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Chapter Text

“Captain’s Log, Stardate 2267.4.”

Jim holds up an overgrown tree branch for McCoy with his free hand, then ducks under it. McCoy keeps his tricorder close to his chest as he records Jim, trying to keep it from getting hit with branches and leaves. Their boots click against the uneven paving of root-torn roads.

“The Enterprise has been sent to investigate the fourth planet of the Zeta Gelvin star system, where we have found evidence of a once-advanced civilization that seems to have vanished into thin air.”

All around him stretches a whole city–wooden buildings, once grand and ornate, are now decrepit and crumbling. Jim touches the threshold of the nearest house; he can tell where intricate details had once been carved, but the elements have worn them away to be almost smooth. Animals have gnawed holes through the walls and made them their homes, and vines stretch and curl up the sides of the structures that have been warped from a century of rain.

Jim stops to assess their surroundings, and McCoy bounces on his toes. “This place gives me the creeps, Jim.”

Jim turns to McCoy with a warm smile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Bones. An abandoned town can’t hurt you.”

“It’s abandoned for a reason,” McCoy scowls.

Jim begins to move again towards the strange structure in the center of town, and McCoy follows reluctantly.

“Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“I dunno.” McCoy wraps his arms tightly around himself. “I think some things are better left undiscovered.”

“Not very scientific of you,” Jim chuckles, “Spock would be disappointed to hear it.”

“Good thing Spock’s deep in the woods, then.”

Jim shakes his head, amused, and resumes his report. “Our job is–”

–

“--to investigate the cause of this society’s disappearance, estimated to have taken place over a hundred years ago.”

Spock peers into the dense forest on the edge of town, far away from the rest of the landing party. The thick trunks of ancient trees tower high above him–easily fifty feet up–before opening up into a lush canopy of green. He glances down to make sure his tricorder is still recording before he continues.

“There is no evidence of a natural extinction event having occurred on Zeta Gelvin IV. There are no mass graves or corpses. The fauna of the planet is thriving. Most notable of these creatures are–”

Spock stops suddenly. He presses his back to the nearest tree, and the hand that isn’t holding his tricorder hovers above his phaser. A creature lumbers closer, then stops to sniff the air. It’s easily seven feet long–even before the tail. Its body is stout and muscular, and its curved claws displace the dirt with each step. It stops, and its lips curl into a snarl to reveal two sets of canines as the spines that line its back flex upwards.

Spock holds as still as he can. It sniffs the air again.

There’s a sound in the distance–a snapping of twigs–and the creature turns sharply towards it. It bounds off with a low growl.

Spock waits until the sounds of the creature fade before he steps away from his hiding place.

“Most notable,” he continues, “are the top predators of the planet. They closely resemble the Ratels of Earth–colloquially known as the Honey Badger–save for a few key differences. Namely, their size. We discovered shortly after beaming down that they are highly aggressive and will kill anything on sight, when Security Officer Sawyer was mauled to death.”

Spock makes his way deeper into the woods and further from the abandoned city. Leaves crunch under his boots. “However, despite this, and despite their abnormally large population, this planet’s ecosystem seems to be in optimal condition.”

He pauses the recording to focus on the sensor. Its readings lead him deeper into the trees–deep enough that Spock is sure Jim would disapprove. Still, in the name of science, he pushes on.

It isn’t much longer before the trees fan out in front of him, revealing a large clearing. In the center of it stands a circular building, made of smooth gray stone. Vines wind through the grout and into the broken windows. There’s a large hole in the roof where the stone has been shattered, likely by a large tree branch.

Spock scans the area for dangerous creatures one more time before stepping out into the clearing. He resumes his recording.

“I have discovered a building away from the city. While evidence suggests that wood was this society’s primary material for building, this structure is made out of–”

–

“Stone.” Jim lifts a hand above his eyes to block out the sun as he stares at the conical building in front of him. “Strange, the rest of the city is made out of wood.”

The building looms at least four stories up–easily the tallest building in town–and sits in the exact center of the settlement. It’s made of smooth gray stone, and vines climb and curl through the grout.

“Clearly it was important,” McCoy shrugs. “I hate to say it, but maybe we should go inside? Check it out?”

“I think you’re right, Bones.” Jim pushes past him and towards the grand doorway. “Maybe it’ll point us towards some answers.”

McCoy sighs, but he falls in step behind Jim, and Jim pulls open the heavy wooden door.

They're met with a winding staircase. It's crafted of the same material as the outside of the building, but it's still shining and polished from a lack of exposure to the elements.

Jim throws a glance to McCoy and steps onto the first stair. Immediately, the walls illuminate a deep red, casting everything in an eerie glow and lighting the way up.

McCoy, half-posed to follow Jim, hesitates. “A little ominous, don't you think?”

“Perhaps it connects to some sort of ritual.” Jim continues up the spiral steps, knowing perfectly well that McCoy will follow. With everything they've dealt with on their missions, a little light hardly seems worth worrying about.

Only a few seconds pass before he hears McCoy’s boots clicking against stone behind him.

The climb is long and silent, but eventually the staircase opens up into a small, circular room. Jim pauses on the final step to take it all in. The curved walls are covered in some sort of alien script, all the way to the central point of the ceiling where they meet high above them.

There is nothing else in the room.

Jim feels McCoy peering over his shoulder from behind him. “Is this really all there is?”

“Scan the room,” Jim says, glancing back at McCoy. “If we can take it back and translate this text, it may give us the clue we’ve been looking for.”

“Are you kidding?” McCoy furrows his brow back at Jim. “You think I wanna go in there?”

Jim sighs, then holds out his hand to show he’s ready to take the tricorder.

McCoy hesitates. “No, I can do it–”

“Just hand it over, Bones. It’ll be fine.”

With a huff, McCoy removes the strap and hands the machine over to Jim.

Jim steps into the center of the room. It’s barely big enough for him; if McCoy joined him, they’d be standing with their shoulders pressed together.

“Seems strange to have a ritual in a place only one person can reach,” McCoy mutters.

“I agree.” Jim turns in place, holding up the tricorder so that its scanners can read the entirety of the walls. As he turns, the room seems to grow brighter and brighter–a more and more vibrant red radiating from the floor beneath his feet.

“D’you hear that, Jim?”

With his circle complete, Jim lowers the tricorder. Sure enough, he can pick out what McCoy is getting at–a quiet whirring, almost a hum, that seems to be extending from the stone itself. The crimson light grows until it’s nearly blinding, and Jim shields his eyes. The noise gets so loud it’s unbearable, and then there’s the crackle of something like thunder.

And, just like that, the humming stops. The light extinguishes, and Jim finds himself in complete darkness.

A new light flashes on– the bright flashlight of McCoy’s tricorder.

“What the hell was that?”

“Not a clue.” Jim hurries to step out of the room, and he hears the unmistakable sound of stone scraping against stone. The ground shifts beneath him, and he realizes it’s rising up.

“You told me it would be fine,. I–”

“Bones,” Jim says slowly, cautiously, “did I just press some sort of button?”

“I think you might have, Jim,” McCoy whispers, “though I haven’t got a clue what it could possibly have done.”

–

Spock steps into the decaying building. He can tell that, objectively, this place was once beautiful and well-tended. Now, though, all signs of that are lost. Sunlight filters through both the half-shattered stained glass and the hole in the ceiling. It hits the worn stone floor that has been soiled with a century’s worth of dirt and plant matter and animal droppings. A large circular dias stands in the center of the otherwise vacant room. The walls are covered from top to bottom in what Spock assumes must have been the language of this planet’s people–long, swooping script accented with short marks, written in red. Parts of it have been chipped away over the many long years that the building has sat vacant, but it’s still mostly legible.

He holds up his tricorder and lets it scan the walls to commit the text to its memory banks. Someone–likely Lieutenant Uhura–will be able to make some sort of sense of this.

Evidence suggests that it’s a temple, or at the very least a place of worship. If these people had some sort of connection to nature, it would make sense for them to have something like this far removed from the city.

Spock’s thumb hovers above the button to continue his recording, but then he pauses. Something isn’t right.

The animals outside have grown quiet.

There’s no more chittering of rodents, or songs from the birds. All he can hear is the rustling of leaves, and, in the distance…

Thunder?

It’s strange–the sun is still shining brightly, and the breeze is gentle. There’s no sign of weather conditions that would create thunder.

Spock steps farther into the room. He runs a hand along the dias and kicks up a thick cloud of dust.

Something strikes the temple, and Spock feels a bolt of searing heat shoot through his body–as if he’s been struck by lightning. It blinds him for a split second and rips the air from his lungs, and he falls to his knees next to the platform. The tricorder falls away, forgotten.

As his vision clears, he can see that the room is illuminated. The weathered stone is now a vivid red, glowing bright enough that it can be seen even midday.

A heavy pain rips through Spock’s head, and he falls forward onto his hands. His thoughts are clouded, but he has enough sense to know something is deeply, horribly wrong. And through the agony, there’s only one thing Spock can think about:

Jim.

His hands shake, but he pulls out his tricorder and flips it open. The room hums and shines around him as he hisses through his teeth, “Spock to Captain Kirk.”

“Spock? Is everything alright?”

Jim. Spock wants to cling to his voice, wants to focus on the light in the dark. But there’s no time. He opens his mouth to speak, to warn him, but all that comes out is a weak and desperate sound.

“Spock?” He can hear the panic in Jim’s voice now. Another spasm of pain ripples through his spine. “Spock, what’s wrong?”

There’s no time. “Jim, I–” His words are cut off as he hears himself scream. It’s distant, like he’s underwater.

He looks down to realize he’s crushed his communicator in a too-tight grip.

With great effort, he opens his fingers one at a time, and the pieces of metal and wire fall from his trembling hand. There’s a pressure building under the skin of his fingertips. He watches one by one as his nails fall out, and a thick, curved claw pushes through his flesh to take each one’s place. Green blood pours from the wounds and pools in the thickening skin of his palm.

Slowly, it dawns on him that his body is shifting--organs are moving, bones are shortening or elongating. Each miniscule adjustment is a new wave of mindless and all-encompassing pain.

His arms bulk up, as if he’s suddenly gained an incredible amount of muscle mass. His shirt rips–first down the sleeves, then down the chest. He feels his pants and briefs ripping, too, and the claws forcing their way out of his feet tear his boots to shreds. He falls forward onto his elbows and ducks his head, hopelessly trying to suck in a breath even as his lungs change form.

He squeezes his eyes shut–dizzy from the pain, from the lack of air, from his heart pounding–but he can still feel the way fur rips through his skin and covers him completely. He’s all too aware of the tail pushing from the base of his spine, of the pain of new vertebrae forming from nothing. His ears shrink away, and he can’t hear anything beyond the way they’re ringing.

He feels his nose stretch and shift–feels his teeth rearrange. His mouth fills with the taste of copper as new teeth, needle-sharp, force their way through his gums.

The pain begins to ebb. Each breath manages to be less shallow than the last, and his heartbeat slows in stages. The fog in his head clears gradually, and he is once again able to think with some sort of clarity.

As he looks down, he sees that his hands–now paws–are covered in his own blood. Green streaks across the stone floor and clings to his fur. He can still feel it dripping into his mouth and taste it on his tongue.

Slowly, he tries to climb to his feet. For a moment, he’s able to wobble on his back legs, but he quickly has to put his front paws down again. He takes one step, and then another. Movement feels foreign; his muscles don’t pull and contract how he’s used to.

As he looks up, he realizes two things. The first is that his telepathy–the electricity that thrums gently in the back of his mind–is gone. It feels like being blinded; one of his senses has been ripped away from him. His heart stutters with anxiety, and he feels a flood of helplessness.

The second thing he realizes, however, is that things are more vibrant. His telepathy has been replaced, and it takes Spock a long moment to realize just what’s so different.

He can see a color he’s never seen before.

He scans the room. The text that’s scrawled across the walls has doubled–half in the original, faded red paint and half in this new hue. A secret message he can’t understand, hidden under his nose like invisible ink.

Gradually, he half-drags himself across the floor of the temple, through the wide entrance, and out into the woods.

–

Spock’s scream echoes through Jim’s mind long after the call cuts off. It’s easily the worst sound he’s ever heard.

He and McCoy exchange a quick, desperate glance before bolting down the stairs. As they reach the bottom, Jim doesn’t slow–he simply shoulders through the heavy door and keeps running. The overgrown roads seem determined to trip him, but his feet don’t slow their pace. Distantly, he’s aware of McCoy following closely behind. Each passing moment feels like an eternity–another moment that Spock is in danger, or hurt, or worse, and Jim isn’t there to help. It’s only his years of training and experience as a captain that keeps his body moving forward despite the fear gripping his heart.

