Author's Note: This may be proof that group prayer and hope can actually lead to an outcome. This initially was about five hundred words of epilogue and has now become a full-fledged chapter. It is mostly what I wanted as well which is a plus.

I am completely obsessed with the idea of mind-melding but unable to watch the Original Series. Not because it isn't available, my uncle has the series on DVD and youtube has it as well, but because I refuse to watch Shatner for more than three minutes at a time. So, I've fantasized over it and this is what it's come to. Wow, that entire paragraph was vague.

I am considering tagging an epilogue onto this and if I do, it'll be up on Wednesday. Please remember to be liberal about my descriptions of things (especially Kirk's bed) and most of all

Enjoy.

Chapter Three: Purgatory

He sat in the captain's chair, slouched to the side, one leg propped up on his opposite knee, thinking. For weeks now, the whole situation had tickled at his mind. It had absorbed him while in the sick bay until Bones had finally given him small tasks to do to distract him. When those small things were not enough, and more of his time was spent on reverie than ever, Bones agreed to allow him to move to his room with mandatory visits to the sick bay three times daily. This gave him greater freedom in things to do but it also gave him more unsupervised time to ponder. More than once, he missed his check ups and had to deal with the repercussions and threats of being incarcerated once more.

Returning to full duty had given him plenty of distractions. Spock's departure and his own long absence had him mulling over reports and passed situations. By the time he actually caught up with everything, he realized that a lack of free time kept him from thinking about it. So from that point forward, he took double shifts, sleeping pills and started running the halls to distract himself. The problem with contemplating what happened was that he never came up with a real answer and that drove him crazy. While initially, he'd loathed the distractions he grew to need them in order to function. As long as he kept himself distracted, he could actually live.

Before Spock returned, he'd started to live like a machine. He'd wake up, work, eat, exercise and knock himself out again with pills. Sometimes, he didn't bother with the pills and just started back up with the work. Bones had, as a friend and not a doctor, suggested seeing a psychologist to talk over what happened but he had no interest. He'd reached a balance point in his life and though it was taking a toll on him physically, mentally he'd never felt as calm. Almost too calm, according to some of the people around him. So, he'd stop taking interest in those people and the people who agreed with those people and the people who agreed with them; this limited his social circle to the mute custodian and Bones, who didn't give a shit who or what he was interested in.

Now, sitting there, he found nothing to hold those thoughts a bay. The weeks of ignoring and strenuous physical activity left him, now, with even greater depths of thought. Staring out at space, he remembered it and what it had done to him and his crew. His stomach hurt with the idea that there was a power out there that could merely consider bringing them down and it would happen. Maybe it couldn't happen to him again, but what if it happened to those he loved? Not everyone had a legendary protector hovering around, waiting for them.

Or did they? Was it something else beyond his understanding that had saved him? He had thought he had known it but was it possible that it was some cosmic guardian angel, ready to protect him from other cosmic beings? Maybe everyone had one watching over them. Maybe there were creatures that would come to your rescue when you ended up in the worst of situations. But, of course, if that was true, he could think of plenty of his childhood incidences where he deserved such a rescue. It could be that these creatures only opposed creatures of equal but opposite forces of their own.

A tension induced headache started and he tried to stop thinking. There were reports to read, decisions to make and all sorts of things he could do. Admittedly, he was already several days ahead and with Spock returning to duty the next day, he would have less to do than usual in future weeks. Better to leave some of it off so that he would not be thinking double tomorrow. Of course, it was too early to take the sleep pills, especially now that Bones refused to give him anymore (something about abuse which he'd ignored while swallowing down a pair of them with a shot of whiskey), and he couldn't exercise while on duty. His foot started to twitch rapidly and he rubbed at his face. Considering his recent behavior, he couldn't even use conversation as a diversion.

Spock came onto the bridge moments later, greeting the people present-- lingering with Uhura a little longer than was appropriate-- and coming to reside near the Captain. He did not speak to Kirk but instead stood silently. Kirk wondered if he was waiting for a greeting so he gave him a head tilt. Spock did not seem to notice and he wasn't in the mood to give anymore. Nervous energy brimmed inside of him and tipped him into a reality that he did not like very much.

"Well, Mr. Spock, you have the bridge," he informed the Vulcan. "I'll be back in five."

