"Did you hear what happened yesterday?" Ensign Lancaster asked her team in geological science lab 54.

Ensign Tyler Maddox nodded, eyeing his colleagues solemnly, "I heard that when the doctors found him, they had to revive him in the hallway."

"Who would do something like this?" Marionette, an Orion botanist, one commendation away from making Lieutenant, had overheard the conversation on her way into the lab to grab a few soil samples. The ship was no longer in orbit around Vendigo XII as all the final tests had been analyzed and reported to Starfleet as of 1930 hours yesterday. "It gives me the creeps thinking there might be some kind of racial terrorist running around the ship."

Ensign Avery, a redheaded geologist placed a comforting hand on the Orion's shoulder, "Don't worry, Mary, I'm sure the Captain's already on the war path."

"Yeah, no one messes with Kirk's First Officer," Ensign Maddox nodded with a wink that indicated an underlining meaning.

Avery shook her head, "Did you see Captain Kirk's face yesterday when they ran into Sickbay after Mr. Spock?"

"I saw," Lancaster frowned. He and the Captain had actually made eye contact for a millisecond while Kirk and McCoy were headed into the doctor's office. He'd never seen Kirk look more disturbed. "I was in there getting stitches after yesterday's flammability fiasco."

"Me too," Ensign Jonathan Trask spoke up for the first time. "Mr. Spock told me we were all going to get commendations for our discovery. I was still pretty loopy from the pain killers. I was there when the yellow alert went off and Dr. McCoy ran out the door."

"I took lunch with one of the orderlies that responded," Maddox leaned in to mutter quietly, "The sick bastard that did it, managed to program the shield to shoot off a crude phaser ray, that carved 'half-breed' in to Mr. Spock's stomach."

Marionette's complexion went from a deep moss to sea green, "That's what I had heard, but I just…really didn't want to believe it."

"Poor Jim," Avery sighed, "I don't know what I'd do if it were Kyle." Her eyes started watering at the thought of her fiancé being injured like that.

Marionette cocked her head, "What do you mean?"

All eyes were now on the Orion. Maddox's eyebrows were in his hairline, "You mean, you don't know?"

Mary rolled her eyes, her rosy, pouting lips standing out against her verdant skin, "Know what?" she asked impatiently.

"About Kirk and Mr. Spock," Ensign Trask replied, in the tone of voice that screamed, 'DUH'. "How they're…you know…together."

Mary's eyes went wide, "No way!"

Avery nodded her head in dissention, "Yes, way. I can't believe you haven't noticed it! Everyone knows they're-," she broke off and looked around, to make sure only familiar ears were listening, then she leaned in close to Marionette and continued with a lowered voice, "Everyone knows they're lovers. Have been for the better part of a year. All those 'chess games' in the Captain's quarters. Everyone knows Mr. Spock and Lt. Uhura called it quits because Spock fell in love with the Captain."

"It's so romantic," Lancaster sighed.

Mary knew she was gaping as she looked between the faces of her colleagues, "There is no way I would have missed that."

Lancaster rolled her eyes, "Oh, please, you and the other botanists spend so much time with your heads up the stamens of so many plants you barely have time to notice anything going on around you."

Mary shot her friend a glare, "Smart ass." She then gestured to Trask's bandaged hands, "At least us botantists aren't blowing up our labs playing with matches!"

Trask and Maddox rolled their eyes simultaneously, before Trask argued, "It was NOT matches! Why does everyone keep making that joke?"

"Seriously," Maddox agreed. "It was Matthews, in the test zone, with the mini-torch!"

Avery, Lancaster and Marionette giggled at the boys' defensiveness and Maddox's reference to Clue. Then Avery looked around, "How is Matthews, anyway? I haven't seen him since he bolted out of sickbay yesterday."

Maddox shrugged, "He had to have his scalp lasered by Nurse Chapel, but I guess he's fine."

Trask shook his head, "I think he left in a hurry once he caught sight of Spock. He didn't take that dressing down the other day too well, did he?"

Lancaster shook her head, "No, he didn't."

"Okay," Mary sighed, I've got to get back to my lab, but now I have to know. "What did Matthews do to piss off the First Officer?"

