A/N: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both..... I have hit a fork in the road with this story and I see two options. I can either tie the story up neatly here and the next chapter will be an epilogue. Or there is one other plot twist I envision, which would steer the story back towards the action genre. I'm not sure what to do so I figured I'd put it to a vote.

A. leave well enough alone

B. keep on typing

I look forward to your feedback and thanks so much for reading!

Ah yes, and Paramount owns Star Trek

Ch. 10

James Tiberius Kirk was not given to fits of terror. Hell, it took a lot to even get him embarrassed. But he recognized the feelings when they happened and terror, real, abject terror was what he was experiencing now. He planted his hands on the door to the auxiliary cargo bay and let his head rest between them, appreciating the cool metal on his feverish face. He listened carefully, straining to hear the slightest sounds emanating from the chamber but so far he heard nothing. And why was that, exactly? He knew Spock was awake. He had become intensely aware the moment his mate had regained consciousness, the heat of the plak tow reaching out with swirling fingers, trying to consume him. Despite this, he didn't hear the sounds of an enraged Vulcan attempting to beat down the cargo bay door. He heard nothing and that actually scared him much more. He had already seen Spock in full-on blood fever so at least he knew what to expect. Silence was an unknown variable and it turned Jim's stomach.

Time was wasting. The ship had cleared New Vulcan space an hour ago. A temporary course was plotted, auto-pilot had been engaged and Bones, Scotty, and Chekov were gathered in the rec room under the pretext of a poker game. Jim wasn't fooled. He knew they had phasers and medical equipment on standby and their ears peeled, just waiting for an indication that something was going wrong. That image didn't exactly help his nerves. "Yeah," Jim thought to himself, "as if this scenario isn't stressful enough. Now I have performance anxiety." But the knowledge of their presence drove home the reality of his situation. There were no other responsibilities, no other distractions. Everything that he had done, that he had convinced them to do in the last seven days had led up to this moment. All he had to do was open up the door and face it.

He had done everything in his power to prepare for the moment. He and Bones had discussed the logistics and decided that the auxiliary cargo bay made the most sense. It had thick walls and an independent temperature control. It was also within easy distance of the rec room, where the good doctor insisted on staying for the duration. Finally, it boasted its own little fresher, with a water-fed sink. They had cleared out any and all debris and dragged in two standard issue bunk mattresses. They had replicated large fitted sheets and had made up a bed in the middle of the room. The absurd intimacy of the situation hadn't been lost on Jim and he had remarked, "I feel like an Amish bride preparing her wedding bed with her mom!"

Bones had smirked, "I'll do you one better." Stepping into the hall, he came back with a small carton. "Your honeymoon care package."

Jim had grabbed the box and ripped into it. "I swear, Bones, if you gave me candles and edible underwear, I'm gonna knock your teeth down your throat." Carefully, he perused the contents. Nutrient bars, medical creams, adhesive bandages and other general first aid equipment filled the container. Jim sighed. Bones really was worried.

"Why are you giving me all this stuff? Aren't you going to come running in and treat me?"

"No, I won't be able to, unless something really bad happens. You were only semi-conscious the last time so you might not remember how possessive Spock became. No one could get within twenty feet of you, not even to give you medical attention that you obviously needed. He wouldn't even allow me to splint your arm. So, this time I'm giving you everything you'll need to treat yourself. I'm hoping that broken bones will not come into play."

Jim nodded. He hoped so, too. Rifling through the rest of the carton, he pulled out four tubes of clear liquid. "Lube, Bones? You sure are thorough."

"Yeah, and I expect it to be used copiously. Doctor's orders. I want you coming through this as hale and whole as possible."

Jim caught his eyes, "I'm not going to fight this time, Bones. I'm not going to lead him on a week-long pursuit through a giant ship. If I just give him what he wants, it should make all the difference in the world." His voice carried a confidence he didn't feel and both men could see their own doubt reflected in the other's eyes.

Well, doubts be damned now. Terror and panic, too. Brief, fleeting images of Spock's vicious assault danced through his mind but he brutally suppressed them. It was too late to dwell on that. He'd decided to break Spock out of prison and save his life. So far, he'd only fulfilled half that pledge and the moment was finally upon him. Pushing off the wall, he walked stiffly back to the rec room and looked at his three shipmates and friends.

