The bright lights of sickbay made Jim's head explode into a thousand tiny, painful suns if he looked at them too directly, so he kept his gaze on the biobed he was perched on. The pounding in his head lessened but didn't disappear. Bones hadn't been kidding when he had called that drug a headache cocktail.

"Captain?"

Jim snapped his eyes from the bed to meet M'Benga's. The man's expression was professionally calm, but Jim could sense a bit of concern in his warm eyes. Although Bones was typically the one to patch him up when things went wrong, M'Benga knew enough about his past to know that today had been difficult.

"Sorry, doctor, didn't catch that. Mind repeating?" Jim asked, forcing some cheer into his voice that he didn't feel. Everything felt so heavy.

"I asked if you wanted me to get a dermal regenerator for the cuts on your hand and arms," he repeated, thankfully not mentioning Jim's lapse of attention. "They're shallow, and as long as you bandage them and put on antiseptic, they'll heal fine on their own."

Jim looked down at his arms. His left hand, lower arm, and elbow were scraped up from where he had tried to catch himself when he hit the gravel, and his right arm had cuts from where he had rolled out of the way of an attack and caught his arm on a sharp rock he hadn't been able to see because of the hallucinations. The injuries stung, but it was a familiar sensation and they gave him a visible, physical reminder that he had actually been on the planet and participated in the Trial.

"How about a dermal regenerator for my hand but just bandages for the rest? Thanks," he finally said, and M'Benga nodded as if that was the answer he had expected to hear and moved to a cabinet across the room to retrieve the supplies. When he returned and began to work, Jim let his eyes go unfocused and breathed deeply focusing on the sensation of the bandages wrapping around his arms and letting it ground him to the present.

Sleeping was not going to be fun tonight.

. . .

"So, are you going to tell him?"

Spock looked up from where he had been reading the report on Jim's health. He and Doctor McCoy had returned from the evening's celebratory feast an hour and seven minutes ago and had each quickly readied for sleep before catching up on the events of the Enterprise. Now, the doctor had set his PADD aside and was peering at him through the darkness, face expectant.

"You will have to be clearer in your inquiry if you desire an informed reply, Doctor," Spock answered, straightening almost unconsciously despite his seated position on his bed.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "When we get back to the Enterprise are you gonna tell Jim you love him?"

Spock's brain ground to a halt. He blinked into the dim light for several seconds, mind looping the words 'you love him' over and over. He shook his head once, pulling himself from his thoughts and refocused on the country doctor across the room from him. The man was looking remarkably smug, eyebrow raised in a poor imitation of Spock's own typical gesture.

"What led you to the conclusion that such a statement would be factual?" Spock asked, keeping his voice carefully level.

Doctor McCoy snorted. "You know, just because Jim automatically assumes things doesn't mean the rest of us do. You called Jim you're ash-a-something or rather on the bridge a while back, and when word got down to Sickbay, I looked it up." Spock closed his eyes. "Seems to me that accidentally callin' your captain 'beloved' is a pretty sure sign you're head over heels, especially with how controlled you like to be."

Spock counted slowly backward from ten in Vuhlkansu in his mind, pushing the rush of emotions that swelled to the front of his mind aside. Then, he reopened his eyes and said, "I do not intend to inform the captain of my affections. If he requests an explanation of the term, I will supply it, but I will not allow my mistake to affect the friendship that we share."

The doctor's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He stayed that way for several moments before snapping his mouth closed again, sitting in silence for an additional seventeen seconds before demanding, "Now why on Earth would you do that?"

Spock raised an eyebrow, a cool calm settling over him. This was a decision he had come to some time before, and the logic of it soothed his aching mind. "Taking into account the captain's preference of partners, the transience of his typical relationships, and the fact that he has given no indication that my affections are reciprocated, it is only logical that we maintain our current relationship," he answered. They were the best command team in the 'Fleet, but the ability to work well together in a professional setting did not guarantee the same in a romantic relationship. Their partnership would be an unequal one, and Jim did not deserve any less than someone who could match his celestial splendor.

The doctor sighed heavily. Spock had not expected him to accept the logic of his decision—he was an intrinsically emotional person—but the frustration in the sound surprised him. "You two are geniuses, but you're also the biggest goddamn idiots I've ever met," he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Spock frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Doctor McCoy continued without giving him the chance to speak.

"Jim's been gone on you for at least a year now, probably longer. I thought you had noticed and were just biding your time and waitin' for the right moment, but I guess that was too much to hope. The man jumps through every hoop for you, the two of you go on dates practically every night, and I can't count on my fingers and toes how many times one of you has played the sacrificial lamb for the other. That's not even counting the little lover's spat the two of you had this morning. And you're tellin' me Jim's given you 'no indication' that he's in love with you? You've both done just about everything but propose!"

