"New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings." - Lao Tzu

He could not sleep. Never could. Not since his death. If he closed his eyes, he dreamed of him, his grey eyes, his gentle touch, life leaving him. Fast - oh so fast.

Broken promises and fractured dreams and he was in between.

"Where the hell were you?" Kirk demanded to know, as Spock entered his quarters at 0200. "Shit, sweetheart – we talked about it - you can't just wander off like that."

"I am functional," Spock said – voice devoid of any emotions. He could see a flash of anger on Kirk face, could feel it through their bond – hot and burning. However anger was better than worry, better than fear, better than Kirk's pity.

"Spock-"

He did not answer but curled up at his side of the bed.

Christopher was not in his dreams that night. He slit his throat out in the desert and a pair of le-matyas ate his remains.

His mind was screaming. Even months after he died, his mind was screaming for him. Always screaming for him. The place where the bond to him should be was now a gaping, bleeding hole. His mind was bleeding out. It was bleeding out-

"Eat."

It hurt. It hurt so much. He was gone. He was gone and he never would come back again. He could not live so alone like this. He could not...not without him. Never without him.

"Eat, sweetheart. C'mon! One bite? For me?"

He barely registered the deep voice talking to him.

"Spock?"

It was familiar. The voice was familiar. He knew that voice. He knew that accent. American. Iowan. Kirk.

"Spock! For god's sake do you even listen to me? Eat!"

He slowly became aware of his surroundings. The mess hall. It was nearly empty. He could not recall how he got there.

"Jim, give him a fucking break!" Another voice. Rougher. Deeper. Also American. But not Iowan. Georgian. McCoy. Doctor McCoy.

"Fine, Bones - if you want to side with him! Do it! If he wants to starve himself - good! But don't except me to stand by and watch!" Kirk snarled angrily and stood up abruptly.

"I can stand up for myself," Spock said, as the irritated captain had left.

"But you don't," McCoy said, and the look on his face was like concern, was like sorrow. "You just…don't." He paused and sighed. "Look Spock, Jim didn't mean it, okay? He's just worried about you..."

"He should not be."

"He's your husband now. It's only natural that he's concerned."

"I did not ask for his concern." He did not. He did not ask for his help. He did not ask for a new mate. He did not ask to be bonded to that man. However it seemed that his opinion, his wishes, his consent did not matter. Maybe never mattered.

"It doesn't work this way, Spock."

But it should.

He woke up to Kirk's face, sleepless and stressed, staring down at him. "Spock," Kirk said, and there was an edge on his voice, rigid, waiting, expecting things to fall apart. He reached out for the Vulcan but in the last moment withdrew his hands, as if he knew his touch was not welcome. Never welcome.

"You almost died. You almost died down there. I knew you weren't ready. I fucking knew. I never should've let you..."

Spock looked at him. Only looked at him - with skin white like paper, like bandages, like regulation sheets. Skin pulled tight over pronounced cheekbones, eyes wide and empty.

"I'm sorry."

Spock did not know if Kirk apologized for his outburst or for saving his life.

He did not ask. Not that he cared anyway.

Kirk (always captain, sometimes James, never Jim, not anymore) - most of these days - did not seem quite sure what to do with him. He offered to listen to him, if he wanted to talk (Spock did not), he offered comfort (which Spock did not want either) but otherwise let him alone. He seemed to wait for some sort of reaction of Spock. Maybe he expected Spock to get angry at him, like the day his mother died and his home was destroyed.

He was so angry then. The anger compromising him. Crippling him. Consuming him.

But now he was not.

Spock was not sure where all the anger had gone. Buried deep, maybe. Maybe Christopher took it with him, as he went where Spock could not follow.

Where Kirk did not allow Spock to follow.

Kirk. Always Kirk. Selfless, kind, merciless, cruel Kirk.

Maybe the anger was all gone. Entirely gone. Drained right out like lancing an infected wound; Spock, the half-Vulcan. Fixed now. Everything was in order. Everything was perfect. He was perfect. Except when he was not.

His father would have been proud. Maybe. He would never know.