"He's awake. I've got to go."

Their heads snapped up from their card game in perfect synch. Jim knew that fear and tension were written all over his face and he took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm the sick, churning knot in his stomach.

Scotty cocked his head at him in concern, "Och, Jim, if yer na ready, just give yerself a minute. He's locked in the cargo bay and he's na goin anywhere. What can another hour hurt?"

Jim and Bones exchanged a knowing look. "Scotty, do you remember the damage done to the bulkhead in between their cabins? You know, the Vulcan sized hole in the wall?" Bones asked innocently.

"I sure do, doctor. Took a damn long time to fix."

"Well, the hole came from Spock. No tools, no phasers, just Spock." Scotty looked confused. "Dammit, Scotty, he tore open the bulkhead with his bare hands."

For a moment, Scotty was struck dumb. "Oh." There was really nothing else to say.

Bones stood up and took Jim by the shoulder. "You want me to walk you down?"

Jim smiled but shook his head, ignoring the tremors that raced up and down his arms. "Nah, I got this."

"Okay, but remember what I said. Use the damn stuff, doctor's orders."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Yes, DOCTOR, I know. I already….uh……made some preparations, so to speak." He took a few steps, "Hey, Bones?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Thanks." Letting the word hang in the air, he headed down the hall, ten steps, six steps, three. The cargo bay door was to the left. He listened again. There was still no sound but he could feel the heat, the tempered madness, the way his skin felt too tight for his body. He could feel the damn plak tow. Why was Spock so damn quiet?

Delaying the inevitable, he starred down at himself for a moment before pulling his shirt over his head¸ knowing any clothes he wore in there would be completely destroyed. He slowly stripped off his shoes, socks, and pants before folding them into an uncharacteristically neat pile near the door. He felt vulnerable and exposed, clad only in boxers but he had to admit he also felt a sense of a freedom. A part of him, primal and subconscious but there, wanted this badly and it was time to throw in with that part. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and palmed open the cargo bay door.

Someone had remembered to dim the lights and he supposed he should thank Bones for that. All senses were heightened during pon farr and he was sure the lights at full capacity would've killed Spock's eyes. Jim scanned the room and tensed as his eyes fell on the crouched form in the far corner. The door slid shut behind him and he backed into it involuntarily. "Stop it," he berated inwardly, "You have to stop this. You can't fight him and it'll only make things worse if you try." He breathed in carefully, steadily, willing himself not to give in to impulse to run. With executed deliberateness, he slowly dropped the mental shields Sarek had taught him to employ.

The searing heat scalded him again. He felt it on his skin, in his mind, inside his soul. It was temptation and insanity and pure animal lust. It was practically irresistible and Jim knew that he was feeling only about a tenth of what Spock was experiencing. How the hell was he managing to stay so calm?

Jim was startled out of these thoughts by a sudden movement. Spock surged to his feet, his movements sharp and predatory. Jim stomach lurched and his breath caught in his throat as Spock's head lunged slightly, as if catching a scent on the air. His body followed his nose around and suddenly the two men were starring into each other's eyes from across the length of the cargo bay. Jim felt his mouth go dry and sweat break out on his forehead. He weaved slightly, vaguely lightheaded and recognized the distinct possibility that he might faint. Despite this, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the imposing figure across from him. Calm?! He had thought Spock was calm. Those eyes betrayed no semblance of calm, just barely maintained control clamping down on raw animalism. And that control was just about expended.

With lightning speed, the Vulcan surged across the small containment unit. There was no time to run, duck or even blink before his hands slammed into the wall on either side of Jim's head. Overwhelmed by the sweltering heat emanating off his mate's frame, stupefied by his own latent panic, Jim pressed his body back into the cool bulkhead, gaining an additional centimeter of temporary freedom.

Spock's breaths were sharp and he kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He made no movement and Jim stayed as still as possible. Seconds of reprieve ticked by, when, with a sudden intake of breath, Spock slowly raised his head. His eyes burned, but the fire was momentarily tempered as he swept his gaze over Jim's shoulders, and face, drinking in the sight. His arms bent and he let the length of his forearms rest against the bulkhead as he cradled Jim's head and neck in a loose embrace. The tips of their noses almost touching, he inhaled deeply, moving over Jim's neck and hair, breathing in the scent of him, than pressing his face into the human's, nuzzling him cheek to cheek.

