Not Without You

by plaidshirtjimkirk

Spock had risked his life over and over to save Jim's throughout their time together, just as Jim had done for him. And now, as the crimson light of red alert had overtaken the building and bright white emergency beacons flashed, he stared down at this pendant in his hand and thought how this risk was more than justifiable. It was necessary.

Prologue

Two sets of marine blue hands with ten fingers each deftly plucked at an intricately carved stringed instrument just as tall as the alien woman playing it. She and her sisters at her side filled the ballroom with an airy waltz, watching with glee as nearly two dozen partners of all shapes and sizes moved in synchronized sweeping motions to their song. Not many had the honor of playing to such an esteemed audience—and they were an excellent crowd, indeed, who seemed to greatly enjoy each other's company.

Little did any outsider understand, however, that this type of event was the calm before the storm—the opportunity to shake off the edge that each ambassador surely developed during the trip to Risa. It would be difficult for anyone to imagine that this group of well-socialized and exquisitely dressed individuals, getting on so well now under the soft lights, would be soon out for blood; lips that smiled and laughed tonight would be shouting with venomous anger in the morning.

But for now, they whirled and cavorted about each other in high spirits, whether it be in dance or pleasant conversation over a glass of sparkling wine native to the host planet. Undeniably, it was odd to hold such highly confidential negotiations on Risa, of all places, but it was a neutral location and extremely unpredictable to those who opposed the goal of this conference. The situation that the ambassadors had convened to discuss was as delicate and volatile as sand slipping through a pair of cupped hands. Their mission wasn't exactly a popular idea and that, in itself, was an understatement.

Completely oblivious to all of the politics at play, the band carried on, the soft sounds of their strings permeating throughout the regally decorated hall. The song carried outside through the open balcony doors with sheer purple curtains moving about in the light breeze.

A pair of caramel eyes had been fixated to the material ruffling about the stark white door frames for some time in careful consideration. They belonged to a dark-skinned Risian woman of medium build who carried with her the grace and elegance of royalty. She was dressed to the nines in a frilled black dress, her arms adorned from fingers to elbows with elaborate swirls and flowers drawn with henna paste.

"May I offer you a drink, Minister?"

Finally, her trance was broken as she shifted her eyes to a waiter dressed in a black tuxedo who was holding a silver tray of flute glasses in her direction. A grin spread across her ruby lips, pausing before she replied, "In fact, I'll take two."

The man returned the smile and handed both glasses to her, one at a time, before walking away. Drawing in a deep breath, the woman's pleasant expression remained as she looked towards the open doorway again, and began walking towards it.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was quieter outside, something Spock was quite thankful for as he sat alone on a bench beneath the night sky. He had never been one for socializing, but it seemed more and more difficult to integrate himself at these gatherings with each passing one…or maybe it had always been difficult. After all, Jim had a certain finesse when it came to the art of striking up interesting conversation and mingling, sparing Spock the trouble of it all. But now…

Spock's hand lifted through the air and paused momentarily at his neck before his fingers slipped inside the folds of his black robe. His digits entwined with the chain he wore and slowly pulled out a silvery teardrop shape that was attached to it. Dark eyes regarded what was much thicker than a normal charm in his palm; though Spock was perfectly aware that he had developed a detrimental habit of studying it too often, he couldn't tear his attention away...especially after who he was just thinking of.

This wasn't the proper location. He knew that, but even so, it couldn't stop his left hand from raising and running a digit over the middle of the pendant. It nearly dared to press down—nearly.

"It's beautiful," a female voice spoke and jarred Spock's attention to her over his shoulder, fingers immediately curling in on the pendant. He found a lovely young woman with two glasses of wine in her hands, closing the space between them.

Sitting down next to Spock, she placed the glasses beside her on the bench and leaned forward. Carefully, she extended one hand toward his own and paused to look him in the eye, searching for some consent to touch him. Though she didn't receive any inkling of it, she proceeded to very gently pull back on his fingers anyway, revealing the jewelry he clutched.

A soft smile graced her features and she exhaled through her nose. "One of a kind. You must be well-loved by the woman who gave that to you." With the same care, she pushed his fingers forward again so that they surrounded the pendant once more. "Continue treasuring it."

With that, she raised her face to Spock's deadpan expression and flashed a strip of her pearly white teeth, but it was short lived. Her face suddenly contorted, red blush beginning to stain her cheeks in embarrassment as she pulled her hand away from his own and dropped it into her lap.

"My God, I'm so sorry! I haven't even introduced myself! My name is Narine Halla'ah. I'm a Risian minister serving as the official mediator to this conference."

"I am Spock, representing Vulcan," he replied as he quickly slipped the pendant back into the protection of his robes. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

A small laugh fell from Halla'ah's lips as she retrieved the wine from beside her. Offering one glass to him, she said, "Ambassador, believe me. The pleasure is all mine. I'm a long-time admirer!"

Spock accepted the glass out of courtesy, but had no intention of drinking it; there was only one person in the universe that he shared wine with on occasion, and he wasn't present…In fact, by that unspoken rule, Spock had resolved that he would never drink it again.

"I am honored, Minister, though I regret to inform you that there is nothing to admire."

She took a sip of her wine and lowered the glass to her lap. "Oh, but there is! You have a brilliant mind!" Halla'ah shook her head and looked towards the sky drowning in light pollution. "…An explorer of the stars. An inventor. A strategist." She lifted one eyebrow and then settled her gaze back on him. "And today, an ambassador representing your home world. You've lived a prosperous and inspirational life. And I can't help but wonder…what's next for you?"

Spock's face remained blank and he exhaled. Then, nodding his head in short up and down movements, he replied, "I go where I am needed most."

"Which is here, of course," she interjected. The corners of her full lips lowered as her expression subverted into solemnity, and Halla'ah cast her sight out to the jagged horizon of buildings.

"You are concerned about the negotiations," Spock observed, studying her face a moment longer before allowing his own eyes to drift over the balcony railing. With another nod, he continued, "It is understandable."

"You've been trying to reunite Vulcan and Romulus for some time, I was told. I can't help but wonder…Why do they suddenly agree to talks now? Is there some ulterior motive? It just seems very sudden for the Romulans to become so open-minded when no new compelling reason has been presented to them."

"At times, all that is required is for one person to take the first step." As Spock spoke, Halla'ah turned her face, studying the pleasing line of his profile. "…Even if it is taken with another direction in mind."

Silence persisted between them for several moments before Halla'ah spoke again. "Well, Ambassador, let's hope we can steer them down the right path if that's the case." She stood then with a small stretch, careful not to spill her drink. "And soon," she added with a smile. "After all, I'm sure you want to return to the one waiting for you to come home. She must miss you terribly."

Spock's gaze never shifted from the cityscape, vibrant and lustrous against the dark sky. The pointed black eyebrow that Halla'ah was unable to see crept up slowly at her remark.

"I hope to have the pleasure of speaking with you again," Halla'ah bade warmly.

"Yes." Spock made no move to face her.

After lingering for a moment, she realized he wasn't about to address her further, and then quietly uttered, "Good night, Ambassador." Finally, she pivoted on her black heeled shoes and set off towards the ballroom. After walking several steps, Halla'ah turned her face over her shoulder and paused, observing how Spock remained sitting in the same manner, as though he were made of stone.

Her eyes lowered to the white concrete lining the balcony as she considered something, and then righted herself, continuing towards the dim glowing lights and soft music.

---

Not Without You

"What do you mean security has been breached?!"

All at once, the chairs adorned with luxurious maroon coverings and purple bows slid back across the carpeted floor, some even toppling over, as every member sitting at the oblong table jumped to his or her feet. It was the first time in three days that this room had seen a general consensus on an issue—the one and only time during the entire conference in which every individual saw eye-to-eye and felt the exact same way.

The situation in which they finally bonded over was regrettable, if not predictable. After all, no cultural barriers could dampen the sudden onslaught of panic, fright, and anxiety in the face of life-threatening danger. Too proud to be helpless and yet completely so, the only clear difference between the representatives was how they outwardly expressed the emotions in response to the grave announcement that had just been made.

"By whom?!" exclaimed a deep voice belonging to a female as she slammed her hands down on the polished oak table. The woman's immaculate silver dress shimmered and gleamed in the ceiling's accent lighting, appearing as though it was made of refined diamond and platinum. The bulk of her long, black hair was fixed in a classic Romulan-style braided updo, accented by a pearly white wrap and soft curls tumbling about her cheeks. However, despite all of the glamor and elegance she radiated, the most striking feature of all at the current moment was the look of pure trepidation written across the supple features of her face. "You assured me this conference was secured!"

"And our safety!" the Andorian beside her bellowed out immediately after, clutching the back of his chair. Like his Romulan counterpart and the other diplomats, he was dressed in only the finest of attire that signified his importance as the ambassador representing his home world.

"Ambassadors, Ambassadors! Please!" A tense silence fell over the room as attention shifted to the woman who had often been the voice of reason and balance over the last few days. Halla'ah's hands were raised before her and she shook her head. "There's no time! Please, come quickly. We're preparing for emergency departure as we speak."

She extended her arm in the direction where a pair of security officers stood. They pulled aside two heavy burgundy curtains framing the walls from the black ceiling and revealed a side door.

"Through this way are a series of tunnels that lead directly to our spaceport. Come!" she urged, quickly motioning them to begin moving in that direction. "This way! Before they find us!"

Representatives of all shapes, sizes, colors, and genders began hurrying in her direction, and though they were a small group of barely twenty, they bottlenecked at the door in a panic. There was one though who kept a cool and calm exterior amid the breaking chaos, and he approached the woman who still held her arm out, guiding everyone to continue moving with her hand rotating in a half circle.

"Minister Halla'ah." Spock's dark eyes locked with her own. His steep, pointed brows were narrowed and facial features creased with a grave expression. With a very slight tilt of his head, he inquired in a controlled tone, "What exactly has transpired?"

"The entire situation isn't clear at the moment. Several individuals broke through our security forces and pushed their way inside…They're armed," Halla'ah made no effort to mask the concern in her voice. She shifted her attention away to ensure the ambassadors were still quickly filing through the exit, and not paying mind to their conversation, before returning it to Spock. "We don't know who yet. It could be…" Her eyes closed and she rapidly shook her head. "We don't know. The idea of this conference wasn't exactly popular among the few who actually knew about it."

Halla'ah's fists clenched and she brought them to her chest, apprehension written across her face. "Oh, Ambassador, let's leave the speculation for when we've broken out of orbit!"

