It was dark and it was late. Much too late.
Kirk has already passed his time to report back in. Spock was worried. He was constantly worried about Jim but he would never admit to it. Not to others. To himself, he was always extremely honest. That was the only way for him to survive, to stay sane in the split genealogy that made him into a volcano always ready to erupt.
Being Spock was like sitting on a thin lid that was placed over a burning volcano. The volcano could always erupt but it was pressed down by the sheer will of Spock to stay detached, to stay in control.
The only unpredictable variable in his long equation of maintaining his outer Vulcan appearance was his captain, Captain James Tiberius Kirk. It was like that for years now but he always managed to keep it under control.
Nothing ever happened outside of his control but small slips happened constantly and he was growing impatient with himself for allowing the disturbance to happen.
Still, Jim was late, much too late.
Spock was to sit by the transporter and wait for the signal. He shouldn't check in first, he must not submit to his urges and beam down just to see if Jim is alright. He would find an excuse if he did that, he always would, but lately, the suspicion that Jim can see right through him grew and it was an anxious uncomfortable feeling Spock haven't encountered before.
It was like his insides would twist and turn themselves into knots Spock had no knowledge of how to untangle.
The only thought that constantly reappeared was an annoying thought how he should reconsider his stance on Kolinar, that he should go back to Vulcan and purge all his emotions, close the lid on the volcano inside of his Human half and be done with balancing out his mixed heritage, to finally choose his father he always tried to honour and respect.
But that would mean a defeat on his behalf.
He was the half-breed who stood before Vulcan ministers and told them to shove their offer of being recognized as a full Vulcan. He didn't say it that way but observing Jim dealing with all sorts of troubles made him realize that he did just that.
If he was rational as a Vulcan should be, he wouldn't go to the application and tests just to say no to them in the end, because he knew that he will reject their offer if they don't reject him first. It was an act of defiance. He wanted to be either thrown out of Vulcan or to be the one rejecting them.
It wasn't lost on his ego how agreeable the feeling of turning them down was.
Now that hall was lost, Vulcan was destroyed and his mother he never gave any pride to was dead before she could see him succeed in her Human world.
With his father's unapprovingly probing eyes upon his shoulder blades, Spock would have to swallow much of his pride to go over back to Vulcans and reclaim his place among them.
Still, Jim was late and Spock's anxiety rose.
Maybe it would be better to go over to his people and hide among their cold logic, take shelter before Jim's warm inviting smile, his tender eyes, his always searching gaze. It was like his gaze was always on Spock, inviting, searching, expecting something inexplicable to come out of Spock's mouth.
More than once, Spock found himself opening his mouth but unable to find words, any words that would satisfy the hunger in Jim's posture.
Having Uhura around watching his every move didn't help much. Especially since Spock would lose his bearings if he looked at Jim's eyes for too long. Was it some hypnotic latent ability Jim had?
It could have been.
Spock has observed a similar reaction on females around Jim. He would smile at them and they would seemingly lose the ability to obtain their higher mental abilities.
Sometimes, Spock felt that happened to him too.
The console chimed and suddenly Jim stood there, his presence flooding the transporter room and Spock brought his facial expression that was unguarded in this solitude under control.
For a moment, things looked normal, Jim looked confident as ever smiling at Spock.
"I told you," Jim continued their conversation from before when Spock insisted he should come with him to the planet's surface. "I dealt with them on my own just fine."
Then the smile faded and Jim swayed. Spock was by his side before he touched the floor grabbing his limp body to his arms.
"Jim," Spock shook him. "Jim, wake up, you have no permission to be ill."
A touch of a smile broke to Jim's lips even if his eyes didn't open.
"It's just a small blood sacrifice," he whispered nestling his head against Spock's ribs where his heart was positioned on his left side. "Nothing that can't be replenished. They'll let us go on our way now."
"Helm control re-established," Sulu chimed in through the com. "We're ready for take-off."
"Engage, take us out of here, Captain is back on board," Spock said his order but didn't move.