Eventually, the city gives way to the giant trees of the forest. Jim thinks he hears McCoy say something, and he knows it’s likely about the dangerous animals that patrol these woods, but the only thing he can hear is the sound of Spock’s scream ricocheting through his head.

Spock needs him. That’s all that matters.

It’s only once Jim’s lungs start to burn, desperate for air, that he stops long enough to realize that he doesn’t know just where he’s going. Spock had said he was scouting this area, but what all did that involve? How deep into the woods had he gone?

“Jim.”

McCoy’s voice isn’t more than a huff. Jim glances back at him, and finds McCoy pointing forward–deeper still into the woods.

“Careful,” he gasps, resting his hands on his knees. “One of those animals is over there.”

Instinctively, Jim’s hand goes to his phaser. They learned almost immediately how violent these creatures could be, and he can’t risk getting maimed when Spock needs him.

Then he realizes something is wrong.

The creature stumbles forward, closer to Jim and McCoy. This one is all black–even in the bright afternoon sun, it takes a second for Jim to register that the green in its fur is more than just a trick of the light.

The animal is completely covered in Spock’s blood.

Its claws and teeth are both stained emerald, and even from here, Jim can see the blood dripping down its maw. Its fur is matted with it.

Behind him, McCoy sucks in a breath. Jim tries to focus on keeping his knees from giving out beneath him.

The creature’s mouth opens, and a snarl escapes.

Even as injured as it is, it seems it won’t go down without a fight.

Jim pulls out his phaser and points it at the creature.

–

Jim.

It’s Jim.

Spock’s brain is still clouded from the transformation. Each of his thoughts is only half-complete. But he knows Jim. And he knows Jim is safety.

He steps forward. It’s a stagger. This body is strange and unfamiliar, and he isn’t sure how it works. Hopefully, it doesn’t matter. Hopefully, he and Jim can figure this out quickly, and he can change back, and they can all move on. It isn’t like a Vulcan to rely on hope, but Spock finds that right now, he needs it.

He doesn’t notice, at first, that something is wrong. He steps forward, steps closer to Jim and the doctor behind him, and Jim takes a half-step back. Spock can make out his hand hovering above his phaser, ready to draw and shoot.

No. No, Jim doesn’t understand. He isn’t a mindless creature. He doesn’t mean any harm. He needs help.

Spock opens his mouth–maybe, he thinks groggily, he can explain, somehow. But then the only sound that comes out is a snarl, and it has the opposite effect of what Spock needs.

Jim pulls his phaser and points it at his face.

Spock stumbles backwards. Immediately, the reality of the situation is revealed to him–Jim doesn’t know that it’s him, and he has no way to explain himself.

Spock turns. Before Jim can shoot, he limps deeper into the woods..

–

Jim is ready to shoot.

Violence should be beneath him. It won’t help Spock, wherever he is.

But it’s clear that Spock is hurt somewhere. Bleeding. Perhaps barely clinging to consciousness. Perhaps in even worse shape than that.That this thing is the one that hurt him.

He takes his phaser–unsure on if it’s even set to stun or kill. His finger hovers over the trigger.

“Jim!”

Jim flinches, and it’s enough of a window for the animal to turn and drag itself away. Jim raises his phaser again, lines up the shot–

McCoy puts a hand on his shoulder.

Anger–towards the creature, towards being stopped–floods through him, and he turns to face McCoy with a sneer. “Why are you stopping me? You saw that thing–it hurt him, Bones!”

McCoy shakes his head. His gaze is one of sadness. Hopelessness. It sours Jim’s stomach to see. “It’s hurt. And it was retreating. I can’t let you go after it.”

“Why not? If Spock–”

“If Spock needs us, then fighting that thing is just wasting valuable time,” McCoy counters patiently. “We need to find him as soon as we can. Jim–”

“Let’s go find him. then.” Whatever McCoy intends to say, Jim knows he can’t handle it. “He must be nearby. He must need us.”

Beside him, McCoy nods, tight-lipped. The two of them continue into the lines of trees. McCoy pulls out his tricorder and begins scanning the area.

“Any sign of him, Bones?”

McCoy hesitates. “No signs of life other than the wild animals.”

“He must be out of range, then.” Jim doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t think about what it could really mean.

The flora opens up into a clearing, and Jim finds himself looking at a large, circular temple with broken windows made of stained glass and vines climbing the stone sides. He changes his path to make his way towards it, hoping against hope that Spock is hiding inside, then freezes as he reaches the open doorway.

Shreds of blue and black fabric cover the floor. There are chunks of electronics strewn about. A tricorder tossed aside.

And smeared harshly across the floor is even more of Spock’s blood.

Chapter Text

Mr. Scott’s voice comes through the communicator, tinny and concerned. “Captain, I scanned the whole planet. The only humanoid life forms I’m finding are from the search party.”

“Then scan again,” Jim presses. “He’s around here somewhere, and we aren’t leaving until we find him. Kirk out.”

Spock sits in the forest, watching through the trees as Jim paces nervously.

It’s been three days. Three days, and he’s no closer to communicating with Jim.

He’s spent the last three nights curled under the protective cover of trees and brush, focusing on the dying flicker of his telepathic sense that he can still feel smouldering in the back of his mind. He thinks, with time, he can nurse it back into something usable.

But time is not something he has.

Spock knows, logically, that the search can’t last forever. That eventually, someone will determine that he’s dead, and they’ll vacate the planet and leave him behind.

He has to find a way to show them he’s here before that happens–and his telepathy may not be an option.

On a few occasions, he’s tried to press closer to Jim, or McCoy. He’s tried to show that he’s not like the other creatures–that he’s sapient and tame and Spock. But each time he’s gotten close, there’s been a spark of rage and pain in Jim’s eyes. Each time, Jim has pulled out his phaser and pointed it at him, and Spock’s gotten the sense that it hasn’t been set to stun.

“Honey badgers burrow, don’t they?” Jim worries his thumb against his lip as he turns to McCoy. “Perhaps we can’t find him because that animal dragged him underground.”

“Jim.” The doctor’s voice is soft and gentle. While he and Spock may have their differences, Spock knows that McCoy sees the situation at face value. In his absence, McCoy will step up and be the voice of reason that Jim needs. “You’ve been planetside for days. I think you need to take a break.”

“I’ve slept.”

“In about half-hour increments curled up against the trunk of a tree. That doesn’t count.”

Even from this distance, Spock can see how adamantly Jim shakes his head. “I can’t, Bones. Spock is out there. He’s hurt. He needs me.”

“Jim,” McCoy says again–somehow with even more grace than before. “Spock wouldn’t want you makin’ yourself sick. We can keep searching while you rest.”

“Bones–”

“Doctor’s orders, Captain.” His voice doesn’t turn unkind, but it does have more force behind it. “I need you to get some sleep before I have to deem you mentally unfit for command.

Jim’s shoulders slump with exhaustion and defeat. Spock has to fight the urge to slink closer. His presence will only worsen the situation.

There’s one more moment of hesitation, as if Jim’s trying to find the best way to fight back, but then Jim flips open his communicator again. With his tone flat and expressionless, he says “One to beam up, Scotty.”

“Aye, Captain.”

McCoy reaches up to pat Jim’s shoulder, then drops his hand back to his side. “I’ll meet you up there, Jim. Just let me make sure everything’s in order down here, and I’ll meet you in your room.”

Jim nods. And while Spock can’t see it, he knows the way Jim tries to swallow down his emotions to maintain his composure. He is the captain, after all. “Alright, Bones. I’ll see you soon.”

A yellow light envelopes Jim, and he disappears.

McCoy sighs. Now that Jim’s gone, Spock can see just how defeated and tired he is, too. McCoy turns towards Spock and takes a few steps further into the woods before he pauses and his eyes grow wide.

Spock realizes he’s been spotted.

McCoy’s hands tighten into fists, but he doesn’t reach a weapon. Spock would be surprised if he had a phaser at all.

“You’re the one that took him from us,” McCoy growls.

Spock’s mouth opens, revealing his too-sharp teeth, and a grumble of surprise escapes.

“If you can understand me at all,” McCoy sneers, “then I want you to know that I’m well aware Spock’s not coming back. And I know you’re the devil that killed him.”

Spock pushes himself up onto all fours. There’s real fear in McCoy’s face as he takes a step back.

“You’re different from the rest of them–you don’t have that stripe that the rest of them have. And you’re colder. More observant. I don’t know what makes you so special, but I want you to know that I’m never gonna forgive you. And if you’re really as smart as you seem, you’d stop followin’ us around, because once Jim figures it out, he’s gonna show far less mercy than me.”

It’s Spock that takes a step back now. He feels McCoy’s glare on him as he turns and takes off running.

He bolts deeper and deeper into the trees, until he’s surrounded by nothing but the wildlife that’s claimed him.

–

Jim had obliged McCoy enough to return to his room, but his compliance had ended there. He’s tired, but he can’t bring himself to rest–can’t fathom the thought of laying down and closing his eyes when Spock is suffering somewhere on the planet below him.

By the time McCoy lets himself into his room, Jim has been pacing for the better part of an hour.

“You’re not very good at listening to your doctor.” McCoy smiles softly, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Bones–”

“I know.” His expression softens, and Jim realizes that McCoy does know. Perhaps better than anyone else could. He watches McCoy cross the room to Jim’s liquor stash and pull out a bottle of brandy. “Why don’t you sit down? We can have a drink.”

“I’m really not in the mood, Bones.”

“To sit or to drink?”

Jim’s body feels heavy, and he only credits part of it to his exhaustion. “Both.”

“Hm.” McCoy pours two glasses anyways, then nods towards the seat at Jim’s desk. His body protests at the movement, but Jim forces himself to sink down into the hard chair. McCoy hands him his glass, then sinks down into the chair that’s been set on the other side. On the desk between them is a chess board, with a half-completed game Jim and Spock had been playing.

McCoy crosses one leg over the other. He cradles his drink in one hand, and reaches over towards the chess board with the other. It’s a movement he’s done dozens of times–grabbing a piece to fiddle with as they talk.

“Don’t touch that,” Jim blurts. McCoy’s hand freezes above a pawn. He raises an eyebrow.

Jim feels a little like a child. The discomfort in his chest grows, and he tries to recline back. “Sorry. Spock and I were in the middle of a game, and I plan to finish it once he’s back.”

McCoy’s face falls, and Jim does everything he can not to notice. Suddenly, drinking doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. He lifts the glass to his lips and swallows a mouthful. It burns on the way down and settles like a rock in his gut, but it’s a momentary distraction.

“Jim,” McCoy says softly. It’s something he’s been doing a lot over the past few days–saying his name too gently. Jim hates it. “D’you think Spock is coming back?”

It’s a punch to the gut. Jim feels like the alcohol is about to force its way back up. The glass shakes in his hands.

He shoves it all down and forces a confident smile. He isn’t sure how convincing it is. “Of course I do, Bones. Spock’s been through worse. We’ve always made it back in one piece before.”

McCoy takes a too-long sip of his drink. Jim knows him well enough to know he’s gathering himself–collecting his thoughts.

“I want you to be right, Jim, I really do, but–”

“Bones,” Jim whispers. “Please.”

“Look, Jim. I know Spock is important to you–”

“It’s more than that,” Jim mumbles towards his drink. “He’s more than my first officer. More than my friend, even. And I never–”

He cuts himself short. It’s too much to say out loud.

McCoy sits with his lips parted for a second, and the worry is etched so clearly in his face that it makes Jim feel sick. Then, McCoy presses his mouth shut and nods. “I understand, Jim.”

“Thank you.” It isn’t a relief. The recycled air of the ship feels too thick in Jim’s lungs.

McCoy nods. In one gulp, he downs the rest of his drink and sets it back down on the desk. “Get some sleep, Jim. I’m not letting you go back down until you’ve slept. Am I clear?”

Jim stares down at the drink in his hand, the color of dark honey. He swirls it lightly. “I’m not sure when you became so reasonable, Bones. I’m not sure it suits you.”

“I’m just doin’ what Spock can’t,” McCoy whispers.

Jim’s heart sinks. “Right.”

McCoy steps around the desk and sets a hand on Jim’s shoulder. It’s meant to be a comfort, but it still just feels like it’s adding to the weight in his bones. The touch lingers for a moment, and then it falls away. WIthout another word, McCoy leaves the room.

As soon as the door slides shut, Jim can feel himself starting to break down. For the past three days, he’s been shoving his feelings down and out of the way. Now that he’s alone with them, it feels like they’re ripping him apart from the inside out. Everything hurts–emotionally, surely, but also physically.

Without Spock, he feels like he’s dying.

He studies the chessboard. Spock had been winning, but now Jim had time to calculate his next move. He could turn this game around. He could turn all of this around.