"When will the shuttle depart?"

"As soon as it can..." Her worried gaze was stolen again by the last of the regally dressed people pushing through the doorway. "Perhaps fifteen minutes." Halla'ah swallowed and her chin dipped slightly towards her rapidly rising and falling chest, her demeanor the perfect portrait of someone swept away with the jitters of nervousness. "That's how long it should take before we all get down to the port and can lift off."

"Understood," Spock replied in monotone with a single nod. "I must return to my quarters." Her eyes snapped back to his face and widened significantly. "There is something of importance that I must retrieve before departing. I shall endeavor to arrive on time."

"Ambassador Spock!" Halla'ah's hand, though small, snapped forward and strongly latched onto his forearm. Spock diverted his sight to the thin digits pressing firmly into his formal black robe for a mere moment before returning it to her. "You can't be serious!"

Turning his face to the emergency exit at the far corner, it was as though he had never heard her protest. As far as Spock was concerned, there was nothing that could stand in his way, nor change his mind regardless of the threat. "You mentioned this door leads to a series of tunnels. Is there an obvious path to the spaceport?"

"Ambassador," she repeated in a voice that was both forceful and vehement. As though Spock's suggestion had shaken her out of her flustered daze, the anxiety in her tone had dissipated completely and her words resonated with finality. Her spine straightened and shoulders squared. "There is a group of armed mercenaries on the loose in this complex and protecting your life is my priority. I can't allow you to do this! We have to go!"

"Then it is imperative to inform you that what I must retrieve from my quarters is essential to my existence. Fourteen minutes and nine seconds now remain. Will you provide me the route to the spaceport or not?"

Halla'ah stared into the face before her. While it remained nearly expressionless, it was very clear that the gravity of the situation was not lost upon Spock; his eyes were what gave it all away. The gaze he held was so hardened with determination that it felt as though it penetrated directly through her body and out the other side.

Though the years certainly left their marks upon Spock, he had managed to age like fine wine; of course, it was widely known that the people of Vulcan typically lived long lives capable of spanning even two centuries. None, though, that Halla'ah had ever met in person had any resemblance of the one standing in front of her. She knew of Spock's mixed heritage, just as everyone did, but it seemed more than that, and her intuition perpetuated that thought.

There was nothing out of place in the manner in which he conducted himself. Spock was as emotionless and logic-driven as any other of his planet. Even so, he seemed to carry with him something else—something that no other Vulcan possessed, and it was even more apparent now than it was that night when they conversed together on the balcony.

Halla'ah shook her head. "I don't understand. If you'll just allow to me help you, I can arrange for any form of medicine to be—"

"Very well," Spock interrupted her, a conclusive tone to his voice. "I will attempt to find the way on my own."

With that, he turned effortlessly on his polished black shoes and began quickly walking toward the double doors he and his counterparts had entered through previously.

"Ambassador!"

Spock made absolutely no effort to acknowledge her as he continued on his way. He ignored the sound of her verbal protests and the soft tapping of footsteps running in his direction against the carpet.

"Ambassador Spock!"

Even the hand that lashed out and grabbed his arm didn't stop him. Halla'ah took hold with her other, delivering a forceful tug before she let go when she realized it had no effect. Her feet hit the rug quickly then, scrambling forward to Spock's side so that she remained in his line of sight.

"Wait!" she gasped. "I'll accompany you!"

"You will not," Spock replied. "You are needed to attend to the other ambassadors. I am one. They are many." Reaching the door, he raised his hand before the glowing blue panel, and just before he was about to trigger it, turned only his face to peer at her over his shoulder. "It is logical."

"Minister!" a guard's voice suddenly rang out, with impeccable timing, from the exit in which everyone had already evacuated through. "Minister Halla'ah!"

Both she and Spock turned in his direction to find him leaning his head into the large conference room, hands grasped upon the crown molding of the doorway.

"Minister, we're at the split now. Won't you be coming along? The ambassadors, they…"

"Yes." Her voice carried across the space with a strong and sure tone. "Continue, Jahs. I'll be along right away."

"Acknowledged." With a nod of his head, he disappeared.

Halla'ah's next action was immediate as her hand swept to her side to retrieve the communicator fixated there. Her nimble digits tapped rapidly upon it. When she extended it in Spock's direction, he instantly understood her intent and removed his own from his hip. Tapping his device to hers, a green line appeared on the left side of the screen and began quickly moving toward the right.

"This is the path to the spaceport," she explained, withdrawing her hand once the transfer of the map completed. "The blue dot marks the location you need to arrive at. You'll take that entryway into the tunnels and then a right, right, and left before veering right again. It's a four minute trip if you move quickly."

Spock nodded as she pulled back the layers of her black dress to reveal a phaser hidden within them. Removing it from the holster, she offered its handle out in his direction. "Please, be careful and hurry. We can't risk waiting any longer to take off or even comming you. It could compromise our position."

"I would not request it of you," he replied as he took the weapon, noting it was set on stun. "I estimate rendezvousing on your position in twelve minutes and twenty five seconds."

Halla'ah stared into Spock's dark brown eyes before her chin once again fell in a nod. "Very well, Ambassador Spock."

Her gaze lingered for one more fleeting moment, the inner ends of her eyebrows contorting and revealing a change in emotion across her face, before her eyes fell to the center of his chest. She stared at that point for a moment. "It's really that important to you. Well." Their eyes locked for a final time. "All my hopes."

With that, Halla'ah tore her gaze from him, turned, and began an all-out sprint towards the opening in the curtains. Wasting not a second, Spock immediately turned back to the lock panel and raised his hand before it. The blue light turned to green and the door slid to the side, finally granting him the freedom to leave the room.

The majestic hallway that had previously glowed nobly from the strips of lighting hitting the sandstone-colored walls and rich chestnut carpet lining the floors, no longer projected its inviting appearance. The pleasing golden light had been subverted to crimson with strobes positioned several meters apart and flashing at rapid intervals to indicate the facility's shift to red alert.

Spock glanced in both directions of the eerily silent corridor before slipping into it and taking off to the left. Though many years had passed since his adventuring days of traversing about the galaxy at Jim's side—which had sometimes required this level of physical activity—his older joints weren't ready to fail him yet. He moved quickly down the hall and arrived before a pair of turbo lifts waiting at the end.

He stepped inside one that was luckily waiting to receive him, immediately commanding, "Floor twelve. Close doors." As Spock felt himself being rapidly carried upward, he began mapping out the exact sequence of moves he would need to take to do what had to be done as efficiently as possible; not one moment would be squandered on uncertainty.

He felt the momentum of the lift slow, and then it stopped with the sound of a pleasing chime. The doors reopened to a long hallway of temporary housing accommodations, and he took off into it.

Stalking down the long strip of soft carpet, he arrived before a closed entrance to a room. Pressing his palm against a panel, the device knelled and the ivory door slid to the side. He strode into his quarters as the red light automatically elevated to forty percent brightness and then beelined directly to the work area, setting the phaser down on top of it.

Taking not a second more than needed, Spock kneeled before a black safety box installed into the desk unit and allowed the biometric scanner to flash over his eyes. There was a quiet chirp upon confirmation of his identity and the heavy drawer just barely popped open to provide access to the contents within.

The neatly stacked luggage containing his personal items went completely disregarded where they rested beside the bed. Austerity was a common trait shared amongst Vulcans; it was a widely observed belief that physical possessions were transient and temporary—especially when compared to the imperishable nature of the katra—and so it was only logical to do with as few as possible. As the people of the desert world made it known time and time again, the embracement of emotion itself was strictly avoided to preserve the dignity of the immortal soul. It was only sensible—natural—to not create attachments to objects that couldn't be carried into the next life.

A shirt was a shirt, a diamond a diamond after all, but without sentimental attachment to adhere importance to tangible property, it was all replaceable. It was why, even though Spock could have easily taken hold of his baggage that was already neatly organized and ready to go, he left it as it was, and would also make his exit paying no mind to evacuating without it.

He visibly swallowed as he pulled the titanium drawer open, and reached inside. Aged, nimble fingers closed upon a tear-shaped item resting on velvet padding that was smooth to the touch. Spock's digits tightened on the object as it was withdrawn, giving it a gentle squeeze as the dainty silver chain attached to it slipped out with a quiet sound from sliding against the sturdy metal edge of the drawer.

When it was free from its protective captor, Spock drew it towards his torso for just a moment. His tongue slightly pushed out to offer moisture to his dry lips and then he pulled his hand just slightly away from his chest. The chain was as thin as the lace of a spider's web and swung gently through the air in a minute back and forth motion as Spock's fingers slowly opened to reveal what he could not live without.

His dark brown eyes gazed down at the argent pendant in his palm, only large enough to accommodate one perfectly circular shape in the center. Seeing it caused his lungs to collapse in a forced exhale of what could have been taken for the tiniest display of visible relief had someone been watching him, and then his free hand latched to the edge of the desk. Pulling himself back to his feet, Spock's hand pressed on the face of the drawer and slid it closed without ever taking his sight off the treasure he held.

To an outsider, it may have seemed like any common piece of jewelry—a family heirloom, perhaps—but this pendant was as much of Spock's body as the verdant blood coursing through his veins. This pendant, physical as it was, was all that remained of a place that was once beautiful beyond articulation.

That place had been a sacred point rife with vitality and perpetual movement, where one combined essence that only two could know thrived and flourished. It was the starting point of a bridge that had been forged to create a secure path in which thoughts and feelings traversed like a flowing river under an ever sparkling meteor shower of gold and blue. It was a place of warmth, of comfort, of belonging, of adoration vaster than the universe itself: it was the exact location in the corner of the mind that had eternally bound Spock and Jim as bondmates under a Vulcan rite that was as ancient as the stars.

The link between them was an anomaly which no known laws of science could explain. It defied the most basic property of existence: that all things had both a beginning and definitive ending. Their bond was constructed of thousands of individual skeins that wove about each other in an impossibly intricate pattern, and though the structure gleamed like delicate porcelain in a china shop, it was indestructible—undefeatable, even by death.

While the complex nature of mental links were commonly known amongst Vulcans who had endured them for millennia, it was an entirely different ordeal to experience one firsthand…especially when it came to making the conscious decision to refuse undoing the woven threads that lead to nowhere once one bondmate ceased to exist.

Because of Spock's decision to preserve the broken bond, that place where the light and warmth of Jim's soul once comforted him had turned into a black hole. The very instant of Jim's passing resulted in the destruction of his side of the link in a painful tear, but that was nothing in comparison to the loneliness that threatened to consume Spock in its wake.

