Leonard stands rooted to the spot, and it feels like someone's got his heart in a vise. On the viewscreen, larger than life, a Klingon is shouting. Leonard can't focus on the actual words. All his attention is absorbed by the dagger clutched in the Klingon's fist, and the dark green blood dripping from it. He thinks he should pay attention to what Jim's saying, or maybe even look to make sure Spock's ok, but it seems impossible to tear his eyes off that blade. Minutes pass, or maybe seconds, he doesn't know, but suddenly the dagger moves, slicing diagonally across Spock's face.
Time freezes for Leonard, then without warning, it resumes in an explosion of noise. Someone is screaming, a primal roar of pain and hatred and anger. It takes him longer than it should to realize it's not coming from Spock. The Vulcan is on his knees, his face a bloody mess, but he isn't making a sound. It's Jim, he thinks, and the realization sickens him.
"You have four hours," the Klingon says, and the screen reverts to a view of space, the Bird of Prey looming just off the port bow.
The bridge crew turns to Jim. Their shocked silence speaks volumes. Leonard steps forward and reaches up to place a hand on the captain's shoulder, but Jim stops him with a look that reminds him of a shattered vase that's only recently been put back together, the glue still wet and shiny. The look says, don't touch me, don't you dare because if you do, I'll fall apart and there won't be anything left and I can't. So Leonard lowers his hand and he looks away, because he's close to the edge too, and neither one of them can afford to go to pieces right now.
"I need ideas, people," Jim says, and in the blink of an eye, the crew snaps into action.
Giotto wants to blast them into microdust. Sulu wants to warp to the nearest Federation starbase and get reinforcements. Uhura wants to send out a general distress call to anyone who'll listen. They're not bad ideas, per se, but it doesn't take a genius to see that the likely result of these actions would be the categorical loss of their first officer. In the end, it's Chekov's idea that seems most promising.
"If we can determine the harmonic frequency of their shields, we can bypass them and beam Mr. Spock back. Then we can blast them back to hell," the Russian says eagerly.
"You're talking about finding a needle in a haystack, lad," Scotty says. "The chances of finding the exact frequency are so small that-"
"Yeah, but can we do it?" Jim cuts in. "I don't think I need to remind you what's at stake here."
Scotty and Chekov exchange a look.
"Aye, we can do it, Captain," the engineer says. His confidence has a visibly soothing effect on the bridge crew, not to mention Leonard. Leonard doesn't know anything about starships, but he trusts Scotty. If Scotty says it can be done, it can.
Jim nods. "The clock's ticking, guys."
Three hours and forty five minutes later, they're waiting at their respective stations, nerves wound so tight it's a wonder they don't snap. Leonard knows he should be in sickbay, but no one could drag him from the bridge if they tried, and frankly, no one's stupid enough to try. Jim paces back and forth like a caged animal, his fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The room fairly crackles with tension and it makes Leonard's skin crawl.
"They're hailing us," Uhura says, and everyone's nerves ratchet up another notch or ten.
"On screen," Jim says, planting himself in front of the view screen, hands on hips, a man in command of himself and his ship. He always was the better liar.
The Klingons reappear, and it seems they've been busy. Spock is conscious, though barely. It's clear that it's not been a pleasant three hours and forty six minutes for him. Leonard grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.
"The codes, Captain," the Klingon says, "or this time, he loses a hand."
"Scotty?" Jim says, and Leonard has no idea how he keeps his voice so steady. "Anytime now."
"I need a minute, Captain," Scotty's strained voice crackles over the comm.
One of the Klingons grabs Spock's arm and stretches it out over a table.
"We don't have a minute," Jim grits.
"I'm doin' the best I can, Captain!" Scotty yells. "I need forty five more seconds!"
The Klingon hefts his bat'leth, the curved blade gleaming in the dim red lighting of the Bird of Prey.
"Wait!" Jim shouts at the screen. "I'll give it to you, I just need to access-"
"Time's up," the Klingon captain says, and the blade comes down, only to be enveloped at the last second by a golden swirl of light.
Leonard doesn't know what happens next, but he's halfway to sickbay when he feels the deckplates start to vibrate beneath his feet, the way they do when the Enterprise is firing photon torpedoes.
Leonard sits down on the bed, his back cracking and popping in protest. Eight goddamned hours in surgery, and for what? At the end of the day, all their technology and medical advancements, they aren't worth spit in the face of a maniac with a sharp piece of metal. It just isn't fair.
