Author's Note: This story is still alive, I promise. I may not be posting as frequently as I'd like (so so sorry!), but I aim to finish. :) I must extend my utmost gratitude to plumeria47, diamondblue4, and junker5 for their work on this chapter, keeping me on my toes, and offering loads of encouragement that, quite frankly, I really needed for this post. *Hugs them*
I also want to thank all of you who are reading - your support means a lot!
Please note that Ambassador Spock/Spock Prime is referred to as Selek in this story.
I hope you enjoy the chapter.
oOo
And If I Stand Next to You
Chapter 14
I want to hold you tight (without holding back my mind)
oOo
Joanna's chatter filled the hovercraft on the way home from the bookstore, filling in the spaces caused by McCoy and Spock's working, telepathic link. Their silent discussion lasted the duration of the drive, McCoy often countering or even discounting Spock's thoughts. The conversation with Christine—as well as the one with Matthew—had set him on edge, despite the Vulcan's admirable attempts to stave off his anxiety.
If someone had told him that he'd have a bond with his best friend and a Vulcan Starfleet officer three years ago, he'd have laughed in their faces. Now...it was strangely right, in a weird, other-world kind of way. Not that he would readily admit it.
He'd always admired Spock—except for the time when he'd nearly choked Jim to death—but hadn't given a lot of thought to the bonds he had. At least, not since Vulcan had been destroyed, when it was obvious the commander had been in a bad place for a short time. He'd never wanted to pry, but he thought that horrific event and the despair that followed might have brought Spock and his father closer. There'd been more communication from Sarek over the following months. Even Jim had heard from him once or twice in the weeks following the Narada attacks. At first, he'd thought it was a little odd. Until he'd figured out why. Two Vulcans? Trying to find their footing in an already strained relationship? Offering succor in their own quiet, solemn way to one another?
To borrow a phrase—it was fascinating.
At one time he'd thought of Vulcans as proud and self-serving in their habits, preferences, and aversions, their culture vastly different from his own. Now he saw that they weren't so different, after all. Especially when it came down to people they loved and considered to be family.
I will speak with the proper authorities at Starfleet concerning the new—
Wait. Hold on, Spock. I know you contacted them but—
—and insist that they search the area.
—maybe we shouldn't tell them everything, not yet.
I am doing what is necessary. The authorities will assess the danger.
If they're out there, Treadway and his accomplices, and you do that, Spock, he'll make a move.
He cannot if he is unaware of our actions. The police will be discrete.
McCoy didn't respond, doubting, at this point, that Treadway was as inexperienced in cloak-and-dagger as they thought he was. His sheer cockiness over the situation—the hold he had over his once confident, independent ex-wife—had to have come from somewhere. He'd been a boxer, but what had happened to him in that life? Or before that life? Who did he know? What had given him the idea that he could pull one over them—Starfleet officers? Had he done something like this before? Conned a woman? Or a man? Sold his story of woe? Used him or her? Their money? Their status?
It almost seemed—too likely.
Before he allowed his thoughts to continue spiraling out of control, he shut them down. He was a doctor, not an insecure dolt who couldn't handle the difficult situations that life handed to him. He'd been through worse—Jim's death—his father's death—he'd get through this.
He felt Spock's eyes upon him, the questions bleeding over to him from the bond. He'd never been comfortable sharing his feelings. He was worse at it than Jim was. Probably worse than Spock.
The universe had a funny way of dealing with someone like him, a self-proclaimed grouchy old man. Throwing him into this situation where a touch telepath had a direct link with and could, at this point in time, know every damn thing he was thinking.
I apologize. I will shield—
Shield. Can I do that yet?
He thought he actually heard a smirk from Spock through their link, but wasn't sure.
You have not yet developed the skill. It will come. Soon.
Right.
Probably in a blue moon. He had enough on his plate as it was. Sighing, he tried to put more effort into listening to Joanna, who, right at that moment, made it known that he wasn't paying any attention to her.
"Daddy, you're not listenin'!" she complained.
"Sorry, baby," he said, glancing back. "What were you saying?"
"Are we gonna be able to sleep on the couch tonight, watch movies again?"
Her eyes widened with hope that something in their household could be normal for once.
"Jojo, I'm not sure it'd be best for Jim," he answered.
"But, he likes our sleepovers," she pleaded. "And I know new jokes. I can make him laugh."
He'd love to hear Jim's hearty laugh, watch his best friend smile—but his physician's instinct won out. "Jojo, we have company com—"
"And I can read to him from my new book later, right before bed," she interjected.
He shook his head, thinking only of Jim's penchant for nightmares lately. It wouldn't be good for Jojo to experience her uncle in such a state. "Not yet."
"But he likes to," she said again, a frustrated look on her face.
He sighed, the judgement in her tone unmistakeable. In her young mind, he was denying Jim everything he liked and they liked doing together, including coming to the bookstore. However, Jim was in no condition to maintain the same lifestyle he had before, even if his stamina was slowly improving. As hard as he would try to stay awake, to interact with Joanna the same as he always had, his weakness was inevitable. He was limited in a way that even he still had to get used to.
He saw the self-realization in Jim's eyes every day.
"Jojo, Uncle Jim, Spock, and I have to speak with the authorities this afternoon at Nana's house," he decided to explain.
There really wasn't a way around it. Even if she was in her bedroom when their visitors arrived, she would hear them. He hoped they'd arrive in unmarked cars, just in case.
"Authorities?" she echoed in a small voice.
"Yes, sweetheart."
"Aren't auth'rities…the police?"
"Yes, Jojo."
Her breath caught. "Why, Daddy? Why are they comin' here? Why?"
He exchanged a look with Spock. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he explained quickly. "We need to speak with them about Uncle Jim's safety."
"From bad guys?" she asked, her eyes widening.
He hesitated. "From things that can harm him while he's sick. You'll be with Nana in another room."
"But—"
"No buts, Jojo," he said softly. "This is for grown-ups."
