A/N: W00T! Fast update...I don't want to jump the gun, but there is a chance you might expect another within a week.

Ten minutes. His estimate gave Jim ten minutes of life. Ten minutes left. In all the universe, he could think of no one with more potential that would be wasted at the end of those ten minutes. He was completely out of options. There was no hope for an impromptu blood transfusion, since his own blood would probably cause him to have a severe reaction. On top of being allergic to nearly everything, it was like that Jim had a rare blood type anyway. He just had that sort of luck. That said, he had no idea where McCoy was, or even if he had a compatible blood type. Even the Captain himself was beginning to realize that he was running out of time, though Spock was doing his best to hide it.

"Don't worry, Spock. You'll make a great captain, if it come to that. I know you'll be good to her." Spock nearly broke. Jim loved the Enterprise. Like his own child. Not only that, but it was a little absurd of him to think that he was more worried about whether he'd be a competent captain than what he'd do without him. Certainly he knew he was more appreciated than that.

He ran through all of the possible positive solutions he knew of, to give him hope. "There is still time left. Doctor McCoy could still come for you, Mr. Scott could beam us back, or there could be another solution. It is much to soon to be speaking of that." He didn't bother computing the percent chance that they would be saved. He knew it was low, very, very low. He wanted to tell Jim that everything would be alright, but he couldn't lie that much.

"I'm going to die soon. We both know that. Just listen-"

"No. I will not listen to your ralk of death when it it is not certain. Not until every single option has been exhausted." He tried the doctor again.

"How is he, Spock? He's okay, right?" There was a lot of noise in the background, but it did not cover the concern evident in his tone.

"I am not entirely able to assess his status, but considering the volume of blood in the average human, the amount he has lost, and the amount necessary to sustain life, I estimate he has approximately nine minutes, with a percent error of three minutes. He is still conscious and lucid, which I assume is a positive indicator." It was a good thing that he was still talking. As long as he didn't say anything too bad. He'd already lost his mother and his planet; he couldn't handle losing Jim as well.

"Well, shit. There's no way I can get outta this crowd for at least another twenty minutes. The whole goddamn town seems to be here… I'll see what I can do. Just don't let that son of a bitch die, will you?"

"I will do my best." Jim looked at him, truly worried now that he has an actual time estimate. But Spock could tell from the connection of their fingers that he's still not afraid. He couldn't help but be in awe of the man bleeding out before him. To still be brave was quite possibly the most amazing thing he had witnessed. Even his own pulse was elevated in fear. He needed to go, to find the source of the transporter malfunction so they can get away, but that would mean leaving Jim. And he wouldn't let him die alone.

Jim interlocked their fingers, and he felt a little lightheaded. The idea of being able to touch him at all was remarkable, and being able to do so like that, even if it was not truly reciprocated, was simply beautiful. He knew he needed to tell him, but it seemed like the wrong time. It would be horrible of him to tell him that he was in love with him, to isolate him from the only person there, just moments before he died. Through the accompanying guilt, he couldn't help but think that it's rather nice, kissing him like that. The slight smile on the man's face made him feel a little better.

"At least I'll finally be able to meet my dad." Spock gave him a confused look. "You know, in the Great Beyond or whatever there is after death. I'll say hi to your mom, too. I'll make sure she's doing alright." The mention of his mother bites deeply into the shaky calm exterior he has constructed.

"Do you truly believe that after death, people go to a single, metaphysical place?" he deflected, regulating his breathing as best he could.

Jim looked at him for a long moment. "No. I don't. But I'd like to. It sounds nice. It's better than thinking about how, in a few minutes, I just won't exist." Spock saw his logic (or at least he claimed it was logic).

He said the most honest, comforting thing he can manage: "In that case, I believe my mother will like you." Jim stared at him. Precious seconds tick by. He exhales sharply then rolls his eyes.