He had prodded the empty point in his mind and, with the incredible control needed to block the overwhelming affliction of the act, even allowed himself to travel across the bridge. Vulcans didn't hope, but if there was any chance that even the slightest remnant of Jim remained, it was worth the effort. And so Spock stood on the edge, staring into a void that had once been where his bondmate and he frequented. And in that moment, he had lost him all over again.

It took extreme discipline for Spock to block out that part of his mind, to construct defenses and alienate it so that he was able to live with a phantom bond obligating him to a dead man. No Vulcan could understand his decision; not the healers, not the Masters of Gol whom he had trained with to control it, not even Sarek who had lost his own Amanda and still moved on. It was logical to do so, after all.

However, for as long as Spock had this pendant, this final remnant of Jim, he still had a way to reach him, even if it was only a one-sided conversation. It wasn't a matter of simply taking another mate as any other could do when his or her current one died. No, Jim had become an extension of himself through the t'hy'la bond—a bond so rare in the current age that it was said to occur only once in a century.

Spock had risked his life over and over to save Jim's throughout their time together, just as Jim had done for him. And now, as the crimson light of red alert had overtaken the building and bright white emergency beacons flashed, he stared down at this pendant in his hand and thought how this risk was more than justifiable. It was necessary.

In the end, nothing could destroy what he harbored still for Jim, nor could it keep Spock from endangering his life one more time for him.

"Jim." His lips whispered the name as a thumb grazed to the bottom of the pendant, pad of his finger pressing against the groove outlining the circle. Having it in his clutches again was comforting, and if Spock had it his way, he would have never have had to leave it in the safe; however, the conference maintained strict rules that banned recording devices—despite the fact that Spock would never erase the message it already held.

His digit traced around the perimeter of the shape before slipping to the middle, pressing, and holding it down for two seconds.

A soft blue light suddenly shot out against the darkness of Spock's quarters from his palm and a tiny holoimage of Jim appeared. He was dressed in his red Starfleet captain's uniform, gray hair neatly styled. The creases of his face were deepened with the mischievous smile he wore.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!"

As the image stopped singing and Jim's lips widened even further into a grin, Spock's eyes softened before closing as the message played on.

"I know, I know. It's illogical to celebrate something you had nothing to do with but…"

Neither could have predicted at the time that this pendant with its cheerful message would become the link between the past and present. In fact, when Spock closed his eyes and heard his voice, it felt like only yesterday when Jim had presented it to him days before one particular lengthy ambassadorial mission. If only it were possible to return to that time when things had been so much simpler.

Where had it all gone…?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The sun approached the horizon and lazily tossed streaks of pink and orange across the earthen sky, consequently causing Spock's neatly ordered office to become darker and darker in the fading natural light. He sat at his desk that was constructed of industrial-grade recyclable material painted in the shade of deep cocoa, mulling over a long report on his PADD.

The document could be politely described as containing a "surplus" of details regarding the next ambassadorial mission that he would embark upon one week later. In actuality, though, it was comprised of overkill explanations of the mission, planet, people, their customs, and so on, leaving no piece of information to the whim of imagination. That was just how Vulcans were, though: dedicated, thorough, terse in social conversation but beyond loquacious when it came to their data and reporting…

The details weren't without merit, though; the upcoming journey would be the longest and most complicated he'd gone on yet, and was set to occupy one entire month. The Vulcan Embassy, naturally, thought little of quality family time and had no qualms in forcing Spock into this new mission with no care that he had just returned from a shorter one. Apparently, the reasoning he provided when he had requested someone else to take his place wasn't compelling enough…

When he finished perusing to the bottom of the current page, Spock lifted a hand and swiped it before his PADD, gesturing it to enter sleep mode. Without even looking at the chronometer, he knew it was time to wrap up his day at the embassy and head back home. Quite often, he wound up working much later than 17:30; however, Jim had requested that he leave on time today and, though Spock would deny him nothing, the promise of a good dinner at home only helped him to oblige.

Standing, the sound of multiple joints popping disturbed the silence and, in the privacy of his office, he allowed himself to rub at his stiff lower back a few times. When the tension began to alleviate, Spock reached for his dark gray messenger bag hanging on a hook near his coat and pulled it towards him. He placed it on the surface of his desk and retrieved a soft protective sleeve from it.

As he began slipping his PADD into its encasement, the door to his office chimed and Spock lifted his chin. He paused what he was doing, and though his face remained expressionless, he cocked his head to the side slightly in interest.

Would the nature of his visitor be urgent? Could it be another request for a meeting, or a discussion of his upcoming assignment, or questions about his latest publication in the Journal of Astrophysics? Would this individual accept, "I cannot speak now as I will be late for dinner," as reasonable excuse to delay his leaving time any further?

Spock lifted an eyebrow at his last thought as he resumed sliding his PADD into the case, and then called out in a gravelly tone, "Come."

The door swished open, revealing a silhouette standing in the brightness of the hallway. The shape of the figure was certainly not of Vulcan descent; in fact, the person there was very much human and that meant he was none other than…

"Jim."

"Jeeze, Spock!" Jim exclaimed as he entered the office, pivoting his head around to look at the ceiling while the door automatically closed behind him. He then let his eyes meet the darker pair across the room and a smile crept across his face. "Working in the dark again? Lights, seventy percent."

The strips of illumination brightened slowly, flooding the office in a soft glow that fully revealed Jim's attire. He had come clad in his black overcoat with the collar popped about his jaw, and slung across his chest from one shoulder was a navy blue bag that was exactly the same manufacture as Spock's. Nothing seemed out of place about his wardrobe choice…except that the trousers he sported were dressy, but not of Starfleet issue. It was the first sign of how the evening would proceed.

"Jim, it was not that dark—" Spock began, falling right into the trap set for him of addressing that topic first.

"If I'd been here for a while and let my eyes adjust. Yes, I know," Jim finished, walking forward and letting his fingertips touch the top of the desk as he leaned slightly over it. His eyebrows raised in a display of classic captainly sauciness. "Well, I'm here now and I still say lights on."

Spock tilted his head to the side again, an eyebrow creeping up. To anyone else, it may have seemed a drab response but Jim knew there was more to it and he grinned a little wider; he was capable of reading Spock better than anyone, and that reaction was certainly one of amusement.

"Yes, about that. I am most amenable to your visit, Jim. However, I am curious as to why you are here, when it was mutually agreed we would meet at our condominium."

"Ah," Jim said softly as he closed his eyes with a nod and rocked back on his heels. His eyelashes parted again and he lifted one finger in the air, shaking it twice in Spock's direction. "About that."

The corners of his lips still artfully twitched upwards, he ambled his way to the side of Spock's desk and reached towards the wall. Taking hold of the long coat on the hook by its shoulders, he faced Spock again, holding the garment out and up. Peering around the side to show his face, Jim offered a wink and declared, "Change of plan."

Spock elevated his head as his suspicion was confirmed. He accepted the invitation by walking towards Jim and turning so that he could slip his arms through the coat. As Jim pushed it up to his shoulders, he inquired, "Is this truly a change of plan, or the execution of one you had all along?"

Two arms were placed on his own and Spock was spun in a half circle. "Why, Mister Spock." Jim reached for the scarf that remained on the hook and then slipped it around Spock's neck. Shaking his head, he tied the ends loosely and fussed with it to ensure it was adequately covering the pale green skin. "I just don't know what you're talking about."

Spock huffed a breath out of his nose in response and ducked his head, accepting his messenger bag as Jim slipped it across his shoulder and then adjusted it. Finally, he lightly patted Spock twice on the side of both arms.

"Well! Ready as we'll ever be. Make sure you zip up. It's cold out."

Spock reached for his PADD and slipped it into the bag now resting at his right hip. "May I inquire as to where we are going?"

"You could," Jim replied, walking towards the door. Right before it opened, he looked over his shoulder and added, "But that doesn't mean I'll tell you. Lights off."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The pair of Vulcans posted at the exit of the embassy raised their right hands in the ta'al before one keyed in a security code. The doors—crafted with native architecture in mind and just as extravagant as the rest of the building—emitted a soft chime confirming the lock had been disengaged. Stoic and in a movement so well-practiced that it was nearly robotic, both guards turned and formally pushed their respective side open, leaving a clear path for Jim and Spock to walk through.

They proceeded to do just that, both returning the courtesy of the ta'al to the guards as they passed, and found themselves in the grand reception area. It was constructed mostly of starship-grade transparent aluminum that would withstand "phaser blasts, earthquakes, and even the end of the world." Or, at least, that's what Jim had insisted once in a jocular manner; Spock had decided to not debate him, concluding it was spoken more for Jim's own peace of mind than his comedy career.

Jim raised his hand to a panel beside one of many glass doors that led to the world outside, triggering it to unlock and swish open. He and Spock both walked out into the cool March air, embraced by the twilight that claimed its reign from the sun and made the streetlights appear hazy and storybook-like. Despite the growing darkness, the fancy strips of illumination in the stairs before them perfectly lit the way as they descended and finally found themselves on the white sidewalk.

Spock had begun walking in the direction of the front gate, when he heard Jim speak. "No, not that way. To your left."

Turning his angular face over his shoulder, he observed Jim heading in that direction leading straight to the parking lot, and then quickly pivoted to catch up with him.

"You drove here," Spock stated instead of inquiring; obviously, that was true and to ask for confirmation of the fact would have been redundant.

"Yep!" Jim let his head fall back a little as he took a glance at the darkening sky and drew in a deep breath of cold air. "Thought it'd be more comfortable for you than walking."

"I need not remind you the number of layers I am wearing, considering that you insist on laying out my attire every evening."

Jim huffed out a small laugh as he stuffed his large hands into the pockets of his coat. "What's the matter, Spock? Don't like being treated the way you deserve to be?"

"Perhaps if you would simply inform me where you intend to go tonight—"

"No!" Jim retorted, elongating the simple word he responded with and leaning his face toward Spock's direction to get his point across. "You'll just have to wait and see."

Dark eyebrows raised then and Spock pulled his lips taut for a moment before shaking his head and responding with full-on sass present in his voice. "Very well. Sir."

The corners of Jim's eyes creased with how widely that made him smile.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Aaaaand here we are!"

"Here?" Spock echoed, craning his neck to look at the entrance of the Mediterranean restaurant they enjoyed frequenting, as Jim commanded the air car to parallel park.