He darted away, moving rapidly towards the lifts with no destination in mind. His pace picked up to a jog until he'd passed up the lifts and was trotting along the hallway. He passed all sorts of people, most of whom cringed away or started to whisper as he passed. He couldn't blame them really considering his irrational behavior as of late. Turning suddenly, he started back towards the bridge again, panting slightly. He hadn't slept for a while and had already exercised earlier in the day. Doing more was probably unwise but he could feel the unpleasantness ebbing as he moved. As he reached the lifts again, he made an impulsive decision and ducked into one, reaching out with one hand to punch a floor at random. The doors slid shut just as someone else slipped into the lift with him.

He refused to look at the person, praying that if he did not address him or her that the person would leave him alone. Privacy, something he craved at the moment, was near impossible for him to find. Between the continual presence of other beings in his life and his own thoughts, he hadn't been able to find the restful silence that he wanted. The last time he'd experienced it, ironically, had been in the strange dream about Iowa with it pretending to be a horse. And to think, he'd found the dream somewhat unpleasant at the time. He'd give anything to go back to it.

"Would you really?" he heard it and stiffened. "What does anything entail?"

"I didn't mean that," he hissed. "Leave me alone."

It was curled up on his shoulder, across the room and sliding over the other occupant's shoes. "No, you did mean it. What can I do for you Captain Kirk? I told you, I can stop the pain. I dislike it as much as you."

"Go. Away."

"As you wish," it replied. And then he was sitting inside the lift which had stopped moving. "You have other things to attend to anyway." It brushed his face, the walls, his hand.

He blinked at the white floor of the lift and at the closed door that did not provide him an expected exit. Something that was not it was standing very close to him. He could see its boots and pants from his position.

"The presence that invaded your mind," Spock said softly. "It was here."

Kirk swallowed loudly. "I get this feeling it's always around and sometimes, it lets people know it."

"How often does it come to you, Captain?"

A defensiveness overcame his judgment. "Why does it matter to you, Commander?" And then. "I thought I gave you the bridge."

"I passed the duty to Mr. Sulu in order to check on you and because," Spock replied evenly, not rising to Kirk's tone, "it is not benevolent, Jim, and it could be impairing your judgment. I need to know if you are fit. From what I am hearing--"

"Hearing?" he repeated, anger building.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Some members of the crew have informed me that your behavior has become increasingly erratic since--"

"Mr. Spock, I would appreciate it if you would not accept every rumor that you come across as evidence to my behaviors when you have not been here for nearly two months," he snapped. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Spock would not let him approach the control panel. "I trust Nyota for she's never shown any inclination towards rumor mongering. She cares for you and your safety. She does not spread lies in order to gain position or power. And judging by your actions since I have returned, I can logically conclude her deductions are accurate. You are not yourself."

He swung at Spock without thinking. Had he been considering it, he would have realized that there was no way he could win; even at his peak, a fight between himself and a Vulcan would always end poorly for him. Spock easily avoided the punch and the one that followed it. Kirk attempted to grab the Vulcan, to hold him still so he could actually land a hit but missed completely. Then Spock made his move and he found himself pinned against the Vulcan, an arm around his neck. It was not tight, but it was controlling, cutting off his air minimally, forcing him to take tiny, controlled breaths.

"Jim, I do not wish to harm you but I will not allow you to take your anger out on me," Spock said, calm as ever.

He clawed at the arm which tightened a bit but not painfully. The overwhelming urge to escape faded slightly, letting him perceive the situation through a different point of view. He saw himself, worn, unkempt, closed off in comparison to himself a couple of months before, confident, reckless but in control. This was not the person he'd meant to be; he'd assured himself, when he finally left the infirmary, that the situation had not hurt him. He told himself again and again that he was okay. But now, he wondered if it was a lie meant to keep him from a complete break down. If it was, the worst part was that he'd been the only person fooled.

His frantic movements slowed and then ceased. Spock loosened his grip a bit and then, when the flailing did not continue, let go of him all together. He staggered away from the Vulcan then sank to the floor nearby, worn out emotionally and physically. Spock was looking at him, studying, calculating but he didn't care. Screw Spock, it, his unnamed savior, and everyone else in a million light-year radius. He was done.

"I've experienced that sudden violence allows for the catharsis of anger," Spock observed.