It took Spock several seconds to work past the illogical turns of phrase the doctor was so fond of to determine what the man was saying. When he did, however, his frown deepened. "If Jim's attraction to me is so certain, why has he not spoken of it?" It was Jim who boldly went, who lept without looking.

The words drew another sigh from Doctor McCoy, this one drawn out and colored with sadness. "I know Jim seems like he's some kind of space-man casanova, but you should know as well as I do that's mostly just a front. He breezes into relationships with that swagger and those smiles because he and his partner both know it'll be a whirlwind romance, over before it begins really." He shook his head. "Now I'm not saying Jim hasn't loved some of the people he's been with in the past, because he sure as hell has, but it's different with you, Spock. You wouldn't be going anywhere. It'd be real."

Spock blinked, his confusion only growing. "Your words indicate that the permanence of our hypothetical relationship is a positive factor, and yet somehow also the thing that has kept Jim from action."

"It's complicated, Spock. Jim's complicated. You know that just as well as I do. You're both standin' there on the edge of something afraid to jump because you don't know if you'll find heaven or hell when you do. But you two'd be good together." A smile began to pull at the corners of the doctor's lips. "I might complain about you, but if there's a better match of two people out there, I've never seen it."

Any reply that Spock might have had died on his lips, and he looked down at the bed he sat on. He did not, he could not, believe the words Doctor McCoy spoke, but that did not stop a small spark of hope from flickering to life in his mind.

"You should talk to him, Spock." When a full minute passed and Spock did not reply the doctor sighed, put his PADD away, and pulled up the covers. Within five minutes and seven seconds he was asleep, and Spock was left alone to his thoughts.

. . .

Jim had been right about the sleep. He glanced at the chronometer that sat near his biobed. 02:12. He groaned, collapsing against his pillows once more. He had woken up from his second nightmare that night, and he had only been trying to sleep for three hours. Apparently, seeing hallucinations of one of the most traumatic parts of his entire life made for a bad sleeping environment. Who would've thought?

He scrubbed a hand across his eyes and sat up slowly in his bed, careful not to move his ankle too much. M'Benga had put all of his bones back where they belonged, but it was still tender and he didn't want to do anything that would mean he was still in Sickbay when Spock and Bones beamed back up tomorrow.

The thought of Spock calmed him somewhat. If it had been anyone else down on the planet right now Jim would be itching to get back. Not because he didn't trust his crew to do everything right, but because he needed to be there, needed to be responsible, needed to see it through to the end. But it was Spock, and for some reason, that was different.

His mind drifted for a while after that. He thought about Sulu's Trial, Uhura's Trial, the way Uhura and Chapel had come hand in hand to talk with him after their shifts today. Eventually, though, he settled on the memory of Spock sitting across from him in the front room of their quarters down on the planet, trying to teach him to meditate. He paused.

He knew, somehow, that that meditation had been successful mostly because it had been Spock leading him through it. But what was the harm in trying? His track record of the amount of sleep he'd gotten to the number of nightmares he'd had wasn't great tonight, and if it could help he should give it a try. Plus the thought of telling Spock he had actually used his meditation trick and seeing that not-smile pull at the Vulcan's lips sent something warm through him.

Pushing aside the covers, he carefully situated himself into something vaguely resembling a cross-legged position. Then, he closed his eyes and began to walk himself through the steps Spock had taught him. Slowly, the anxiety and fear that had wrapped around his mind began to loosen and fall away, and he smiled to himself.

. . .

Spock had given up on attempting to sleep and was now in a shallow meditation. It was not as intensive as he would have preferred and did not provide him with the restorative benefits that sleep would have, but it was better than compulsively reading Doctor M'Benga's report of Jim's state for the twenty-third time. His mind still turned with all that Doctor McCoy had said, and he was hardly aware of how much time had passed until he heard the man rise from his bed, grumbling under his breath.

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times until his internal chronometer reestablished itself. Once it had, he rose and began a series of stretches that would alleviate some of the stiffness that had settled over his body during the night. When he had finished, he readied himself quickly for the day.

He and the doctor ate their breakfast in near-silence. Every now and again McCoy would glance over at him as if to speak before shaking his head and turning back to the meal in front of him. Spock appreciated the quiet. He would need to clear his mind in order to perform the Trial today to the best of his abilities. To do anything else would be a betrayal of the trust that Jim, and by extension the rest of the Enterprise crew, had placed in him.

By the time they had finished their meal, Spock had exerted control over his emotions and mind. He would not allow himself to be distracted today.

. . .

Jim couldn't keep his leg from bouncing with anticipation. Today was Spock's Trial, and because it was the negotiation one, it was being broadcasted across the Federation Holonet. M'Benga had released him from Sickbay with orders to stay off-duty for the next two days, so he was sitting in his room, monitor screen open to the broadcast that would be starting soon.