"Mmm-hmm."

When the controls switched off and the doors unlocked, they both stepped back out into the chilly air and made their way across the quiet street lined with solar-powered lighting. Perplexed as he was, Spock decided to not ask any further questions as to why Jim felt the need to drive him to this location; he knew he would receive the same reply as he had to all of his other inquiries.

That didn't stop him from wondering, though; after all, it was an easy fifteen minute walk from the Vulcan Embassy, and one they had taken many, many times together over the last few years. In fact, they had just walked there a little over three weeks ago on Valentine's Day, when the outdoor temperature was much colder than the current evening, and not to mention the mood between them. That was a memory, however, Spock wished to not recall, and so he turned his attention to the present situation.

Jim's hand extended to turn the bronze handle, opening one of the very few remaining manual doors to be found in their time period, and held it open for Spock to walk through. He followed immediately after, just in time to hear the host greet them.

"Captain Kirk, Ambassador Spock! Good evening!" A middle-aged human man dressed in a black suit raised his arms out to his side with a bend at his elbows. "I trust you're both well?"

"Couldn't be anything but that, Charlie!" Jim replied, beginning to undo the buttons of his coat. With a single nod, he returned the question. "And you?"

"You ask as if my answer would be any different! Come along, now. Everything's been set up."

Spock quickly turned his face to Jim and their eyes locked. Jim merely raised his eyebrows once more and let his head cock to the side as he lifted his arm, indicating Spock should follow the direction in which the man was leading them.

Naturally, the path led straight to their usual place in the front corner by the large bay window; however, something was very different about it this evening. The table was already adorned with two dozen red roses in a vase on the far side and a bottle of wine waiting in the middle.

"Allow me," Charlie offered as the pair began removing their coats. Spock quickly slipped out of his own and gently laid it across the outstretched arms that were waiting.

"Many thanks, old friend," Jim replied with a warm smile after doing the same, revealing that he was wearing a black dress shirt with a gray tie. He reached forward and gave a light squeeze to Charlie's shoulder.

"Absolutely no need!" Turning his face to the side, Charlie called out to a young Andorian man dressed in the same style as he was. "Tholim, come and hang these coats up on the rack please."

With his arms free again, he reached for the bottle of wine and began letting the red liquid spill carefully into the two wine glasses on the table, beginning with Spock's. As he poured Jim's, he declared, "Everything is in the process of being prepared as we speak, so we'll be out right away with your meal."

Returning the bottle to the center of the table, Charlie switched his attention to Spock. "And happy birthday to you, Ambassador."

With that, he hurried off toward the kitchen, leaving Jim and Spock to themselves.

Spock's attention was instantly on Jim, and he raised both of his eyebrows as he saw the faintest blush of pink grace across his face.

"Well, looks like the surprise is out," Jim offered with a smile, lifting his wine glass and tapping it into Spock's. "Happy birthday!"

"Jim, I am grateful, although rather confused," Spock replied, watching the man across from him close his eyes and nod his head with a knowing smile that this would be coming. "Simply because it is not my birthday."

A small laugh fell from Jim as he set his glass down again, letting his eyes fix on the place where his digits held to the stem. "No, but it's soon. And since you won't be here then, I wanted to do something special." Jim threw his head to the side in a casual gesture. "Something…memorable."

There seemed to be more to that explanation missing, but nothing was further said.

"However, your birthday is four days before my own," Spock pressed. "Surely, by that logic, this dinner should be for us both."

"No, no," Jim mumbled in reply, a serious look overcoming his features only for a moment before his lips twitched again at the corners. "It's all for you. I want it to be that way."

Their eyes met then, and the rest of the story was told. It was fortunate that no other patrons were currently frequenting the establishment, as two men staring at each other across a table would have looked awfully strange. Spock's face was blank, save for the way the inner ends of his brows were very slightly pulled in and Jim kept that quiet contented look that seemed just a little spurious.

'You do not wish for me to go,' Spock stated the obvious then, his words reverberating across their bond.

'Of course not,' Jim replied. 'Honestly, it's more that I wish I could go with you, just to make sure...'

'That I am safe,' Spock finished for him. 'I will be.'

'It'll be a month.' Jim reached for his wine again and took a sip. He diverted his eyes to the left and gazed down at the dark hardwood floor. '…I'll miss you.'

'It will be of equal difficulty for me, Jim. I desire nothing more than your company. Perhaps you might consider, as it said here on earth, "stowing" away?'

Intriguingly, that brought a rise out of Jim and he turned his attention back to Spock with a pleased expression spreading over his face. Spock hadn't known what it meant, and he wondered if his suggestion was taken more seriously than he'd intended. Of course, if Jim were able to accompany him, Spock knew they wouldn't even be faced with this issue, but academy duties prevented that from happening.

He suddenly understood all of this…the arrival of Jim at his office, the car ride, the dinner, the early celebration of his birthday. Jim wanted to create memories that he could take with him on his trip—memories that would keep him warm at night when those warm human arms weren't an option. It was an extension of his love that only Spock could understand and delivered in such a covert manner that it would remain as such. The conclusion was that all of this effort was a proxy for Jim saying he loved him in the most public way he was able to without sacrificing Vulcan dignity. And that, more than anything, spoke novels.

It didn't explain what had piqued Jim's interest in regards to his suggestion, though. Just as Spock was about to inquire what the look that still remained on Jim's features indicated, a waiter appeared with a tray, presenting their dinner.

"Okay!" the man announced, transferring the dishes to the table; they'd been here so many times and ordered the same meals like the creatures of habit they were that it was never necessary for any of the wait staff to ask who ordered what. "The plates are hot, so make sure you're careful."

When he took his leave, Jim lifted his wine glass and Spock followed the gesture.

"Happy birthday, Spock!" he beamed, clinking their glasses together again.

"Even though it is not my birthday."

Jim had raised his glass to his lips by that time, but stopped before taking a sip to give Spock a pointed look in response. Before he could say anything, he was interrupted by the lifting of one sassy black brow.

"Very well, sir." Spock's dark brown eyes flickered in the light of the candle on their table.

'Thank you, Jim.'

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Thoroughly sated from what had been a perfect meal ending with a slice of cake custom ordered to not be too sweet, Spock sat in his chair before the fire. Jim had insisted the moment they arrived home that Spock melt into the comfort of his preferred place to read, wrapped in a warm blanket to destroy any of the chill from outside that had tried to stay with him.

Comfortable and pleasantly balmy, Spock returned to reading through the details of the long report he'd set aside when leaving the embassy. His finger swiped through page after page on his PADD, when a cup of hot tea was presented to his line of sight from over his shoulders.

Spock's eyes raised to the steaming offering, and he placed his PADD in his lap to accept it.

"Thank you," he uttered, secretly indulging in how pleasing the heat of the cup felt against his sensitive hands.

"No need," Jim replied without retracting his arms. Instead, he crossed them lightly over Spock's shoulders and rested the side of his face on the back of the chair.

"On the contrary, there is much to be grateful for," Spock countered, digits kneading at the warmth before it became a bit too much and he decided it would be an appropriate time to place it on the coffee table. "After all," he continued, voice slightly strained from leaning forward to deposit the cup on a small woven coaster. He settled back against his chair, but found Jim's arms had already retreated. "I thought I would be alone on my birthday, and you have remedied that."

Jim smiled quietly as his husband turned his face to the side, peering at him over his shoulder. He knew so well that Spock's response was entirely provided for his benefit and, for that, he was thankful. After all, there was no recognition of birthdays on Vulcan, and not to mention the illogical custom of celebrating an event one had little to do with. In addition to that, there was no inclusion of gift-giving and physical contact was widely regarded as improper, even in private. But yet, Spock accepted all of these things from Jim, only because he knew they made him happy.

Exhaling through his nose, Jim's lips traveled to Spock's ear and ghosted above it for several moments before whispering, "It's not your birthday."

Spock blinked, his brows narrowing in confusion. The gentle moment dissipated between them at that very second and he replied in a serious tone, "I am aware of that and, if you'll recall, I stated so when—"

"Shhh!" Jim urged him, laughing softly as he did and letting his forehead fall into the back of Spock's neck. "Shh, I know, I know."

The sound of some kind of small box opening on the floor behind him reached the pointed ears, now a healthy shade of green from all of the warmth surrounding him. Jim removed his forehead and straightened himself, standing slowly.

"But, Spock, even so." The words were uttered with the texture of velvet, tender and full of feeling. They captivated Spock—claimed him—to the point where he was paralyzed and dared not move to even look Jim in the eye. "I want you to know that whether you're gone a day, a week, a month, a year, you're never alone."

"I…" Spock began, swallowing and attempting to understand where this was all going. "I am aware of that, Jim. The bond ensures it."

"Of course. But now, you'll always have a small piece of me with you that you can physically touch."

With that, Spock felt Jim's arms slip over his shoulders again. This time, however, they didn't move to embrace him. Instead, he felt a very small, lightweight object gently hit onto his chest and the tickling sensation of something slipping around his neck. He looked down, as Jim clasped the two ends together, and found a teardrop-shaped pendant on a long chain resting comfortably against him.

Jim reached over and took the pendant between his digits, bringing it to Spock's hand and placing it in his palm.

"You see that circle in the middle? Whenever you feel alone, all you need to do is press it for two seconds. It has a special message, from me to you."

Spock stared at the pendant in his palm, instantly understanding what it contained, and without even realizing he was doing it, held his breath.

Vulcans never attached themselves to objects of the physical world; it was profoundly illogical to do so, since they couldn't be taken with them when the body was in death. However, Spock realized that what he held in his palm was more profound than just a piece of a jewelry. It was more than a gift, more than some petty offering rife with human sentimentality.

No, what Spock held in his hand was a tiny piece of Jim that, from this day, would go with him everywhere. And he would be sure to treasure and protect it until the day he died.

"And, if I may suggest," Jim continued as Spock's eyes remained fixated on the pendant, "You should play it for the first time on your real birthday so you actually aren't without me then."

Finally, Spock was able to tear his gaze away and he turned so he could see Jim's face. Their eyes met, and his nimble fingers closed tightly around the pendant.

"I never am, Jim."

"Yeah," Jim whispered, and though his smile was small, it still carried with it the light of a thousand stars. He stared into Spock's eyes, almost as if he were searching for something, before he leaned forward slowly.

