A/N: Omg you guys! I am absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who have not only reviewed but also added this to their story alerts/etc. This warm of a welcome was very unexpected, but I am very thankful! :] For people who reviewed, I replied personally to your reviews, but thanks again!

I forgot to mention something in the first chapter. All of the chapter titles are based on either other music, poems, or other pieces of literature. Listening to/reading the pieces the chapter titles are inspired by is not necessary to enjoy the story, but I would recommend it. This chapter's title is taken from a song "Nothing and Everything" by a band called Red. Youtube them, they're wonderful! :]

I also thought I should mention that an understanding of military time is probably necessary to fully understand a lot of what is going on. It's pretty simple, so if you don't know, a quick way to remember is that all A.M. times are below twelve, and P.M. times are that number plus twelve (ie, 3 P.M. would be 1500 hours - 12 +3 = 15).

I am thinking I will update every other day. That sounds reasonable to me, but what do you think? Let me know! :]

As always, comments and critiques are welcome! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy chapter two!

Chapter Two: Nothing and Everything

Spock did not sleep that night. He attempted to meditate, but to little avail – it was near impossible to focus enough to empty his mind into the quiet solace that was meditation. He thought while trying to meditate, but every train of thought led to the same hopeless conclusion.

His quarters were connected to Jim's by a shared bathroom. When he heard the water shower rumble on, two minutes and seven seconds after 0600, he rose from his meditation mat, quickly changed clothes and tidied his tousled hair, then stood by the bathroom door and waited.

He listened as Jim showered for seventeen minutes and twelve seconds, listened to the slap of bare feet on cold tile, listened to the rustling of cloth against skin.

He pointedly ignored the aching lust coursing through his flesh; a sign of the advanced stages of Pon Farr. He had little time left. He knew it, and it terrified him.

He counted twenty seconds after hearing Jim's door click shut, then stepped into the bathroom and turned on the sink. He scrubbed his face with the coldest water he could stand while he listened to the distinct sounds of Jim pulling on his uniform. When he heard the young captain sit down on what sounded like his bed and fumble with what sounded like his Starfleet regulation boots, Spock stepped over to the door to Jim's quarters, took as steady of a breath as he could manage, then rapped his knuckles against the white plastiglass door. He heard Jim take in a sharp breath at the unexpected sound, then call,

"Come in, Spock." He pushed the door open and took a step into Jim's quarters.

The room was unorganized, messy, and distinctly human. A white tee shirt and a pair of blue plaid pajama pants lay rumpled on the floor – he could smell the faint tangy odor of sweat emanating from them. Jim was sitting on the edge of his bed with a mess of sheets behind him, pulling on his boots.

"Captain," Spock said, forcing himself to focus, "I must speak with you."

"I'm listening," he replied with a faint grin, sitting up straight with both boots now properly on his feet, the hems of his pants tucked messily into the black leather. Spock took in a barely-steady breath, then said quickly,

"Captain, I must request an immediate emergency leave to New Vulcan." Jim's eyebrows darted up in surprise – whatever he had been expecting to hear from the Vulcan, this was not it.

"Why, Spock? What's going on?" he asked worriedly, "Is it a family thing? Is your father –?"

"It is not a family matter, nor does it concern my father," Spock snapped in irritation before he could stop himself – Jim's eyes bulged in shock – then he paused and continued in a forcedly even tone, "It is a... personal issue." Jim stared at him a moment, brows furrowed and lips pressed together tightly until finally he asked,

"Can you at least tell me what's going on?"

"I would rather not," Spock said faintly, looking away.

"Does it have something to do with your... behavior, yesterday?"

"...Yes," he replied simply, still unable to meet the other man's bright blue gaze. Jim remained silent for another moment, then slowly stood and stepped over to the intercom.

"Engineering, this is the Captain," he said slowly into it, "Is Mr. Scott there?"

"Scott here, Cap'n," came the unmistakeable drawl of the chief engineer.

"Scotty, how late would we be for our rendezvous at Starbase 49 if we were to travel back within beaming range of New Vulcan?" he asked steadily, his eyes never leaving Spock's features. A sputtering noise came from the intercom and Scotty replied incredulously,

"Well at the best it'd be a day and a half to get there and a day and a half to get back to this point, so we'd be a good three days late, Cap'n, and that's assuming the best!" He snorted audibly. "If'n you ask me, whatever you gotta get to New Vulcan for, it better wait if'n you don't wanna get beaten to a pulp by the 'fleet higher-ups crawlin' around 'base 49."

Spock's heart hammered against his abdomen and he closed his eyes, panic tugging insistently at his control. He had known this would be the case, but the confirmation of it suddenly filled him with terror. He heard Jim sigh and shift his feet, and he forced his eyes back open.

"Thank you, Scotty, that will be all," Jim said, and he stepped away from his desk towards Spock, who had not moved from the bathroom doorway.

"I'm sorry, Spock."

He could not find the strength to reply.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Jim asked, "Are you sick?"