He sat on the floor with Jim in his arms watching his resting face knowing far too well he should call in Doctor McCoy but he hesitated. Jim was out of it but his arms were locked around Spock's waist, his nose pressed against his heart.
Nothing was said but Jim's breathing was even. It didn't feel like danger was upon them, Jim's heart was beating steadily. Without a further through, Spock's free hand reached out and caressed Jim's light hair.
For a moment, Jim's arms squeezed Spock a bit tighter showing he's fully aware.
"We need to take you to the sickbay as soon as possible," Spock said quietly.
"You can carry me, princess style," Jim's lips curved mischievously and Spock knew he should let out a bit of his inner irritation to end this moment but he couldn't bring himself to say anything harsh to him.
Sometimes Jim seemed so frail. Like a wrong look can hurt him inside. The last thing Spock wanted was to hurt his Captain.
"Where the hell is he?" Bones erupted through the door like always ruining the moment with his abrupt energy. "He should have been to see me already."
Jim sat up promptly to prevent Spock from being embarrassed. This was too much already. The cold Vulcan never let Jim near, not like this. Jim prolonged the moment of comfort for too long anyway.
"I'm here, I'm fine," he said trying to open his eyes and show how he's fully aware but the room spun around him.
"You're not fine," Spock's hand was upon his shoulder steading him, Spock was such a firm spot in the middle of his universe, he could always ground him, it was a temptation to try and fall back on him but that was forbidden. "He gave away his blood in a ritual, you need to make a transfusion as soon as possible."
"Damn it, Jim," Bones was scanning him taking his damned syringes out of his bag as he spoke. "I told you to bring me along. Those are savages, they could have killed you on sight."
"I'm fine, Bones," Jim fought against his onslaught but as always failed miserably. "I just need to rest some, take me to my quarters."
He struggled to get up while Bones relentlessly poked needles in his neck.
"I concur," suddenly, Spock was on his feet helping Jim up and put his arm around Jim's waist giving him protection against the good doctor and his jabs. "Captain should rest while you study your results. Surely, his treatment will be more successful if you assess his condition thoroughly."
"Damn it, Spock, you're a Vulcan, not a doctor, let me do my job."
"I'm a first officer and currently an acting captain since our Captain is incapacitated. I'll take him to his cabin, your scanners showed no immediate danger, he'll be more responsive to treatment after he gets some rest."
"A breather," Jim said heavily leaning against Spock's warm side. "I need a short breather. Ten jabs are sufficient, you can continue later."
"Damn cold-hearted Vulcan wants to be a captain now. He thinks of himself to be a doctor. I'll make a cocktail as you wish to give it to you in one shot. Damn it, I'm a doctor, not a bartender."
Bones complained under breath as he exited the transport room.
"Thank you, Spock, you know how I hate needles," he was trying to stand on his own but his dizziness didn't subside.
"You do need to lay down, Captain. Do you wish to go to sickbay or to your quarters?"
"My quarters, please, they are closer and I don't want for everyone to gawk at me as we go by."
"No worries, I'll choose a less-used route to your quarters."
They walked and it seemed to Jim that they aren't on Enterprise since they met no one as they walked. In the end, Jim's legs gave out and it felt like he was suddenly flying on a cloud.
Spock's face was near and Jim rested his head on Spock's shoulder for a moment. His face was so close. It was never so close for him to examine it closely. He was searching for that harmonious perfection that made his face so captivating.
Suddenly, his eyes didn't feel tired and heavy. He was taking at the moment, listening in on Spock's breathing. Was his breath faster than usual? It shouldn't be. For Spock's strength, Jim should feel like a light burden.
It felt like a dream more than reality.
With no one around, how could it be real? To be carried around unseen, to be held so firmly. It had to be a dream.
Until they reached his cabin, Jim became certain that it was a dream. This couldn't be real. This was the stuff of which Jim's dreams were made of lately. Ever since he died. It was like he was reborn into a man who couldn't stop himself from staring at Spock's movements.
It was like something on him changed while Jim was dead. Like he became someone Jim could almost touch, someone who was there for him.
He had heard afterwards how Spock behaved when Jim was dead. It sounded like some other Spock appeared after Jim died. Some Spock that was angry, that was dangerous, that was enraged.
