A/N: Thank you for 200+ followers! And thank you to my new beta, HyenaGreyscale!
The Needs of The One
Chapter Fourteen
Spock took a few long strides from the apartment, noting the considerable palpitation in his side and halted at the lift. Strangely, his breathing was slightly labored, hands trembling, the heat from Jim's skin still tingling his flesh—a reaction he hadn't quite experienced or expected. An inexplicable force had seemingly drawn him in, captivated him, and only logic prevented him from proceeding at the last minute.
Vulcans do not initiate physical contact unless necessary.
Vulcans do not yearn.
Vulcans do not…
"Do you wish to know the answer to Jim's query?"
"I loved him."
Disconcerted, he promptly boarded the lift, pressing the control panel for the desired floor and exited with haste once the doors swished open. He easily located the room—having scanned over the occupants list of the building prior to seeking Jim—and was about to press the chime when the doors suddenly opened, revealing someone he hadn't anticipated. Her backside to him, facing toward the interior of the room, she was in the middle of stating a quick and uncharacteristically sheepish farewell—turning and visibly jerking as she was instantly startled.
"Spock!" She exclaimed, a florid glow tainting the flesh of her cheeks.
"Nyota," He acknowledged, a dark brow arching curiously.
A wary smile etched upon her features—analyzing the slight untidiness to her semblance as she stumbled on a bit breathlessly, "I…didn't expect to see you."
"Indeed. Your presence was also unexpected. If I am intruding—"
"Oh, you're not!" She interjected curtly, "I was just on my way out." Averting her gaze, she brushed passed him, Spock observing her carefully as she scurried down the hall without a second glance.
A throat suddenly cleared beside him, "Uh…Spock, what can I do for you?"
Spock glanced toward the doctor, finding it quite interesting that his outward aspect was also distinctly sloppy—noting the unusual unkemptness to his hair, his features flushed slightly. Speculating from his labored breathing and the coat of perspiration along his brow, it was most likely due to exertion.
"You seem unwell, Doctor. It is unbecoming of a medical professional to appear disorderly."
The man's cheeks darkened, a bewildered expression contorting his features as he scoffed, "Yeah, well, you look less than stellar yourself! Why the hell are you wet? Don't hobgoblins pride themselves on perfection?" Pausing a moment, an undecipherable thought flit across his eyes, "You know what, I don't want to know."
His eyebrow rose once more, "Your defensive retort insinuates the possibility I may have disrupted a matter of consequence," He glanced toward the direction Nyota had retreated, "Perhaps I should return at a more convenient time?"
A contemptuous snort escaped him, rubbing his temples and moaning his apparent displeasure of the impending conference, "No, come in. You obviously have something important you want to discuss." Pivoting abruptly, he strode back into the room, silently indicating for Spock to follow with a sluggish gesture of his hand. Spock complied, clasping his hands at the small of his back as he entered the quaint living area. The doctor plopped onto the sofa, heaving a heavy sigh, raking his fingers through his hair, "So, what is it?" He inquired flatly.
Inhaling deeply, he responded almost reluctantly, "The matter concerns Ji—the captain."
The man instantly perked up at the mention of Jim, hazel eyes widening marginally with concern, "What? Did something happen? Is he all right? Dammit man, why didn't you say anything sooner?"
"The illness has not debilitated him at this time, Doctor," Spock was quick to reassure—the doctor instantly deflating, sinking against the sofa with relief.
Gritting his teeth, he replied emphatically, "You sure know how to give a man a damn heart attack. Between you and Jim, I probably won't live to see retirement. Hell, I probably won't even live to see forty at this rate."
Disregarding the irrelevant remarks, Spock continued, "I have come to discuss with you the biological dysfunctions I've been experiencing while in the captain's presence."
McCoy's eyebrows furrowed slightly with confusion, "Biological dysfunctions?" He reiterated bemusedly, "What are you talking about, Spock?"
"I've noted several involuntary instances where my heart rate has risen exponentially and seemingly without sufficient cause. I have also experienced other peculiar sensations that have given me cause for concern."