Of all the things Jim had expected, this would've been the most remote. But here he was, nestled in Spock's arms, their breath and heartbeats in perfect synch. He felt lulled and sleepy and was just beginning to relax when Spock suddenly dug his fingers into his biceps and pushed him into the wall. Terrified but determined blue eyes met enraged brown ones as Spock spit out, "I told you to let me die!"

Jim's eyes were plaintive. "I couldn't," he said in a small voice. He searched the Vulcan's face, looking for a sign of the violence he feared was to come. Instead, Spock released him and took a step back. "I will not do this," he seethed, "I will fight it with everything I possess!"

Jim felt his fears leaching out of him. They were replaced by a potent combination of emotions that threatened to ignite if he didn't get them under control. Love for this man who still sought his own destruction as an act of penance, anger at the implications of the sacrifice, determination to prevent Spock's death. Forgetting logic, common sense, or self-preservation he pushed off the wall and flung his arms around Spock's neck. Resisting the Vulcan's half-hearted attempts to push him away, he found his ear and whispered, "Then you'll be fighting me every damn step of the way, you stubborn ass!"

Jim could feel the warring emotions rippling through Spock's body and mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an arm flailing, a fist forming, and he cringed, waiting for the impact. It never came. Instead, two hands found his back, tentative at first but then firm and resolute, clinging to him, encircling him and holding him close. Emboldened, he clung tighter to Spock's neck, strengthened by sheer force of will. He felt the capitulation, felt the Vulcan's shoulders relax into acceptance even as his arms tightened around Jim's waist, yet he still wasn't expecting it when Spock suddenly lifted him, striding the three steps to thrust him into the bulkhead. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second and then Spock was on him, seizing his mouth, sucking the air from his chest, lingering over his tongue and lips. The kiss ended abruptly as Spock wrenched his mouth away and grasped a handful of Jim's unkempt hair. Yanking the human's head back, he snarled, "This is it! If we do this, I will never, ever let you go!"

Jim smiled, "Agreed," he said and Spock was lost. An inhuman glaze dropped over his eyes as he roughly spun Jim around and pressed him into the bulkhead. There was no room to maneuver, no way to escape if he suddenly decided he wanted to. He felt hot hands running down his back, grasping the elastic around his waist, felt the material shred and tear away. He felt fingers digging into his inner thigh, his leg bent at the knee and dragged upward roughly, felt Spock's hips pinioning him to the cargo bay wall and then he was in him, to the hilt, so deep it felt like he was nudging Jim's heart. He gasped at the strange combination of pain and pleasure, his hands flailing against the wall, finding a seam in the metal corrugation and clinging to it as the hot body behind him thrust in and out. His knee buckled but he remained trapped against the cool steel of the bulkhead, a hot arm hooked under his leg, another wrapping itself across his shoulder to find the meld points on his face. The sensations exploded, doubling, tripling, spinning out of control and he came, hard and frantic, feeling the intense heat in his body and his mind, knowing that Spock had finished, too. He collapsed into the wall, felt the Vulcan drop his leg and sag into his back. There the stood, panting in synchronous rhythm for whole minutes before Spock grasped his shoulder and pulled him around. Taking his face in both hands, Spock sunk deeply into his mind. Jim saw him grasping the golden string that was their bond, picking it up, looping it tightly around Jim's waist and shoulders, pulling him closer, ensnaring him.

"You are MINE!"

"And you're mine." Grabbing the thread, Jim threw it over Spock, mimicking his movements until they were both hopelessly tangled, pressed together by the clinging string. Jim starred at him, drowning in his eyes as conscious thought began to break apart and float away. The last thing he remembered for a very long time was the earth tilting, his body pressed down into a mattress by a hot, heavy presence on his chest and legs.

********

"This is fitting," thought Montgomery Scott, "Since the dawn of time, many a manly event has occurred under cover of a poker game. And tonight, we play poker in order to avoid admitting that we are waiting to act as emergency clean up patrol while our two former captains screw each other senseless," he giggled uneasily in his own head, "Ah, the things you learn in space."