When he awoke, nothing of that could be sensed on Spock. He was as calm as ever but something in his face changed. It was when their eyes would lock. Like a hidden depth lay in their gaze as Jim could almost hear Spock think. Worse than that, he could feel Spock's hidden emotions.
Those faint feelings weren't anything like what Spock conveyed to the world. There was the hidden depth of heat there, a hidden depth of something that felt almost like tenderness.
Now that almost feeling became amplified as Jim moved his head slightly and his forehead touched the exposed skin of Spock's neck.
It was electrifying. It was like a surge of emotions exploded in Jim's chest and he was suddenly submerged deeply into desire, into anger, into a possessive need to own, to be owned, to never let go.
As he could feel it too, Spock's pace faltered, he almost stopped hesitating before the door but then he shook his head violently and entered Jim's cabin.
He hesitated before the bed and Jim stayed still. Pressed against his skin Jim waited to see what he'll do next. Will he explode with anger and irritation and just throw Jim on his bed to remove the pressure between their skins?
Instead of a surge of anger, the inner layer of hidden tenderness came forward and Spock slowly knelt on the edge of the bed gently placing Jim on the bed.
Deciding that this must be a dream, Jim decided to drag it on further as much as he can like he did in dreams taking things that weren't his to keep. This was a long journey that spread Jim's nerves thin, he took whatever he could to keep himself sane.
Instead of letting go when Spock extracted his arms away from Jim, Jim squeezed tighter pulling Spock down with him on the bed.
It must have been a surprise but Spock lost his balance and ended up falling down on Jim. The weight of him came as a shock to Jim's senses. This didn't feel like a dream. There was pain between them now but Jim refused to sober up, to make a joke, to diminish his actions.
"Captain," Spock's voice seemed hoarse now. "You're unwell, you should rest now."
"Then rest with me," Jim pulled him in even closer turning them to the side to diminish the pressure of Spock's body. "You must be tired too from waiting for so long."
"No, Jim," Spock let himself lie to the bed and Jim reassured himself that this must be a dream, one of those realistic ones, he heard people had those. "I'm never tired of waiting, there's security in waiting. The danger comes when the waiting ends."
"I'm tired of waiting to see can I obtain you or not," Jim murmured nearing slowly to his lips, he never manages to kiss those lips in his dreams, he'll wake up any moment now, that realization made him go slowly, he could already feel Spock's breath on his lips, why was it so hot? "Danger, daggers, phasors don't scare me as much as your cold stare."
"My stare is never cold, Captain," Spock whispered and Jim jumped over the last fence shocking himself with the warm contact of their lips.
Both of them stopped breathing for a moment before Spock moved and Jim found himself painfully pressed under his weight as Spock's strong hands brought him pain. It didn't seem like a dream anymore but Jim wouldn't break the contact for the life of him.
Life seems to be drained from him. As Spock walked, his mind got cloudier and cloudier. It took all his mental capacity to remember his two objectives. To reach Captain's quarters and not to be seen by anyone.
Not to be seen seemed like more of a priority than to reach his quarters. Each turn he made to avoid crew members prolonged their walk but that was a pleasurable detour.
Almost never, they have such an excuse for prolonged proximity. Their contact was constant but it was always brief. Yet, in its briefness there were such spikes of pleasure that Spock found himself waiting for contact, expecting of Jim's hand to surge forward and grab his shoulder, pat his back brush his hand.
The brush of his hand was the most dangerous one.
For Vulcans, taking someone's hand was more intimate than kissing. It was an act of direct contact between minds.
Even if Jim was never so rude to grab Spock's hand, he would always manage to brush their skins against each other. The spark that would ignite could last for days in Spock's chest.
At first, Spock justified himself that it was just a curiosity, a new sensation he wanted to study as he studied his own humanity that was hidden within.
As time went by, he had to face that the pleasure he took from the everyday contact with Jim was something more personal than mere curiosity.
Since he admitted that to himself, his interaction with Uhura became even more strained than it usually was. She stopped initiating any form of intimacy and he was never the one to engage first.
