think it’s a personal transmission, Bones.” He looked curiously at Spock.

Spock stared back with growing intensity. This was his bondmate? This impossibly young human who cheated his test at the Academy, cheated Spock out of his command, cheated death on the Narada? Spock found himself uncharacteristically inarticulate. “I am indeed…unwell. But, I know the…remedy.”

“Well, get on that,” Kirk said with an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up to Bones. “I need my First Officer.”

Not like I need you, Spock thought dismally. Not nearly like I need you.  

“Were you going to clue me in? Your CMO?” McCoy ground out in exasperation.

“Yes. Today,” Spock responded honestly. 

McCoy harrumphed. “Thank the stars.” 

Apparently unable to help himself, the older Spock spoke up. “Perhaps later today Spock and Captain Kirk could play chess and discuss Spock’s wellbeing.”

Spock cast the older Vulcan a dark look, but Kirk looked surprised by the suggestion. “You play chess, Spock?” 

“Yes.”

“I’ve never played,” Kirk said. “I heard my dad was pretty good, though. I found an antique set among his old things one summer.”

“The kind I play is multi-leveled,” Spock said. Talking about chess at a time like this was almost a non sequitur. Yet thinking about gambits was calming. “The pieces are distributed on three different levels. It allows for more in-depth strategizing and extended play.” Those were two aspects of the game that Spock particularly enjoyed. 

Kirk nodded absently. Spock decided the reaction meant the Captain was not interested in playing the game with him. Not interested in learning it or learning about Spock on another level. McCoy had once called Spock an unfeeling robot who only performed his duties and did nothing else, but both McCoy and Kirk had shown they knew otherwise, hadn’t they? 

The buzzing in Spock’s head intensified to a throbbing pain. He groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling his sweat-soaked bangs shooting off in every direction.

Spock nearly jumped when he was caught in an embrace. Kirk’s skin was cool on Spock’s feverish flesh, and it was a relief to collapse unconscious into his arms. 

“Woah!” Jim yelped, readjusting his friendly hug into a firmer hold, trying to catch the sudden dead-weight of his First Officer. 

Bones reached to assist. “Come on Jim, let’s help him lie down.”

Jim gave the older Spock a quick glance to imply that he should stay on the line, then he and Bones half-carried Spock to the bed. 

Jim touched Spock’s forehead with the tips of his fingers. Spock was feverishly hot. Jim had heard Vulcans were naturally warmer than humans, but this heat couldn’t be normal. 

Spock’s closed eyes fluttered at the touch of Jim’s hand on his head. The unfocused gaze that landed on Jim was startling. Spock was looking at him as if they were old friends who’d been serving together for years. Spock’s gaze conveyed affection and absolute trust, neither of which Jim felt he’d really earned. It was also astonishing to see such depths of emotion because it was one thing to know Spock felt deeply but another to see it reflected at himself. 

Jim backed away. Whatever he was seeing, Spock probably didn’t want to be seen. And Jim wasn’t ready for it. He left Bones to examine Spock and went to talk to ‘old Spock.’ 

“Nice to see you,” Jim said, “though I wish the circumstances were better. Is he going to be alright?” 

“Hello, Jim,” the Vulcan responded warmly. “Spock’s cure is within his grasp. But he only just discovered it and is afraid to take it.”

“Why?” Jim asked. “Whatever it is, he obviously needs it. How long has he been hiding this? Can I order him to take this…cure?” 

“Ordering him would not be ideal. But if it comes to that, will you do it? Will you command him to take and accept his only salvation?”

Jim sensed a weightiness to the request. It was a curious combination of words: take and accept . Didn’t taking something necessarily entail accepting it? And the word salvation had a spiritual ring to it. Were Vulcans even religious? Was there something Jim was overlooking? He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He nodded decidedly. “Yes, I will. I promise.”

“Then I have said all I need to say on the matter.” The expressive – for a Vulcan – face relaxed a bit, some of the tension lines disappearing. 

Bones appeared by Jim’s shoulder. “I gave him something to help him sleep for now.”

Jim chuckled. “You mean you hypo’d him. Like you hypo me all the time. I hate it when you do that, Bones.”

“I know it and revel in it,” Bones said. “And now, Spock gets the dubious honor of my attentions.”

“Lucky Spock,” Jim joked. 

“Lucky indeed to have such friends as you,” the older Spock commented.

Jim glanced at the older visage of his First Officer. “I don’t think Spock considers us friends,” he hedged. 

“Do Vulcans even believe in the concept of friends?” Bones asked. “Or is that too illogical?” 

“Of course they do, good doctor. And half-Vulcans especially. As for your friendships with Spock, why don’t you find out?” 

Bones eyed the Vulcan suspiciously, but Jim nodded. If this older Spock wanted them to befriend the younger Spock, he would try. Or try harder, rather. For all that their first mission together had been a resounding success, Spock hadn’t been receptive to anyone’s attempts to lure him out of his shell again. Jim had invited Spock to join him and some of the command crew for poker night but was politely declined. He’d dragged some of the other crew to take a few meals with him, but Spock wouldn’t talk while eating so that was a bust. He’d even offered to include Spock in his precious drinking nights with Bones. Spock had insisted he didn’t see the point in consuming alcohol for recreational purposes. His tone hadn’t inspired Jim to explain his intentions. Lately, their interactions were precarious at best, but at least this gem of information from the older Spock told Jim that his efforts weren’t for nothing. It would be a better working environment for everyone if they found a way to cross the cultural divide. 

Jim knew Spock was capable of feeling. He knew that from the mind meld with old Spock. And then there was Spock’s emotional breakdown after his mother and planet were wiped out of existence. Spock had even admitted he’d have preferred to see Nero blown to bits rather than brought to trial. 

But when Jim couldn’t easily reach Spock like that again, emotions buried as they were under a mountain of Vulcan control, he could admit he’d temporarily given up. It had only been a few months. He was still settling into his duties as captain. Battering at Spock’s iron-clad walls couldn’t be his top priority. Still, with this new encouragement from Spock himself, or a version of him at least, Jim made a mental note to keep seeking out Spock’s company.

“We’ll do that,” Jim concurred. “Thank you.”

“May your fate bring you joy,” the older Spock said in parting. 

The transmission ended and Spock’s image blinked out. 

“Now what?” Jim mused aloud to his CMO. 

“Now we wait for the damn fool Vulcan to heal himself, just like he said.” Bones muttered something under his breath about mulish Vulcans, help, and silver platters. 