They had been playing cards, or adequately faking it, for a good nine hours before Chekov fell asleep at the table. The good doctor had held out for another two but he was now reclined in his chair, feet up on the table, snoring gently. Scotty was the only one left and he shuffled the cards and dealt out a game of solitaire. He knew Bones was too fixated on the here and now, the events that were currently unfolding in his cargo bay, to plan for the future. But like it or not, they needed a plan. Chekov had done a good job covering their tracks and there might never be enough proof for them to be tried in any court but Scotty had a bad feeling that the long arm of the law was going to be the least of their worries. There were other long arms out there, some with much more clout simply because they were not the law, and he had no doubt that the Vulcan Council and the Federation were quickly going to deduce who was responsible for this little jail break. It just reeked of James Kirk and company.

So they needed a plan, a destination, someplace to lay low. And it had to be far away, well out of reach of the Federation. So he shuffled cards and taxed his brain but no solutions presented themselves. An hour later, he too was asleep.

***********

Jim starred up at the ceiling of the cargo bay. Endure he repeated over and over in his head. And surprisingly he found he could endure it, would gladly endure it because each thrust of the man who was currently heaving his body over his, into his, each thrust was one more step that Spock took towards clawing his way back to him….and Jim would endure anything at this point if it would just give the two of them the chance they deserved. His current physical proximity was eerily similar to the last pon farr he had experienced, minus the broken bones. And yet he had easily relented when Spock pulled his wrists up over his head and pressed them to the mattress with his right hand while his left arm curled under and around Jim's shoulder, holding him firmly in place. He recognized that he was trapped, could not pull away if he tried but the sensation didn't cause rage, fear, or humiliation this time. The hot hands that held him down were different somehow, as if they didn't seek to pin Jim so much as anchor Spock, tethering him to the realization that sometime soon he would cease to be an animal and once again become a man.

Gasping, Jim bucked slightly as the body atop his seized up in climax, coming inside him once again. "This too, was different," Jim thought as Spock rode out the crests of his orgasm with his forehead pressed into Jim's. He looked up into Spock's face; eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, emitting a silent, primal cry and found it beautiful. And he welcomed the heavy sensation when Spock released his grip on his wrists and collapsed on top of him, pillowing his head into Jim's chest. Tentative for a moment, Jim reached down and wrapped his arms around his exhausted mate. They lay quietly for a while, Spock panting in recovery and Jim slowly rubbing circles along his back.

"Is it over?"

"NO!" the voice growled inside his head.

"Okay, that's okay, rest for a minute."

And he tried, he really did, and Jim appreciated him for the effort it took to lie still against him for five minutes in a futile attempt to give them both a much needed break. But he could also feel when the effort became too much and Spock was defeated by the animal within. He put up no struggle when Spock reared back and flipped him onto his stomach, pulling his hands back up over his head. With lightning speed his was inside him again and Jim breathed carefully in through his nose, out through his mouth, whispering the mantra over and over again in his head. Endure.

*******************

"How long?"

"Thirty-seven hours, give or take."

"Is zhat normal, doctor?"

"Last time, it was forty-three."

"Oh."

"Relax, kid, I think it's gonna be fine."

"If you zay zo."

I hope so.

*********************

The cold woke him. He had felt that cold before, even become accustomed to it when he had lived aboard the Enterprise day in and day out. The last three and a half years had been spent on a planet much like his native Vulcan, though, and his body had re-acclimated to the extreme heat. He hadn't noticed the chill before but then a person didn't feel cold when they were burning with fever. And that could lead him to only one conclusion. The fever had broken. He had survived the pon farr. But that was only possible if………Jim?

He opened his eyes. The room was familiar but his memory of it was clouded by a gauzy red haze. It was some sort of cargo bay and it was his first clear recollection after collapsing in his cell on New Vulcan. He had smelled Jim, felt Jim, sensed him everywhere and he had mustered every reserve he had, drawn into himself, resolved to fight the fever. He was supposed to die, it was what he wanted. But Jim said no.

