The progress Vulcans had made since the destruction of their planet was exceptional, to say the least. Families had their own rudimentary dwellings, solidly constructed with every necessity to a desert lifestyle. A government building had been erected, and alongside various mass replication facilities and distribution centers stood enough medical centers to cater to all the refugees and visitors, regardless of their species of origin.

It was at one of these medical centers that Spock and Jim met with one Doctor Geoffrey M'Benga, and Jim's reaction to the man was telling.

"Spock, you didn't tell me the doctor we'd be seeing would be human," he said, voice barely audible. The tiniest flitter of irritation made its way through the bond, and Spock nodded. What can he tell us that Bones can't?

"Dr. M'Benga specializes in Vulcan physiology, and has also has extensive knowledge of human genetics," Spock explained. "Of all those stationed on New Vulcan, he is the most appropriate choice in the matter."

The doctor smirked. "You've brought the records?" he asked. Spock handed him the PADD he'd gotten from Dr. McCoy. M'Benga traced the stylus down it once, then set it aside. "I'll run my own scans."

Another flash of irritation came from Jim.

"What are we scanning for?" he asked. M'Benga raised an eyebrow.

"I'd forgotten how it felt to be the recipient of a 'tone'. Kind of nice," he shrugged, turning to activate a scanner. "I'm going to do a full genetic profile. With the equipment here, I should be able to project a growth pattern both in and extra-utero. That'll make it possible to determine whether Spock's muscular development is going to hinder their growth."

Spock nodded his approval to the doctor. "That would be valuable information," he agreed. Jim cupped his chin.

"And you said you could project their growth patterns?" Jim inquired. M'Benga nodded. After only a brief pause, Jim shook his head. "Just do the in-utero projections. I don't want to see my kids grow up on a screen if I can see it in person instead."

M'Benga chuckled. "You don't have to see it, but I'm doing them right up to age six," he said, finally lifting the wand from the scanner. "This won't take too long."

Jim reached two fingers out, and Spock returned the gesture immediately, watching the progress on the scanner. Jim may not have been interested in post-natal growth, but Spock certainly was. Their physical growth was essentially decided already. It would not change in time. Their personalities andintellectual growth, however, could never be predicted.

That was more than enough a surprise for him.

The scan completed quickly enough, and M'Benga moved silently to download the information onto his PADD. Spock watched Jim's eyes follow the man, and the slightest inkling of distrust seeped through the bond into Spock's subconscious.

He has done nothing to warrant any suspicions, Jim, he reminded his mate. Jim frowned, wariness evident even on his expression.

I don't know. I just don't like him.

It was irrational, but Jim's mind had been made. Spock knew nothing he said could amount to any degree of change in that. He moved to cross his arms, attempting to ignore the slight discomfort of his healing sternum shifting.

M'Benga turned toward them again, eyes still fixed on the screen of his PADD. "Give me a moment to composite a few scenarios," he murmured, running the stylus over several areas of the device. "I promise not to show any projections while you're in the room, Captain."

Jim nodded, the frown still etched into his face. For the most part, the bond was silent. With some concentration, Spock could pick up a nervousness and anticipation from his mate, but it wasn't overpowering and it certainly wasn't unwarranted. He stroked Jim's mind lightly, attempting to soothe what little was there.

Finally, the doctor seemed content with the results on the PADD. He fixed his gaze on Spock.

"Twins complicate things," he began. "In this instance, it's more so than usual. For one thing, the two have different blood types. One of them is so different from yours that your body may attempt to reject her. Your doctor will need to give you a hypo every six weeks to prevent that."

Spock nodded. It was understandable. Jim's jaw tightened, and the Vulcan once more moved to soothe his bondmate as best he could.

"Another issue is skeletal development, but there's a note here that your doctor already informed you of that," he said, sliding the stylus down the screen of the PADD. "If you maintain your present diet, the male twin's development will be hindered from about twenty weeks onward. I ran a few scenarios regarding dietary changes. In order to avoid complications, you'll need to increase your intake of Vitamin D by approximately two-hundred percent and reduce iron consumption by twelve percent, minimum. I'll load the appropriate information onto a PADD for the doctor on Enterprise."