Jim thought carefully about the older version of Spock’s words. “I don’t know, Bones. I get the feeling he’s not going to do it on his own. I’m going to have to help him.”

“How’re you going to do that?” Bones asked.  

“I have no idea,” Jim confessed.   

Spock stood at the door to his Captain’s quarters. He had slept most of the day, and the rest had been restorative. He was feeling as good as he could under the circumstances. Spock steeled himself for an uncomfortable conversation and hit the buzzer. 

The door whooshed open, and Spock crossed the threshold. Kirk was shirtless with a towel hanging from around his neck. His chest was smooth but not shiny, indicating he was heading for and not returning from the exercise facilities. 

“Hey, Spock. I was just going for a workout. But it can wait. Please, sit.” 

Spock sat in the chair in front of Kirk’s desk and watched Kirk snag a gray t-shirt from a messy pile of clothes. He smelled it, shrugged, and yanked it on. Kirk smoothed the fabric down. “There. Professional!” He chuckled and gave Spock a once-over. “You look better.”

“Yes, Captain, I look better,” Spock said. 

“Look better but aren’t better, right?” Kirk was shrewd.

Spock nodded.

“I’m going to be honest,” Kirk told him. “Our mutual friend all but told me flat-out that I can help you. So, let’s hear it.”    

“I, too, will be honest,” Spock promised. 

“I’m surprised he’s so willing to influence us, by the way,” Kirk said. “I thought he was, I don’t know, more noble in that regard or something. That he wanted us to figure out our lives for ourselves, you know?”

Spock agreed. “I do know, Captain. And you do not know the full extent of his unintended influence on my life. On our lives.”

Kirk looked up in surprise. “Really? Go on.”

“I am not sure how to broach the topic or even how to present it to you.” Spock sat rigidly in his chair. 

“How about you just say it quickly and plainly,” Kirk suggested, giving Spock his full attention.  

“Yes,” Spock said, his voice small to his own ears. He cleared his throat and pressed onward. He needed to preface this somehow. Perhaps some context. “Early Vulcans, like early humans, took great stock in astrological mysticism.”

“Spock, is this history lesson necessary? You’re dying!” Kirk exclaimed.

Spock furrowed his brow. How else to start? “Vulcans are touch telepaths.”

“I’m aware,” Kirk said impatiently.

Spock stared at the man across from him. Kirk had professed he wanted Spock to speak, but he was rejecting all of Spock’s means of getting the conversation started. Perhaps Spock should work backwards? Tell him the worst of it then answer his questions? That way Kirk could lead the conversation. A top-down approach. Spock began again, this time at the top from which they could work their way down. “You and I have been forcibly, permanently, psychically bonded.”

Kirk’s face scrunched in confusion. “Wait, back up.”

Spock shook his head in frustration. “I have tried to start at the very beginning and at the very end. Which do you prefer?”

“Just tell me what this bond is between us.”

“It is a permanent partnership, similar in many respects to the human institution of marriage, but without the option to divorce.” Kirk opened his mouth, but Spock kept talking. “The most obvious difference between the two unions is that the bond is psychically real, as opposed to a speech act taken under oath.” Spock tapped his head. “The bond manifests here at the cellular level. It ties us together mentally and, at this stage, can never be severed.”

“This stage? What stage? We, we, we’re not…we’re not…” Kirk was perplexed. Spock decided his compulsory bondmate was as absolutely horrified as Spock had been.  

Spock had no comfort to offer but he did have information. “My alternate self and I participated in a mind meld, during which my psyche recognized itself in him and reproduced the bond he had with his Jim Kirk. Now you and I are bound as closely as if we had been together fifty years. If the bond is not completed, I will continue to…suffer worse and worse effects from the separation.”

Kirk was on his feet, staring down at Spock. 

Spock looked away, thinking Kirk would need time to process this alone. In fact… “I will be available to answer any of your questions the best I am able,” Spock said. He then abruptly stood and stumbled towards the door. He was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Where are you going?” Kirk’s tone was incredulous. “Come on. Sit, sit, sit.” 

Spock found himself maneuvered back into the chair. Once Kirk was satisfied Spock wasn’t leaving, he perched on top of his desk. He carried the same determination he had when facing off against the chairman at the Kobayashi Maru hearing, the same determination he had when facing off against Spock on the Bridge of the Enterprise, the same determination he had when facing off against Nero. “Now, we’re finally getting somewhere.” Incredibly, Kirk seemed quite composed – more composed than Spock had been when he’d been given the same dire news. “You said this is like a marriage. Does that mean that our alternate selves were in a romantic relationship?”

“Yes.”

Spock was fascinated by Kirk’s expression. In this moment, he appeared impossibly young. They both were, relative to their counterparts in the other timeline.  

“Okay,” Kirk said. “But what I don’t understand is how the bond plays into this. Marriage isn’t…a disease. You can’t catch it. It’s a choice.” 

Spock made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. “Human marriage is not…imprinted on the body in the way of a Vulcan bond. Normally, such a bond is highly coveted and sought after by Vulcan romantic partners who are…of that mindset. In our case,” Spock took a steadying breath, “it was imposed. In both senses of the word. Forced on us and physically marked in my neural pathways. I liken it to a marriage because it will coerce the need for psychic and physical contact.” 

“And by contact you mean sex,” Kirk stated bluntly. 

Spock nodded. Or he tried to nod. It came out like a series of jerky movements. The whole situation was humiliating. And through it all, Kirk was…the more stable of the two of them. A human who was intrepid in the face of a fate so Vulcan and uncontrollable that even the half-Vulcan was afraid.   

“Sexual contact is part of it, but not the whole,” Spock explained. Then, Spock realized he was leaving out something critical. “Wait. I must rectify a certain point. I speak in the plural. But it has not affected you. This is something that happened to me. You are not compelled to submit to the bond.”

Kirk looked at him skeptically and braced his hands on the desk as he leaned forward. “You said you’d suffer if I don’t jump in on this bond.” 

Spock held his gaze. “Yes.”

“This illness you’ve been hiding, the illness that’s been slowly killing you, it will go away once I join the bond?” Kirk prodded.

“Yes,” Spock replied faintly.

“And that’s the only solution for you.”

“Yes,” Spock replied even more faintly, barely a whisper.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” 

Spock thought he misheard. “You agree to this bond?”

Kirk huffed. “You say you’ll die if I don’t.”

