AN: So... uh... do y'all still remember me? 'Cause I have here... chapter 14! I do apologise for the wait, but, well, it's a very long and charged chapter... Please, forgive me?

And enjoy!

14

T'hy'la

Spock came to in a daze and found he was laying prone on a soft surface; above him shone pale white lights, and on his left side was a wall. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, the half-Vulcan pushed his weight on his arm and rolled to his right, ending up kneeling on clean, synthetic tiles. His gaze swept the small room, and he quickly identified it as a cell, the wide transparent door made of a strong twinkling force field.

So he had been kidnapped; it was a logical hypothesis, seeing that his father was a rather renowned Ambassador and had gathered an impressive number of enemies.

"Interesting," he mouthed silently, taking notice that he was also quite hungry, and that his throat was burning with thirst. One eyebrow arched gracefully when he realised that, sitting invitingly at the foot of the small bed, were a wide plate of what were clearly vegetarian delicacies and a glass full of water.

His training told him he should not touch the food nor the water; he knew not what they might contain: they could very well be poison, and without his tricorder…

His tricorder? He did not own that kind of sophisticated gadgets, they belonged on starships and laboratories. And… what training? He had most definitely never trained, if one did not count Vulcan martial arts -he had never even left his planet… He was about to complete the exams necessary to be accepted at the VSA, where he would study, and eventually become a teacher, a good teacher, the best. After all, it wasn't as if he'd ever act on his foolish, secret wish of joining the Fleet…

Would he?

He was dangerously disoriented, but he could still read his body perfectly, and it told him he had a huge memory gap, because he most definitely was not seventeen.

He glanced once more at the plate and glass, then left them untouched and went to kneel on the bed, turning his attention inwards to prepare for meditation.

What he found inside his mind had him gasping in a matter of minutes.

Of the intricate, tightly-woven web of vibrating bonds he once had, only a few remained, scattered among a burnt field of broken, useless links; the only familial bonds he had left were the dormant one still connecting him to Sybok and the one he shared with his father, but that too was muted, as if something was blocking it. And there was… so much pain. He shivered and recoiled, returning to observing his surroundings with newfound worry, perhaps even terror.

He knew not where he was or why, he had lost at least a decade worth of memories, his telepathy was running askew, his mind was strangely pliant and loose, his shields not in place. He appeared to be waiting for someone, a faceless someone -the ghost of a smile, a flash of gold- a stranger without a name or a story. A person he trusted, though he had no idea how they were to find him…

But he was t'hy'la, k'diwa, ashayam.

Nothing seemed to make full sense anymore. Unnerved, confused, the Vulcan moved to stand a few inches from the shimmering force field; drawing a deep breath, he raised a wary gaze to what was outside, and his eyes widened as he took in the image printed on the opposite wall: it was a peculiar flower, one that appeared to be comprised of three different plants merged together. Somehow, that thought caused him to recoil, and he stepped back swiftly, profoundly repulsed by the symbol. What did it mean?

He searched his failing memory for answers, but he came up nearly empty-handed, only vague impressions clinging to his mental fingers, impressions of pain, abuse, fear. Spock swallowed unsteadily as disconnected, distantly familiar voices filled his mindscape, making him swoon -he staggered and fell on the hard mattress, too weak and famished to keep standing. He curled in on himself, wrapping both arms around his legs, and buried his face in his knees, breathing in the faint scent of his ceremonial robes, which carried another, more imposing fragrance, a fragrance that, he realised, lingered on his hair and even his skin. Inhaling deeply from his nose, the Vulcan closed his eyes, trying to give it a name.

T'hy'la.

It was the scent of t'hy'la.

But who…?

"Still thinking about that old story?" a female voice interjected, filtering through. Spock snapped up on his feet, immediately reacting to the unwelcome touch of another, invading mind against his own.

He stared into black eyes and suddenly remembered that it was she who had taken his memories away, she who had broken him so; captive, helpless, he could only stare at her with burning hatred, ancient instinct resurfacing to make his blood boil.

"How very rude of you, you haven't touched food. Eat." The woman walked slowly inside his cell, hips swaying slightly, long fingers stretching in the direction of the plate.

"No," Spock refused.

"Drink, at least."

"I do not wish to." Silence ensued. The Vulcan leaned trembling against the wall, and waited for her to speak for what seemed to him like an eternity; then, at last, he voiced the one question he could think of: "What more could you want?"

"Today I make you mine."

"No."

"Ambassador Sarek. It is an honour seeing you again." Kirk raised the ta'al at the stoic Vulcan standing in front of him, and after the greeting had been reciprocated, he nodded curtly and began to walk, clearly expecting the other to follow.

"Captain Kirk," Sarek called, speaking low as they crossed the busy corridors of Starbase Eleven, where the Enterprise was currently docked. "Have you made any progress?"