And, then, no space separated their lips.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Three lithe figures, shrouded in black armor as weightless as light clothing, quickly moved down the hall. They were covered from head to toe, except for a bare strip across their faces that freed their eyes to see. All appeared to be humanoid and thin—clearly in excellent shape from the toned muscles bulging out from their protective garments.

One had taken point as ordered, moving a device in back and forth motions as if scanning for something. The screen glowed blue and displayed a triad of flashing green lights.

"Hnaev!"

"What is it?" a second one hissed from behind.

"They are not here."

"Impossible!" scorned the second voice, and the owner of it moved to rip the device out of the hands that held it. Looking over their shoulders to ensure they still weren't being followed, they then paused for a moment to study the screen.

"The heartbeat sensor is only detecting our own."

"Incompetent! You haven't engaged the long-range scanner." Nimble digits tapped rapidly on the device and the map widened substantially, along with the number of flashing dots. Most were red and green, along with three blue. They were on the first floor where their forces were apparently holding out well against Federation security, and—

"There!" A finger pointed to a solitary dot flashing green, several floors above their present location. "In the living quarters!"

"Green! Green blood! It's a Romulan!"

"No. It's a valuable hostage to deliver a loud and clear message to the Federation."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"If there's any true logic in this universe, we'll be on that bridge again together someday." The tiny glowing projection of Jim in Spock's palm nodded. "Admit it, Spock…"

Brown eyes creased with age finally opened slowly again, as if they knew it was the exact moment that Jim would extend two fingers up in his direction.

"For people like us, the journey itself is home."

Spock regarded Jim, smiling softly and keeping his arm outstretched, even as his spoken message was finished. Lifting his right hand, Spock's two fingers pressed to the phantom ones from the projection, and though his own were much larger, he remained in that exact position until the light in his palm faded to darkness.

His digits were frozen in the ozh'esta and his gaze fixated to where Jim had just been for several moments longer before he took the ends of the small chain attached to the pendant and clasped them around the back of his neck.

There was no further time to delay. As per his calculations in the turbolift, Spock knew that if he didn't leave his quarters within twenty seconds, he stood no chance of reaching the shuttle before it launched. Factoring in the time it would take to return to the conference room and travel through the tunnels, there was little left of it to spare.

He slipped the pendant into the safety of his robes and turned, just as the door slid open.

"Stay where you are!" a strong voice commanded as a weapon resembling a Klingon disruptor was aimed in Spock's direction.

Spock's shoulders stiffened and his chin raised, careful to keep his arms at his side as he observed two figures slip in beside the one in the middle.

"This isn't a Romulan!"

"The phaser," the center figure spoke, quickly cocking the weapon in the direction of the desk. "Retrieve it."

One cautiously entered the room and secured the space quickly by confiscating it.

Seemingly in charge, the one holding the disruptor and barking out orders strode inside then and immediately stopped in place, studying Spock in the dim, red light. After the brief pause, a command was issued. "Lights. One hundred percent."

"I will not fight you," Spock declared calmly.

"No." The figure's free hand swept through the air then, attaching to the strips of fabric concealing everything above the eyes and pulled it back. Immediately, a pair of steep brows came into view, matching the color of the thick, wiry brown hair that appeared next; it had been pulled tightly back into a bun. The action freed the pieces of black cloth that hid away the lower features of her face, revealing that she was of Romulan descent…but from the moment he recognized her, Spock immediately knew that, in exile, her heart was not with her people. And especially not with the Federation.

By the ravages of struggle present on her face—a scar on the left side now sullied what was once the beautiful complexion of her cheeks—it was clear that her life had been very difficult since they had last seen one another many decades ago.

"Liviana!" one of the women at her side exclaimed, obviously shaken by the revealing of her identity.

"No, Commander," she addressed Spock, ignoring her underling's protest. There was venom present in her voice as she shook her head. "You won't fight me. History repeats itself, just as you would repeat your own actions of humiliating me and then running away instead of having the gallantry to challenge me with your fists."

"Commander Charvanek—" Spock began, but was instantly cut off.

"Tell me," Liviana snapped, keeping the disruptor aimed directly at Spock's chest. "Did the cloaking device you stole from me get you promoted? A raise in pay perhaps?" Her voice dropped a full octave as she demanded through clenched teeth, "Or did your captain claim all of the credit?"

"Liviana, please!" the other woman cried, looking over her shoulder. "Now is not the time for this! We need to take the prisoner and go!"

"I'd like you to know that you'll be treated exactly as I was, Commander Spock," she spat out. "Just as you used me to make your asinine political point and put up some mirage of your Federation having a backbone, you'll serve the same purpose for me now." One of her eyebrows raised. "Except I don't bluff about my strength. Life can certainly be ironic, wouldn't you say?"

"And where is it that you plan on taking me?" Spock inquired.

"Oh no," Liviana replied, the corners of her lips pulling up into the hint of a nefarious grin. "It's not about where I'm taking you, but where you're leading me." Turning her face slightly to the left without ever taking her eyes off Spock, she commanded, "Ready the binds for his hands."

"Explain." Spock's voice had never broken its signature monotonic sound. He had calculated the odds of encountering this threat were high and accepted the danger, willing to deal with the consequences it would bring. But he had not resigned himself to betraying the Federation, and if Liviana and whatever group she now represented had it in their plans to force him to talk, Spock would be sure to teach them just how unbreakable a Vulcan could be.

Liviana traded the disruptor for her soldier's strong binding rope. "Revolution starts today for my people." Holding it out before her, her fists squeezed and pulled in opposite directions while she gritted her teeth. "With you."

Just as her black boots began marching to Spock, an iridescent sheen overtook his body, accompanied by the soft sound of a transporter. The last image he saw was Liviana's face contorting in utter surprise, and then the purest rage he had ever observed in a living individual, as she tossed herself in his direction.

Flinching as the infuriated woman dove at him, Spock materialized. Expecting the feeling of her body crashing into his own, he was instead introduced to the sound of breaking chaos reaching his ears, and his eyes snapped open.

"See?!" Halla'ah shouted from behind the transporter controls, slamming her hands against a Federation security officer's shoulders and pushing him forcefully back. Spock's right eyebrow raised as he took in the sight before him that indicated some sort of physical skirmish had occurred. Halla'ah's previously perfect curls were in disarray, the sleeve of her dress ripped. The officer crashing into the wall had lost his helmet and part of his uniform was torn. Another was on the floor nearby, and surrounding them was a collection of worried ambassadors from the conference.

Halla'ah leered at the man she just sent sailing into the wall and snapped, "I told you that was him!"

The sound of the warp core firing up suddenly rang out and the small ship took off faster than the speed of light. At this velocity, it would blast free of the solar system in just minutes and enter interstellar space to put as much distance as possible between it and Risa; only then could the rest of the evacuation plan be coordinated with Starfleet.

Immediately, Halla'ah turned and rushed from behind the transporter controls to where Spock stood. "Ambassador!" She looked him over, checking for wounds. "You seem to be in one piece!"

"Yes," Spock replied, stepping off the pad. "But can the same be said of you?"

A confident smile spread across her face as she proceeded to roll her shoulders and crack her neck. "Nothing I couldn't handle." Raising her chin, a look of annoyance took over her features and she cocked her head backwards. "These idiots thought it was too risky to attempt beaming you up."

"That's a direct violation of security protocol!" the Federation officer exclaimed from his place on the floor, anger in his voice. "Chapter eleven, section five specifically states—"

Ignoring the harangue, Halla'ah winked at Spock. "Why don't you go sit? I'll make Mister Rules and Regulations over there calm down, and then come talk to you." Her eyebrows knitted together in worry for a moment. "You are uninjured though?"

"Indeed," Spock replied with a nod and began walking towards the doorway to escape the commotion. As he passed the other ambassadors, he quickly regarded them before turning away; too many questions were present on their faces—questions he had no interest in addressing.

Once he stepped into the short hallway, he looked in both directions and headed left; it seemed to be the way that had the least amount of noise, and so he followed it to wherever it would lead him.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Amongst the rest of the freight in the cargo bay, Spock sat on a sturdy metal carton and stared out into the stars through a giant transparent aluminum window. In the end, the so-called "shuttle" Halla'ah had referred to earlier turned out to be a large transport ship, but unlike some of the other ambassadors, Spock didn't mind it. In fact, besides that it probably saved all of their lives, he was grateful for the extra space it provided which, in turn, granted him more privacy.

For the first time in years, he didn't stop himself from listening to the humming of the warp core or gazing into the magnificent display of stars he'd once lived an incredible life amid; once Jim had been killed in action, they were two things of many that Spock took great measures to avoid, simply because the memories they brought on were too strong.

No, he immediately corrected himself. Strong was the incorrect word; rather, they were painful. And as much as Spock would have liked to claim they weren't and that he was no longer affected by the absence of Jim, he knew it was untrue. For as long as he carried the broken bond in his mind—that road leading to nowhere—he would forever be subjected to these…feelings. And if that was the price he had to pay to keep Jim alive somewhere within him, it was worth it.

Something had changed when he found himself on that transporter pad earlier, though, as if putting himself on the line to save the remaining piece of Jim had awakened old things Spock didn't even know still existed within him: the sense of adventure, the appreciation of still having air filling his lungs, the desire to explore and keep reaching for the next star—things that made him feel young again.

When Spock had arrived in the bay and ambled amid the cargo in thought, it occurred to him that those attributes were all lessons Jim had taught him over the course of the time they spent together. That's when he realized that denying himself of them was also denying Jim of what he wished for most.

Jim would have never wanted to see Spock avoiding the windows during space travel and drowning out the sound of the ship; he wouldn't have wanted Spock to stop drinking wine, or lose his desire to be purposeful outside of the requirements of his profession, or never touch his lute again.

Spock reached into his robes and withdrew the pendant, allowing it to rest in his open palm as he always did when he regarded it. What he held was the embodiment of James Kirk, the man who he had been bonded to and loved with everything he had. For the first time since his passing, though, Spock began to understand that this wasn't the only thing Jim had left him with—and it wasn't a broken bond he was thinking of.

Pushing out a large exhalation through his nose, his left hand lifted from where it rested at his side. Exactly like that night on the balcony, it wasn't the proper location. He knew that, but even so, it couldn't stop his one digit from running over the middle of the pendant. It nearly dared to press down—nearly.

And then it did. For two seconds before releasing. And a soft blue light suddenly shot out from his palm and a tiny holoimage of Jim appeared. He was dressed in his red Starfleet captain's uniform, gray hair neatly styled. The creases of his face were deepened with the mischievous smile he wore.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!"