Spock wouldn’t give up on him, and he isn’t going to give up on Spock.

–

The forest is cloaked in the darkness of night. Any search parties have been called off for the day.

Spock paws lightly at the ground. His claws disrupt the dirt easily, and he itches to dig deeper. Based on the curved claws, these animals must be burrowers, just as Jim suggested.

There’s a pressure in the back of Spock’s mind–a fog of instinct, begging to take over. It was present when he first changed, but already it’s growing more insistent. For now, he can shut it out. For now, he can focus on Jim and the Enterprise and her crew.

For now, he can maintain his sense of self. But he isn’t sure just how long that will last.

He stops clawing at the dirt. To give into any of these instincts could mean losing himself sooner, and that’s something that Spock cannot risk. Instead, he settles at the base of a towering tree.

As he closes his eyes, he focuses on the presence in the back of his mind that he does want to nurse–his telepathy. The smoldering flames of it are not yet flickering, but they haven’t extinguished, either.

He knows he’s running out of time. He knows he’s running out of options. Before long, Jim will be called away and Spock will be left behind for good.

As sleep drags him under, Spock begins to wonder if he has any other options at all.

–

Jim worries his lip as another search party begins their trek deeper into the woods. There’s the hum of the transporter beam behind him, and he turns to find McCoy has materialized.

“Well?” Jim rubs his hands together. “Any luck?”

McCoy shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Jim. I listened to the recording on his tricorder a few times, but it doesn’t tell us anything particularly useful.” He steps forward. “He wasn’t even recording when he was attacked. The most I can tell you is that he was in that temple, which we already knew.”

The nagging weight of hopelessness suddenly feels just a little bit heavier.

“We’ll keep looking as long as you need, Jim. But don’t you think–”

Jim’s communicator beeps, and Jim is grateful for the interruption. McCoy’s mouth falls shut as Jim flips the communicator open. “This is Kirk.”

“Sir, we’ve received a message from Starfleet Command. Priority level: urgent.”

Jim can detect a string of sympathy in Uhura’s voice. That seems to be what everyone has been showing him over the last week–sympathy. Sadness. He hates it. Hates that they’re all treading so carefully around him. It’s clear that no one else believes Spock is coming home, and it only makes Jim feel more sick. “Well, Lieutenant? What is it?”

“There’s been an emergency situation on Epsilon VI. Our presence has been requested immediately.”

Jim’s heart drops. “What sort of emergency?”

“They didn’t say, sir.”

Jim can feel McCoy’s eyes on him. He feels like the ground is going to open up and swallow him whole. Like the sky is going to cave in above him. “Tell them we can’t. We haven’t found First Officer Spock.”

Uhura hesitates, and Jim knows what to expect before she says the words. “They are aware, sir. They instructed me to tell you to call off the search.”

The air rushes from Jim’s lungs. For a moment, he thinks the sky has crumbled onto his shoulders. “No. No, I won’t do it.”

“Jim…” McCoy steps forward. He gently pulls the communicator from Jim’s hand, and Jim doesn’t have it in him to put up resistance. “Lieutenant, let me talk to the captain. We’ll call back shortly.”

Uhura’s voice is soft, with a distinct sadness. “Understood, sir.”

McCoy snaps the communicator shut and tucks it into his own pocket. Jim barely notices. He’s too busy trying to keep his heart beating.

“Jim,” McCoy says again. There’s a tension on Jim’s arm–McCoy’s hand, gripping him tightly and keeping him upright. “Jim, how about we get you sat down?”

Jim feels himself being lowered into the dirt. He feels as McCoy arranges him into something that resembles comfort, with his legs crossed in front of him and his back resting against a tree.

“He’s out there, Bones. I can’t just leave him.”

McCoy crouches down in front of him. His hand rests firmly on Jim’s shoulder. It’s something that Jim knows he could focus on, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay in this abyss, just as lost as Spock is.

“Jim, we don’t have much of a choice.”

“I’ve defied Starfleet for him before. I’m more than willing to do it again.”

“I know.” McCoy plops himself down to sit beside him. “But this time’s different.”

Jim shakes his head.

“Look, I meant what I said–that we can look as long as you need. But Jim?”

Jim shakes his head again. It’s more frantic. More desperate. “Bones–”

“My professional medical opinion is that there’s no way Spock’s survived.”

Jim’s whole world shatters.

He’s lost people before–countless times. It’s part of being a starship captain. It’s part of space travel.

But this–this hits harder than anything ever has. What is a world without Spock? Certainly not a world worth living in.

How is he supposed to go on?

Vaguely, he’s aware of McCoy waving a bioscanner in front of his face. Giving him time to process the impossible, and still making sure he’s okay.

“Let’s get you back to the ship.” McCoy’s voice is so far away. So distant and faded. It’s a miracle Jim can decipher the words at all. “We can figure the rest out later.”

Jim shakes his head. “I can’t, Bones. How am I supposed to…”

“I know, Jim.” There’s still that hand on Jim’s shoulder. Still the gentle pressure. “I’m sorry.”

Jim raises his gaze, though his vision still tunnels. He isn’t crying–he isn’t sure he knows how anymore. Or perhaps the tears will come later, when he’s fully and truly alone.

He doesn’t want to believe it. But McCoy wouldn’t be saying it if he weren’t convinced it was true. And if there’s one thing left in this world he can depend on, it’s the doctor and friend kneeling in front of him.

Jim stares out into the woods, as if Spock will appear from behind one of the thick tree trunks. As if this were some elaborate experiment, or Spock’s first attempt at a practical joke.

What he finds instead are two dark eyes staring back at him.

“That creature is here.”

McCoy turns to look over his shoulder, and Jim knows that he sees it, too–the animal that looks different from the rest, with its all black fur and its too-intelligent expression.

The monster that took Spock from him.

Jim straightens. He rests a hand against the bark of the tree that’s been supporting him, and uses it to push himself up slowly. With his body crouched and his movements deliberate, Jim begins to make his way closer to the beast.

His vision tunnels–like the only things in the world that matter are him and this horrible, irredemable creature.

At the very least, in this moment, the unbearable grief has morphed into a blinding rage. Fire burns in his blood, hot enough that Jim feels he might explode. He pulls the phaser from his belt, turns the dial to kill, and points it at the beast.

–

Spock doesn’t move. He remains sitting, with his tail wrapped behind his hind legs and his head held high. Jim inches closer, and McCoy scrambles to his feet behind him.

What does it matter anymore? He has no way to communicate–no way to tell them that he's right here. He saw Jim mourn his death and accept it as true.

Nothing matters anymore. Either they realize it’s him, or he ends up as dead as they already think he is.

“Jim–”

“Quiet, Bones.” The phaser shakes just slightly in Jim’s hand. It's a side of Jim that Spock hasn't seen–a side of him that's desperate and scared. “This thing took Spock from us.”

In a way, Spock supposes that’s true. This form did take him away from them. For good, from the sound of it.

Jim takes another step. Spock doesn’t even flinch.

“This one’s different, but it’s still just an animal.” McCoy’s words are pleading. “It’s not malicious.”

“It’s dangerous,” Jim snaps back. “I won’t let it hurt someone else.”

“There isn’t anyone else, Jim! The planet’s abandoned!”

Jim’s close enough now. Spock doesn’t waver, but Jim hesitates on the trigger.

“This isn’t you, Jim. It’s the grief. Don’t do something reckless.”

Spock must admit that he admires the compassion of the doctor–his unwillingness to kill even a creature that he thinks killed already.

“Spock wouldn’t want you to kill it,” McCoy tries.

Jim tenses. His hand drops, and the phaser falls from his grip and into the leaves that litter the forest floor.

Spock stands. This is it, then. They won’t be coming after him anymore. He’ll spend the rest of his days here, as an animal, fighting to keep himself sane.

He pushes down the fear that threatens to seep into his bones. It's the least he can do to try and preserve his Vulcan nature.

“Get out of here, then,” Jim spits, “before I change my mind.”

And Spock obliges. He does turn, with his heart hollow and the fog pressing further into his brain.

Then he hears a rustle and a snarl. He flips back around, with his tail shooting straight up and his teeth bared. Jim’s eyes grow wide. He reaches down to grab his phaser, and Spock takes the opportunity to leap over him and tackle the beast that had bound up behind him.

–

In the moment that the animal whips around, Jim is worried he misjudged the situation. This specific creature has already proven to be more calculating than the others–had this just been a ruse all along? A way for him to disarm himself?

He reaches down, and his hand scrambles to pick the phaser out of the dirt and leaves. But instead of taking the opening to attack him, the beast leaps clear over his head and collides with something behind him.

As soon as he grabs the phaser, Jim spins around. There’s a clashing of forms–one brown and blonde, the other all black. It only takes Jim a moment to register that it’s another one of those Honey Badger-like creatures.

But why is the creature that killed Spock defending him so passionately?

Unless–

Blood begins to spray. Red, from the first creature. It lets out a pained snarl before sinking its teeth into the black one’s neck and tearing.

There’s another sound of pain. But the blood that fills the attacking creature’s mouth isn’t red.

It’s green.

“Spock.”

It isn’t a question, because suddenly everything makes sense.

This animal didn’t kill Spock at all.

He doesn’t have time to be relieved. The fight is one that Spock is very quickly losing. The hooked claws of the other creature sink into his side and rip away the flesh. Green blood splatters across Jim’s face.

Jim lifts his phaser. He twists the dial to stun. These animals, they’ve learned, have thick hides–it’ll take a prolonged moment of impact for the phaser’s ray to take effect. He only has one shot.

He aims, and he shoots. There’s one more ear-splitting cry of agony, and for one horrible moment, Jim can’t tell which of the animals it belongs to.

He continues to hold down the trigger.

The beasts stumble backwards and away from each other. Both Jim and McCoy have to stagger back to keep out of the way. The brown and blonde animal–the one that isn’t Spock–finally falls to the phaser’s effects.

For a second, Spock stands. Blood pours from his side and his neck. His fur-coated chest heaves with great effort, and he looks to Jim with an almost glazed expression.

And then he falls to the ground.

Jim doesn’t take the time to check that the other beast is unconscious. His feet immediately carry him towards Spock, and he drops to his knees by his head.

“Spock.” Immediately, Jim’s hand settles on his cheek. The fur is coarse and dense, and his fingers are immediately sticky with Vulcan blood. “It is you, isn’t it?”

The creature tries to lift his head but drops it just as quickly. His lips curl up on his muzzle, and he makes a quiet grumble before closing his eyes.

Jim glances up and finds McCoy looking at him with wide eyes. “Jim–”

“It’s Spock.”

McCoy nods.

“He’s in bad shape, Bones. I need you to help him.”

Jim can hear the retort. I’m a doctor, Jim. Not a veterinarian.

But McCoy just nods again. “I’ll do what I can. But we’ve gotta get him up on the ship first. It’s dangerous down here, and his blood is only gonna draw in more of these animals.”

Jim swallows his rising panic–one of his many learned skills as a captain–and pulls out his communicator. Green streaks across the cover, and his hands slip the first time he tries to flip it open. “Kirk to Enterprise.”

“Aye, Captain?”

“Scotty, we’ve got three to beam up. Quickly.”

“Did ya find him, Captain?” Against all odds, there’s hope in Scotty’s voice.

“Yes.” Jim reaches down to pet the fur again. Spock doesn’t react, and Jim feels his heart drumming faster and faster. “We found him. We’re bringing him home.”

Chapter Text

When Spock wakes, the first thing he realizes is that the sun is not shining down on him.

The air around him feels stiff. Almost unnatural.

He isn’t outside at all.

He opens his eyes to a bright assault of colors. The space around him is familiar–the arboretum of the Enterprise, he realizes after a long moment–but it’s highlighted with the unfamiliarity of this new color that only he can see. It traces along the edges of leaves and petals, making it look almost like they’re glowing. It had been the same way outside–along blades of grass. The edges of feathers. He’d thought it had been a result of the sun, but he realizes now the color is visible under any light source.

His body feels heavy. Weighed down, maybe. Unnatural.

He shifts. Tries to get his feet under him. Immediately, there’s a pressure on his shoulder–so light it might as well not be there at all.

Still, Spock turns his head towards it. He finds Jim, worry etched into his face and his eyes open wide. He only comes up to Spock’s shoulder, and it makes him look small. Vulnerable. Spock’s whole body feels warmed with the relief of being back at Jim’s side.

“Relax, Spock,” Jim says. And the words themselves feel a little harder to grasp than they should be. Panic seeps through the edges of his joy. “You’re badly hurt. Don’t try to stand.”