Jim's face was suddenly slack. "Two-hundred percent?" he managed. M'Benga nodded. "Wait a second. If I remember my biology classes right, that can lead to an overdose pretty quickly, even in Vulcans. How is he going to avoid that?"

Jim's concerns certainly were valid, Spock had to admit. The amount of Vitamin D he could absorb was limited, and there was no guarantee his body would utilize it properly. M'Benga, however, merely raised an eyebrow.

"He needs to take a catalyzing agent to ensure proper absorption, but otherwise he should be fine," he stated. "The overdose would be minor, even without the assistance, but it's not something you want to risk during pregnancy, I know. Not that I know how your body's going to react to all the new hormones – this is my first male pregnancy, and you're a hybrid to boot. The whole scientific community is going to want to watch this one."

Jim bristled visibly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

M'Benga blinked twice in rapid succession. Interesting. "Exactly what it sounds like," he said. "Mind you, no one will have access to his files unless he releases them, but once word gets out that a hybrid male has not only received the Male Carrier procedure, but actually conceived, I don't imagine a physician or geneticist in the Federation isn't going to want to study everything about it. I'd advise you try to keep this close to your chests if you want to avoid it."

Spock nodded. It had occurred to him, albeit in passing, that the scientific community would be interested in how his pregnancy progressed. From an objective standpoint, he himself was curious how an interspecies male pregnancy would differ from others. This apparently had not occurred to Jim, though, if the stunned expression was any indication.

"Shit," he managed. "I—that's good advice. I mean. It's just. Spock?"

Spock extended two fingers, waiting for Jim to respond. He did so slowly, eyes wide. "I do not anticipate encountering any overly-zealous researchers or malicious physicians, especially as it can be assumed the whole of my gestational period will occur on Enterprise," he explained as evenly as he could, attempting to project as much calm as he could through their bond. "Any interest is likely to be channeled through more tedious and wearisome methods. Perhaps the best measure of protection we can create is a system of message interception and diversion."

There was a brief moment of silence. "You think we can avoid all that attention by setting up a dummy mailbox?" he asked, incredulity clear in his voice. When Spock nodded, he clicked his jaw. "I—I guess that could work. How long would it take to program one?"

M'Benga cleared his throat, and Jim glared at him in response. "While you are my most interesting appointment of the day – probably of the decade, actually," the doctor frowned. "I do have other patients today. We need to finish this up in the next five minutes."

Jim fisted his hands. "You mean there's more?"

M'Benga nodded again. "Spock is fortunate that his hips are as wide as they are, but he's still going to have problems as the pregnancy progresses," the doctor explained. "Discomfort. Pain, even. If it becomes a problem, your ship's doctor can realign your pelvis, but I don't recommend it. There is a very real chance you wouldn't walk for months after having your pelvis realigned. You'll probably need to be on bed rest for the last ten weeks of your pregnancy, actually, but we'll see how it goes when the time comes."

Jim raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "I'm sure you've entered all that in for Bones to have a look at, right?"

"Of course," M'Benga confirmed. He moved his stylus to the screen of the PADD once more. "I'm going to show Spock the growth models. If you truly don't want to see them, you can wait outside, Captain Kirk."

Jim frowned. "Thank you," he muttered, glancing at Spock. "Don't take too long and don't project what they look like at me. Okay?"

Spock nodded, and then Jim was outside the room, the door sliding shut behind him. M'Benga laid his PADD flat, tracing a few commands. Before he could finish the sequence, Spock stood.

"I've changed my mind," he said stiffly. He would not be able to keep from sharing with Jim the images of their children, and as such he could not permit himself to look. "Merely include the growth models in with the data you will be giving Dr. McCoy."

M'Benga smirked. "Had a feeling that was going to be your choice," he murmured, voice light. He held out the PADD. "Just take this with you. It's your chart, after all."

Spock took the instrument. "Much appreciated, Doctor."

The human's smirk expanded. "I think I should mention this now rather than let McCoy break it to you," he said, "but you have to remember that in Vulcan pregnancies, hormonal changes affect the male – Kirk, in this case – more severely than the one carrying the child. Don't be surprised if he starts exhibiting mood swings, nausea, food cravings, or any of that. It's tough to tell, since this is an unprecedented situation, but—"

"Acknowledged," Spock nodded, and he turned to the door and left.

