Archive of Our Own ^omega

It should not have been possible—

"I'm sorry, sir," came Scott's crackled voice over the communicator, "I cannae get it to work—it's going to take an hour, at least." Spock heard Scott draw in a breath over the weak connection. "You're just going to have to wait, sir, I'm sorry."

Spock closed his eyes. His grip tightened on the shoulder that laid in his lap. "Thirty minutes, Commander," he said, "Spock out."

—but Spock had well learned during his tenure on the Enterprise that their universe rarely paid heed to what they viewed as feasible, or more importantly, what they had not discovered yet.

His captain's face, pale and motionless, reminded him of this fact solemnly.

-

Zero-point-nine-six standard Federation hours ago, Spock had been pulled away from readings at the science station by a chime signifying an incoming transmission. The noise, faint for him, silent for almost all the other Terrans in the room, rang through Lieutenant Uhura's earpiece. She pressed her fingers into the device to better hear.

"Captain," the lieutenant said, awakening the rest of the bridge from the slow monotony of star system cataloging, "I'm receiving a distress signal of uncertain age. The origin seems to be the second planet in the system, but the message itself is rather eroded."

Jim turned to look at Spock, who raised a brow.

"The erosion is consistent with the effects the second planet would face under such heavy magnetic interference," Spock said, "it is unlikely we would be able to receive a transmission less damaged."

The captain hummed, "I thought this system was reported uninhabited."

"It was," Spock paused, tilted his head, "but it is possible the magnetic activity from the pulsar and the planet's proximity to it could have generated false readings."

Jim looked towards Uhura, who was busying rapidly pressing buttons on her console. "Lieutenant," he said, "any chance on cleaning up the message?"

She sighed, "I tried, sir, but no luck so far. The thing is—the signal type they used hasn't been common in hundreds of years."

"But it is still repeating?"

"Yes, sir."

Spock watched Jim's fingers as they tapped across the top of his crossed thighs; he hummed in thought.

"We'll beam down, find the source of the distress signal, see if there's any survivors. Mr. Sulu, take us to the second planet. Set standard orbit as close as possible with regard to the magnetic interference." Jim stood up and faced Spock, "Mr. Spock, would you care to accompany me to the surface?"

-

Although the atmospheric composition was foreign to him—it contained a large percentage of argon gas, which while extremely abnormal in class-M planets, was completely inert—the gravity sat on his bones the same way it did on Vulcan. It was a rarity to feel the comfortable pressure on his spine; the Enterprise's artificial gravity was set to that of Earth's. Vulcan, with its increased mass, had a gravity of one-point-four times that of Sol III. With its relative size and density, this planet's gravity was much like the planet of his birth.

That was where the similarities ended.

Cold seeped through his uniform from the moment they beamed down. It was penetrating, leaving the tips of his ears sore and his fingertips numb from where they made contact with the metal surface of his tricorder. The frozen air stung as it filled his lungs.

They had beamed into the source of the distress signal, which appeared to be a type of governmental building, or at least, the ruins of one. The structure was bunker-like, with the majority of it being constructed underground. From their limited surface scans, it seemed like the people of this planet preferred to build underground. Vast city networks could be seen sprawled under the planet's frozen tundra, not dissimilar to an ant colony in appearance.

A light hum echoed through the steel-covered walls, broken only by the soft patter of their boots. The hallway was long with scattered offshoots and rooms that may have been offices. Every ten meters there was a dim light embedded in the wall near the floor illuminating the space in what appeared to be a low power mode—that is, if the residents of this planet had evolved to view electromagnetic radiation in the way the majority of humanoids in this galaxy had.

"That noise—" Jim said, "do you suppose its some sort of generator or power system? Certainly isn't central heating."

"That much is evident," Spock replied, "a generator is my main hypothesis." He glanced down at the readings from the tricorder.

"Anything useful?"

"Nothing irregular yet, Captain."

Then, Spock paused; his eyes widened just a fraction on the output display. It seemed this planet shared more similarities with his home than he previously accounted for.

Jim's brow furrowed. "Spock?"

"Captain, I believe I have found the cause for the distress signal," Spock said, "there appears to be evidence of planet-wide nuclear fallout, dated at least three centuries old."

Jim sucked in a breath.

"It is very unlikely," Spock continued quietly, "that if there were any survivors when the distress signal was sent, they would still be alive today, nor is it likely for any descendants to have survived."

If his readings were correct, the level of devastation had been, and still was, immense. Such an event would cause the complete collapse of the planet's ecosystem, and as in the case with this planet's already precarious position next to the neutron star, cause much of the life to never return on the frozen world.

Many times over had Spock seen war and death, as was unavoidable as a Starfleet officer, but each instance, each mass suffering or very notable lack there of, gave rise to more questions than prior. Often had he mediated on the topic and came no closer to an understanding. It was senseless and illogical, such loss of life.

Jim sighed, nodded. "Alright. We'll find the distress signal and turn it off—see if we can find a computer terminal too. Starfleet would be interested in any planetary history that might still be available."

With his acute hearing, Spock led them further into the building complex, winding down halls and taking turns as the noise of the generator increased. If only one power source remained inside the facility, it would be logical for the computer emitting the signal to be located nearby, he concluded. From their initial scans he had known the building was large, but as the minutes passed as the hallways continued Spock became uncertain on the accuracy of those scans.

"It's almost like it was designed this way on purpose." Jim said next to him, momentary pausing to glance in yet another empty room. They had stopped in one prior only to find an inoperative computer terminal atop a desk; all subsequent rooms had been identical.

"Explain," Spock said.

Jim hummed. "A civilization evolved enough to create nuclear weapons—and to invent a self-sustaining generator capable of running on its own for hundreds of years—would not design a building as inefficient as this without there being a purpose for it. Especially for a civilization engulfed in civil war, it would be a terrible waste of resources to build a complex as convoluted as this one, that is, unless it was done on purpose."

Spock thought for a moment."You believe this to be a military facility?"

"Got it in one."

The mechanical hum had been gaining in volume the further they walked down the corridor and Spock turned a corner to follow it. He was about to inquire further into the captain's theory when they were brought up short by a door abruptly ending the hall like none others had.

They looked at each other and Spock raised a brow.

"Captain," he said, scanning the door with his tricorder, "the generator, I presume."

Jim grinned and hit the button to open the door, "Let's see how it's still running, shall we, Mr. Spock?"

The pair stepped in.

Although regret was illogical, Spock thought in retrospect, that he had been foolish in not further investigating this society's association with conflict; any civilization barbarous enough to inflict nuclear weapons on other sentient beings would not find death a suitable excuse to cease hostilities. To have used them on the scale this world had, to the point of utter obliteration of all living beings, was truly of the highest offenses.

Grief was a most fickle emotion, one that Spock, for all his troubles, the management of which had always eluded him.

Lives in the billions, vanished cruelly.

An entire society only to exist now in whatever the tricorder could record in a data transfer.

His thoughts had been distant, still too much pulled by the calamity, even when hundreds of years had passed since the event, to properly analyze the situation—to ask the question of most importance: where would this civilization's disregard for life end, and when?

The same metal panels covered the walls of the small room, the floor replaced by a textured grate giving way to only blackness. A computer console was built into the wall and adjacent to it sat the generator—a tall cylindrical tower with silver fins that ran down its entire length.

Spock scanned the generator. "It is very similar to a radioisotope thermoelectric generator. Given this civilization's apparent advancements in nuclear physics, it would be logical for their energy to also originate in the field."