As the image stopped singing and Jim's lips widened even further into a grin, Spock's eyes softened and he spoke mentally to a void. 'Jim.'

"I know, I know. It's illogical to celebrate something you had nothing to do with but…"

'Do you wish to see the stars again?'

"…I haven't had the chance to tell you in person on the actual day this year. Or let you know how proud I am of you."

'Look, Jim.' Spock turned the pendant to face the window and extended his arm out as the message played on.

"Everywhere I go, I hear people praising you for all of the contributions you've made to Starfleet. For the advances in science you've helped become a reality, for the good you've done so that people everywhere can live better, for the peace you help bring as an ambassador. And I thought I'd seize the occasion and say bravo, Spock! You really do make me proud.

This mission is taking you away for much too long and you know…you know I'll miss you. But this is just part of the job description and I respect that.

It's strange. I guess I'd always imagined that we'd outgrow Starfleet together and live our older years in retirement. Maybe on Vulcan, maybe Earth. Maybe a place we've been, or one that's entirely new. I never really settled on a location because I knew there would always be somewhere only we know between us, and that always seemed to be enough.

Maybe that's the answer, though. Maybe we already know the place we're destined to be, because here we are, two old men still going at it. You get where this is leading to, right?

When I look around at the cadets that enter the academy all bright-eyed and ready to get out there, I'm always reminded of something important. Space exploration is something that you either have in your blood or don't. I take one look at them and I can immediately tell who's got that drive, that thirst.

And at the same time, I can't believe how many years have passed since we were the kids leaving our first footprints in space…since I first materialized onto the Enterprise and had to prove I was worthy of commanding the greatest ship in the fleet, of having the respect of the greatest crew.

I know what you'll say to that—that it's their turn to traipse about the galaxy and leave their own marks in history. And you're right, of course. But it doesn't stop me from thinking, Spock. Who's to say we can't go one more round together? There's so much of the galaxy left uncharted. Surely there's room for both them and us.

You once told me that commanding a starship was my first, best destiny and that anything else was a waste. You were right. But, Spock, that also means that yours is being right at my side. And that's exactly where I want you to stay.

If there's any true logic in this universe, we'll be on that bridge again together someday. Admit it, Spock… For people like us, the journey itself is home."

Spock lowered the pendant and turned it around to face him, watching the image of Jim smiling softly and extending his two fingers outward. Just as Spock was about to return the gesture, he heard a tiny snuffle and turned his head.

Halla'ah stood there, a hand clamped over her mouth and tears streaming down her face. When their eyes met, she closed her own and shook her head fiercely, gasping, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

"You do not need to apologize," Spock replied as he slipped the pendant back into his robe. He reached into a deep pocket and procured a handkerchief he had never made use of, which he extended to her in an offer. "Please."

Halla'ah's hand extended and she accepted it, immediately wiping at the wet streaks on her face. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. "I never meant to intrude. I just came looking for you and—"

"It is of little consequence," Spock said, sliding over to make room for her to sit. "So long as you can keep a secret. Can you?"

"Of—of course," she stammered, dabbing at her eyes once more before walking to him and sitting. She leaned forward, handkerchief in hand and elbows on her knees as she gazed out into the expanse of space.

She never took her eyes off the stars. "I came here to ask you if you ran into any trouble on Risa, but if you don't want to talk right now, it's okay."

Spock joined her in taking in the beauty of their galaxy, lifting an eyebrow and tilting his head. "I suppose I now understand what it is like to have been taken prisoner for approximately four minutes and eleven seconds—"

"Wait, you were captured?!" Halla'ah exclaimed, turning her face to him in disbelief.

Spock looked at her in return and matter-of-factly stated, "Yes."

She immediately leaned forward with determination. "By who?! Did you see their faces?! Know who they represent?!"

He pulled his thin lips in a line and looked down for a moment. Liviana's struggle-hardened face flashed in his mind against the picture-perfect image of the command and youth she used to radiate. A second more passed before Spock slowly shook his head. "Unfortunately, they were well-prepared. Their faces were covered and it was very dark."

"Damn," Halla'ah said under her breath before she let her eyes wander back out the window. "But you did manage to get what you went back for. I completely understand now."

There were a few moments of quiet contemplation between them.

"So, Ambassador. I hope you don't mind me repeating a question I asked you that night on the balcony, but I can't stop myself from wondering…"

"Go on."

"What's next for you?"

"As always, I go where I am needed most," he replied, echoing the answer he provided that evening.

Halla'ah turned to him as a quiet smile spread across her face. She nodded her head toward the stars. "Which is somewhere out there, right? That's where you truly belong."

Spock nodded and quietly replied, "Yes."

---

Epilogue

Over and over, it was always the same desire—the only thing different was the scenery it was projected in, but even that had quickly started to recycle after several times.

The red doors split open to a bridge shrouded in darkness and silence. Well on in his years, Captain James T. Kirk pushed those pesky gray locks of hair that perpetually tumbled over his forehead back in place and stepped out of the Enterprise turbolift. The sensors automatically picked up on his motion and flooded the abandoned space with white light raining down from the ceiling. As soon as he was able to see where he was going, Jim quickly walked down the right aisle and up the steps to his chair, trailing a large hand along the red railing.

Control panels lining the sides of the bridge had come to life, along with the helm station and view screen—sensors and indicators illuminating with the constant familiar background noise of soft chirps and chimes sounding off at certain intervals.

Jim fell into his chair, his spine melting into the plush backing, and he rolled his shoulders a few times to get comfortable before officially starting his shift. And then, it began. With his eyes on the view screen displaying a sea of stars just waiting to be explored, he raised his right hand and dropped it on the panel beside his chair. One digit pressed a button and held it down.

If there was one thing that defined Jim Kirk, it was the embodiment of confidence that he always carried himself with. That quality was clear in his voice when he began. "Captain's Log, Stardate—"

The pair of hazel eyes shifted to the left suddenly. "Stardate…"

His eyebrows drew in, a look of pure confusion transforming his face as he remained frozen there, clearly processing something in his mind. He turned his head to his digit pressing down on the button.

"—unknown. After passing through a wormhole, the Enterprise's instruments indicate we've ended up somewhere that's never been charted," Jim continued, once again returning his vision up to the view screen. "I can only assume we've crossed into a parallel universe. This…place is familiar and so foreign at the same time. I'm sure I know it, but something is missing, something…important. I just haven't figured out what that is yet. I feel, somehow, it's the only way to return home..."

His gaze lowered, digit remaining on the record button for several seconds more before releasing it without another word.

"Home," Jim repeated then, clasping his hands quickly and then rubbing them together as he swept the floor with his eyes from left to right. "Home is…"

He couldn't finish that sentence, but felt he knew someone who could tell him, guide him, and make things right again. His gaze lifted slowly, and he found himself staring into a huge, gaping hole in the bridge where the science station used to be. Jim's eyes locked there, emotionless and unaffected as though what he was seeing was entirely normal.

His hands took hold of the sides of his chair and gripped them in one quick tight squeeze before pushing himself to his feet. There was an indescribably strong magnetic pull attracting him to the void, like a string attached to his chest was being tugged, and he had no other choice but to oblige.

Stepping down to the aisle, Jim's digits curled around the red railing, and he stared into the darkness longingly. It was a large, ugly rift in the scenery of the bridge with torn, jagged edges. And though it seemed to be an image only found in one's nightmares, Jim somehow was unafraid of it.

"How…lonesome," he whispered to himself, not entirely sure why. He began walking toward the front of the bridge then, hand trailing along the railing and then he turned, ascending the stairs allowing access to the side consoles. The void seemed to beckon him to come closer with the promise that wide open arms would reward him with an embrace. He approached it slowly and touched his fingertips to the blackness.

Jim longed to feel a pair of arms around him, a gentle breath against his ear, some type of soft material not of earthen manufacture against his skin. He wished for the touch of a hand on the side of his face, with digits settling in a specific pattern that seemed so familiar and comforting and…right.

But why? He could find nothing of these phantom sensations in his memories, nor explain the odd things he sometimes felt compelled to say.

However, he knew the tear he stood before had something to do with finding out the answers to the questions that gnawed at him and made him consider why he wandered in a state of feeling so incomplete. If only he could remember how it was all related…

"My mind to your mind," Jim suddenly spoke, and stepped forward into the darkness. He walked for days within it.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The red doors split open to a bridge shrouded in darkness and silence. Well on in his years, Captain James T. Kirk pushed those pesky gray locks of hair that perpetually tumbled over his forehead back in place and stepped out of the Enterprise turbolift.

"Ugh, how horrendously mundane."

Jim froze in surprise upon hearing the strange voice filling the space, the bridge illuminating immediately and revealing a pair of legs slung over the left side of his chair. A barrage of thoughts assaulted his mind all at once, along with feelings of hope and nervousness for a reason he couldn't explain. With that, he finally moved, quickly walking down the aisle and expecting for a moment to see something—or someone—familiar. However…

"Who in the hell are you?!" Jim demanded, eyes squinting at a tall man slumped sideways in relaxation across his chair. His elbow was bent, resting against the console as his hand supported his head of short hair that was both dark and a touch unruly.

"Tell me, Captain, don't you ever tire of reliving this situation?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but this is my ship and there's nothing more important to me than it," Jim snapped. "Now get out of my chair."

The man raised his eyebrows and replied in a sing-song voice, "Temper, temper! Really, you humans are such simple-minded creatures." He shook his head and sucked his teeth several times. "Amazing, the way your feeble minds play games with you."

That was all it took for Jim to lunge forward up the steps and take hold of the strange uniform collar. He dragged the man to a sitting position so they were face-to-face, and tightened his fists. "Who are you?!"

"How rude!" he exclaimed, and immediately disappeared, leaving Jim with empty, clenched hands. Jim's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly looked left and right before spinning around, only to find the intruder stretched out on his side over the helm station.

"Really, Captain, that chair was quite comfortable!"

"How did you do that?!"

"What, this?" He disappeared into thin air and reappeared behind Jim, sitting once again in the chair with a contented sigh.

Whirling around, Jim's eyes fell upon him. He whipped his face back to the helm, and then returned it to the chair. "Look, I don't know what you want, but—"

"Captain, Captain, please. I'd like to think it's not only about what I want, but that this is of…" he trailed off, raising his hand in the air and turning it as he pursed his lips. "—mutual benefit."

"I'm not agreeing to anything that involves you using my ship," Jim retorted. "And—"

"Oh, for the love of—!"

