Sorry this took a little while, but I wanted to work on it really hard and do the K/S justice too. So it's also the longest chapter so far, I think.

Anyway, I hope ya'll like. :) Please do let me know! Gotta know if I'm doing ok with the shifting pairings now, after all. ;) Thanks so much for everything ya'll!

Episode heavily referenced in this chapter is Elaan of Troyius.

NOTE: I also thought I'd let ya'll know that if this story had a theme song, it would be Pieces by Red. I saw an amazing Nu!Kirk/Spock vid with it once, it got stuck in my head, and now I listen to it all the time when writing this fic, for both the S/MC and K/S stuff. Either one. it works both ways and it's an amazing song; check it out if you don't know it.

Chapter 7

"Captain."

There was no answer from the other side of the door; Lieutenant Uhura's quarters, occupied at the moment by the Enterprise's political passenger, the Dohlman of Elas. They were ferrying her and her aides to Troyius for her to be married in a political union.

The captain, too, was in there. That much Spock knew. McCoy stood beside him, anxious. The doctor had come to him in alarm only moments ago, worried over something he had learned from the Troyian ambassador, Petri, about Elasian women. He thought Jim might be in danger. Indeed, there had already been trouble as it was. One of the Dohlman's aides had attempted to sabotage the Enterprise, apparently having sold out to the Klingons. It was a Klingon ship that followed them.

Spock tried the buzzer again. "Captain," he called with more urgency.

When there was no answer McCoy rolled his eyes at the Vulcan's passive tactics and punched the override on the door to open it.

When it opened it seemed that Jim was not in danger, but in something else entirely—the Dohlman's arms, kissing passionately.

Something in Spock's mind reacted with almost physical violence to the sight, and it took a great deal of concentration not to betray anything outwardly. It took him a moment of aching confusion to realize it was his connection to Jim crying out in pain, as if it had a mind of its own. His stomach was turning.

He realized, too, that it wasn't only the connection. It wasn't all involuntary.

The wrenching in his chest was his own emotion, whether or not he understood it.

"May we see you a moment?" Spock said impassively.

Beside him Leonard did not seem at all happy either, and inside the room they looked into Jim was pulling himself slowly away from the Dohlman. The captain seemed confused and disoriented.

"Jim," McCoy said urgently. "Jim!" The captain finally looked their way. "May we please have a word with you?"

Jim gave a weak half of a nod, and all but stumbled out into the corridor with them. As the door closed behind him he leaned into the corridor wall.

Whatever else Spock had felt, revulsion or anger or even jealousy, if that was what it was, became worry. "Captain? Are you all right?"

"Did she cry, Jim?" McCoy asked.

"What?"

"Did she cry? Did her tears touch you at any time?"

Jim blinked, and looked quickly down at the back of his hand in alarm.

So they had their answer, then. That was what Leonard had come to Spock concerned about. But they were too late. Spock exchanged a quick glance with the doctor.

"Well, we're in trouble," McCoy grumbled. He swallowed and focused on the captain. "Now, listen, Jim. Petri told Christine that the Elasian women have a sort of biochemical substance in their tears that acts like a super love potion. And according to him it doesn't wear off."

Jim looked at them, mouth open, and Spock felt that something in him rebel again. "It is true then, Captain?" he asked quietly. It was only quiet because his voice refused to come out any louder.

Jim nodded, stricken. "It's true…Bones, you've got to find me an antidote."

"I'll try, but I—"

But they were interrupted. The Klingon ship was behaving threateningly now. The captain and first officer were needed on the bridge.

After that, it was clear to Spock and McCoy even when it wasn't clear to everyone else that there was something wrong with Jim. The captain was dealing with Klingons and the danger to the Enterprise atop trying to push away unwanted emotions forced on him by the strange potion in the tears of the Elasian princess.

He was fighting, and more often than not it was visible. Spock realized that he wanted nothing more than to help Jim. He wanted nothing more than to take away the confusion and pain Jim was feeling.