"You did the best you could," Jim says, handing him a glass of something golden and sure to take the edge off. It won't make him forget though. Nothing can.
Leonard downs the liquid in a single burning swallow as Jim joins him on the bed. "I'm sure that'll be a real comfort to him when he wakes up half blind."
Jim closes his eyes and turns away. His sharp intake of breath is like a thunderclap in the suffocating silence of the room. For a second, Leonard is relieved that he doesn't have to see the grief marring those beautiful blue eyes, but relief gives way to guilt as he curses his own cowardice.
"And his hand?" Jim asks, his voice gruff with tears that he will never shed, not even for Spock.
"Functional, but I couldn't repair all the nerve damage. I don't know if he'll ever regain full use of it," Leonard says. The words are like ashes in his mouth.
Jim sags against him. Rather than a burden, his weight is comforting, like a thick, warm blanket. Leonard puts an arm around him, and they lean on each other.
"We're gonna be ok, aren't we, Bones?"
"We always are," Leonard replies, and fervently hopes it is true.
Leonard keeps his eyes trained on his plate, refusing to watch as Spock struggles to cut his food with knife and fork. Jim sits next to him, cheerfully recounting an amusing exchange he overheard that morning between Chekov and Sulu. The captain's performance is pitch perfect. Leonard might've bought it, if he hadn't been sitting next to him. As it is, every time Spock misses his target, he can feel Jim's leg twitch against his.
Eventually, Spock sets his eating utensils down, though his plate is still more than half full. It takes all of Leonard's willpower not to reach over and help him. He has maintained silence for a week now – he will not break now. Each day, he resolutely performs Spock's check up without commenting on all the fresh contusions blossoming across the Vulcan's arms and legs. The injuries aren't confined to Spock, either. Three days ago, he had to treat Yeoman Rand for injuries she sustained when the commander collided with her in a corridor on B deck. She had taken great pains to explain that the accident was her fault, and furthermore that the corridor had been quite narrow. Later inspection of the corridor in question revealed it was no more constricted than any other aboard the Enterprise.
"Are you done?" Leonard asks, keeping his voice carefully modulated. He feels Jim tense beside him nonetheless.
"Yes," Spock says. He isn't defensive, exactly, but there is something brittle in his tone that dares Leonard to disagree with him.
"What time do you need to be back on the bridge?" Leonard asks.
"We're not due back for another hour," Jim says as he pushes his plate away, finally giving up the pretense that any of them is actually eating.
"Should we get your check up over with, then?" Leonard says.
Spock nods. "That would be acceptable. Please excuse us, Jim."
Jim waves dismissively at them. "Have fun," he says, but before they leave, he surreptitiously grabs Leonard's hand and gives it a brief squeeze.
They start with a battery of manual dexterity tests, most of which Spock fails. Leonard doesn't tell him, and Spock doesn't ask. They both know the score.
Next, Leonard peels the bandages off of Spock's face and examines him with a critical eye. There is a thin scar running diagonally across the Vulcan's face, from his forehead to his cheek, crossing his right eye. The eye itself has been removed, and what's left is a sunken hole loosely covered by a flap of skin. The top half of Spock's left ear is missing as well, but at least it doesn't interfere with his hearing.
Spock inspects himself in the mirror. Leonard doesn't expect a reaction, but for some reason, the lack of one still upsets him.
"Another couple dermal regeneration sessions and I should be able to remove that scar," Leonard says. "But before we go any further, I need to know what sort of prosthetic you'll want. There's a whole range of polycarbonate-"
"Will it improve my vision?" Spock interrupts, turning to face him.
The sudden wellspring of hope in Spock's remaining eye is like a fist to Leonard's solar plexus. "No, Spock. There's nothing I can do about that," Leonard says, swallowing down the bitter taste of bile rising in the back of his throat.
"Then what is the purpose of such a device?"
Leonard hesitates for a beat before he admits, "It's mostly for aesthetics."
Spock turns back to the mirror to regard his reflection. "I assume this device will require maintenance."
"You should remove it for cleaning a couple times a week."
Spock flexes his hand contemplatively. "And if I cannot?"
A feeling of utter helplessness settles over Leonard as he realizes where this conversation is headed. "I suppose if you left it in for long enough, you might develop an infection."
Spock considers this new information for the span of 10 seconds before he pronounces, "In that case, I do not believe that a prosthetic will be practical. Seal the wound as is. This will suffice," he says with a gesture at the black eye patch he has been wearing over his bandages for the past week.
Leonard clenches his fists and exhales slowly, but he doesn't argue with Spock.
