Chapter 7

Not wanting to overtax McCoy's newly-healed ankle, they spent the next day on the beach in front of their cottage, McCoy in a chair under an umbrella, alternating between reading, dozing and arguing with Spock about nothing in particular.

Kirk had rented a windsurfer from a local shop and spent hours at a time in the water, racing parallel to the shore or skipping and flying through the waves. At one point he even convinced Spock to try, and while the Vulcan's natural grace made riding the streamlined watercraft easy, it didn't help to dispel his distaste for swimming. After fifteen minutes the First Officer was back on the sand at the water's edge, pretending to examine a native jellyfish that had washed ashore, but McCoy knew he was keeping a close eye on his captain's escapades.

Despite the relaxed atmosphere of this day McCoy found himself a little panicked. Their vacation was winding down and as far as he could tell, Jim and Spock still hadn't managed to resolve the issues plaguing them. To his mind, nothing had changed – that connection, that spark he had observed between the two over the last few months was gone. He had seen the occasional flare-up of it during this trip, but that was all. For the most part, it was as if there was a physical barrier separating them, preventing the heightened closeness they had so recently shared. For two men who were so self-assured in most aspects of their lives, they could both be hesitant, tentative, uncertain, when it came to managing their unusual friendship. But how to get them talking? He had already broached the subject with Jim, and wouldn't dare do so with Spock – that was sure to send the Vulcan fleeing in the other direction. God help them, it was up to them now to figure things out, for good or bad. Knowing there was little else he could do to move things along, he vowed to allow them some time alone this evening in hopes that they'd somehow come to their senses.

***

After a long day on the beach they headed back to the house, Kirk and Spock making dinner while McCoy rested his ankle. Afterwards they assumed their customary positions – the captain and XO around the chessboard at one end of the dining room table and the doctor at the other with his deck of cards, foot still propped up on pillows at Spock's urging.

The next hour passed amiably enough, McCoy chattering on about various things they had seen on this world, Kirk speculating on the state of the repairs to the Enterprise, asking for Spock's input here and there. Finally McCoy, after losing his sixth straight game, rose stiffly to his feet complaining that his ankle still ached.

"A good, long soak before bed it just what it needs. I'll see you two in the morning," he announced, hobbling stiffly down the hall to his own room. Jim and Spock continued their game, but the Vulcan soon found his thoughts drifting away from his current surroundings.

The issue of the link still weighed heavily on his mind. Add to that Kirk's sense of anguish, which had increased over the past few days. Spock was certain he knew the rationale behind it. He had felt Kirk's mind pressing against his, confused and hurt as to why he was unable to reach Spock, and the Vulcan was loathe to confront him with the justification for his actions. Would Jim be resentful when he learned just how much Spock knew about his emotional turmoil of the last few months, courtesy of the fledgling link? His captain, despite their close friendship, was a very private man, keeping most things to himself; choosing to handle personal difficulties in his own way, on his own terms.

Kirk's voice roused him from his self-introspection. "Spock, it's your move. You've been staring at the board for five minutes now."

"My apologies, Captain. I was currently attempting to formulate the proper equation for reducing delta wave electroionization." He swallowed as Kirk eyed him dubiously. Reaching out a hand he made a move which Kirk countered instantly.

"Checkmate." The eyes that searched his face weren't exultant however; they expressed something else altogether.

"Spock, what's wrong?" Kirk asked, completely unaware of the thematic disconnect of that statement, the comment totally removed from the current flow of the conversation. Spock sighed inwardly. That question again; the one that always managed to resonate most uncomfortably in all the dark places he didn't dare try to illuminate. He could see Kirk struggling to find the right words, to ask the proper question. "Have I done something—?"

"No," Spock interrupted immediately. "It is nothing you have done."

"Then what?" Kirk reiterated, his impatience getting the better of him, the knowing eyes penetrating, ferreting out those things he was too reluctant to discuss openly with this man. "You're ashamed, aren't you? Just like you told me once." Kirk's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of his First's continued silence. "Vulcans forego personal relationships, personal friendships, and because of the unique rapport we share, you believe this makes you less Vulcan somehow." Kirk's voice was dejected, his discomfiture audible to one who knew what to listen for. Spock saw the hurt that flitted briefly over his captain's face.

Realizing he was the reason behind that pain, Spock hurriedly dropped his eyes, aware that Kirk, gleaning all the necessary information from his body language, felt he was on the right track.

