AUTHOR'S NOTE: So apparently these stories are not going to come to me in any kind of chronological order. I'll make a note at the start of each one as to when it takes place - this one takes place early in the five-year mission (therefore, a couple of years after Unquiet Times).
While it's not explicit, this is a pon farr fic, and that means that mature themes and situations are most definitely included.
As always, all rights in this work are hereby given to Paramount and the others who own Star Trek.
James T. Kirk sipped a cup of coffee while he looked over the report from gamma shift - still on course for the Tau Epsilon system and a ceremonial wedding between the king of Tau Epsilon VI (Ha'er'et'zek, Jim reminded himself) and the heiress to the Tau Epsilon VIII (Lemektera) corporate empire. It was the exact kind of uneventful mission that sometimes made Jim, in the deepest privacy of his mind, think maybe he should have stayed in Iowa.
The whoosh of the turbolift door opening made him glance up to see Spock and Uhura coming onto the bridge for their shift.
Jim started to greet them, pursed his lips when he saw that while Spock's expression was as neutral as ever, Uhura looked pensive.
Trouble at home? Jim wondered, but put the thought aside before he could act on it - even if that acting was as simple as opening up the bond he shared with Spock to get a read on the emotions his first officer controlled so carefully. As long as their performance didn't suffer, their private troubles were none of his business.
So he nodded to them instead and turned back to the datapad in his lap, re-reading the draft of the speech he had to give at the wedding. The king of Ha'er'et'zek had requested a Federation speaker at the wedding because it was the diplomatic overtures of a Federation representative that had opened the doors of friendship between the two worlds years before.
That representative had been Christopher Pike, and since Pike was an admiral now and could occasionally deflect duties he didn't particularly appreciate onto lower-ranking personnel, he'd offered the Enterprise, "captained by my best student, my protégé, James T. Kirk," in his stead.
So now Jim had to deliver a speech praising people he didn't know for traits he wasn't sure they had.
"You know," Pike told him when he called to give Jim the orders, "bullshit. You were pretty good at it during your Academy days. Still are, if some of the reports you've filed are anything to judge by."
So Jim gave an internal sigh and set to work on his speech. Some time later, satisfied that he'd made at least a reasonable effort at a draft, Jim sent the draft to Uhura with a request for her thoughts and suggestions regarding any nuances he might have missed.
Then it was time to turn to the other, more routine duties he faced … and hated. The trouble with being a genius was that he was easily bored and being a starship captain meant he faced long stretches of boredom as they traveled.
Jim had grown accustomed to the boredom, though, because the alternative was a desk job, and even if his counterpart hadn't told him never to take a desk job, Jim knew he'd be climbing the walls within a week if he did.
At least here on the Enterprise, he could alleviate the boredom by visiting other departments and helping out with their duties on occasion, and today he chose to do just that.
"You have the conn, Mr. Spock."
"Aye, Captain."
An hour later, Jim was up to his elbows in a broken replicator, making mental notes about the substandard parts that had somehow found their way onto the Federation's flagship. That was one report to Starfleet that he was looking forward to writing. It wasn't often he got to say what he really thought, but when it came to his crew's satisfaction and well-being, he told the truth in the plainest terms possible.
His communicator beeped, and he straightened from where he bent over the workbench to answer it.
"Kirk here."
Uhura's voice answered him. "I have suggestions for your speech whenever you're ready."
Jim glanced down at the replicator. "Half an hour."
"Aye, sir."
When Jim stepped back onto the bridge, he nodded to Spock and turned toward Uhura's station.
"So how badly did I mess up the speech?" Jim asked with a grin.
"My instructors at the Academy would've given you a B minus," she said. "Not bad, but can use improvement."
"What can we improve before we get to Tau Epsilon tomorrow?"
Jim sat down beside her and set to work, discussing specific words and nuances of meaning that would've had his head spinning if anyone else but Uhura had tried to explain them.
"It is time for the mid-day meal."
Jim looked up to see Spock standing - no, not just standing; he was looming - over where he sat next to Uhura, the revised draft of his wedding speech on the screen between them.
"Sure," Jim said easily. "We're almost done here, right, Lieutenant?"
But Uhura was already rising from her chair. "We can finish after lunch, Captain."
Jim opened his mouth to protest, but something in the look she gave him made him close it again. Then she was walking with Spock to the turbolift and Jim was wondering what the hell was going on.
The question of his first officer's and communications officer's odd behavior occupied Jim the rest of his shift, even though nothing else unusual happened.
Still, there was a hint of concern that wouldn't leave him alone, especially not after he reached down the bond toward Spock, only to find that Spock had shielded against him.