"He kept making snide comments to Ensign Teluveh, the Andorian Engineer that was helping us with some of our scans the other day," Avery explained. "He kept looking over her shoulder and asking her stuff like, 'are you sure about that?' and 'make sure you don't overdo this or overdo that.'"

Marionette raised her eyebrows, "Commander Spock overheard?"

"Oh yeah," Maddox nodded. "He's Vulcan—he can hear a pin drop from 50,000 kilometers."

They all chucked fondly, before Lancaster finished the story that had circulated the labs for days after it happened, "Anyway, Mr. Spock came over and told him he should try to pay more attention to his own work. I think his exact words were something like, 'Ensign Matthews, I do believe your time would be more wisely spent reviewing your own work, opposed to that of Ensign Taluveh, as I can clearly see seven distinct errors in your current calculations regarding the chemical composition of this particular mineral.'"

The group of them erupted into fits of laughter at Lancaster's poor imitation of Spock's voice. "Served him right though," Trask said through chuckles. "Matthews is too competitive. He thinks he has to lead on everything. That's why he was the one with micro-torch yesterday."

"Total control freak," Avery nodded.

Marionette shook her head, "And I thought us plant geeks were bad." The group exchanged a few more pleasantries before heading back to their stations. It had been a busy past couple of weeks and they were glad to be moving away from Vendigo XII and winding back into their usual work flow patterns. Planetary testing was so exhausting.

Jim sat in his command chair on the bridge wondering when the Hell this shift was going to be over. They had warped away from the planet at 0545 this with new orders to rendezvous with the Pomtemkin, whose crew would be taking over exploration and surveying the Planet Vendigo XII. They really need to think of a better name for that rock…Jim mused. It was a mouthful. They were 18 hours away from the rendezvous point and Kirk was beginning to go stir crazy. He was trying to get through this shift without tearing his hair out in worry over Spock. He checked the chronometer on his chair's arm. It had only been fifteen minutes since his last inquiry to sickbay regarding Spock's status. Mid-morning had already come and gone.

Jim had woken up to a painful thwack of clipboard meeting the back of head, "I told your fool ass to get out of here and get some rest!"

He had groaned at the crick in his neck and the stiffness in his back, not made any better by McCoy's version of a wake-up call, "Damn Bones, I think I may have a concussion."

"I'm sure you wish you did, Romeo," Bones grumbled as he started taking readings from all the equipment hooked up to Spock. "That way you could spend all day in here with your pointy-eared lover."

"Keep it down, wouldya?" Jim grimaced, "I just woke up and not everyone," he gestured to the silhouettes of the guards standing just outside the glass doors of Spock's private room, "needs to know about…you know."

McCoy let out an annoyed huff, "Or, you could just tell the hobgoblin how you feel and at least know one way or the other so you can either move on or live happily ever after."

Jim let out a sigh of longing as he looked at his heart's desire, lying defenselessly on the bed. Even in his sleep, Spock looked somewhat intimidating. "It's not that simple, Bones, and you know it. I could tell him that I love him, but we both know it would probably end with a harassment trial at worst and a transfer request at best."

"Spock wouldn't do that to you," Bones shrugged. "I say, worst case scenario: he asks for a transfer, but he'd never sue you for having feeling for him. It's not like you've ever made and sexual overtures at him or done anything that could possibly be construed as harassing."

"I know, I know," Jim conceded. "But…I don't want to make things awkward between us. He's my best friend-" Jim cut off at Bones indignant glare, "Second to you, of course," he amended behind raised hands, "and he's the best first officer in the fleet. I can't risk fucking either of things up by letting my, as what I'm sure he describe as, overt human emotionalism, influence my actions."

Bones shook his head in defeat, "Fine, don't tell the hobgoblin. Sit in your little Captain's chair and torture yourself with what-ifs and shouda, coulda, wouldas until your heart shrivels up and dies of starvation." The doctor set down his tricorder, and switched one of the IVs, "He'll be waking up in a few hours. I'll comm you and let you know, just don't be calling down here every five goddamned minutes asking me for his status." He turned and faced his friend and Captain, whose eyes were full of worry for the Vulcan under their scrutiny, "Get your ass out of here and take a shower. You've got to be on the bridge in 45 minutes."