She nodded, but he saw a hint of indignation in her eyes. He vaguely wondered if she'd wear the same look a year from now. Or eight years from now. When she was learning to drive, and he wasn't there to give her pointers or take her to a vacant lot and let her practice. When she was about to date, and her mother asked her a million questions about the boy that he wasn't there to ask her himself.
"I can be grown-up," she said, her chin lifted.
"You'll have your nose in a new book, anyway," he added, redirecting her attention.
She brightened a little, nodding vigorously. "I almost forgot. The Pickle Bear! I'll read it first—then share it with Uncle Jim," she announced. "That way, if he gets confused I'll know the answers to his questions. I know all about the others in the series."
"If he's up to it," he reminded her gently.
Her countenance suddenly grew dismal. "Will he ever be better?" she whispered.
He inwardly sighed as he stared out the window. They'd gone over this before. Many times. There was a chance that Jim wouldn't completely recover, but he wouldn't let himself think like that. "Yes, darlin'," he assured her. "The medicine—"
"You mean the medicine that you made? Just for Uncle Jim?" she asked. "The ser-um? A form-u-la?" she asked brightly, accentuating the syllables as if in a song.
He whipped his head around, staring at her.
Jojo hummed, taking her new book out of the shopping bag, unaware that his heart was in his throat.
"Where," he rasped. "Where did you hear...that?"
The humming stopped. Jojo froze, slowly bringing her gaze up to meet his. "I don't know," she said weakly.
Her guilt-ridden eyes told him differently.
"Jo," he said in a warning tone.
She blinked, expression falling and tears springing to her eyes. "I didn't mean to listen, b-but…"
"Your mama?" he interjected.
She shook her head.
"Clay?"
She bit her bottom lip, worrying it with her teeth.
"Joanna," he warned again.
"Yes," she whispered, looking at him through her lashes.
"Did he say anything else?" he demanded.
"I don't—"
"Think, Jojo," he said a little too harshly.
She blinked at him, eyes filling with tears. "N-no?"
"Did he?" he demanded.
"I d-don't think s-so, Daddy," she cried, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I'm s-s-sorry, Daddy. I knew you'd be mad. I was just trying to find m-my homework, I l-left it in Mommy's office, and,..and I didn't m-mean to…"
"You're not in trouble," he assured her, softening his tone.
She gulped. "I'm not?"
"No, and I'm sorry I snapped at you, darlin'," he apologized. "I know you wouldn't eavesdrop on purpose. I won't say a word to them—but you are to keep this to yourself."
She sniffled and hugged her book close to her chest. "Is it...bad?"
It was...it was awful. It implied only one thing. Treadway knew. Whether it was from Christine, or someone else, he knew.
In all probability, the message he sent you regarding the time was a red herring.
The Vulcan's voice in his head chilled him to the bone. Spock was right. He had to be. The message Treadway had sent him with the time had to have been a red herring. Even Christine could be one. Both ploys to make them believe that he almost knew their secrets. Making them only slightly worried, but not worried enough to up their game.
Treadway was not just a cocky athlete. He was smart. A smooth actor. A damn liar.
His heart beat rapidly, like a bird caught in his chest, as the implications of this washed over him. He took back all the negative, doubtful things he'd said about Spock contacting the authorities. They needed to up their game. Now. Just like Spock had been planning to do all along.
What if Joanna hadn't asked him the question? They'd be sitting ducks. Doomed. The reality of Jim's death out in the open, no doubt on a billboard or a tabloid front page.
"It's going to have to be a secret between us and only us, Jojo," he somehow managed to clearly say.
She looked at him, terrified.
It was no wonder. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever said anything like that to her.
"Miss Joanna," Spock interjected.
She peeled her eyes from him to look at Spock, who was driving, but looking at her in the mirror. "Y-yes, Mister Spock?" she said, her voice quivering, but not as much as before.
Spock's gaze intensified. "Was he speaking to someone? Your mother?"
"Not Mommy," she whispered, hugging her book even tighter. "Maybe s-someone on his comm."
Spock glanced sharply at him. "You must reschedule the dinner with Jocelyn for tonight."
His heart lurched at the very idea of asking her to change her schedule again. Jocelyn had always hated it when things were moved at the last minute. He doubted that had changed any since they'd been divorced. If anything, her preference for perfection had been exacerbated. By Treadway.
"Tonight?" he asked. "This is my ex-wife that we're talking about, Spock."
If Spock knew anything about Jocelyn from what he'd told him before, he had to know that she didn't like anyone, even a Starfleet officer, yanking her chain.
"It must be tonight," Spock said. "You may inform her that I must speak with her. That is, if you ascertain that it is necessary to do so in order to gain her cooperation."
He blinked. "Can you be ready tonight?"
With whatever you have up your sleeve? he added through the link.
"Indeed," Spock said calmly.
For some unknown reason, he was strangely comforted by his simple response. He leaned back, surprised that they were already pulling into Nora's driveway. He hadn't even noticed how close to home they were.
He also realized what had felt off to him since they'd left.
He couldn't sense Jim.
He couldn't feel him like he had since their familial bond had formed. It was as if—he was missing. That part of him they'd shared, now gone. Cold. Extinguished. Barren.
Like he'd felt when he'd realized his best friend was dead, in his sickbay, without a pulse or sign of life.
He clutched the door handle, suddenly anxious as he prepared to step out of the craft. What did this void mean? Was it because he was sleeping? Or because Jim was ill? Or had the injections caused yet another side effect of which he wasn't aware? Or was his side of the bond faulty? Maybe he wasn't compatible to this Vulcan voodoo, after all.
It was probably his fault, leaving him like he had. He could've sent Spock with Joanna. She would have done fine with him. They seemed chummy, already.
"He is fine, Leonard," Spock murmured, stopping him. "As we all will be."
"Fine?" McCoy echoed under his breath.
It was a vague answer from someone who was, without fail, precise.
How could any of them be fine? Jim was facing weeks upon weeks of additional torture to his physical body and mental state; he, Leonard, was entering one of the worst stages of his life, an empty one without Joanna; and Spock was trying to be the strong one, holding on to hope for the three of them. All of which was compounded by the cloud called Treadway hanging over their heads, a multitude of questions drowning them in what-ifs.