But this was a crisis. The ship was not safe, and the crew did not need to know that their captain might be compromised. Spock did help in that way, making suggestions and reminders where he could to keep the captain thinking clearly. It was all he could do just now, but it seemed to be enough. Jim pulled himself together. Once or twice Spock found himself nearly shouted at, but then Jim would reign himself in. He would blink guiltily and realize that his first officer was right.

Spock pushed the pain away, because it wasn't important. It wasn't productive. It didn't matter; it was not Jim's fault that he was acting the way he was, and he was fighting it well in any case.

What would happen when this was over did not matter now, either. Only the safety of the Enterprise and her passengers and crew mattered. Duty.

The strange thing was that Elaan, the selfish young Dohlman, seemed to truly care for the captain even though she had trapped him to her by force. It seemed much more difficult for Jim to focus when she was near, yet she stayed near when she could manage it. She ignored instructions to stay safe elsewhere on the ship to do so.

And was this really jealousy? The most illogical of emotions.

And yet, no matter whether the Dohlman cared for Jim or not, and whether he cared for her or not, if the affliction of the potion could not be cured what would happen?

There was no time to think of it. In truth, Spock did not want to. There was more than enough to be concerned with, and his mind was occupied with the situation at hand. In the end Jim maneuvered them through it as the captain he had always been. The Klingon ship was damaged and retreated and the Enterprise was able to continue to Troyius.

The Dohlman, her aides, and the ambassador were beamed down. Spock did not know what happened at that parting, for the captain was the only one in the transporter room with them when they departed. Spock did not see Jim until hours later, when in his quarters the doctor called him to say that the captain had not emerged from his quarters since the party left. McCoy asked him to check on him. The doctor was busy in his lab still searching for an antidote, though he admitted that his endeavors were not yet going well.

"Captain?"

This time it was Jim's quarters, but there was no answer now either.

"Captain?" he tried again. "Jim…"

A voice just loud enough to be heard called for him to come in. When Spock did he didn't immediately see the captain.

"In here, Spock."

Jim was still in uniform, but his boots were off, and he sat on his otherwise perfectly made bed propped against pillows at the head of it. The way he was half curled seemed to suggest that he couldn't quite decide whether to try to relax or to hug his knees to his chest. His head rested back on the ledge behind him, the shelf behind and above the bed, but he lifted it when his first officer tentatively entered the room.

"Jim?" the Vulcan asked. "Are you all right?"

The captain sighed. He pushed his legs out straight and crossed his ankles, hugging his arms to his chest. "Not really. I'm…I'm going to need you to take command for now, Spock. We don't know how this…whatever it is is going to affect me in the long run, until Bones can find a way to cure it. I won't put the ship in danger."

Spock frowned, not understanding. "I do not understand. You conducted yourself extremely well during the crisis, Captain, even under the stress of the—"

"Yes I did, and it took a lot out of me. I don't know how long I could keep that up," Jim admitted.

"But the Dohlman is gone now. Surely the effects have lessened."

"Tell whatever the hell is wrong with me that," the captain growled in frustration. "When she was here is was worse when she was nearby, but now that she's gone entirely I…I'm…it's worse than it was before. It doesn't make any sense. It's unpredictable. That's why you need to take command. I'm not fit for duty until we can find out what exactly is causing these effects and what to do about it."

Spock nodded slowly, watching his captain and friend carefully as he did so. He saw now that Jim was shivering; his arms crossed tightly in front of him were an attempt to still the shaking.

"Good," Jim said in response to his nod. "You should get the bridge…patch my comms in here through to shipwide and I'll let the crew know you might be in charge for a while."

"Of course." He paused. "Are you chilled?"

Jim let out an uneven laugh. "No, Spock…I just can't stop this shivering. I'm not really sure what else to do about it."

"It is still possible that warmth would be helpful in that matter, and there are blankets on the bed in which you're sitting."