Now that attention’s been drawn to it, Spock can feel the dull throb of it under his fur. Bandages wrap tightly around him, restricting the way his muscles move and flex. Instinctively, it makes him anxious. The confinement of the room, of the bandages–but his heart continues to thud slowly, as if it can’t be bothered to increase.

“Bones loaded you full of painkillers,” Jim offers gently. “I’m sure you’re feeling odd.”

Spock grunts, but–finally–he settles. His limbs fold underneath him. Jim doesn’t remove his hand from his fur. Instead, he settles down on the ground beside him with his legs crossed.

“I know you prefer to be in the loop about how things are running on the ship.” Jim fidgets, rubbing his pant leg with his other hand. “I thought, now that you’re awake, you may want me to fill you in.”

Jim smiles at him, but it’s nervous. Like that same weight in Spock’s mind has settled in Jim’s.

Spock offers another grunt. It’s all he can do, though the sentiment is more than appreciated. Jim, it seems, is doing his best to accommodate him as Spock and not an animal.

“Starfleet called us away on an emergency supply drop,” Jim begins. “We’re on our way towards Epsilon VI.”

It strikes a panic into Spock. First, at the idea of being removed from the one place he belongs. Then, a sharper panic at the idea that he belongs on Zeta Gelvin IV as a mindless animal. He tries to straighten up as fear shoots through his veins, but once again. And once Jim urges him back down with a hand on his haunch.

“We’re not giving up, Spock. Not that easily.” Jim’s fingers begin to thread through Spock’s coarse fur. Spock hardly notices at first, but becomes more and more aware with each pass. “It took some convincing from both Scotty and McCoy, but Scotty stayed behind with a team to study the temple.”

Spock’s lip curls at the idea of flying through space without their Chief Engineer, and it startles a laugh out of Jim.

“I suppose that’s as close as you can get to raising an eyebrow at me.” It looks like the first real smile Jim’s had in days. Spock is happy to provide it. His own weight feels lightened by having Jim back. “Don’t worry. The mission will only take a couple of weeks. We’ll be back for him in no time.”

A grumble of disagreement pushes out from Spock’s throat.

“He’s with both a security team as well as a few members of the science department. While he’s researching what may have made you transform, the science team will be studying the animals. He’ll be safe, Spock. And so will we. Let’s see…”

Jim scoots a little closer. His hand continues to stroke. Spock wonders who the motion is supposed to be comforting. Perhaps it’s instinctual–something Jim would do to any animal. It’s certainly an unusual amount of contact between the two of them. The realization that Jim is treating him like any other animal leaves Spock feeling hollow and hopeless. “Bones is working on a medical analysis. Trying to see if he can find a way to reverse its effects. And I have Lieutenant Uhura working on decoding both the text that you found in the temple and what I found in the tower, in case they’re connected.”

Immediately, Spock’s mind flashes back to his transformation. To the text he saw afterwards, on the temple walls. The text that Jim can’t see, and that can’t be uncovered with scans. The text that no doubt holds answers for his situation.

The text he has no way of telling Jim about.

He tries again to fan the flames of his telepathy. They spark and die down again.

The frustration causes a low rumble in his chest, and Jim pauses. And then he sighs. “We’ll figure it out, Spock. I promise.”

–

The door slides open, and McCoy steps through. He carries a large silver bowl in his hands. Spock pushes himself up onto his paws and strides closer to the door.

Even as his memories fade in and out, Spock can recognize McCoy as one of the good creatures. He brings food, and he sits and keeps him company. He isn’t quite Jim–doesn’t ignite the same all-encompassing warmth–but he is a friend nonetheless.

“Easy, there. Get back.” McCoy turns to keep the bowl from Spock as his muzzle stretches towards it.

McCoy pushes farther into the room, and Spock trots alongside him. Finally, he sets down the bowl, and Spock bounds towards it.

It smells the same as every other meal he’s been given. Synthesized, his brain supplies, though the word means nothing. It’s gray and dull, especially in contrast to the brightness of the rest of his room. Unappetizing. Unappealing.

Without taking a bite, Spock sits.

McCoy sighs. Spock can see something in his face–reluctance, maybe. Sadness. “Not hungry today, Spock?”

He steps forward and reaches to take the bowl. Suddenly, Spock sees him for what he is–a threat to his meal. He can’t let him take it from him.

He lets out a low, deep growl. McCoy freezes.

Slowly, Spock stands again. He glowers at McCoy as he leans down and takes the faux-flesh between his teeth.

It’s bland. It holds none of the sharpness of flavor that food should. But it’s his, and he eats every last bite.

–

Jim spends every free moment he has at Spock’s side. He reads him daily reports and updates him on anything happening–not just news on the running of the ship, but gossip as well. It’s everything he’d babble about normally. Each time he visits, Spock is quiet and subdued. If Jim closes his eyes, he can pretend everything is okay.

Jim hopes his presence is a comfort, at the very least. Spock could be hard to read as a Vulcan, and he’s even more difficult to decipher as a badger.

It’s a week and a half into their mission; they’re about four days away from returning to Zeta Gelvin IV and getting an update from Scotty. With each passing day, Jim finds his nerves growing.

It’s night, and McCoy has invited himself into Jim’s room. The two sit across from each other at Jim’s desk. McCoy nurses a drink. Jim stares at the chess board. It’s just as he and Spock left it, save for the thin layer of dust that coats the squares.

“You act like you’re waitin’ for Spock to make his next move,” McCoy sighs.

“I am,” Jim says flatly, without removing his gaze from the black and white pieces. “I’ve had plenty of time to study the best course of action for me to take.”

“But it’s Spock’s turn?”

Jim nods. Licks his lips. Stares at his knight. “Yes.”

McCoy huffs. He takes a long sip of his drink, and Jim knows he’s just buying time. Knows McCoy is going to bring something up that neither of them want to discuss.

“I should be with him right now,” Jim whispers. Maybe he’s buying time, too.

“Jim–”

“Whatever you have to say, Bones–I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“You don’t.” McCoy isn’t looking at him. His eyes are in the ice floating in his drink. “But as your CMO and as your friend, it’s something I need to say.”

Jim swallows. His eyes shift to Spock’s queen. He tries to imagine Spock’s long fingers picking up and moving the piece.

“His vitals are changing, Jim. All of them. His neurological readings, too.”

Jim says nothing, but even seated he feels like the room is spinning.

“Jim, evidence points to him turning more and more into one of those beasts. Like the transformation wasn’t just changing his physical form, but all of him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Finally, Jim’s eyes shift to point at McCoy. He can see the sorrow in his friend’s face. The worry and concern. He knows this isn’t easy on him, either.

“He’s still Spock,” Jim says finally. “I’m with him every day. It’s still Spock in there.”

McCoy flinches. “I’m with him every day too, Jim. Taking blood samples. Running tests. Checking his vitals. And you know what he did today?”

Jim presses his lips shut. He waits.

“He growled at me.”

Somehow, Jim manages a smile. “Well, you two do have a history of disagreement–”

“That’s not what this was, Jim.”

Jim’s shoulders sag. “I’m not giving up on him, Bones.”

“I’m not telling you to.” McCoy crosses one leg over the other. Leans back. “And let’s make one thing clear–I don’t want to give up on him either.”

Jim nods. “Of course. I know that.”

“But I just have to warn you.” McCoy sets down his glass. He turns a sharp and sympathetic gaze to Jim. Jim’s sick of all the pity. “Depending on what Scotty finds, I’m worried there’ll be a point of no return.”

Jim’s stomach clenches, and he knows his choice not to drink tonight was the right one. The room spins and he grips the edge of the desk to keep himself steady. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. “I’m not going to let it reach that point.”

McCoy offers a sympathetic smirk. “I know, Jim. And I’ll do everything I can to help.”

–

Jim materializes to find things exactly as he left them. Trees tower high above him, and leaves are scattered across the ground under his feet. He can hear the chittering and chirping of animals. The wind rustles through the canopy above. Beautiful, under any other circumstances.

He takes a few steps, and the temple comes into view. Scotty is standing out front, examining the crumbling building with his tricorder in hand. He turns as he hears the leaves crunching.

“Captain!” Scotty rushes to meet him. Jim tries to read his face, but his expression only reveals focus. “Glad you could make it.”

“Have you found anything, Scotty?” Jim rubs his hands together. The apprehension has been a rock in his stomach all day.

Scotty’s expression sours just slightly. Just enough for Jim’s heart to sink. “Aye, Captain. But I don’t think it’s the news you’re lookin’ to hear.”

Jim licks his lips. His heart pounds. He nods. He should be used to bad news by now, but his heart just sinks even deeper in the hollow of his chest. “Tell me what you’ve found.”

“It’s a machine that changed him, alright. Just as you suspected.” Scotty looks off into the distance, in the direction of the abandoned settlement. “But it’s more complex than we realized.”

“Did Spock trigger some mechanism in the temple, then? Can we reverse it?”

Scotty exhales. His head shakes just slightly, and he sets his jaw before he speaks. “Not the temple, Sir. The tower.”

Jim ignores the way his vision tunnels. “What do you mean, the tower?”

“The tower is the machine that triggered the transformation. It shot a beam to the temple. It was a case of Mr. Spock bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Scotty throws Jim a sympathetic glance and shakes his head. “The technology is far more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen before. I can hardly find the components of the contraption, much less a way to reverse it.”

Jim wrings his hands more forcefully, as if that’ll stop the way they’re shaking. He nods, despite the way his stomach flips and his heart clenches. He pictures himself climbing up the stairs. Turning in a circle to read the scrawling on the wall. The way the room grew more and more vibrant. A deep red. The sound of thunder.

This is his fault, then.

The ground is unsteady beneath his feat. His head is clouded with guilt and sorrow.

“Keep trying.” It’s meant to be an order, but it comes out weaker than it should. A whisper.

“Yessir.” Scotty is still looking at him with too much softness. Too much sympathy. He rocks on his heels, then turns to face Jim more properly. Hesitates. Then, opens his mouth. “You know we’d do anything for Mr. Spock, Sir. We won’t give up.”

“Very good, Scotty.” It’s hard for Jim to get the words out past the lump in his throat. He turns and walks a few steps before pulling out his communicator. It takes everything he has to keep his voice steady enough to command. “One to beam up, Mr. Kyle.”

–

The days all blur together.

When Spock is aware, he spends his time meditating on nursing his telepathy. But in between those moments are long stretches of an absence of thought.

The one constant he can focus on is Jim. Jim, reading reports or telling him gossip that Spock would not care to know otherwise. Jim, promising they’ll find a way to reverse this, even as Spock begins to forget what this is.

Each day, Spock can feel himself losing his sense of self. Half the time, it terrifies him. The rest of the time, he doesn’t know enough to care.

Now, the door to Spock’s habitat slides open, and Jim rushes in. Spock pushes himself to all fours, but Jim stops a few feet away from him.

“Spock.” Jim moves forward, but it’s a graceless stumble. His hand reaches out, and Spock nudges his muzzle to rest under it. Jim is a source of comfort. A source of good. Jim’s hand curls into a fist, but Spock can still feel the way he’s trembling.

“Spock, I’m so sorry. This is my fault.I activated a device in the tower, and it turned you into an animal. I did this to you.”

The words don’t mean much anymore. Not unless Spock really focuses through the fog. He keeps his gaze steadily on Jim.

“I’m sorry, Spock.”

There’s sadness to his voice that Spock doesn’t understand. He grumbles a response and lays down again. Jim falls to his knees in front of him.

After a moment, Jim presses his forehead against Spock’s.

There’s a spark between the two of them, sharp and pointed and so sudden that Spock draws his head back with a snarl.

It only seems to upset Jim further. Perhaps he hadn’t felt the shock at all. He reaches out for Spock again, then hesitates and lets his hand drop to his side.

There’s an ache in Spock’s chest.

Spock watches as Jim struggles to get his breathing even–as he fights to stop the shake in his hands by tightening them into fists. The display of emotion strikes Spock as odd, though he couldn’t put the words to why.

“I’ll figure this out, Spock,” Jim whispers. “No matter what it takes. I promise.”

Jim turns and leaves the room as quickly as he came.

And for a split second, Spock wishes he could chase after him.

–

Another week passes. Jim continues with the same routine–sticking to Spock’s side and battling his own growing hopelessness. With each visit, he sees Spock sink away a little more–the sass and intelligence and stoicism fades. He’s stopped getting any sort of response from Spock. It's started to feel like he’s talking to a pet dog. There’s still a flicker of recognition, but Jim doesn’t know how far that extends. Does Spock recognize him as Jim, as his friend and captain? Or is he simply a source of familiarity and comfort?

“Captain, Nurse Chapel is requesting your presence in Sickbay.”

Uhura turns in her chair, the fingers of one hand still pressed to her earpiece. It startles Jim from his thoughts, and he shifts in the captain’s chair to face her better. “Did she say what for?”