"I must speak with Jim alone, but I'll see to Joanna while you speak with him first," Spock said, getting out of the car. "He is awake, but he does not know what you have discussed with Christine, Matthew—or me."
Spock slipped out of the car while he pondered what he'd just said.
"Wait," he began, confused. "Why doesn't he know? And how do you know that he doesn't know..."
His voice diminished into nothing as he realized that Spock was already climbing the front steps with Joanna, dodging raindrops.
"Right," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
Spock, both figuratively and literally, was one step ahead of him.
oOo
Eleanora's instincts about her son were usually correct. She'd been attuned to him from an early age, just as his father had, but in a different way. Though his communication had lessened over the past several years while in space, he always did his best to show her he loved her. She'd never doubted it for one minute. She was a lucky woman even if her daughter, Donna, was more of a stranger these days. It hurt to speak of her and the distance growing between them. So she didn't. Neither did Leonard.
When Leonard, Spock, and Joanna returned home from The Book Heart, she knew from the look on her son's face that something was wrong. Granted, she also knew from Spock's face that something was amiss.
Of course, Joanna's expression had told her first, before Leonard had even stepped inside. The child's tear-stained cheeks revealed tales of sadness or fright, whether or not Joanna wanted them to.
"Did you get your book, sweetheart?" she asked Joanna, smiling when she saw the bag in her hand.
"Yes, Nana," Joanna said glumly, eyes down as she walked past, her legs dragging behind her.
"What's troubling you, child?" she queried softly.
When Joanna didn't answer, she glanced sideways at Mister Spock. Leonard's absence was odd, but she assumed he was still in the hovercraft. Perhaps giving himself a moment alone before the afternoon began and he had to speak with the police.
Spock's brow furrowed ever so slightly. "We—"
"I miss Mommy and Daddy together," Joanna said suddenly at the same time, turning around. She sniffed, her shoulders sagging. "Happy...like...like friends."
Spock remained quiet, clasping his hands behind his back as she went on.
Her heart warmed that he had allowed Joanna to speak, not reprimanding her for interrupting.
"Oh, I see," Nora said.
"It's just not fair!" Joanna wailed and dropped her bag in defeat.
She walked towards her granddaughter. She missed the more amicable relationship between her ex-daughter-in-law and son that they'd once had, too. Not that she hoped for them to reconcile and remarry. She didn't. They'd both both grown and moved on. They simply weren't compatible in that sense. But at one time, Leonard and Jocelyn had been able to speak to each other while in the same room without sending the other murderous looks. Yes, even Leonard was guilty of lacking his Southern charm at times, though Jocelyn certainly knew how to push his buttons, too. They needed to see just how much they each cared for Joanna and work together for her good, instead of as enemies, their daughter a common goal instead of the source of their tension.
"They never talk. They...they argue!" Joanna cried. "Like...like Katie and Millie in my class at school!"
From the mouths of babes. She looked tenderly at her granddaughter. "Did your father speak with your mother while you were gone?"
"No," Joanna said, sniffling.
Eleanora frowned at Spock, not understanding.
"I will explain later," Spock said softly.
She glanced back down at Joanna, who was listening intently despite her long face. "It won't be like this forever," she said, drawing the weepy child into her arms. "They have things to work out between them."
"Things like me?" Joanna asked, dejectedly.
Her heart ached for the pain she was feeling. "Oh, my dear, don't you know? They both love you very much," she assured her, kissing the top of her head.
"I just want—want—Oh, Nana!" Joanna curled herself into her arms, sobbing once before falling silent.
She stroked her head, thinking of Leonard when he was a child and how she'd done the same for him whenever he'd been troubled. Held him. Stroked his head. Reassured him of her love for him.
The years might not have been easy on her family, but they'd given her a granddaughter who felt deeply, just like her father. And, just like her father, she was sure she'd make her mark on this world.
"Why don't you go into the kitchen and have some milk and cookies?" she urged. "It will be just the thing you need, sweetheart."
"But I didn't eat lunch yet," Joanna said, peering up at her confusedly.
"Sometimes, you just need to eat dessert first," she said lightly. "It will help you feel better, I'm sure of it."
"Thank you, Nana," Joanna whispered.
She squeezed her one more time, before letting go. Joanna then headed for the kitchen with her book, her extension already lighter.
Eleanora hugged herself, watching her granddaughter every step of the way.
"What happened?" she murmured to Spock before Joanna was out of earshot.
"A matter of urgency," he said simply.
"Oh, dear," she breathed. "Does it concern Mister Treadway?"
"It does," Spock affirmed. "I do not intend to create an inconvenience for you, Mrs. McCoy, but it is imperative that I speak with Jocelyn tonight."
She instantly worried this was the reason for her son's absence. "Is this why Leonard has not come inside?"
Spock hesitated, walking with her towards the living room, a more private area where little pitchers could not hear. "Possibly."
"It's not an inconvenience if it would help my son," she said honestly. "I'll do whatever it takes, even move up a dinner."
"Thank you, Mrs. McCoy," Spock said, acknowledging her support with a nod. "While Leonard speaks with Jim, I shall be in the kitchen with Joanna while she partakes of her snack."
She smiled. "I believe she has you wrapped around her finger, Commander Spock, just like she has every other Starfleet officer in this house."
His eyes flickered with amusement. "She is delightful."
"She keeps me on my toes," a voice behind them muttered. "Books we have to have delivered, new friends, and now Spock will no doubt team up with Jim against me, in favor of a sleepover."
She turned and shook her head at her son. Water dripped onto the door from his umbrella, forming a puddle on her clean floor.
But she ignored it for now. She had bigger fish to fry. "Leonard," she said as Spock left for the kitchen. "Let me take that for you."
"Mama, I got it," Leonard said, hiding the umbrella behind him.
She tsked. "Don't be stubborn. You're getting yourself all wet."
He sighed and handed it to her.
"Well, come on in," she urged, worrying more when he just stood there with a dark scowl on his face. "Don't let the cool air inside."
"Cool?" he echoed, his expression one of confusion. "It's warm out there, Mama."