“I will not force you to–”

“Nobody got your permission either, Spock. We didn’t choose it, but it’s there. Or you say it’s there and I believe you. It’s out of our hands.” Kirk laughed nervously and looked at his own hand like it was unfamiliar. “Or rather, it’s in our hands, right? That’s how we’ll do the psychic thingy?” He touched his hand up to his own face in the imitation of the traditional meld point formation. 

Spock nodded, dazed. It was happening so fast. He told Kirk about the bond. Kirk took it in stride and said they should complete it. Had that really just happened?

Spock’s mood shifted into something more sullen. He felt guilty for imagining Kirk would have acted differently. The Captain of the Enterprise was the hero of Earth, the brave leader of the new generation. He wasn’t the kind of man to sit idly by while anyone suffered, especially a member of his crew. 

Kirk pushed off from the desk and paced his quarters. The dynamic Captain was always in motion, always pushing forward in space. When he had to sit, like in the command chair of the Bridge, he brought something to toss. A PADD. A stylus. A piece of food. A ball. Spock had seen the request to Starfleet Command for the Bridge chair be put on a swivel. He had, in fact, approved Kirk’s request.

Kirk snorted. “Starfleet is going to love this. The two heroes of the hour getting hitched!”

Spock couldn’t identify the tone of Kirk’s voice. “You are being sarcastic?”

“I was, but hell, I have no idea. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this will all have been some tripped-out dream.” Kirk was staying put in the same spot, but Spock saw his foot tapping repeatedly. Kirk gave him an anxious look. “When should we complete this bond? Right now?” 

“Tomorrow.” It was an evasion, but a necessary one.

“Are you sure? I don’t even know the full extent of your symptoms. But they were severe enough to keep you from the Bridge today.” Kirk put a hand on Spock’s shoulder.

“I assure you I will not expire overnight,” Spock said dryly. “Moreover, you said you expected to wake up from this reality. That is not the case. You need to consider this for more than the few minutes we have taken to discuss it now. It is not a decision to be taken lightly.”

“What’s there to consider?” Kirk countered. “My feelings? Your feelings? Who cares? Que será será.”  

Spock felt resentfulness take root hearing Kirk talk so blithely about their bonded future. “Maybe I don’t want to be bonded to someone who has not chosen me as a bondmate. Whom I have not chosen. Have you thought of that, Captain?” 

“Not very logical, Mr. Spock. You’re already bonded.”

“I’m quite serious,” Spock insisted. “It is slavery of the most intimate nature, for it is enslavement of our minds, bodies, and souls.”

“Well, my soul could have a worse keeper.” Kirk gave a wry grin.

“You’re insufferable,” Spock told him. But his heart wasn’t in it. 

“Insufferable, hm? Maybe that’s why I haven’t been in a relationship that’s lasted longer than a month. One month and five days if you count the time I didn’t know I was in one.” Kirk squeezed Spock’s shoulder gently. 

“I am adamant that you think about what you are agreeing to. I don’t want you to martyr yourself on my account.”

“What do you want then?” Kirk asked. 

Kirk’s question came off as annoyingly sincere, making Spock’s breath hitch in a way he couldn't account for. He wanted badly to leave the room. “No, you were right earlier. What I want is irrelevant. You will sacrifice your freedom for me, because that’s who you are. I must accept this.” 

Before Kirk could argue, Spock separated them and went to the door of Kirk’s quarters, intending to leave Kirk with his thoughts. He paused there. There was one thing he could offer. “I was told by the healer that if our alternate selves were suited for each other well enough for a bond of this magnitude, then we might find that at the most elemental level we may be equally compatible. I wanted to tell you this because I found that it gave me hope.”

After saying this, Spock stepped out into the corridor. “Tomorrow, Captain.”

“Tomorrow, Spock.”

Walking away, Spock’s thoughts were churning in a sea of the deepest blue. Not a coincidence, given his bondmate’s eyes. When he arrived at his quarters and tried to go through his evening ablutions, he realized the physical distance from the Captain was already taking its toll. He’d accidentally bitten his toothbrush, and his mouth smarted. Not allowing himself to worry any further, he went to his bed, cocooned himself in the covers, and fell into a fitful sleep. 

The whirring of the yellow, shipwide alert wrenched Spock awake. 

His internal time-sense told him it was the middle of gamma shift, just after o’three hundred. He made to rise off the bed but fell off instead. The fever chills were back, and he could hardly think with the screeching of the alarm jarring with the screeching in his own head. 

Spock gripped the mattress and struggled again to raise himself, but he lost his hold and slipped back down. He was utterly compromised. He was no use at all in the capacity of First Officer. He needed to call in, if only to alert someone that he was unable to respond. 

Spock curled up in a fetal position on the floor next to the bed and held his head in his hands. The amber lights flashed in the darkness of his quarters, casting an eerie pulsing counterpoint to his uneven breathing and the pounding in his skull. He rocked himself back and forth, willing the crisis to be over. Somehow he sensed Kirk was no longer on the Enterprise.

Leonard found Spock passed out in his quarters. 

“Dammit!” he yelled to no one, rolling the unconscious form belly-up. He carefully stretched out Spock’s legs and arms into a less curled-up position. Forgoing fancy equipment, he used his own trusted hands to check the pulse point on the Vulcan’s neck. It was faint but definitely there. He didn’t know what was wrong with Spock, and no one had bothered to tell him anything useful. 

To make matters worse, Jim had beamed off the ship during the emergency and hadn’t checked in since. There was a dispute between two of the warring factions on the planet they were orbiting, and a third faction had decided to grab everyone’s attention by shooting long-range phasers at the Enterprise. Leonard had been literally run into by Kirk, who was marshaling an away team to go down and resolve things. 

Now, it was nearly dawn ship’s time, and Leonard had been surprised to check the logs and discover Spock hadn’t beamed down with Jim and the team. So he’d come to check on him, and sure enough the green-blooded pain-in-the-ass was knocked out by the mysterious ailment he still hadn’t gotten around to explaining to his CMO. Vulcans!

Leonard flipped open his communicator. “McCoy to Sickbay.”

“Chapel here, Sir.”

“Send up a crew with a stretcher to Commander Spock’s quarters.”

“Right away, Sir.”

“McCoy out.”

Leonard reattached the communicator to his belt and dug in his satchel for a fever reducer. He administered the hypo, and the medicine spread quickly to lower the Vulcan’s temperature. Spock’s forehead was cooler but not cool enough – and Leonard had worked with enough Vulcan refugees to know the difference. He lifted Spock’s eyelids and saw the pupils flickering rapidly. So Spock was dreaming. Or doing Vulcan voodoo. If it was the latter, Leonard had learned that dispensing tricoxolin into the bloodstream could do something useful due to its reactive properties in psi-sensitive beings like Vulcans. He flipped through his pack and found the compound. He put a capsule of it in the hypo and stuck it in Spock’s neck with a hiss. He counted about thirty seconds before checking Spock’s eyes again. Improvement. Definite improvement. 