“No, Sir.” Uhura’s expression is flat and professional. “Just that it’s urgent.”

Jim sighs. Instinctively, he turns to Spock’s station to tell him to take charge. He finds Chekov there instead. Just as it’s been for weeks. Still, his heart sinks as he turns back to the helm. “Sulu.” The defeat seeps into his voice. “Take the conn.”

“Aye, Sir.” Sulu stands, and Jim excuses himself to the turbolift.

He quickly makes his way to Sickbay. This urgent matter relates to Spock–Jim can feel it in his chest. What else could it be? They’ve been stationed above Zeta Gelvin IV for a week now. Dread sinks into his bones as possibilities swirl in his mind.

The doors slide open. Jim steps inside to find McCoy sitting on a biobed, his arm extended. Nurse Chapel holds his wrist gingerly in one hand and a dermal regenerator in the other. McCoy’s sleeve is splattered dark with blood.

“What happened?” Jim rushes closer. He ignores the sympathy in McCoy’s eyes as he looks up. He’s had enough sympathy to last a lifetime.

McCoy’s shoulders deflate, and his gaze drops down to the floor. “Jim…”

“You called me here, Bones.” Jim juts out his chin. Crosses his arms. He doesn’t have time for games–he can’t handle it. “Tell me what happened.”

McCoy won’t even look at him. His jaw tenses. For a moment, the room is silent except for the hum of the regenerator.

“He bit me, Jim.”

Jim’s first instinct is to laugh. He barely stops it from bubbling out.

It must be the stress getting to him.

“Well,” he tries, “you two hardly got along before you started spending every day poking and prodding him.”

McCoy’s gaze shifts up into Jim’s face. His expression is sullen, and there’s an icy sadness to it. “This is serious.”

Jim swallows. Nods. “Yes, Bones. It is.”

“Christine.” McCoy looks to Nurse Chapel, who is still steadily stitching back the broken skin on his arm. “Could you give us some time?”

Chapel pauses. She lifts her head, with the concern clear in the way she’s set her brow. “But Doctor–”

“I’ll be alright.” He offers her a small smile. Reluctantly, she tucks the regenerator back into her pocket and leaves the room.

Jim shifts his weight nervously. He barely avoids rubbing his hands together.

McCoy waits until they’re alone before turning back to Jim. And while Jim is grateful for the privacy, each moment he has to wait for him to speak is another eternity. “I think we’ve got to start sedating him.”

Jim feels the blood run cold in his veins. No. This is Spock–not some injured dog. “Absolutely not.”

“You’ve gotta think this through.” The steady worry is still firmly on McCoy’s face. Still dark in his eyes. “He could seriously hurt someone. He already hurt me. Could’ve taken off my arm, if he wanted to.”

“But he didn’t.” It’s a feeble argument, even to Jim’s ears.

“Not this time. But what about when I draw his blood tomorrow? Or the day after that?”

Jim turns, and he stares at where the wall meets the ceiling. “It isn’t fair to him to keep him sedated.”

“I agree.” At the edge of his vision, Jim sees McCoy hop down from the biobed. “If I’m bein’ honest, I think it would be better if we kept him planet-side until we figured something out. But his wounds aren’t fully healed yet, and his hide is too thick for the dermal regenerator to be effective. So sedation is the next best thing.”

“Spock won’t want to be incapacitated like that.”

“Spock wouldn’t want to be responsible for hurting anybody,” McCoy counters. He’s at Jim’s side now, and his voice is both gentle and urgent. “I think he’d be distraught if he realized he bit me today.”

Jim’s fingers knit together. Is McCoy just seeing another side of Spock? Or is he just seeing what Jim refuses to acknowledge? “You think he doesn’t know?”

McCoy sighs. Jim hates the way he hesitates. “No, Jim. I don’t. His neurological scans are changing every day. Now, they’re reading more animal than Vulcan.”

It leaves a sour taste in Jim’s throat. He wants to be sick. He wants to go to the arboretum and bury his face in Spock’s fur and prove McCoy wrong.

Spock is still in there. He has to be. Jim can see it in the way Spock’s dark eyes light up when Jim enters the room. In the way Spock is attentive to his stories and updates.

That’s Spock reaching out. Isn’t it?

“It’s just temporary,” McCoy pleads. “Not forever. Think about what Spock would say–what the logical choice is here.”

Jim takes a shaking breath. His palms rub together.

He knows McCoy is right. He’s been nothing but a voice of reason since Spock first went missing. He wouldn’t be suggesting sedation if he didn’t think it were absolutely necessary.

Guilt buzzes in Jim’s brain. It bounces around his ribcage. It’s a feeling he’s grown accustomed to over the past few weeks.

In a way, it feels like letting go. Like accepting that they’re one step closer to defeat, and that Spock is–at least temporarily–gone.

Jim has already lived in a world without Spock in it. He remembers the feeling of everything crashing down on him as he accepted that he’d never see Spock again.

He can’t handle that. And he can’t be responsible for Spock’s disappearance from this world.

“You’ll keep researching?”

“Course I will, Jim. And so will Uhura, and so will Scotty. We’re not giving up on him. I promise.”

There’s a lump in Jim’s throat. He swallows it down the best he can and forces himself to look back at McCoy. There’s still blood dripping from the wound on his arm. “Sedate him, then. If that’s what needs to be done. Whatever it takes to keep people from getting hurt.”

McCoy nods, but he doesn’t look happy to have won the argument.

–

Jim continues to visit Spock in every moment of downtime he has, though Spock is now too out of it to even acknowledge his presence.

Now, Jim can’t deny that he’s lost Spock completely. Every semblance of him has been taken away–the once proud Vulcan is now nothing more than a pile of fur with clouded eyes, too tired to even raise his head to greet him.

It’s been a week of this–a week of no Spock and no answers. Jim can feel himself wearing thin. Like he’s fading away, too. And without Spock, he might as well be.

Now, he sits on the floor by Spock’s head with his legs crossed. One hand strokes absently at his fur. It’s too familiar of a texture now. When did this become a habit?

Behind him, McCoy runs his daily tests. Jim isn’t paying attention to what he’s doing, but he knows it’s the same thing every day–neuro scans, blood draws, vital checks.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain. Is now a bad time?”

Jim glances up to see Uhura, a PADD in hand.

“No, no, Lieutenant. Now is as good of a time as any.”

Uhura nods. She holds the PADD close to her chest and then sinks to the ground, tucking her legs delicately behind her and leaning to the side. “I finished translating the temple’s text, Sir.”

Jim’s heart quickens. “What did you find?”

Uhura’s gaze falls, and she focuses too closely on her PADD. “The people of Zeta Gelvin IV were a highly advanced civilization technologically, but their culture was also deeply rooted in religion tied to nature.”

It’s boring, useless information. Behind him, Jim can hear McCoy fiddling with his equipment. Still, he knows he’s listening, too.

“These creatures–they were gods to them.”

Jim can’t help but look down at Spock. He hardly gives the appearance of a god, with the way he’s been subdued. With the way he’s lost himself.

“Sir–” Uhura hesitates again. Jim keeps his gaze firmly locked on Spock. “They turned themselves into these animals on purpose. It was their way of ascending to godhood.”

“I don’t care about their religion, Lieutenant. I want to know what this means for Spock.”

“That’s the thing, Captain. As far as I can tell, they didn’t want to change back.”

It feels like a bolt of electricity. It’s a shock, though it’s something he already suspected, however distantly. Surely Scotty would have found a way to reverse the machine by now, if there had been a way to reverse it.

“I still have the text from the tower to translate,” Uhura adds quickly. “And now that I’ve got their writing system down, it should take less time. Perhaps that will reveal something more promising.”

Jim nods. That lump in his throat has reappeared, and he pushes it back down. His chest feels hollow, and he finds himself again dreading a world that doesn’t have Spock in it. “That will be all, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.”

Uhura blinks back her surprise. Jim can see a sadness in her eyes, too. How much of it is pity for him, and how much of it is for Spock? “Yes, Sir.” She stands gracefully and obediently strides from the room.

“Jim.”

A hand rests on Jim’s shoulder, and he jerks. He'd forgotten McCoy was there at all; he was too lost in his own self-pity.

“What is it, Bones?”

“I know this timing is awful, but I think you need to take a look at this.”

Jim turns slowly, shifting until he can face McCoy properly. He isn’t sure how much more he can handle. He already feels like he lost everything.

McCoy holds up a vial of red liquid.

Jim knows he should be able to piece it together. But he’s so tired. “What is that?”

“It’s Spock’s blood.”

Jim’s hand tightens around a fistful of Spock’s short fur. Spock lets out a quiet grunt beneath him but doesn’t move. “No. That can’t be right.”

“It’s a fresh sample, Jim. I just drew it.”

It should be the final blow. But Jim’s been reduced to numbness, and it hardly registers at all.

McCoy lowers the vial. “I think that between the information Uhura shared and my own findings, there’s a very real conversation we need to have.”

“Bones. I cant–”

“I’m not gonna give up on him.” McCoy interrupts with his jaw set and a fire in his eyes. “No matter how long it takes, I’m not giving up. And neither are you. Or the rest of the crew, for that matter. We’ll get it figured out. That’s not what this is about.”

Jim looks down at Spock. He’s closed his eyes now. Jim wonders if he can understand any of what they’re saying. It feels wrong to have this conversation in front of him. A conversation about his fate that he isn’t allowed to be a part of.

“But it’s not fair to keep an animal sedated on the ship, Jim. Even if it’s Spock. Especially then.”

“What do you suggest, Bones?”

“His injuries are practically healed. I think it would be best to release him. Let him be. Just until we figure things out.”

Jim’s hand shakes against Spock’s coat. “But we won’t give up.”

“Never.”

Jim lets out a shaking breath. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t think I can, Bones. I can’t let him go.”

“Just for a little while, Jim. We’ve gotta think about what’s best for him.”

Maybe it’s selfish, but Jim can’t fathom it. Not even for his own good. Not even temporarily. This is all of Spock he has. How can he be expected to let go of that, too?

“Let me think about it,” he manages.

–

“Captain, we’ve received new orders from Starfleet Command.”

Jim goes rigid in the captain’s chair. After a moment, he stands and walks to Uhura on stiff legs. “I already informed them that we weren’t leaving until we figured out what to do with Spock.”

Uhura looks back sympathetically. “I know, Sir. They said they’ve given all the time they can, and that the Enterprise needs to move on.”

Jim pushes down a flare of rage. They don’t understand. There’s no way they could. “What’s the assignment?”

“To explore an uncharted area of this quadrant. By my estimations, Sir, it could take maybe three months.”

“Three months?”

Uhura nods. She looks just as defeated. “Yes, Sir.”

Jim turns. He scans around the bridge, where everyone is pretending to be engrossed in their posts as they eavesdrop. The space feels too small. Too enclosed. He wonders if Spock feels the same way in the arboretum. “When do they want us to leave?”

“They’ve given us until tomorrow morning, Sir.”

Setting his jaw, Jim turns to face the helm. He’s barely keeping himself together–his vision is tunneling and blood roars in his ears. “Sulu,” he snaps. He points at the captain’s chair and, hoping that’s enough direction, rushes into the turbolift.

He’s not being a very good captain. He knows that. How can he be, without Spock? He wishes Spock could walk him through this–give him the answers, or at least point him in the right direction. Like he always has. He feels lost without him, without the cool presence constantly at his side.

The turbolift slides open, and he hurries down the hall. He hears a crewmember greet him, though he doesn’t even have it in him to register just who it is. He’s making a scene–he has a reputation he isn’t upholding.

But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, except Spock.

He steps into the arboretum. It’s the same way it’s been these past weeks–empty, save for the giant mass of fur and muscle where the tables used to be.

Spock doesn’t look up. Ever since they started sedating him, he hasn’t had the energy anymore. Any spark of life–any will Spock may have–has been subdued. Jim hates it, and he hates himself for allowing it.

As he steps closer, Spock opens one dark, beady eye. He releases a huff of air through his nose.

“Spock.”

Jim falls to his knees in front of him. Maybe it’s selfish to come here like this. To expect Spock to make the decisions, even now.

“I need your help, Spock. Starfleet isn’t letting us stay any longer. They’re calling us away on a mission that will last for months. I’m not sure what to do. It doesn’t seem fair to sedate you that long, but I’m also not sure I can let you go.”

Spock closes his eye again. There’s a grumble from deep in his throat.

“I need you to give me a sign, Spock. Tell me what you want me to do.” He isn’t sure what he’s looking for–a clawed paw over his hand, maybe, or a rhythmic thump of his tail. Something profound. Something that says that Spock is still in there, and that it’s okay. That Jim can make the decision he needs to make.