"In a sense," he murmured.

"Can Bones help?" the captain continued, taking another step closer to the Vulcan, "Please, Spock, let us help you."

"It is not something that can be fixed by Dr. McCoy," he replied stiffly. Jim looked at him, a pleading look in his eyes, but Spock kept his gaze affixed to the floor.

"Do you need to take the day off?" he asked finally. Spock slowly shook his head.

"I am fit for duty," he replied, turning to go, "I will see you shortly on the bridge." He stepped hurriedly back through the bathroom, to the safety of his own quarters. Jim stared at the closed door for a long few moments after the Vulcan had left, a worried frown plastered on his features.

Spock had been trembling like a sick tribble through their entire conversation.

He was very worried.

"He's getting worse, Bones," Jim exclaimed the moment the door to McCoy's office slid shut behind him. The doctor glanced up at him sharply, frowning.

"Jesus, man, I haven't even had dinner yet," he groaned, pushing himself out of his chair, "So the hobgoblin's worse?"

"He asked for an immediate emergency leave to New Vulcan," he explained hastily, "But we couldn't – jesus, Bones, I want to help him, but there's no way we'll be able to make it work, getting to New Vulcan will make us so damn late to Starbase 49, we'll get demoted or something." McCoy sighed.

"What are his symptoms?" he asked.

"He's shaking worse today. And he raised his voice a couple of times on the bridge."

"That's a shock," the doctor replied dryly, pacing about the room, "You're gonna have to get him to come in here, Jim. I can't help him if I can't see him."

"I dunno if I can get him to come, Bones," Jim replied with more than a hint of frustration, "I talked to him about it this morning and he said you couldn't help him." McCoy snorted indignantly.

"Ain't nothin' one of my hypos can't fix," he retorted irritably, then sighed. "Well, I can't even try to help him if he won't let me see him. You're gonna have to find some way to get him down here, Jim." The younger man sighed, scrubbing a hand wearily through his messy hair.

"All right," he replied, "I'll see what I can do."

"Order him if you have to," McCoy added as Jim stepped out the door.

"Yeah, yeah," came the reply, and then he was gone.

Spock was a mess.

He had once again stumbled into his quarters at the end of Alpha Shift, and had promptly collapsed into the chair sitting in front of his impeccably tidy desk. He sat there panting for three minutes and forty-two seconds, his entire body feeling as though he were about to burst into flame, which was entirely illogical – his body temperature was approximately seven degrees Fahrenheit above normal, which was, although worrisome, nowhere near hot enough to combust – but this did not stop him from feeling like it.

His mind was in a haze, clouded over with heat and lust. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, propped his elbows on the desk, and held his head in his hands.

It finally occurred to him that he should contact his father again, but he could not muster the strength to rise. He would just sit awhile longer – some rest would do him some good.

He did not know how long he sat there. He felt as though that should worry him, but he was too exhausted to care.

He could faintly hear the door to the bathroom being opened and Jim's voice softly calling out, as if in a dream,

"Spock?"

Jim hovered in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Spock was slumped over his desk with his head in his hands, his entire body shaking as if he were in the midst of an earthquake. He did not respond to Jim's voice.

He needed to get Spock down to Sickbay. But if Spock was asleep, as he appeared to be, he didn't want to wake him up – he figured sleep was just as helpful for sick Vulcans as it was for sick humans.

He stood there for a moment longer, watching Spock tremble with each heavy intake of breath.

But he had a better idea. Jim closed the door quietly and hurried through the bathroom back to his quarters. If he couldn't get Spock to Sickbay, then dammit, he would drag Bones down to Spock. He leaned down close to his intercom, remembering the sensitive Vulcan hearing Spock would so often brag about, and spoke softly into it,

"Sickbay, this is Captain Kirk. Is McCoy there?"

"McCoy here," came the exasperated reply.

"Bones, do you think you could come down here?" Jim asked, barely above a whisper, "I think Spock is asleep and you'd probably have better luck trying to take a look at him now than trying to get him to sit still in Sickbay long enough." The doctor sighed audibly.

"I'll be down in a minute," he grumbled.

"Come to my quarters, the door's unlocked," Jim said, "Don't forget your tricorder." McCoy snorted.

"Don't forget your phaser," he snapped back, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "McCoy out." Jim straightened back up slowly.

He still had no idea what the hell was wrong with Spock, and it irritated him to no end. He was the captain, he was supposed to be in charge – he was supposed to know what was going on, dammit! But the moment his friend – probably his best friend – had something wrong with him, he put up those same damn Vulcan walls and Jim was helpless. And if there was one thing Jim hated, it was the feeling of being helpless, of not being in control. As such, he hated the ocean and really any large body of water – hated that when he tried to swim, the crashing waves and rushing currents held him captive, completely at the mercy of the flow of the stifling water. He'd rather have the pool down in the Enterprise's fitness center any day. At least in a pool he was in control of what direction he was swimming in.

