He was forced awake that morning to the sound of someone shouting, and running past his door. His pelvis was throbbing, his head pounding while he blinked at the unusual amount of sunlight streaming through the thin curtain on his window, and with some confusion, he reached to his desk to tap his PADD for the time, which was an equally strange need. When it chimed to life, he sat up so quickly, he had to catch himself on the bed frame to keep from tumbling over it, and almost winced at the pain in his back. He had only 38 minutes before his first class was meant to begin. He would either have to skip his meditation, or his breakfast, but considering his unsteady rise, and a peculiar state of nausea, he decided the latter would perhaps be best.
With his hand still resting where it had fallen to balance himself, he rose from the bed, and groaned at the intense soreness that shot across his body with the movement. He felt his breath stinging in his chest, as he typed in a water from his mini replicator, and turned to adjust his temperature control by nearly five degrees. He was exceptionally hot. He bent to light the candle in his firepot, and with more than a little difficulty, attempted to straighten again when the imposing noise of his door chime caused him to bump the back of his head into a lowly mounted bookshelf above his mat, sending last semesters' xenolimnology textbook to slam onto his aching back before hitting the floor. His dorm room was very small, a fact for which he had never given much thought, but the space was suddenly beginning to make him feel alarmingly claustrophobic. He was in the midst of calculating whether or not it was worth leaning over a second time to pick up the book, his need for tidy order ever present even in his exhaustion, when the door rang again.
"Computer: identify."
"Cadet Makita Retak."
A quiet Bajoran woman that had developed a 'crush', as it had been called, on him sometime in their second year. He contemplated ignoring her, given his undress, but she had been sufficiently professional both before and after he had intimated his disinterest, so he ordered her image on screen. As soon as she appeared, he wished he had placed her on audio only. He was embarrassingly aroused by the tightness of her cadets dress, and felt his face flush, as he clenched his jaw, and swallowed the lump in his throat. Perhaps he was the unprofessional one of the two.
"How may I assist you, Cadet Retak?"
"You are still allowed to call me Makita. Are you feeling unwell?"
"No."
He was uncertain if this was true. Her voice and figure were decidedly female, and he was painfully aware of how ridiculously revealing her genders uniform in StarFleet was. He had thought them impractical and degrading before, and yet now his breath was growing harsh with the sheer amount of skin he could see out of it. He felt a trickle of anxiety in his spine.
"I do not mean to imply familiarity where it is not due, but it is unlike you to leave your comm unanswered, which is why I ask. I came to see if you would be available when classes end for the day. We are holding a study group in the library, and you have always been a great help."
"At this moment, I am unsure."
"I see. If you find yourself available, this is where we will be. But Spock…"
He held his expression tight. He needed her to leave. His headache was worse, his hands were shaking, and he felt suffocated in immense heat. He wanted her in his room. In his bed. In his teeth. He took a step forward toward the screen.
"Yes?"
"I do not need to be a creature of telepathy to recognize that you are out of balance. As your friend, do not join us this evening. I believe your spirit needs rest. Goodbye, Spock."
He watched the holoscreen disappear the moment she left its view before sitting back into his desk chair behind him, and turned to grab the water glass he had left in the replicator, watching it ripple with the shuddering in his arm. He had not previously been particularly attracted to this cadet, though she was, were he speaking in abstract, particularly attractive. Her legs were on the edge of unproportionally long, as was normal for her species, and he wondered what the markings of his fingers along them would look like if he held them to bruising—
The glass in his hand shattered on the floor near his feet. He pushed his chair back from it, and stared a moment at the mess he had been making that morning. That thought had been uncharacteristically… disrespectful of him.
What was this pain in his head?