“Jim?”

Jim jolts, but the voice hadn’t come from Spock. He twists around to see McCoy, carrying a large bowl.

Jim’s shoulders sag. “Bones.”

“Not who you were expectin’, huh?”

“No. No, I was just… hoping.”

McCoy doesn’t ask any more questions. He nods, sets the bowl down in front of Spock, and sits down next to Jim.

They sit in silence. Jim watches as Spock pushes himself up onto four clumsy legs and lumbers over to the bowl. Spock sniffs its contents before laying back down and closing his eyes.

“We know what these creatures need, and it’s meat. They’re carnivores.” McCoy sighs. He lifts a knee and rests his elbow on it. “I thought Spock wouldn’t like that, so I’ve been synthesizing a nutrient-rich alternative. Up until last week, he ate it no problem.”

Jim keeps his eyes focused on the bowl. It’s filled with a gray mush.

“But now he’s stopped eating, Jim. I don’t think it’s enough anymore.”

Jim’s stomach twists. He knows Spock–and what he would want is obvious. “We can’t give him meat.”

“No, we can’t.” McCoy keeps his tone light and casual. Like it isn’t one of a dozen difficult conversations they’ve had recently. “But he could hunt it himself.”

Jim squeezes his eyes shut. “Bones–”

“Don’t tell the bastard I said this, but I miss him too. A hell of a lot.” Jim opens his eyes and glances over at McCoy, who is staring ahead with a set jaw. “He’s my friend. I’ve got no one to argue with anymore.”

With a deflated sigh, Jim turns to Spock again. Is this living? Is this fair?

No. He knows that it isn’t.

McCoy pushes himself to his feet, but Jim can’t find the strength to get his legs under himself.

“We won’t hold it against you, Jim. Whatever you decide.” McCoy rests a hand on Jim’s shoulder. It’s the grounding he needs. “Spock won’t, either. I promise.”

His hand falls away, and Jim forces himself to take a long, deep breath. He fills his lungs with the recycled air of the ship, and he glances up at the lights that are supposed to simulate sunlight. It’s not the wilderness, no matter how much it pretends to be.

“Bones. Tell Scotty to prepare the transporter. Spock and I are going to beam down.”

“You, too?”

“Yes.” Jim swallows. “I’ll spend the night with him. Just long enough to say goodbye.”

Spock stands, curls in on himself, and settles back down. Jim’s chest aches.

“I think that’s the right call, Jim,” McCoy whispers.

It doesn’t feel right. It feels like he’s losing Spock over and over again.

Chapter Text

“If he starts to wake up, you call for me and I'll come runnin’. Alright, Jim?”

Jim nods, but he doesn't bother to look in McCoy’s direction. His eyes are focused only on Spock, and his fingers thread through the dense fur.

Zeta Gelvin IV doesn't have many cave systems to hide in, so they've settled for the next best thing: the underside of a small bluff. There's a short overhang of rock to provide shelter. The forest wraps around them, and Jim can hear the sounds of surrounding creatures. The sun is beginning to set, and the forest seems to glow orange.

Even sedated, Spock already seems more at ease. Jim tastes guilt in the back of his throat for having kept this from him for so long.

“I'm not gonna be far,” McCoy continues. “Just far enough to give you the privacy to say goodbye for now. But I mean it, Jim. If the sedative starts to wear off, let me know so I can administer some more.”

“I understand, Bones.”

Spock's eyes are open, and he's looking out into the trees. Jim wonders what he’s thinking–if he’s thinking anything at all.

“Scotty's finishing up a tracking device, so we'll equip that in the morning before we let Spock go. But for now, just… enjoy your time together the best you can. Talk to him.”

Jim nods. Finally, he tears his gaze away from Spock to look at McCoy. “I plan on it.”

McCoy smiles, but it's all sadness. The one person that Jim understands isn’t just sad for him and Spock. “I'll leave you to it, then.”

Jim doesn't watch him leave. He turns his attention back to Spock instead.

He knows he should talk to him. There's so much to say–so much still unsaid. Things he should have said ages ago, that he may never get the chance to say again. He tries not to think of it. Of not getting another chance to say how he feels.

But as McCoy's footsteps fade to nothing, and for a long time after that, Jim can't bring himself to say any of it.

The sun sets completely, and the planet's single moon takes its place. The forest almost feels like Earth–like home–except that everything is just a little off. The leaves are the wrong shade of green. The moon is a little too large and too bright. The trees are too tall.

Still, there are worse places to leave Spock behind. At least, that’s what Jim tries to tell himself.

Will he be comfortable here? This isn’t the home Spock knows–not the embrace of the ship or the vast expanse of a desert.

Jim releases a shaking breath. He curls up at Spock's side, leaning against the dense muscles of his core. Spock doesn't acknowledge him.

“You know,” Jim begins, “we were in the middle of a chess game. We'll have to finish it once you change back.” He's speaking into the night instead of the animal beneath him. It’s easier that way, to pretend Spock is hiding amongst the trees.

“Listen, Spock. I know you likely can't understand me right now. But… there's things I want to say to you. Things I should have said some time ago.”

Spock grunts. His chin is on the ground, between his curved claws, and he's staring out into the night.

“I… I love you, Spock. I'm not sure when it started. Perhaps I always have. I certainly always will.”

Jim shifts. It's a weight he's carried for years, but saying the words now doesn't make him feel any lighter. If anything, the weight feels heavier now than it ever has. Once again, he’s found himself hoping for a miracle–for Spock to acknowledge his words in some way. For them to mean something to him. Maybe even bring him back to himself, even for a moment.

All Jim ever wanted was to hear those words back. But now, he’d give up anything to hear Spock’s voice again at all.

“It's my fault that you're like this. And that is a guilt I will carry with me until the day I die.”

He rests a hand on Spock's head. Curls his fingers into the short fur. “I'm so sorry, Spock. But I promise, I will change you back. No matter the cost.”

Spock doesn’t respond, and a sick part of Jim wonders if Spock even wants to be changed back anymore.

–

Jim.

Jim.

The sound echoes through the beast's head. It's a constant drum, repeating like a heartbeat. Like a part of him.

He doesn't know what the sound means–just that it's connected to the two-legged creature that's always at his side. The one that feels like home.

And now, that creature is saying something. Making noises that stick in the beast's mind, though he can't determine their meaning. Not now, at least.

Still, there's something important this creature needs to know. The beast isn't sure why–only that it's important. More important than breathing.

His blood feels sluggish. It always does. His head is clouded, and his muscles are lax.

But this is important, and so he pushes through.

Slowly, he finds his footing. His claws dig into the soft dirt beneath the pads of his paws, and he pushes himself up. The two-legged creature scrambles to his feet. His eyes are wide.

“Spock?”

That other sound–the sound connected to the beast somehow. It means nothing. Less than Jim, at least. It doesn't thrum through his blood with any weight.

The creature glances in the opposite direction–no doubt looking for that other two-footed animal. The one that's constantly bringing food and short jabs of pain. The one that makes him tired. There's no time for him. Not now.

The beast lumbers deeper into the forest. Somehow, he knows this creature will follow.

–

“Spock?”

Jim watches helplessly as Spock begins to lumber away. Panic blooms in his chest. He throws a glance over his shoulder in the direction he knows McCoy to be. The smart choice would be to call him now–to let him sedate Spock further.

But his gut tells him not to. That Spock has something to tell him, and that he needs to listen.

He’s always trusted Spock before.

Spock continues to move deeper into the woods. Jim hurries to follow.

It’s slow going. The sedative is still clearly working; Spock’s movements are clumsy and heavy. With each step, Jim wonders if he made the right call. Maybe Spock’s just confused by the medication. But as the temple comes into view, Jim feels a flood of relief as he realizes they don’t have far to go. Spock corrects his trajectory to head towards it. Jim steps closer and rests a hand on his flank just to keep him close.

They step over the threshold together, and Jim is greeted with the same scene from before. Text covers the crumbling walls. It’s only visible at this hour from the moonlight shining through the hole in the ceiling. Spock’s blood still stains the stone floor, and Jim feels just as desperate and hopeless as he did when he saw it the first time.

He tries to scan the room. Tries to find something–anything they might have missed in the hours they’ve spent studying this place. “Is there something here, Spock? What do you have to tell me?”

Spock steps into the center of the room, next to the large dias. He sits, and he stares at Jim. His tail thumps against the floor, and the spines along his back bristle. Expectantly, he looks at Jim.

Jim’s breath catches. It’s not the look of intelligence that tells him Spock is aware, that he’s in there, but it’s close. It’s something. A light in the dark.

“I don’t know what you need, Spock. We’ve translated the text on the walls. It doesn’t tell us anything helpful.”

Still, Jim can’t help but move closer. He takes in the way Spock’s dark fur almost seems illuminated in the light of the moon. A beautiful and powerful creature, if not for all the loss this form represented.

Spock stands, and this time Jim freezes. He can’t explain why–like the energy in the room has shifted into something almost ethereal. Spock steps closer, and Jim can’t bring himself to move.

Maybe this is the miracle he’s been waiting for.

Spock comes so close that Jim can feel the hot puffs of air from his nose. His dark eyes are attentive, and even if they lack Spock’s characteristic intelligence, Jim feels like he can still feel him in there somehow. He raises a hand, without really thinking, and rests it against Spock’s soft cheek.

Noiselessly, Spock leans forward and presses his forehead to Jim’s.

First, Jim only feels the prickles of short fur against his skin. It’s a soft and gentle moment. One that Jim knows he can treasure as a representation of the bond the two of them have always shared. But nothing more. Nothing exemplary.

Then, there’s a stuttering of thoughts and energy, like an engine trying and failing to start. Jim’s breath catches. He catches glimpses of what Spock has seen. The arboretum, brighter than his eyes can perceive. McCoy, carrying a bowl of food. And Jim, at his side over and over again. They’re nothing more than flickers–bright flashes of memory–but Jim presses his face closer anyways.

Then everything comes flooding in, and Jim suddenly sees things as Spock does.

It’s different from any other time they’ve melded before. The complex emotional aspect is gone–he can’t feel Spock in the same way, and he doubts Spock can feel him. But there’s a presence there, sitting deep in his heart and in his mind, that wasn’t there a second ago. A fraction of Spock. Something to hold onto.

Things are brighter. More vivid. More colorful. It takes Jim a moment to register why–a color he’s never seen before. Something not meant for human eyes. It’s breathtaking, the way it almost glows in the moonlight. Jim can feel himself getting a little lost in it, despite the gravity of the situation. From there, it takes him even longer to process just what it is that Spock is trying to show him.

Between the lines of swooping text that Uhura has already translated are new words, hidden right under his nose.

Something meant only for these animals to see.

An answer.

His miracle.

Jim focuses on burning the image into his mind. He tries to memorize the curve and accent of every alien letter so that he can replicate it later.

Spock pulls away again. The visual is gone, but Jim still feels the soft weight of Spock in the corners of his psyche. Like they’re connected somehow. Like he doesn’t have to let Spock go completely. Not anymore.

“Spock.” Jim can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face–the first genuine smile he’s had in two months. “Spock, this may be the solution.”

Spock sits. He blinks. He doesn’t understand.

But he doesn’t have to. Jim can do this. He can take things from here.

Jim steps closer. He grabs both sides of Spock’s face, and Spock lets out a quiet grunt. Jim tries to press his euphoria through their weak connection. And while he’s not sure it works, he still feels light enough to fly. “It’ll take some time to translate. We still have the text from the tower, too. But we will translate it, Spock..”

Spock shakes his head like a dog shaking off the rain, and Jim releases his hold. The joy fades. A rock settles in his gut as he realizes this is it.

This is goodbye. For a while, at least.

“We’ll be back. I promise. We’ll be back in three months, and we’ll have an answer. You’ll be a Vulcan again. We just have to wait a little while longer. I–”

“Jim!”

Spock jerks. He crouches down and snarls, baring his sharp double canines. Jim whirls around to find McCoy running into the room with wide eyes.

Spock’s spines bristle defensively, and he bolts from the temple. Jim reaches out uselessly after him, as if he can do anything.

But Spock is gone. The hollow loneliness settles in Jim’s gut.

Immediately, McCoy has his bioscanner out and is waving it in front of Jim’s face. Jim stares past it, watching as Spock disappears into the woods.

“You scared him away.”

“I told you,” McCoy hisses, “to let me know if his sedative was wearing off. Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Jim whispers, “and I don’t think he would have.”

“He’s a wild animal, Jim.” McCoy looks at him with concern but, apparently satisfied with Jim’s readings, tucks the bioscanner away. “We didn’t get that tracking device on him. Should we send a team to track him down?”

