Jim had wanted to allow for it to all sink in, but it was looking less and less like he had the time, and honestly, he did not want to lose his nerve. Convincing Spock to let him help was going to be even more difficult than getting him to talk in the first place -- which technically, Jim had never succeeded at (he was not permitting himself to dwell on that fact).

The elder Spock's last words to him had been an apology, for the less than favorable news surely, but it came across more as a condolence of the sort one received for a dead friend. Perhaps he thought Jim would leave the situation, that Spock would die.

Jim had not thought to ask the ambassador how he had survived his own pon farr once his original theory had been refuted, but he could imagine. And if worse came to worse... he would allow Spock to do that, as was obviously planned. It was not as though it would mean anything, after all.

But that still remained Plan B. B for Break Both Their Hearts A Little.

Spock's door was, unsurprisingly, locked. Sometimes, it was good to be the captain.

Spock was knelt before his firepot when Jim entered. The line of his shoulders grew rigid at the sound of the door; he could not have been that far under. As McCoy had suggested, no doubt he was having trouble relaxing.

Jim reset the lock to his own code. "We need to talk," he then said.

Spock did not turn. "... I expected Doctor McCoy would inform you of the severity of the situation."

Jim looked down to his boots. "Yeah, he did. Said you wouldn't tell him what was wrong either."

"Indeed not."

"So I called the ambassador."

He watched as Spock's breathing stilled and he slowly faced Jim. "You spoke with my counterpart?"

"You didn't give me much choice, did you?" Jim snapped. Spock blinked impassively. "He told me everything."

"Yes, I imagine he would."

"Hey," Jim took a step forward and brandished a finger at him, "don't do the condescending thing -- he helped me when you wouldn't. Don't blame him for trusting me just because you can't."

Too far, he knew the instant he had stopped talking. Years with Frank had beaten into his head how to get defensive, and then months of trying to scare raiders away from his food. Only the service had tempered it, and stress tended to bring it out, especially around Spock, where he could afford it.

But who knew what would push Spock over the edge at this point. Danger flared in the wake of guilt.

"It is not a question of trust, Jim," was all Spock said to that though. "Quite the contrary. And you misinterpret my regard for my counterpart. We are one and the same, and yet, we are not. I have experienced that he has difficulty finding the line between the two. And this... was not his to tell." Jim saw his throat bob. "You are mine. He must learn that what was best for him might well not be for me... for us. And that I am capable of deciding what is on my own."

Spock for he had his turn with you. Something told Jim there was more to that than the childish possessiveness that was coming across.

"How was keeping this from me best?" Jim moved closer and Spock's eyes assessed the movement warily. "I can help."

"Then I can only discern that the ambassador did not, in fact, 'tell you everything'."

"He told me it would be a bad idea. That you might... see me as a threat."

"As a challenge, yes." When Jim made another step forward, Spock went about extinguishing the firepot. "There is far more than a small chance of that."

"I want to help."

"You cannot."

Spock held his eyes and Jim swallowed his words at first, not wanting to say them. "... Then we'll find someone who can."

Both of Spock's eyebrows soared, and Jim wondered if he had said something drastically wrong. But Spock was leaving him no other option. "Jim," he said. "Are you under the impression that I am returning to the colony to seek a female mate?"

"Well, it's me or that, right? And you're turning me down. And the older you said that back when he-"

"He clearly explained far less than I first believed." Spock stood from his kneeling position, black robes swaying. "The woman selected for me was taken along with my mother and my planet, Jim." He shook his head. "There is no one waiting for me there."

"So then why are we rushing there?"

Spock's dark eyes wandered over Jim's face. "To remove me from here."

Jim stared, dumbfounded. Spock was refusing him, and a female mate. Going off to die, like Jim would allow it, and of course he would never-

"That's why you wouldn't tell me," he muttered, and Spock did not reply, moving into the sleeping area of his cabin to set the pot away.

"I have left... referrals for both of my positions in the data discs on my desk," Spock explained, arranging things that had no need of being arranged and keeping his back to Jim. "You will find them all quite qualified and those selected for the executive officer position suited to complement your own abilities."

"Spock, that's... no." Jim stepped up behind him. "No, no. Can't they find someone for you? There have to be plenty of people who lost their mates too."

"That you would allow that-"

"Of course I would allow it! The alternative's pretty fucking bleak, isn't it?" Jim snatched his shoulder and spun him to face him. "Can they find someone?" he demanded.

"... They can."

"Then what the hell is the problem?"

"Whoever they found would not be you."

Circles again. Jim blinked through them. "Spock," he said. "That's sweet and all, but kind of irrelevant. You won't let it be me, so we'll let it be someone else. You'll go, you'll take care of it, you'll come back."