He closed his eyes, and searched along the tethered connections in his mind. His mother was asleep. His father was awake, but he was not certain where. T'Pring was—
Blinding pain splintered behind his eyelids, and the heat of his blood flared in his veins. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him when he plucked at the string that bonded them, as he came to a realization he had been blocking since his most recent birthday. Perhaps his doctors had been incorrect. They were under the assumption that his human DNA would spare him from this, but this had not spared him from his schooling on the subject, and his recent train of thought only served to strengthen what he had learned. For the first time in a very long time, he felt as though he truly needed his father. It was possible he could arrange for him to return to Vulcan to validate his marriage. Was that what his bondmate wanted? Was that what he wanted? He looked to his comm unit, which was indeed blinking with something missed, but did not believe he had the will to pick it up. He had not spoken to Sarek in four years, and could not imagine he would be expected, let alone welcome.
Avoiding the glass, and ignoring the ache, he stood to sit again in front of his asenoi in an attempt to slow his heart rate. He could not go to a medical center on this planet. There would be no treatment or accurate diagnosis they could give him, and he was certain there was no text on the matter for them to correct this. His only other option was an illogically barbaric fight, and the officers at his court martial hearing would be even less understanding were he to murder one of his peers for reasons he was forbidden to explain to them. His father would more than likely state that this would not have been a concern had he merely remained on Vulcan, as was his duty, and he did not have the patience to hear this time and again. Even under Vulcans warmest days, he had never been so exceedingly hot, and just the thought of T'Pring's name had him shifting on his mat. He had no choice.
After a moments consideration, he sent his father his anxiety, his strange biological state, as well as a vague impression of his theory on why it was present, and within 30 seconds he heard his comm buzzing on his desk, as the link to him opened wider than it had since his departure to Earth. He made no move to answer it, he knew who it was, and he would empathize with his unwillingness to speak on it, but when it had stopped, his video monitor blinked with an incoming hail from Vulcan. He felt his anxiety turn to clear panic when his father sent him reassurance rather than disappointment at his emotionalism, but still did not order the video open. He was frozen. A calm that was not his own flooded his senses, and it dissipated slightly, as disconnected words formed along his familial bond.
Bondmate
Distance
Pain
Contact
His distance from T'Pring was causing his pain. He needed for him to contact her. He pushed his comprehension, and centered his breathing. He was dizzy, trembling still, and absolutely on fire, but opened the link between them, and reached for her as gently as he could over his discomfort. He felt her consciousness, and then…
Nothing.
Silence.
He sent his confusion to his father, who, for a fraction of a second, felt it also. He tried again to pull the link through the roaring pain in his head when he sensed it. The nothingness he felt was not nothingness at all. It was indifference.
He felt the link slam shut from 16 light years away, as his vision blurred, and faded.
…
He was vaguely aware of a sensation that he was moving. Or rather, being moved. Hyposprays pressed into his neck while he drifted, but they were ineffective against the unbearable pain, and choking heat that were beginning to register in his mind. He wished they had stayed out of focus.
"What happened?"
"His linguistics professor said he didn't show up to class."
Captain Pike. He did not remember seeing him that day. Why did he hurt so much? Why was it so hot wherever they were taking him?
"That… doesn't make sense."
"That's what I said. The Vulcan Ambassador called the Dean to say he felt him pass out less than ten minutes after his professor sent me a message. I found him in his room like this."
They had stopped moving. He could feel a set of hands cutting off his shirt to allow the bio bed to more accurately read his vital signs, when a scent washed over him that burnt his lungs, and scorched in his brain like a white hot brand. He caught a slender wrist in his hand, as he sensed all other sound in the room hush with the exception of an odd vibration ripping through his chest.
"Cadet. It's alright. We're going to help you."
A woman. He almost had not understood what she had said in Standard. He opened his eyes, only to be bombarded with florescent light, and a blue face just inches from his own. He saw her suck in a breath when his fingers tightened around her arm, that vibration rising higher and louder in his dry throat. Some voice was screaming at him to pin her down.
"Spock, let her go."
His eyes snapped over to meet Captain Pike's whose own were wide with shock, but as soon as they did, he felt the mild sting of another hypospray at his neck. His eyelids fluttered, the noise in his chest quieted, and his arm dropped limp to the bed. The last words he heard sounded almost as though he were hearing them from underwater.