His father like his mother was dead, driven to suicide by her loss. Spock still could recall the immense agony as another primary bond was ripped out of his skull.

Suicide. Illogical. It was illogical.

Then why did Spock envy him so much?

He was woken by screams. Someone was screaming. Screams of agony. Screams of pain.

Make them stop. Please, someone make them stop!

"Come on, Spock, wake up…it's alright…I've got you. Just wake up.."

He felt disoriented. Weak. Weak and cold. Since Christopher's death, he felt so cold. His whole body shook. Shook like his mind. It hurt. Pain. He was gasping for air, heaving. The screams continued. His stomach churned. He felt sick. He was going to be sick.

"Shhhh sweetheart. I'm here. I'm here, darling, I'm right here."

The world began to move. He was pulled against another body and two rough, human hands, wandered under his tunic – not his tunic, not his, Christopher's - and then pressed into the skin of his stomach. ~Safesafe… lovefriend..you'resafe… I'vegotyousweetheart...Gotyou … keepyouwithme…friendlove …love…safe…alwayskeepyouwithme..willprotectyou… alwaysprotectyou..

"Rai! Sanu! Rai!"

He tried to get away from the skin to skin contact. Tried to get away from these thoughts which weren't his own but those hands did not let him.

"Shh, Spock. Everything's alright."

The screams did not stop.

" Shhh…I'm here…I'm here…calm down, it's alright buddy! Calm down…"

The warm…no hot… hands were touching him, soothing him. They were familiar but not his. They could not be his. Because he was gone. Long gone. No one except him was allowed to touch him. He flinched violently, tried to fight the unwelcome touch but the hands did not withdraw, they only tightened their grip.

"Shh…you're safe…it's alright. You're safe…I've got you.. Don't cry…I've got you…"

He woke in the dim light of Kirk's quarters, the captain's sturdy body pressed tightly against his back, murmuring the same words over and over again and suddenly he realized - he had allowed himself to be deceived.

These were not screams of pain.

Someone was keening.

And that someone was him.

"Why again did I force Spock into this, Bones?" Kirk asked with a frustrated growl. He slouched in the chair in front of the doctor's desk and looked expectantly up at him as if McCoy could actually answer that question. "I never wanted Spock to end up like this. It defeats the whole purpose of our marriage…"

"Bond," the doctor interrupts him. "It's called a bond."

"Whatever. The thing is - he isn't getting better. Our 'bond' should stabilize him, not making everything worse…"

McCoy, sat down in front of Jim and poured himself a glass of Saurian Brandy. "You're an idiot for ever thinking that bonding with Spock would fix everything, especially when you forced him into said bond. You bonded with him against his will. You knew about the consequences, I told you about them, M'Benga told you about them – twice. You knew that he would despise you – I certainly can't blame him for that - but you did it anyway."

"I didn't have another option. He would have died if I…"

"I know…but that doesn't make it right…not in Spock's eyes at least…"

"I won't apologize for saving his life."

"No one asks you to do that, kid. Look, Jim…" McCoy said, before draining his glass. "Spock's as much of a stubborn ass as you are. Our Vulcan won't give Pike up just because he's dead. He loved him and Vulcans don't give their hearts away easily. They mate for life. He expected to spend his life with Pike. Then from one moment to the other, Pike was gone and Spock had again to deal with the emotional and mental trauma of losing one of his primary bonds. A trauma which also affected – still affects – him physically. You can't expect him to get over it quickly. You're stupid for ever thinking differently."

"What I'm supposed to do, Bones? He hates me. He fucking hates me. Whenever I touch him he looks as if he would get sick any moment and …fuck… sometimes he even looks scared. The worst part is that I know he needs the contact. He gets … better when I touch him. He needs it but he doesn't want it and I …"

"Give him time. He'll come around."

"What if not?"

"He will. I thought you don't believe in no-win scenarios?"

"I didn't."

"Didn't?"

"I'm not so sure anymore."

McCoy and Kirk argued. Spock slept; tried to sleep caught between nightmares and pain - to weak to live but to strong to die and said 'I cannot do this' in his head until the words were meaningless.