"It's cool to Jim," she said firmly. "He's at your desk, wearing a sweater I found in your closet. He's swimming in it, but he's warm."
Leonard closed the door, grim-faced as he glanced up the staircase. "I need to see Jim, but the dinner—"
"Is tonight," she finished for him.
He winced. "Sorry for the last minute change…."
She shook her head. "It's not a bother, Leonard. Spock already apologized for the abrupt time change. I have several recipes for quick, but impressive, dinners up my sleeve." She smiled. "Including one of your favorites, mashed potatoes and gravy."
"Mmm," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "That sounds good. And your meals are always impressive. Thank you."
"He found your PADD," she said, before he'd gotten to the first step. Jim's puppy-dog eyes had been wide, brilliant blue, and almost enough to convince her not to tell on him. Yet she wanted to give her son a fair warning. "Or, rather, his PADD that you hid."
He stopped and slowly turned on his heel. "You mean to tell me—"
"That he's occupying himself with charts of the Enterprise's reconstruction that Mister Scott sent him?"
Leonard clenched his jaw.
"Go easy on him, Leonard," she said softly.
His eyes hardened. "He knows he's on mandatory medical leave."
"He just isn't following the rules today. One day."
"One day," he muttered darkly. "One day of stress matters, Mama." He paused, his hand on the railing. "I don't know why I'm surprised. I'm shocked that it hasn't happened earlier than this. He just can't help but bend the rules. It's in his nature, Mama, but he's off duty for a good reason."
"He has to be feeling like a fish out of water. Can you blame him?"
Leonard stared at her, his expression growing completely blank.
The sudden shift worried her. He rarely ever reacted like this. She could count on one hand the number of times he'd ever responded in such a manner, mostly when he was recovering from or steeling himself from feeling a great loss. His father's death. The divorce with Jocelyn.
She had first seen this reaction when Joanna had been a baby. She'd grown seriously ill from an infectious disease a negligent nurse had brought back with her from space, when she'd been at the hospital for a checkup on a heart murmur. Joanna had lived, with only a small cost to her growth, which had evened out by the time she had turned two years old. It had been a small price to pay, considering how terrifyingly ill she had been for days, her survival a toss-up."
A frightening time. She'd lost sleep, more than anyone would ever know.
She couldn't help but think that was why her strong of mind, strong of body, son hated space. He went for Jim—and only Jim. That much was clear.
"This has been hard on all of us," he said in a monotone voice which sent a chill down her spine.
She wouldn't let it deter her. She went to him and pulled him into an embrace, as if he was Joanna's age, guiding his head to rest on her shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around her in turn, though it lacked the warmth she was used to from him.
"I'm not saying it hasn't," she gently chided him.
His arms tightened around her. "I can't, Mama," he whispered. "I can't."
"Be strong?" she asked. "You already are."
"Go up and see Jim," he whispered, a dry laugh following.
She murmured. "You don't have to. Spock is here, isn't he?"
"He has even more to do than I do," Leonard said hoarsely.
"He came here for a reason," she said firmly. "To help, not to sit around."
"He stepped right into a mess he never expected," he argued, pulling away.
She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek to stop him from shrinking back into the shell that his pride was creating. "James trusts him, yes?"
He frowned, as if her question was absurd. "Yes."
"Then why don't you?" she asked simply. "Where is the same confidence that you've had in these men all along? Have you or haven't you spent weeks and months together in space?"
He gave her a tense smile. Her words may have hit their mark, but he wasn't taking them to heart like she wanted. "You always know the exact words to say to pull me out of my pity party."
"If you need some time away to cool off, James won't judge you for it," she said softly, attempting to assuage his fears one more time.
"I can't leave him—" He blinked, pulling away from her sharply only to sink down on the bottom of the stairs. He put his head in his hands. "Mama," he said brokenly, "I can't leave him."
She sat down beside him. "You're not leaving him," she said. "But if you go up there as tense as you are now, with the intent to take him down a notch or two, to scold him for behaving like you knew he would someday, then it's best to give yourself time to cool off."
"I'll send Spock up," he said with a sigh, lifting his head.
"A bit of time won't hurt. You have nearly two hours before the police arrive."
"Thank you," he said.
"I can't begin to understand all that you've been through, Leonard, but I will be here to help when I can," she promised.
"You understand more than most, Mama," he said quietly. "Caring for someone more than yourself, more than anything, but incapable of making things right for him, no matter what you do."
"You persevere, Leonard," she said, squeezing his hand. "You follow James's example, Spock's, your daughter's, and press on."
"Thank you, Mama." His face was still solemn, but he kissed her on the cheek before heading for the kitchen just like his daughter had moments ago.
She prayed as she never had before that these boys of hers would come out on the other side changed men, ones who understood how strong their brotherly love for each other was.
It would be enough to change Jocelyn's heart, should she be given the opportunity to see it.
Of that, she was certain.
oOo
Spock did not say so, but he was relieved to discover that he would be the first one to speak with Jim. Not only did it give Leonard the opportunity to contact Jocelyn as soon as possible, on whom his next step depended, but it guaranteed answers to the questions he'd formed since realizing Jim was shielding.
He took his time up the stairs and, once outside Leonard's bedroom door, politely knocked, giving Jim time to hide the evidence that he had 'broken the rules.'
He, too, like the doctor, had not been pleased to learn that Jim had ignored his medical restrictions. In fact, he intended to speak his mind, as it had negatively affected Leonard, his mood obviously souring, and Jim's unsanctioned activities adding undue stress.
He was concerned for Jim's mental well-being as they anticipated their meeting with the police. He was equally concerned for Leonard, who had shouldered more than Jim might have realized.
"Come in," Jim said.
Spock pushed open the door, which was an antique, as were the other doors on the second floor. The appearance was appealing to the eye and, in this case, only added to the charm of Mrs. McCoy's house.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, locking it. He must speak with Jim about matters of grave importance. Matters which were...inherently criminal. He could not risk anyone overhearing their conversation, even accidentally.