"That's it. I'm calling the Embassy."
…
"What is his current age, Captain?"
"He's 21."
"How long has he been experiencing these symptoms?"
"He was in class last night, so I can only guess a couple hours."
"Is he currently bonded?"
"Is he... What? What's wrong with him?"
"I am not at liberty to say."
"Alright then, what can we do for him?"
"Remove all female employees from his vicinity, and remain at a distance until he is transported."
"Sir, please, this is my boy. Is he going to be—"
...
He did not open his eyes, but could tell that the room he was in was far darker than the previous one, yet he did not recall exactly how he had arrived there. His limbs were weak with constant shaking, and he was dismayed to find that his body temperature was still excruciatingly high. Every nerve ending across his skin felt as though it were melting from the inside, and he was growing dizzy with hyperventilation. He heard a stranger speaking in Vulcan beyond what he imagined was an open door.
"A sedative will be required if he is to live, but it will be difficult to administer a safe dosage, given the complexity of his genetics. Is he not bonded?"
"She claims an illness."
He recognized his father's voice, a strange ring to it that suggested he was speaking through a subspace call, and he relaxed into the bed slightly, as he felt himself safe enough to blink his eyes open to candle flame. A familiar smoke clouded the air, and he tried to focus on its ability to calm him, while his dulled senses took in his surroundings. He seemed to be in a state room, sturdy, Vulcan furniture, and paintings of his birthplace scattered about being his only indication of this. A hologram of the mountains he spent so much time in as a child were casting a dim, orange glow across the bed, and it was almost a comfort over the pulsing ache in his pelvis.
"There is no other he can mate with?"
"No."
"Then you were, indeed, correct to contact a healer. I will attempt to prevent any further degradation of his logic, though in the state he was brought before me, I warn you it may not prove adequate. I will contact you if anything further is needed."
"May not prove adequate? What are you saying?"
His mother. As unable to remain calm as she had ever been any other time he had laid injured in some way. He heard the tell tale beep of an ended transmission before her question was answered, and was irritated at his people's consistent dismissal of her when the shadow of a robed, Vulcan male appeared in the archway. He felt that strange rumbling bubbling up through his chest again, as he came to stand at the edge of his bed.
"You are in the middle stages of plak'tow. I will assess your bond."
His hand came up to his face, and he turned away from him. He did not believe he had the strength for that pain again. If T'Pring would rather see him dead than fulfill her duty to him for no other reason than his mixed race, then perhaps she would.
"No."
"I comprehend your discomfort, Spokh. I have experienced it as many times as you have had standard years of life. In my time as a healer, I have never seen a Vulcan man successfully break his fever with meditation alone. I will assess your bond."
"No."
He went to sit up, but found he could not. There was a restraint around his wrists, over his legs, and across his chest. His breathing was growing rapid, discomfort was again panic, he grasped at his mother's fear, his father's understanding, his blood boiling and reeling with his mind, as papery fingers touched the side of his face turned away. He felt his soul blend inside and out with a stranger. He felt himself yell, but did not hear it. He felt his back bow off the bed as far as it could go when he pushed and pulled at the string of his bond to—
She ripped her hands away from him, sweaty, and gasping. She pressed the heel of her palms into the side of her head, the pain, and overwhelming sensation of not only him, but some random man through him also not yet gone. She was dying. He was dying. He hadn't even known it then, but she felt it from him. He was staring at her, his eyes wide and glassy, but didn't move to touch her again, and with the candle that had burned bright between them burned out, she could barely see him at all. She looked around her, and found his window, his bed, his bathroom door, her water glass intact on the nightstand, the smell of the room so different than the one she was just in. She took a breath, and then another, as she came back to herself, but his shaking, strangled voice, was still ringing in her ears. She wanted calm Spock. The balanced, even, serene professor with a velvet voice she could never live without again.
"Nyota… Do you know where we are?"