He wasn't nervous about the negotiations. Spock had talked them out of more situations—that Jim may or may not have caused—than he could count; this would hardly be a challenge for him. He was, however, nervous about what would happen before then. From what Jim understood, the actual negotiations took place after the Trial, which meant that Spock would still have to face hallucinations of his own.

The sound of the Trial Master's voice drew Jim's attention back to his screen which now shimmered with the image of the Trial Masters' room. He leaned forward, silently wishing Spock luck.

. . .

Spock stood at parade rest in the center of the arena. His arm stung slightly where he had been injected with the Ewlean drug, but he ignored the sensation, focusing instead on readying his mind for whatever hallucination he would be faced with.

His Trial was expected to be the shortest of the four, according to the Trial Master. He would face two hallucinations—situations in which he would have to negotiate for a favorable outcome, likely from his own history—and then he would be administered the antidote and complete the negotiations between the Federation and the Ewlean. The final treaty would be signed during a ceremony the next morning, after which he and Doctor McCoy would return to the Enterprise.

After several moments, a scene shimmered to life in front of him. Vulcan. He recognized the place, a plateau on his family's ancestral lands where he had often gone to meditate on days when the walls of his home seemed to press on his chest until he could barely breathe. He settled to the ground, assuming a meditative pose.

A minute later, a figure appeared in the corner of his eye. He turned, expecting to see a Vulcan elder or his father perhaps. Instead, he was met with the form of his mother, smiling sadly at him. It was an expression he had seen only a few times in his childhood, and even now, hallucination that it was, it caused something in him to tighten. He stood carefully and nodded to the figure that wore his mother's face.

"You've abandoned your humanity, Spock."

Fascinating. The voice was that of his mother's, although she had never said those words. Thought them, perhaps, mourned the son he could have been, but never said them.

"I am not entirely human," he answered, omitting the title 'Mother'. "To act as such would be an abandonment of my Vulcan heritage."

The hallucination frowned and stepped forward. "That's not what I meant, Spock. Please don't turn my words around."

Spock bowed his head in deference and gestured for the woman to join him. They sat facing each other, the red sand of Vulcan a sharp contrast to the light blue robes she wore. After they were both situated, Spock tilted his head slightly. This was to be a negotiation of some kind, and he would need to establish what the woman wanted from him before they could continue.

"If you would not have me abandon my Vulcan nature, what is it that you desire of me?" he asked.

She sighed. "I want you to feel, Spock. I want you to realize that you have some of me in you. I want you to look in the mirror and see your Vulcan and Human parts so beautifully interwoven and be satisfied."

Spock blinked. Those words were remarkably close to a conversation he had had with his mother before, although the location had been different from their current one. That discussion had ended with his decision to apply to Starfleet Academy as well as the VSA.

"I cannot be emotional in the way a human would be," he said quietly. He was intimately aware of the recording devices that had been set up at the cardinal points of the arena, and discomfort squirmed in his mind. He pushed it aside, however, and continued. "Not outwardly. But I do not despise all emotion. It is dangerous, but the absence of it is equally so."

The woman shook her head. "You say that, but I don't believe you. I've seen you after Stonn and the others tease you or you struggle with your meditation. Why do you force yourself to be so cold?"

Spock was...unnerved by this hallucination. It did not seem to fit into the category of a 'negotiation'. "There are many times I find it prudent to favor logic over emotion," he responded after several moments.

"And are there any when emotion is the right choice? Or are you going to deny that part of yourself forever?" She leaned forward, tears sparkling in her eyes.

Spock resisted the urge to attempt to take her hands in his own. She was a hallucination, and the contact would not allow him to send any comfort or glean any emotions from her. Instead, he bowed his head and thought carefully about what his answer would be.

There were times, when the crew of the Enterprise narrowly escaped peril, when he and Jim passed an evening in one another's quiet company, when he and Nyota played a particularly moving piece, that strong emotions rose to the forefront of his mind and he welcomed them. It had not always been that way, however.

"It is the correct choice more often than I once believed," he began, his voice quiet but certain. "During my time in Starfleet, I have encountered too many wondrous things, wondrous beings, to believe that emotion should be shunned. It should be controlled and cautioned, but without it, the universe I have seen would hold no splendor."

The hallucination smiled widely, nodded, and disappeared, leaving Spock sitting cross-legged on the gravel of the arena floor.

. . .

Jim couldn't stop the grin that was spreading across his face. A part of him was still nervous that all of this was being broadcasted, but he had just seen Spock—in the most Spock way possible—accept both sides of himself. Maybe he didn't mean all of the words he had spoken, but Jim doubted it. Even without Spock's hatred of lying, he had a feeling it'd be difficult not to tell the truth when the person you're speaking to is a projection of your mother.