Jim was sitting at the desk in the corner. Upon his entrance into the room, Jim pressed a button, darkening the screen of the PADD that was in front of him on the desk. He swiveled in the chair, brows raised as he first looked at the doorknob and then at him. He blinked twice before schooling his features. "Mister Spock," he said evenly.
Spock clasped his hands behind his back and walked towards him, easily picturing them on the bridge.
"What can I do for you?" Jim asked, crossing his arms.
Spock stood beside his chair and stared down with a lifted brow. "How did you obtain the device?"
"That is my business, Spock," Jim said evenly.
"I ask on behalf of your attending physician."
"Then I will wait for him to ask, if you don't mind."
"He is unavailable at this time," Spock asserted.
"Well, then, it will have to wait."
"I disagree. Why did you disobey his orders, which were intended to aid in your swift rehabilitation?"
"I needed something to do," Jim said testily.
Spock quirked a brow. "I have become aware that you have successfully hindered the link between us. I require an explanation as to how you have accomplished this?" he countered.
There was a pause, a flash of fear crossing Jim's face.
Spock did not understand why Jim was apprehensive, apprehensive about answering his question. Jim's reaction revealed that he was concealing something.
"You could not have learned to block this bond on your own, Jim," Spock ascertained. "Not in the brief time since the familial bond has formed."
"I'm a quick learner," Jim said, waving a hand in dismissal.
The gesture, although familiar, was irksome, further proving his theory that Jim was hiding something of value that he would disapprove of.
"It is not a matter of being a prized student," he challenged him, cocking a brow. "But of being taught."
Jim leaned back in his chair, swallowing. "Well, then. I guess that I'm...just lucky."
Spock could not deny the irritation he felt that his friend—his captain—was doing all that he could to stall the inevitable.
He would find out.
He locked eyes with Jim. "If you value our friendship—and the emotional health of Leonard, whom you love as a brother—"
"That's blackmail, Spock," Jim interrupted, throwing him a sharp look.
He ignored it. "—you will explain to me how you have been capable of blocking all that has transpired since we arrived at the bookstore."
Jim firmly clenched his jaw. "No."
Vulcans were not given to sighing, or to trivial annoyances, but Spock could not help but deflate in irritation. "You are hiding something."
"I am not," Jim said, frowning.
"Then speak your mind. Explain—"
"No," he interjected harshly. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it. I just know, okay?"
"Jim…"
"No," he said, setting his jaw. "I'm sorry, but you're making this more important than it is."
Spock inhaled a slow breath. As easily as he pictured them on the bridge, he pictured them on the Enterprise before the Narada attacks. Jim, an inexperienced, young captain challenging Spock in everything, even when he was wrong, defiantly refusing to accept the facts. Later, their working relationship had grown from amicable professionalism into real friendship. Of course, there continued to be occasions where he had been wrong and Jim correct. In either case, they would treat one another with the respect they each deserved. In the beginning, that had not always been the case.
He feared that this particular argument was resembling an argument between ignorant youths, bent on keeping unnecessary secrets, despite the escalating hurt and confusion that they inflicted upon the other.
"I must object," Spock said, approaching their disagreement in a different way. "Leonard has sensed your disconnect. It has confused him."
Jim stood, grabbing the PADD and holding at on his side. "Then explain to him what I just told you. I'm lucky."
"Luck has no merit here."
Jim rolled his eyes. "It does for me. I could tell you many times—"
"While it would be acceptable at a different time," he interjected, his voice raising while Jim continued speaking, also.
"—when luck has had its merit."
"—since we arrived at the bookstore, we have discovered our situation—"
"—like when Bones smuggled me on the Enterprise—"
"—to be more precarious than we had first thought."
Jim froze. "More precarious? What do you mean?"
"I believe you must apologize to Leonard for reading and responding to the messages from Mister Scott," he relied calmly.
Jim let out a strangled sigh. "That's not the...what I…what I meant."
Spock nodded. "Indeed. I understand to which action you referred, but I cannot speak of it."
"You cannot speak of it," Jim echoed.
"No."
"Why?" Jim said indignantly.
"If you cannot reveal the cause for your secretism, than I cannot reveal to you the nature of the information we obtained."
Jim inclined his head towards the door. "I could walk through this door right now and, eventually, learn of it myself. If it's that important, I'm sure you'll be speaking to the police about it, too."
"I have enough information, Captain, to accomplish my goal without your involvement." He paused, wanting to ensure that Jim fully understood what he was insinuating. "Your complete involvement."
Jim blinked. "What?"
"I could also inform Doctor McCoy of your stubbornness in this matter, the negative effect your continued secretism could have on your mental health, as it pertains to our telepathic bond. He has the authority—"
Jim inhaled sharply. "Dammit, Spock," he began, his voice oddly filling with panic.
His heart constricted with apprehension. What was the reason behind the shielding that was distressing Jim?
"Spock, please," Jim rushed to say. "Just, let it go—"
He shook his head. "—to 'pull rank' and prevent your involvement in all matters by admitting you to Starfleet General for the remainder of your recovery."
Jim's face leeched of color. "You wouldn't dare."
"If it is in your best interest, Jim," he said, straightening his shoulders. "I will follow through with my threat."
"I have to be here to help Bones," he pleaded.
"He is not alone."
"He needs me," Jim said through clenched teeth. "You don't...understand."
"How do you know I will not understand if you fail to first explain?"
Jim closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his temple. "Because I know you, Spock. You won't be able to just let this go."
It came to him with sudden clarity.
He fought the staggering truth.
"I have been questioning what has given you this ability," he said, now pacing, his heart beating erratically in his side, "When, all along, it has been who."
He looked back at Jim over his shoulder with a wariness he could barely contain.
The Captain's eyes flickered with fear. Dread. Perhaps even resentment.
In that exact moment, the same mixture of emotions washed over him in powerful waves, emotions he believed to be leaking from Jim's side of the bond. He staggered back, utilizing his own shields to deflect them.
The Captain suddenly hunched as if trying to physically detach himself from their link, as well, and clenched his eyes shut. He could not shield as well as he once had. It did not surprise him. He had sensed from the beginning that Jim was using all the limited strength and energy he had to sit at the desk and work. To shield. To suppress unbidden emotion.