"Yes, that would make sense," Jim murmured behind him. Spock turned to see him pressing commands into the computer console. "The distress signal originated from here. I think this console links back into their central computer. Care to give it a scan?"

Although not a lossless method, the tricorder would be able to gather most of the data that ran though the localized memory banks. Spock set the device to collect as Jim finalized the computer access. The noise of his fingertips pressing the final key coincided with another resounding sound: the metal door slamming shut.

Before either of them could investigate a white vapor rose from the floor. They ran to the door.

It was a futile effort, their combined strength could not overpower that of the hydraulic locks, but the pair still struggled against the cold steel. In a matter of seconds the noxious gas engulfed the room. Spock pushed harder on the door; he heard Jim yell an order into his communicator only to be met with static.

The vapor was thick, so opaque that Spock could barely see Jim standing next to him. There was no sense in trying to hold his breath, it would fill his nose and mouth regardless. His eyes stung, it smelled heavily of mildew and tasted like rot on his tongue.

It encroached on overwhelming, everything his senses could perceive was becoming that gas. Jim had started to cough next to him—and just when Spock started to choke on it, in an instant, it dissipated.

Spock blinked, his nictating eyelid, which had closed without him being conscious of it, retracted. Heaving, he sucked in breaths of what seemed to be clear air and turned to check on Jim.

He was slouched against the door, his shoulders and forehead resting on the metal. His eyes were closed and his breath too shallow for someone who had just been choking.

"Captain?" Spock asked, his voice laced with more worried than he would typically let show.

Jim's eyes fluttered open and he slid forward before he caught himself, bracing a hand on Spock's shoulder. Even through the fabric Spock could feel immense pain.

"Spock," Jim's voice was faint, "my head—"

Jim collapsed before he could get the words out.

Most of his weight fell onto Spock, who's arms hurried to gather him and lower him to the ground. The gelid steel grate penetrated the fabric of Spock's uniform pants; he positioned Jim so his upper body rested in his lap, doing what he could to spare Jim contact with the ground.

Spock scrambled for his communicator. He adjusted the channel until it finally came through, only to be informed of a transporter error due to the magnetic interference. Scott would be able to fix it, Spock was doubtless in the Enterprise's chief engineer's ability; the feasibility of the repair being completed in the time required for this situation was the variable Spock was unsure of in his calculations.

He scanned Jim and then himself with the tricorder. As he expected, the scans did not reveal much about Jim's illness, or Spock's seemingly lack thereof—his standard tricorder did not have the detailed equipment that a medical tricorder contained.

As his thoughts raced, the rarity of the situation struck him.

The exact combination of factors to align for this outcome should have bordered on impossible. Whatever toxin poisoned the air, for it only to effect human physiology, for Spock to have favored his Vulcan half in this instance. For this species alien to them both to create a toxin that would have affect. The chances were so low, a statistical anomaly.

For all of this to occur during a transporter malfunction. The dispersal mechanism to still be functioning even after hundreds of years.

It should have been impossible.

Jim, Spock thought, would laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Again, Spock scanned Jim.

He did not anticipate a difference between the first scan and the second, so the positive trill from the tricorder was unexpected. Quickly Spock read over the output. The data reported was formatted for scientific purposes, not medical; it took Spock precious moments to sort though the information to find the change.

Electrical activity, in its already minimal quantity to be detected by the device, was dropping rapidly. His heart was slowing—the diminishment could be seen all over his body, but the strongest readings came from his head.

Spock did not know how, but the toxin was causing Jim's brain activity to cease.

Jim's face was pale, gone was red that brushed his cheeks and nose with the chill. Spock set the tricorder aside and cupped Jim's cheek; his skin was frigid. Spock was unsure if a repair would come in time, but he knew it was going to, he would ensure it. Any other option was unacceptable.

He shifted his fingers to Jim's meld points, tightened the grip he had on Jim's side. The pain that had been so sharp was fading.

"My mind to your mind," Spock said, "my thoughts to your thoughts."

His eyes closed.

Jim's mind, as it always had in the past, welcomed him swiftly. It felt familiar—although that feeling had been present even during their first meld. No matter the situation or urgency, the compatibility of their minds always filled in Spock a strange reverence.

Spock breathed in as the illusion constructed itself around them, a representation of the human's mind. Amongst Vulcans, who were trained from birth in meditation and other mental disciplines, visual representations of one's thoughts were not necessary, but Spock found that psi-null species, and this human in particular, better grasped the liminal quality of a mental link when a sense of physicality was added, even if artificial.

On instinct, Spock drew up the representation as their minds connected.

Time seemed to slow here; minutes where seconds passed outside of the meld.

Sunlight streamed through a tree canopy, giving nutrients and life to the green below. Thick ferns and grasses carpeted the forest floor, delicate white flowers dotted between them. Far off, the small sounding cascade of a creek could be heard when the breeze paused its rustling of leaves. It was a Terran temperate deciduous forest at the very height of summer.

During their first meld, Spock had asked Jim why his subconscious presented this location; Jim had shrugged and responded it had been home.

"Captain?" Spock asked to the trees surrounding him.

There was no response, instead the sun darkened.

"Jim?" Spock said with more urgency.

The illusion broke around him, fracturing off into pieces as Jim's mind fractured in time. Spock did not wait to see it collapse.

He pushed further past the surface of Jim's consciousness and in turn he was pulled down without resistance by the gravity well of Jim's mind. Where there should have been the hum of thought and memory instead only resided alarming stillness.

Deeper he fell, uncanny silence surrounded him until, when he reached the edges of what should have been the very center of Jim's mind, he felt the familiar radiant halo of Jim's consciousness.

Tentatively, he brushed against him. Even with the black pressed against him, the distressing quieting of Jim's mind, the intimacy of the action bordered on overwhelming; Spock had never melded with another so closely. Even as a child, when his mind was joined with T'Pring's, the adept had not brought them this close.

"Jim?"

The radiance flickered like a candle, expanding and contracting like breath.

"Spock?" came Jim's voice distantly.

Unwittingly, relief flooded from Spock through the meld. Jim picked up on it instantly and in turn, Spock felt confusion emanate from him.

Hardly did Spock allow any emotion to pass through a meld, and the small amount that did encounter transference Jim typically had the good graces to ignore. Spock's failure at composure and the precariousness of the situation found them both abandoning their prior conventions.

"Captain," Spock pushed on, "we are still on the planet. You have been poisoned by an unknown airborne toxin—"

Concern filled the meld.

"And you, Spock?" Jim interrupted.

Spock sent back comfort.

"I am unharmed. What do you remember?"

Intense pain, in memory, flared between them.

Jim gasped, "Sorry."

The feeling rushed through Spock. He choked on the sharpness of it before he was able to subdue the sensation.

"Do you remember prior to the pain?" Spock asked, his voice urgent.

"There was…" Jim slowed and he paused for a few moments. "Spock, I don't remember anything else. Why isn't there anything else?"

Spock attempted to compose his thoughts as they raced with the new information. He suspected this outcome, that the toxin would force Jim from his own mind as it ceased all that was in its path, but the confirmation was startling.

So quickly had the vapor worked, so effectively had it taken the very life out of him. The circumstances did not matter, Spock always would follow Jim where ever he would go, and this was no different. In a moment he knew what he had to do.

He centered himself, quelled all other rising sentiments—they had gotten in the way so far and would only distract him further; there was no margin for error when it came to his captain's life.