Pursing his lips slightly, the doctor glanced away to scrutinize a specific spot on the wall, nodding almost imperceptibly, "And you say this happens when you're around Jim?"
"Affirmative."
"Mmm," He hummed noncommittally, ascending from his perch and gesturing toward the sofa, "Take a seat, I'll check you over."
Spock nodded curtly, striding complaisantly to the sofa and descending onto the cushions fluidly—the Earth's lighter gravity permitting more graceful movement to his density. The doctor's lips pressed into a thin line as he reached for the medical bag on the table, rummaging through it, and located the tricorder, proceeding to scan him immediately. After several silent minutes, the man pulled away, folding his arms over his chest—a smirk curling the corner of his mouth.
"Just as I thought," He stated with an unusual tone. Spock's eyebrow arched expectantly which oddly provoked the man to grin, "Nothing is wrong with you. You're perfectly healthy, all readings are normal…well, for a Vulcan that is."
"I do not understand. There must be a logical explanation," He retorted bemusedly, eyebrows furrowing.
"Listen," McCoy began, huffing softly, "logic can only take you so far. I can tell you that there is a reason, but it may be a bit beyond your logical comprehension."
"You are insinuating I am unintelligent?" He inquired with incredulity, nonplussed by the man's vague diagnosis.
"Only when it comes to something like this, yes, but I wouldn't really call you stupid—a bit oblivious, or naïve maybe."
Taken aback slightly, he opened his mouth to respond but quickly closed it—incredibly uncertain how to react, "I believe I am at somewhat of a loss, Doctor. I do not understand what you are attempting to convey."
Rolling his eyes to the ceiling in that most peculiar yet predictable Human gesture, he groused, "My point exactly," Sighing exasperatedly, the man's hazel orbs reconnected with his, scrutinizing him heavily for a fleeting moment before clarifying, "I'll make this real simple, since I'm a doctor and not a damn couple's counselor," A beat, "You have affection for Jim that is beyond friendship which elicits a physical response. Humans have a word for that—it's called 'love'."
The strange constriction in his side returned with the absurd postulation, "Vulcans do not love," He declared—the words were almost acidic as they left his mouth, recalling the confession his father imparted to him soon after his mother's demise.
McCoy snorted derisively, "Well, looks like half-Vulcans can. It's either that or you have the most coincidental heart murmur this side of the galaxy." When Spock failed to respond, he grudgingly continued, "Look, nearly every bridge crew member is aware of your deep mutual affections for one another. Hell, even most of my medical staff's been partaking in the propaganda. I won't claim to be a love guru, alright, and I really don't want to get involved, but I literally can't handle this anymore. Between the kid beating around the bush whenever he comes to me for advice about you, and having you treat emotion like it's a damn transgression makes me want to beat my head against a wall…repetitively!"
Ticking his head slightly, he regarded the man seriously, "I believe you are mistaken. He is my superior officer; I am merely concerned for his well-being."
"Fine!" The man nearly shouted, throwing his hands up, illustrating his frustration, "Go ahead and deny it. I can't deal with either one of you," Pointing a stern finger, he intoned darkly, "But so help me, if and when you finally come to terms with this, you better treat him right—understand? He's been through enough."
An elongated heavy silence draped over them—the pitter-patter of rain against the windows being the only sound. Spock stood without a word, padding across the room toward the door.
"Spock."
He halted, pivoting slightly to regard him, "Yes, Doctor?"
Releasing an audible breath through his nose, McCoy said earnestly, "Take care of him." Nodding in response, Spock turned back for the door, his extraordinary hearing receiving the doctor's muttered statement just before he departed, "Lord knows you're the only one who can."
Spock blinked.
40:22:11:33
He blinked again.
40:22:11:32
Bending over the abandoned cryotube, he closely examined the side panel and the numbers on the ancient chronometer. What was its purpose? Spock traced a finger gingerly over the glass casing before turning away, striding to the adjacent tube with a female dormant inside. He hastily located the identical and nearly hidden chronometer with a new set of numbers steadily declining, pondering the significant difference.