"That's it. We are getting him a collar with a bell."

"That's not fucking funny, Bones!" Kirk didn't bother to keep his voice down. "Where did you found him this time? Hmm? Pike's old quarters again? The labs?"

"Knock it off, you drama queen. Spock's an adult, if he wants to take a walk around the ship then…"

"No, he's fucking not allowed to do that! Not when he's still sick, not in the middle of the night, not after you showed me all those goddamn reports about those Vulcans suicides...Look at him, Bones. I'm serious, look! This isn't what…"

"Jim, c'mon …."

Spock never heard Kirk reply.

His body ached. His mind screamed. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

McCoy sat with him until the early morning hours, speaking to him in a low voice, trying to help to get his breathing under control, rubbing his back in soothing circles - his hands strangely cautious - like Spock might dissolve any minute.

Dizzy.

"Shore leave. Finally. I can't remember the last time I slept or ate something."

He felt dizzy.

"Do you want to go to the mess, sweetheart? I'm fucking starving!"

Unsteady.

"We could beam down on Bajor and join the others. Scotty can't shut up about their groatcakes and the ratamba stew. I think there's no meat in it, at least in the groatcakes, so you could …"

Barely there.

"Sweetheart?"

Someone was talking to him.

"Spock?"

Kirk. It was Kirk.

"For god's sake.."

Kirk stopped in the middle of the empty corridor and turned around to face Spock. "Were you like this before him?" he asked. "Or do you just not have any personality left when he's gone?"

Spock did not answer and walked past him, ignoring his question as if he did not hear them. He did not want to talk about him. Not with Kirk. Not with anyone.

Why Kirk did not understand? Was it not enough that he was reminded of his loss every passing day? Was it not enough to feel the pain of their broken bond, a constant reminder of said loss? A gaping hole on the right side of his head, which not even the new – oh so loathed - bond to Kirk could mend?

"Spock, I asked you something!"

Suddenly a broad hand, griped his arm and he was spun around, forced to look into Kirk's blue, angry eyes. Even through his tunic, his touch burned. Spock flinched violently.

"Do not…"

"Fuck. I…sorry." Kirk did not sound like he meant it but he released him, hands held up in the air in the human gesture of harmless intent. Spock took a few shaky steps backwards, until his back hit a smooth surface. Breathing hard. The whole room was spinning around him.

"You loved him too. Loved him like a child his father," he pointed out, trying to remain upright. He could barely make out Kirk before him. His face nothing than a blur.

"That doesn't fucking excuse it," spat Kirk out, invading his personal space, caging him against the wall.

"I remember back before Khan, even after Nero, you had opinions—hell, you'd fight back when I pushed you, and now it's like you've got a fucking lobotomy."

"You do not know what it was like to lose him… to lose them."

"You're right! I don't! Because you don't fucking talk to me, Spock! I need you to talk," Kirk's angry voice, suddenly softened until it was nothing more than a plea. "Please, Spock, talk to me, yell at me, I don't care. Just stop shutting me out. I'm scared, okay? Scared. For you."

"There is," Spock said plainly. "Nothing to say."

He was slipping. Slipping away.

He was aware of it. Could feel it happening every day.

He was aware of it but it seemed he was not the only one.

Doctor McCoy and Kirk were watching him. Always watching. Like he was a child in the need to be watched over. Spock could feel it, one of them keeping an eye on him almost all the time. He was not sure if they expected him to snap or to break. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

They were watching. He was slipping.

It was harder to get up every morning, it was harder to stay awake, harder to get through the day. Harder to fulfil his duties as Kirk's first and science officer, when the pain of Christopher's loss was a steady presence in his mind. When it was a constant companion. A companion he never would get used to.

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Agony. And everything was … harder.

Just – harder.

He was making more and more mistakes. He could not fulfil his duties - his performance on a steady downward spiral. That was inacceptable. He had become a liability to Kirk, to doctor McCoy, to every one who served on this ship. He was worthless, useless, replaceable and one day he was going to get someone killed.

Presumably himself.

Would it be that bad?