The lack of intimacy was fine by him. It allowed him to maintain his detachment and to train his emotions to go down deeper where Jim couldn't see them.
Somehow it felt like it was crucial that Jim never guesses the inner turmoil that was Spock's inner world of conflicting emotions.
Still, to refuse his weak and tired Captain, to leave him in cold efficient hands of Doctor McCoy seemed like an act of disloyalty, like stabbing him in the back all over again. The last thing Spock wanted to experience was the look of disappointment Jim had on his face when he realized Spock had exposed him, that he cost the both of them their jobs. Even worse, when Spock realized that his attempt at being honest, at protecting Jim from his own actions, broke them apart never to serve on the same ship again.
The disaster that brought them back together seemed like a double-edged sword. It gave them the company of the other but when it swung back it killed Jim as a backlash. At the time, in Spock's uncontrolled mind filled with revenge, it seemed like a price of Spock's own guilt for always choosing the wrong side, for abandoning people, for failing to notice who is his to serve.
The detour took too long and Jim's fatigue came over him making his legs give under him. Without further thought, Spock picked him up in his arms naturally as a light burden he was. It wasn't a calculated move. It felt only natural to do what Jim had asked him, to carry him in his arms.
When that happened, it seemed even more imperative to avoid bumping into other crew members. Luckily, it was late and most of the ship was asleep but it was like fatigue was catching up with Spock too.
He was never tired, that feeling of drowsiness was wrong.
Then, Jim pressed his warm forehead to Spock's skin and the onslaught of images attacked his senses. It was like the membrane between their minds is getting thin without Spock ever initiating the mind-meld.
He avoided the mind-meld as much as he could. It was an onslaught of other person's thoughts and feelings in your inner space and thoughts of other Vulcan's were never kind towards Spock. No matter how cold and controlled they were the superiority complex of Vulcans would always resent Spock his half-breed status.
The intimacy other Vulcan's shared through their touch-induced telepathy was lost on Spock. He never craved it and he hoped he will avoid going through Vulcan's breeding rituals ever.
Finding a Human woman who was willing to take the outer expression of affection not demanding inner intimacy, was such a relief to Spock. He could engage in intimacy and have a companion through making expected moves and saying proper sentences. It was a thing he could study and get better at it through repeated effort.
Only it seemed that since he met Jim, his relationship with Uhura is going in circles where he constantly fails to say the right thing.
With Jim, he often said the wrong thing, but Jim was never angry with him, not truly. He would express the outer words of anger but in the next moment, they would talk, walk and go on missions as nothing happened. More importantly, Jim's eyes never went cold and reprimanding on Spock. It seemed like there was always a speck of light in them for him to warm himself on it.
Now, with only a thin membrane between their minds, Spock could almost hear the images in Jim's head and it seemed that in none of them was the sharp edge of disapproval, disappointment and resentment other people had for Spock.
There was nothing sharp in Jim's mind, only kindness and openness like Spock can be trusted with the most intimate of his thoughts.
Maybe it was because of the fatigue, Jim was almost sleeping. That was it, nothing more.
Spock hesitated before Jim's door feeling that it was wrong of him to enter. The lid on his inner volcano seemed thin like never before but it seemed abrupt to put Jim down on the hard ground. Would he be able to walk through his door, to find his bed?
After a short hesitation, Spock crossed over the threshold into the darkened room.
To light, it brightly seemed like something abrupt that would hurt Jim's tired eyes. Instead of making loud noises that would alert the Captain in his arms, Spock moved to his bed to lie him down. Hopping that Jim will just slip into dreams, Spock tried to put him down as gently as he could making his movements slow and non-intrusive.
In that state of low alertness, Spock was ambushed by a sudden surge of strength in Jim's arms that refused to let go of Spock's neck. It was a surprise, Spock justified himself, nothing more. The surprise made him lose his balance and fall down to Jim.
That was understandable but what was not understandable was why Spock haven't got his bearings back as soon as he fell. He should have moved. He should move and get up. He was strong enough to resist any move Jim could ever make on him but instead of fighting it, Spock found himself submerged in a deep fog that prevented him from thinking clearly.