Jim frowned. Spock rarely shielded unless he and Uhura were having private time together. Jim had told them both that he didn't pay attention during those times, but since Uhura had found out about their bond, Spock had made an effort to shield during sex. Jim didn't want to think about what it meant that Spock could concentrate enough to maintain a telepathic shield while in the middle of sex.
But the presence of the shield now, when Spock and Uhura were both on the bridge as far from having sex as it was possible to get, raised Jim's concern just more than idle curiosity to what the heck is going on?
So when alpha shift ended, Jim made it a point to be in the turbolift with Spock and Uhura.
"Dinner tonight?" he asked as casually as he knew how.
"Negative," Spock said, his tone flat.
Uhura smiled, but to Jim it seemed forced. "Date night."
"I'll stay out of my cabin for a while, then," Jim said. Not that any distance he could put between them on the ship would affect what he felt through the bond, but it was the only offer of privacy he could give them.
"Thanks." Uhura's smile seemed a little more normal, and Jim nodded a good night to them when they left the turbolift at deck two.
When Jim beamed back aboard the Enterprise after the wedding the next day, alpha shift hadn't quite ended, so he made his way to the bridge. He might as well get started on his report to Starfleet - starting it as a message to Pike.
Jim would have to revise the message before he submitted it, because he doubted the Admiralty would appreciate a report that began, Dear Admiral Pike, I understand now why you didn't want to attend the wedding on Ha'er'et'zek. Your wife would've killed you before the first orgy finished. Maybe before it began.
If Pike had even known about the orgies.
The turbolift doors slid open and Jim stepped onto the bridge. "Status report, Mr. Spo-"
He broke off when he saw Hikaru Sulu in the center seat. He glanced to his left, but the science station was vacant … and so was communications.
"Where's Spock?" he asked as Sulu rose from the chair.
"He took a sick day."
Jim blinked. Again. "Spock. Took a sick day?"
"Yes, sir," Sulu answered, his expression neutral.
"Uhura, too?"
Sulu nodded.
Maybe because he'd just watched a day-long orgy, Jim's first thought was that he'd never expect Spock to take a sick day just to get some.
Then he shoved that thought down. Spock wouldn't take a sick day just to get some. Therefore, something was wrong with him. Jim made a mental note to look in on him after his shift was over and focused on Sulu.
"Then, status report, Mr. Sulu."
"Situation normal, Captain," Sulu replied.
Jim nodded. He hadn't expected anything else, but he had already learned that expectations and reality only occasionally coincided.
He took the center seat and pulled a datapad from the armrest.
Dear Admiral Pike…
Jim rose when his beta shift relief arrived, and only when her gaze shifted from all business to appreciation did he realize that he was still wearing his dress uniform. He gave a mental shrug and a verbal status report, wished the crew a good night and started for the turbolift.
Spock's quarters were on the way to his, and Jim paused. Whatever made Spock, of all people, take a sick day must be something serious, and he was shielding it from their bond. Under the circumstances, it was only logical for Jim to hesitate outside Spock's door.
Before he could announce himself, the door slid open and Uhura ran out followed by what sounded like a growl.
Reflexively, Jim caught her in his arms when she ran into him, steadying them both.
The door slid shut. Jim stared at it for a moment, then realized Uhura was shaking - no, she was crying.
"Lieutenant?" Jim asked. Then, when she didn't respond, "Nyota?"
She still didn't respond, but Jim knew she wouldn't want anyone else to see her like this. She probably didn't even want him to see her like this, he mused, but he had. The least he could do was minimize her embarrassment.
He guided her the short distance to his own quarters. She didn't resist, just clung to him more tightly once they were alone. He could feel the tears soaking through his dress shirt, and he could only hold her, rubbing her back to offer what comfort he could.
Jim had no idea how long he held her, but finally her tears subsided.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"It's Spock," she said.
"Sulu said he's sick?"
"Very," Uhura confirmed. Then she looked at him. "You didn't know through your bond?"
"He's been shielding me the last couple of days. That's when it started, right?"
She nodded.
"What's wrong?" Jim repeated.
"If you don't know…" she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Captain, but it's not my place to tell you."
"Your place?" Jim repeated, caught somewhere between shock and anger at her tone and her choice of words.
"Not my right," she corrected. "He'll tell you if he wants to - or if you can pry it out of him."
Jim started to press her, but something in her eyes stopped him.
She's grieving, he thought. Why?
She wiped her eyes and met his gaze without flinching. "Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder. I'll be back on shift tomorrow."