"To you." It was half a question.

"Yes," Jim insisted. "Of course."

"Jim." Spock reached up to pry Jim's hands from his shoulders and Jim allowed it, though he clung to Spock's fingers. "Pon farr... it is largely telepathic."

"You need a telepath?"

"No. A compatible mind and willing body, nothing more. What I mean to say is... it is, at its core, a marriage. To survive requires the lifebond."

"Oh." Jim's grip on his fingers loosened somewhat in defeat. "You... couldn't come back."

"To the service, yes." Spock twined their fingers and Jim wondered if it was voluntary. "But not to you."

Jim's eyes fell to their hands. "Oh," he said again.

He heard Spock swallow. "Unacceptable."

Jim hesitated, and then let his forehead fall to Spock's chest. He felt like someone had let all the air out of him.

"Jim," Spock said, nose in his hair. "Please back away. The meditation was not sufficient to resist such proximity." He released Jim's hands.

"You can't just go die," Jim mumbled into his robe. "You won't let me help, well, I won't let you do that."

He could feel Spock breathing. "If the choice is my life or your own..." he said, "I must say, the decision is quite simple." Jim shut his eyes. "Even more so than I anticipated it would be." Spock shifted. "Jim, please," he said. "Back away."

Jim sniffed and lifted his head, obeying. "Is this why we never bonded?" he asked.

Spock was merely watching him, but Jim could see the subtle signs of his relief at Jim's distance. "We... never spoke of it," he reminded Jim. "I was unaware you would even desire it." Jim opened his mouth to correct him. "But had it come up. No, I would not have allowed it. As it is, melding with you has become increasingly draining, particularly during sexual congress-"

"What? You didn't tell me. I mean you..." Jim gestured futilely, "uh, lately, but. Why?"

"To prevent a bond from forming. Surely you have noticed the ever augmenting enmeshment, how much longer it has taken to withdraw than it did in the beginning, when even then it was-" Spock stopped himself. "Had I allowed it, the desire to seek you out when my Time came... would have been incontrovertible."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jim turned and paced, angry, so angry. Spock was leaving him no say-so in this, and after getting them into this mess in the first place. "You knew about this -- why did you even..." Jim could not bring himself to suggest that they should never have started their relationship, such as it was. It would have been logical, but not right, surely even Spock could feel that, surely he had, to fail at resisting it.

"I apologize, ashayam." Jim flinched at the endearment and stopped to listen. "I had never encountered anything such as you and hunger made me selfish. I did believe there was more time, that perhaps I would find another way or my fears would prove unfounded, but... I wanted you in such capacity as I could have you."

Jim prepared himself for another surge of anger, but it never came. Spock sounded as miserable as he felt; he could not begrudge him the time they had had, could not bring himself to regret it, so long as Spock survived it.

It was more than their counterparts had been gifted. It would have to be enough.

Jim set his jaw so it would not tremble. The ambassador's apology was no longer strange to him.

He turned to find Spock watching him carefully. "Then you'll have to forgive me the same decision."

Spock looked like he was sizing up that statement, or perhaps as McCoy would say, computing it, but Jim did not move to clarify. He had been plain, he saw no reason to explain further.

"Jim," Spock said after a good minute of silence, and Jim almost jumped at his own name, "this is my decision."

Jim wanted to get in his face again, but some part of him was still aware that that was unwise. "Bullshit," he spat instead. "This affects us both. You've been making all the decisions until now, it seems; I think I can make one."

"Jim-"

"No," Jim said, "no... no. You don't just do this to people, okay? You don't just get someone all used to you, and then go all, 'oh, hey, by the by'. No." Spock watched him, wide-eyed, but Jim felt little sympathy for him anymore. "I don't know how to be just me anymore. Do you know what that's like? For someone like me? I spent my whole life avoiding this place." He gestured back and forth between them. "And now I remember why!"

"Please stop shouting."

It was the way Jim had often said it to McCoy after a night of drinking back at the Academy, and it did deflate him. Yelling was probably not the best idea right now, when Spock was already worried that he would attack him... to whichever result. Jim sighed and made himself breathe.

"I want you any way I can get you," he said. "If that means only as a first officer and friend, then... okay."

Spock stood there a moment and then slowly and cleanly lowered himself to the bed, hands between his knees. "Jim, I... considered undergoing the Kolinahr."

Jim went to answer and then realized he had none. He had no idea what that meant. Was that what the ambassador had said he had returned to Vulcan for when his Time had come? Jim knew it had been something with a K. Was Spock conceding that he had at least thought about marriage? "Is that a wedding?" he asked, and he had meant it when he had, but now it was out of his mouth, no, that sounded wrong.