He should pull himself together. He should resign. But -

Everything was just so hard and he was just so tired. And he missed him. Missed his mind (warm - oh - so warm, like Vulcan's lost desert; he never would feel warm again – not with him gone, never with him gone), his voice (deep, oh so deep; 'I love you, darling' it said, had said; never would say again), his laughter (so full of life, filling Spock with content and love and light), his touch (gentle but firm and safe, always safe; a safety he would never experience again), his kisses (soft and rough and hard and everything in between). He never thought he would miss human kisses, of all things.

But he did.

He missed his.

Spock missed being kissed. He could exactly remember the first time, they had kissed. It had been the year after he had graduated at the Academy. It was a particularly hard winter on Terra and Christopher had insisted to accompany him home after one of Spock's first lessons as an instructor. He had wanted to make sure he got home safely. Christopher always had feared for his safety, no matter that Spock as a Vulcan possessed the strength of three human men. It was illogical, but Christopher had been illogical in so many ways, always treating Spock as if he was something precious, something in the need of protection – something fragile. Strangely Spock never had minded.

The city had been shining as they had made their way trough San Francisco's crowded streets, full of lights and snow and noise; heavy snowflakes falling down on their shoulders and heads, until Spock's dark hair was white instead of it's usual black. He still could remember how hard he was shivering. He should have been cold but strangely he was not. The only thing he could think about had been Christopher's presence near by, his mind reaching out for him, drawing him in, wrapping himself around Spock's like a warm blanket of safety and light and as they had arrived at Spock's apartment complex, the human had put an arm around his waist, had drawn him into a small alley between two buildings, had pressed a surprised Spock against the next best wall and without a further word - had kissed him. Hard.

Spock had been barely able to breath in that moment, his heart had been raising and fluttering in his side and his mind suddenly had been filled with Christopher's love and devotion; his affection and desire. His thoughts so intense, their minds so drawn to each other, that he had felt lightheaded and would not have remained upright without the human's help. The human had apologized afterwards for his actions, only to kiss him again and again.

He could exactly remember the first time they had kissed but he could barely remember the last time.

The last time was a blur of a memory. At Starfleet headquarters, before Khan had attacked and it was very casual and calm – an obligatory gesture rather than an expression of affection and love. Christopher had been angry with him, for going along with Kirk's plan to save the Nibirans from the volcano eruption.

Now there would be no more kisses.

There could not be.

Because he was gone. They were all gone.

Why did you leave? Why did you all leave? Take me with you.

Please.

Take me with you!

His mind screamed for him. For them.

Take me with you!

There was no answer. There never was.

There was only silence.

Silence and pain.

The mess was crowded, as Kirk sat down beside the Vulcan, approximately 25 minutes after the end of Alpha shift, placing a tablet with an assortment of vegetarian dishes on the table. Kirk had also chosen pancakes, among other things which did not contain meat, like Spock himself had. The captain looked content, as he always did when faced with the possibility of nourishment. However instead of starting to devour his meal as usual, he studied Spock like he was trying to read his mind.

"You okay?" Kirk asked suddenly, his voice laced with concern and worry. Spock blinked at him and lowered his gaze, absently playing with his food.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment again? Just for the record, I don't know what I've done wrong this time but I'm sorry."

The Vulcan did not give a response and continued to pick at his food – until his whole-grain pancakes where nearly unrecognizable as such; his eyes glassy and his stomach suddenly revolting against the idea of taking a bite. Eye-rolling and shaking his head the human moved closer until he could see over Spock's shoulder, carefully avoiding to touch the Vulcan.

"Yes, give it to them! These evil, evil pancakes! They're all the same! They don't deserve better! Go drown them in maple syrup!"

Before Spock could react in any way Kirk poured the jug of maple syrup over his maltreated pancakes. The Vulcan looked at him, as if questioning Kirk's sanity. As if he was the one who barely clung to his sanity and not Spock. Ever since their first meeting Spock had questioned the human's mental state. Lieutenant Uhura had once described Kirk as single-minded sociopath who was nice to little girls and dogs. Spock disagreed. Kirk was definitely not a sociopath; Spock had observed him, had been touched by him often enough to know. However that did not mean that Kirk was entirely sane either.