The anniversary of the destruction of Vulcan was a quiet event. Spock had not been able to attend the first memorial, or even the second. The Enterprise had been en route to a mining colony the first year, and the second had found them picking up new crewmembers at base. There was a certain awkwardness in being present only now, and he was aware of the judgment his former classmates were likely to give him.

He shielded this from Jim as much as possible, pressing through the bond instead only vague impressions that the glances they were receiving were due to his scent. Jim seemed to believe it, consciously moving to walk closer to Spock. They fell into step quickly enough.

His husband was covered in a light sheen of sweat – of course. Humans were not built for this climate. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was clinging to his neck and forehead. The desire to whisk Jim indoors flitted through Spock's mind briefly, transferring through the bond before he could control it. Jim let out a snort of laughter upon recognizing it, and Spock had to force himself not to defend his instincts on this matter.

I'm not going to melt, Spock, his mate informed him cheekily through the bond. Besides, I know you like it when I'm flushed and sweaty. Turns you—oh. Oh.

Well, at least he wouldn't have to say anything. Jim had determined the source of his predicament on his own. Indeed.

Nevertheless, Spock was able to reign in his physiological reactions, though the distraction remained. It certainly didn't help that Jim was sending fleeting images through the bond of what they might do when they returned to the ship (one involving an inadvisable use of Spock's strength in a water shower remaining a little longer than the others) and cataloguing the Vulcan's reaction to each. Each image made it more and more difficult to concentrate on where—

"Commander Spock."

The stream of images stopped, and for an unacceptably lasting moment, Spock was completely disoriented. He turned his head towards the source of the call, and before he could even identify the speaker, a wave of dizziness crashed over him.

Jim? He managed, and instantly his mate's hands were supporting him. He felt himself wobble a little on his feet, the world tilting and rotating around him. He couldn't balance.

Sit down, Spock, Jim told him firmly, and he found himself disinclined to argue. Jim led him to the ground, and he struggled to regain his equilibrium. Why was this so difficult? And why wasn't Jim acting surprised that this was happening? His mind was white noise, filtering out the sounds of the wind and the occasional Sehlat's growl that had been plaguing him since he'd gotten out of the doctor's office. He tried once more to find and identify whomever had called him.

With a sudden surge of nausea and a plummeting sensation in his lungs, the noise in his ears morphed into a roar, and he knew no more.

It was almost surreal, awakening in Enterprise's sick bay. Spock felt as though he'd merely blinked, as though only seconds at most had passed, and yet…

The monitor above him beeped rhythmically, and with a familiarity that was rapidly becoming disconcerting. There was an used hypospray on the table next to him, and on his other side he found Jim staring, obviously having been mid-conversation with Dr. McCoy when he'd awoken. Spock became aware of an uncomfortable pressure around his mouth and nose, and he tried to reach a hand up to remove whatever might've been compromising the area.

Don't, Jim advised, not moving from his position across the room. You've got atmosphere sickness. Bones is just trying to reoxygenate your blood. You'll probably pass out again if you take the mask off.

Atmosphere sickness? On New Vulcan? It hardly seemed plausible. His species had evolved in an almost identical atmosphere to the colony's, and he'd grown to maturity in that atmosphere. He was physiologically suited for it.

Is it a complication of the pregnancy?

No. Bones says it's a complication of being stuck in the ship's artificial atmosphere too long. Your body adapted to Enterprise's atmosphere; New Vulcan's was too much of a shock to your system.

It could've happened, he supposed. His arms and legs felt inordinately heavy, and there was still a hint of white noise in the back of his mind. He concentrated for a moment on the beeping from his monitor, trying to distract himself.

How long have I been back on Enterprise?

Jim shrugged. "Long enough. Stonn was the one who called you, by the way. He pretty much told me to congratulate you and took off," he said. "M'Benga's coming on board to check you out again. I said no, but Bones says he's the best."

McCoy, standing across from Jim, swore. "Dammit, Jim, I don't care if you talk with your mind or your mouth," he growled, "but try to only use one method at a time! Did you tell him about the atmosphere sickness yet?"

