Amok Time Spirk

Control, Losing Control. Spock paced the floor of his quarters. Itching, burning urge, it could not be scratch, the fire could not be snuffed out. He slid against the wall and sat on the ground. Meditate, yes, I must meditate. It wasn't possible. The fire burned. The doctor, the infuriating doctor scanning and testing, he discovered nothing. Hadn't he explained? He must go to Vulcan! There was no way to make it any clearer; he had enough leave time accumulated, 4, 756 earth hours to be exact. The numbers! He could focus on the numbers, his intercom attracted his attention. "Leave me alone!" The fire raged, he lost control, it was smashed before he realized he was standing again. He was losing his mind. Focus! Control! Control over your emotions so that they do not control you, the lesson he had been taught all his life.

He hands found their way to a small knife as he watched it tremble in his hands. It his clumsiness the blade slid across his finger and fell to the floor. Emerald blood dripped onto the dark floor of his cabin. The reaction was immediate, the fire died, the itch ceased, for a moment, just a moment he could think, he had control! It was illogical to injure oneself, to weaken the body, yet it settled his mind. Perhaps, he could not meditate, but this, this new tool could bring him some peace until he reached Vulcan. He seated himself behind his desk ignoring the PAD in front of him, his responsibilities, his logic, and focused on his knife. With a bit of his curiosity shinning through the insanity he brought it to the tips of his fingers experimenting, how much damage must be done to stay in control. It started at his fingers, then his wrist, his arms. He was at peace.

The captain came, the doctor had obviously convinced Jim-the captain-of his need.
"You've been called the best officer in the fleet." Spock reached to put his tool down, the captain grabbed his hand. It felt almost cool in his own, the human body temperature averaging around 96.8 degrees Fahrenheit, much lower than his own. Jim had noticed, he must have, but he uttered no comment, only stared with shock, concern, confusion, etched so plainly into his expression. Jerking his hand back Spock refused to meet his captain's gaze.

"That's an enormous asset to me. If I have to lose that first officer I want to know why." His done was demanding. His captain could be so stubborn. Without any choice, and although Spock would never admit it, he held more than trust for his captain motivating him to answer, and he explained as best he could. No human could ever truly understand, no, after just this short time of being parted from his tool the fire was raging. He wanted nothing more than to bring his captain to his bed, but no, he needed his bond mate. It was not only necessary, but the honorable, the acceptable thing to do. Such conduct between officers could not be accepted and a male on male relationship held no logic, no offspring could be conceived. No, he needed his bond mate.

With no further questions his captain and his closest friend beamed down to Vulcan. It was there he slayed his captain, his friend, his T'hy'la. No they were never T'hy'la, they never had the chance. The fire was gone, T'pring was to be his wife, and he wanted to end his life.
"Live long and prosper, Spock" T'Pau spoke.
"I shall do neither, for I have killed my captain and my friend." My T'hy'la