"That's it, isn't it? You don't want to appear 'less Vulcan' to those around you." Again, Spock found himself unable to answer.

"Well I've got news for you Spock. As much as you sometimes like to believe it's not true, you are half-human. Like it or not, that's a part of you, part of what makes up the singular entity that is my friend. And as your friend, I'm not asking you to go against everything you've been taught up till now, all your core beliefs – hell, I'm not asking you to give up anything – but I am asking you to listen to, or at least hear, that other side of yourself," he declared ardently. Kirk pursed his lips, taking a deep breath, all the while maintaining eye contact with Spock. "I'm not looking for you to be totally human, or totally Vulcan, but a combination of both, since after all, that's who you are. I think you'd be surprised what it can add, how much of a difference it can make in your life, in the decisions you make, in how you interact with others. You know," Kirk added softly, "being who you are is nothing to be ashamed of."

Hearing this, Spock was instantly reminded of the tape he and the doctor had watched when they thought Jim irrevocably lost in Tholian space. His captain had expressed the same perceptiveness, the same insight into Spock's psyche then. He would have permitted this critique of his dual nature from no other, but Jim had never pressured him to be something he was not; the fact that Jim had always accepted him solely for who he was lent significant weight to the opinion. He had sensed this same conviction from his captain in the meld they shared on Uriman. Jim trusted him, believed in him, acknowledged and greatly appreciated his worth as an individual, but felt that Spock was unnecessarily dismissing a vital part of himself. How like his captain to have unwavering faith in his ability to do, or achieve, anything. Unfortunately, Jim did not understand that he had attempted this type of integration before, several times in fact, each failure affecting him more deeply than the last.

It occurred to him that he was a coward; not in the sense of fear in the face of danger – he had, and always would, do whatever it took to protect those around him, from rushing headlong into a room filled with leaking toxic phaser coolant to aid a downed crewman, to placing himself between his captain and a lethal lead projectile. He was, however, a coward in the face of personal relationships. He had spent the better part of his life running from them – from his young tormentors, from Vulcan, from T'Pring, his father, Leila, Christine, even McCoy to an extent – instead of meeting them head on. His relationship with Jim was the only one he ran toward. He sighed heavily.

"I have tried in the past, Jim, with disastrous results," he admitted honestly. He paused, quietly reflective. "Haven't you wondered why Miss Kalomi believed so strongly that there was a chance for a future life with me?"

Without knowing anything about it, but his voice ringing with conviction, Kirk answered immediately. "You were much younger then, Spock. Don't think you're the only one who has ever made a mistake with the opposite sex thanks to youthful inexperience. And unfortunately, we can't blame all our mistakes on youth – just look at me over the last few months…," he trailed off.

He watched as Kirk's face turned melancholy, his eyes going blank, focused inward on memories Spock couldn't follow. The look caused all kinds of unnamable reactions within the Vulcan. He realized with a jolt that Jim was right; it was useless to attempt to deny his human half, at least to this particular human. He had tried to do so all his life, but Jim had a knack for touching this part of his soul. He strove to find the right words to say to remove this look of self-recrimination from his captain's face.

"Recent events were in no way your fault, Jim. Each time there were extenuating circumstances which led to an unavoidable situation. Hardly something for which you can blame yourself."

"That may be true where Elaan was concerned, but Miramanee is dead, and that is undeniably my fault." Whispered, eyes averted, nearly crushed under the oppressive weight of that candid confession. Jim was in pain, and Spock didn't know how to fix it.

"I am sorry for your loss, Captain. I can understand—" he began helplessly.

"No, you can't." A touch of irritation. "This is nothing like the loss of Miss Kalomi."

They fell silent, Spock dropping his gaze to his folded hands. What did Jim see in him? He couldn't even find it within himself to properly offer comfort to his captain when he needed it. He was not worthy of this man's friendship. When he dared to look at Kirk again, the captain's expression, along with the predominant emotion swirling about the room, had abruptly changed from one of frustration to confusion.

"There's more to this isn't there? It has nothing to do with her," Kirk discerned keenly. Expressive eyes bored into him. "What aren't you telling me, Spock?" his captain asked suddenly, his concern now gently enveloping the Vulcan. Spock shifted uncomfortably in his seat but found himself unable to offer any further explanation.

"You've been distant ever since Sarpeidon, and both you and Bones had almost nothing to say about your time there." Spock's only reply was a muffled sigh, so Kirk continued. "Bones did mention something about a woman – what was her name? Zeeruth? Zarabel?"