The captain smiled sheepishly. "I know. I guess I felt like if I didn't get under the covers it wasn't retreating to bed."

"Illogical. You are in bed whether or not you are covered, and there is nothing shameful in it if you are in need of the rest. I would say that you are, and in a way you are also ill. Bed is generally the place for someone ill."

"I'm all right, Spock."

"You have said yourself that you are not."

Jim half glared at him. "Fine. What do you plan to do about it?"

In answer Spock came to the bedside and calmly yanked the bedcovers out from under his captain. With his Vulcan strength it was no difficult matter to free them without needing to move the human at all.

"Spock, really, I'm fine without them—"

"Jim."

As it had any other time in the last day or so, the firm response made the captain pause, and think, and realize that Spock was right. "Right…sorry…" He slid under the covers held up for him, and Spock released them to let him pull them close. "Maybe that is better," Jim agreed finally. He was still shivering, but he seemed more comfortable.

Spock straightened, his hands going behind his back to clasp there. "I will report to the bridge; I will contact you when I arrive there for you to make whatever announcement you see fit from here. I will also inform the doctor that he should examine you again; these continuing severe symptoms are troubling."

"Troubling, Spock? That sounds like an emotion," Jim teased quietly. The Vulcan arched an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. "Sorry. Thank you, Spock."

It was difficult to leave, but he had done all that he could do.

Jim was beginning to think that maybe, just now, he could understand a little of what it was like to be his first officer. His mind had been affected by various things before, being out here—he'd been driven mad, forced into being overly aggressive, had his mind affected by sudden aging, and other things—but it had never been quite like this.

He wasn't crazy at all. He simply had feelings that he did not want. He had a need that he did not want. None of it was dangerous, really. None of the impulses were violent. He simply wanted Elaan, was in love with her, ached to have her return to him…but he didn't want any of it. They were simple human feelings. Love. Lust. Sorrow. Nothing out of the ordinary, but he didn't want them.

Sometimes he imagined that maybe it was something like this for Spock. Human emotions, unwanted, ignored and locked away as if they were alien intruders forced upon him.

A fight with himself; feelings that existed that he knew he shouldn't have. That was what Jim felt now, and if Spock's life, day-to-day, was anything at all like this he didn't know how the Vulcan did it.

If this is anything of what it's like, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I tease you. I'm sorry about…so much.

He loved Elaan. He knew he shouldn't. Jim wanted Spock with him. He wanted to be able to think of anything other than the Dohlman of Elaas. But Spock was in command now. He couldn't just be here; he had to take care of the ship while Jim was unable, and Bones had to be in his labs.

Jim was alone. The very thing that made him wish his friends could be with him, just to help him through this, was the thing that kept them away from him.

They checked on him as often as they could. He wouldn't leave his quarters; he couldn't be seen by anyone else like this. He spent much of his time in bed, trying not to shake too terribly hard. When he was too restless he was up, moving anxiously, not really seeing anything. He couldn't focus. The more he tried to concentrate on anything other than Elaan the more he could think only of her. Technically he was not physically ill, but he might as well have been. He felt tired and nauseous and everything in between anyhow.

And it all seemed to be getting worse rather than better.

"There is no progress, Doctor?"

It had been nearly a week, and McCoy shook his head angrily. "None. There are still avenues to explore, but none of it's looked very good so far. I'm beginning to worry it really can't be done. That's what they told us, after all."

"I am confident that you will find a way to reverse the effects."

The doctor snorted. "Thanks for the rare vote of confidence, Spock, but it doesn't change anything."

Spock frowned. "What will happen if you cannot devise a cure?"

"I don't know. Either he'll have to man up and figure out how to live with it, or his career's over," Leonard scowled. "And maybe he could do it; maybe he'd sort it out eventually, but…god, I hate to think…"

Spock did not care to think of it either. When he thought of it; of the possibly that there may be no cure for Elasian tears…

When he thought of the possibility that Jim might be forced to love this woman, now and forever, Spock felt the terrible emptiness of a future slipping away that he hadn't even known any part of him truly believed in.