Jim nodded solemnly as his eyes fixed on Spock's mid-section, knowing that the skin underneath was fully regenerated, but feeling sick all the same. He couldn't stop the image of the burned slur from racing back to the fore front of his mind and a wave of anger rushed forth anew at the thought. "Who the Hell would do something like this?"

"I don't know Jim," Bones had said. "But I know you're gonna find out. Just don't kill the dumb SOB when you do. I'd hate to answer to whoever it is Komack's got lined up for your chair in case you manage to lose it doing something stupid."

"Point taken," he replied, straightening his shirt. "I'm gonna get ready for shift. Take good care of him, Bones."

Bones snorted, he always took good care of his patients, "Don't be insulting."

A chirp on his PADD pulled Jim's attention from thoughts of Spock to the present. He looked down, not surprised to see who was messaging him while on duty.

Lt. Uhura:How is he?

Cpt. Kirk: Stable. Still not awake though…

Uhura smiled down at her PADD. She knew the rumors onboard the ship were that Kirk and Spock were already a couple, Uhura knew that was not the case. Spock, despite identifying his feelings for Jim a few months ago, hadn't told the Captain how he felt. Uhura had tried to convince Spock that it was better to confess and have the conversation than to avoid it and always wonder what could have been. Spock had argued that statistically, he already knew would 'could be' and what 'could not be.' Nyota was well aware of her Captain's reputation as a lady's man, but Uhura had known Jim since before he'd taken command of the Enterprise. She'd had an opportunity to observe him every day for over six years now and she felt she was a pretty good judge of his character.

There was one thing her gut just knew to be truth: Jim was absolutely, head over boots in love with his First Officer, and everyone on this ship seemed to know it except for Spock. There was no argument she could make, no words of encouragement she could give that would incite Spock to make a move—any move. It was taking everything ounce of her control not to approach Kirk and give him a clue. Nyota wanted Spock to be happy, but she couldn't betray his trust either. To her knowledge, Spock hadn't even informed his father that he was homosexual, if the invitations for dinner with various female guests next time they were around Vafer-Tor were any indication. Christ, Nyota sighed as she typed another message to the Captain.

Lt. Uhura: Have there been any more leads into who might have done this?

Cpt. Kirk: Not yet. We're pretty sure whoever it is either works in one of Spock's departments. I'm still waiting on the psych evals that Pike called in for, but he's been having some trouble getting them past Admiral Komack. Apparently, he thinks our request is a blatant violation of doctor-patient confidentiality. It would help if Spock would wake up so I can figure out what the Hell he might know about his attacker.

Jim hadn't told anyone other than Giotto about his suspicions regarding Spock's alleged 'equipment malfunction.' If Spock cleaned up whatever mess was made by the malfunction (which Jim is pretty sure is an inaccurate description of what really happened), then he may have important evidence in his possession that could help them put this thing together.

Lt. Uhura: That's Bull. Starfleet regulation 1456, section 18 states that any records of any crew are subject to review by the Captain of their assigned vessel when cognitive functionality of any crewmember becomes a threat to any person onboard the vessel or to the vessel itself.

Cpt. Kirk: I know about the regulation, but there's a stipulation. The crewmember in question has to be named. We don't have a suspect and technically, we can't just go pulling the medical records of everyone on board. At least, that is the argument Komack is making for this.

Lt. Uhura: What is his problem? Our First Officer was the victim of a brutal onboard HATE CRIME! Isn't there some kind of exception? I mean, he can't seriously expect us to sit on our thumbs while this terrorist could be plotting his next attempt on Spock's life.

Cpt. Kirk: The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. As much as I hate that Komack is holding up my investigation, he does have a valid point, even if I seriously doubt he cares. When you start making exceptions to the rules, especially those concerning privacy, it's a slippery slope.

Uhura let out a frustrated sigh. Okay, so Komack had, at face value, a good reason for holding up the psych evals, but Nyota had serious doubts regarding Komack's concerns for the privacy of Starfleet's service men and women.

Lt. Uhura: So, what are you going to do?

Cpt. Kirk: I'm going to do what I do best.

Lt. Uhura: Could you be more specific…?

Cpt. Kirk: Flattery will get you everywhere

Lt. Uhura: Come on…I need to know that you've got this.