The grin disappeared, however, when the scenery around Spock changed. The gravel was replaced by intricately laid stone bricks, starbursting out from the center where Spock stood until they ended in tall columns and covered in a dusting of snow. On the north end between two columns stood two large beings—Shrist—holding Jim's own figure between them.

That was strange, to say the least. The hallucination of himself was battered, and Jim rolled his shoulder in sympathetic pain. He had no idea if the conversation Spock had just had with the hallucination of Amanda had ever actually happened, but this scene certainly had.

A little over four months ago they had been exploring a supposedly uninhabited planet—Starfleet needed to work on their definition of uninhabited—when they had been ambushed by the people. They had reminded Jim of the legends of yeti, and they were just as strong. They had lost two security crew members on that trip, and Jim himself had nearly become dinner.

The sound of Spock's voice drew his attention back to the screen. "Release the captain," he demanded, voice as level as always.

The Shrist on the right shook his furry head and growled. When they had been on the planet, the words had been filtered by the Universal Translator—although that had been another problem, as the language was similar but not entirely accurate on a few key points—now though, the words were in Standard.

"No! The blonde one has crossed into our territory, and we claim him by the right of Gilsharsh! You cannot have him." The Shrist's grip tightened, and Jim's double grimaced in pain.

Spock took a deliberate step forward. "The captain did not intend whatever offense he caused. Release him so that we may establish a greater understanding of your culture and beliefs."

Four months ago, Jim had been running his mouth through the entire discussion. The Shrist had sprayed something on him when they had ambushed them, and of course he had had a severe reaction to it that had removed his verbal filter. It had been like getting smashed but without any of the fun. This hallucination, however, stayed quiet, which he supposed made sense. This was Spock's Trial after all.

"What does the right of Gilsharsh entail?" Spock asked, taking another step forward despite the aggressive stances of the two Shrist.

"We found the blonde one, so we get to take him back to the mountains. He is a gift from the ground!"

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim grinned. "From the ground? Did he not come from the sky?"

The Shrist frowned. "We found him in the snow. He is of the ground, and he is ours."

"Has a blonde one ever come from the ground before?"

"No. He is special. And he is ours!"

"His hair is blessed by the golden of the sun, not the brown of the soil. You cannot keep him where he does not belong," Spock argued, and Jim chuckled to himself. He wished he had been coherent enough to hear this conversation the first time it had happened. "Return him to me, and I will bring him back to the sky."

There was doubt in the Shrist's eyes as he narrowed them. "How will you take him back to the sky? He cannot fly."

"Not the way the birds do, no, and yet he soars. You cannot confine him to the ground." Spock looked around the arena for a moment before saying, "Leave him here, and when you return we will both be gone, with no footprints to show our steps."

The Shrist looked at each other. Eventually, they nodded and lurched forward, dropping the hallucination at Spock's feet. "If you are of the ground, we will add your bones to the meal," they said as if they were explaining that the ground got wet when it rained. Spock nodded, unphased. The Shrist exchanged another glance and then turned away, and the arena shimmered as the hallucination disappeared. Four months ago, the encounter had ended with Spock ordering Scotty to beam them both up as soon as the Shrist's backs were turned.

Jim sighed and felt tension he hadn't realized he had been carrying leave him. Spock's Trial was over now, at least the hallucination part. There was still the negotiation of the actual treaty, of course, but Jim doubted it would take more than an hour or two to smooth out the final details. They had passed the Ewlean Trials.

. . .

Spock sat at the table that had been moved to the center of the arena, a headache building behind his eyes. He carefully regulated the pain there, clearing his mind as much as he was able in order to focus on the task at hand. He had been handed a copy of the treaty and was now reviewing it along with the ambassador and the head of the senate.

The negotiations now would be largely ceremonial. The details of the treaty had been determined years before, and Spock had been instructed by Starfleet to suggest only a few minor changes. The needs of the Ewlean as well had likely changed only marginally.

In total, it took only an hour and twenty-nine minutes to come to an agreement on all parts of the treaty, after which the senate leader and ambassador both stood and bowed to him, a gesture he returned. "We extend our congratulations to you and the other Federation Representatives," the senate leader declared, smiling. "The attributes you have displayed prove that the Federation will be a beneficial partner to Ewle."

"Thank you. Our alliance will benefit both the Federation and Ewle," Spock answered. The headache was becoming more difficult to manage, but he managed to keep his voice steady.

"That it will. We will see you and Doctor McCoy at the celebratory feast in three hours. Congratulations once again."

They exchanged another set of bows, and then Doctor McCoy was at his side, injecting a hypospray into his neck and complaining about how he should have been allowed to tend to Spock before the negotiations. Spock refrained from comment and allowed the acerbic man to lead him from the arena, silently grateful that the Trials were now complete.