"Oh, fuck it. I tried, I really tried, to make this easier on you and be all passive and just accept this. But I can't do it. James T. Kirk will not go out laying down. I'm gonna die on my feet, kicking and screaming until even Death will be afraid to take me." He sat up, swinging his feet to hand down against the bar. A slightly greenish hue colored his face as a wave of dizziness and nausea overtook him. Spock felt he should protest since it was only logical to keep the man completely still to minimize his pulse rate and blood flow to give him more time, but to stop him would be to suppress his personality. He couldn't do it. A large part of him was cheering Jim on, as human and illogical as that sounded.

The wounded man made it to his feet shakily. "You got a phaser, right?" Spock nodded, took the small weapon from its concealed position in the small of his back, and handed it to him. "This better work. I really should have thought of it sooner," he muttered, fiddling with the controls. He took a deep breath and shot himself in the chest before Spock had even realized what he was doing. A second's thought led him to realize what Jim had just done.

"You adjusted my phaser to fire at low setting, using it to cauterize your wound. Genius." Spock couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. A small, dark part of him told him that he was too emotionally compromised by the situation to be able think clearly. That would mean that he was a danger to his Captain. He would have to consider that later.

He was given a very small, very weak grin. "You would've thought of it eventually. Now. Let's get this show on the road."

"To what 'show' would you be referring?"

"It's a turn-of-phrase. Let's just go find a way to get us out of here."

"It would not be wise for you to move excessively. You may have stopped your bleeding, but you still need to replenish the amount you have in your body."

"So, what then? We sit? That's lame."

"I would rather you complain of boredom than pass out from overexertion." Jim grumbled a little and sat in a chair. His eyes gazed forlornly at the bottle he had left on the bar, but he didn't get up to get it. "May I ask why, in the face of almost certain death, you were not afraid? It troubles me that one might care so little for their own life. While I am not a psychologist, I think it might be a negative sign concerning your mental health."

"Well, that was the somewhat harsh way to say that." Spock swallowed, cursing that in his rush to not sound enamored, he had seemed rude. "But I'll answer, I guess. I don't feel fear for my own life because in the grand scheme of the things, it doesn't matter. I'm just an over-grown farm boy from some little speck on the map in Iowa. Sure, I did some things other people haven't and I made good scores back at the Academy, but it's not long before someone realizes that I'm not what they think. That I don't really matter at all." There were a million responses on the tip of Spock's tongue that contradicted that statement, the most insistent of which being but you matter to me. But he couldn't say that. Nothing he felt, knew, really, could be pronounced. A First Officer couldn't say such things to their Captain. It was entirely inappropriate. So he held his tongue.

A heavy silence fell over them. In the quiet, Spock imagined he could hear the slow beating of Jim's heart. He urged the other man's body to replenish his cells, to create new blood, but he knew it was hopeless. The feeling of guilt for not having corrected him filled him, so he tried his best not to think. There was not much he could say, in any case. It was too late

A sensation coursed through his body, one he recognized as soon as he saw the swirl of white lights surrounding his Captain. The transporter. Mr. Scott had fixed it. Jim would have medical attention. It was all he wanted.

The transport room faded into focus. He heard a soft thud as gravity pulled Jim from the sitting position he had been in onto the hard surface of the transport pad. He let out a low groan. Spock looked around quickly, seeing Doctor McCoy beginning to appear on another pad. A second later, the doctor was at Jim's side, calling for more medical personnel. He watched them carry his protesting form away to the Medical Bay. It all seemed to happen much faster than it could have. In the blink of an eye, it was all over. Spock had not yet moved. Instinct told him to follow to Medical, but duty told him to go to the bridge. Adjusting his shirt, he followed the latter of the two impulses and went to the bridge.

"Mr. Sulu, can you give me any information on the status of the riot?" Surprised, Sulu, turned around.

"No, sir. We've had no communication from the four of you since yesterday. Where is the Captain?"