When he thought of it he wanted to rebel against a universe that seemed to think it could tell its inhabitants whom they should love, and use whatever means it chose to do so. In this instance, for Jim, it was becoming a disaster. It was infinitely worse than what had been done to himself and to Leonard, for Jim would never see this woman again. She was wed to another man by now.

Then, when he thought of it, he felt sympathy. He knew he understood much of what Jim was experiencing now. The urge, the wish that he could take away Jim's pain, returned. Really it had never been gone.

But what could he do?

This evening he found Jim pacing in the main room of his quarters, slow but agitated. When he saw his first officer he all but leapt toward the door.

"Spock! Thank god! Has Bones…?" Spock shook his head, and Jim's shoulders slumped. "No…I didn't think so." He did not look well at all today. His face showed a sheen of sweat and he seemed more exhausted and anxious even than he had been. He released a shaking breath.

"Jim…"

He did not know what to say. What could they say? If this was not fixed; if Jim was not cured…they would never know what could have been.

And it was only now that Spock finally believed he might want to know.

Jim was only half listening. He began to complain loudly as he paced. "Damnit, why can't I get past this! I know it's not just—it's some kind of chemical, or infection, or…I know it's not my fault, but I still feel like I should be able to—" He cut off. "What if Bones never finds anything? What happens to me then?"

"I am certain that the doctor will—"

"You can't know that."

"You yourself have extolled the advantages of remaining positive."

Jim swallowed. "I know that. I know…but I'm…" He rubbed anxiously at a temple. "I'm afraid, Spock," he all but whispered. "I don't want to be stuck like this. It's like an illness I'll never get over…disabling…not only physically. If I can't get rid of this I can never…My life as I know it is over."

He dragged in a breath and continued, and as he did his voice rose. "I don't want to be like this," he repeated. "I'm going to lose my mind. I don't want to want her. I don't want to love her, I l—" He stopped only briefly this time. "I love you."

Spock's breath caught, but he remained silent, and Jim slowed in his pacing enough to glance at the Vulcan apologetically.

"There. I said it. I'm sorry if you're not ready to hear it. You can ignore me if you want, but I have to say it or I'll go crazy. It's the only thing keeping me together right now." He stopped then and leaned against the desk, and made a sound like he was in pain.

"Jim?" Spock moved closer, a hand outstretched, but he wasn't certain what to do with it.

The captain's breathing seemed labored now. He shivered. "Spock…help me."

How? There was nothing he knew that he could do. He could be here. Perhaps he could provide some comfort, but he could not take away the pain, or the confusion, or any of it. There was a sharp ache in his own chest at that.

He touched Jim's arm, and Spock didn't realize he was so close until the human turned only slightly to lean into his shoulder.

"I really screwed up this time, didn't I?" Jim said at length, mumbled into the Vulcan's shirt. "I should have just stayed away from her. She never would have had the chance to—"

"You were attempting to help her. She needed to be taught how to act in a civilized manner; to learn to do so would be better for her later, make her transition easier to bear, and you knew this. You only wished to help. You were doing the right thing."

"No good deed…goes unpunished then, hmm?"

Jim was still having difficulty breathing. He was slumping, and a hand came up to Spock's other shoulder to hold on, to support himself. When he felt the slip Spock brought his own free hand up to the captain's crooked elbow to help in holding him up.

He realized they were now effectively in an embrace, but it did not make him as uncomfortable as he had thought such a thing might. It was still so soon, or so it seemed, since he had been with the doctor. Yet Jim Kirk had been a valued friend from the beginning. As strange as this might have seemed in the past, it did not seem out of place now. Just this, at least, did not feel like any betrayal.

Relief. It was relief that he was feeling. He could do this much for now, and perhaps it would help.