"I believe the toxin works by encouraging neural activity to cease, therefore causing the body to shut down," Spock explained.

"Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired," Jim joked weakly.

"Captain," Spock continued, "I am going to further join our minds in order to artificially stimulate your brain activity. I am sorry if you feel discomfort, but this is the only way."

Trust, in an intensity that threatened to incapacitate, encapsulated the space between them. This time, when Spock fell deeper into Jim's mind, the radiance of thought and emotion guided his way.

Spock grew closer to Jim's center and the lines between their two minds started to blur. No longer could Spock differentiate Jim's thoughts to his own; they flowed together, the edges of fear, anxiety, meaning, and trust all sourced from the wellspring of companionship.

Despite what was to come, what had already happened—the violence, the pain, the violation—at the omphalos, there was serenity. A tranquility that formed the premise of the soul that resided there. It carried a soothing stillness, like the quiet moment between a heartbeat.

Then, as one, they worked their way back to the surface.

Slow and steady, like minuscule steps up a great mountain, they journeyed. Each place from center they reawakened, stoking the embers, adding oxygen, coaxing back to a flame. Spock strained at the effort, he could feel his own mental fortitude weakening the longer they stayed joined. He pushed them forward regardless, it was the only thing he could do.

Memories, instinct, consciousness all flickered back to life, surrounding him, warming him—and it was only him then, Spock could feel the edges of his own mind as more of Jim's awakened.

Energy surged from Jim, his strength grew with every moment—but even as they became more distinct, Spock felt another connection bloom, tying him back to the center of Jim's mind. There he stayed, part almost at the surface of Jim's consciousness, the other slipping back, pulled again deep into the gravity well. To the origin.

Spock fell and fell and confusion surged but fear did not. An innate sense of belonging and equilibrium took root deep in him, like this was where he had always meant to be.

He fell and from him, he felt the very center of his being reach out. Consciousness like vines and tendrils. All that he was reached towards Jim, who was radiant and bursting like a solar body; coronal ejections growing and dancing, luminant and beautiful.

And in an instant, the golden wisps reached back to him.

-

Light on glistening water—that's what it felt like, not that he knew what it was.

It emanated from the center of his mind, warmth radiating out, soothing like a fresh coffee-filled ceramic mug to chilled hands. He had never noticed the feeling before but it didn't feel new—in fact, it felt like its always been there and he just somehow hadn't noticed it yet.

It felt like it belonged there, right alongside the rest of his thoughts.

His head felt like it had been split open, scrambled and tossed aside, but that part, that single oasis, was steady. It was safe.

A steady hum from the sickbay equipment matched the minute fluttering the warmth made inside his mind. Slow and easy—the uniform rise and fall of breath, the steady thump of a relaxed heart—it calmed him.

Jim let it lull him back to sleep.

-

"Whatever Vulcan mumbo jumbo you did to him, it saved his life." Doctor McCoy's voice was quiet in the simulated night time hours of the sickbay, his normal gruff that would typically accompany such a remark was absent.

Spock looked up from the PADD he was working on—although he was off shift, a major injury to a member of the bridge crew spawned extra paperwork for both himself and the captain, and seeing that the captain was presently asleep in sickbay, Spock thought it best to assist in his half to alleviate some of the backlog for when the captain was once again cleared for duty.

"It was necessary, and thus logical, to ensure the continuation of the captain's life."

Upon their return to the ship, briefly, Spock had explained to the doctor his efforts in combating the toxin, stopping short of the result of the meld; McCoy did not need to know details to an infringement that would soon be resolved.

The doctor efficiently had been able to locate and identify the toxin and manufacture an antidote. Since the antidote was administered several hours prior, Jim rested in sickbay. Spock had not left his side.

At a tug, Spock's gaze left McCoy and snapped to Jim. Absent was the serene that typically marked his face in rest; his brows pinched every so slightly and his lips formed a small frown. Spock again felt unease rise in Jim, another nightmare.

Or, more accurately, Spock suspected, a realignment of a bad memory.

Spock closed his eyes and focused on the space where their minds touched. Gently, he sent through tranquility. Jim settled.

A human mind in its natural disorganization did not cope well with changes brought about by forced tampering. His mind, while physically healing from the damage the toxin wrought, would also need to heal from the mental disruption. Sleep, as is the natural way a human brain processes that which it remembers, would be arduous for his bondmate over the next few days.

Spock froze.

He could not—would not—take the liberty to call Jim something he did not have the right to.

"And you, Spock?" McCoy asked, eyes narrowed "How are you holding up?"

"I am adequate," Spock responded, not removing his eyes from Jim's sleeping form.

"Don't give me that," McCoy's gruff tone was impatient in his reply, "I know you're not exactly firing on all cylinders here. That mind meld did a number on you too."

Spock sighed minutely, a slip conversations with the doctor brought out in him. He relented, "There is some… remaining discomfort after the meld."

His mental shielding was severely weakened after the exertion of guiding Jim's mind through the trauma; evidence of that could be seen in the unwarranted bond that formed with his negligence.

Like an open wound his mind throbbed.

McCoy nodded, "Headache?"

Spock nodded.

"Just the psi-centers or any other sections?"

"I only find the psi-centers affected."

McCoy nodded and fiddled with a hypo. He depressed it in Spock's arm.

"That should help. Drink some water too, and eat a real meal. Is there any chance I could convince you to lie down in a real bed?"

Spock looked at him.

McCoy sighed, "Figured as much."

A beep from the biobed brought their attention. McCoy moved to check it and looked satisfied with the readout—given, as satisfied as one could look given the situation. He checked the time and started towards his office before he stopped and turned.

"Try and get some rest, will you, Spock?" McCoy said, "It's been a long day for you too—and don't give me none of that bullshit about Vulcans needing less sleep either. Get some rest—don't make me make it an order."

Spock nodded, "Goodnight, Doctor."

McCoy threw his hand up in a half-hearted wave on his way out the door, "'Night."

For the first time since their beam up, Spock found them alone in the sickbay. After the activity of the afternoon and evening, the stillness was welcome. Life on a starship was never quiet, but Spock was gratified for the small moments he did manage.

He returned to the document he had been reading but found his mind too restless to continue. The deep, steady thump of Jim's heart rate from the monitor, the slow rise and fall of his chest, his mind, humming and radiant brushing against Spock's own, they all worked to calm him.

Why could he not settle?

Many times over had the command pair of the Enterprise faced similar dangers. Spock had sat this same vigil numerous times before and just as many times he himself had awakened from a healing trance to find Jim sat next to him, nodding off in the bedside chair. The occurrence was by no means new. For all the reflection he had done—which had come in a steady stream since he took up post next to Jim's bedside—he could not find the variable that changed to make this situation different. That which made his shields slip so egregiously to give the bond occasion to form.

Spock was not in the habit of being dishonest within the boundaries of his own mind. He knew how he felt about his captain, had long meditated on the issue. Resolution, so far, evaded him. No more could he banish his affection then could he act on it. He would not jeopardize the effectiveness of the Enterprise or its crew based on this inconsequential factor. Jim's disinterest was a factor he could not change, nor would he wish to risk losing something he valued as highly as his friendship. Kaiidth.

Against the edges of his mind agitation started to form. Curiously, it did not build like his own. It constructed, far in the distance, growing like thunderstorms on a wide plain. The ominous blackening of the sky from a looming shelf cloud, unrest in the air and wind.