The human shrugged sharply, blue eyes swiping the packed area quickly. He hadn't been expecting anything other than crude directness from Spock's father, but damn, he ought to know you don't ask questions like that in the middle of a crowd. "I might have, Ambassador," he muttered, turning left, then right, then diving into an open turbolift. When the doors closed behind them, he finally raised his burning gaze to meet the Ambassador's collected one. "The bond?" he demanded.

Sarek shook his head slowly. "It is blocked. My attempts at contacting my son have been thwarted so far; I only know that he is alive, though considerably weakened."

Jim cocked his head to the side, momentarily distracted by the hint of concern present in the Vulcan's voice and in the hard lines of his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Illogical. It is not your fault."

The turbolift chimed, effectively interrupting their hushed conversation, and the two resumed their quick pacing of the corridors. "I wish…" Kirk began before cutting himself off. "Never mind. Come on in."

They had stopped by a door to an unmarked room, and the Captain keyed it open swiftly, gesturing for the Ambassador to enter first. When he, too, stepped inside, a warm hand came instantly to rest on his shoulder, and he instinctively smiled at the young man who now filled his entire line of vision. Dirty blond hair fell messily across his shoulders, and though he usually wore a dark veil to conceal his face he had let it loose for the time being, revealing a pair of sharp grey eyes and a shrewd grin framed by a long stubble.

"Jim. It's good to see you again."

Kirk clasped his hand strongly in greeting: "Sam. Thanks for the help." He turned towards the people assembled around the one empty table that occupied most of the space in the narrow room, and quickly said: "My bridge crew, Lieutenant Uhura, Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Chekov, my Chief Medical Officer Doctor McCoy and my Chief Engineer, Mister Scott. And this is Lieutenant D'nevla; she's the one who escaped the criminals and brought us the prisoner…"

"…Yes, I had words with him before…"

"And Spock's father, Ambassador Sarek."

"It is an honour, Ambassador." Samuel's greeting unknowingly echoed his brother's.

Jim swept an intense, steely gaze across the area. "This is a classified conversation. Please understand that you are forbidden to speak of this, ever. It would break at least a dozen Federation laws. Do I have your silence?"

After receiving everyone's assent, the young Captain continued slowly: "My brother is part of the Interplanetary Secret Services, or ISS if you will -which shouldn't be a thing but totally are- and he's responsible for keeping all those criminal organisations Starfleet tells you that don't exist anymore at bay. Now, regarding Spock… It's not just a criminal organisation that got its filthy hands on him. It's crime itself."

Sam nodded gravely, and took up the explanation from that point: "The symbol you found…" he nodded in the direction of D'nevla, "…is a mark that references to one person. We call her Ezarta, which is a Betazoid word for Poisonous Mind. What we know about her: she uses mental power to control her acolytes and brainwashing to convert more people to her cause; she is much older than she lets on; for the past eight decades at least she has been pulling the strings of most, if not all, the underworld, and she's behind many diplomatic incidents and war threats -we are still debating whether Admiral Marcus had contacts with her or if she just planned to take advantage of the situation when opportunity arose."

He made a rather long pause, apparently to gather his thoughts, and went on: "That's just about it. What we don't know: how far her criminal web spreads (are Romulans involved? Are Klingons?) and how powerful her telepathy is -can we break through her control? So far we've been unable to."

Sarek raised an eyebrow, pressing the pads of his fingers together in a gesture the crew found exceedingly familiar. "Does she employ it exclusively on psi-null species?" he asked, voice clear and even, "It seems to me that she is not nearly as powerful as you seem to believe. If she were truly strong she would have severed my son's remaining bonds to render him defenceless, yet she simply muted them."

Samuel shook his head. "I can't tell you anything more precise than that; this is the first time she took interest in a Vulcan -and even now, I think it's more about his unique genetic makeup than his Vulcan heritage."

"It is not the first time my son has become a target for…"

"Of course it isn't. There have been fifteen attempted kidnaps and three attempted murders, ten of which on Vulcan, six on Earth, two during this mission. We prevented them all. Your son is a primary target and to be fair it's a miracle he's made to twenty-seven in one piece."

McCoy made a scathing sound in the back of his throat and crossed his arms stiffly. "Well, that's just sweet and all, but I think the question here is: how do we get his ass back on the ship?"

"If we can get him back," Samuel began flatly, only to be interrupted by Uhura's warning snarl of "Which we must," that indicated there was hell to pay in case of failure. The elder Kirk paused just enough for her to speak, but gave no indication of having heard the threat at all. "…It will have to be two days from now. We have been planning a raid to one of Ezarta's most important outposts; it's where she keeps her prisoners and new recruits, and if we're lucky, your First Officer will be there."