Satisfied that his patient was stable for the time being, Leonard sat back and waited for the stretcher to arrive. He wanted the Vulcan in Sickbay where he could keep an eye on him. 

Spock crawled towards consciousness but stopped trying so hard when he realized that he was in Sickbay. He lay there half-awake feeling…nothing. He felt nothing. 

The biobed monitors had sensed his return to consciousness and alerted the on-staff nurse. Chapel appeared at his side, smiling. “We gave you enough painkillers to numb a horse.”  

Spock blinked. “The dosage for an equine--”

“I don’t mean you’re a horse, Mr. Spock. You’re such a joker.” Chapel took readings from the biobed.

Spock disagreed on that assessment of his humor. “I was simply going to say that the dosage for a Terran equine is probably the correct amount for a Vulcan.” 

“I see,” Chapel said, her mood not dampened. “Dr. McCoy prescribed all of the doses himself, so you are in good hands.”

“Is someone talking about these magic makers?” McCoy’s voice was loud from across the room.

Nurse Chapel chuckled. She gave Spock a shy smile and then departed.

“I don’t know why, but she’s one of your biggest fans,” McCoy said as he ran sensors over the Vulcan’s body. “You have a lot of those aboard the ship, Spock. Fans. Would-be friends.” His eyes flicked to where Chapel had left. “Or more.”

“I was not aware of that,” Spock commented. 

“Big surprise,” McCoy grumped. “These readings aren’t stabilizing the way I’d expected.”

“They will continue to get worse, not better, Doctor.”

McCoy put down the sensors. “I’m all ears.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at the doctor’s remark. “My body is failing due to an incomplete psychic bond with the Captain.”

“Come again?” McCoy was taken aback.

“I will only be healed when the Captain completes his side of the bond. The bond was not something either of us desired. But now that it has taken root, it cannot be denied.” 

“Sounds like a bunch of Vulcan mumbo jumbo to me. But if you need Jim, I can’t help you.” McCoy ran a hand through his brown hair then dropped it down to his side forcefully. “He’s been down on Vynla with an away team all night and hasn’t reported in. The man has no respect for his CMO. He’s a lot like someone else I know.” McCoy glared at Spock meaningfully.

Spock did not rise to the bait. 

“I can keep most of the symptoms at bay for now, but too much longer and my measures will become ineffective,” McCoy warned. 

“I understand,” Spock said. 

“I’ll be back soon,” McCoy said. To Spock, it sounded like another threat. 

Spock chafed at his helplessness. Maybe he should beam down to the planet. Could the half-formed bond lead him to Kirk? If it was strong enough to nearly kill Spock, it should be strong enough to find Spock’s bondmate, now that he knew who it was on the other end of it and could focus on him. Or… maybe Spock should leave well enough alone. Kirk couldn’t be responsible if Spock met his doomed fate alone while Kirk could not reach him. Kirk would have an out if Spock stayed where he was. 

But Kirk would be angry and disappointed with Spock for suffering alone and not at least trying to save himself. He owed it to Kirk to make an attempt.  

Spock’s thoughts volleyed back and forth as he waited for the numbing drugs to wear off. They were impacting his mind as well as his body. Perhaps then he’d be clear enough to implement his plan, whatever that plan was going to be. 

McCoy returned sooner than Spock had expected. The grouchy man pulled up a chair to Spock’s biobed, flipped it backwards, and straddled it.

Spock looked at him strangely. “You’re going to…sit here?”

“Sit here and watch you like a hawk, you’re damned right I am,” McCoy declared.

“Are your nurses incapable of performing this task?” Spock asked in honest confusion.

“I love my nurses, but your hybrid body is something of a specialty,” McCoy explained. Spock felt his words explained nothing at all as to why the man was giving Spock so much of his time and consideration when he didn’t even like Spock.

“Now about this bond business,” McCoy began, “I helped treat a lot of Vulcan refugees for broken bonds before we shipped out. Why is your problem so different?”

Spock hadn’t known that. “That was very kind of you to volunteer.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of answering my question, Spock”

Spock concentrated on wiggling his toes under the sterile, white sheet, willing feeling to come back to them. “The other sides of their bonds were held by corpses. Mine is held by a very much alive Captain. Death is a natural release of a bond – painful but manageable, depending on the depth of the bond.” 

McCoy sighed. “At least we know that as long as you’re dying up here then Jim is alive down there.”

“Affirmative.” As feeling came back into his fingers, Spock strummed them under the sheet in strength-building exercises he used for practicing his lyre. 

Spock was content to wait out the drugs – and McCoy – in silence, but the doctor was not. “So, this bond with the Captain. Is it the, uh, standard kind of bond?”

“Do you know of another kind?” Spock asked in mock seriousness.

McCoy shrugged. “Just saying, you’re going to be stuck with Jimmy boy for the rest of your life. Think about it. You’ll never be able to have sex with anyone else again.”

Spock replied smoothly, “That is one aspect of the bond with which I am not concerned.” He then promptly clamped his mouth shut. Where had that come from? Spock glanced up at his own bio readings. “Have you drugged me?”

“No more than needed,” McCoy insisted. “Though that is awfully candid, even for you.” He picked up Spock’s chart and reviewed it. “See? I didn’t give you anything like what you’re implying.” His posture unwound again. “Well, now we’ve got something in common: Jim.”

Spock narrowed his eyes. “How in common?”

“Relax, Spock. We’re close because we were roommates at the Academy. I didn’t sleep with him.” Then, it was McCoy’s turn to look at Spock suspiciously. “Did you? Have you two been doing it all along? Do you know how many STD vaccines I’ve administered to that man? Dang it all! I pride myself on being observant.” McCoy looked quite put-out. 

Spock turned his head to hide his mortification. Though he had goaded McCoy into this line of questioning, his embarrassment at discussing such a personal matter crept up on him. “You did not miss an affair conducted right under your nose. I only learned of the bond yesterday morning and told the Captain in the evening.” 

“Is that so?” McCoy finally seemed to have nothing more to say on the topic.  

Spock’s limbs were grudgingly coming back under Spock’s control. If he was going to fetch the Captain, the window for action was nearing. To tell McCoy or not to tell McCoy? McCoy wanted Kirk located. Spock could offer that. 