Jim stirred in the biobed. His hand twitched and Spock resisted the urge to grasp it in the way humans do; instead, he calmed him through the bond. The agitation dissipated and instead was replaced by guilt. This, Spock knew, originated from himself.

Turbulence in his childhood made him no stranger to it, for a source could be found for him to be remorseful or ashamed perpetually. Throughout his education he was singled out from his peers to question his proficiency at the Vulcan disciplines, incredulous as if he was not Vulcan. It took until his time at Starfleet to grow assured in his abilities fully, to be away from those who believed he could not accomplish due to his human mother.

Prior to this event had he not found reason to give thought to their opinions.

His ineptitude made the sting of shame ever more immense. The meld, while uniquely intense and much more intimate than anything he had experienced prior, should have been something he could control. Formed without consent, the bond was glaring evidence of his failure. Bonds, in any form, where not a matter to be taken lightly. In this, he had trespassed on the trust Jim had given to him freely.

The recollection Jim had settled into was a pleasant one. Spock felt amusement and adoration dance against the bond. Despite the heaviness that settled over his mind, he quelled the same emotions in himself as a delicate smile grew on Jim's face while he slept.

By Vulcan standards, the bond they shared was very weak. This, Spock hypothesized, was due to its accidental nature and Spock's halting of its formation once he made the realization. Through it he could only feel the strongest emotions and, if he pressed, the barest hint of the shape of his thought. This, he would not do. He had already violated his captain's privacy enough, nor did he desire to. Only jealousy arose at the thought of seeing exactly who inspired the affection that seeped through their bond.

Its undeveloped state would make the process of breaking it much simpler; an adept would not be required for the task, which was fortunate. Once Jim had recovered sufficiently, Spock would relieve them both of it.

No matter how much there was a part of him that wanted to keep it, to nourish it into a full bond.

This was for the best.

Spock picked up his PADD and resumed his work. He resolved to waste no more time ruminating on these thoughts—it was illogical to think about what one could not have.

-

For the first time in days, Jim felt like he could think clearly. This he was certainly grateful for, especially given the timing.

"If I lose, I'll remind you that you're the one who put my brain back together," he said.

He'd been on a four game winning streak now, and although there was a certain pleasure he took in losing to Spock—which was a whole other topic to dissect—each game further he got into a winning streak brought out an even better game from his opponent.

"Doctor McCoy has stated that you will have no lasting damage," Spock replied, "but if something was amiss, I would not be able to differentiate it from your typical illogical style of play."

Jim grinned and gestured to the board. "Why don't we find out? Opening move is yours, Mr. Spock."

The smallest corner of his lip turned up and Jim felt his chest warm; he was glad the heart monitor was on mute.

Spock contemplated the board and silently pushed the bowl of crackers sat next to it closer to Jim. Jim huffed but obediently ate one.

When Spock arrived at sickbay after alpha shift, his travel chessboard in hand, Bones gave him the bowl and told him to get Jim to eat something. Terrible nausea had plagued Jim the last few days, accompanied by a pounding headache. Side effects were expected after his injury and fortunately, they all seemed to subside by the evening. The last thing Jim wanted for the time he got to spend with Spock each night was to feel like he needed to reach for a bucket every other minute.

For the last few days he's spent his time hovered over by either Spock or Bones, being pushed food whenever he felt like he could stomach it. Between the two of them, Jim was starting to feel a little bit like a toddler. It was alright he supposed, he did enjoy his usual shared dinner with Spock, even if they had to have it in the confines of the sickbay.

And still, there was that peculiar spot in his head. It hadn't faded yet, as Jim suspected an after effect of the ordeal would. Instead, it felt just the same as it did the first time he danced towards consciousness after his return to the ship. He spent the majority of the first two days sleeping, and each time he woke he half expected the feeling to be gone, but it persisted.

It didn't hurt, or feel bad even—it felt strangely comfortable. If he wasn't certain it was a remnant of his near death experience, he would almost not mind if it suck around.

After a few moves in a comfortable quiet, Spock spoke up, "How are you feeling?"

Jim responded, munching on a cracker, "Better than before. Today's the first day I haven't felt entirely exhausted. The headache and nausea are still a pain but at least it's gone by the time you swing by."

He hadn't noticed prior, but the sickbay felt slightly cooler than normal that evening, apparent by the smallest hint of green that appeared at the tips of Spock's ears. Jim tried to ignore just how adorable it was.

Spock nodded, "It is common to experience such symptoms after injuries similar to the one you experienced. I am gratified to hear of your improvement."

Jim moved a piece. "How's the bridge?"

As expected, Spock gave him a look that meant that Jim knew better than to try and ask about ship's business while he was in sickbay. Jim raised his own brows in a clear sign of persistence.

Spock sighed minutely, "Nothing of note has happened since our return to the ship four-point-two-seven days ago. We have discovered two class-M moons orbiting the third planet, which is the first of the gas giants in this system. The astrometric measurements from the pulsar continue to provide intriguing data."

"How many days left of star charting?" Jim asked.

"Four," Spock said. He moved a piece, capturing one of Jim's pawns, "Then we are to report to Starbase 27 for our next assignment, which is to be detailed upon our arrival."

Jim hummed, "Any ideas on what that's about?"

"Seventy-three percent of our prior assignments that shared similar unspecified characteristics contained elements that required high sensitivity, so it would be logical to assume this situation will be comparable."

"Yes, I suppose so," Jim replied, "let's just hope this doesn't come with the trouble those other ones did."

After the game, the crackers, and Jim's winning streak—which he did not mind one bit, it was a very enjoyable match—were finished, Spock retrieved their dinners from the replicator. Jim was growing tired of the bland broths, but they were much easier to keep down when the eventual nausea returned.

Conversation flowed between them while they ate. Spock talked about the steady progress the science lab had been making on duplicating the fertilizing effects from plant they had discovered a few systems back. Jim asked about a paper Spock was working to submit to the VSA. They discussed a book Jim had borrowed from Spock that he was just getting around to reading with his newly acquired free time—well, when he was awake or when his head wasn't pounding.

When they were just finishing up, quietly, Jim asked: "Any news on the data we got from the planet?"

Spock, who had been reluctant in the days prior to share any information, thought for a moment before answering.

"Lieutenant Uhura has made progress on the translation with aid of the universal translator. Preliminary reports show two factions, both heavily equipped with nuclear weapons which lead to their mutual destruction. It appears the room we encountered was a 'fail safe', in the event of survivors from the other faction attempting to acquire supplies from the abandoned military facility."

Jim looked down at his hands, "And the lack of life signs was confirmed?"

Spock was quiet with his response, "Yes, captain, there is no life remaining on the planet."

It wasn't the first time they've come across something similar to this, and Jim was sure it was far from the last, but there was something about it that always managed to stop him in his tracks, no matter how long ago it was. All those lives, a whole world, just gone. Cruelty and barbarity, seeped out over the ages, to now. A military dead for hundreds of years who cannot stop killing.

"I see," Jim said, "I guess it's just one of those things."

"Indeed."

A moment passed between them in silence before Jim spoke again.

"And, Spock?"

"Yes, captain?"

He looked at Spock and a gentle smile grew. "Thank you, Spock," he said, "for what you did down there. You saved my life."

Again, maybe it was the lighting in the room or the chill, but Jim saw the lightest jade flush the tops of Spock's cheekbones and ears.

"It was only logical," Spock said, "but you are welcome, Jim."

And if Jim didn't feel the heat rising in his own cheeks—

He cleared his throat. "But I'm sure it wasn't exactly comfortable for you, being in my head like that."