Jim nodded, standing still and strong and unwavering for the sake of his crew and perhaps even Sarek, keeping up the show of invulnerability that was every Captain's mask and prison. "We will find him there; Starfleet has already given the ISS permission to avail itself of the flagship, so this time we actually have permission to engage in a rescue mission. Officially, we're on our own, since the Secret Services don't exist, but their operatives are on the ready and will be present."

With a heavy sigh, he motioned for everyone to get up. "That would be all. We'll meet back here in two hours for tactical debriefing; since then… you're technically on shore leave. Have fun."

Kirk slipped out of the room without another word, avoiding McCoy's inquisitive eye, and his brother followed him silently as he all but marched to his temporary quarters, locking the door as soon as he made it in. Then the Captain of the Enterprise sagged into a chair and covered his temples with both hands, grimacing. "Leave the lights off, please."
Sam glanced briefly at him and turned towards the bedside table, opening its empty drawers with quick, purposeful motions: "Migraine again? Where do you keep the meds?"

"I'm not taking them anymore," Jim very nearly groaned, "It'll pass eventually."

Giving up the fruitless search, Samuel went to kneel in front of his brother, disapproval written plainly on his prematurely-aged face. "Does your CMO approve?"

A faint smile curved the Captain's lips. "Eh. He has to. Grumbles a lot about it, but he lets me."

"Jim…" He grasped his shoulders tightly, for a moment or two unsure as to what he wanted to say to this young man that was almost a stranger but shouldn't be, not really, because in every gesture, in every look, in every frown and smirk he saw the skinny, lost, stubborn child he had been… "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for missing most of your life. I had to…"

"You had to leave. I understand, I do." Jim's eyes were earnest, expression open even though the stabbing, intermittent pain crossing his brain. "Just… help me now, will you?"

"I'll do everything in my power to get your Vulcan back," Sam promised. A hint of hesitation filtered through his words, and he unwillingly added: "You do know that if he's… if she managed to break his mind, there's nothing we can do to restore it?"

A shadow fell upon the Captain's already grim face, and he twisted his fingers in his lap, fighting against the gnawing worry spilling in his gut -it turned his stomach and made his heart beat faster and his skin tingle and his throat constrict and he couldn't… "I know. But he's a Vulcan and a telepath, I'm sure he will…" His voice broke, days of tension and fear and the ugliness of not knowing threatening to have the best of him and engulf him completely. His brother's hold strengthened. "He will be alright," Samuel finished for him, "Vulcans are a pretty resourceful people, aren't they? And they're supposed to have all these secret abilities they won't disclose… He'll pull an ace out of his sleeve and he'll survive this, too."

Jim stared at him for a few seconds, nervous and coiled as if ready to spring; then he pulled him down into a suffocating embrace, clinging to the rough material of his impersonal shirt. "Damn you, Sam, I missed you!"

"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm so very sorry. I'm here now."

"You have the power to make me follow you! Why won't you stop with… this…"

"Your mind would be blanked completely if I used my telepathy in such a manner. I need you to follow me freely -I need your wits and your brilliancy."

"You… are torturing me. You have erased ten years' worth of memories from my mind. You are feeding me… hallucinations and pain… How can you expect me to make that choice?"

The Vulcan was gasping convulsively, shaking with the effort it took to simply speak -putting one word after the other had become a daring task, and he was lost, and confused, he did not know why he kept resisting…

The woman raised an eyebrow at him, antennae waving hypnotically. "Oh, you will make it alright," she softly assured him, "Everybody does eventually."

"I am… Vulcan," the half-blood muttered through gritted teeth, "I am not… everybody."

"No. You are not," she agreed, turning her back on him with the self-assurance of an unbeaten victor. "But you will yield." A hint of cruelty entered her smooth voice as she left him alone in his cell: "You've nothing to fight for."

Spock coughed violently, palms sliding convulsively against the smooth surface of the nearest wall. His vision seemed to have doubled all of a sudden, and he was feeling… strangely displaced, as if occupying two different spaces at the same time… He blinked and realised his mind was swimming wildly, nausea and vertigo battling against one another for possession of his body. Finally, the retching had the better of him, and the Vulcan threw up all over the first layer of his ruined ceremonial robes, shaking with the effort and with the knowledge that if he kept at it, he would surely die of starvation.

With trembling hands he weakly removed his soiled clothes, remaining only in his thermal shirt and pants, and dropped them in the farthest corner of the tiny room. Then he crawled back upon the small bed, curling up with his arms wrapped around his legs. He looked down at his fingers to find they were chalky white, and that in the midst of his mental agony he had apparently managed to bite or break his nails enough that he had drawn blood, which had trailed down to stain his wrists.