“Doctor, I must go down to Vynla and find the Captain. The bond should lead me to him. If he is in trouble, I will help him.” 

“Are you out of your Vulcan mind? You’re in trouble right here. You’re not leaving Sickbay. That’s an order.”

“I will take your order under advisement, but in the Captain’s absence I am in command. And I counter-order you to release me,” Spock said confidently. 

“As CMO, I can yank that command away from you faster than a horse at the gate. The last time you were in command you chucked Jim out on his ass on an ice planet. Now you’re in command and you want to risk your neck to bring him back?” 

“I do,” Spock replied. “But you forget, Doctor, with the incomplete bond I may die anyway. This is my only hope as well.”

“Alright, alright!” McCoy threw his hands up in the air. Then he bustled around the room gathering things as well as a pile of blue and black clothes. “If you can dress yourself, you can beam down to the planet. Is that fair?”

“Eminently,” Spock agreed, already stretching and hopping off the biobed. He found his footing easily enough. 

McCoy was stuffing things into a small pouch while Spock dressed. As Spock completed the last touch by latching on his utility belt, McCoy shoved a pouch at him. “Take this. It has supplies for the meds I’ve been giving you.” At Spock’s doubtful look, McCoy rolled his eyes. “The tricoxolin. And the fever reducer. And a standard breathing synthesizer. And old-fashioned cool cloths.” McCoy pointed a finger at him. “Don’t take any stupid chances.”

“I won’t do anything Kirk wouldn’t do,” Spock promised knowingly. 

“Gorn have mercy.” McCoy waved him off. “Go on, then.”

Spock hurried to the transporter room. Kirk was, in all probability, in great danger, and Spock’s temporary pain-free existence would not last long. 

Vynla was temperate and full of lush, green forests. But the densely packed trees hampered visibility. It was a good thing Spock wasn’t using only his eyes to find the Captain. 

Spock focused inward on the bond, firmly knotted at his end, and then sent his essence to its flailing opposite end. Kirk wasn’t holding the other end, but it was as if the bond knew where he was and remained coiled at the Captain’s feet, ready to be seized in his hand at any moment and the connection completed. 

Spock had elected to beam down to the same general vicinity where the away team landed. The thoughts of soon finding his bondmate were keeping his body and mind in acceptable health so far. The buzzing in his head was there. And the itch. But it was not debilitating. Spock could work through it. He stalked through the trees, picking his way through the tall brush along a path only he could follow.  

Suddenly, an arrow whizzed past his head and struck a nearby tree. 

Alarmed, Spock ducked behind the massive tree trunk. Twice more, zinging sounds filled the air. One misfire hit the ground at his feet. Such primitive weapons. Was this yet another faction? It was puzzling to Spock that one part of the population could be so technologically advanced as to have space-faring rockets and another part so undeveloped that it resorted to wood and feather projectiles. Was the divide natural, or by design? The planet warranted further study.

Either way, Spock didn’t want his body littered with sharp sticks – he couldn’t rule out the possibility that the tips were poisoned – so he crawled for some thirty meters before moving stealthily onward.  

He surmised he was getting closer, but he had no idea how long the bond rope was. He had no point of reference. Kirk could be minutes away. Or days. Logically, if he’d been detained by the bow-and-arrow hostiles, then he would not be farther than humanoids could travel on foot. But if Kirk had been captured by the Vynlans with advanced technology, then he could be anywhere on the planet.

Spock considered all of these possibilities as he stopped at a sparkling stream to rehydrate. Though his physiology was primarily Vulcan, and Vulcans lived on a desert planet where their bodies evolved to conserve water, Spock found himself disadvantaged in this regard compared to full-blooded Vulcans. He recalled the mandatory Vulcan martial arts classes in his youth, where some of his peers had taunted him about his need to carry a water bottle during practice. It was illogical of them to belittle Spock’s physiological need to replenish his body’s fluids. But it was still…hurtful. Spock had tried leaving his prescribed water bottle in the locker room to avoid the jeers, but his instructor always called him out, which was even more humiliating than carrying it in the first place. Liability, the instructor had explained to Spock. Eleven year-old Spock had understood. He was a liability. 

Trampling through the forest, Spock’s hydration-deficiency proved fortuitous. When he stopped at the stream to drink, he saw the most peculiar thing. Moving downstream was a balled up mass of gold fabric. Spock picked up a long branch and used it to fish out the sodden garment. His eyes were not mistaking him. It was the Captain’s shirt. Spock had no idea why it was on a merry trail down the stream, but he wrung it out and stuffed it in one of his packs. Mystified but pleased, Spock headed upstream, assured that he would soon locate the Captain. 

He was correct. After a few more kilometers, he came to a heavily wooded grove where some of the locals had set up camp. There were eight tents arranged under the shadowy overhang of the trees. The branches were so thick that hardly any sunlight filtered into the camp. There were also tethered creatures that resembled a cross between terran equines and canines. 

The camp was mostly deserted. Spock hypothesized they were out hunting, and perhaps earlier he had actually been mistaken for prey. One tent was not deserted. Two guards stood outside the flaps. Each held huge, curved knives. The warriors, one male and one female, looked fierce, but there were only two of them. Spock pulled out his phaser, set it to stun, aimed, and fired twice. Red beams of energy brought the two guards down, and Spock stepped deftly over their crumpled forms and into the tent. 

“Mmmph!” Uhura’s muffled alert from behind the cloth covering her mouth. Her bound form was joined by three others: Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Ro, and the Captain. All had their arms and legs tied up with corded rope, and they were sitting scrunched together hip to hip. All had their mouths gagged, except for the Captain. 

Spock ducked back outside the tent, hearing more “mmmphs!” behind him, and retrieved the warriors’ knives. He went back inside into the tent, attending to the Captain first. 

Spock tipped Kirk’s chin up from where it had lolled down. Blue eyes blinked up at him, widened, and Kirk’s whole body recoiled. 

“Stay away!” Kirk cried out, digging his bound legs into the ground to gain purchase in order to scoot away from Spock. 

Was Kirk delirious? Did he not recognize Spock? 

Spock was disabused of that notion by the Captain’s next shout. 

“Stay away from me, Spock!”

Spock felt like he’d been slapped. He backed away from the Captain and quickly pulled the gags from the others’ mouths. 

“Spock! You’re here!” Uhura whisper-shouted. 

Sulu pointed to the Captain and whispered, “Some crazy shaman gave him something the universal translator said was a truth serum of some sort.”