Jim rolled his eyes, and Spock felt he could've mirrored the gesture. "Of course I told him, Bones. It was the first thing he asked," his husband explained. "And I bet you're just jealous you can't talk to people with your mind."

Spock doubted it.

"Whatever," McCoy muttered. He finally glanced to Spock again. "By the way, I already checked out Thing One and Thing Two inside you. No problems with them. Your body probably instinctively sent all the oxygen it could absorb their way. Of course, that meant there wasn't enough for you anymore, so voila. You lost consciousness."

Spock felt himself relax, and he hadn't even realized he was tense. The embryos were undamaged. That was most fortunate.

"Never thought I'd see the day a Vulcan swooned, though," McCoy added. Equal parts amusement and irritation came through the bond from Jim.

"Shut it," he muttered. "Where's M'Benga?"

McCoy crossed his arms. "Keep your shirt on, Captain," he said. "Scotty confirmed he's onboard and en route to Sickbay."

Spock wondered briefly if anyone had informed his father that they were no longer coming. Jim swore.

"Shit, yeah, fuck," he enunciated clearly. McCoy snorted. "I completely forgot. Shit. Uh, Bones – watch Spock for me, yeah? I've gotta go tell Sarek what happened. Jesus fucking Christ. I am the worst husband ever."

McCoy hadn't even nodded before Jim was rushing out the door. I've got this. Be right back, he called back through the bond. Spock acknowledged it, listening to his monitor again.

He was becoming far too accustomed to being confined to sickbay.

There was relative silence for a few minutes, something for which he was grateful. Dr. McCoy was Jim's friend, and despite the growing familiarity he had with Spock, they were not yet 'friends' in any sense of the word. For now, it was comfortable enough simply awaiting Jim's return quietly.

The door to sickbay opened, and rather than Jim it was M'Benga who arrived. The doctors exchanged brief greetings, both glancing over the chart in McCoy's hands. There was a murmur of something between them that Spock's ears couldn't quite pick up, and then M'Benga was approaching.

"Your blood's almost completely oxygenated," he informed him, "and we've confirmed there should be no lasting affects to the sickness. I think a cocktail of glucose and dextrin should get you back on your feet. But I'm advising you now: no going back on-planet. You're going to want to readjust slowlybefore jumping back in. Otherwise, your body's going to do the same thing all over again."

M'Benga plucked the mask off Spock's face, pulling him into a sitting position. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"I'm certain Dr. McCoy could've determined this on his own," he murmured. "It seems rather superfluous for you to beam aboard simply to confirm with him. That could have been done by vidscreen."

M'Benga shrugged. "I'm also supposed to recalibrate your med-scanners while I'm here. Dr. McCoy's going to need more detail for a Vulcan pregnancy."

That was reasonable, Spock supposed. He'd barely completed the thought before Jim was bounding back into the room. He glanced between the two doctors and Spock, panting slightly.

"I miss anything cool?" he asked. When all he received were pointed looks and a mental sigh from his bondmate, he strode over to sit next to Spock on the biobed. "Talked to your dad. He'll come onboard tomorrow to talk to us. I kinda let it slip that you were pregnant again. Sorry."

Spock tilted his head. "You were barely gone long enough to have made the call at all," he observed, watching for a reaction from Jim. "What precisely did you say?"

Jim shrugged, and Spock could feel nervousness clinging to the edges of the bond. "Oh, you know. Nothing much," he tried to dismiss. When Spock pushed for more mentally, Jim groaned. "Maybe, uh, something like hey, we're not coming tonight; Spock's got atmosphere sickness and we've gotta make sure the babies are gonna be all right. Not to be too specific or anything. But yeah, something like that might've come out."

"I see," Spock deadpanned. A trickle of guilt came from Jim again.

"He agreed to come tomorrow, though!" he defended himself. "Besides, it's not like we would've been able to tell him in person! He'd have smelled it on you and been all, I see you have chosen to reproduce; how very logical of you at us before we could say a word! Don't deny it. It's probably better this way."

It likely wasn't better this way, but there was nothing to do about it now. He nodded to Jim. "Acceptable. And I would appreciate something to eat. Would you mind?"

Jim's shoulders sagged with relief. "Plomeek soup?" he asked. When Spock nodded, he smiled. "You got it. I'll be right back."

And that would have to be that.