But trying to find what was wrong with Spock was like being thrown in the ocean, and on a foggy day at that. The Vulcan's damn stubborn silence made him want to punch a wall.

The door clicked faintly as it opened, breaking him out of his reverie, and he turned to face a grim-looking McCoy, tricorder in hand.

"Quiet," Jim said simply, stepping toward the bathroom door and beckoning with one hand for McCoy to follow.

They stepped through the bathroom and slowly, slowly, Jim opened the door to Spock's quarters. He slipped into the room first – Spock was sitting in the same position he had been in before, and Jim motioned for McCoy to enter. The doctor stepped into the room and immediately headed towards the Vulcan. He stood a safe distance away while setting up his tricorder, Jim hovering near him. Spock only continued his trembling as McCoy held out the tricorder and moved it around, first circling Spock's head, across both shoulders, down his spine and back up, hovering around his abdomen and chest for a moment before pulling it back.

Suddenly the tricorder let out a faint peep, and then everything fell to pieces.

"Shit," McCoy hissed as he clapped a hand over the machine, at the same moment that Spock jolted straight up in his seat. Their eyes locked for an instant, then Spock's features twisted in rage and in one fluid motion he leaped to his feet and shoved McCoy away into the wall.

"How did you get in here?" he nearly shouted as Jim jumped to the doctor's side. McCoy groaned, rolling away from the furious Vulcan.

"Spock!" Jim shouted as he took a step towards them, "Stop, now!" Spock halted, staring at him in consternation, then flung out an arm and gestured towards the door.

"Out," he hissed simply, and the two scrambled for the door to the hallway.

Once they were down the hall and approaching the turbolift, McCoy stopped and bent over, wheezing slightly.

"Shit, Jim, I'm sorry," he said bitterly, "Forgot to put the damn thing on silent."

"It's fine," Jim sighed, "You alright, Bones?"

"Green-blooded son-of-a-bitch nearly broke my ribcage," he grumbled, "But I'll live. Let's just get back to Sickbay and figure out what the hell's wrong with the damn goblin." They continued into the turbolift.

"Sickbay," McCoy said firmly just as Jim was opening his mouth. They frowned at each other good-naturedly, then Jim chuckled and McCoy rolled his eyes.

When they arrived in Sickbay, Nurse Chapel stopped them before they had taken more than a few steps and told McCoy,

"Ensign Scall and Ensign Koe came by while you were gone. They wanted to schedule their yearly physicals. You've got an appointment next week with Scall and the week after with Koe."

"Thanks," McCoy said wryly. "I've got some stuff I gotta take care of. Don't let anyone into my office 'til I'm done." Chapel rolled her eyes.

"Right," she replied, and she sauntered off as they stepped into the doctor's office.

"Damn, Bones," Jim said, barely stifling a laugh, "Is she always like that?"

"It's your fault," McCoy grumbled, "I bet she's pissed I've been off screwing around with you over that crazy hobgoblin."

"Sorry, sorry," he replied, holding his hands up in acquiescence, but with the same insufferable grin plastered to his features.

"Yeah, whatever," McCoy sighed. He placed the tricorder on his desk and sat down, pulling over another PADD presumably with Spock's medical information. "Let's just get this over with."

"Sounds good," Jim sighed, sitting down in a chair in the corner.

McCoy fiddled with the tricorder for a moment, which then hummed mechanically as it regurgitated the information. Jim watched anxiously as the doctor compared the tricorder with the PADD.

The doctor's face grew more and more disbelieving as his eyes darted back and forth until finally his mouth worked silently in an attempt to speak, and Jim's heart plummeted out of his chest to the floor.

"Shit, Jim," McCoy finally managed to utter, "You're not gonna like this."

Spock watched the two men flee from the room, rage coursing through his body like blood. How dare they come into his room, and that tricorder scan was a gross violation of privacy and he wanted so badly to throw something, so he grabbed the nearest object and he hurled it at the now-closed door with a guttural roar. The sound of glass shattering startled him and, suddenly, the fury was gone. He stumbled to pick up what he had thrown.

It was a holo of his family. He remembered it had been taken one week and three days before he had been accepted into – and promptly declined – the Vulcan Science Academy. It was one of the only family holos he owned, and it was the most recent. In the photo, his mother stood in the middle with his father on the right and himself on the left. His father was expressionless and his mother had a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her features. Spock, however, was no longer visible – where his face and torso had once been was now a mess of broken holo screen covered in multicolored lines.

Spock picked up the picture, heedless of the shards of shattered glass leaving innumerable tiny green cuts along his hands. Carefully he set it back on his desk with an unbearable sadness flooding his senses, then he sat back down and wept.

A/N: I know Spock seems a little out of character this chapter but I figure that Pon Farr brings shame to Vulcans for a reason, because it makes their emotions lash out uncontrollably, in addition to, you know, the obvious parts. So I hope that that comes across clearly.

Next chapter will probably be on Monday. See you then! :]