A/N: Hello again! To everyone who reviewed in the previous chapter - thanks again! :]

This chapter's title comes from the song "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails. Any self-respecting Spirk fan has seen that fabled Closer music video on YouTube, and I have to say that seeing that video first sparked the idea for me to write a non-fluffy Pon Farr fic (as fluffy-Pon-Farr has always been a pet peeve of mine). So this chapter is a nod to that video. x]

This chapter is also a bit on the shorter side, but they all get longer from here, I promise! ;]

Chapter Four: Closer

"I'm a doctor, Jim, not a miracle worker," McCoy said wearily, rubbing bleary eyes with a calloused hand. "Or a chemist. I can't just invent a drug that'll magically get rid of the adrenalin he's overdosing on."

"Are you sure there's nothing?" Jim begged, looking at the doctor with that irritatingly pleading look. "We have to help him, Bones, we have to try – "

"Dammit, Jim, we are tryin'!" he snapped, "But tryin' isn't gonna make things work. Sometimes there's just no solution and no amount of tryin' will change that." Jim fell silent and McCoy bitterly turned away. He knew that he wasn't telling the kid what he wanted to hear, but dammit, he was right and he hated it. He ought to know better than anyone that you couldn't save everyone, couldn't cure every sickness or heal every wound, yet Jim seemed to refuse to acknowledge even the possibility of failure.

"Look, Jim," he said in a much softer tone, "I know Spock's your friend. I know this is a shitty situation and I know you want to fix it. Believe me, I know. But sometimes things don't work the way we want, and if we've done all we can and it doesn't work, then dammit, there's nothing we can do."

"He's going to die, Bones," Jim whispered, putting a hand over his eyes. McCoy sighed and reached over to put an arm around his shoulders.

"I know," he said simply, looking away in sympathy and despair, "I know."

Spock did not sleep that night, and neither did Jim. The Vulcan spent four hours restlessly pacing his quarters, unable to sit still for all the adrenalin racing through him, much less sleep. The noise of it kept Jim wide awake in his bed, not that he could have slept anyway. Though he lay immobile in his sheets, his mind was as active as Spock was in the adjoining room.

He kept searching for an answer, but none came. For all his professed disbelief in no-win situations, his hope and confidence in his promise to Spock grew bleaker with every second that ticked by, with every rhythmic step that came from the Vulcan's quarters.

In spite of his tentative offer to Spock, Jim was, honestly, slightly glad that the Vulcan had so firmly denied him, as selfish as that seemed. Jim was known as a ladies' man for a reason – he had never felt the urge to sleep with anything that did not have wide swaying hips and full perky breasts. He would have done it with Spock had he accepted the offer – or would have tried to, at least – but the thought of having violent hardcore sex (as he assumed it would be) with his stoic First Officer made him feel somewhat ill.

But there was a part of him (a part that he tried not to acknowledge) that wondered if it would really be so bad, that he should insist on saving his friend's life, that maybe even it might be the start of something deeper than –

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, where the hell had that come from? He sat up and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He definitely didn't feel like that towards Spock – definitely not. The future-Spock had said they would need each other, but he had said as friends – not anything more. Definitely not.

Jim fell back against his pillows with a sigh. His mind was running in circles and in spite of his exhaustion he could not get himself to sleep any deeper than a light and uneasy dozing.

He heard Spock shower twice in the span of an hour and a half – he tried not to think about what he was certain the Vulcan was doing in there – and managed to get maybe an hour of real sleep, then his alarm went off at 0600 and he got up with a groan.

He showered and dressed to the sound of Spock pacing and when he left, the footsteps were not as fast but were still clearly audible. Jim stepped into the hallway with a heavy feeling of desolation weighing on his shoulders.

Spock continued pacing for another three hours, twenty-two minutes and fifty-three seconds, until finally he collapsed on his bed, not bothering with the tangled sheets. He could feel his rationality slipping away from him like the sands of Vulcan's deserts in his fingers, and he could feel his consciousness fading away with it. Sheer exhaustion finally forced him into a restless sleep plagued with red-tinted, fevered dreams, and every dream was of Jim. He dreamt of pulling Jim into their bathroom and tumbling together into the shower, of Jim's face glistening with perspiration as he peeled off his command gold, of pinning him down and taking him on the clean and sterile white bridge, of losing himself and quenching his burning desire in the coolness of his human body.

He vaguely heard the bathroom door swish open but in his delirium he paid it no heed.

Jim peered worriedly from the doorway at Spock, who lay on his bed as if sleeping, but from the periodic spasms of his body and jerks of his head, if he was truly sleeping than it was decidedly unrestfully.

Jim was exhausted. While the day had been uneventful, it had been long and he had never stopped worrying. It was maybe a quarter after 2300 hours and he had only finished dinner moments before, then hurried back to his quarters to check on his friend. Now, slowly, he stepped into the room and towards Spock, quietly so that if he was indeed asleep, he would not wake him. He observed his restless form for a while, flinching every time Spock thrashed or tossed his head, and noted with anxiety the heavy green flush of his skin and sheen of sweat on his cheeks.

He was dying, and Jim knew it. He reached out to touch the Vulcan's face, then jerked his hand away from the unfathomable heat.

"Shit, Spock," he hissed – the man felt like he was on fire, even for a Vulcan.

Spock's eyes opened laboriously and he glanced about the room before his gaze settled on Jim.

"Hey," Jim said simply, studying the Vulcan's glazed-over eyes and dilated pupils. "Are you doing alright?" He felt like a stupid douchebag the moment the words left his lips – he was obviously not "doing alright" – but Spock did not even seem to hear him.

"Jim," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "I need – I need – "

"Hold on," he replied in a hushed tone, "You're burning up. I'm gonna get you some water, okay?" He took a step away, and panic flooded Spock's barely-functioning mind.

"No!" he shouted, and with a strength and speed inconsistent with his previous lethargy, he jumped up, grabbed Jim by the arm, and wrenched him back over to the bed, forcing him down and twisting so that he was looking over the cold human body. Jim grunted in surprise and pain and automatically pushed a hand against Spock's chest in vain.

"Shit, Spock," he said anxiously as he realized the threatening situation he was in, "Sorry, sorry, I won't go, but you gotta get off me, Spock, please Spock you're hurting me, you gotta – "

"You talk far too much," the Vulcan growled, and he dipped his head down and ground his lips desperately against Jim's.

Panic pulsed through Jim as he pushed vainly at the Vulcan's heavy, powerful body. He had to get away, had to escape – his fist collided with Spock's jaw and his head recoiled, and for a moment Jim thought he might be able to wriggle away, but then Spock pressed the full weight of his body against the smaller man, grabbing him by the wrists to pin him down as his knees dug into his legs.

"Spock, you have to stop," Jim begged, struggling vainly as Spock released one wrist, only to hold both in place with a single hand, to run his free hand hungrily down the length of his chest and tug insistently at the waistband of his trousers, reveling in the faint gasps it elicited from the cool human mouth ghosting against his own.

The only thoughts pounding through Spock's head were ones of lust and desire and need. He could not let Jim get away – could not! With a savage growl, he pressed his free hand against the side of Jim's face. His fingers found the meld points as if drawn by magnets, and he was aware of Jim letting out a strangled cry before everything went blessedly, blessedly dark.

A/N: I know, I know, cliffhangers suck. But the next chapter will be up Friday, so the wait won't be unbearable! ;]