"In Medical. Doctor McCoy is treating him. I expect he will be in suitable health in an hour or two. The communications systems should be in working order now. Please confer with Lieutenant Uhura on her progress." Spock took the Captain's chair, receiving Scotty's preliminary reports on the interference with the transporter. However, his efforts were more focused on not running to the Medical Bay to check up on Jim. He'd go when forty-five minutes had passed, he tells himself. His responsibilities on the bridge had to be dealt with before any personal impulses. Telling himself that did not make the seconds pass by any faster.

When he finally allowed himself to leave, he let Mr. Scott resume his command of the bridge. He was uncommonly nervous. The idea of seeing Jim in a compromised condition did not compute for him. But in the Sickbay, there would be no hiding from it. A certain level of self-control was regained in the elevator when he was allowed a nearly private moment.

Jim did not actually appear as worse-for-wear as he had imagined. His pallor was chalkier than usual and there was a needle pushing fresh blood into his veins, but he was laughing when Spock entered. In fact, he was flirting with a blond nurse who, thankfully, seemed to be unaffected. That was a very good thing. He was not fully recovered from his previous emotional turmoil and would, in all probability, have use the nerve pinch on her. It was most unbecoming of a Vulcan and First Officer. And jealousy was a very human emotion, one he would be ashamed to act on.

"Spock! Hey! How are things on the bridge? Did you tell them an impressive story about how I got hurt?" Jim's smile managed to melt him just a little bit.

"I have not yet shared the circumstances of your stabbing. Mr. Scott has proved to be an adequate Second Officer." The smile faded slightly .

"Okay. Good. Well, thanks for checking on me." Despite not fully understanding humans, he knew that Jim's message was clear: it was a nice gesture, but I'd really like it if you left now. The reason for the message troubled him, as he could not figure out what it was. So Spock stared at him, drumming his fingers on the biobed. He knew that it was social protocol to leave, but he wanted to say...something. Anything. If it would make him want him there. But Jim covered his restless fingers with his own. "I didn't mean-I just…Thank you." He lightly touched the tips of their first fingers together and smiled.

Spock nodded stiffly. "You are welcome." He withdrew his hand, feeling like a dirty liar, and left. Guilt weighed heavy on his conscience. He really needed to meditate.

A rough hand on his forearm yanked him into McCoy's office. The door was shut behind him sharply and the doctor's expression was positively murderous. The man had caught him entirely off guard, otherwise he couldn't imagine that he would have been so pliable. The rage evident in his expression made him unreasonably concerned for his safety.

"What the fuck do you think you're doin'?!" he hissed. A vein bulged in his temple.

"To what are you referring?" Spock asked, entirely confused.

"That little display just now! You know just as well as I do that there's as much a chance of me skiin' in hell as there is Jim kissin' you." Spock's mouth unwillingly opened slightly. "Yeah, I know a little more about Vulcans than you thought. And we both know that there's no way he'd be doin' that if he knew. So I'm gonna tell you one time, and one time only, to stop before I show you exactly how much I know about Vulcan anatomy in the most painful way possible. Am I in any way unclear?" The half-Vulcan was shocked. He'd had absolutely no idea that McCoy would know of Vulcan kissing, not to mention that he had observed them engaged in such an act. Of course, he was entirely correct about everything. Jim obviously would not be participating if he knew. After all, Spock was basically not at all what he wanted.

"I understand you completely. If it is of any merit, I would like to apologize for my actions."

"Save it for him." McCoy snorted. "You know, I never thought you were the type to take advantage of someone like that, let alone get some creepy little crush on Jim, of all people. Dammit, just stay away from him. He's got enough on his plate without you harassin' him."

He shook his head, his eyes a little wider than normal. "It was not my intent, I give you my word." Then McCoy's expression softened a little.

"Look, I'm just tryin' to look out for my best friend."

"I would never cause him bodily harm on purpose. It was an accident. I implied something to shield him from the truth, so that he would not be put under any mental or emotional stress, and it has worked a bit too well. If I try to stop him now, he will believe that I do not consider him a friend anymore. Is it not better for him to continue in ignorace than to deal with the stress of having to find a new First Officer?" The doctor frowned.

