I hold no copyright or claims over these characters etc. I love feedback. I have a beta reader now, and she helped me with this chapter. She goes by sleepygoof8784. She is cool.

Note: I made up my own idea of Joanna McCoy.

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For not the first time over the past few days, Spock wished he'd never engaged in a friendship with McCoy. Had he not, he would not have developed romantic feelings toward the other man, and he would not be suffering through the constant stream of foreign consciousness invading his mind. Leonard's thoughts curled around his own like tentacles, unrelenting and restricting. He was constantly aware of the doctor; what he was doing, thinking, where he was looking, how he was feeling, everything.

There were even moments when he was convinced certain memories or thoughts were, and had always been, his own. Pictures of a young female seared into his mind's eye, and with hardly any effort, he could recall everything about her: large brown eyes, slightly slanted at the corners, indicating that there may have been a mix of two cultures. Thick wavy hair that fell past her shoulders, and numerous hand-made trinkets strewn around her wrists and neck. He would have put her age at around ten Earth-years. While he was deeply intrigued by the child, he preferred to avoid thoughts of her, knowing that a great sadness would throb in his chest if he did. He knew that Leonard had fathered a child prior entering Starfleet, so it was simple to assume that this particular individual would be her.

If it wasn't somber thoughts of young children he had never met, it was self-loathing, if it wasn't self-loathing, it was frantic, heated, and dark sexual fantasies. There were more moments than he would like to admit, where he found himself waking up with damp sheets like a pubescent human male.

However, he knew that reconsidering his friendship with Leonard, was a direct contradiction to his actions and affections. Still, he preferred that the circumstances of late be different regarding his declaration of wishing to mate with Leonard. Nothing was as it seemed since his encounter with Nero, and he was on the brink of doubting his belief that Leonard was, to put it simply, 'the One'.

It made it near impossible to concentrate on-

"Spock?" He managed to quell his body's reaction from jumping to a subtle, less than fluid head jerk.

Reaching for his nearly cold tea, he refused to note the tremor in his fingers. Taking a mouthful and swallowing the pleasant bitterness, he replied, "Yes, Nyota, I apologise. Please continue."

She shot him mischievous smirk and took a delicate sip of her coffee, "You got it bad, don't you? And don't say you're 'unfamiliar with that term, please elaborate'".

"Then I must assure you that, I do not 'have it bad', whatever the cryptic it, may be. "

She stuck her chin out slightly, the expression on her face reminding him of the day she persuaded him to assign her to the Enterprise. "Yes, you do."

Brushing off her, for-the-moment, inaccurate assessment, he spoke, "Where were we in our conversation before I was distracted?"

"Right. Well, the environmental and security systems are going to be overrode and updated in two days. There was a big mess when we were grounded, and the updated systems patch wasn't included in our repairs itinerary."

"I presume Mr. Scott is not pleased with this recent setback."

"You presumed right. Apparently the environmental controls will be out of whack for a couple hours. Quarters will be on lock down, replicators and even the communication system might be glitchy throughout the day."

He could not deny that the idea of being locked in his quarters with no outside distractions, was a pleasant one. Perhaps he could finally focus himself.

_

Sitting at his cluttered desk, Jim had resigned himself to twirling around in his chair. He really did take his work seriously, not usually giving into outside distractions. However, each time he stopped his twirling, focusing hard on how to begin his report to the Admiral, he would immediately begin thinking about Spock. Deciding to give it another go after a particularly long time of doing nothing, he reached out a hand and stopped his chair mid-spin. Slightly dizzy, he watched the blinking message template swirl into focus. Even if he hadn't been plagued with thoughts of his injured First Officer, he still wouldn't have had any idea how to reply to the Admiral's not-so-passive, very-much-aggresive message.

When they had finally retrieved Spock, he had informed Star Fleet command immediately. However, when Bones had sent him the medical report, he had implemented a ship-wide order, halting any outgoing transmissions to Star Fleet. He had wanted time to prepare a proper report, and though he hadn't come up with anything he was pleased with, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. That, and his crew were getting antsy with their own frantic messages from Star Fleet piling up, and under orders not to reply.