"In your apartment." Her own voice was barely a whisper, but she felt significantly better to find his as emotionless as she knew it, if not with a trace of worry.
"What is your most recent memory?"
"We… were sleeping… and then... we were drinking. I've been here all day."
He nodded, but the tightness in his eyes didn't relax. He reached his hand out for her, and after a moment she took it, feeling hesitance, uncertainty radiating from him.
"Are you well?"
"How long were you there?"
He blinked, his eyebrows twitching downward before smoothing again.
"How long was I where?"
"At the Embassy."
"I was there for three days."
"What did they do? What did you need?"
"Hormone replacements, and a significant amount of mental assistance."
"And you think this is happening again?"
"Yes. The strength of the symptoms do not lessen over time, and they are not always exactly the same, but I believe it will occur again soon."
"And if… T'Pring… had been there? The first time?"
He hesitated, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand for nearly a full minute before he looked down at it, and stopped. She wondered what other things he had been taught looked foolish, or unbecoming, but still found himself doing sometimes until he noticed he had been.
"Then so, our marriage would have been consummated, and validated, as is traditional, without the need for outside intervention."
"But it wasn't. She wasn't there."
"No."
"And now that you aren't… with her... What will you do?"
"That is dependent on you."
"What do you mean?"
"It is not easy to explain. My mind will see you as my bondmate, and given that we already have such an unusually strong telepathic attachment, it will be far more difficult for me now to survive this without irreparable psionic damage, if I do at all. I will not be the person you know when this time comes."
"How will I know how to help you? I can't let you just die."
"Nyota, I am meaning to say that I would prefer this outcome than for you to believe that you have no other choice but to stay with me."
She squeezed his hand, her eyes stinging, and watering. Why couldn't he just belong somewhere? Here, and there, and everywhere? The only time in his adult life that he truly couldn't take care of himself, and she understood why he was so scared. He thought his own father wouldn't welcome a life or death call from him. He knew his bondmate didn't even want him from the beginning. His mother wanted nothing more than to just be with him, but they blew her off left and right, and what comfort could she really give him in something so wholly Vulcan anyway? She would never see him so alone again. He would never be scared to die, burning again because she would be with him if he wanted her to be.
He belonged with her.
"Do not be sad for me. It is simply an evolutionary way of keeping an entire species from becoming extinct. It is painful, but in a way it is logical to—"
She sprang into his lap, pressing kisses to his neck, as she wrapped her arms tight around it. She felt his hands suspended for a moment, the suddenness of her movement a bit of a shock to him, before he folded them gingerly across her hip. His concern was fading, but for some reason still there. She wanted it gone.
"I'm so sorry. You could've died. You would have, and that ice block bitch would've let you, and I won't do that. I won't do that."
"Nyota, I am gratified to hear this, but I—"
"Then why do you still feel so—"
"I do not wish for you to be afraid of me."
She picked her head up to look at him. She didn't think she was. What he had shown her was scary, but she wasn't scared of him. If anything, she was only scared because he was, hurting because he was. She might be more than a bit apprehensive about how secretive this whole thing has been, but she couldn't imagine a species as secluded as Vulcan being anything but.
"I'm not, Spock. It was just… different."
"Different?"
"Yeah just… I've never seen you like you've been recently. I don't mean to… insult you, or whatever, but you've been so much more expressive than you usually are. I'm just worried that now that we know why, that it'll go away when it's all over. The way you feel about me."
"It will not."
"Are you just saying that because you're still drunk? Are you still drunk?"
"No. I am in love with you." Her breath stopped. Her heart stopped, and skipped over. A sickening rush of nervousness stabbed her in the stomach, as he pulled his hand away from hers to set his finger against her temple. "What was that?"
"Don't say that."
"You do not believe me."
"Vulcans don't just date. You said so."
"Not without a purpose. I am going to marry you the moment you graduate from this academy."
"Why? Why me? It doesn't make sense. I'm just another boring, human girl who can… speak a bunch of languages, I just don't… I don't understand how you came to the conclusion that this is logical for you."