Eyes kept wide open out of sheer will, Spock leaned his chin into his knees and forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. He could not afford to fall asleep, it was too dangerous, and yet it was only logical -predictable- that exhaustion would eventually prevail, he was so tired…

So tired.

Jim made his way to the high-security cell at the other end of the long, deserted corridor; the once-blinding white lights were flickering feebly, casting around an eerie glow that barely helped him see: more than once he had to grasp the wall or wave his arms in order to catch his fall as he stumbled over crumpled metal and corpses alike.

There was no force field to block his access to what should have been a heavily-guarded prisoner -instead he found a dead Andorian whose neck had clearly been broken, and a wide-eyed, thin, shaking Spock curled up in the farthest corner of the room, lips exposing pale teeth into a snarl as a low growl vibrated in his throat.

Kirk strapped his phaser to his belt and crouched down low, gazing intently into his First Officer's transfigured face, and slowly, very slowly, so slow in fact it appeared he was still, he extended his hand. "Do you know me?" he gently asked, hiding the trepidation and mind-numbing fear he felt -what have they done to you? Why are you like this? Am I scaring you? Why are you shaking? Do you know me? Do you remember?

"Leave." A hoarse, rough whisper in the language of his ancestors, and the Vulcan recoiled deeper into the wall, the torn inner layer of his official attire exposing flashes of pale skin here and there.

"Are you cold?" Jim asked automatically, removing his golden shirt at once to offer it to the frightened captive; he did not move for several minutes, arm beginning to ache as he held it out far too long, but finally Spock seemed to relax infinitesimally, and reached out a trembling hand to take possession of the garment. Instead of putting it on, he hugged it to his chest, soaking up its warmth and breathing deeply.

"What… do you seek?"

"Spock, I'm here to rescue you… Come on, we fought them off, it's safe, you're safe, I'm here to take you home…" Kirk dared take one step forward, but stopped immediately as he saw the look of alarm passing across the Vulcan's ashen face. "It's alright. I won't harm you."

Breathing heavily and fighting the exhaustion weighing over his shoulders, Spock lessened his defensive crouch and inched towards the human, tiny small motions laden with mistrust and weariness. "Home? To Vulcan?" he hesitantly asked.

Jim frowned deeply. "Home. To the Enterprise," he corrected, watching his First Officer with newfound apprehension. "Baby, do you know who I am?"

The half-blood studied him in silence for what seemed like an interminable time; his shaking had worsened and he seemed hard-pressed to stay awake; forgetting the crucial question he had just posed, the Captain surged forwards again, devouring the space between them, and, ignoring the warning hiss his beloved gave him, he grasped his shoulders to hold him steady. "Spock, have you eaten?"

Apparently too shocked by the contact to break free, or perhaps too tired and dazed to deny his need for support, Spock simply shook his head no; that tiny motion alone served to make him swoon, and if Jim hadn't been there to catch him, he would have surely fallen on the floor. But he found himself enveloped in warmth – a half-forgotten embrace, something familiar and right – as the human wrapped both arms around him protectively and held him tightly, burying his nose in his messy hair. "Oh, Spock, I'm sorry it took so long, I'm sorry, I'm…"

"How do I know you are… not hers… too?" The Vulcan's icy hands were crawling up his chest, clearly uncertain whether to push him away or pull him closer. "How do I… trust you?"

Kirk set his jaw and pulled back so he could look him in the eye: "Meld with me. Meld with me, and see if you can trust me."

"Meld…?" Spock repeated softly, completely baffled because no one -no one- would ever wish to touch his mind, would they, his mind was… wrong… and even though he so clearly needed the contact, a voice in the back of his head begged him to refuse, against all logic and common sense it begged him to refuse, to protect this person who offered himself so willingly.

"Do it," the Captain ordered.

Trembling, frantic fingers latched impossibly hard to his face, but the human did not flinch, did not even blink as the half-crazed prisoner fell into him, brown eyes gaping in fear and pupils blown wide with need.

The mental touch was not gentle: it was a tidal wave of confusion and hurt and suspicion, a thunderous cloud ravenously filling his mind, demanding they joined, melted together, seeking reassurance and protection, as if it could hide within him. It was brutal and frightening, though Jim held still and fought the urge to rebel against the intrusion, because Spock came first, he would always come first…

'Spock. Spock! Spock!'

The Vulcan was helpless in the face of his own desperation -he tried, oh, if he tried to control himself, to contain his urges, to be delicate… His telepathy had broken so long before, perhaps the day T'Pring had pushed him away, and he could not hold back the fury of his instincts as they pushed him forward, forward to drown into a mind that was pure bliss.

Pure bliss.

'Spock…'

Yes, it was calling his name, beckoning, so perfect, so beautiful, so right…

'Spock, this is too much.'