They stood that way for a long time. At first Jim seemed to calm but then it grew worse again. He made a garbled sound and leaned further into his first officer.

"Are you in pain? Jim?" Spock asked urgently. He had to shift an arm across the captain's back to keep him standing. Jim's fingers dug into his shoulders from behind where his arms had wrapped.

"Something like that," Jim gasped. He moaned more than once, and it certainly sounded like pain. "Spock…Spock, I don't want to lose you. If we can't fix this I'll lose you even if neither of us leaves. I…god…"

The captain pulled himself up then, quickly, one hand shifted from Spock's shoulder to his face, and Jim kissed him, as if his life depended on it.

Perhaps it did, was Spock's first thought, but then the rest of his mind kicked in and it was a cacophony of alarms. Too soon! This much was too soon. And it was real touch, skin to skin, and his telepathy bombarded him. It was Jim's induced confusion meeting his own, Jim's pain meeting his own, and it was too much.

The unconscious part of him that wanted this was only in control for the first few seconds. Then Spock was reacting, shoving Jim away before remembering he should be careful with his friend in his weakened condition. Jim fell back against the edge of the desk and Spock was stumbling back with a pained gasp on his lips.

Contact was lost but the pain and confusion remained, fighting with his own. Leonard McCoy's face filled his mind and he remembered why there was pain. There was too much of it. His own, pulled to the forefront through contact with Jim and his affliction, and Jim's that he could still feel the echoes of.

It took Spock a moment to realize he was staring blankly at the floor, and from an odd angle. He was bent over, awkwardly, trying to catch his breath. The breaths he could pull in were harsh, and when had breathing become difficult at all? When he broke away? He couldn't remember.

"Spock? Spock…? Oh god…god, Spock, I'm sorry, I…"

The Vulcan reached out blindly, came in contact with the coolness of a bulkhead, and drew himself against it. He leaned into it, trying to compose himself because…

Why, again?

His face. One side of it was damp. He could feel the thin trail where there had been a tear. Maybe more than one. For a Vulcan it was almost the equivalent of a complete breakdown, but the overload of emotion from Jim had left him too exhausted to feel any shame. At least it was the side nearest the wall. Perhaps Jim had not seen.

It wasn't only the negative emotions he'd felt, from Jim, when their lips met. He'd felt everything the captain had been hiding. Feelings for him. Beneath the emotions forced on Jim by the tears of the Dohlman, it was all there. The connection between them had sparked to come in contact with them.

"Spock? Are you all right? I'm sorry…god, that was probably the worst thing I could have done. I don't know why I—" A cutoff. A pause. "Damnit, your telepathy. You felt all of it, didn't you? God. Spock…"

Spock noticed the marked improvement in Jim's speech patterns before he finally looked up. When he did he saw the captain standing straighter, his eyes less wild, breathing more easily…

"Captain?" His voice came out hoarsely. He frowned. "You seem…?"

"Better?" Jim swallowed anxiously. "I don't know. Maybe you were what the doctor ordered. That doesn't mean I should have done it. I'm so sorry—"

Spock held up a hand, quieting Jim and giving himself another moment to collect his faculties. He realized he had not seen to the matter of the single trail on his cheek, but by now the captain had seen it. There was no purpose in attempting to be discrete as he quickly wiped it away. He let out a heavy breath, and straightened his back and his uniform tunic.

He looked at Jim again, and human's mouth opened but closed once more. He was left with only the silence of a man who knows he has done something unspeakable.

Still, he did look much better now. Had their connection healed him?

Jim looked stricken, and Spock knew he needed to say something. He could not leave his captain and friend that way. In truth, there was one thing that he should say, if he could. For though the contact had brought back his pain it had also forced him to realize something else.

Then Jim was speaking again, likely for lack of knowing what else to do. His expression was still pained. "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have done that. God, for you it's probably not even—"

"I do love you."