"Zarabeth," Spock interjected suddenly.

"Yes, Zarabeth. McCoy said she offered you shelter, food, warm clothing, and helped you find your way back to the library. I'm guessing there was more to it than that." The hazel eyes were dissecting him once again, peeling back layer after layer of his defenses. "What, Spock? What happened that has you so upset?"

"Vulcans do not get 'upset,'" he countered stiffly.

Kirk nodded slightly, choosing to sidestep that battle for the moment. He tried for a different tack. "Do you know why she was there, Spock? Did you meet any others of her kind?"

Spock gathered himself and began speaking softly. "She was sent into Sarpeidon's past, just as we were, but in her case it was as punishment for treason. She was exiled alone in that vast, frozen wasteland." Kirk waited silently for Spock to continue. "Doctor McCoy and I were the only beings she encountered during her time there." Realization dawned almost instantly as Kirk processed that information, grasping fully the severity of her predicament.

"During my time in Sarpeidon's past, I underwent some psychological changes," he confessed quietly.

"What kind of changes?" Kirk asked gently.

"A temporary change in personality, in emotional control," Spock answered in a hushed whisper. "Doctor McCoy speculated that since we were thrust 5,000 years into the past, I reverted to the behavior of my ancestors living during that time on Vulcan. We were savages then, Jim, ruled by our passions, our rage. And I was passionate about Zarabeth." He stopped, propping his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. "I thought McCoy my rival." He dropped his eyes to his lap. "I wanted to kill him." The surreal vision of his fingers closing around the doctor's throat swam before his eyes.

"Jesus, Spock. Why didn't you tell me?" Kirk had jumped to his feet, his quick, measured steps tattooing loudly about the room.

"For what purpose? There was nothing you could have done," the Vulcan stated matter-of-factly.

The captain whirled to face him. "That's not the point, Spock! Don't you remember anything I said in Sickbay after Uriman?" Anger flashed briefly in Kirk's eyes but then the captain turned away suddenly, running a hand through his hair. He paused, and took a few deep breaths.

Turning back to face Spock, his eyes were again compassionate, but this time commingled with hurt. "Why are you so afraid to lean on me? Don't you trust me?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "And don't give me any of that crap about how Vulcans aren't afraid. I believe I know you better than that," he snapped, his anger besting him at the moment.

His captain was leaning on his hands now, staring across the table at Spock, his eyes wide, vulnerable, questioning, the uncertainty clearly visible. It was the look that melted shields, obliterated barriers, made him bare his soul against his better judgment.

"It is not a matter of trust. It never has been." Quiet, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Then what?" came the instant retort.

"You were dealing with your own issues; I did not wish to burden you with mine as well." Softly. Head bowed, once again unable to meet those eyes which could always peer unerringly into the core of his being.

"Oh for the love of God, Spock." Clearly exasperated. "Let me get this straight. You were trying to protect me, and thought you were doing so by—"

Head raised suddenly, meeting the captain's sharp gaze squarely. "Jim, let us speak plainly. You also have not been forthright with me of late."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Kirk asked suspiciously.

"I heard you, our first night here – and each night since – struggling with your nightmare. Listened as you retreated to the porch, only to return thirty-six point three minutes later." Spock watched as Kirk digested that, the color draining from his face, caught, his private hell dangling in the air between them. "The next morning, you said 'I slept better than I have in the past few weeks.' At the time, I could sense no dishonesty in your reply, which means your sleep has been disturbed for quite some time now, and yet you did not approach me with this information." Spock paused, admonishing his captain with an unwavering glance. "It works both ways, Jim."

Kirk blinked, stunned, completely derailed by the utter truth of that statement, his anger bleeding away. "You're absolutely right." Softer now. "How can I expect you to do what I'm incapable of doing myself?" Straightening up, he favored Spock with a thin smile. "Some example, huh?"

"You are only human," Spock countered, and instantly felt the level of tension drop by several degrees.

Kirk couldn't help but laugh at that, a small grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "I think I need a drink, Spock," he said, not attempting to disguise the fatigue in his voice, heading for the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?"

"Perhaps some tea," he replied. Kirk returned a few minutes later with a half-full brandy snifter in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. Spock wasn't surprised to see that it was his favorite blend, prepared exactly as he preferred it.