Too much? Not enough, it was not enough, he wanted more, he had been fighting for this, starving for this, he had suffered for so long…

'Spock!'

The mental voice was stronger now, commanding, and it stilled him for a moment, because the day he did not answer to that voice would be the day he died, and Spock halted his assault of the human mind, letting its essence flow into his own instead, asking for knowledge rather than for possession.

Glimpses of a past life he did not remember reached him, and he could see…

"How much do you trust me, Spock?" The human's tone was dark, promising danger.

Spock considered his answer for point seventy-five seconds. "I trust you completely."

Trust… yes, he would do anything for this human, he would jump into the void if asked, had done so already, had placed his life in his hands and found he had made him stronger.

"I want you to know why I couldn't let you die. Why I went back for you."

Friendship… this human was his friend, his closest friend, and they had shared so much, this he knew, they had faced death together, they were warriors and explorers and he knew, he knew that in battle he would always be by his side…

The human called for him: "Hey, Spock! My toothpaste's finished!" He was clearly talking around his toothbrush, and half a second later he peered inside the Vulcan's quarters, peeking out his golden head from the door. "Mind if I use yours?"

Familiar… Like a brother. Kin and companion, close, closer than anyone else, living next to him and then with him, sharing, always sharing, what's mine is yours…

"Hey." The human's fingers swept over his cheekbone, caressing rhythmically, and his voice was barely above a whisper when it reached him, drawing him up and away from the unbecoming swirl of his fears. "I'm still here."

Gentle, sweet… A lover. A mate. A saviour…

"T'hy'la!" It was breathless and pleading, wrenched from his very soul by the overwhelming truth of the statement. "You have come, t'hy'la, t'hy'la, you are here…"

He grasped tighter at the golden human and deepened their mental contact, tendrils of his mind twisting and searching, frightened to part, frightened to leave, for he could not bear the pain of losing his lifemate again, he could not, he would sooner die than let him go, and in his crazed, confused state Spock knew not how to stop, knew not it was wrong, and he gave in to the wonder, the love, the awe…

Distantly, he heard the human whisper into his ear – he was being held so passionately, like a precious thing long lost and finally found, like the human, too, was afraid to relinquish his claim of him. "I'm here, I'm here, sweetheart, it's alright now, you can relax, you're safe, I'm here…"

"Please… Please, do not leave…" His voice was broken, rushed.

"Hush, I won't, I'll stay, I'm right here, don't you feel me…?"

"I need you-"

"You have me, please, you must sleep, baby, go to sleep…"

Spock closed his eyes and his world went black, but still he kept his hand over the human's face, incapable of letting go, of trusting him to be there when he woke… The meld dissolved slowly, leaving them both bereft and distant and alone.

"Woah," Kirk whispered, trying to regain his bearings; cradling the slumped, unmoving form of his First Officer, he picked him up far too easily (how much weight had he lost?) and ran back into the corridor. He was immediately crowded by half of his crew, but he didn't even have the chance to grit out a quick "He's alive," that McCoy had driven them all back to the snarl of "Get away from my patient!"

"There's… nothing physically wrong with him, except of course he's underfed and needs some good rest." Leonard placed his medical tricorder on Spock's bedside table and turned to find his Captain hovering far too close for his comfort. "He'll be fine, Jim, he'll be fine."

Kirk dragged the one chair from the desk to the bed and flopped down, face drawn with concern, stress and exhaustion, restless eyes jumping from the doctor to the Vulcan and back again in an endless cycle. "I've seen inside his mind and -no, you have no idea, he's not fine, far from it! Most of it I didn't even understand, but the pain -Bones, the pain." He sucked in a sharp breath, reaching out to squeeze McCoy's forearms in a strong, tension-filled grip. "It was frightening. What they did to him -it's…"

The CMO crouched down in front of him, laid his hands on his young friend and very seriously said: "I know. I've examined his brain waves and it's the worst mess I've ever seen. But Spock's always had a… peculiar… situation, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. He will heal -the damage is not everlasting; it might take some time, yes, that's a given, but he will heal."

Jim's shoulders slumped under Leonard's palms, and he let himself fall forward, leaning his head against his blue uniform shirt. "I'm so tired," he whispered, a broken confession, "So, so tired. I can't see him like this. I keep thinking… I shouldn't have let him beam down alone, I…"

"Hey. Jim. Stop this -stop. If you wanna point your finger, then it's Ezarta's fault." A grimace passed across his face, and disgust filled his tone. "She's to blame, and no one else. Starfleet and the Federation, maybe, for letting her roam free across the Galaxy. I've always said there was something fishy about it."

A half-hearted grin curved the Captain's lips and he pulled away, stretching a little. "How you love a good old conspiracy theory."