It was out before Spock quite realized it, and it was quiet but Jim heard it anyway. Jim stopped short and stared.

The Vulcan came very close to wincing apologetically before he continued. "It…is something I have hidden, even from myself. There are many reasons…but none of them are any fault of yours." He knew both of his eyebrows were up, probably threatening to disappear into his hairline, but it was something he couldn't remedy just now.

Jim still did not speak, apparently still too shocked at the actual admission. They were both silent until he did say something, but it was only the Vulcan's name.

"Spock…"

Spock straightened again at the trailing plea, because he could not do this now. He knew what would happen now, but had gone as far as he could go at this moment. The effects of brushing with Jim's confused mind as it had been minutes ago were still unsettling him far more than he cared to admit.

"I must…fetch Doctor McCoy," he said, taking care not to say it too quickly. He was running away for now, yes, and they both would know it, but the least he could do for Jim was to keep it from sounding too much like what it was. "He will want to validate that you are, in fact, improved."

The captain swallowed visibly. "Right. He uhm…Bones will probably be glad to hear I'm…better. He was getting worried he'd never find anything." He looked away. "I assume you'd prefer it if neither of us said anything to him about what really happened?"

Spock didn't say anything, but Jim seemed to understand his answer anyhow.

"Right…I won't. I promise you that."

The Vulcan nodded in thanks, and turned to go.

"Will you come back with him?" Jim asked suddenly.

Spock glanced back and shook his head, and the captain seemed more than a little bit disappointed. "I will return at another time," the Vulcan amended quietly.

Jim nodded weakly, and Spock left before he could make anything else any worse.

Never in his life had Jim been so acutely aware that he'd utterly screwed up. How could he have done that? Had he really been that far out of his mind?

His mind was clear now. He had no desire to even think of Elaan. Somehow, the contact with Spock…it had fixed whatever was wrong with him. He was fine now. When they touched, when their lips met, Jim had felt something. Maybe it was the invisible thread between them that he knew was there. Maybe that had been what healed him.

But what now? Spock had admitted to having his own feelings, but then he'd left. Was that it? Would the Vulcan never speak him again now, outside of duty? Had he ruined any chance they had?

Jim told himself that couldn't be it. Spock had said he would come back, after all. But still he worried.

Because while his overwhelming love for Elaan was something that had been forced on him—and was gone now—what he felt for his first officer was not something that would be so easily forgotten.

He was slumped over his desk when the door opened. It was Bones, barreling into his quarters with a tricorder, a medical scanner, and a med kit. "Jim? Is what Spock's telling me true? Are you all right?"

The captain shrugged. "As well as I'm going to be, I suppose," he answered noncommittally. "I can think now, if that's what you're asking."

The doctor was already holding the whirring scanner over him, and scowling at his tricorder. "I don't believe it. All of your vitals are returning to normal, and your brainwaves…all of it. What happened?"

"I don't know," Jim said truthfully. Even if he had an inkling of what had done it, there was no proof.

"Fine time for you to go and miraculously get better on your own; we'd finally isolated the key chemical in the Elasian tears. We'd have had something in a day or two," McCoy grumbled.

"You're not glad I'm better, Bones?" Jim asked in amusement.

"Yes, I'm glad you're all right, but don't test me. I did work for a week for nothing, apparently."

"I appreciate it though. Anyway, I want to be back on the bridge in the morning. Will you clear me?"

"In the morning? After you've been down and out this long? You need to rest, Jim. Really rest. You haven't been able to do that, and—"

The captain let out a breath. "I need to be back on the bridge, Bones. I need to get back to work. If it makes you feel any better I'll promise I won't push myself too hard for a few days." He looked at his friend for a long time then, and finally the doctor relented. Maybe he saw something that told him not to argue.

"All right, Jim," he sighed. "You can have it your way this time. You've got a clean bill of health. Just let me know if I can help, all right?"

"You already have."