He braced himself against the wall, the resentment he continued to feel from Jim confusing and alarming.
He had not hurt him. Or had he? When? Why? He held his breath and attempted to probe his way through the onslaught of emotion. It was difficult, like encountering a jungle of a millions vines, endlessly slicing at them, only to watch their hacked parts grow back. There was no pattern, no logic to the mixture.
"Don't," Jim whispered, looking up at him through his lashes.
The single word echoed as a plea.
It was Jim laid bare and vulnerable.
It was Jim, grieving for the dishonesty he had committed towards his friends but unwilling to share the cause behind it.
His angered stirred, but he stopped his probing. Who had taken advantage of Jim, perhaps when he had been in a vulnerable state? Who had taught him their secrets, melded with him? Who had not considered the destruction it would impart? The lasting effects Jim felt today?
What had gone wrong?
He straightened, filled with an indescribable fury, unwilling to listen to Jim's continued pleading. With two steps, he loomed over his captain, staring down at him with narrowed eyes.
"You will tell me," he said harshly, now certain that someone else—more specifically, a Vulcan—had shown him their ways. Jim was protecting him for fear that Spock would unleash judgement upon them both. A reasonable fear, as he could not deny he was already forming judgements. "Or, you, per Doctor McCoy's discretion as well as my own, will no longer be involved with the investigation of Treadway nor be informed of the status of the McCoys' ongoing custody battle of Joanna."
Jim's eyes widened with disbelief. "Spock, you can't do that."
"I am fully capable of formulating and executing this...stipulation," he spat.
A sound similar to a wheeze escaped Jim's throat. "But...you can't."
"You should not test me, Captain," he said, jaw firming.
"I—"
"Will you tell me?"
Jim shook his head, expression pinched. "No," he whispered.
Spock straightened his spine. He lifted his chin as he stared down at him. "Very well," he said, allowing his disappointment concerning his continued secrecy to bleed through his speech. "I will inform Doctor McCoy of this decision and insist that changes be made."
A bead of sweat appeared on Jim's forehead, his hands shaking as they curled around his PADD. He held the device against his chest, like a shield, using it as armor to deflect Spock's intrusive questions. "You're...you're serious?"
"You believed my intentions to be otherwise?"
"Well, I...I—"
"When it comes to matters of New Vulcan and their inhabitants and ways—and your safety," he said harshly, "I am completely serious, Captain."
He paused, giving Jim a moment to reply, change his mind, or plead his case another time. Jim did not respond at all, save for the increasing shortness of breath, his wheezing more and more audible.
"Jim?" he said softly.
But Jim merely continued to stare at Spock, his eyes wide open with shock.
Indeed, he had not anticipated that it would come to this, either.
"Doctor McCoy will return to inform you of our decision," he said swiftly, wanting to speak with Leonard as soon as possible because Jim was in physical distress. "I will speak to the police—alone."
Jim's eyes filled with pain, the hurt unmistakeable.
But he could not relent.
"Please, just...trust me," Jim begged.
"In this, I cannot," he said in a fierce whisper.
If only Jim could understand.
Jim's face crumpled, their link fraying with the weight of each other's pain. How much more until the strain would break it?
Disconcerted that his relationship with Jim had reached a point of uncertainty and would only worsen, with a possibility of disintegrating, and distressed by what he saw in Jim's expression, he turned away.
Yet, he did not doubt that he had made the best decision. He now understood, at the very least, that Jim had been used erroneously in the past by one of Spock's own race, and this was how he had learned to utilize his shields in the bond.
Jim. Hurt. By a Vulcan.
It indicated one other thing.
Someone had forced or somehow persuaded Jim to meld with them—and it had failed.
Mind rape, at worst.
A failed meld, worse still.
Both criminal.
Both thoughtless.
Sickening.
Shameful.
He could not overlook it.
He could not push aside the guilt consuming him, though he had not committed this deplorable, unforgivable crime.
Never again.
He closed in eyes in utter shame. How could Jim even look at him? How was he not repulsed? His actions had been thoughtless and careless, a degradation to his character.
His fault.
Why did Jim feel this resentment towards him?
He had not harmed a single hair on Jim's head.
He had not pressed his fingers to Jim's face.
He had not revealed his past to him.
He was nearly to the door when the link between them strengthened, glimpses of Jim's past slipping through it. Jim's vulnerability burgeoning with every image.
Jim, not sleeping, the weeks of insomnia aggravating his sadness and guilt.
Lying to his friends when all he wanted to do was scream relentlessly at them that he was holding himself together by a mere thread, one breath from falling apart.
Mourning for the billions who had perished in the destruction of Vulcan, hearing their voices echo hauntingly in his mind on the bridge, in his bed, in the dark of night.
Debilitated in sickbay with migraines that he had caused.
Lying repeatedly to his best friend.
Lying to cover up those lies.
Lying to remain on the bridge—in command—at all costs.
Weakened and losing himself in this madness by the hour.
Guilt-ridden for the confusion he was causing Bones. Spock. Nyota. Scotty. Chekov. Pike. Everyone.
Desperate to keep it hidden.
Desperate to want that other life he saw, a father he'd actually known.
This fresh, burning submission he had to—being Vulcan.
Lying.
Hiding.
Ashamed.
Guilt.
Alone.
His fault.
Resentment.
Fear.
Sadness.
It did not make sense.
His revulsion consumed him—
But he had not.
He had NOT.
He reached for the lock, angry and ashamed—
"Delta V-Vega," Jim said shakily. The shattered voice shook him to the core. "It happened...wh-when you marooned me on...Delta Vega."
—and did not turn it.
oOo
While Joanna and her grandmother talked up a storm in the kitchen, about anything from books to the new kid on the block, McCoy paced the living room. He held his comm up to his ear, waiting for Jocelyn's reply.
He wouldn't hold his breath that she would agree to come today. She'd already let him know his call had been an inconvenience, taking her away from an important meeting.
One would that think he was asking for the world on a platter.
"Len, you've never—" She broke off with a huff.
"I've never what?"