Uhura brushed past him, but before she got to the door, he said. "One thing. I heard him shouting. What did he say?"
She didn't turn to look at him. "He said I couldn't help and that I should get out and leave him alone."
The ache in her voice made his heart clench. "I'm sorry."
"I am, too."
Then she was gone, and Jim was wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.
The first step seemed obvious. He focused on the link he shared with Spock, sent a concerned, Are you all right?
There was no response.
Dammit.
He yanked off his dress shirt, tossed it in the general direction of the 'fresher, and grabbed a clean undershirt.
Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he was out the door of his quarters and ringing the chime at Spock's door.
When there was no response, he rang the chime again. And again. A fourth time, and he asked, "Spock?"
A human wouldn't hear him through the door, but a Vulcan - even a half-Vulcan - would.
Still, there was no answer.
Jim supposed he should take that as a sign that Spock truly did want to be left alone. Then again, Spock never left him alone when he thought he wanted to be. Turnabout was fair play, and all that.
Jim punched in his override code, and the door slid open. Heat - a solid 45C, if he were any judge - blasted into him, and he could only give thanks that temperature was the only part of the ship's environmental systems under individual crew control.
He stepped inside quickly, let the door slide shut behind him. It wasn't the first time he'd been in Spock's quarters - they alternated their weekly chess games between Spock's quarters, his quarters, and the rec room - but today it felt significant, somehow, in a way he couldn't explain.
He listened for a moment, but heard nothing, not even the sound of breathing. "Spock?"
The words that answered him were a snarl. "You should not be here."
"Where else should I be?" Jim asked, and then added, for good measure, "T'hy'la?"
He'd only known the word a few months, and he was still learning all that it actually meant - friend, brother, lover, closer-than-kin - but maybe the reminder of who and what they were to each other might persuade Spock to open up to him.
He held onto that thought until the snarl became a growl, a literal growl that Jim would never have thought could come from humanoid vocal cords.
Almost before he could recognize what was happening, Spock tore from the back room - the sleeping area, Jim knew - and slammed into him, momentum carrying him hard into the wall.
The wall that held the replicas of Vulcan weapons.
Jim winced at the points of pain in his back, but fought to meet Spock's gaze without flinching otherwise.
"You should not be here," Spock repeated, his voice raspy as though no liquid had passed his lips for a week.
Jim tried a different tactic. "You're not feeling well. You said Uhura can't help, but maybe I can. If you tell me what's going on."
Spock's mouth worked, and for a moment, Jim thought he'd won.
Then, "Vulcans do not speak of it."
Later, Jim would never know whether it was a moment of inspiration or insanity that led him to press his fingertips to Spock's psi-points and whisper, "Then don't speak."
There was that growl again, and then Spock's fingers were on his psi-points, and the link between them sprang fully to life.
It is pon farr.
The knowledge didn't come in words so much as an almost overwhelming spike of lust, and Jim couldn't repress a shudder.
Shame overlay the lust, and fear, and Jim sent a wordless inquiry for clarification.
Shame…that emotions overcome logic. Shame at the raging beast he will become when the fever takes. Shame that anyone knows what will happen.
Fear…that he has no mate, and that he will die. Fear for what might happen to Jim and Nyota and Leonard and Montgomery and Hikaru and Pavel when he is no longer there to help them.
"Wait," Jim said aloud. "What's this about dying?"
"It will happen if I cannot mate."
"But - Uhura -" Jim broke off.
"She is not my bondmate."
"She could be," Jim said. "You told me before that you hadn't bonded with her, not that you didn't want to."
"She is not my bondmate now, and now is pon farr."
You are my bondmate.
The words came clearly through the link, as did the sorrowful acceptance behind the statement. Jim wasn't a telepath, but he'd become accustomed to the bond with Spock and tested that feeling. What the hell was Spock so sorrowful, so accepting of?
The answer slammed into him harder than his back had hit the wall. Spock had accepted that Jim had no sexual interest in him, and grieved because that lack ensured his own death.
That pissed Jim off, and he made sure that Spock felt it.
"D'you really think I'd let you die just because I prefer women?" Jim demanded. "Jesus, Spock - what kind of person, what kind of friend - what kind of t'hy'la - do you think I am?"
Heterosexual.
Jim almost laughed, but the sound came out half strangled, though Spock's hands weren't on his throat.
"Not so heterosexual that I'd let you die." And to prove it, Jim leaned forward to kiss him.
It was only the second time he'd kissed another male, but Jim knew how to kiss, regardless of who his partner was. Technique turned out to be unnecessary when Spock responded almost instantly, crushing their lips together and sliding his tongue into Jim's mouth.