Jim managed him like he was easily swayed making him move to his side. That seemed only natural. His weight was too much for Jim to bear in his weakened state.
Jim spoke but Spock was barely listening, he was only responding since the lid of his inner volcano melted under his fierce attempt to maintain control. Waiting was the thing of which Spock's life was consisted of. He was always waiting for something or someone to move, for orders to arrive, for a mission to appear. Waiting was what life was all about.
Now he waited to see what Jim will do because he couldn't predict his moves, he could rarely predict his moves. He could understand them after they were done but he would never come to the same conclusions as Jim did. Still, the experience taught him to trust his Captain because his instincts were more often proved to be right than wrong.
Jim was too close now but the surge of heat from his inner volcano disrupted Spock's usual responses and deflections. This seemed dangerous but he found himself immobilized by the inner onslaught of possibilities, of things he can never do.
Then the wait was over and the onslaught happened before he could foresee it rendering all his careful defences useless.
Jim's lips were on his, his palms were pressed on Spock's skin and any sense of self-control dissipated from Spock's mind. His objective was clear and simple now. He was to dominate, own and control this man under his palms. This man who gave him permission, who opened his mind not leaving any lingering trace of resistance. There were no doors left closed, no signs that would suggest to Spock he was invading an unsuspecting country.
This man in his arms opened up the door and invited him in. It wasn't an invasion, he was a wanted guest that was highly anticipated. All his inner acids and molten lava were pulled forward and there was no trace of fear. Even if they die together in the fire, it will be a glorious death welcomed by both of them.
The only problem was the clothes. There were too much of layers between them and Spock needed more contact, there must not be any obstacles between them, it was imperative that they become one so they can never be torn apart again.
Since the option of separating their skin contact was unacceptable, Spock found himself tearing into the thin fabric. The sound of tearing brought joy to his pointy ears and soon there was no obstacles left, only skin pressed against the skin. The membrane put between their minds broke and the onslaught of love brought Spock's mind pain. It was like he wasn't the Spock he knew anymore, he was someone treasured and loved, someone admired, someone highly desired but among all of it there was pain.
He was causing them pain with his clumsy hands. It wasn't like any pain he experienced before, it was like their ribs could break under the pressure like their bones were too weak for the pressure of their strength.
The image of fractured bones stopped him. His hands stopped even if his lips were still glued to the other lips before him. The pause brought forth another kind of pain.
They will be abandoned again, they aren't wanted, they are not enough, they are never enough. That pain made Spock break the contact of their lips and lift himself up to his elbows to look upon another him he was holding.
As their skin separated, sanity slowly returned to Spock's mind and with it the slow terror of realization of what he had done. He violated his oath, he broke his reserve and acted like a wild animal without any sense of duty or shame.
The cold horror of that realization made him move away while other hands tried to grab him to stop his retreat. He must not be captured again, if he's captured again he can kill both of them with his uncontrollable desires. The image of Jim dying strangled by Spock's immeasurable strength made him sober up.
"Spock, no," Jim finally found the voice he lost under Spock's onslaught of animalism.
"Of course, my Captain," Spock collected the remanences of his clothes, it was as a wild animal tore them to shreds, and Spock felt an immense sense of shame. "I hope you'll find a way to forgive me this one day. The difference in our biology isn't something you could understand."
"No, Spock, I do understand, I have nothing to forgive," Jim's hand found Spock's pressing in their palms strongly together. "This simple feeling isn't something either of us should be ashamed of."
Spock was immobilized for a moment by an onslaught of images, of emotions, more damagingly of the painful longing, of drowning sense of abandonment, loneliness and isolation.
The urge to leap forward and tear those dreadful emotions from Jim's chest, to seal any wound with his molten lava and bind him forever by his side was hard to control but then Spock was saved by a chime.
"I'm on my way over," Doctor said over the com. "Don't you run away from me. It's just one little syringe after which you'll sleep it off until you're better. I'm surprised you could stand by the state of you. Even if you're sleeping this thing will help you be better in no time."