Spock paused briefly before he spoke, "I… did not experience substantial discomfort. As evident from our past melds, our minds are very compatible."

Jim has never mentioned it—and he was unsure if Spock ever picked up on it when they melded in the past—but he had always enjoyed the feeling of Spock in his head. There was some sort of relaxing quality to it, like pieces of a puzzle snapping together.

Spock continued, his tone light, "Although, I would prefer if you avoided such situations where intervention was required."

Jim laughed brightly, caught off-guard by Spock's humor.

Warmth, bursting and radiant flooded Jim's mind. Amusement and affection draped him, flowing out from that curious golden spot.

It felt—Jim froze.

"Captain?" Spock asked, that micro-expression of concern Jim's come to recognize appearing on his face, "are you quite alright?"

"I—" Jim started, and then paused. He evaluated. Was he?

It certainly wasn't a bad feeling, not at all—actually, it was quiet nice. But he was entirely certain it was not his.

"I believe yes," he said eventually, "I felt—well, I'm sure it's one of those after effects Bones has been talking about. I felt an emotion that didn't feel like it was mine."

Spock stiffened, his face went blank.

"Spock?"

"It is typical for lingering effects after mental injury," Spock said. His voice was rigid, "Doctor McCoy should be notified if you are still in pain."

He stood and disposed of their dishes.

Whatever non-emotion had faded by the time he returned to Jim's bedside, replaced by Spock's typical neutrality.

"Another game?" Jim asked.

"You need rest, Captain," Spock said.

Jim huffed. "I'm not even—" he yawned, "tired."

Spock raised a brow.

It was much fainter than the last time, but again, there was that curious feeling in his head. Fond and amused and just a little bit of something else he couldn't recognize. Jim felt a small smile grow on his face as he laid back down on the bed. Spock told the computer to dim the lights.

"Goodnight, Jim."

He was asleep before he could respond.

That night he did not dream, nor did recollections play behind his eyes. Instead, he felt that same sort of foreign warmth grow over him. By the time he woke, for the first time since the incident, he felt rested.

-

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." the doctor said, and promptly shot a hypo into Jim's bicep.

Jim grabbed his arm and rubbed. "Don't you know how to treat a lady."

"It's not just these looks they love." Bones said, and plopped down in the chair next to the bed.

He looked exhausted; his shoulders seemed just as heavy as the dark circles under his eyes. Jim wasn't the only one the last few days had taken a toll on.

"Did you get any rest?" Jim asked.

Bones huffed, "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"If you're not in here then you've been in the labs these past few days, "Jim said.

"I'll rest when I'm dead," he said, "or when you're back on duty."

"Then when are you going to let me out of here, Bones?"

"When I think your ready, that's when," Bones grumbled.

"A headache and some nausea isn't going to kill me, I can rest in my quarters instead of here. I'll come by to check in if you want me too, and it's not like you won't know where to find me," Jim bargained.

Bones sighed and leaned farther back into the chair. "I know. It's just—physically, you're fine. But I can't find anything wrong with you to be giving you those remaining symptoms. We've done just about every test possible and I still can't find anything."

"It could just be one of those things—you said it yourself, injuries of the mind can be unpredictable."

"It just bothers me that I can't find a reason—anything." He thought for a moment before continuing. "You're certain there couldn't be any side effects with the meld? That there isn't anything Spock could have done—"

Anger, and some disgust too, flooded through Jim—and it must have shown on his face with how quickly the doctor stopped.

"I'd be dead if he hadn't done what he did—and when have you ever known Spock to be incompetent when it comes to anything, let alone a mind meld?"

Bones deflated, "I know, sorry, Jim. I'm just worried, your symptoms should have faded by now."

The anger left Jim instantly, he offered Bones a small smile, "You're being to hard on yourself, and you need some rest. I haven't seen you look this tired since you stayed up for two days cramming for your Advanced Xenobiology III final."

"Oh, god," Bones groaned, "don't remind me. I still have nightmares about Doctor Araullo's grading methods."

Jim watched as Bones seemed to contemplate something. He glanced at the biobed readings once again before he spoke.

"Alright, I want to keep you here for another day—but if its only the headache and nausea tomorrow morning I'll discharge you to your quarters."

Jim grinned.

"Just to your quarters," Bones repeated, "I'll still want a few days of rest from you before I clear you for duty—light duty."

"I think you want to keep me around because you'll miss me too much."

Bones grumbled as he walked away.

As relieved as he was to hear of his impending discharge, he felt even more at the prospect of Bones getting some well needed rest. He never did when either Jim or—as much as Bones wouldn't want to admit it—Spock were in sickbay. Jim was worried about him, and he was glad for this business to soon be over.

-

A bottle sat on the table and McCoy swirled golden liquid in a heavy glass.

The door to the doctor's office slid shut behind him and Spock raised a brow. Alpha shift had just concluded and Spock came from the bridge at McCoy's request.

Spock glanced at the chronometer on the wall. "Brandy, Doctor?" he said.

"There's an old human saying, Spock," McCoy replied,"'it's five o'clock somewhere'."

Spock sat down. "I fail to see the corelation of the time of another location and consumption of alcohol in the present one."

"Says someone who doesn't require a stiff drink from time to time."

"Doctor, has there been an update to the captain's condition?"

McCoy sighed, "Now I'm only telling you this where it concerns you."

Spock nodded, "I understand you take your patience's privacy seriously, Doctor, it would not be fitting for a physician to…'chatter'," McCoy made a noise at Spock's use of the Earth colloquialism, "continue, please."

The doctor thought for a moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice carried a weary nature. Spock knew of the large quantity of experiments McCoy had conducted on the neruotoxin that infected the captain. He had ventured to assist where he could, but much of the work was too far removed from his field to be of help. Spock did not enjoy seeing Jim remain ill.

"His headaches and nausea are still persisting," McCoy said, "I've tried just about everything and I can't seem to find a source for it. I can't trace it down in my bio-comps, it's like it doesn't exist. The toxin is completely flushed from his system—it has been for days now. The only other possibility I could think of what some sort of side effect from your meld."

"Side effect?"

McCoy took a drink, "Yes, M'Benga and I were discussing it earlier. He was telling me about a curious case he had the chance to observe during his time at the hospital on Vulcan: after a traumatic injury and a life-saving meld, a pair retained a latent mind link."

Spock froze.

"Wipe that look off your face, Jim already berated me for it."

"You spoke with him about the possibility of complication from the meld?"

McCoy hummed, "Yeah, earlier today."

"And when exactly did you have this conversation?"

"Hm," McCoy thought for a moment, "it was this morning, sometime around nine-hundred hours. Why?"

Spock felt his stomach drop. As he suspected, it aligned with the time he had felt such sheer disgust come from Jim's side of the bond.

"It is nothing," Spock eventually responded. He stood up, "if you will excuse me, there is an experiment I must attend to."

He was out the door before the doctor could respond.

-

The sickbay was empty besides Jim. Spock had waited until when he knew the nurse on duty, deep into gamma shift, would take their mid-shift meal in the adjoining room.

As quietly as he could, Spock sat in the chair next to Jim's bed. The captain, even in his fatigued state, still remained an unusually light sleeper. Blearily his eyes blinked open.

"You didn't come by for dinner." he murmured.

Spock felt his throat tighten

"No," he responded quietly, "I apologize."

Jim hummed; his voice was slurred and heavy with sleep, "everything alright?"

"Yes, captain." Spock said, "You must go back to sleep now."