"Fuck you," he gasped with little venom. "And everyone else. Fuck." His head throbbed a steady beat. "Just… fuck."

Spock came to stand beside him and said nothing. He did not look down at him, or try to touch him; he simply towered over Kirk in silence. Kirk could see his shoes out of the corner of his eye, perfect, unmovable like their owner and felt the air suck out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe, or escape from this and now that it was all upon him, he realized he didn't give a shit who had saved him. That obsession had merely covered up a much deeper question and injury. Now, that wound had been left unattended, festered and was sickening him. Being aware of it did not heal it nor give him any idea as to how to start the healing. Instead, it drove a knife into another part of him, a part that had enjoyed being self-sufficient since his mother remarried. He couldn't breathe. His face was wet.

They stayed that way until his ragged gulps of air calmed to pants. The wetness of his face started to dry stickily and his throat ached. Spock eased himself down until he too was sitting and still said nothing. Something peaceful fell over the tiny area with no air, something Kirk could not define or properly appreciate. The hurts inflicted on him were raw, maybe not deadly anymore, but dripping and painful. He swallowed hard, his mouth like paper, dropping his head onto his knees. He didn't feel the lift jerk and move, nor hear the doors slide open.

"Jim," Spock said gently.

He let Spock help him to his feet but refused help walking. It was not as it had been when Spock had left and he still shook when he stood too long. The physical maladies had faded even if the emotional ones had stayed. His feet carried him after the Commander and he was careful not too meet the gaze of any of the passing crew members. His face was stiff now, probably red as well though he could not muster up the ability to be embarrassed. Instead, he limped behind his first mate to his quarters, childlike and unresisting. When Spock opened the door, Kirk immediately went to the bed and sat. It was warm, comfortable, reminiscent of his bed in Iowa with thick pillows and blankets; not standard issue but he preferred personalization. It gave under his weight, molding to his body, soothing physical aches.

"If you wish, I will take over your duties for the night, Captain," Spock said. "And longer if you need."

He nodded but didn't move from where he sat. A sudden bout of paralysis had overcome him. He doubted he could even lie down. The world around him had grown too thick to move through and he did not have any intention of forcing his way into it. Better to sit and allow it to pass him by until he had interest in making sense of it. He already knew that before he could do that, he had to fix whatever was screwed up inside of him and that was a mountain of its own. His fingers tightened on the edge of the bed at the thought of it.

"Rest, Jim," Spock spoke softly. "We will speak more on this later when you've had time to regain control." Kirk nodded again, wondering how long he had before the paralysis traveled up to his neck as well. Spock had already gone back to the door. "And, my elder self asked me to give you this message as soon as I could. He says that he apologizes but option c was the best he could do. This means nothing to me but he said you would understand. I will see you in twelve hours, Captain."

He left before Kirk really processed it.

There had been, since the incident, a thin level between sleep and wakefulness for him. He could tell when he was about to pass into it but it felt as though he never actually slept. His eyes would shut and then open and hours would have passed instead of seconds. Sleep as he had known it, a period restfulness dotted with strange, sometimes unpleasant, vision, no longer existed. It was less palpable than ghost stories and less real than faerie tales. He did not look forward to it after a long day, even with the sleeping aids Bones had given him and now denied him. The only difference between his state of sleep and sleep with the pills was that the latter made him feel heavy and disconnected.

The problem lay in that his mind never refreshed. His body recovered a bit of its strength while his mind never shut down, moving straight from one day to the next without ever feeling the difference. Sometimes, he would fall asleep in mid-thought and wake up hours later to pick up just as he'd left off with no pause. He knew people who would be glad about this; it would be, for them, like putting a bookmark on a page or leaving a program running on a terminal. But for him, it meant over processing, over thinking and, since the incident, obsession.

This was the way it happened when he'd finally managed to lie down in his bed. One moment, he was trying to wrap his mind around Spock Prime's comment then seemingly three seconds later, he was finishing the thought. But the problem was, nearly all of his twelve allotted hours had passed him by. He sat up, fully dressed still, blankets wrapped around his waist and pillows lying scattered feeling as though he'd not slept at all. His body had stiffened, admittedly, and his throat felt sorer than it had before. In his mind, nothing had changed. He still could not connect with the idea of the elder Spock being his protector. That bond had been severed; or so he had thought. His Spock, in an attempt to ease his suffering, had made it so those memories were like pictures instead of experiences. In the process, he had, or so Kirk had been told, broken the last bit of mental connection between himself and the other-dimensional Spock. Now, it seemed obvious that his Spock had been wrong. There was no way that the other Spock could have initiated a mind-meld from so far away and so instantaneously when Kirk was about to seal the deal with the devil.