Spock worked to cut their bonds. After he cut Sulu’s hands free, he handed the helmsman the other knife to help and asked, “Is he delirious? Incapacitated?” 

Sulu frowned, cutting free Ensign Ro. “Well, when they questioned him, he seemed loopy and gave more information than I think they were looking for.” 

Uhura chuckled. “He kept telling them they smelled.”

“I see,” Spock said. But he wasn’t sure he did. If Kirk was drugged and only telling the truth, why was he afraid of Spock? Maybe Spock had just startled him. 

Spock approached Kirk again. He needed to cut him free and get them out of the camp before the locals returned. They had only one phaser among them, and it would not defend them against a whole company of angry locals. 

Spock reached for the Captain and received a kick for his troubles. 

They did not have time for this. Spock used his greater Vulcan strength to subdue Kirk’s wayward limbs and hold him down. He tugged on part of the rope around Kirk’s feet. Kirk thrashed. “I don’t want you to!” Kirk yelled. 

Spock dropped the knife to the ground. Stunned, he backed up slowly. He glanced at the other crewmembers, who were gawking at him and the Captain. Spock’s shoulders drooped and he gestured to Sulu. “Sulu, cut the Captain’s bonds,” he ordered. 

“Aye, Sir,” Sulu replied. The Captain did not struggle as Sulu finished hacking through the tough rope.  

Spock watched in silence. Inside, his mind was screaming in protest. Spock ignored the internal alarms and concentrated on getting the crew back to the safety of the ship. Letting the others help Kirk to his feet, Spock peered out from the tent. The view was grim. Spock counted at least half a dozen of the away team’s captors returning. “We must make haste.”

“Sir, the Captain can’t walk,” Sulu informed him. 

Spock turned to see the Captain’s weak frame being held up between Sulu and Ensign Ro’s shoulders. Neither officer was strong enough to carry the human at the running pace the team would need for securing a proper beaming site. Spock was. Decision made, Spock took the Captain into his arms. Kirk was weak and needed medical aid. If they were bonded, Spock could lend him strength – enough perhaps for him to walk on his own even in this compromised state.

“Maybe we should complete the bond now,” Spock wondered aloud.

“No!” Kirk shouted so loudly Spock had to cover Kirk’s mouth with his hand. But Spock could still make out the next words. “I don’t wanna marry you! I don’t even know you!”

“Captain, quiet!” Spock hissed, trying to maintain control over the situation and himself. He tried to block Kirk’s words and focus on the mission.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Kirk hit his fists against Spock’s chest ineffectually. 

“Captain, please lower your voice or we’ll be caught.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Kirk yelled again.

Spock seriously considered gagging his Captain. He also considered crawling back into the tent and waiting for his inevitable demise, one way or another. Doing neither, he motioned for the others to lead the way across the tree-lined camp. It didn’t matter what direction they headed in, as long as they got to some sort of clearing.  

Kirk was slipping in his hold, so Spock heaved him up and over his shoulders with the Captain’s feet dangling against his chest. This proved to be a bad idea, since Kirk used the opportunity to give him a solid kick in the ribs. Spock’s breath was knocked out of him, causing him to stumble. As he tried to get them moving again, Kirk’s frantic pleas filled his pointed ears. 

“Why would I want to be leashed to you or anyone? I’m just a human. I can’t hold up my end of the bond. I can’t. I hate this! It’s not fair. Not to me. To you. To us. Why am I being punished? I’ve been so nice to you. He said we’d be friends. Why can’t we just be friends? I’m a great friend, if you’d let me be.”

Spock was overwhelmed by Kirk’s rambling rejection of the bond. On cue, his energy to keep them moving forward failed. They fell in a tangle of limbs, getting twisted and scraped. Kirk didn’t seem to notice, still raving at his unwanted bondmate. Spock couldn’t think clearly. 

He was devastated. 

He shouldn’t be. 

What did he expect? That Kirk was harboring some secret desire to tie himself to his alien First Officer for the rest of his life? Spock hadn’t been harboring any such feelings about Kirk, so why was hearing the truth of the human’s thoughts so painful?

Arrows started flying past their heads, seeking vulnerable flesh targets for sharpened flint. The locals must have discovered their escape. Spock raised himself as high as he could to get a better vantage point on their attackers.

“Duck, Spock!” Kirk called out.

Spock ducked, and an arrow just grazed his shoulder. Green blood oozed out of the shallow wound. Spock threw a thankful look to Kirk who was shaking his head roughly as if to clear it.  

“Where are we?” Kirk asked him, brushing leaves and dirt off of his bare chest. “Spock?” Kirk sounded more like usual self.

Spock couldn’t answer because he was unable to speak. He dug in his pack for the fever reducer McCoy had given him. Kirk appeared over his shoulder as Spock tried to hastily shove the capsule in the hypo. His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't get it in the right slot. Spock whimpered audibly, then the hypo and capsule were plucked out of his trembling hands. 

Kirk didn’t say anything as he took over. Kirk jabbed the hypo into Spock’s neck and their eyes met. Kirk’s were unreadable. 

“Let’s go,” Kirk said.

More arrows sailed over their heads. Apparently Kirk had forgotten he couldn't walk properly, and he cursed when he found this out. But he’d also regained enough of his faculties to limp onward. 

Spock was still sitting on the ground, head drooped to his chest as he waited for the administered medication to take effect. So far, it was doing absolutely nothing to block the furious pounding in his head. His breath hitched when he felt hands groping his hips. 

Kirk relieved him of the phaser at his belt, then fired back at their pursuers. Putting all his weight on his right leg, Kirk used the phaser to gesture wildly at Spock and then in the direction the others had gone. “Come on!”

Spock shut his eyes and grabbed his head in agony. “Just go,” he mumbled, then louder, “Just go!” He snatched the communicator off his belt and threw it at Kirk. The throw was inexact, and it landed in front of the Captain, who bent awkwardly to pick it up from the dirt. 

Spock did not see Kirk staring at him. His vision was hazy, and he shut his eyes again because at least the blackness was solid and not wavering in and out of focus. Kirk’s earlier pleas still filled his mind with despair, and Spock’s will to go on was withering. But the bond did not wither. It tightened, constricting its hold around Spock painfully. He felt the bond wrap him up as if to mummify him and bury him away forever. Spock’s last thought before he lost consciousness was of himself buried alive under the tallest mountain in the red sands of Vulcan. 

Spock woke up in Sickbay. Again. 