Spock waited until Jim's breaths evened out and once they did, he placed his fingers over Jim's meld points.

He closed his eyes.

Contrary to the belief of many off-worlders, it did in fact, rain on Vulcan. Given, it was not the languid showers of a Terran afternoon or the typhonic downpours on Regulus V; rain on Vulcan was more akin to a thick haze. The typical dry air became humid and moisture collected on every surface. It started out as rain, in the cooler, higher atmosphere, but once it reached the planet's hot surface it dissipated.

For a Vulcan, who neither sweats or typically comes into contact with large collections of moisture on the skin, it is a rather unpleasant experience. Incorrectness in absolute seeped down into the bones, collected in the space between every rib. It sat heavy in the back of the mind and much mental energy has to be sacrificed to ignore the sensation. Long term exposure to humidity left Vulcans susceptible to respiratory illness, so it is believed the harsh reaction came as an evolutionary protection.

The feeling of terminating a bond was not dissimilar.

It had not taken long for Spock to locate the bond in Jim's mind; it called to him. Magnetic, he was pulled to it instantly. It reached out, golden tendrils calling, trying to pull him in deeper and strengthen the bond, fulfill it.

Every part inside Spock wanted to, every instinct he had screamed to complete it. Forever cherish it, hold it close to the center of him.

He could not. This could not continue.

Fighting against instinct, against the pain that came with every separation, Spock took hold of the connection. One by one, he severed each thread that ran between them and with each one he felt Jim fade further and further from him.

When the last one snapped, he slid from Jim's mind.

Staring up at the dimmed ceiling lights, Spock urged the painful, empty feeling in his mind to fade.

It did not.

-
His first day back on the bridge, Jim was glad to see everything running as smoothly as when he left.

The same could not be said for his head.

Thankfully, the terrible nausea was gone—the headache, very much not.

After getting released from sickbay, Jim spent a few days in his quarters with what might have been the worst migraine of his life. It started the morning he was released from sickbay and Jim, eager to get out of there, declined to inform the doctor of its increased severity.

None of the drugs Bones had injected him with prior had helped, and his scans had been fruitless on the topic. Jim figured it was just one of those things that would go away with time.

That curious spot disappeared. More than disappeared, really: it vanished and left a void in its stead. There was a certain hollow feeling that resided there now, very different than what had been there before, like when you know you had forgotten something but could not remember what is was.

Often, it felt like its absence was deeper than Jim realized, like this pounding in his head emanated from that very spot. It would go away, he told himself.

During the time he had spent not sitting in the room with the lights at five percent, much of his primary bridge crew had stopped by. It had been nice, and it made him feel normal, to sit and be able to chat. Uhura told him a humorous story from a few days prior about a squabble between two individuals who did not realize they were still broadcasting on subspace. Sulu and Chekov played a few different card games, which Jim had to bow out of after their fifth game of durak left his vision cloudy from his pounding head. Scotty, bless him, dropped off some engineering journals that he thought Jim would find particularly interesting—he had been correct—and swung back around to discuss them.

Bones, he saw frequently, either when he pestered Jim before the start of his shift or when Jim came down to sickbay as he promised he would.

The only person he didn't see was Spock.

Spock, who he hadn't seen since the middle of the night in sickbay in what he still wasn't convinced wasn't a dream. Spock, who somehow managed to be anywhere Jim wasn't when he left his quarters.

Jim had tried to ignore the pang in his chest every time someone buzzed at his door and it opened to reveal someone else. He could go a few days without seeing his first officer—he had a ship to run, after all.

Besides, he'd been cleared for duty, so everything would be back to how it should be.

The bright lights of the bridge stung his eyes. Soft chimes and short communications between the crew sounded like screaming in his ear but he pushed it down and put on a smile.

Jim turned to the science station only to find it manned by another member of the science division. He ignored the disappointment that flooded him and walked over.

"Lieutenant," he asked, "where is Commander Spock?"

She turned around and removed her earpiece. "Commander Spock is overseeing some experiments in Science Lab One today, sir," she responded and then smiled, "it's good to see you back on the bridge."

Jim gave her a smile and thanked her.

Alpha shift passed uneventfully. They were halfway to Starbase 27 and were expected to arrive in eight days. Curiosity lingered on what the assignment could be but Jim brushed it aside in favor of catching up on the paperwork he'd missed. Spock had, thankfully, taken care of a majority of it—Jim made a mental note to thank him for it later—but there was still some stuff he needed to take care of himself.

After what seemed like an endless amount of PADDs being passed to him by the yeoman, an endless amount of signatures, the shift ended and Jim stood. His back was stiff and all he wanted was a dark room, but he ventured to make his way to sickbay like Bones requested of him.

He was halfway there when the turbolift opened and revealed Spock on the other side.

Jim beamed. "Hey, Spock," he said, "you've been busy, I haven't seen you in a few days. How are the labs? Oh, and thank you for your help with the paperwork, it was nice not to have such a big backlog when I got back."

"Science Lab One," Spock grabbed onto the handle and the turbolift continued moving. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "It was logical, captain, to ensure efficient function of this starship." His tone was cold in a way Jim's never heard before, it startled him.

Jim looked at him, "Spock?"

"Sir?" Spock's eyes remained on the door.

"Are you feeling alright?" Jim asked.

"I am functioning sufficiently to preform my duties as first officer."

Before Jim could inquire further, the turbolift stopped and Spock swiftly exited without another word.

When the turbolift continued its motion, it felt like he had taken all the air with him.

Jim's head throbbed.

-

"Their language is very unique, it doesn't hold the typical vocabulary characteristics of a warrior race—which is leading me to believe that maybe they didn't necessarily fall into that archetype. Strange, I know, given their proclivity towards violence, but… Spock?"

Discomfort seeped through his mind, out through the failing barriers he could no longer keep erect. The pain, if he succumbed to accurately label it, echoed out from the vacant spot where the bond once resided. It came in waves; each one seemed to flare through his body, a debilitating ache he felt to the ends of his limbs. Each day that passed the sensation increased; concentration was becoming elusive.

"Spock?"

His distant eyes regained focus as he heard Nyota's concerned tone.

"Nyota," He responded evenly.

Even through the early morning hours, the officer's mess was busy with the sound of chatter around them; the earlier risers—since alpha shift did not start for another hour—consuming their meals before the majority of the scheduled crew came in.

Over the past week he had taken to joining Nyota for breakfast. Since her days at the Academy, Spock had always known her to wake much earlier than the rest of her peers. As a cadet, she was often found first in the mess at daybreak with a coffee and supplementary study material from her professor's suggestions. Similar were her habits on the Enterprise, bar, her reading swapped for a personal research project or a segment of her current ship assignment.

In the days Spock had sat with her post-mission, she had been dissecting the intricacies of the languages found in the data pulled from planet. This, he deduced, was the topic she had been discussing while he had been…preoccupied.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Automatically, Spock responded. "I am functioning adequately."

"So dazing out for half of our conversation was on purpose then?" she said, and then her voice turned teasing, "you know, if you find my opinions on xenolinguistics boring, you could have just told me."

Spock exhaled through his nose, "No, Nyota."

"Spock," she said gently, "you don't look like yourself."

"I have not changed my appearance to be anyone else."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she sighed, "you look like you haven't slept in days. When's the last time you meditated?"

"I…" he thought. Over the course of the last few days, he had attempted meditation only to have it elude him. The pain, had made deep, meaningful meditation unobtainable, "do not know."