"—and," Jim continued, stressing the word to make it clear that he wouldn't accept being interrupted. "I don't even know who you are."

"Humans, humans. Always with the same questions. So distrustful!" His voice dropped. "And so very, very tiring to deal with time and time again. Before you ask anything of me, do you not notice something strange over there to the right?"

Jim looked off to the void that had replaced the science station. Of course something was wrong there. Of course. It was the only part of the bridge that looked like it had been torn away, and if only Jim could figure out why…

"Really, your species has an interesting albeit inferior mind. It's so...malleable. A bit like wet clay."

"What is this all about? What do you want?" Jim demanded pointedly, shaking his head and then turning his attention back to him. "Who are you?"

The man rolled his eyes and looked off to the left, muttering, "I can see we're not getting anywhere like this. So dreadfully predictable."

And then he stood, several inches taller than Jim. His eyes roamed upwards and he sighed in a disinterested tone, "You may call me Q."

"Q?"

"That's right," Q replied with a shake of his head before making eye contact with Jim again. "Tell me, Captain. Fascinate me. Does that huge black hole over there on your bridge not bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me!"

"Yes, yes, it quite irks me too. Let's do away with it—with all of this, actually!"

Before Jim could begin to utter one word in protest, Q raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The scenery around them changed from the bridge they had just been standing on to the burning sands of Vulcan. They found themselves upon a large circular platform, surrounded by ancient structures of rock and native décor—a round hole carved out in the center filled with fiery coals and a sturdy green object erected next to it. The sand glittered and gleamed beneath the crimson sky, almost blurry in the sweltering temperature.

Jim distantly recognized this place; he felt he had visited it many, many times. However, just like on the bridge, there was a nasty gash in the scenery, right at the entrance to where he imagined a doorway should have been.

"Yes, here too," Q commented. "On Vulcan marriage grounds of all places. Strange, wouldn't you say?"

He snapped his fingers again and Jim found himself sitting in his chair before the fireplace in the condominium he had purchased long ago in San Francisco. He could certainly relax here, if only it weren't for that same offensive tear in space to his right, the very place he swore a chair used to be.

"Are you beginning to understand now, Captain?" Q asked, taking the liberty of helping himself to a glass of Romulan ale from the collection of bottles lined up on a shelf.

"No, I don't," Jim snapped and stood up, turning to face Q. "I don't understand any of this."

"Really, you're a cynic at heart! A masochist, even!" Q exclaimed, raising the glass of blue fluid to Jim. "Any other would find paradise here, but you, Captain…you choose to keep reliving the same nightmare over and over. You're so lost and you have absolutely no idea why."

"That's it!" Jim strode across the living room. "I'm getting sick and tired of all this double talk!" Q raised a hand to his chest, mouthing the last spoken words as Jim went on, "Either you tell me what you're doing here or—"

"Oh, come now. The night is young! There's no need for idle threats," Q interjected with amusement in his tone but a wave of seriousness washed over him. "Really, I'd have no qualms simply leaving you here, stuck in this infinite loop of misery you willingly put yourself through. It really does make for good entertainment, if not a striking example of how stubborn humans can be. It's a pity I need you, though."

"For what?!"

"A personal favor, which, as I stated is of mutual benefit." Q raised his eyebrows and took a sip from the glass. He smiled, looking down at it.

"I'm not doing anything for you!" Jim countered.

"No?" Q inquired, diverting his attention to those hazel eyes again. "I warn you, Captain, I can be quite influential!"

"No!" Jim stressed and threw his arm towards the door as he pointed in its direction. "I've had enough of this! Get out of my living room!"

"What if I told you I could repair that hole in your living room—in your memories, mm? Mend that constant aching loneliness that will plague you in this eternal purgatory you've created?"

Jim grabbed Q's arm and yanked him forward. "Get the hell out!"

"Really! I wish you weren't so important to him!"

"Go!" Pushing his hands into Q's shoulder blades, Jim shoved him in the direction of the door.

"Captain, one final question!"

The response only came as another forceful push against his back.

"Who is Spock?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Ahh, the clean scent of fresh air at a high altitude!" Q exclaimed, looking off into the expanse of trees he could see from the top of the mountain they stood upon. He ignored the man beside him who was doubled over on his knees and grabbing his head, mewling in pain. "Come now, Captain! Don't be like that. Yosemite is one of your favorite places! It's really quite a shame you didn't visit it much during your stay here, so now is the ideal time."

The question Q had asked back at the condo was only the catalyst—the opening of a door—to what was next to come. All it took was one additional snapping of his fingers (an unnecessary action, Q had informed Jim, but it made his work all the more flashy) and every single gaping hole in Jim's memory had been restored.

In that very second, all of the recollections Jim had had of Spock came rushing in like a tsunami, overwhelming him with feelings of unfathomable love and the desolation of losing him swallowed him whole. And then, that's when pain like he'd never experienced before hit.

"Not to worry, my good captain!" Q spoke cheerily as Jim shuddered and clenched his eyes tighter. "What you're suffering from here is a severed Vulcan marriage bond, but it's really no matter. You'll be just fine soon enough."

Hearing those words reminded Jim that he had endured the same exact onslaught of crippling affliction. It had happened when he was first claimed by the Nexus; the bond was incapable of withstanding the temporal rift that had swallowed and closed him off from his own universe. Jim couldn't remember how long he had suffered like this for, until a gentle hand brushed through his hair and stopped the pain—apparently achieving that by erecting mental shields which not only ceased his ailments but blocked out bits and pieces of his memories.

Jim had passed out afterwards—slept for what felt like days—but even upon waking, he had the sense that he would forever be restless, and was troubled by the feeling that an important piece of himself had gone missing. It was Spock. Spock! Discarded from his memories and replaced with nothingness in every single one.

If he wasn't incapacitated by the excruciating agony in his head, he would be grabbing Q's collar and throwing a fist into that annoying face repeatedly until he found out who had done it to him. What kind of life would he have had here, forever searching and reaching out to put together the missing pieces just to feel complete again—when they were hidden from him to begin with?!

Jim groaned loudly, fingers digging into his scalp and scraping in back and forth motions.

"Captain, if you'll only stand for just a moment and take in this magnificent view!" Q urged pleasantly, taking hold of Jim's nearest arm. "Come now! Up, up, up!"

Another sound of pure agony left Jim's lips as he was pulled to his feet.

"The splendor of it all! Did you know one of my own kind had a hand in designing this work of beauty? You'll be surprised, I'm sure, to know that most things of significance on your planet are because we decided to grace your people with our kind charity."

Barely able to stay standing from the pain, Jim shakily opened one eye very slowly, finding himself standing at the edge of the mountain he had fallen from the first time he, Spock, and McCoy had gone camping here. After all of that effort, he hadn't made it to the top…until now. And now that he was there, it was a pity that he couldn't keep even one eye open long enough to take it all in, as he had wished to on that shore leave.

"Yes, yes, I know," Q continued, his tone light. "You're speechless! I completely understand. I, too, would be so humbled before the work of a species so much more advanced than my own. But I suppose it's now time. Well, Captain!"

The sound of those two fingers snapping once again rang in Jim's ears, and then the clothes clinging to his body felt so incredibly tight that he needed to stand a little straighter just to breathe. He managed to open that same eye to find himself mysteriously wrapped up in an incredibly warm jacket with a hood, complete with waterproof gloves and heavy snow boots.

"Wh—what?" Jim stuttered.

"Now, as for your instructions," Q went on. "They're really quite simple. You need only breathe and listen to that little voice in your head. It'll lead you to where you wish to be most and, eventually, your presence alone will be enough to distract the ambassador from doing that very annoying and troublesome thing in the future. I don't quite appreciate when objects of my affection are stolen, especially when the thief isn't even interested."

"And just one more item, Captain…" Q's voice traveled as he strolled behind him. He raised one foot and pressed it lightly into the small of Jim's back. "Do enjoy Delta Vega."

In that very moment, Jim felt himself receive a forceful shove forward and both of his eyes snapped open wide as he was knocked right over the edge. His face contorted in horror as his mouth opened and he screamed as loud as his lungs would allow. The ground rushed closer and closer, and he flinched seconds before he was about to hit it.

The last thing he remembered was the sound of a snap.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When Jim hit the ground, he was instantly shocked to find out that, first, he had landed somewhere soft and painless, and, second, his still-open mouth had become full of something cold that muted his yell—which quickly turned into a groan.

His palms opened and he pushed himself up, surveying his surroundings with haste and spitting out what he'd just fallen prone into—snow! When he stumbled to his feet, he lifted the back of his hand to swipe at the cold wetness clinging to his face and looked around in disbelief at the remote area around him.

'Think of somewhere else,' Jim instructed himself in this thoughts. 'Just imagine anywhere.'

He strained his eyes, waiting for the scenery to change as his warm breath pushed out into the frigid air that was needling at his skin. Though he waited several seconds to find himself back on the bridge of the Enterprise again, nothing changed. And that's when he realized, he was no longer in the Nexus.

The Nexus!

Jim's eyes widened upon recalling it all: Q, the broken bond, falling through a portal, Do enjoy Delta Vega…

"Delta Vega!" Jim shouted in realization, his face contorting in anger. "Delta fuckin' you gotta be kidding me!" His heavily gloved hands reached back and pulled the hood over his head.

"Q, you asshole!" he yelled to the sky, clenching his fists as tightly as he could, given the constraints of the gloves. "Is this your idea of some kind of friggin' joke?!"

Jim thought for sure that he would've seen that pest walking to him from some direction and cackling, but when he looked at the desolate world of white around him, he found he was wrong. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips.

"Fuck." His shoulders lowered as he exhaled again, looking down at the snow covering the ground. Then, his brows pulled together the moment he recalled Q saying something else. "Wait a minute," Jim whispered to himself, his pulse quickening at the possibility of what he was piecing together. "He said to listen to a voice in my—"

His hazel eyes lifted then, widening and his reaction was immediate; he prodded at the place in his mind where the bond existed, finding it was intact. There was no pain in his head and nothing felt jumbled or missing, and in turn, his face bloomed into utter joy.

"Spock!"

Jim nudged at the link, sending an uncontrolled rush of emotion into it and waited for several seconds. He looked around nervously as the smile faded from his lips when no response came. Reaching forth with his mind, he began traversing across the bridge that connected him to Spock, and was stopped halfway by some sort of wall. Taken off guard by its presence, Jim pushed against it, but received no indication that anyone was actually on the other side.