"Are you trying to – I presume the correct Terran verb is – to cheer me up?"

"And if I am?" Kirk said, eyeing Spock like he was going to explode, just like McCoy always did. Spock wanted to tell them both that the time for exploding was past. He carefully placed his eating utensils on the table and faced Kirk.

"Captain…," he said quietly, and Kirk interrupted him instantly. "Jim. Spock, Jim. Your husband – remember?"

"James…", Spock started, ignoring Kirks dissatisfaction of choosing to use his full first name rather than his nickname. "I do not need your pity."

For a second, Spock thought Kirk would hit him. He was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed that he did not.

"Spock …"

The Vulcan stood up and left the captain. His meal untouched.

"What are you doing?"

The Vulcan snarled at Kirk who stood in front of Spock's side of the wardrobe and was holding a yellow command shirt in his hand. A yellow shirt - which according to smell and size was definitely not Kirk's. It was not his. It was not. It was Christopher's. Christopher's shirt which Spock had hidden deep in his closet in an irrational need to keep something, anything of his mate, even if it was only a piece of fabric.

"Spock…I…"

Spock did not listen to him and ripped the shirt out of his hands, breathing hard.

"This is not yours to wear! This is not yours!"

His head was spinning. There was not enough air but the Vulcan did not care. Kirk had taken enough. Spock would not allow him to take this. He could not allow him to take this.

"Spock, calm down! C'mon, sweetheart…"

Not this.

"Spock…hey…it's alright…," Kirk tried to soothe him and took a cautious step forwards, as if approaching a feral animal. Spock recoiled with his teeth bared. Normally he would have been appalled at his behavior, but strangely he did not care this time.

"Spock.."

Please do not take this.

"No-"

Spock felt recycled air whistling through his teeth as he bared them again, trying to be intimidating but failing miserably. He felt himself trembling, felt the harsh quality of the air grating his windpipe as he breathed too quickly, his respiration shallow. The air in his lungs burned, and his head ached and finally he had to crumple in surrender to the floor, like a broken doll with its strings cut, the yellow shirt still clutched close to his body as if it was his last lifeline. And suddenly there were strong arms wrapped around him and he was pressed against a broad chest and Kirk said: "Breathe with me. Come on, darling, breathe with me. You need to breathe. You're having a panic attack here and you've to breathe!" He fought Kirk weakly and with too little coordination and so the captain could subdue him with ease.

Spock choked in one breath. Then two. His lungs felt too tight. His whole body was shaking, like a palsy patient but he could not. He could not breathe. His control was slipping – he never had it to begin with. And Kirk, Kirk who could not leave anything alone, who took everything away, who saved him and made everything worse in the process, Kirk said: "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Whatever I did, I'm so fucking sorry…"

The Vulcan felt like he was choking on the air around him. Kirk made a strangled sound, and his voice dropped another octave. "I'm so sorry. I just – I want to fix it…I want to fix you, us. I want to – fuck, Spock, do you even know what it's like? I know you, I know you better than anyone, except Chris, I've been inside your head, your mind and …fuck you're my friend Spock, my best friend and I'm just watching you waste away and sometimes I think you don't even notice…"

His chest hurt. He coughed, weakly, continued to fight Kirk's hold – feeling small and pathetic. "Just tell me what to do, sweetheart," the captain said, and tightened his arms, and stroked through his hair and there was desperation and panic and fear and determination in his touch. ~Let me fix it, let me make it better. Please, let me make it better.

"Just tell me what to do."

I do not know. I do not know. How should I tell you when I do not know either?

"Just tell me, Spock and I'll do it…"

Too much. It was too much. "You cannot," Spock choked, all fight leaving him. "You cannot," and there was moisture slipping down his face, and he could not stop it and as Kirk pulled him even closer, Spock allowed the manhandling and did not protest as the captain tucked the Vulcan's face against his neck, murmuring empty words of comfort.