He took a shower, and thought about it, got out of the shower and thought about it. Redressing in clean clothing, he thought about it some more and when Spock entered, he'd propped himself up against the wall behind his bed, his pillows stacked in his lap, blankets wrapped around his shoulders, still thinking about it. The thinking had progressed to questioning how it had happened, to the nature of the bond and onwards, drawing his mind into frenzied circles. Knowing the truth, something he had wanted for weeks, was almost worse than not knowing. He'd thought identifying his savior would allow him to come to terms with it all but it had not. It had brought about more confusion, emotional and mental.

"Maybe you can tell me, Spock," he said before the Vulcan could speak. "I can't figure it out. How the fuck does someone lay down his life for someone he barely knows?"

"I cannot give an accurate answer unless I know how you are approaching the question," Spock responded. "Have you slept?"

"I didn't even ask you how he was doing," Kirk murmured. "I should've asked how he was doing. Seems only fair considering everything that's happened. How is he?"

"How is who?"

"Your other self-- Old Spock," he clarified. "How is he?"

"As well as to be expected within the parameters of his injury," Spock answered. "He's been dealt a severe mental injury and he is not young. It has left him very weak, physically. Those attending him think he will pull through but he will not be the same. Even when I spoke with him, he seemed… distant."

Kirk swallowed loudly. "He's not dying though?"

"Not immediately though his lifespan has been limited. He says he cannot be certain what has caused it and this has restricted the options he has for treatment. I believe he lies but felt it unwise to push the matter. If he--"

It burst out of him finally. "He was the one who saved me, Spock. It was him. The message he had you deliver was something he said-- well, no, not really said-- when we were-- in my head or out of my head. Or…" He didn't have the right words to describe it.

"Jim, there's no way he could've saved you," Spock began.

"It was him," Kirk insisted. "I couldn't have saved myself. I owed it my life, or brain, or soul, or whatever. I promised it that in exchange for everyone and the ship. Then it tried to take me and it couldn't touch me and suddenly, he was there saying we had some sort of bond which it couldn't break."

Spock shook his head. "It's not possible. Even if there was the remnant of a link between the two of you, it would have been sufficiently laid to rest after--" He didn't finish it and Kirk tried to speak again but he overrode him. "It does not make sense."

"I know," Kirk said, miserably. "And now he's dying because of it."

"We all die. It's a natural part of life. You cannot take the blame--"

"If I hadn't have made the deal with that whatever, he'd be fine. I thought I was doing the right thing, coming to the rescue. I didn't care about what happened to me, Spock, if I thought I could save everyone else's lives in the process but I-- it just--" He was shaking, fine tremors running through his entire body.

"I do not understand," Spock said.

"I made a choice," Kirk whispered. "And now someone else has paid to get me out of it."

"What choice, Jim?" Spock asked. "I do not know what situation you are referring to."

He was so tired of the constant buzzing confusion. Every time he thought he couldn't feel anymore, he got another overwhelming surge of feelings. Letting out a trembling sigh, he told Spock everything from the moment he awoke on the planet up to where he woke up in the sick bay. He spared no detail, not even the part about seeing his mother and his stepfather. Even if Spock did not comfort well, he did listen attentively, not interrupting or questioning; he had seated himself an uncomfortable chair that had come with the quarters. His eyes never left Kirk.

"That is… informative," he said at the end.

Kirk was glad he had the lights dimmed so the Vulcan could not see his red face. "You don't believe me."

"It is not that I do not believe you, Jim," Spock said, gentle like he had been in the elevator. "Have you considered that this dead place may have been an illusion to begin with? That it is possible this being was trying to get to you from the start, using what it knew about you as your weakness?"

He had not considered it and such a thought added a whole new dimension to his turmoil. If this could have been avoided all together, then he'd senselessly risked countless lives instead of saving them. His mind shut it out almost immediately; he couldn't bear to think of it. "I couldn't take the chance that it was the truth. You don't understand. There was a difference between being there and being in the other place. I knew that I was in my head when I was in Iowa and when it tried to take me, I was in the other place. But the planet, where it kept its… collection, that was real; sometimes more like reality for me than being here is."