Spock seemed all but nonexistent for the next couple of days—not that anyone seemed to have any idea why—so Leonard was more than surprised the afternoon he showed himself in the officer's mess. The doctor was halfway through his own light dinner, and he surprised, too, when the Vulcan crossed to his lonely table and asked if he could be seated.

"Sure, Spock. What's up?"

"I believe the ceiling bulkheads are, generally, in that direction."

McCoy stared at him. "Oh my god, that was a joke, wasn't it?"

"I apologize. I must be fatigued."

"Harder not to act like the rest us when you're tired, is it?" Leonard teased right back. But he hadn't forgotten that the Vulcan seemed troubled, or why he'd realized it, and when Spock raised an eyebrow at him he shrugged.

"Anyway. What's going on, Mr. Spock?"

"Why do you assume that anything is 'going on?'"

"Jim's by himself at that table in the corner. If nothing was wrong you'd have sat with him, not me."

"I did not realize that the captain was present. Your table, Doctor, is in a more direct line of sight in relation to the entrance.

Leonard snorted. "That's bull and you know it. You're a Vulcan. I've never known you to miss anything. You knew he was there, and you came over here. Now what the hell is going on with you two?"

"It is not your concern," Spock said stiffly.

"The hell it isn't. I am chief medical officer aboard this ship, Mr. Spock, and it's my job to make sure this crew is operating efficiently. If the captain and first officer aren't speaking to each other, that's inefficient."

"The captain and I speak quite often, Doctor. He is my friend as well as my commanding officer, and our positions generally require it." He sounded much more tired than anything else now.

"You know what I'm talking about. You spent the entire time he was stuck in his quarters hovering over him when you could, but something's been off since he got better."

"If you knew that the captain was here, Doctor, then why are you not sitting with him?"

McCoy sighed. "Jim came in after I did—not long ago, actually. He really didn't see me, and he's human so he has that excuse. I almost went over there, but he looked like a man who needed to be left alone with his thoughts. Now I don't suppose that has anything to do with whatever might be wrong here, does it?" He sat back in his chair, and he realized his accent was lengthening as it often did when he was confident he was right.

Spock, though, ignored him and began to eat silently.

Leonard watched him, and something itched at the back of mind. Strangely enough, it always seemed like there was something he was forgetting when he talked to Spock these days. He chalked it up to the beginnings of old age and ignored it, but it was strange just the same.

Then, as he watched Spock and glanced across the room again at Jim, both of them stiff in their chairs but looking so exhausted all at once…

It clicked.

"Jim finally said something to you, didn't he?"

The Vulcan looked up slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'll repeat what I said a minute ago: you know what I'm talking about."

After a moment of deliberation, Spock actually answered him. "Yes," he said simply. Though now he most certainly was not looking up.

McCoy's eyebrows went up briefly. He tried to decide what to say to that. There was no thought of responding in any way but seriously; he realized that by letting him know he was right about something like that Spock was reaching out to him as friend. It wasn't something that happened often.

"Well…you have a choice to make, don't you?" Spock didn't say anything to that, though he did look up again, and Leonard thought a moment more before he went on. He wanted to help if he could, but how did one give advice and/or emotional support to a Vulcan?

"I don't know how you…feel or not, Spock. I think I do, but then again I could be wrong. I uh…I guess all I can tell you is do what you have to do. Do whatever you can't not do." He paused. "It doesn't have to be the logical thing, either. You know that, don't you?"

Spock didn't answer the question, but he did respond. "Thank you for your concern, Doctor," he said quietly. "I will consider what you have said."

In his quarters, Spock pulled the small IDIC from his pocket that he had once given to Leonard. He had carried it since the day he'd had no choice but to take it back. He had others, but they had since been ignored.

I really do have to let you go, don't I? McCoy's voice echoed in his memory.

Whatever reconciliation the doctor had been able to come to within himself that night, Spock did not know. Perhaps if he remembered the meld he would know. He hoped that at least some part of McCoy had been at peace then.