Reseating himself, Kirk took a healthy pull at his glass. He swirled the amber liquid absently for a few moments, head down, uncharacteristically unsure, hesitant. "You were right a while back. It's time for me to trust you, as I have asked that you trust me." He took another sip of the fiery liquid before continuing. "I lost more than Miramanee, Spock. She was carrying my child." Spock inhaled sharply at that, caught completely off guard, his eyes snapping to Kirk's.

"I grieve with thee."

The look on his captain's face went straight to his heart, tearing and rending it with unimaginable force. Glancing away the Vulcan fought for control, balling his hands into fists, his desire for privacy warring with his wish to be completely honest with this man, to be as open with Kirk as the captain was now being with him. "Jim, it is quite possible that Zarabeth was carrying my child as well." He watched Kirk's personal pain fall away, to be replaced with empathy – for him. Spock continued. "In fact, it is my fervent wish that she was with child. She was so alone, Jim…such terrible emptiness. If this could have eased her suffering even slightly, then my loss of control was not without purpose." Spock stopped speaking abruptly, overwhelmed momentarily by the intensity of his rising shame.

Ever since he had returned, Spock had grappled with the enormity of his decision. True, he'd tried to send McCoy through the portal alone and when that didn't work, he had opted to return with him rather than have the doctor trapped against his will, but he could have gone back immediately once McCoy was safe. However, as soon as they'd materialized back in the library, he found himself unable to do so. He was certain if he had leapt through again, his captain would surely have followed. And upon seeing the relief etched on Kirk's face, the sheer weight of the moment lifted with the heavy sigh that escaped the CO's lips, feeling his captain's anxiety melt away as Kirk had gently clasped his shoulder, he knew instantly his choice would be to remain here, at Jim's side. But by doing so, he had condemned an innocent woman, a woman he admittedly had feelings for, to a life of unimaginable loneliness. Yet as painful as it was to leave Zarabeth behind, it would have been more painful still to turn his back on his captain. He did not wish to be the cause of any pain his captain would have to endure. It was a decision couched in selfishness and one of which he was not proud.

He knew without question that this was a sentiment he would not have shared with McCoy. Perhaps the doctor would have reigned in his acid tongue for once, perhaps not, but he certainly would not have completely understood the reason behind this atypical display of tenderness. Spock grasped the reason perfectly, the humiliation washing over him unbidden and unwelcome nevertheless. If there was one emotion Spock was intimately familiar with, it was loneliness. As his eyes met Kirk's, he saw his captain silently acknowledge the difficulty of Spock's choice. And just as surely Spock knew he would be unable to endure even one word of sympathy from Jim; one single word would have the power to completely eradicate his shields, completely destroy the last vestiges of his emotional control. Somehow, the captain seemed to know this instinctively, his only reaction being to briefly rest a supportive hand on the Vulcan's forearm. Spock met his eyes, and saw only understanding, acceptance and undeniable affection there, knowing they mirrored his own.

And it was enough. For both of them.

***

McCoy closed his door noiselessly, slipping back into the warmth of his bed.

The sore ankle had been a ruse, an excuse to leave the two of them alone. He had lain awake, listening as the muffled sounds of conversation between the two continued to dwindle. Damn it! My whole purpose behind this leave was to get them to open up about things, to each other at least if they wouldn't talk to me. I honestly thought that giving them some space would help to move things along. Jim seemed to take our little talk from the other day to heart, and I really expected him to follow through. He had chided himself. Serves me right. That's what I get for leaving the two most stubborn, pigheaded men in the universe alone to sort things out.

Throwing the covers back he had bounded for the door to his room, but his conviction had faltered as his hand came to rest on the doorknob. And just what the hell do I think I'm gonna do – march out there and demand they make nice with one another? He had taken a cleansing breath, allowing some of his anger to burn off, his mind churning as he tried to work out a solution. I'll just go out there, pretend I'm hungry or something, and see what happens. He had opened the door just a crack when he heard Jim begin speaking in hushed tones. At first, Spock's answers were clipped, hesitant, Jim doing the majority of the talking. Then, Kirk's voice had risen forcefully and his resolve had strengthened. He had opened the door and placed a foot in the hallway but then it had happened – he could hear the conversation beginning to swirl around him, the voices softer now, calmer, both responsive, support for one another audible in their tones even though the words were indistinct. It didn't matter that he couldn't make out what was being said. It was none of his business anyway, and he really didn't care what the content was. Besides, that wasn't the important thing; what mattered is that they were finally confiding in each other. At least I hope they are…I'll have to see how they interact tomorrow to be sure.

With a self-satisfied sigh, he pulled the covers up to his chin and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of their muted discussion.