"Harder," Jim grunts, grinding his ass backwards to impale himself on Leonard.
Leonard drives forward to meet him, one hand gripping Jim's hip hard enough to bruise, the other fisted in Jim's hair. He yanks Jim's head up and sinks his teeth into the sweat-slick skin of his neck.
Jim tenses beneath him, every muscle in his body straining. "H-harder," he stutters.
Leonard fucks him as hard as he dares, and still it's not enough because he can sense it, the raw, aching, gnawing hole inside of Jim that hungers for what is missing. He can taste it in the salt of Jim's skin, feel it in the clench of Jim's body around his cock, and smell it in the miasma of sex and sweat and desperation in the air.
"More," Jim gasps.
"Jim-"
"Please. I need…"
Against his better judgment, Leonard leans down, snakes an arm around Jim's throat and squeezes. Jim bucks in his grip, body fighting instinctually for self preservation. Jim's face is livid, his chest heaving, mouth open wide and gulping air that will never reach its intended target. With his other hand, Leonard reaches down to pump Jim's straining erection.
"Come on, darlin'," he growls. "Come for me."
With that, Jim's eyes roll back into his head and he comes, his body jerking violently with the force of his orgasm. Leonard eases him off his cock and down onto the bed. Jim rolls over, gazes up at him with that glazed, freshly-fucked look on his face. Leonard palms his own dick and god, those eyes, piercing right through to his soul. It should be a crime to be this beautiful, he thinks, and then he's coming, no fireworks, just a pleasant warmth washing over him as he paints Jim's stomach white.
They give themselves just a quick wipe with a towel, as if the length of time it would take to wash properly would be too much time apart. Leonard spoons Jim from behind, fitting himself into the curve of that warm, solid mass, and wraps his arms tightly around him.
"I'm sorry," Jim whispers.
"I know."
"It's just, why won't he…" Jim stops, and Leonard can feel him choking back the rest of his words.
"I know," Leonard says.
"Calm down. Consider how he must feel." Leonard hurries to keep up with Jim as the seething captain strides down the hall like an unstoppable force of nature.
"I don't give a shit how he feels," Jim growls. "I'm sick of tiptoeing around his Vulcan pride. I've kept my mouth shut for two weeks, and this is it, this is the last straw!"
"Remember the last time you went at him, guns blazing? I seem to recall it didn't go so well," Leonard points out.
"Yeah, well this time, he can't just throw me off the ship to shut me up," Jim snaps. He stops in front of Spock's door and shouts, pounding his fist against the door so hard that the sound reverberates down the corridor. "Spock! Open this door!"
A moment later, the door slides open to reveal Spock looking as unperturbed as ever. "Captain, there is no need to shout. I may be half-blind, but my hearing has not been compromised," Spock informs him.
Jim shoves his way into the room. "What's the meaning of this?" he demands as he flings a PADD none too gently at Spock.
Spock catches it, but just barely. "I would have thought it obvious. It is my request for a transfer."
"Why the hell would you do that?" Jim demands. He paces back and forth though his eyes stay locked on Spock's.
"I fail to see how I can function as first officer and head of science when I can barely function," Spock says evenly.
"You seem pretty high functioning to me," Leonard says.
Spock's eye narrows fractionally at him. "I can perform most tasks with a relative degree of success; however, I have not thus far had to do so under pressure and with a time constraint. In the event of an emergency, you know as well as I that a few seconds can mean the difference between life and death. I do not intend to risk your lives, or the lives of this crew, for my own personal gain."
"Spock, it's been two weeks, of course you're a little slow," Leonard says. "It's gonna take time for you to learn how to compensate, but you can and will bounce back from this. You're just gonna have to give yourself a little more than two goddamn weeks to do it!"
"How long should I give myself, Doctor?" Spock asks coldly. He regards each of them in turn with a fierce glint in his one eye. The combined effect, with the scar, and the patch, and the mangled ear, is actually rather terrifying. "A month? A year? Five years? How long should I continue to function at minimum efficiency, endangering the lives of those around me, just to prove that I am not disabled? What will it take for you to accept the reality of this situation? When someone is injured? When there is a fatality?" He pins Jim with a look. "When my incompetence costs you your ship and your command, Captain?"
"You want to abandon the Enterprise to take a less demanding assignment? Be my guest, Commander," Jim says, the formal rank almost a sneer. "But what about us, huh, Spock? You gonna abandon Bones and me, too?"