Cpt. Kirk: Don't I always?

Cpt. Kirk: No more questions. Back to work, Lieutenant.

Lt. Uhura: *eye roll* Yes, sir.

Kirk smiled as he exited the chat box. He had a plan, alright, but he was going to need to know what Spock knew. He was about to press the comm button on his arm panel when his intercom went off, "McCoy to Bridge."

"Bridge here," Jim tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. He knew he had failed when he saw Sulu and Checkov exchange smirks. Can it, you two, he thought as he waited for McCoy to respond.

"The hobgoblin's awake, Captain." McCoy informed before his voice took on a Southern lilt that was only used in extreme moments of frustration, "He says he's ready to return to duty and that requiring him a security escort is illogical."

Jim chuckled as his eyes me those of the smiling bridge crew, all taking the doctor's report as the good sign it was—that Spock was definitely okay, or going to be at any rate, "Tell security to escort Mr. Spock to his quarters. I'm sure he's ready to get out of there. Tell him I'll meet him there." He did not hop out of his chair before handing off the conn to Sulu and taking the turbolift straight to deck five.

Spock awoke in sickbay at 1437 hours, fully cognizant of his surroundings, bodily condition and the events that had led to his current presence in sickbay. However, instead of running through all the events and trying to analyze them for clues as to the identity of his attacker, Spock was distracted with the recall of words spoken within his range of hearing during his restive state.

The heightened awareness of Vulcans in everything from vision and auditory functions to taste and smell were well known facts throughout the galaxy. The ability of Vulcans to remain conscious of their surroundings and events taking place within the vicinity of their body while not actually awake was a lesser known fact. This ability was something from which Spock had yet to reap any real benefit…until today, that is. Jim, Spock thought, his heart hammering in his side at what he had just learned from his post-restive consciousness. Jim had stayed with him throughout the Captain's usual resting hours. Spock could still feel the pressure of his friend's head where it had laid for most of the night against Spock's forearm.

McCoy's words echoed in Spock's mind, "…could just tell the hobgoblin how you feel…" and Jim's answering reply, "…it's not that simple, Bones, and you know it. I could tell him that I love him, but…" The rest of the conversation was inconsequential. Jim is in love with me.

Despite everything that had happened to him in the past six point four days, Spock had never felt such overwhelming emotion: Relief, hope, joy and, finally, desire. Spock desired to show Jim just how wrong his assumptions were. He most certainly would not be filing a harassment suit, nor would he request a transfer. Motion outside his door drew his attention to the two red-clad individuals standing silently in front of his room and Spock's hand absentmindedly traveled to his abdomen. Alas, the distraction provided by Jim's spoken affection for him could not last indefinitely.

Spock was gratified to find that not so much of a hint of the 'half breed' slur remained after McCoy's regeneration and subsequent treatment. Spock had made an egregious miscalculation as to the time interval between the first incident and the next, should his attacker be planning to commit subsequent attacks. Furthermore, Spock had underestimated the level of escalation in violence associated with the attacks. A broken monitor was certainly a show of his attacker's potential toward volatile actions; however, this second personal attack not only demonstrated a clear homicidal intent, but extensive planning and preparation. How long had this person been planning these events?

"Well," McCoy burst through the door, "It's about time you woke up. You've been out for twenty some odd hours!"

"Eighteen hours, twelve minutes and thirty six—"

"Yeah, yeah," McCoy waved his hand to cut off the Vulcan's recitation, "I was rounding."

Spock allowed the doctor to scan his vitals for one point four minutes before sitting completely up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, to which the doctor reacted with affront, "Just where the Hell do you think you're going, hobgoblin?"

"Doctor," Spock intoned, looking the man directly in the eyes. "While I am gratified that your instruments were able to repair the damage rendered to my person, Vulcans possess the ability to sense and control their every organ and muscle as well as multiple bodily functions. I assure you, that I am fully recovered."

"Yeah?" McCoy said, deliberately punching in the settings for his next set of scans, "Well I don't give a damn what your Vulcan hoo-doo has to say about your 'bodily functions.' You just received 500 volts of electric shock via a tampered shield outlet. You're lucky the amps weren't high enough to completely fry that Vulcan heart of yours. As if that weren't enough, you also suffered severe phaser burns to a good portion of abdominal tissue."

