A/N: My second K/S fic. Honest feedback would be appreciated; I'd love to know how I can improve!
Written while listening to "I'm Not that Girl" on the Wicked soundtrack...how I ever got this story from that song, I'm not entirely sure. My brain is a straaaange place.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. Duh.
Not the One
Spock was alone in his quarters, the temperature settings much lower than normal in a vain attempt to counter the fierce burning that was taking over his entire body as though he was being held to an open flame. It was useless, he knew. Only one thing could satiate his need as he drew slowly closer to the Plak-Tow. And so he sought isolation, confined himself to his quarters so that no one could witness his logic beginning to unravel, see the raw passion taking its place.
His absence hadn't gone unnoticed. McCoy examined him under the Captain's orders. They knew that he was dying, but the ability to save him was beyond any of them now. He had tried to meditate, believing, hoping, that he could will the fever away if he gave it enough concentration. He laughed bitterly at the thought, then snapped his mouth shut in disgust. He was not strong enough. Simple Vulcan biology had defeated him; the years he'd spent training his mind and barricading his human emotions were wasted.
From childhood he had hoped secretly to be spared this humiliation. When his home planet was destroyed, he knew it was even more imperative that it should be avoided, because he'd felt T'Pring die. He held no attachment to her, but feeling their bond shred as Vulcan disappeared into the void had nearly brought him to his knees. Afterward, he had counted on Nyota to be there should his time come. He had not anticipated her reaction when he explained what it meant to marry a Vulcan. The level of intimacy involved in the connection of two minds frightened her. It caused a rift between them that never healed completely. It was, perhaps, for the better. Their minds had been incompatible. He was not even surprised at how quickly and easily his emotional attachment to her faded. Perhaps he'd held none in the first place.
He was surprised when those emotions redirected themselves at another being. He could easily have recounted when his contempt for James Kirk had faded in place of neutral acceptance, because he had forced this upon himself. Harder to say would have been when his feelings for the Captain elevated to companionship, even friendship. He had vehemently denied to himself that his regard went any farther than this.
And yet why did he never object to Jim touching him, as the human so often did? A clap on the shoulder as they moved through the hallways…fingertips brushed against his arm as he bent over the science station…a cool hand bumping his across a chess board…
Spock growled in frustration as he tried to will these memories away. There was no way, now, that he could deny that the emotions had existed, not with Jim's face dominating his thoughts as though the human's picture was glued to the inside of his eyelids. And he realized too late that he should have confronted his feelings, accepted them, so that they could be dealt with, eliminated. By denying them, stowing them away and hiding them behind excuses, he had ensured that they were lurking just below the surface, ready to appear the moment his logic failed and the carnal hunger took over.
Now, with his blood boiling, his vision tinted an acidic green, he was left with no other options. Because Jim could not give him what he wanted. He had a well-earned reputation as a "ladies-man". It was unfortunate that his charm had worked on the Vulcan as well, because James Kirk, Spock knew, was not one to be confined to any single person. The Captain enjoyed his freedom. Even if Spock went to him now and confessed his need, and even if Jim agreed, if only to save his friend's life, he would be forced into a bond that he did not want, forever connected to a man who loved him, but was unable to satisfy him. Spock would have to live with the knowledge that he was responsible for Jim's unhappiness. It was not something he was able to do.
And so he locked himself away, refusing to explain his condition, despite direct orders to do so. He would die a painful death, here in his quarters, because he could not bear to hurt the man for whose body and mind he now craved beyond all else. Jim would be upset by his passing, but that was unavoidable. And he was a human, easily distracted; the loss, Spock was sure, would not linger for long before he found other ways and other people to occupy his interest. The thought tore through him with a pain beyond any which he had yet experienced in his life, save perhaps the death of his mother. He would see her again very soon. It was illogical, irrational, but the thought gave him some small level of comfort as he gave himself over to the fire.