But Spock knew that he had not let Leonard McCoy go, even though he had buried his memories.

He loved Jim. He knew that, too, now. But if he did not let go of what he had already lost he could not move forward. Ignoring it was not releasing it. He was appalled at his own lack of logic in the matter.

—do what you have to do. Do whatever you can't not do.

He had to let go. He had to move forward. To move forward was logical, and…

It doesn't have to be the logical thing, either. You know that, don't you?

Spock moved to his closet. In it he found a small decorative box his mother had given him long ago. She had sent it to him, when he was a student at the Academy. It contained pieces of his childhood, and at the time he had not understood the logic of such nostalgia.

"I know you don't understand," she had told him then. "Someday you will. Someday you'll be older and you'll understand the importance of memory, Spock…and also of the importance of putting them in their proper place."

She had meant the memories of his childhood. She had meant, at the time, that it was important to remember them but also important not to allow the negative parts of them to hurt him. To put them in their place. In the past. He did understand now. He was no longer the troubled boy he had been.

At least, he tried every day not to be.

There was an empty drawer in the wooden box, under the main section that contained the things his mother had sent him. When she had sent it to him, the message with it told him she had left the small drawer empty for a reason.

"Maybe you'll need it," she said.

It did not make any sense then. It did now.

He took the box and put it in an empty place on a shelf in his bedroom, beside a small, perfectly aligned stack of books. Perhaps it did not need to be hidden in a closet anymore. The IDIC was still in his hand, too. He looked at it for a long few minutes. Then he opened the box's small drawer, and placed it inside.

He closed the drawer and locked it. For a few seconds his hand rested atop the box, but then he walked away.

Whether or not it was logical, there was something he had to do.

After his regular bridge duty shift Jim ate alone—what he could eat, anyway—and retreated to his quarter. It had been like that for two or three days, and he wanted it that way. He wanted to be alone.

He didn't expect the chime at his door an hour later, and he didn't expect it to be Spock. Not yet, anyway.

Jim stepped away from the door to let him in, and the Vulcan stepped inside and let the door close.

Spock took a breath looked at him intently. "There are things I cannot tell you. You will have questions I cannot answer."

The worries of the last two days seemed to vanish in an instant and Jim smiled as he realized where Spock was trying to go with this. "I think we all have our secrets, Spock. God knows I do. And who knows? Maybe someday we won't need to keep them anymore. But I can live with it for now if you can."

"Then it does not concern you?"

The human shook his head, still smiling softly. "No…you concern me. You always have."

Tentatively Jim reached out, not certain what was all right just yet. Spock's hand met his between them, and their fingers intertwined as they moved closer to one another. When skin met skin the Vulcan pulled in a quick breath, but it wasn't in panic this time.

Jim felt it too—like electricity between. A spark that told him this was right. The tie between them pulling tight and telling them not to let it unravel again. Jim blinked, a little startled, and was Spock smiling at him? No. Not quite. But the amusement was there, in his eyes. So was the love.

He reached up to the Vulcan's cheek with his free hand and let it rest there. A thumb wandered longingly over Spock's lips.

It is all right now, Jim.

Jim smiled again. The voice in his mind didn't seemed strange at all…like it had always been meant to be there.

This time when he kissed Spock it was more how he'd always imagined it. The Vulcan was eager but gentle, and he didn't seem unpracticed, either. Maybe that was part of the things he didn't really want to share…but it didn't matter. He was no virgin himself. For so long Jim had been afraid they would never get here. Now they were here, and nothing else was important.

Their fingers disengaged to let them hold each other; to let them pull closer until they were pressed together. When the kiss ended—and then a few more after that—Spock's head dropped to his shoulder and he held Jim in a tight embrace that seemed something like a man holding a lifeline.

"Spock?" Jim whispered near his ear. "Are you all right?"

"I shall be, now."