"I'm still pissed at you, let's get that straight, but I kinda get what you're sayin'. I might believe that you aren't tryin' to hurt him, but I don't like it."

"I assure you, my intentions towards him are entirely harmless. I am also well aware that my sentiments are not returned and that an aggressive declaration of them would be most unfortunate for both parties. I, quite obviously, have no intention of informing him, and I would appreciate if you would do the same."

He shook his head. "I don't want to get involved in any of this. So don't do anythin' that would make me have to get involved. You get my drift?" Spock nodded. They stood there for a moment, silent. Then, "So you really are in love with him, then? Well, shit. That sucks." He nodded in agreement. They went silent again, tension drawing out the long moments in the too-small room. "This is awkward…"

"I will leave you to resume…whatever action you must have been in the middle of before I interrupted you." Hands clasped behind his back, he left, taking a deep breath when he reaches the corridor. Having the Chief of Medicine angry with him would not be at all productive, he thought. Besides that, the brief encounter made him rather angry with himself. He definitely needed to meditate. The past several hours had been trying, emotionally, and he needed time to restore his Vulcan inner calm. Though thinking it didn't quell the feeling that he was entirely amoral for misleading Jim thus far. He hated himself in that moment.

After the drama was over, diplomatic proceedings went amicably. After the incident in front of the church, a very shaky truce had formed, then been cemented by the announcement of a marriage between two members of the younger generation. The alliance had created a wave of peace that spread over the planet. Not only that, but the Faylans had agreed to become members of the Federation. It was all Starfleet could have hoped for. James T. Kirk had once again proven that he was more than competent.

But Spock had decided upon a new strategy to employ during his meditation concerning the triumphant Captain: complete isolation from him, but to the extent that he was still professional and completed his duties. Any true interpersonal relationship needed to stop at once. It would only complicate matters further and deepen his infatuation. Surprisingly, he was doing quite well at the whole 'avoiding Jim' thing. It was much easier than he had imagined. Or at least, that's what he needed to tell himself.

A weak of dull, uneventful space-travel later, Nyota began to bother him about it. She had taken to talking about Jim when they sat at lunch together, very pointedly, and would systematically leave him in situations in which they would be alone in a room together. He, of course, was quite skilled at escape from those circumstances, having had years of training during his childhood when he needed to escape from bullies. It was a while before anyone confronted him about it though. But when someone did, he was more than surprised at who they were.

"Goddammit, I didn't tell you to avoid him completely! Just to lay off the finger-neckin'!" The doctor surprised Spock more than he would have liked. Luckily, they were in a secluded area of the Officer's Mess so they weren't overheard.

"Excuse me?" He wore his carefully-constructed mask of the typical polite, emotionless Vulcan expression.

"You heard me. Really, I can't take him whinin' about 'Spock this' and 'stupid Vulcan that'. It wears on a man after awhile. He keeps badgerin' me like I know why you won't do more that say 'Yes, Captain' to him. Just talk to the poor bastard. He's drivin' me crazy."

"It is for the best that we do not interact on a more-than-professional level."

"Say what you want, he's gonna snap at you one of these days, and you're not gonna like it."

Spock doubted such a thing would happen. Obviously, McCoy was exaggerating. Jim probably had not noticed at all. After all, why would Jim notice him?

A/N: Goodness...there's a chapter! Since I have an entire week off of school for Thanksgiving, I'll probably be able to write and post another chapter by next Sunday.

So, I think it's pretty awesome that people keep reading this...I must say, it's kinda inspiring. So this chapter is for everyone who stuck with it...because you're just about as awesome as Jim Kirk. Which is pretty darn awesome.

Oh, and on a semi-related tangent, not only have I gotten one of my band directors hooked on Star Trek, but my math teacher (who's a total beast for letting me draw Jim, Spock, and Bones on her whiteboard and not letting them be erased) is a trekkie as well. Which is pretty sweet. So, kudos to them. If you actually bothered to read all this, give yourself a really big cookie.