Jim shakes his head. He focuses on the flicker of Spock in the corners of his mind. He isn’t alone. He doesn’t have to be without Spock.

He’s been granted a final parting gift.

“No. I’ll be able to find him when it’s time.”

Chapter Text

“Did the symbol look like this?”

Uhura holds up her PADD, where she’s drawn another looping shape. Jim studies it for a long moment before he sighs. “No. This part–” he points to the upper corner– “was more angled, and there was another line here.”

It turns out that transcribing images of an unfamiliar written language from Jim’s head and onto paper is harder than he anticipated. He and Uhura have been at it for weeks now, and he hardly feels like they’ve made any progress.

Uhura holds up her corrected drawing. “Like this, Captain?”

Jim offers a tired smile. “Yes, Lieutenant. That’s it exactly.”

In the weeks since they left Spock behind, his presence hasn’t left Jim’s head. There’s hundreds of thousands of miles of space between them, but Spock’s consciousness has become a familiar weight. They can’t communicate–Jim has spent plenty of hours staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, trying to send Spock warmth and reassurance–but their connection at least tells Jim that Spock is alive. And for now, that has to be enough.

“Was there any more after that, Sir?”

Jim tries to think. The image is fuzzy, having grown less clear from both the time that has passed and the exhaustion that’s been seeping deeper into Jim’s bones each day. But the more he thinks, the more certain he is.

“That’s it,” he gasps. “We did it. That’s all there is.”

Uhura beams at him brightly enough to light up the room. “All that’s left is the translation of both this and the tower. I promise to get right on that. Hopefully before too long, we can bring Mr. Spock home.”

“You have until this exploratory mission is completed, Uhura. That's two more months.” Jim is trying not to vibrate with excitement. With anticipation. The thought of having an answer is thrilling, but it feels like too much to hope for after everything. “Do you think you can do that?”

“For Mr. Spock, Sir?” Uhura looks radiant, like she believes this is the solution they’ve been waiting for even if Jim can’t allow himself to. “I'll do it in one.”

–

Jim lays in his bed in the dark and stares at the ceiling, just as he has every night for the last two months since leaving Spock behind.

McCoy has, on more than one occasion, offered to prescribe him a sedative. Something to help him sleep. Each time, Jim has told him that he’s sick of sedatives. He wants no part in them anymore.

There’s a knock at the door. Not the buzzer–like his guest thinks there’s any chance he could actually be asleep.

Jim pushes himself to his feet and drags himself to the door. It slides open to reveal Uhura, who is smiling more brightly than Jim has ever seen before.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain,” she hums, “but I have some information I thought you may want to hear.”

Jim’s heart thuds in his chest. He steps aside and motions into the dark room. “Come on in.”

She steps past him with a nod, clutching her PADD tightly to her chest. Jim instructs the lights on and follows her over to his desk.

Uhura spins on her heels to face him. “I finished translating the extra text from the temple as well as the text from the tower. I ended up having to do both at the same time, as there was a lot of crossover between the two.”

“And what did you find?” Jim stands perfectly still, save for the way his fingers drum against the desk.

“The tower talked about some sort of… shepherd.” Uhura sets the PADD on the desk and scrolls through it with a slender finger. “Someone meant to stay behind and take care of the animals. In the initial transformation, they were to stay behind to control the tower while everyone else stood in the temple.”

Jim nods, and he waits for the pieces to fit together.

“Eventually, that shepherd would need to be replaced. One person can only live so long.”

Jim looks up. He can see the sparkle in Uhura's eye. The soft smile on her face.

“So,” he breathes, “the text Spock showed me–”

“It's instructions on how to select a new shepherd, and how to change them back to a humanoid form.” Uhura stands proudly, her PADD forgotten on the desk. “There's a hidden room under the temple, Sir. My translation isn't flawless, but it's enough that we now have instructions on how to access it, and on how to use it.”

Jim feels overwhelming relief. In some ways, it's similar to the way he'd been struck with grief when he'd thought Spock dead–like the world stops moving for a moment. Like it's too much for his body to physically handle. His knees go weak and the air rushes from his lungs.

This time, though, it's like a weight has been lifted, instead of the world crashing down around him.

He grips the side of the desk to keep himself upright. After a moment, he gathers the strength to move a hand to her shoulder and give it a triumphant squeeze. “We can get him back.”

“Yes, Sir.” Uhura beams at him, and the corner of her eyes crease with joy. She steps forward and wraps her arms around Jim's middle. The hug makes him more dizzy. “We can.”

Jim stumbles over to the intercom and calls the bridge. “Sulu. Change course to Zeta Gelvin IV.”

“Sir, there's another month left in our charting mission.”

“That's an order, Mr. Sulu. I'll take full responsibility for any push back from Starfleet. But it's more important to me that we bring Spock home.”

Jim can almost hear the smile in Sulu's voice. “Yes, Sir.”

–

The trip back to Zeta Gelvin IV takes a week. A week of waiting, and pacing, and staring at the chess game that’s been in limbo for far too long. He reviews Uhura’s translations over and over again–committing the instructions to memory.

He still doesn’t sleep. He still stares at the ceiling each night and focuses on the gentle pressure of Spock’s presence in his head. Each moment that they get closer, he can feel that presence growing stronger.

The week feels longer than the months apart somehow. But eventually, Jim is back on the ground of Zeta Gelvin IV, with his boots sinking just slightly into the soft ground.

It must have rained recently.

McCoy sticks quietly to his side as Jim forces one foot in front of the other, deeper into the woods. There are still so many variables. Will they find Spock? Will he come with them?

Will the reversal work?

McCoy waits a long time before breaking the silence. “Are you sure he’s nearby?” The mud squelches under their boots. “It’s a big planet, Jim. A little like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“I’m sure.” Jim scans the forest. “I can sense him. He didn’t stray far from the temple.”

Spock’s presence in his head has grown almost overwhelming, but there’s no Spock to it. It’s a wild, vacant pressure in the back of his mind. Jim can feel how it sets him on edge. How it feels like every movement is from an enemy or prey or both.

He hears Spock before he sees him. A growl, so low it resonates in his bones. Jim isn’t sure if it’s in his head or not until he sees the flash of white teeth, of two sets of sharp fangs framed between the trees.

Spock crouches with his back arched and his tail upright. His spines ripple, and his hooked claws dig into the dirt.

Jim steps closer to him.

”Jim,” McCoy hisses.

“It’s alright. Stay there.” Jim holds up a hand, waving McCoy off, before taking another step.

Spock’s growl turns into a snarl. His paws tense and dig deeper into the ground. Jim can tell he’s moments away from pouncing.

“It’s me, Spock. Jim. Do you remember?” Jim dares to take another step. Spock flinches, but he makes no move to attack. Progress. “I’m a friend.”

Friend isn’t enough. It never has been. But he hopes it’s a word that can get through to him, to break the spell of the wilderness he’s been put under. Slowly, cautiously, he lifts a hand in front of him. He focuses on the bond they seem to have. Anything to bring Spock home.

–

Spock. Jim. Friend.

The sounds echo. Only the middle one–Jim–settles in the beast’s mind. It awakens something in him–the time in that strange place ages ago. The time he’d forgotten, until now. Jim is the sound of the two-footed creature in front of him. Jim means good and safe.

The beast stops snarling, and his lips cover his teeth. The spines along his back flatten. He sits, and his tail curls around his back leg.

“Well I’ll be damned,” says the one that makes him tired. The beast eyes him wearily. He does not want to have to sleep again.

“I told you.” Jim--the good one–doesn’t take his eyes off the beast. His hand reaches forward and rests against his nose, and it’s a comforting reminder of how things should be.

“Spock. We came to bring you home. We have a way to change you back, but you need to follow us. Do you understand?”

More strange sounds. Sounds that mean nothing.

“I don’t know, Jim–”

“He’ll follow.” The good one drops his hand and steps away. With one more glance in the beast’s direction, he turns and begins to walk away.

He had nearly forgotten about him in the time they’d been apart, save for the quiet thrum of his mind against his own. A constant, even in the loneliness of being parted. Now that they’re together, the beast knows he does not wish to be separated again.

He gives the other creature a wide berth and follows after the good one.

They walk. The beast feels the mud under his paws. The warmth of it.

“Jim,” says the one that made him tired, “what do you think happened to the shepherds? Why do you reckon they don’t have one now?”

“I don’t know, Bones.” The sounds may mean nothing, but the sound of them is comforting nonetheless. “The best I can figure is they didn’t realize how fully they’d lose themselves. My guess is they never had the sense to change anyone back.”

The beast can feel the blue eyes of the second creature on him. Studying him. He turns up his lips in a snarl, and the creature takes a step away.

A shape comes into view on the horizon. It’s a place the beast has seen frequently–a structure made of stone, with a hole that lets both the sun and the moon shine through. The creature leads them into it, and though he has to squeeze in, the beast follows.

“Spock. Here.” The Jim steps up to the raised platform in the center of the space, and the beast steps closer. “Your claws go in here, in the five slots. And then you twist.”

The beast sits.

The creature’s shoulders deflate, and he drops to his knees. Without a sound, he picks up the beast’s paw in both hands and pulls it closer, then sets it on the platform. The beast feels his claws sink into holes in the stone, and the creature gently twists. The sound of stone scraping against stone is almost unbearable, and the beast feels his spines bristle.

The ground rumbles, and the sound of scratching grows louder, and suddenly the ground is separating beneath them. It pulls downwards, forming steps, and the creature called Jim looks up with wide eyes.

“Well,” he says, “let’s head down, shall we?”

The ground hasn’t finished moving by the time Jim begins to descend. Without hesitation, the beast follows. He hears the footsteps of the other one behind him.

As they make their way further and further down, the walls glow red–and with each step, they grow brighter and brighter. It’s almost blinding, and the beast wants to rear back. To turn around and retreat into the forest, where things are familiar and safe. But that would mean leaving Jim behind, and he cannot have that. And so he pushes forward.

Eventually, the space opens up. In many ways, it’s a reflection of the space above them–lines scrawled across the walls, a platform pushing from the ceiling instead of the floor.

The beast follows as Jim moves forward, then stops. The platform hangs directly above the beast’s head.

“It’s activated by movement, Spock. It was made to be simple.”

The beast cocks his head. He can tell there is something here that he’s meant to know–that he’s meant to understand–but it’s lost on him.

“Spock,” Jim whispers, “please. We’re so close.”

The beast sits. The stone feels cold beneath him.

Jim looks to the other one, and his shoulders sag in what even the beast can recognize as defeat. Then, as suddenly as if he were struck, he straightens up again.

“Like this.”

He moves his feet slowly, staying in one spot as he begins to turn in a tight circle. It’s a strange motion, and the beast can’t even begin to imagine why he would be doing it. But the pressure in his head says that it’s important. He can feel Jim, pleading and begging in the back of his mind. Desperate.

And so the beast does what he can to satisfy him. He stands, and he repeats the motion.

He turns slowly, just as Jim had done. With each shuffle of his paws, the room around him glows even brighter than before. It isn’t just the walls anymore–the grout of the floor illuminates, too. Red like blood, pouring towards where the beast stands.

He hesitates. The lights begin to dim.

“No, Spock, please. Just a little more. You can do it.”

In his head, he feels that desperation hitting him like a flood. Washing over him.

He begins to move again. The lights are nearly blinding to his sensitive eyes–red, and the color that has no name, mixing together. He can’t see Jim, and it would be terrifying if he couldn’t feel him as strongly as he can feel himself.

He completes his circle. At first, nothing happens. Then, the lights dim, and Jim’s desperation is replaced with an overwhelming sense of defeat and hopelessness and loss. The beast can feel it in his own chest. It’s strong enough to make his heart feel like it’s stopped, like the weight of the world has come crashing down on him.

And then the room begins to shake.

The structure jutting from the ceiling begins to hum, and the blinding light returns. The beast can feel the hair on its body standing on end–just like before. A strike of lightning.

Jim’s eyes grow wide, and the beast can feel his full-bodied fear through their connection.

“Spock–”

A beam of red heat shoots from the ceiling and encompasses the beast.

The first thing he feels is excruciating pain–pain unlike any that he can remember. His fur burns away, revealing skin that is raw and sensitive. His bones shrink and grow and shift all at once. His paws stretch, growing thinner to form fingers, and his claws fall and clatter against the stone. The density of his muscles lessens as his form compresses.

The pain is relentless. Blood drips from his fingertips–first red, then a muddy brown, then a gradual shift to green. Each breath feels futile and stings like a dagger in his chest. His tail shrinks, and he feels each excruciating moment of the vertebrae melting back into the rest of his spine.

The muzzle on his face shrinks away as teeth fall from his mouth. He can taste the iron on his tongue, then the slight shift in taste to copper.