His breaths were falling in short huffs now, visible in the frigid air of the ice planet he found himself marooned on, as a barrage of thoughts rushed across his mind and began to distress him. Did that wall he hit indicate Spock's mind was closed to him? Was it because he had taken another mate, or—it was unthinkable—was he no longer living?

Feeling panicked and his rage mounting, Jim reached his arm down in one swoop, gathered a handful of snow, and screamed as he threw it at the sky.

"Q!" he shouted as it fell back to the ground like glitter. "Q, you bastard! Come out from wherever you're hiding!"

Jim was quiet for a moment as he took in deep breaths, and the sound of something approaching in the distance suddenly graced his ears. With a feeling of satisfaction, he turned in that direction.

It took him a moment to realize that something was running toward him at top speed—and it wasn't Q. Jim's lips parted, unable to believe that some sort of enormous multi-legged spider-like creature, with a huge gaping maw lined with rows of sharp teeth, was cutting through the snow like it was nothing and converging directly on his position.

"Oh—!" he exclaimed, shuffling his feet back. "Oh shit!"

He immediately pivoted to the opposite direction and began bounding as fast as he could possibly run, given the conditions he was dealt and, not to mention, his age. Hearing his pursuer's legs stomping against the ground and its grunting getting louder, he turned his head over his shoulder to find it was rapidly gaining on his position. He gave a yell, whipping his face forward again.

With his arms pumping wildly up and back down as he sprinted, Jim found he was approaching a ledge and quickly looked around for any other option—which, he found, didn't exist. With a shout, he jumped and crossed his hands before his chest, keeping his body tight as he landed on his rear and leaned back to coast down the long hill. Behind him, he could hear an infuriated roar, which he assumed was a sign of a cancellation of the dinner plans that had involved him.

Jim's lips parted in another yell when he hit a snow bank, causing him to go airborne for several seconds. He lost his form and landed again on his side, beginning to tumble the rest of the short distance to the very bottom of the slope.

Landing roughly on his back over a clear patch of thick ice, he groaned loudly and lifted his head. Blinking several times, his face was overtaken by a dual look of shock and horror when he saw the creature twirling and thrashing as it fell down after him.

Jim slammed his hands down at his sides and pushed himself to his feet, the soles of his boots sliding backwards against the ice and nearly causing him to lose his balance. He steadied himself and had begun another full-on sprint to the cave he saw directly in front of him, when the ground shook violently as the creature landed squarely on all of its legs at the bottom of the hill.

Twisting himself to keep his balance, Jim yelled out again, and briefly squeezed his eyes shut as he pushed his body to run as fast as it possibly could. Knocking his hood off to see better, he entered the cave, knowing the animal was right on his heels, and suddenly felt a vine-like object take hold of one of his ankles from behind. With a cry, he face-planted as his foot was caught, and immediately rolled onto his back, flailing and struggling to free his leg from a wet tentacle, to no avail. The creature leered in his direction, mouth opening in a disgusting display of jagged teeth and fleshy innards as it roared loudly in his face, ready to go in for the kill.

At the very moment Jim's eyes went wide, an arm wielding a large torch swung in front of him and the tentacle tightly attached to his ankle slipped off. Breathing hard, Jim shook his head slightly when a tall humanoid dressed in a warm gray jacket stepped in front of him, waving the fire wildly and making the creature back off before hastily retreating outside.

Bracing himself on his elbows, Jim squinted at the mysterious, silver-haired figure standing before him with his back turned, holding the torch protectively at his side and remaining where he stood to ensure the threat was fully gone.

And then he slowly turned.

At the sight of a pointed ear, Jim's pounding heart nearly stopped and he froze, staring as the identity of his savior was revealed.

Their eyes met and everything in the universe came to a screeching halt, except for the heartbeat Jim could suddenly hear pounding in his ears.

Spock's eyes remained locked with Jim's but he made no movement at all, clearly not believing what he was seeing.

"S…Spock!" Jim choked out finally.

Spock inclined his chin, his spine visibly straightening at the sound of that familiar voice. His lips parted as he drew in a quick breath.

The large torch he held dropped to the ground, rolling off to the side. Spock fell forward, crashing hard upon his knees against the ice, and brought a severely trembling hand up to his mouth.

"Spock!" Jim exclaimed, pushing himself forward to his hands and knees. Spock made no movement as Jim began crawling the short distance to him, but as he neared, he could see those unblinking eyes of deep brown becoming glassed over.

Finally reaching him, Jim yanked his gloves off and tossed them aside, extending both hands out to touch Spock's shoulders in attempt to still his violent shaking. They remained like that for several seconds, until one solitary tear broke free from the moisture pooled within the brown eyes.

"You—" Spock began, his voice trembling as he shook his head and swallowed, almost appearing terrified. "You are not real. You are…simply an illusion."

With his own hazel eyes filling up, Jim merely lifted a cold hand in reply and brushed the fallen droplet away from a cheek that felt much thinner than he remembered. He cupped both sides of Spock's face in his palms directly after, and they stared into each other's eyes in a moment that seemed to last for eternity.

And that was all it took for Jim to pull Spock into him. He threw his arms around the skinny frame, pushing Spock's face into the crook of his neck as he held the back of his head, burying his eyes into hair that was once black, and choked out a sob into it. Spock's arms tightly wrapped around his body then and they clung to one another desperately.

As if searching for confirmation, Jim felt a presence cautiously approaching his side through the bond and when Spock realized the place they shared had come back to life, his lungs pushed out a choppy breath—only one word leaving his lips. "Jim!"

"Spock!" he exclaimed, shaking his head, his face still buried in the short hair as he began rocking him back and forth. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Jim felt spiny fingers padded with gloves clenching as tightly as they could against his back, and he tightened his grasp on Spock even further, holding him close in attempt to stop both of their bodies from trembling. Though their bond wasn't fully open—Jim assumed Spock had put shields in place—the sudden reestablishment of emotional transference between them was intense enough to cause such a physical reaction.

After some time, when the tremors died down and Jim began to remember how cold it was again, he ran his fingers through Spock's hair as he remembered him liking it. Spock slowly picked his head up from the shoulder his face was buried into, and sat back on his knees.

Their foreheads touched.

"How is this possible?" Spock whispered.

"We have a lot to talk about," Jim replied, just as softly. His hand slipped down to massage the back of Spock's neck at that moment, but as he cupped it, something drew his attention: a delicate chain.

As Jim began pulling up on it, Spock closed his eyes and reached up with one hand. He undid the first two buttons of his plush jacket, and pushed the zipper down just enough to be able to slip two digits inside. They wrapped around the chain and pulled up on it until he clasped the pendant within his hand. Lowering it between them, his fingers bloomed open to reveal it within his palm.

Jim pulled back slightly to glance down before his eyes sought out Spock's own again. In near disbelief, he said, "You're still wearing it."

Spock swallowed and nodded his head. "Yes."

Jim placed his larger digits into Spock's palm, resting them on top of the pendant. He closed his eyes, leaned forward, and the space between their lips became none.

Three Months Later

The band's waltz filled the ballroom of ambassadors, kicking off the negotiations that were about to take place on Risa. A dark-skinned woman, dressed in a frilled black dress and her arms adorned with henna, stood thoughtfully to the side as the other attendees gracefully danced with each other across the floor.

Her caramel eyes were drawn to the ruffling of the curtains in the light breeze, and her head tilted to the side as the corners of her ruby lips twitched into a slight smile.

"May I offer you a drink, Minister?"

She turned her attention to a waiter dressed in a black tuxedo, holding a tray of glasses filled with sparkling wine out to her. She grinned and paused, before replying, "In fact, I'll take two."

As the waiter smiled in return and began handing to her what she requested, an older man dressed in a red captain's uniform with gray hair approached. He was holding a glass of Saurian brandy over ice.

"Hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I'll take one of these too," he said with a smile, picking up one of the flute glasses from the tray, and then walking off.

As the waiter moved on, Halla'ah stood in place watching him vanish through the open door leading to the balcony. She seemed to be considering something when the sound of a deep voice stirred her from her thoughts.

"Am I to assume you're going to drink both of those glasses of wine?"

Halla'ah turned her face to a tall man with short yet unruly hair that had suddenly appeared at her side.

"Actually," she replied. "I'm thinking of offering one to Ambassador Spock, being that he's sitting alone. I've always really admired him."

He pulled his lips into a tight line and shook his head. "You know that guy you just saw walk out there?"

"What about him?" Halla'ah turned her attention back to the doors, as if she was trying to make out where he had disappeared to.

"Bonded."

"Bonded?" She repeated and her eyes widened suddenly as she put two and two together. "You mean they—?"

Leaning against the wall with one hand in the pocket of his black trousers, he nodded. "That's right. Really, they're a boring pair. Much too loyal to each other—nothing like Risian relationships, which I happen to know quite a lot about."

One of Halla'ah's eyebrows lifted, "Is that right? Then, perhaps you'd be interested in telling me what you think you know, Mister…" She shook her head. "Mister…?"

He turned back to her with a smile that was awfully sure of himself and lifted a hand, taking one of the glasses she held. "For now, just call me Q."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Outside, Jim transferred the wine to Spock and then sat down by his side with a contented sigh.

"Beautiful night," he commented, his hazel eyes lifting up to the sky. "…Too bad the light pollution is so intense here." He leaned a little closer to Spock. "Was there this much on Risa back in our own universe?"

Taking a sip from the glass, Spock nodded his head. "Indeed."

"Speaking of which, isn't it odd to be holding negotiations on a pleasure planet? Seems awfully dangerous to me," Jim declared, swigging his own drink.

"I would be inclined to agree," Spock replied with a nod. "However, I was informed that the security team has implemented some suggestions I made, and I am quite confident the time will pass uneventfully."

"Suggestions, huh? Something you learned from experience, Spock?"

Spock turned his face to Jim and lifted an eyebrow. "Perhaps."

'Well, listen, Spock. Just in case.' Jim's voice echoed over their bond. 'If anything does end up happening, I wouldn't leave. Not without you. You can be damn sure of that.'

'I can say with absolute assurance,' Spock began, pausing for a moment to look down at the glass of sparkling wine he held, '…that I would certainly not leave without you either, Jim.'

Jim smiled at him and casually dropped the back of his hand open against his own thigh. His ring and pinky digits folded in and were pinned beneath his thumb. Spock gazed out over the balcony, lowering his own hand, and as if by some sheer accident, brushed the same two fingers across the ones that Jim left extended.

'I love you.'