“This is becoming a bad habit of yours,” someone said softly. It was Kirk, of course. The Captain stepped into Spock’s line of vision. 

Spock’s parched mouth made it difficult to speak, “H-h-how?”

“How’d you get here? How’d we get captured by a bunch of pre-spaceflight archers in the first place?” As Kirk listed the questions, he held up a cup of water and propped Spock up to drink from it. 

Spock took a sip then pushed it away. 

“I’ll answer all of it to put your restless mind at ease.” Kirk continued, “After succeeding in the negotiations, we were ambushed – not by the archers. It was by the third faction, the one that was shooting at my ship. They took our gear and gave us to the archers as prizes of war or something. The universal translator was having a hard time making heads or tails of their language. I’m having Uhura reanalyze some of the translations for the mission report now. As for how you got here, Sulu realized we’d gotten delayed and came back for us. We managed to get far enough away to use your communicator to call for beam up. And here we are.”  

Spock wanted to ask about their status, himself and Kirk, and their distressing, incomplete bond. 

Kirk sighed as if he knew Spock was waiting for him to say more. He was standing so close that Spock felt his breath on his face. Spock couldn’t help but presume this was the calm before the storm. The preparatory breath before the mournful notes of a swan song. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Spock. Aren’t there certain words you’re supposed to speak for the ceremony?” Kirk looked at him quizzically.

“What ceremony?” Spock asked.

“Gee, Spock, maybe the bonding ceremony? Your body can’t take much more of this.”

Spock closed his eyes, unable to meet Kirk’s piercing gaze. “There will not be a bonding ceremony.”

“Oh,” Kirk said. “I just figured it would involve rituals. I thought Vulcans were big on that sort of thing. I guess not. Should we go to your quarters or stay here?” 

Spock realized he wasn’t being clear. “You misunderstand. We will not be completing the bond.”

“What? Why not?”

Spock gave him a fervent look, willing him to understand without Spock having to put it into words. But they’d never communicated that efficiently in the past, and there was no reason to think they would do so now. “On the planet, you were distraught. You said…” Kirk’s words were unbearable to repeat, and Spock’s voice broke.“You said you didn’t want to be leashed. You said you hated the bond. You said you didn’t want to be married to me.” 

“Spock, I was high as a kite. Talking about leashes? Honestly! How can you count that against me? I mean, sure, I’m not exactly thrilled about this, but neither are you. And I’m not nearly so fragile as you’re making me out to be. My life has thrown me a lot of curveballs.”

“You compare me to a challenging pitch in the Earth game of baseball?” 

“Sure,” Kirk said with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean I can’t still hit a homerun and score. Just have to work at it.” He chuckled. “We should probably get to first-base first though.”

“That is the logical progression,” Spock agreed cautiously, not sure he was following the metaphor very well. He edged up to a sitting position. “But the truth-serum–”

“Wasn’t a truth serum,” Kirk interrupted. “At least, not exactly.” 

“Lieutenant Sulu said–” Spock stopped mid-sentence when a hand that wasn’t Kirk’s grabbed his left arm. 

“The universal translator isn’t perfect, Spock!” McCoy surprised him at his side. He checked Spock’s pulse on his wrist.

Uhura entered Sickbay and handed Kirk a PADD. “Results of the clinical and linguistic analysis have been included in the mission report, Captain.”

“Excellent, Lieutenant. And good timing. ” Kirk skimmed the PADD. “Ah, here, please read this passage aloud for certain pointed ears.”

Uhura took the PADD. “The substance contains exceedingly high doses of diphenhydramine and is made from the amanita muscaria fungus. It is used by the natives for religious divinization as well as in trace amounts as a stimulant before battle.” She flicked her ponytail and addressed Spock directly. “They administered it to the Captain to prepare him for a sacrificial rite. The hallucinogen is an innovative cross between a dissociative and a deliriant. It causes sensory deprivation that induces a dreamlike state of mind with the likelihood to evoke vivid reactions, including confusion or rage.”

“Thank you, Uhura,” Kirk said, holding up a hand. He turned to Spock. “Hear that? High on a fungus. Fungus, Spock. It’s not magic that makes you only speak the truth. There’s no such thing. Well, maybe the Vulcan mind meld.”

“Spock, whatever the Captain said while influenced by the substance could be attributed to anything and had little to no bearing on reality,” Uhura explained.

McCoy nodded. “Listen to her about the UT’s flawed translation. Machine translation isn’t flawless. You trust her linguistic assessment, don’t you?”

“Of course, Doctor, but–”

“I don’t remember what I said,” Kirk argued. “But whatever it was, you should disregard it. Strike it from the record.”

Spock looked between three anxious faces. They all wanted him to accept…what? That Kirk really wanted to bond with him? Hardly. That Kirk didn’t secretly loathe him? One could hope. Either way, Spock was at an impasse. He yielded. “The record is so stricken.”

They laughed as if Spock had made a joke, though he didn’t think he had. Then Uhura and McCoy shuffled out, leaving Spock and Kirk alone again. 

“Talk to me,” Kirk ordered quietly but firmly. His hand was on the edge of the biobed, not quite touching Spock’s.

“What would you have me say?” Spock asked. He looked down at Kirk’s hand next to his own paler one. Kirk’s fingers were calloused, like someone who had worked his way through life. They were hands Spock wanted to put his trust in, but it was difficult. 

“This bond thing isn’t your fault,” Kirk said. “It’s not even your alternate self’s fault. My so-called freedom, to whatever extent such a thing exists beyond my Starfleet enlistment, isn’t worth your death, Spock. I’m just a guy who wanted to outdo his dad and see the stars. I’ve done that, and I did it for me. Now I’ll do something for somebody else.”

Spock hesitantly accepted Kirk’s hand when it reached for his. He thought carefully about how to respond to Kirk’s passionate declaration. As usual, however, he took too long and Kirk laughed nervously. “Come on, Spock, you’re making me feel like I’m a bad catch. Like I’m such an awful choice for a life partner that death would be better than being bonded to me.” 

“I don’t think that,” Spock hurried to deny Kirk’s self-deprecations. He squeezed Kirk’s hand, both to reassure Kirk and to fortify himself. 

This was it. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – fight the combination of logic and bare emotion Kirk confronted him with. 

“I bond with you, James Tiberius Kirk. I bond with you in mind. I bond with you in body. I bond with you by…” Spock paused and raised his slanted brows. “Well, not by choice, precisely in the original sense intended here, but I choose you now. I choose us now. So I may honestly say that I bond with you by choice. And I bond with you for life.” 