He shivered convulsively. Jim. He was right beside him, sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted. Tentatively, Spock reached out hand, running a finger over the human's neck, down the length of his spine. Jim was with him, he hadn't let him die. Spock's head swam, latent emotions welling up, threatening to overflow. He had so many things to say but now was not the time. Jim was physically spent…..and impossibly warm. He had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to rescue him and wouldn't want him to expire from the elements. The only logical course of action, it seemed, was to share body heat. Satisfied with his plan of action, Spock leaned down and grasped the sheet, noticing for the first time a blanket lying at the foot of the mattress. Fascinating. That hadn't been in the room before. Someone was obviously keeping watch over them, someone with the medical knowledge to mix up a powerful sedative, if Spock's deductions were correct. Ah, the good doctor. Emotions swelled again.

Spock grabbed the blanket, spreading it over himself and his exhausted mate. He was going to have to face a lot of things in the next few hours and logic dictated that he get some rest first. Tucking the blanket over him, he spooned himself around Jim and carefully opened their bond link. Sensations of completion and satisfaction flowed through the channel, soothing him. Jim was resting comfortably, his mind uninjured and his body relatively pain free. Relieved by this discovery, Spock nestled closer and closed his eyes. He was asleep again in minutes.

********************

The fever may have broken but his inner chronometer still hadn't recovered. When Spock awoke again, all he knew was that hours had passed and he finally felt rested and alert. Jim still slept deeply, burrowed into his chest. He briefly allowed himself the pleasure of running his hands over the soft hair and smooth skin of his mate, enjoying the tactile reminder of his presence. But now he had questions that required answers. He needed to get up, to seek out the information he required, to eat, to meditate, to bring himself back after the physical and mental ravages of the fever. He delicately slid himself out of the bed, lowering Jim's head and shoulders to the mattress and covering him with the blanket. He allowed himself a small concession and brushed a kiss on Jim's cheek before standing up and surveying his surroundings. Someone, probably McCoy again, had left two piles of clothing inside the door. He examined them; they were gray and shapeless but appeared to be loose fitting and warm. And among the pile, he found something that resembled a black meditation robe! He sighed inwardly. He was an abuser, of power, of people, of position. And so far he had received more love and care than he had any right to deserve or accept.

Grabbing the clothes, he headed towards the little fresher to the side of the room. He took advantage of the small sonic shower and the water-fed sink, splashing some cold water onto his face. He briefly caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror and quickly turned away. Perhaps it was irrational but he just wasn't ready to look himself in the eye yet. Pulling on the clothes and the slippers, he padded across the cargo bay and opened the door.

He emerged into a long hallway and paused, listening carefully. He could make out three distinct voices, human, male. The doctor. Yes, he was definitely here. Mr. Chekov? Indeed, his voice was still quite distinctive. And if he was here than the third voice, which had lapsed into silence, could only be Mr. Scott. Spock took a deep breath. A conversation with these three men was unlikely to be peaceful or pleasant but it was necessary and Spock saw no point in postponing the inevitable. He released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and strode the last five steps into the Aberdeen rec room.

In a flash, the good doctor was all over him, tricorder in hand, and Spock took comfort in the familiar action and questions.

"How do you feel?"

"I am fine, doctor."

"Yeah, says you. I decide whether or not you're fine, you green-blooded…" Bones drifted off into incoherent mumbles as he finished his scan. "Okay, you're fine. Where's Jim."

"Asleep. He appears fine, too, but I will bow to your better judgment."

Bones threw him an indecipherable glance and ran down the corridor, leaving Spock to face a malcontented Russian and a pissed off Scott. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor and continued to hover in the doorway, feeling unable to enter without verbal permission. He could feel their eyes perusing him, sensed when they exchanged a look. Tense and uncomfortable, he mentally castigated himself for not meditating first. He was in no shape for a verbal confrontation. Or a physical one, which he began to suspect when Scotty stood up and began walking toward him. He stopped in the doorway, keeping his own eyes carefully averted.

"Mr. Spock."

"Mr. Scott?"

"This is a cargo ship, Mr. Spock. We are na in need of a scientist but we could always do with an extra pair of hands. As ya are here, on my ship, and in light o' the circumstances, I believe I own yer ass, if ya pardon my language. Are we clear?"