"I'm just being realist over here. Never trust the system and all that crap." He glanced at the unmoving Vulcan and dipped a hand into his pocket: "He'll wake up in six, seven hours at best. I'll be there. And I know you will, so eat these…" He offered Jim an energy bar and an old-fashioned candy. "If you feel faint, call me. If you need to talk, call me. If Sleeping Beauty over there does anything funny, anything that doesn't sit well with you, call me. Understood?"

"Yes, Mum."

The first time his mother had taken him to the sea he was four and a half. He clutched her hand firmly (for it was still permitted at that age) and stared into the endless expanse of water, feeling strangely drawn to it, as if it was calling him, inviting him in… the waves brushing the shore were powerful yet so extremely lazy, stretching like sehlats upon the wet sand, leaving imprints born to disappear in the span of a few seconds… for a moment, it had been as if he was one with them -for a moment, he understood their ancient language, for a moment his mind was freed and lay open into the ocean, for a moment alone he was whole.

He breathed in the salty air and shivered in the face of such immensity; timidly, he reached across the bond to get a taste of Amanda's caring feelings…

But she wasn't there, was she?

Spock came to in an unfamiliar room, lost in an unfamiliar noise which he nonetheless identified as the soft humming of a flying starship; dazedly, he got up into a sitting position, and a wave of hunger nearly had him falling backwards again -he moaned quietly, instinctively searching for help both with his mind and his eyes, t'hy'la, where are you?

He grasped the hand that was immediately proffered and his vision filled with the reassuring sight of his golden saviour. Jim.

"Spock! You're awake." Relief was evident in the gentle voice, and the Vulcan nodded weakly, still staring at his t'hy'la and not taking any more notice of his surroundings. "No, don't move, don't speak, it's alright. You need to eat first. Have a sip of water, come on, here…"

Jim's words came in a rush as he brushed Spock's messy, too-long bangs back to feel his forehead before he tenderly caressed his hollowed cheek, reaching out to grab the glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Slowly, he raised it to his First Officer's lips. "Wait, not so fast -be patient. One sip at a time… Yes, perfect."

A few moments passed before the human retracted his hand, smiling reassuringly at the silent Vulcan, who kept staring intently at him, as if trying to figure him out. "Jim," he murmured, raising trembling fingers to his face in a mute request for contact; the Captain nodded quickly, so Spock pressed his fingertips to his psy-points, slipping home into the meld like the waves rolling back into the ocean. He conveyed both his gratitude and his confusion in a delicate touching of minds, soaking up the love and affection Kirk projected, and his eyelashes fluttered closed in simple pleasure, soft breaths puffing from his parted lips, heartbeat gradually returning to normal as he finally let his guard down.

Jim wrapped an arm around the small of his back and sat next to him on the bed to hold him steady (the Vulcan flattened himself into his side and leaned his head against his shoulder, breaking the meld because it was too hard to keep) then set a plate of vegetarian broth on his lap. "Do you feel up to it?" he asked, watching as Spock swallowed heavily and fixed his stare on the steaming bowl.

"I… believe so." He had spent days wishing for something he could eat, and yet now, as he was presented with food, his stomach turned, and he instinctively pursed his lips when the spoon Jim had lifted brushed them.

"It's okay," the human whispered soothingly, "I won't force you; I know the feeling, remember?"

The Vulcan hesitantly opened his mouth and let the pleasant taste of the soup touch his tongue, and, distracted as he was by Kirk's clearly rhetorical question, did not even notice the way one spoon turned into many. What did it mean, I know the feeling? Had his t'hy'la endured a similar torture? A vague impression of hunger and tragedy slithered into his mind, but he was too tired to hold on to the feeling and he resigned himself to momentary ignorance. He would certainly have time to inquire further at a later date… would he?

The human withdrew the nearly emptied bowl with a gentle pat on his shoulder and a cheerful "We'll finish it later!", and offered him some water again. Spock's skin was tingling mildly just from being near the boundless force of nature that was this wonderful, confusing creature full of smiles and empathy and affection. He settled more comfortably into his lopsided embrace, giving in to such illogical behaviour because it was the logical thing to do -the points of contact between them slowly healed the damage wrecked into his mindscape, and were a source of strength and relief. Before Kirk could speak, the Vulcan curled his fingers around his wrist, pulling until he had pressed the whole of his warm hand against the side of his own face.

"Tell me," Jim simply said, caressing his psy-points in tender, circular motions.

"You are a Starship Captain," Spock stated softly, extending the smallest of threads towards the other's mind, just enough to capture the distant echo of his most pressing thoughts (thoughts of the Enterprise, the Silver Lady, of his crew, family, but especially of him, of his sweetheart, of thank goodness you are alive, of fierce love and protectiveness.) "Do you not have matters to attend to?"