"I did not."
"But—"
"Nyota, you are not just anything. I do not need anything else, but you. I will not always be so outwardly expressive. I am not entirely certain what is happening to me now, but you must know that this will remain true forever. Someday soon, I will call you my wife."
"Spock that's… I mean… Can a human even marry a Vulcan in the same way?"
"My mother is a human woman."
"Right, but is it the same as it would be between two Vulcans?"
"As far as I have been told, yes, it is remarkably similar. A meld performed by a healer is required to form a full bond, but a meld performed by myself will be sufficient for engagement, to use a human term. It is a crucial act in the final stages of pon farr."
"Will we be able to hear each other all the time then?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"Well that might be… kind of…"
She wasn't sure how she felt about that. It wasn't like there was anything she had to hide from him, per say, but she didn't particularly want him to know some of the abhorrently inappropriate thoughts she had had of him over the years. She smiled at herself for a few of the ones she was thinking of less than a week ago, feeling silly now for how hard she had tried to push them out of her mind then. Her dreams had absolutely nothing on reality, and she doubted his own were anything like them.
"I am uncertain as to your emotional response."
"I just… You're going to see some weird stuff in there, is all. I've been thinking about you a lot longer than you probably think I have been."
"I assure you the outline of my own thoughts are not far from yours."
"How do you know?"
"I have seen them. Things such as this." His finger was still pressed to her face, and she saw a picture of the way his ear twitched when he heard something from another room that made her stomach dance. "And this." A blurred image of the color of his skin. "And this." Clear as day, the way she felt about him when she fell asleep before her trip to the medical center.
She fisted her hand in his shirt, pulling his lips down to her, and crushed herself to him. His fingers tangled in her hair, as he kissed, and kissed, and kissed her. When he finally pulled them both to standing, she heard his firepot fall onto its side, and she almost looked to see if it had broken, or if the wax from the candle had cooled, or if it was all over the place, but had already forgotten by the time he pressed a hot hand under her thigh to lift her around his waist without ever pulling his mouth off of hers.
Dropping her on the bed, he pushed her legs apart, and sat up between them to pull his shirt off, but hadn't been back down to her long before she was shoving against his shoulder, and rolling him onto his back. He tilted his head for her while she mouthed down his throat, scraping her teeth along the smooth skin of his collarbone, and lower until he was shifting on the bed below her. He raised his hips for her to tug his pants off, his hand twisting in the sheets, as she peppered kisses across his flat stomach. She listened to him hiss, listened to his hair drag on the pillow, and could even see his heart beating in his side when she licked a long line up, and wrapped her lips around the length of him. She heard a vibration she knew well enough, and looked up to see him squeeze his eyes shut, and put a hand over his mouth, the back of his fingers on the other running down her cheek. He gasped, and sat up, his back arching off the bed, as he hauled her up over him, when she turned her head to catch his middle finger in her teeth. Grabbing her shirt by the collar, he tore it right down the middle, and lowered her onto him while his head lolled to the side. He took her at a brutal pace, her hands grasping at his hair, gripping his fingers, anything, until his arms tightened around her, his breath stuttering and catching when she whined against his mouth, and collapsed on top of him.
They stayed pressed together for a while before he rolled them onto their side, and set his forehead to hers. She pushed herself up the pillows to hold him to her chest, carding her fingers through his hair, and feeling his eyelashes flutter on her skin, as her heart soared for him.
"I love you, Spock. I really do."
"I believe… I am aware."
He sighed into her neck, but didn't say anything else, and he didn't have to. She could feel it in bright bursts from his fingertips whispering up the side of her leg, and was sure she could have lived in that moment for the rest of her life. She wasn't afraid of him. She wouldn't leave him alone. She would tell him everyday that no one else would ever have her if it would mend the mindset that no one wanted to have him. She slept warm, and safe, and steady next to him, her dreams a mix of orange and red, dust and heat.