As his center of gravity shifts, he falls to his knees. His fingers curl against the too-hot stone.

The beast begins to panic. What’s happening to him? The pain, this form–it’s all unfamiliar and alien. Unlike anything he’s ever known.

–

The light fades, and all that’s left is Spock. Jim takes in his shape, trying to refamiliarize himself with it. But it’s wrong–the curve of the spine is unnatural, and he’s drenched in blood. It mats his hair and streaks from his fingers as he drags them across the stone. But it is, undeniably, Spock.

Jim feels weak with relief. It’s over. It’s all finally over. They can put all of this behind them and head back to the ship. Things can be normal again. He’ll have Spock at his side.

He steps forward, and Spock’s eyes lock onto him. Jim freezes.

“Spock?”

There’s something in the way Spock is looking at him. The light, the intelligence–it’s still gone.

Spock’s lips curl into a snarl. There’s a growl from deep in his throat.

“Spock. It’s me. It’s Jim.”

Through their connection, he can feel Spock’s terror. His confusion. His senses haven’t returned.

Spock is still gone.

He’s just a scared and injured animal.

Spock turns to face him. His hand flattens against the stone, then lifts to reveal a smeared handprint. He raises onto all fours–lifts his knees off the ground–and begins to prowl on wobbly limbs towards Jim.

Jim does the only thing he can think to do–he drops down into a low squat, with his arms extended to his sides. A sign that he isn’t a threat. “It’s alright, Spock. I’m here.”

Behind Spock, Jim can see McCoy opening his med pack. Prepping a hypo. Jim hates that it’s come to this already. They were so close. It would make him sick, if he had the time to dwell on it.

Spock inches closer, and McCoy tries to sneak behind him. His foot scrapes against the stone, and Spock flips around to face him. His back arches, like he’s trying to rustle his spines that are no longer there.

“Easy, Spock.” McCoy’s voice is low and steady. “I’m just tryin’ to help.”

Another deep growl resonates from Spock. Jim clears his throat.

“Spock. It’s Jim. You know me. Please, let me help.”

Spock backs up, away from McCoy and closer to Jim. He throws a glance back in Jim’s direction–a desperate plea for help. Jim swallows the lump in his throat.

He has to do what’s best for Spock. He has to bring him home.

“Come here, Spock.”

Spock, still crawling on all fours, obeys. He curls himself close to Jim, and Jim risks wrapping his arms around him. The metallic smell of blood stings his nose; his hands are immediately slick with it.

He almost loses himself. Almost squeezes him too tightly and buries his face in his cool neck and sobs. But that would probably only scare the creature away–maybe drive him to violence–and they can’t have that now. Not after they’ve endured so much already.

Spock’s eyes remain firmly on McCoy as he steps closer. Jim keeps a tight hold on him. He knows he’s no match for the strength of a Vulcan, if it comes to a struggle. But his hope is that Spock–aware of his senses or not–will trust him enough to let them do what they need to.

“It’s alright, Spock.” Jim begins to whisper into the pointed shell of Spock’s ear. Anything he can think of, just to keep soothing him. “We’re going to take care of you. We’re going to bring you home.”

McCoy crouches beside them and raises his hypo to Spock’s neck. Spock flinches away, and in one quick movement, McCoy administers the medicine.

A few seconds pass. Spock weakens in Jim’s arm, and their link clouds.

The sedative kicks in fully, and Spock goes limp in Jim’s hold.

Jim holds Spock tightly to his chest. His uniform is ruined, but he doesn’t care. His arms tremble. His heart feels weak and feeble.

“I thought I’d get him back,” he hears himself say. “I thought he’d transform, and things could go back to normal.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with hoping, Jim.” McCoy tucks the hypo back into its place. He puts a hand on each of Jim’s arms and helps him to his feet. “I think we need to just keep hoping a little longer.”

Jim swallows. He can feel the effects of the sedative through the connection with Spock. His thoughts feel muddled and incomplete. It’s the only thing that makes the vacant ache in his chest bearable.

“Let’s get him back,” McCoy smiles weakly, “I’m sure he just needs some time.”

Jim nods. Spock breathes quietly against his shoulder.

He will continue to hope, if only because Spock needs him to.

–

His dreams are familiar at first. The depths of the forest. Rain soaking into his fur. The dirt beneath his claws.

Then, bipedal creatures begin to flutter through. He just catches a glimpse of them at first, half-obscured by leaves and brush. But as he begins to run through the trees, their presence only grows more and more frequent.

Soon, the trunks melt away completely, and the beast finds himself surrounded by dozens of these beasts. Young, with pointed ears. Different from Jim and McCoy.

A complete absence of trees–desert. His heart aches with a familiarity he doesn’t understand. It feels just as much home as the trees and the brush and the rain.

The sand shoots up into cool metal walls, but the beast doesn’t feel confined. This, too, is home. A place of belonging, unlike anything he’s experienced before or since.

And then, Jim.

Jim’s smile. The way his eyes shine when he thinks Spock isn’t looking. Gentle brushes of their shoulders, or their fingers. A friend, first and foremost. But something more–a bond even before the link he’d formed as a beast. A lifelong connection of unwavering loyalty. Camaraderie. Love.

He feels like home most of all.

And then Spock remembers.

–

Awareness, after months of slumber, is almost too much to bear.

The only relief is that it comes slowly instead of all at once. The sounds of monitors beeping. The fluorescent lights shining through his eyelids. Then thoughts surface, sluggish from a lack of practice. Finally, a spark of excitement that isn’t his.

“Bones! Hurry–he’s waking up!”

Spock turns towards the sound. Belatedly, he realizes the sounds have meaning. Words. He squints his eyes open.

“Jim.”

His voice is hoarse, and even the one word takes a considerable amount of effort. His throat doesn’t remember how to move–how to constrict around the sounds. But the word must be intelligible enough, because he feels another shock of joy that isn’t his.

Jim shoots to his feet and grasps at Spock’s shoulders. It’s then that Spock becomes aware of the gown he’s been put in and the way the fabric scratches against his skin.

“Spock.”

There’s a light in Jim’s eyes, and it warms Spock throughout. Quickly, Jim releases his hold and takes a step back. “It’s good to see you, Spock.”

Any sort of response catches in Spock’s throat, and so instead, he twists to look at the figure standing at his left.

“Doctor.” Spock’s eyes trace down his arm to the hypo in his hand. He tenses, but McCoy drops his hand down to his side.

“Just had to make sure you had your wits about you,” McCoy says with a gentle smile. Spock can’t feel the emotions radiating off of him, but his relief is still palpable. “How do you feel?”

Spock doesn’t answer immediately. He considers the weight of his body. The arrangement of his limbs and his organs and his spine. As he looks down at his hands, he can’t help but mourn the loss of his ability to dig.

There’s a word for how he feels. But he can’t think of it–not right away, at least. He tries to connect everything he feels in his body and his mind to a single sound.

“Strange,” he says finally.

Jim laughs. It breaks through the fog of Spock’s mind just a little more, like the sun after a storm. “Yes,” Jim chuckles, “I would imagine that about sums things up.”

Jim settles back down. There’s a chair pulled up beside the biobed that Spock rests on. Spock wonders how long it’s been there.

“So, what was it like?” Jim crosses one leg over the other. Spock itches to reach out to him, for Jim to reach back to him. “Do you remember any of it?”

The words bounce around Spock’s head. They can stick, if he focuses. But it does take focus. Then, he hears a whirring, almost like a fly beside his ear. He turns to find McCoy waving a bioscanner in front of him. “Jim,” McCoy urges gently. “He’s here. But it’s gonna take some time for things to reconnect fully. It doesn’t look like he’s got full speech capabilities just yet.”

Spock grunts, half in agreement and half in annoyance. Jim’s smile falters. “Is there anything we can do? To rewire things more quickly?”

McCoy shakes his head. “The man needs rest. Just give him the time and space to do what he needs to do.”

Jim’s expression turns pleading. “You mean–”

“Yes. Leave him alone. I promise he’s still gonna be here tomorrow.”

Jim sighs. Spock can feel his defeat on the back of his tongue.

Jim stands, and he turns to leave. But the idea of being without Jim–of being separated again so soon after being apart for so long–is unbearable. Spock reaches forward and grasps at the hem of Jim’s shirt.

Jim pauses.

“No,” Spock manages. He struggles to remember the word that he wants. “Stay.” He licks his lips, then adds, “Talk.”

Jim straightens. His eyes grow wide, and he looks to McCoy with desperation. “Bones–”

“Alright,” McCoy huffs, “fine. You can stay. But if he gets too tired, or if he needs you to leave, you better listen. Understand?”

Jim nods. He takes Spock’s hand off his shirt, holding it gingerly in his own as he lowers himself back into the chair.

“Let’s see. I suppose we’ve been separated for a while. I have a lot to fill you in on.”

Time passes quickly. There’s a thrum of electricity and emotion between them, though Jim never acknowledges it. Their hands stay connected, and Spock feels warmth spreading from the touch. At some point, though neither of them are aware when it begins, Jim’s hand begins to move in slow, stroking motions against Spock’s knuckles.

Spock hangs onto every word that Jim tells him. He knows some of it–the memories of his time as an animal still feel more real, in some sense, than his memories as a Vulcan. Still, it’s comforting just to hear Jim’s voice. To hear a reminder that things had been different. And that Spock had never been alone.

At some point, McCoy interrupts just long enough to deliver a bowl of plomeek soup. It sits in a bowl on a tray, with a spoon laid carefully next to it. Spock knows he should reach for it, but he can’t fathom the way to move his fingers.

He opts to lift the bowl to his lips and drink instead.

With each word from Jim’s lips, something connects in Spock’s brain. Sounds regain meaning, and his brain picks up speed. It truly feels like waking from a long, deep slumber.

“And I think that’s just about everything.” Jim smiles. His hands are still sandwiching one of Spock’s. Warming it. “So I guess that means you’re all caught up.”

Spock clears his throat. The movement of words pushing from his throat still feels foreign and strange, even as he realizes he can string words together. “There is something you forgot, Jim.”

Jim’s expression brightens so drastically that Spock could swear he sees that extra color again, touching the edges of his cheeks and making him glow. “You’re talking.”

Spock nods. He wonders how much his Vulcan physiology has contributed to his speedy healing. “Indeed I am.”

Jim ducks his head in a way that’s almost bashful. Spock’s own heart feels aflutter with Jim’s joy. “What is it, then? What did I forget?”

“On our final night together, before you had to leave.”

Jim looks up with wide eyes. Red tints his cheeks.

“You told me we had a chess game to finish.”

Jim squeezes Spock’s hand, though Spock can feel the way his stomach has tied itself in knots.

“You’re right. I did mention that.” Jim’s voice is a whisper. Cautious. “What else do you remember?”

Spock shifts in the biobed as he rolls the words over in his head. He feels the panic begin to build in Jim’s chest.

“Spock, if I said anything to make you uncomfortable–”

Spock cuts him off with a shake of his head. “No, Jim. In fact, it is quite the opposite.” He swallows. The next words are important, and he needs to focus on pushing them out correctly. “Your feelings are reciprocated.”

“My feelings?” Jim’s voice is small, especially in the empty room.

“Yes.” Spock traces his eyes along the shape of Jim’s face–his jaw, his nose, his lips. “I believe you told me you loved me. Or am I misremembering?”

Jim chuckles. Shakes his head. “No. No, you are certainly not misremembering. Even as an animal, I suppose that would be an odd thing for you to do. I–” he takes a deep breath– “I do love you, Spock. And I meant it when I said I always will.”

Spock lifts a hand. He reaches to touch Jim’s cheek, and Jim leans into the touch. “I feel the same, Jim.”

“I know,” Jim whispers. His eyes flutter shut. “I can feel it. I haven’t mentioned it, but I’ve felt you for months. Since that last night in the temple.”

Spock is as silent as the rest of the room, but Jim’s next question is almost inaudible.

“This bond… Is it permanent?”

Spock pauses. He parts his lips just slightly. “I… am unsure. I do not know what I did in that other form. I’m sure we could try to dissolve it. If that’s what you wish.”

“No!” The word escapes from Jim too quickly. “No. I don’t want to be without you–not now, and not ever again. The world is too lonely of a place when you’re not in it.”

For the first time in months–perhaps even longer than that–Spock’s lips curl in the gentlest of smiles. “I must admit that I prefer this arrangement as well.”

Jim leans forward. It’s tentative, though there’s no need–Spock leans forward confidently, like there’s nothing else he could ever want as long as he has this. Their lips press together, slow and soft and unrushed. Jim sighs. It’s everything Spock has ever wanted.

Finally, he’s where he belongs.

He’s home.