He reached out a hand and forcibly yanked up Spock's shirt so he could scan the healed skin of Spock's stomach. Satisfied, he pushed it back down, just as forcibly and started the Vulcan down, "I had to revive you," McCoy ground out through gritted teeth, "in the goddamned hallway. I'm gonna wave every goddamned bell and rattle I've got in this medbay until I'm good satisfied that you're fully recovered under my standards, got it?"

Spock's simple response was to raise an indignant eyebrow, turn his head away slightly and mutter a succinct, "Indeed." This reaction, of course, was exactly what Bones had been going for. He plastered a self-satisfied (teetering on the edge of sadistic) smile on his lips and merrily raised his tricorder to perform his third set of scans.

Jim buzzed Spock's door, his heart beating merrily in his chest with relief. Spock was in there, alive and well and the thought flooded the Captain with relief. "Enter," came the answering reply in Spock's usual monotone. Kirk nodded to the guards standing on the opposite side of the hallway, before walking through the door and far enough into Spock's quarters to have it shut behind him. "Spock?" he called out when the Vulcan was nowhere in sight.

"I am here," Spock called from the head. "I will be with you momentarily."

"Changing out of those scrubs?" Jim grimaced; he hated the material they used for patient robes in sickbay. It was like flexible cardboard and it scraped like sandpaper in all the wrong places.

"Indeed," Spock answered as he pulled on and over shirt, before rearranging his hair and exiting into the main room of his quarters. Jim had taken a seat on the double couch and looked up to beam a thousand watt smile in Spock's direction. How had he never noticed it before? In Jim's eyes, Spock was seeing the same emotion that he had recognized in himself three point four five months ago. Of course, at that time, Spock had merely mistaken the emotion for mere attraction. When he had found time to focus his meditation upon the 'attraction' as he had described to Nyota all those months ago, Spock had been shock at what he found lurking in the depths of his consciousness.

It had flooded through Spock's mind—his very being—as images of Jim from different points of their mission had zipped through his meditative state. This 'attraction' was more than sexual in nature, Spock had realized. It was in every motivation for coercing Jim's smile, his laugh…that look. The sensations caused by Jim's hand on his shoulder, the feeling of utter belonging he felt when the Captain deferred to Spock's opinion on various courses of action during missions and diplomatic encounters.

The knowledge that the seat next to Kirk in the mess hall belonged to Spock—the fact that anyone that ate any meal with the Captain knew better than to sit in the seat to the Captain's left because it belonged to the First Officer—had filled Spock with a such surge of possessive happiness that he could scarcely remain in his meditative state. He realized, after that short hour of inflection, that he was not merely attracted to Jim—was not merely aroused by the man's touch. Spock was in love with James T. Kirk. Thoroughly. Hopelessy. Had been for a very long time, in fact.

He crossed the room and sat in the arm chair across from his Captain. Before he could so much as open his mouth in greeting, Jim began his inquiries, "Spock," Jim's eyes were full of intent and determination, "It wasn't just an equipment malfunction in the greenhouse, was it?"

Spock found himself unable to speak around the truth in the face of such blatant concern, "No, sir."

Jim took a deep breath. He had known it, after all, but confirming it…he let out his breath in a huff and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, hoping to alleviate the headache that was beginning to intercede upon all his good intentions. Finally, blue eyes once again met brown, "Tell me what happened."

Spock gave a nod, before inclining one eyebrow, "As you wish." He relayed the events of the first incident to the Captain, not happy to notice that as he progressed in his recollections, the Captain seemed more and more agitated. He observed, upon finishing his retelling, that Jim was now rubbing his temples in slow, deep circles.

"Why didn't you file a report?" Spock was about to answer, when Jim held up and hand, forestalling his explanation, "Nevermind, I'm sure I already know. You overheard Giotto when he called you a 'green-blooded bastard,' didn't you?"

"Indeed, I had surmised-"

"You surmised that the chain of command might be compromised," whatever confirmation Jim was looking for in Spock's non-expression, he must have found it, for he continued, "but what I don't understand, Spock…" He broke off and opened his arms in entreaty, "What I don't understand, Spock, is why didn't come to me. I'm your Captain," he stressed. "More than that, even. I'm your friend, or at least I had hoped you'd come to think me as one."