"No," Spock said. Had he been anyone else, Jim thought he would have been receiving a mirthless laugh right about now. "It is the Vulcan discipline which purges all emotion."

Jim had not even known such a thing existed and really, he thought, he should not have been surprised. "Okay..." was all he knew to say.

"I considered it even more after I met you; for my anger, then my grief, and then for... and then when you returned my sentiments, so that we would never face this situation."

Jim took that in. "So there's a way to get through it alone."

"None that I could come back from any more than I could from a marriage to another, and nor would there be sufficient time for it now. But in any event... I could not force myself."

"... I don't get it." It was nice to hear, but what did it have to do with anything?

"If I had believed living without you an option... I would have done it long ago."

Jim knew he should not be approaching him again, but he was a tactile person by nature, and words were rarely how he comforted. Spock's eyes were downcast, but as soon as he perceived Jim's nearness, he looked up, giving the impression of drawing back even though he had no where to move to.

"And what the hell," Jim said, cupping Spock's neck, thumbs brushing the curves of his jaw, "makes you think that doesn't go both ways?" Spock's eyes slipped closed, both relishing and resisting the touch. "You wouldn't be living without me this way."

"Jim," Spock whispered.

Jim watched him, moving a hand up to press a thumb to Spock's bottom lip, rapt. "You don't look like you're about to kill me."

Spock's eyes snapped open, and Jim almost thought it was surprise he saw in them. "I am not," he said. "The fever will not come upon me for days yet. I reject you for fear of my inability to resist bonding with you."

That was interesting to know, something Jim could actually exploit if he saw fit. He could make Spock let him help; it was nice to feel some measure of control over the situation again. Spock was lucky Jim would not do that to him, had surely known he would not or he would not have told him that. And even if he did, and then somehow survived the fever when it came, that would always be between them.

Jim swallowed, eyes on his roaming fingers. Spock must have been feeling it like kisses pressed to his face. "I want that," he admitted, like Spock did not know that, and maybe he didn't. "So there's option number one. Though considering I'm not risking you dying either, I guess I can understand you not risking me either. So that leaves option number two -- finding you another mate. I'm not granting you leave otherwise. And you can try to hide out, but I'll lock you in here and seduce you 'til you snap." He jerked his head back toward the door. "I got access."

Spock stared at Jim's midsection, level with his eyes, and Jim petted at the back of his head, combing his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "... Make love," he said, reaching for Jim's waist and settling his hands there, "Bond... with someone who is not you."

Jim stepped closer, between his legs, without thinking. "That's right," he said.

"And never-" Spock licked his lips, gaze still falling toward the bottom of Jim's chest, "never make love with you again."

It was the obvious result, and yet, Jim had not considered it that way. This did not just apply to after Spock was bonded to someone else; if he feared bonding with Jim, it applied now as well. The last time they had had sex was the last time they ever would.

Jim could not even remember when it had been.

He stepped away from Spock, suddenly claustrophobic, and Spock's hands dropped from his waist. He wanted to punch Spock, hurt him, to cling to him and never let go. He could not move with it. He shuffled backward again.

"I'm going to call your father," he said. "You should be meditating anyway, and I'll make sure it gets done. I'll tell him our ETA and he can find you a mate." He glanced at Spock, because he could not stare at him. "Right?"

Spock's hands settled on his knees. "He can."

Jim nodded. "Okay, then."

He turned and hot-footed it to the bathroom door and to the other side of it, leaving Spock locked in his quarters, but then he was not likely to be leaving them anyway and Jim could not stay in there suddenly. He moved through the bathroom, past the shower, avoiding his face in the mirror where he would normally seek it out, and back through to his own cabin, sealing the door behind him.

He stood just inside, eyes bouncing over the room, chest heaving. His breathing kept speeding up and he swiped his hand at his mouth, bending to place both on his knees. He was still for a moment, focusing only on his lungs, the rise and fall of his shoulders.

"God," He straightened, "damn it!" And he grabbed the nearest object -- an unopened bottle of Starfleet issue shampoo -- and threw it, hard. It sailed across the room and into the book shelf just above his bed, knocking several old tomes down, bouncing on the mattress and thunking on the deck.

It was no where near enough. He tugged the blankets and clothing from the wall shelves, kicked his desk and swiped at the contents of it, and when a data PADD clattered onto his foot, he snatched it without a thought and hurled it as he had the shampoo. It smashed the screen of the desk's comm unit with an explosive shatter and the noise was ridiculously satisfying.

Gasping for breath, he clutched at the corner of his desk and sank to the floor.