"What's gotten into you?" she asked, laughing nervously.
"What's gotten into me?" he repeated, not following her.
"You're so concerned about this visit, basically moving up the time that you're giving up Joanna."
He grew quiet. He hadn't thought about it that way.
"After this, after I fulfill my end of the bargain, she's mine."
He could have broken down then and there. Dammit, what had gotten into him? It was just as she said. Jocelyn would come for a dinner, and Joanna would be removed from his life.
He prayed that Joanna would never find out about this mess. "Just be here, Joce," he said sharply.
"I'm not sure why this is so important. We've had dinner together before, Len," she claimed.
"Spock wishes to speak with you."
"Let me guess. He wants to try and convince me to change my mind," she said in monotone.
Leonard said nothing. He wasn't sure what Spock would say to her.
She sighed. "It won't work. I've dealt with Vulcans before. He can't intimidate me."
"We're not trying to intimidate you," McCoy said, attempting to appease her. "I'm trying to enjoy a normal—"
"Normal?" she asked incredulously.
He rolled his eyes. Of course it wasn't normal. He was just making a point. "Yes. Normal. A normal dinner for Jojo's sake."
She paused. He imagined her sharpening her nails, her even sharper teeth. "Will Jim be there?"
He wouldn't do this without him. "Yes," he said.
"Joy," she said sarcastically. "What will discuss while we all have tea and crumpets?"
"Play nice, Joce," he gritted out.
"Same goes for you."
She hung up on him.
oOo
Jim was used to telling himself that he didn't resent Selek for melding with him as he had. Which had been hurriedly. Thoughtlessly. Selek hadn't warned him of its effects until after he'd completed the meld. The fact was—he did resent him. Just a little. He also used to tell himself that he kept this secret for the sake of both his friends and Selek.
For the most part, that was true. But there was more to it than that. He'd kept his secret for himself.
He hated shrinks. He had no doubt that he would have been forced to see one if he'd told Bones what had happened. Maybe have another Vulcan invade his mind to fix it. A healer. Who knew what the shrink and healer could have uncovered?
With his luck—everything about himself that he wanted to remain a secret.
It hadn't been just the meld on Delta Vega at stake. It had been every damn part of his life—including his conditioning from Tarsus, long-lasting insecurities thanks to Frank, his mother and brother, and envy over the other him.
He'd never wanted Spock to know what Selek had done. He never wanted Bones to find out, either. It was the last thing that Bones needed right now, on top of everything else.
Spock had understood the latter almost immediately. It was why he'd pushed Jim and forced him to reveal his secret.
He almost couldn't believe it. Spock had blackmailed him.
The draw of his own anger was too great and exactly what he needed to fight back. Especially since Spock hadn't even turned around from the door to face him.
"Selek?" Spock asked, his voice cracking on the second syllable.
Jim glared at his back. Of course it had been him. "It's not his fault."
"You do not understand that it can be nothing but his fault." Spock turned and, without looking at him, sank to a seat on the side on the bed. His back to him, of course.
"He...he was compromised, just like you."
"His compromised state cannot be used as an excuse." Spock turned his head. Still, all Jim could see was his profile. "Did my compromised state exonerate my actions on the bridge, when I strangled you?"
Jim swallowed. "It made it understandable."
Spock snarled. "You were attacked. You were manipulated." He paused for a sharp breath. Jim was taken aback by his vehemence. "And then...by him."
"Whoa, hold on, Spock," Jim said, lifting his hands in surrender. "You're the one who attacked me. Selek never—"
"Did he ask if he could meld with you?" Spock fired out.
"Well." Jim stopped, having to think. "No—"
"Did he give you time to consider the meld?"
Jim couldn't help but feel flustered. "No, not exactly. But we didn't have ti—"
Spock stood and spun around, his glare cutting through him. "Did he explain to you what would happen as a result?"
"You mean the emotional transference?" Jim almost stammered.
Spock narrowed his eyes. "He did not tell you soon enough."
"We didn't have time," Jim protested on Selek's behalf. "We had to find the outpost—"
"That is when you walked. After the hengraggi."
He cringed with each question. He'd rather not relive these memories on top of everything else.
Spock stepped closer to him. "You walked," he repeated slowly as if he were a child.
"Well," Jim said, furrowing his brow. Wasn't that obvious? "Yeah. We had to."
"He could have explained then," Spock insisted.
Jim swallowed. "It was...c-cold."
He hugged himself, tightly. He shivered, remembering, and looked down at the floor.
Selek had been freezing on Delta Vega. The old Vulcan had not complained, but Jim had seen it in his eyes. He'd felt it from him through the rawness of the new meld. The bitter cold penetrating the marrow of his bones, causing every muscle and bone to ache.
He reached over and pulled another blanket from the bed, wrapping it around him.
God. Delta Vega. Jim rocked back and forth. Like he had when he had been little and his Sehlat had gone missing—
"Jim."
Jim blinked himself from his daze and stared up at him. "What?"
"I have been calling your name," Spock said, his eyes uncertain.
He stopped rocking. "Oh."
"You still feel these effects," Spock whispered. "But much time has passed."
Effects? Spock made it sound so critical, when, in reality, the unpredictability of it all was a constant threat. Not to mention embarrassing.
Like now.
He palmed his forehead. "God, Spock. Forget you saw that. I…"
"You have nothing of which to be ashamed."
He laughed dryly. "Yeah."
"Yet, I expect the truth. Please do not lie to me," Spock said, his expression hardening again. "We are beyond childish games, Captain."
"You're the one who blackmailed me," he pointed out.
"A necessity. for I believed it would be detrimental to your health to allow you to continue in this fashion." Spock paused and lifted his chin. "It appears, Captain, that I was correct. Please answer the question."
Jim wished he could die instead of being tortured by the memories of his counterpart inside his mind. "Yes, I do feel effects," he admitted hoarsely. "Sometimes."
"Explain," Spock commanded.
"We don't have time for this," Jim countered, frowning.
"When," Spock insisted.
Most of them centered around his father. Or, the other him's father. "Can't we discuss this later? What happen—"
"When," Spock said again.