He rolled his chair out from behind his desk, only managing to knock one or two data PADDS to the ground. Catching the throw blanket across his lap in the wheel of his chair, he clumsily dragged himself to the large window away from his desk. Content, he stared out into the long dark that was streaked with silver lights. Spock. He leaned back in the chair and rested his feet along the alcove of the thickly glassed window.

Spock brought out the best in him, and the entire crew, there was no question about it. He encouraged him to utilize logic, patience and objectivity, always refusing to even entertain what Jim was positing unless he could deliver it in measurable, concise methods. He believed that Spock's criticism and encouragement would make him a very fine captain. It also pleased him that Spock allowed for off-duty interaction with crew-members of lower rank, like Ensign Chekhov, who idolized the stoic First Officer.

After the destruction of Vulcan, he often found himself in two highly unpleasant situations: sleepless or violently awake after a nightmare. He wasn't sure when it started, but he would quietly creep down the corridor to Spock's quarters. At first he was hesitant to disturb the man at such late hours, however, Spock never denied him entry. He wouldn't have to speak or explain why he was there, with rumpled hair and clad in nothing but a sleeping robe. Sometime after that, it was Spock who would, although rarely, be the one standing helpless in his door way. Sometimes they would talk, play chess, or muse about the day, and sometimes they wouldn't do anything at all. Just being near one another in silence was more than enough comfort.

He was also grateful for Spock's discretion. Once he had received his captaincy, there were more than a few times that he would find himself lost on the ship or struggling with an obscure line of a certain protocol . Spock was always there with a subtle turn of his head, indicating which corridor to follow and was never unavailable to explain to him whatever it was that had him confounded.

He knew that Ambassador Spock, or 'Spock Prime', had been right. His First Officer would define him as a captain, and more importantly, as a man, in the years to come. After he was long gone, Spock would still be alive, and while the thought oddly saddened him, he was grateful to have so much time to build on both their professional and personal relationship. He wanted Spock to be able to tell stories about him when he was no longer around, stoically reiterating their great adventures on the Enterprise, and so on. Most of all, he wanted Spock to think back and be proud of him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the computer chirping, letting him know that he had a visitor. The novelty had yet to wear off, being on a starship, so he still got a pang of excitement in his chest when he had someone visit him. He quickly rose and walked toward the door console to enter his authorization. He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not when Spock appeared between the split doors.

Spock stood in off-duty regulation attire, the black ensemble showcasing his pale, alien features. Immediately, he turned back into his quarters and allowed Spock entry. Looking around his rooms, he suddenly felt sheepish about the clutter.

"Sorry about the mess, it's been a long couple days. You want something to drink?" Walking to the replicator he requested two cups of spiced tea before Spock could answer.

Spock took in the room while Jim procured them their beverages. The desk was stacked with PADDS and data sticks, empty cups, and a few science journals. The nearby sleeping area held a bed that seemed to have had a close encounter with a supernova. Shaking his head, he picked up a few stray socks and undergarments and tossed them in the re-cycler for morning pick up.

Hearing Jim return, he sat down in one of the lounge chairs and carefully took his tea, while the other man wheeled his chair over toward him. Plopping down unceremoniously, Jim engaged him then, "How was your day?"

Holding the steaming cup to his face, he let the hot aroma sooth him before answering, "It was...difficult."

"Aw, come on now, that's all I get?" While his words were light-hearted, Spock knew Jim was concerned for him. He was unsure how to go about explaining his current predicament, especially since it greatly involved Jim's close, personal companion.

"I am unwell." Glancing at Jim, he noted the man had sobered quickly and his brow was drawn rather severely. Knowing it was a futile attempt to avoid further discussion, he sipped his tea and made to set it on the small, cluttered table. Concentrating more than usual on such a trivial task, he could not stop the tremor in his hand that nearly caused the small cup to overturn. Jim immediately reached out and took the cup from him to set it evenly on the desktop. The voice that followed was filled with worry, "Spock, what's going on?"