Spock stiffens. "I am no longer fit to function in that capacity either."
"You were the last I checked," Leonard drawls, deliberately eying Spock from head to toe.
"I did not mean physically, Doctor. In my study of Human culture, I have learned that Human beings are first and foremost physically attracted to their mates. I once debriefed another lecturer at the academy after a date, and she informed me that while she both enjoyed my company and found me intellectually stimulating, she did not feel a 'spark' of physical attraction towards me. She used that as a basis for terminating our courtship. It is my belief that, as I am now…disfigured, you would find me less appealing physically, and would wish to terminate our relationship."
Jim's mouth falls open in surprise, but Leonard's reaction is considerably angrier.
"Excuse me, but how fucking shallow do you think we are?" he growls.
"It's not a personal judgment, Leonard, it is simply an observation on the normative mating practices of your species. You cannot help being Human," Spock says.
"What the hell?" Leonard roars, and this time it's Jim who has to keep him from decking Spock.
"I know what you're doing," Jim says to Spock. "You're trying to piss us off so we'll go away and leave you alone to wallow in self pity. Well guess what, genius? It's not going to work, because we're not going anywhere." He advances on Spock, until he's right up in the Vulcan's face. "And FYI, if you'd actually bothered to listen to what that woman was telling you, you'd know that she wasn't talking about physical attraction. She was talking about sexual attraction, the basis of which is…unquantifiable, even to Humans."
Leonard crowds in close, he and Jim trapping Spock against the bulkhead. "Lemme ask you something, Spock. Why do you think that Jim and I brought you into our relationship?"
Spock's gaze focuses on Leonard. "It has occurred to me to wonder. I confess that I have never been able to find a satisfactory answer. It is not the cultural norm for your species. Furthermore, you have always seemed replete in one another. It did not seem logical for you to seek a third mate."
"One day, we just…realized we were missing something," Jim says. He reaches up and gently traces the line of Spock's undamaged ear.
"And how did you ascertain what that was?" Spock asks, although by now, he is leaning reflexively into Jim's touch. And why shouldn't he? It's been two weeks since they've shared so much as a finger kiss, and Leonard can't be the only one who feels like a man surrounded by water yet dying of thirst.
"Wasn't like we went lookin' for it," Leonard says. "It kinda came outta nowhere, and you're right, it's not typical behavior for Humans. I've always been a one person kinda guy, so trust me, no one was more shocked than me. It took me awhile to come around to the idea. So if you think we're just sportfuckin' here and you can kick us to the curb without so much as a by-your-leave, you've got another thing comin'."
A wistful half-smile ghosts over Jim's lips, and Leonard knows he's remembering those weird, confusing weeks when they were each trying to find a way to tell the other how they felt.
Spock makes eye contact with each of them in turn. "Forgive me. I was not aware of the sacrifices you made to admit me into your relationship."
"It wasn't a sacrifice, Spock," Jim says with a mulish look on his face. "It was a compromise, yes, but we did it because we wanted to, because we wanted you."
"And that's never going to change, no matter how many eyes you lose or peglegs you get," Leonard says.
The rise in Spock's left eyebrow warns them both that a question about peglegs is imminent. Before he can say anything, Jim kisses him, open-mouthed and demanding, the way Jim always kisses.
Jim smirks as he traces the string of the eyepatch with the tip of his finger, across Spock's temple and up over his mutilated ear. "Anyway, I think it's kind of hot. Makes you look…sexy, in a dangerous kind of way."
Spocks sighs in exasperation. "Really, Jim, it is not necessary to lie to me about my appearance. I can accept that-"
"Lie?" Leonard interrupts. "When have you ever known Jim to lie to you? Cheat, sure, but lie?"
Spock considers the question silently as both of them attempt to ignore Jim's indignant protests on the injustice of being labeled a cheater.
"I must admit, Jim has never lied to me," Spock concedes at last, though he feels constrained to add, "that I'm aware of."
"Does that mean you accept that I think your eyepatch is sexy?" Jim says with a growing grin, the kind that brings cats and canaries to mind.
The edges of Spock's lips twitch minutely, and Leonard senses the barriers between them falling like so many dominoes, their silent echoes reverberating in his ears like a roar of victory in a crowded stadium.
"I can accept it, illogical as it may be, although I do not believe I will ever understand it," Spock says as he reaches for Jim's hand.
Jim clasps his hand warmly and presses a kiss to the tips of his sensitive fingers. Spock's eyes slide closed in pleasure as Jim and Leonard at last pull him to the bed.