"I see," Spock said. "You are right. I do not understand."

"I don't know how to say it better."

"I see." Spock had his hands folded in his lap. The silence that fell between them was not pleasant, though not unbearable. "It would explain his weakness, if he fought this thing. I still do not understand his connection to you but traveling between timelines has not fully been explored. It is possible his connection with his Kirk transferred to you when he came in here. He has not hid his…" He struggled with words. "…attachment to you. I can neither confirm nor deny your own experience. If you are convinced of the validity-- with the knowledge I have gained through you and others-- I will accept it until I find something that points otherwise." Kirk didn't say anything. "You are my friend, Jim. No matter what happens, I will do anything in my power to help you." When Kirk was still silent, he said, "And right now, that includes giving you time to truly recover."

He stayed there with Kirk for another couple of hours, simply sitting. Having someone there, even in the strange silence he felt he ought to fill, was a comfort. He did not want to be alone in this room or alone anywhere. An actual physical presence that intended him no harm-- and as a bonus, claimed to have what was best for him in mind-- was better than the sleeping pills. The dozing he did in that time was the most restful he had in weeks. He jerked awake as Spock left and was replaced by Bones who had brought food and a bottle of whiskey.

The next week or so continued like that. He was never alone. If Spock was not there, he sent someone else Kirk was comfortable with to keep him entertained. He and Sulu would get food together. Chekov would bring chess-- an old, old version that had once belonged to his great to the umpteenth grandfather, kept in a battered cardboard box-- and he would lose horribly. Uhura would drop in with a book or music or news and he would go out of his way not to insult her. When Spock came, he would often fall into true sleep, exhausted unconsciousness, and wake up after the Vulcan had been replaced by Bones. He did not sleep in front of the others if he could avoid it.

It was during one of his half-awake times, the period before Spock or Bones came, before he felt like he could truly pass into the world of dreams when something important happened. He was playing a game of gin rummy with Uhura and losing badly. The cards kept warping in front of his eyes, largely due to the fact that he had to keep them from crossing. Uhura must've noticed because, after he had to be reminded to pull a card from the deck the sixth time, she placed her cards down next to the discard pile.

"Huh?"

"Kirk, what happened to you? Really?" she asked, blunt as he'd been the first day he'd met her. "Spock won't tell any of us. He says you'll tell us when you're ready but I wanted to ask anyway."

"Spock's right," he said, not catching her eye. "Listen, it's nothing personal. I--"

She picked up her cards again. "Don't worry about it."

"Uhura--"

"Really," then his eyes met hers and saw that she was not upset, "just know that we'll listen to you if you need to talk to someone about it. I'm not half bad at the whole listening stuff. Apparently, it's my job." He didn't tell her how good it felt to hear someone say that.

He didn't notice he was getting better until the day he woke up alone and was glad about it. It was not the dark gladness that he associated with private suffering and being misunderstood. Solitude was the name he attached to it, and he tentatively enjoyed it as he showered. As the day progressed and he got one visitor, Chekov, who enjoyed their daily chess game (and he enjoyed it more now that he lost with flair), he did not find himself dwelling on what had happened. During the hours of solitude, he read the books Uhura brought him, listened to music, caught up on work he'd missed. He even emerged on his own accord to hunt down a sandwich so when Sulu came, after Chekov had left with yet another win, he merely went with him as company.

"I considered your question," Spock said to him that night. "And have come up with a question in turn."

"What question?" he mumbled, lying on his stomach, half-dreaming.

"Do you know every worker on this ship?" Spock asked, which was not an answer.

Kirk blinked. "I asked you that?"

"No, I am directing it at you."

"Kinda, I've seen all the names." He yawned. "Probably met them all once. That's a lot of people, Spock."

"Yet, on the being's planet, you agreed to give up your freedom so that they could live?"

"Of course," he said, now feeling more awake. "Of course. I'm the Captain. They are under my care. I don't--"

"I am not questioning your actions, Jim," Spock soothed. "I am merely saying, if you would so easily lay your life down for them, why does it surprise you that my elder self, who has seen your mind and feels love for it, would lay his life down for you?"

See you Wednesday for the conclusion.