"Perfectly."

"Alright, we'll see. Now eat something. Ya look a bit peaked." Without a backwards glance, he strode toward the bow. Spock continued to stare at the floor. That had gone a bit better than he'd hoped. He glanced up suddenly when he heard a sharp, metallic clank on the rec room table. "Itz a Wulcan dish, Mr. Spock," said the young Russian, looking up from the plate of food he'd just pulled from the replicator, "You should eat." Spock nodded absently, taking a seat and picking up a fork. He looked up when he noticed Chekov starring at him. "Don't vorry, I didn't spit in it or anyzhing." The young man's smile seemed genuine and relieved when Spock took a bite. "Vell, I'll just leave you to it," he said as he headed towards the bow, abandoning Spock to his meal and his thoughts.

Why was he alive? Why hadn't Jim let him die? And why were these three, who by all accounts should hate him, giving him food, clothes and living arrangements? His thoughts were disordered and uncertain and distinctly human and he had just made a firm decision to ask Mr. Scott to allow him a place to meditate when Bones came striding back into the rec room. The two men eyed each other with mutually cryptic expressions before Bones said, "I think you should go talk to him."

"I feel quite disconcerted, doctor. I believe it would be advantageous for me to meditate first."

Bones snorted, "Look, I'd call you an emotionless walking computer but I suppose that would be inappropriate right now because that's what you're feeling, Spock. They're called emotions, ya know, those pesky human traits you always swore you didn't have."

"I never claimed to be without emotions, doctor. I just didn't allow them free reign over my actions."

"Yeah, well, that isn't the case now, is it? And you're not going to run away and bottle them all up again. You owe him a lot, Spock, and one of the things you owe is your complete honesty, goddammit. What? Are you worried he can't handle it? After everything he's already been through for you?!" Bones broke off his tirade and took a deep breath as Scotty and Chekov quietly re-entered the room, "Look, I'm not judging you. I can't. I have my own demons to live with and my own amends to make. But whether you like to admit it or not, you know I have good intuitions and right now I'm telling you to go talk to him. So you're an emotional wreck. Good! He's spent the last four years seeing you as this invincible force that he stood no chance against. Go show him your weakness cause it's the only way things will ever be better for you!" With that, Bones stepped out of the doorway to make room.

Spock scanned the room, taking in the expressions of the three other occupants.

"Go!" said Chekov earnestly.

"Aye, Go already," echoed the petulant Scott.

His feet propelled him out the door and down the corner even as his mind waged a battle inside his head. He was a Vulcan! He did not surrender to his emotions yet he couldn't seem to stop his feet. Nothing was right anymore, not him¸ not Starfleet, not the Vulcan way of life he had subscribed to. Everything he held dear had failed him and in the midst of it all, raw, human emotion had emerged to save him. He recognized it well, had seen it on his mother's face whenever she had looked at him and just a minute ago, he had seen it the faces of his three former shipmates. They had risked their freedom and their lives to save him. Yes, they had done it for Jim but that didn't explain the Vulcan food or the robe. No, they were furious at him, disgusted with him, but the love ran deeper than that. They would punish him and make him earn his way back but he could see that they already intended to forgive him. It staggered him, the intensity of that emotion¸ and unnerved him too because how much stronger must Jim's feelings be. He had put his life on the line for Spock. The least he could do was let down his walls. Determination marking his gait, he entered the cargo bay.

Jim was sitting up in bed, dressed in similar loose, gray clothing. He was drinking some kind of malted shake and Spock detected the doctor's instructions somewhere behind the beverage. Jim certainly didn't seem excited by it. Spock wasted no time with pleasantries. He walked over, crawled across the mattress and settled himself next to Jim. The tension in the room was suffocating. No longer was there the distraction of imminent death. Nor were they speaking in an illusion while physically miles apart. Now it was just them, tangible, accessible but for the layers of complex emotional baggage currently engulfing them. Spock could not find the right words and he sat in miserable silence until Jim's sedate voice startled him into awareness.

"You blocked me."

"I did."

"You wanted me to let you die."

"That was my intention, yes."

"Fuck you. You don't get off so easy."

Spock looked up, surprise registering on his face. "Jim, I would not classify the lingering death of pon farr as easy. It has been called excruciating."