The lack of meditation caused his mind to become disorganized, but he reminded himself that this had been necessary, for the captain's sake.

Dissolving the bond had been essential for the welfare of the ship and it's crew, and for Jim himself—Jim's well being would always be a priority for Spock, and there was little he would not do to ensure it.

Outside of their required duties on the bridge, he had not conversed with the captain once. The distance was difficult to maintain, but it was necessary—Spock did not trust himself with his shields in such a weakened state. Once the pain in his mind faded he would be able to return to normal and everything would be as it was.

Nyota looked concerned, "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked.

Spock stood and grabbed his empty tray, as well as Nyota's.

"I will see you on the bridge, lieutenant."

-

Scotty's gaze bounced between Jim and Spock, a look of question on his face.

"Something wrong, Scotty?" Jim asked. He straightened the hem of his uniform. He did not look at Spock.

"Er," Scotty started, "should I be asking you that question instead?"

Irritation flared in Jim, he was about to respond when he heard Uhura's voice over the comm.

"Incoming message from Starbase 27: One to beam up."

On cue, Scotty activated the panel and the transporter hummed. Dancing molecules took shape and on the platform a figure came into being.

"Mediator Song," Jim greeted, "welcome aboard the Enterprise."

She stepped down off the pad and smiled at him. "Please, call me Ema. You must be Captain Kirk."

Her hair was dark and so were her eyes. She wore robes of a deep, verdant green with little embellishment, instead relying on intricate pleats and folds to detail the fabric.

Jim ignored the sharp pain as he smiled back. "Yes," Jim said, and gestured to the two others in the room, "my first officer, Commander Spock, and my chief engineer, Commander Scott."

They exchanged pleasantries and with the formalities over, Jim offered her a tour of the ship.

Just that morning when they reached Starbase 27 had they received their instructions. It was a delicate diplomatic mission, as Spock and Jim had hypothesized prior. They were to deliver Song, a highly recognized mediator in the Federation, to solve a mining dispute between two new Federation members. Both inductees resided on moons that orbited the same gas giant and had been close to war over both making claims on mineral rights residing on a third moon in the system.

The Enterprise had been called to assist Mediator Song—who was requested specifically by both parties—by giving her passage and, by sitting along side her during the negotiations. Starfleet has been insistent on this factor as one of the elements in dispute was a large source of dilithium. If Jim's head wasn't already throbbing he was sure he would have felt a headache come on at the idea of spending days trapped at a negotiations table.

To his dismay, the pain in his head had not gone away. Instead, it had gotten worse.

Jim was nearing the end of his rope; it made him irritable and all he wanted to do was sit in a dark room but he was a starship captain. A headache, no matter how severe, he could deal with. There was no indicators of any lasting issues from the neurotoxin, so this, he was just going to have to wait out.

He was grateful that Scotty and Spock had come along on the tour and were able to pick up the slack where he left off—though, if Jim was being honest, Spock didn't look too great either.

For the last few days—since Spock had started, well, avoiding Jim, each morning on the bridge Jim had found he looked worst than the one before.

His eyes were tired in a way Jim had never seen before and his constantly perfect posture had just the smallest dip in it. Jim had wanted to ask him if he was alright but Spock would not give him the opportunity. He was a picture perfect officer on the bridge, doing everything required of his role and just that. He was like a ghost off duty; never in the mess at his—their—usual time, never in the hall when Jim typically ran into him, never knocking on Jim's door asking for a game or conversation.

With how abrupt the change was, especially given Spock's habitual nature, Jim knew it had been on purpose.

He would be lying if he said it didn't hurt.

For years now he had known he had felt something more for Spock than friendship, but it was never a line of thought he ever let himself pursue; heartbreak, he was easily prone to. Romance was not something Spock would want from him—friendship, council, companionship, these things he could offer without apprehension, but love? That, he knew, would be met with rejection.

Jim had thought he settled the matter inside himself, had learned to life with the fact that Spock was not someone that he could ever call his, but his sudden absence had only served to drudge up what Jim had long considered buried.

All those moments together—their quiet evening chess matches, easy meals in the mess, thoughtful conversations, morning walks to the bridge—they were just a bandage on the open wound Jim felt on his heart. He wanted what he couldn't have, badly, and the removal of all he used to cover up that fact became butane to the fire he tried so hard to douse.

Jim didn't know why Spock had come to avoid him. There was a not so small part of him that feared what Spock saw during their meld. That during it, tucked between the admiration he had for Spock's intelligence, the amusement for his humor, the respect for his opinion, he had seen the love that laced through it all. That then, he had only come to realize the betrayal Jim had committed to their friendship.

With every day that passed Jim's worry grew, he strained further in his attempt to think of ways to fix the situation, to remedy what errors he committed. It was unimaginable, continuing on through his life without Spock by his side.

He glanced over at Spock again, watched as he fingers twitched in the tight hold he had them in behind his back, and wondered.

Song made good conversation throughout their walk through of the ship. She was quick and asked intelligent questions—Jim could see just why the inductees had requested her as their mediator. When they made it to the bridge, Spock and Scotty went to their stations while Jim remained with her next to the turbolift.

She was quiet when she spoke, but even the quietest words could be heard everywhere on the bridge.

"Captain Kirk," Song looked up at him, she stood just a little too close, "would you care to join me for dinner this evening?"

The offer was laced between the words; Jim had heard it plenty of times, had said it himself plenty too.

He gave her a tight smile and stepped back, "Maybe some other time."

Song's smile back made it clear she understood, but wasn't offended, "I will see you tomorrow for the briefing then."

Jim nodded, "Yeoman, could you please show Miss Song to her quarters?"

Jim all but wanted to slump in his chair after the turbolift door shut behind her.

In front of him, Sulu and Chekov quietly joked between each other. Normally, Jim would just ignore it with a roll of the eyes, but every noise sounded blaring in his skull.

"You know," Sulu said, leaning towards the navigation side of the console, "maybe the captain hasn't fully recovered yet."

"I'm not sure I've never seen him decline a beautiful woman's invitation to dinner." Chekov noted.

And maybe it was the pain in his head. Maybe it was the distinctive reminder of the undercurrent of why he turned her down, what he could not have.

The anger that simmered under the surface for days boiled over.

"Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov, you have a comment?"

"Oh, no, sir," Sulu said, amusement painting his tone, "Chekov?"

"Ah, keptin, well… she was very beautiful." Chekov grinned.

"That is quite enough, ensign," Jim snapped.

Chekov's eyes widened and in an instant, recognition hit Jim, followed quickly by shame.

"I—" Jim took a breath, "I apologize, Chekov. I'm…not feeling like myself today." he quickly turned and walked towards the turbolift. "If you'll excuse me. Spock, you have the bridge."

He didn't look at him before he left.

-

The bridge had been quiet when it happened.

Inactivity defined the morning, there was not much to do while they traveled to the system where the negotiations were to take place. Three-point-three-five hours remained until they were due for their briefing with Mediator Song on the current situation. Minimal conversation occurred after the captain suddenly left the bridge the afternoon prior, and that same atmosphere carried on to the present.

Never had he seen Jim, being of his right mind, that way previously. He had been so focused on limiting his time around Jim that he had not seen the symptoms. The irritability, visual discomfort at loud noises and harsh lights, the heavy bags under his eyes indicating sleepless nights. Jim had not improved from his illness, he had in fact deteriorated.

A sinking feeling grew as he hypothesized.