"I gave him something to calm him down and put him on medical leave until further notice," said McCoy in a low voice, as he came around the metal room divider which separated the living area and the bedroom of the captain's quarters, where Spock was sound asleep. However even in sleep the Vulcan looked tense and unhappy.

"Good..," Kirk's voice, even lower, half exasperated and half impatient and beyond tired, coming from the other side of the room divider, where the captain leaned against it, scrubbing a hand over his face to keep himself awake. It had been a long day and it had taken ages to calm the Vulcan down. Kirk was drained, his whole body screamed exhaustion.

"You can't keep agitating him that way, Jim. He's still in pain despite that I'm keeping him drugged up to his pointy ears with the most potent painkillers I have. The damage's physical, as much as it's telepathic. He's still labile - the bond to you isn't nearly as stabilizing him as we hoped for. He keeps deteriorating and his erratic behaviour is a clear sign for that. I've showed you the reports, Jim. Vulcans consider suicide illogical, but that hasn't stopped dozens of them from making attempts in the past two years. Spock's father only one example. Even years after Vulcan's destruction they still can't cope with the pain of the broken bonds. You've to be more careful with him…"

"I'm careful…what do you want, Bones? If this is another one of your lectures, then save it for another time."

"Jim…" McCoy said, concern and worry written on his face. "He's still so young for a Vulcan, just a child by his people's standards. He didn't even experience his first Pon Farr yet and lost his mother, his father, his bondmate and most of his people in roughly the space of one year. The only thing I ask you is to be patient with him."

"Pon Farr?"

"Time of mating. M'Benga and I talked to you about it before you bonded with Spock, remember?"

"Yeah…yeah…I do."

With one not so swift movement Jim pushed himself away from the metal wall, posture tense.

"Was that all?"

"Just be careful, okay? You've got all of us, and Spock has nobody anymore." McCoy glares at the back of Kirk's head. "It's just… it's not right, Jim, he's alone and he's dependent on you. He needs you and I know you and I know what you're thinking about. Even if our Vulcan doesn't like your link, resolving the bond would solve nothing. To the contrary it could kill him."

Kirk slowly turned around, his voice icy and his blue eyes burning with anger.

"He doesn't simply 'don't like' our bond – he hates it."

"Jim…"

"Do you never get tired of patronizing me?" The captain snapped.

"Not when you hurt people."

"I never wanted to hurt anybody. Damn it, Bones! I don't want to be responsible for everybody's happiness!" snarled Kirk, having trouble to keep his voice low, but Spock was heavily sedated anyway, he probably wouldn't wake up, no matter how loud their argument got. "And if this was an allusion to Carol then…"

„Then what?" McCoy growled.

"Oh fuck off, Bones…"

"Don't 'Bones' me and speak your fuckin' mind, Jim. Then what?"

"Do you know what it was like with Carol? No, you fucking don't. I gave her everything she'd ever wanted. I gave her my heart. And look what I got for it."

McCoy clenched his jaw, eyes darkened with anger. "Jim. You fucked up with Carol, okay? You fucked up with her from the beginning. I didn't say anything because I was glad that you were happy, believe me or not, but don't say you gave her everything, because all you ever did was take and as things got complicated you ran away. You're not the victim here, Jim - neither when it comes to Carol or to Spock – you knew what you signed up to in both cases. You knew it. You're not the victim and the soon you realize that the better." McCoy's anger was simmering, low and cold in his stomach but so was Kirk's.

"I'm not Jo…"

"What?"

"I'm not your daughter, which you can scold, because you think she has done something wrong. So shut the fuck up and stop treating me like a child!"

"Then, for god's sake, stop acting like one! Maturity, the way I understand it, means facing the consequences of your actions, to take responsibility. And sometimes I doubt, Kirk, you have matured at all in the last years. It seems the only thing you're good at is running away and that's not a very mature thing to do."

The barb had stung, and Kirk took a step backwards, clearly wounded by the doctor's harsh words.

"I won't run away this time."

"Good. I hope it. Not for yours but for Spock's sake."

With that, McCoy turned and walked away, leaving a speechless Kirk in the captain's quarter.

To be continued ...