Jim scoffed, "Oh yeah? Well, it's nothing compared to what you're in for. You want to take the easy way out!" He reared back and grabbed Spock roughly by the chin. The Vulcan tensed but did not fight as Jim got right in his face. "You don't get to take the easy way out. I decided that if you wanted to sacrifice your life, then you forfeit it and it becomes mine. And it takes a hell of a lot more commitment and remorse to sacrifice your life and then keep on living it. You have guilt? Good! Live with it. You feel pain? You can fucking live with that, too. But you have to live with me. That is the price for you penance, Spock. That is the pound of flesh that I am going to collect."

Jim's face was flushed and he was practically roaring when he released Spock's face. Spock starred up at him, almost hypnotized by what he saw. His shields were in tatters and the emotional upheaval from both of them was battering him on all fronts. Tears stood in his eyes as he looked up as his enraged mate. "What do you want from me?"

"Oh, I'll tell you. See, I've had a lot of time to think. Scotty asked me this a couple of months ago and I knew exactly what to say." Without warning, Jim draw back his arm, putting four years worth of love, hate, rage, and humiliation into a staggering right cross that snapped Spock's face sideways. Giving the dazed Vulcan no time to recover, Jim followed with a vicious upper cut that cracked Spock's teeth together. A delicate line of green blood seeped through the cut skin but Jim hardly noticed. "Want I want, T'HY"LA, is to beat the ever loving shit out of you." He punctuated with a left hook. Spock did nothing to stop him. "I want to lay you out like you did to me. I want you to know what it's like to feel pain in your entire damn body." He briefly shifted gears, driving his fist into the Vulcan's unprotected belly. Spock let out a gasp and doubled in but still did nothing to retaliate.

Jim was beyond conscious thought. All the intense, fluctuating emotions he had experienced in the last four years had combined with an incredible surge of adrenaline to turn him into a battering ram, more than capable of inflicting serious harm on a Vulcan who couldn't, or wouldn't, fight back. His lips pulled back in an ugly smirk and he leaned into Spock's rapidly swelling face. "Oh, yeah. And I want you to feel that pain inside and out." He lunged, grabbing Spock's ear and the back of his head, dragging him over onto his stomach. "Let's see how you like it," he snarled as he grabbed the elastic at Spock's waist, dragging his pants down over his hips.

He was losing it, he was really going to do it and Spock knew with sudden finality that this would break Jim more than anything. And he would not allow Jim to suffer anymore. Pushing himself up, he swept an arm back and hooked Jim around the waist, slamming him on his back into the mattress. Jim struck out, swinging and kicking at him, but Spock refused to hold him down. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Jim's back and dragged him into a vice-like hug. As the human continued to pummel his back, he found his ear and whispered, "I am sorry." Over and over, Jim struck him and Spock held fast, continuing the soothing litany of remorse. "I am so sorry." The fists began to fade, fatigued muscles gave out and Jim's arms wrapped loosely around Spock's back. His forehead came to rest of the Vulcan's shoulder and his breath hitched into an agonized sob. Spock pulled him closer, carefully navigating them down to the mattress and let Jim cry himself clean. His own tears were more restrained but no less cathartic.

It could've been hours or days later when he opened his eyes. Had they actually cried themselves to sleep? He looked beside him and saw that Jim was already awake, looking at him intently. He brought his hand up to the human's cheek¸ caressed it and then gently pulled their mouths together. His chin flared in pain but he barely felt it, distracted by the warm pressure of his mate's lips. Drawing apart fractionally, they stared into each other's eyes. Finally, Spock said, "I know you're pain."

"I believe you. How?"

"When you allowed me into your mind. I found it there, and I found my face at its root. And you are right, my life is forfeit to you." He paused, "You have successfully "beat the shit out of me" as you say. Did you and Mr. Scott discuss anything else you might want?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Then, I want to take care of you. I want to nurse you back to health. And then I want to live happily ever after."

Spock nodded and pulled him closer. "Agreed," he said against his lips.

Jim smiled, "So, you'll never let me go."

Spock cupped his face, the pressure gentle but firm. "You are mine!"

"Yeah, and you're mine."