"Capt—Jim," Spock interrupted, "I do—"

"Then why didn't you trust me with this?" Jim stood suddenly, pacing—a bad sign, Spock knew. "What?" he asked, his eyes pained, leveled onto Spock, "Did you think I'd just laugh and brush it off? That I'd be too busy to hunt this fucker down?" Jim shook his head in frustration, "Or did you think…" he cut himself off, walking over to Spock's desk, facing away from the Vulcan. His hands rested on the surface as he leaned forward against it, he couldn't bear the thought of Spock thinking he'd sympathize with his attacker, but he had to ask. He had to know. His voice soft when the words found their way past his lips, "Or did you think that I'd betray you? That I might agree with him about you. Hmm? Is that what you thought?"

"No, Jim," Spock found himself standing and moving across to the desk, coming to stand just barely a foot behind his sulking friend. "I could never think that."

Jim continued to stare down a Spock's desk, still not turning to face him, "They why didn't you—"

"I knew that you would insist upon filing a report," Spock intoned. "I did not wish for this incident to reflect poorly upon your captaincy. More importantly," Spock paused, inching just a bit closer, "I did not wish you to become a target." Jim nodded, indicating that he was listening, "At the time, I believed that the next attack would not occur for some time, as is common in racially motivated harassment. Typically, escalation is gradual. As I said, a miscalculation, however, at the time—investigating alone seemed logical."

Jim let out a sigh, just let it go. He needed to find out if Spock had any clues he might have picked up from the first attack, "Did you keep the stone from the first attack?"

"Yes," Spock replied, as Jim finally turned around to face him. Seeing such concern and determination swelling behind those blue eyes, Spock control began to slip. How had he missed such open affection? It had always been presence, but somehow, knowing that Jim returned his love, made finding and identifying that love easier. "Allow me to retrieve it for you."

It was the only warning Jim got before Spock stepped forward, leaving their bodies with a scant two inches between them. Spock was looking at a point just behind Jim, his left arm reaching for what Jim assumed to be the stone, as he could hear what sounded like a box being opened from behind. He was too distracted by the closeness of Spock's neck to really understand the situation. If only he could step back, he would realize that, logically, Spock was using the most illogical means necessary to retrieve the stone for Jim's inspection. He might be able to see the intent behind the motion. As it was, however, he was too busy trying not to breathe…or well, pant.

Spock's scent was all around him, his body heat rolling over Jim's body like an electric blanket. The Vulcan's neck, its smooth and creamy skin, was so close to Jim face, that all he'd have to do is lean forward a few millimeters to taste it…

"Here," Spock's voice caused Jim to visibly flinch. He coughed and looked away to cover his awkwardness as his First brought the stone between them for Jim's inspection. Spock hadn't moved an inch backward, and Jim would be damned if he was going to call the Vulcan on a violation of human social norms (such as 3 feet of personal space) at a time like this. Instead, he turned his attention to the object in Spock's hand, very much aware that their foreheads were nearly touching to the point that Jim could feel whispers of Spock's hair against his brow.

Jim watched as Spock flipped the stone over to reveal a message that had be engraved into the surface. Jim felt bile threaten to move up his throat as he read the chilling words:

you don't belong here, green-blooded freak

Jim took a calming breath, before taking the stone from Spock and placing it back on the desk. It had finally caught up to him that Spock was in his personal space because he wanted to be, not because it was the most logical route to retrieving the stone. Slowly, so that if Jim had misjudged Spock's motives, the Vulcan would have enough time to move away, he brought his hand to meet Spock's cheek in a gentle caress.

He moved his thumb to trace upswept eyebrows, high, aristocratic cheek bones, strong jaw and finally, soft lips. When Spock's gaze continued to hold his, and the Vulcan did not move away, Jim brought his forehead to Spock's and his left hand to the other side of Spock's face, "How can anyone look at someone as beautiful…come to know someone as wonderful as you…and think that you don't belong?" With that, Jim brought their lips together in their first kiss. How was either of them to know just how addicting that first contact would be?