"I have you to attend to," the human firmly replied, cocking his head to the side so his Vulcan could reach for him as well; the mental strand connecting them thickened, carrying hints of deeper feelings and instinctual impressions. "The mission's over, baby, the five years are over. We're docked at Starbase Eleven right now, but we're heading back to San Francisco asap, stopping at Deneva on the way there."

Spock blinked.

A flash of panic cursed from the Captain to his First Officer across the delicate link the latter was inadvertently feeding, and the Vulcan stiffened in response, even as Jim urgently asked: "Spock -do you know me?"

He shifted on the bed so he could look his t'hy'la fully in those fascinating eyes of his, feebly projecting recognition and unwavering trust. "I know you," he breathed, "I know you are my friend, and my brother, and my beloved. I know you frequently best me at chess; I know you enjoy eating unhealthy food, and that you are the most excellent cook I will ever encounter; I know you like it when I sing for you. You are kind, and daring, and smart, and irreverent. You are often in trouble. I know your smile, and your scent, and your touch. I cherish you."

Spock bowed his head then, a faint blush of green tinging his cheeks as the human, careful not to dislodge either of their hands, leaned in to press a loving kiss to his lips. "But I have no idea what you are; I remember next to nothing of the last ten years; I do not know how I came to be in Starfleet, nor you for that matter."

Kirk frowned slightly, white teeth pressing into his lower lip. "Do you think a full meld would help?" he wondered aloud, raising his free hand to tap the other's fingers. "Wanna do it now?"

"Once I have recovered a little more strength," the Vulcan answered, letting out a shaking breath as he curled deeper into his t'hy'la, "I cannot sustain it at the moment. But… thank you for offering. I do not take it lightly."

"I know you don't," Jim softly said. "Then listen: Bones -the Chief Medical Officer- is here, he wants to visit you. I'll let him in immediately if it's okay -and your father would like to see you, too."

Spock sat up straighter on the bed and quickly collected himself, trying to vanquish those traces of emotion he had been showing from his face. "Sarek is here?"
"He came as soon as I notified him of your disappearance. I can let him in as well -whenever you like." Kirk's fingers ghosted over the Vulcan's, then he pulled away from their mental contact to walk to the door. "If you want them out -if you feel tired and not up to it, if you wanna sleep, take a shower, meditate, be alone- you only have to tell me."

"Thank you. Jim."

The doctor's face was familiar (somehow not a threat), yet it was not without apprehension that the half-blood allowed him close; his t'hy'la seemed serene and obviously quite pleased to have him around, thus Spock thought it best not to show any hesitation in trusting the officer and following his requests as he examined him.

Jim grinned; Bones was behaving differently, with a gentleness he rarely displayed openly, and instead of his signature scowl, or even a frown that would indicate he was anxious about his patient's recovery, he smiled delicately and spoke in a calm, collected tone, one he normally used around his daughter Johanna, or around children in general. It worked wonders with the wary, distressed Vulcan, who eventually relaxed into the visit. The quiet beeping of the medical tricorder soon became nothing but distant, background noise as the CMO hovered it discreetly over his wrists, his side, his forehead, and Kirk was happy to note that Spock had finally slipped out of his defensive slouch and was busy staring intently at McCoy, a hint of his burning curiosity back into his earnest eyes.

"Well, Mister Spock," Leonard began airily, letting his tricorder fall back to where it hung from his shoulder, "You'll be pleased to hear you'll make a full recovery: the mental damage doesn't seem to be permanent."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief and reached out to briefly squeeze the Vulcan's forearm, smiling brightly all the while; dazzled, his First Officer returned to giving the doctor the whole of his attention.

"I'd like to test your memory, if that's alright," Bones went on, retrieving a Padd to open a channel with sickbay: the handsome, serious face of a young woman filled the tiny screen, and Spock stared quietly as she smiled, a flash of white teeth made brighter by the contrast with the dark tone of her skin.

Nyota, the Vulcan distantly recalled.

"Lieutenant Uhura is our language expert; see if you can keep up with her."

The Lieutenant's bright eyes sparkled, and she greeted him politely (if affectionately) in his native tongue, but before he could do anything more than be awed at her outstanding skill, she began questioning him rapidly, jumping from Andorian to Klingon, from Klingon to Betazoid, from Betazoid to Romulan quick as lightning -initially baffled and confused, the Vulcan slipped easily back into a forgotten familiarity, and he spilled from his mouth sounds and cadences he had not known he'd learned. It was… easy.

"Len, he's every bit as proficient as he was before," Uhura declared after a while, seemingly more than satisfied. "I can't find any flaws in the way he handles languages."

"That's… interesting," Bones murmured, leaning against the wall as he scribbled something on a second Padd; Kirk glanced fleetingly at him, and in the gentle curve of a barely-there smile found enough reassurance that he could offer some comfort and encouragement to his confused lover. "Pavel, your turn."