Jim huffed. "Whenever my daddy issues spring up," he said flippantly. "You know. On my birthday. Holidays." He paused. "Other things...are random."
Spock stared at him. "If he had taken the time, you would not be experiencing these effects."
"You know what they all say," Jim joked. "Emotional transference is a bitch."
An unwelcome silence hit the room.
"You should not take this lightly," Spock said finally, his eyes hard. "None of us should. On Vulcan, this act is considered to be a criminal offense."
That was another threat, loud and clear.
"Wait." Jim paled. "You're not going to tell Bones?"
"I will not discuss this with him today or tomorrow," Spock said, "but I will inform the doctor. It must be done, Captain. I cannot keep your secret, for the damage that was inflicted upon you—is abhorrent."
Jim's shoulders dropped. "Let me do it," he rasped. "It's the least you can do since you forced it out of me like an interrogator."
That came out more bitter than he'd liked.
Spock looked like he'd eaten a rodent whole.
He groaned, his head dropping into his hands. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I did not intend...to acquire your hatred," Spock said stiffly.
"I know what you intended," Jim whispered, giving a humorless laugh. "Yeah, it sucked. Yeah, I sort of dislike you right now because of it. No, I don't hate you."
Spock hesitated. "Even if it is the case, and I am less in your eyes—"
"You aren't less," Jim insisted with a frustrated sigh.
"—I must fulfill my part of the agreement."
Jim lifted his head, leaning forward in his seat in anticipation. "You mean, telling me what happened while you were gone?"
"Yes. Joanna overheard Treadway discussing the serum over a call."
Jim drew in a shaking breath. "That means he knows."
Spock gave a short nod. "Jocelyn will come tonight."
It was their last chance. "And Bones?" he asked quietly. "How is he?"
Bones was probably close to having an aneurism.
"He is…" Spock's voice diminished. He frowned at Jim.
"He's not handling it very well, I take it," Jim finished for him.
Spock came closer, hesitating.
Jim quirked a brow. "What?"
"I can adjust...your level of discomfort."
He threw him a wary look. "You mean...meld with me? That's a bit ironic, don't you think? Weren't we just arguing about the other you doing that to me?"
"This is different," Spock said haltingly.
"Is it?"
"Yes," Spock said. "I am warning you in advance."
"You don't sound so sure."
"Please, Jim," Spock said, quietly stepping beside him.
"Okay," he said, simultaneously doubting his own sanity for agreeing to this. "I don't really feel like being an ice—"
Spock pressed his fingers gently to his face, stopping him mid-sentence. Jim closed his eyes, the memory of the bitterly cold planet disappearing in seconds.
Warmth returned to his chest.
"Wow," he whispered.
"Is that acceptable, Jim?"
He breathed out slowly. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Jim?" Bones voice called from outside the room as the door rattled. "Spock? Is everything alright in there?"
Spock stepped away.
"We're fine," Jim called out in a raspy voice.
"Dammit, Jim," Bones said, voice muffled at the door. "Your voice…"
Spock unlocked the door.
Bones nearly fell in. He scowled at Spock. "Warn a guy—"
Spock ignored him and strode out the door without a greeting.
"That's just typical," Bones muttered.
Jim uncurled his fingers from the blanket and threw it back on the bed in an effort to look normal. Like he hadn't just been sitting in snow, freezing his ass off, like a Vulcan who'd melded with him when he'd been unstable. Like Spock hadn't just fixed it for him.
"What's his problem?" Bones asked, flipping his head around to stare after Spock as he headed down the hall.
"Nothing," Jim whispered.
"Doesn't look like nothin' to me," Bones drawled, coming to stand in front of him.
He put his hands on his hips and stared down at Jim.
Jim couldn't find his voice.
He had enough guilt for a lifetime.
"You all right?" Bones asked, cocking his head. "Other than being a little cold? Losing your voice again?"
"I'm fine," he said, voice thin. "Not cold now."
"Well, you're not fine," Bones said, waving a hand at him. "But I'll humor you and ignore that while I look in the closet for something for you to wear."
"Wear?" Jim wasn't sure this was the most critical thing to do at the moment, but it seemed to be giving Bones a goal. Something different to think about. He'd go along with it, for him.
"For when you talk with the police," Bones muttered, opening the closet doors. "And have dinner. You think a tux would be overdoing it?"
He turned around, holding up a tuxedo by the hanger.
Jim gave him a small smile. "Not sure I could handle a bow tie," he croaked.
"You and me both, kid," Bones said with a snort. He put the tux back in the closet and rummaged more.
Jim sighed and made his way to the bed. He plopped down on the edge of the bed, planning to just sit there and wait.
Of course, his plan never took off. He was lying on his side with his eyes closed before Bones held up anything else.
"Another nap?" Bones asked.
"Just a...few..." he murmured, sighing. "Minutes…."
He wondered if he could have days.
He was tired. So...tired.
It was...odd.
He thought…
Spock?
Sleep, Jim.
"All right, Jim," Bones said in a soft voice. "You can try on clothes in a bit."
"Bones?"
He felt as small as his voice. Smaller, even. Maybe the smallest he had felt in a long, long time.
Guilt had a way of doing that to you. Knowing you couldn't really help your best friend keep his daughter did, too.
He opened his eyes, catching Bones looking down at him.
Bones's eyes were gentle. "Yeah," he said.
Jim waited until Bones was concerned enough about his silence to sit on the edge on the bed.
"Stay with me for just a minute?" he whispered.
Bones was already moving further onto the bed. "I've got nothing better to do than this," he said from beside him, now sitting with his back against the headboard. "Nothin' more
important than being right here with you."
Jim doubted that. He could name a few things that were more important than him. The police. Jocelyn. Jojo.
He didn't remind him, though. Instead, he curled into a ball, comforted by the blanket Bones pulled over him and the hand stroking his head.
His own silence ate him alive.
Author's Note: Donna is listed as being McCoy's sister on the memory-beta site (as well as several other siblings). I am including only Donna in this story.
Thank you so much for reading. Please, please review? I'd love to hear from you! :)