Spock was deep in thought when he saw Jim sway—he had been standing just a few feet away talking to Lieutenant Uhura at her station. He had moved just in time to catch him as he collapsed, unconscious. Dimly, he heard the lieutenant call for Doctor McCoy while he carefully lowered Jim to the ground, but his focus was locked elsewhere.

Searing pain bleed through where Spock's hands made contact with Jim's skin and in his own head, mirroring pain rang out. In a moment he knew.

The doctor arrived and transferred Jim to sickbay and after a conversation with Doctor McCoy he would rather not relive, Spock waited in Jim's room for him to naturally come around.

He laid on the bed, chest rising and falling with sleep; Spock walked a line between the two bulkheads and glanced at him each time he passed.

When Jim stirred, Spock had no where near formulated what he wanted to say to him.

He closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Spock?" Jim's voice was full of confusion, "what are you doing here? What—" he paused, seeming to recollect the events leading up to the moment.

Spock moved to help him sit up but Jim declined his assistance with a raised hand.

"How do you feel?" Spock asked instead.

Jim stood up, his face was blank. "Fine," he said.

Spock walked past the room divider and towards the desk before he turned around to face Jim, who had followed. He clasped his hands behind his back and spoke, his gazed fixed somewhere over the captain's shoulder. His voice was the same tone he used when giving a report.

"When I explained to the doctor the nature of your condition, he allowed you to be moved to the privacy of your quarters, since his services were no longer required."

"The… nature of my condition?"

"Your headaches have not gone away, in fact, captain, they have gotten substantially worse."

Jim's brow furrowed, "What—"

"You did not mention this fact to Doctor McCoy," Spock interrupted, "due to the location and sensation of the pain."

"Spock, how—"

"I know this, captain, because I am also suffering from the same malady."

Jim stilled.

"I… what?" he said eventually, "explain."

Spock took a breath, "The unique circumstances of our meld led a telepathic link to be formed between us. After learning of its formation, I severed the bond. I had not believed the bond has processed far enough to require the aid of an adept to break it, but I was wrong in that assumption. A mind healer will be necessary to repair the damage I have caused in your mind, as well as my own. I apologize for this severe transgression and will fully comply with what report you will submit to Starfleet Command."

Spock's gaze finally came to rest on the captain.

Jim looked shocked, "We were bonded?"

"Yes," Spock confirmed.

It quickly turned to anger, "And you didn't think I deserved to know about it?"

Spock, for a lack of a better word, squirmed. Typically, such an intense look from his captain was not fixed on him. Spock usually felt a small sense of satisfaction when he witnessed Jim use that particular look on an adversary, but Spock found that feeling notably absent in his current situation.

Spock cleared his throat, "I did not—"

Jim cut him off, "Think I could make this decision for myself?"

"Jim, it was only logical to break it, as you did not desire it," Spock said, "I will always do what is in the best interest for you and for the ship."

"Did not—" Jim huffed and then paused, thought for a moment, "that night in sickbay, that's when you broke it,"

Spock nodded, "After I felt your dissatisfaction at the prospect of a mind link through the bond I resolved to hasten my plan to dissolve the bond in an attempt to not cause you undue stress."

Confusion grew on Jim's face, "Dissatisfaction? Spock, I didn't even know this was a possibility."

"Your conversation with Doctor McCoy—"

Jim's eyes widened, "Bones—I'm going to kill him," he sighed, "I don't know what he told you, but I was upset because he was insinuating that you could have failed somehow during the meld."

Spock was silent for a moment. "Yet I did."

The warmth—the affection—that flowed though Jim's hands when he placed them on Spock's upper arms was too much.

"You saved my life, Spock, I wouldn't call that a failure." and then, he stepped back, and a short bitter laugh echoed in the room. "But, of course you see a bond with me as a failure, it would have been too good to be true."

Spock froze.

"Jim?"

A couple realizations were made in succession. Futilely, he tried to not let hope rise in him.

He took a step towards Jim, "I was not aware it was something you desired as well."

Jim's eyes were wide, "'As well?'"

Spock nodded, "Jim, I—" he took a breath, "I had no desire to sever the bond."

His heart pounded in his side. Jim took another step towards him.

"No?" he asked.

"No."

"And you did so—"

"I believed I was alone in this sentiment."

They were close, inches apart and breathing shallow breaths in sync.

"Spock, how could you not have known?" Jim whispered.

Hands gentle, Jim held Spock's wrist and brought his hand between them. Two fingers raised, Jim lightly brushed them over Spock's own. Electric rolled down his spine and Spock let out a small gasp.

"Jim," he whispered.

Spock mirrored Jim's motion and the felt the shiver that saw through him.

"This, I've always wanted," Jim said, "you, Spock."

The sensations made it difficult for Spock to speak and it appeared as though the intimacy produced a similar reaction from Jim. Gently, intently, they carried on until, abruptly, Jim pulled back.

"What if we didn't contact a mind healer?" Jim said.

Spock quickly regained his composure and raised a brow, "do you wish to continue the current sensations of pain?"

Jim looked to hesitate for a moment before he spoke, "Would reestablishing the bond solve that?"

Spock stared at him, "Jim?"

Jim sucked in a breath before he spoke, "Don't get me wrong, I'm still rather upset at your decision to keep this from me, but I believe that's something I'd be willing to forgive." He smiled wryly before he paused again, bit his lip, "is that— would that be something you wanted?"

"Yes," Spock said instantly, "I would—yes."

Jim lifted Spock's hand to his face. Spock gasped when he briefly kissed his palm before shifting it to rest over his cheek.

"Then do it."

Spock's fingers lingered, brushing softly across Jim's cheek before they shifted into place. "Are you certain?" he asked.

Jim nodded, "Entirely," he closed his eyes.

Spock mirrored him. "My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts."

-

Sand swept out in the great expanse. Small swirling dunes shaped by wind reflected the hues of the evening sky: lilacs and deep purples as the suns set. T'khut hung low in the sky, just a sliver of a crescent.

Jim looked out on the scene.

He turned to Spock, "Where are we?"

"The bond allows you to access my mind, the same way I am able to access yours during a meld."

"This is Vulcan?" Jim asked.

"Yes," Spock responded, "the Forge."

"Why here?"

Spock hummed and contemplated.

"I offer the same response you gave me when I posed the same question to you: 'it had been home'."

The moment their minds had touched, the broken bond instantly forged to reestablish itself. Spock's mind had reached out and Jim's reached back, the radiance of him gaining and once again taking place in that emptied space in Spock's mind. A golden branch sprung between them, drawing them in like magnetic forces that had no other path than this.

And through it, Spock made a discovery about their connection.

It's origin had not been a failure on his part: they were t'hy'la. He had broke what was not meant to be broken, shattered the bond that connected them so resolutely, instinctively—and their illness was result of it. Minds calling out for what they could not be parted from.

Wordlessly, he communicated all of this to Jim, who send back such love it was overwhelming.

"I cherish thee, t'hy'la." Spock told him.

As the meld faded he felt one more tug from Jim.

"Hey, Spock?" he asked

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you? In the human way that is."

Spock choked, "I would be amenable."

Before the ship even fully came back into view, he felt his back hit the bulkhead and Jim's lips on his. Warmth leap through the connection. He could feel it all: Jim's relief, excitement, adoration—his growing want all blending into Spock's own.

The effect doubled as Spock's hand touched the soft skin of Jim's cheek. As his lips moved against Jim's and he felt him smile into the kiss.

The new bond hummed at the contact, content.