18:16:09:17
He quickly concluded they were indeed not coordinates. Returning to Khan's cryotube, he promptly examined the remainder of the outer shell, his hands tracing diligently along the base, instantly stilling over something distinctly not metal. Tugging it free, something akin to surprise overcame him as he recognized the flimsy material.
Paper.
A letter addressed to his person, written in ink.
Fascinating.
Mr. Spock,
As we both are aware of how clever you are, I'm positive you can comprehend the fact that I predicted you would be the one to find this letter, and be the one seeking me for the sake of your captain.
Spock's eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch—intrigued.
I will be brief as we have much to discuss in person. If you wish to save Kirk's life, you will meet me alone on the roof of the Royal Children's Hospital at precisely 2200 hours on January the first. If you apprehend me, your captain will die. I'm the only one who holds the knowledge to save him.
I once asked Kirk what he would do for his family. I will now prompt you with a similar question. What would you do to save the one you care for, Mr. Spock?
Do not keep me waiting.
Spock neatly folded the paper, tucking it into the pocket of his tunic and stood upright—tugging at the hem to smooth the creases. Although his classified commission included tracking down and apprehending Khan, it appeared he'd need to refrain from informing the Admiral of the letter. However, he would undoubtedly need to proceed with caution as it seemed the superhuman somehow obtained knowledge of Jim's condition. The threat toward his captain's life roused a sense of protectiveness within him—a relentless primitive instinct he couldn't abate.
"Where is the captain, Mr. Sulu?" He attempted to maintain a level tone; however, the minor inflection was indeed apparent and failed to go unnoticed by the helmsmen.
The interval of silence had gone on far too long.
Something wasn't right.
"Our sensor array is down, sir, I can't find him."
A pained grunt suddenly erupted through the bridge, whipping around to behold the sight of Jim—his face battered, blue eyes dull, a phaser pressed against the base of his skull.
"I'm going to make this very simple for you."
To his own shock, the word ripped from his lips without restraint as something akin to panic overcame him, "Captain!"
Khan didn't falter from the outburst, speaking his terms without preamble, "Your crew for my crew."
Jim's head lolled, unfocused eyes staring away from the view screen—indicating a possible concussion. Spock quickly averted his attention to Khan, the man's eyes penetrating him malevolently, glinting with knowledge that Spock was helpless—unable to reach Jim, unable to protect him. Something hot and unpleasant stirred within his core, seeping through him, hazing his vision as he took a step forward.
"You betrayed us," He bit back a growl, the logical part of his mind reminding him to remain calm.
The man retorted with a derisive sneer, "Oh, you are smart, Mr. Spock."
As though circuits reconnected in his brain, Jim's eyes sought out his—conveying several messages he could surprisingly decipher instantaneously. The only Human he'd ever found capable of silent conversation was now telling him to abandon him, to be the captain the Enterprise needed. The only problem was the essential component the Enterprise truly needed was Jim and as he witnessed the blunt side of the phaser crack against the blond man's skull, ripping a cry of pain from his lips did realization wash over him.
Spock needed Jim, too.
In the midst of his musings did he suddenly become aware of his surroundings, finding that he had at some point departed the cryo chamber and was now standing before the man's assigned lodgings—which he'd been constantly avoiding for the past 2.7 days—scrutinizing the metal door heavily. The hour was late, and no doubt he'd be asleep, but Spock felt a surge of desire overcome him, raising his hand toward the chime and permitted it to hover there for several moments. This compelling need to see him was illogical, having no plausible reason to be there, but still remaining rooted to the spot.
Compressing his hand against the metal door—abandoning the chime—he was almost certain he could sense Jim on the opposite side, the haunting memory of his warmth eliciting a strange sensation to occur in his hand, his heart rate increasing exponentially.
"I want you to know why I came back for you, why I couldn't let you die."
"Is…this the reason, Spock?"
"Humans have a word for that—it's called 'love'."
Leaning forward, his forehead softly laid against the metal. Its cool surface displeased him, longing for something much warmer—someone just beyond the solid barrier.
"Jim…"
A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!