Spock gave Kirk a small, encouraging smile. 

This time, Kirk appeared to understand his First Officer’s wordless appeal perfectly. “I bond with you, Spock…,” Kirk’s face froze and he looked aghast. “I don’t even know your full name!”

“Yes you do,” Spock assured him. “It’s Spock.”

“Your dad implied your full name is unpronounceable for humans.”

When had Kirk spoken with Sarek? 

“You refer to my lineal designation, which contains details about the circumstances of my birth. My parents named me Spock. I do not call you James T. Kirk of Riverside, Iowa via the USS Kelvin, clan of the Kirks, son of George and Winona Kirk. Similarly, I am Spock.”

“Alright.” Kirk squeezed Spock’s hand. “I bond with you, Spock. I bond with you in mind. I bond with you in body. I bind with you by choice the way you said. And I bond with you for life.” 

Spock raised their joined hands to Kirk’s face, staring into blue eyes that were serious but even now had an indefinable gleam in them. He arranged their hands one on top of the other in the mind meld position, Spock’s hand on Kirk’s face and Kirk’s hand on Spock’s. 

“My mind to your mind.” 

‘My thoughts to your thoughts.’  

Spock slipped into Kirk’s mind faster than he had anticipated. It was remarkable how attuned they were here when in the physical world they were constantly at odds. 

Focusing on his goal, Spock projected his actions in a metaphor that Kirk could grasp, since as a human he was not used to processing telepathic experiences. Spock pictured himself holding a golden thread, representing the life of their bond. He offered it to Kirk, who was examining his surroundings interestedly. 

‘You must anchor it.’  

Kirk surveyed the mental projection. Spock didn’t give further instructions, letting Kirk decide for himself how to translate the anchoring of the bond. 

Spock wasn’t disappointed. Kirk got some slack in the gold thread and wrapped it around his waist. Then, he started tying it in a complicated knot. Spock recognized the knot as the most complex, undoable knot that Starfleet teaches. Spock also recognized the significance of the gesture. When he finished, Kirk looked up at him, pleased with himself.

Spock was swept away into a maelstrom of different feelings at seeing the bond affixed to its intended mate. Completion. Relief. Joy. Pride. Anticipation. Fear. 

Overcome by the intensity, Spock turned his mental presence away, planning to end the meld since the deed was done. 

Spock felt a light touch on his shoulder and was turned around into an embrace. Although their projected selves used their bodies to hug, it felt to Spock as though Kirk was embracing his mind. Welcoming him. Kirk’s mental projection held him and looked into his eyes. Then Kirk’s eyes closed and he leaned towards Spock and kissed him. A tentative kiss, light butterfly wings, lips to lips. When Kirk released him, Spock decided it had ended too soon. He had never kissed anyone inside a meld before. It was strange and wonderful, a curious combination that warranted further study through repetition.  

Spock slowly eased himself from Kirk’s mind and back into the physical world. 

They were still exactly as they had been. Spock was angled up from the biobed towards Kirk who was standing at his side, their joined fingers still positioned on Kirk’s face. They lowered their arms but held onto the moment by holding onto each other’s hands.  

A throat cleared loudly from across the room. 

Kirk and Spock looked over to see McCoy leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. 

“Bones, I just married my First Officer.” Kirk suffused the sentence with pride.  

“Didn’t look like it to me,” McCoy said, but he was grinning. “Looked like a whole lot of nothing.”

Kirk matched McCoy’s teasing tone. “Tell him, Spock. Tell Bones that we tied the knot and made out in your head.”

“It was in your head,” Spock corrected, a green tinge already working its way up his neck that he quickly stopped in its tracks. He was relieved his control over himself was back. At any rate, the sweet, soft kiss they’d shared in the meld hardly fit the definition of ‘make out’ that Spock had learned at the Academy. Spock started blushing again thinking about trying that with Kirk now that they were bonded.

McCoy noticed and put his hands on his hips. “Jim, take your blushing groom to your quarters, and stay out of my Sickbay. Both of you!”

Kirk laughed heartily, partly at his friend’s words but partly in release of the tension that had been building up. Spock could sense the nuances through the bond  “I love ya, Bones,” Kirk said, shaking his head. Spock saw him wipe away a tear of laughter/relief/something else? The mix of emotions was too hard to decipher. Spock supposed he’d get plenty of practice deciphering Kirk. Jim. 

McCoy threw Kirk a sardonic look. “Maybe you should be sayin’ that to your spouse, Captain.” 

“Maybe so,” Kirk agreed, turning shining eyes to Spock. 

Spock worried his bondmate was becoming belatedly hysterical. Kirk had hastily convinced Spock to bond, led them both admirably through the completion of the bond, boldly initiated a mind-kiss, and then put on a brave face in front of his best friend. Ever since Spock had met him as a cadet, Kirk had been an explosive combination of impetuousness and determination. He launched into situations he was not fully prepared for, then in a feat of daring heroics his courage would kick in and carry him through with aplomb. But in all the situations for which Spock had observed this pattern – from the Kobayashi Maru up through the most recent mission to Vynla – none were similar in any substantial way to the singular challenge of a Vulcan bond. Sheer guts could get you through the naissance of the bond, but that was only the beginning. There was no final victory to be won. The victory he and Kirk had achieved today was, in many ways, no victory at all. In a very real way, Kirk had leapt in to save the day only to tie his own noose woven with golden thread. 

Kirk and Spock exited Sickbay, and Kirk rocked back and forth on his heels as they stood in the corridor. “Now what?”

“Now we go to the Bridge, Captain.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you would prefer to relinquish command of the Enterprise to someone else?” 

“Ha!” Kirk scoffed. “To the Bridge, Commander!” 

Kirk marched through his ship with a bounce in his step, and Spock followed right behind him. 

Looking at the back of his bondmate’s head, Spock still worried about the future. Spock worried about how a Vulcan bond would affect his very human captain. Spock worried about Kirk growing bored with him as a romantic partner. Spock worried about not being emotionally available enough for his human bondmate. And on the flip side of that, Spock worried about Kirk bottling up his feelings in deference to his Vulcan bondmate, but damaging to Kirk’s human psyche. Spock worried about Starfleet Command’s reaction to their status as bonded officers in the same chain of command. 

Spock worried about all these things. 

But Spock didn’t worry about tonight. And he didn’t worry about tomorrow. Kirk may rush courageously, while Spock was more steadfastly paced. But given time – something they now had in unlimited supply due to their bond – they would prevail together.