"Aye, sir!" said the nicely accented voice of a young Russian man. "Meester Spock! Is great having you back, da!" Clear, bright eyes sparkled in candid happiness, before the young navigator began his own examination; this time, Spock was ready, and wasted no time in showing off his impressive knowledge of physics, chemistry, astrophysics… He was quite enjoying himself, in fact, and was almost dismayed when Chekov clapped his hands delightedly and declared him fit for duty. "Venever, of course, ze doctor decides," the Russian added quickly, "Not now. Absolutely not."

The next test was run by an Orion woman whom he distantly remembered (a colleague? A student? A friend? He was unsure, he knew only that he knew her); she asked him very detailed questions about years of research they had apparently gone through, and on things he had written on published papers -he gave her clean, concise answers while wondering at the achievements they had made. "He looks normal to me, doctor," D'nevla said, "Just a little worn out."

"Well, that's promising," Bones muttered, snapping his fingers with a hint of his usual briskness. "Can we move on? My patient here needs rest."

"Moving on, Leonard, no need to fret," came a smooth, lazy voice; the charming smirk of the ship's helmsman filled the small surface of the Padd, and Spock felt his eyebrow raise instinctually in response to the general air of bravado surrounding the human. "I'll be brief. Mister Spock, would you mind telling me everything you know about what's held in the Enterprise's greenhouses?"

The Vulcan frowned, searching his memory. "I am afraid you will have to be more specific, Mister… Sulu." It took him a few seconds to remember the name, but he decided to view it as an accomplishment that he could.

"That won't be necessary," the CMO said, "I've got everything I need here." He clicked his tongue twice. "Y'all say goodbye for now, and go back to your beds. I'll be there shortly."

McCoy smiled at the command team, and stacked the two Padds one on top of the other so he could have a free hand. "I see you melded," he stated matter-of-factly, "That's good. Pretty good, actually; I've managed to get a hold of one of your famous Healers, and she happens to agree with me: at the moment, that's the only thing that will work for you. So keep at it."

"Yes, Bones," Jim said at once, "Don't worry."

"Thank you, doctor."

Leonard arched an eyebrow at the Vulcan, picking up his things before leaving: "You and you -back to sleep. I don't wanna hear a pin drop in this room for at least… six hours. That clear?"

"Yes, sir," Spock judiciously replied, "May I see my father first?"

Bones's face softened considerably. "Of course. I'll tell him to come in on my way out. And… welcome back."

As soon as the doctor vanished behind the sliding doors, the Science Officer dug both palms into the soft blankets covering his bed and very slowly pushed himself up. Kirk hastened to grasp his elbow, steadying him as a dizzy spell made him swoon. "Are you positive you should be doing this?" the human questioned, barely glancing up when Sarek slid soundlessly inside.

"I wish to," Spock whispered, and he stepped away from him, holding himself straight and still. "But please, do not leave."

"I won't," Jim assured him, going to sit on the chair that had been pushed behind the bedside table; absentmindedly, he pulled open the candy Bones had given him and popped it into his mouth as he watched with curiosity tempered by wariness the Vulcan Ambassador approach his silent son (who, by now, was standing almost on attention.)

"Spock, it is gratifying to see you well," Sarek murmured, and there was a definite hint of gentleness in his usually severe gaze -his eyes were warmer, less solemn, and trailed over the young scientist more than once before they settled upon his face.

Spock raised his hand into the ta'al and greeted his father as formally as he could, keeping his voice level and strong even though it was obvious he was on the verge of falling; the Ambassador encircled his wrists with his fingers, offering him the support he so clearly needed, and Jim smiled at him, pleased and surprised, and settled more comfortably into his chair.

"You should lay in bed," Sarek said quietly, "You are tired."

The young Vulcan shook his head, leaning subtly away, not allowing himself the luxury of seeking his father's help (he should be able to stand on his own, he should be able to fend for himself, he should be able…); the Ambassador resisted his instinctive motion, trying to meet his eyes, to gain his trust. "My child, I have attempted to reach you through the bond," he told him, speaking low and in a delicate tone, well aware that he would drive him to recoil should he be more severe, "Forgive me my failure."

Spock's eyes widened in surprise, and he finally raised them from where he had been staring at his father's secure grasp on his arms; abandoning his fruitless endeavour at fleeing, he swallowed hard, shivering, and murmured, almost soundlessly: "I thank thee for trying."

For a while they were silent, and Sarek held him.

AN: So... this is it! Spock's been rescued and he and Sarek are beginning to get close! Again, I apologise for the wait, and I'll be back (hopefully sooner, if you still have it in you to believe me) with the next chapter!

Thank you for not giving up on me! You rule! LLAP!