The image of McCoy barging through the door and finding them like this sobered Spock up completely. Without hesitation, he retracted his hand from Jim's lessened grip. Jim looked shell shocked like McCoy's voice finally woke him up from the nightmare he just had.
Forgetting about his ruined shirt, Spock ran out through the door scanning his surroundings. The last thing he needed was someone witnessing him running through the corridors bare-chested. The air was cold on his heated skin.
Luckily, no one saw him running before he ran into the safety of his own cabin. In there, he stopped breathing heavily feeling like crying.
Instead of submitting the urge to howl and shout, he rushed into the shower not bothering in removing his clothes. Undressing seemed like a dangerous act that could revert him back into the animal he must never become.
He let the cold water pour over him as he kneeled in his bath. There he started breathing in a controlled manner repeating the teaching of his childhood tracing down his wandering emotions and images mercilessly putting them away under the lid of the inner volcano where they will be burnt as they had never been like they never happened.
When he was done, he was calm, he was controlled, he was the Vulcan he should be for his father. The only thing that remained uncontrolled roaming around his mind was the thing they stole from Jim in their short interaction.
Jim's thoughts weren't Spock's own. They couldn't be controlled in a way Spock's could and they had the integrity to them that couldn't be pressed down into oblivion and forgotten.
The image Jim had of Spock brought him pain because it was so far removed from the reality of Spock as it could be. The outcast that wasn't able to save his world, to rescue his mother even when he was in a position to do so. The reject who was too emotional for his native world. The cold Vulcan that can never be Human, which can never understand the complexity of their uncontrolled nature. That was who Spock was. That was the image of himself he knew how to live with.
The unimaginably capable person that lived in Jim's mind didn't resemble Spock at all.
He can never be that person for anyone. Lastly for Jim who had Spock's life in his hands for so long that he didn't even notice it there. Jim was the main reason Spock lived on for some time now. He was the beacon of hope that led them all forward even after they lost everything. To face him and be revealed, to be seen for who he really was, was something Spock couldn't bear to live through.
That was the sad truth of Spock's existence.
He never had much respect towards his life, only defiance he had towards other Vulcans was what kept him moving forward. After all of them died, the defiance he had towards them turned into a deepening pit of guilt of despair.
Why did he survive out of all of them? He, who was the least of them, survived because he spat under their feet and abandoned them to fend for themselves without him.
His father survived to deepen his guilt, to look at him silently. To see him failing at returning to his race and fulfilling his duties in preserving their race.
Having the older Spock standing there and justifying his desertion didn't help at all. Especially because it was his own reflection and Spock could see with ease that even that old version of him that should be wise would throw the whole world to destruction just to buy Jim a few more breaths, a few more years, even minutes.
It was all too easy to see the hollow place in the older him, the place where Jim used to live in, where Jim lived even after he died.
That hollow place frightened Spock more than anything else in this world. That was the reason he tried with all his might to keep Jim away, to maintain the distance because the pain of having someone just to lose him was too much to add to the pain Spock already had in his life.
To see his father suffer the absence of Spock's mother gave him surety he won't have anyone occupying that space in Spock's mind.
Now, Jim's traces were in that space threatening to ate Spock whole.
That can't be, Spock is strong enough to expunge him. Spock was Vulcan enough to extinguish all of his emotions, to become fully Vulcan, to be able to choose a Vulcan female and finally do what he should have from the start, to give his race a chance at survival and not to run after the heels of a lost Human who had no idea where they are going.
The surety of that realization finally made Spock howl in pain. It was a pain he can suffer through. After all, what was his life but constant training in how to sustain the pain and not crumble under the weight of it?
When the pain subsided, he was finally ready to go to bed. It was nearly morning but a few hours of sleep should reset him enough to function.
Still, dreams were a treacherous terrain even a Vulcan couldn't control. In his dream, it was like Jim gained a direct line to Spock's mind. Wherever he went Jim was already there waiting for him shirtless. If only, he regained his control on time before Jim's shirt went to shreds. Clothed Jim was much easier to ignore than a shirtless one.