Rubbing his hands over each other he folded them in his lap and replied, "The events following my encounter with Nero have greatly complicated the matter of returning to a mental and emotional state of regularity. My recovery is compromised by a recent change in my relationship with Doctor McCoy." Perhaps it was because he was facing his captain, that he realized he and Leonard were on the verge of breaking Starfleet protocol. He was perturbed that he could not retrieve the knowledge regarding romantic fraternization in between ranks. Feeling a slight tightness in his lower abdomen, Spock was suddenly uneasy about continuing the conversation. There was an irrational fear at the thought of losing Leonard. Losing? He was disappointed with his choice of word application, and furthermore, he was alamed at the amount of feeling going on. He was thankfully interrupted by Jim rolling his chair closer and clearing his throat.

"Go on?"

There was an enigmatic trait about Jim that warmed him to his core. Perhaps it was the knowledge that his future self had shared with him regarding their friendship, or bond, in the other timeline. He knew that Jim unconditionally would care for him, for the rest of his life. Unconditional love was an illogical concept, but he was content with it regardless, choosing to apply his older self's concept of doing what feels right .

Remembering that he was not ashamed to show himself to Jim, he breathed deeper through his nostrils and tried to expose the issue as coherently as he could, "My thoughts are...infested...with Leonard's. His dreams, his whereabouts, his feelings, there are occasions in which I see what he is seeing...I am unable to close the gap between our minds. It is most disturbing."

He knew Jim was puzzled before he spoke, but allowed him to speak anyway, "I don't understand, what you're saying sounds like you bonded with him. Did you guys meld?"

"Not intentionally, nor did I establish a link between us. I have postulated that due to my weakened hold over my thoughts and emotions, Leonard was able to penetrate my mind through touch. My mind, in its chaotic state, recognized his cognition and reached out to it for anchorage, believing it to be a suitable source."

He watched Jim ponder his words, "If it was a matter of weakened mental shields and touch, I was the first one to touch you when we rescued you. Why Bones?"

Watching his first officer mull it over before replying, Jim finished his tea with a gulping mouthful to distract himself from Spock's slightly blushed features, "It may be correlated with my previously existing attraction to him. While you and I share a bond, deeper than most would share, it is...simply different with Leonard. My katra calls to his and compels me to mate with him."

"Uh..."

Spock stood before Jim could finish speaking, not wanting to face further humiliation from his admission. "Captain, I do not wish to continue this conversation. I will take my leave..." Turning to make his way toward the doors, so close to fleeing this highly uncomfortable situation, he was stopped by a sputtering Jim and a hard grip around his forearm.

"Spock, wait-"

He didn't want the hand touching him, so the natural and obviously logical thing to do was to frantically spin back around and shove his Captain back into his own desk. The clattering of data PADDS and his own panting were the only sounds to be heard.

"Spock, what the hell-"

"I said, I'm leaving..." His voice seemed to stall Jim after he had righted himself. The brows were drawn together and his face seemed to project confusion.

"Why are you so upset?" Something nagged at him, other than Spock shoving him into his desk and throwing a temper tantrum.

Almost instantly, Spock seemed enraged at his question, " I said, I'm leaving. I don't want to be here right now, I'm tired."

The multiple contractions used by Spock in such a short sentence, almost did his head in. Watching closer, he noted that there was no trace of the seemingly glued on expression he wore everyday. The facial features were loose and slightly screwed up; it was an expression a human would wear if they were caught between confusion and irritation. Like if one were having a bad day and had met the final straw that broke the camel's back.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The voice was impatient and it was then that Jim felt afraid. Even the syntax was wrong. Immediately he began thinking of ways to call Bones without encouraging Spock's anger or having him flee before the doctor arrived. Perhaps if he got to a communicator he could manually page Bones to his quarters. His plotting was interrupted by Spock once more, this time by the dramatic stance he now took. Spock's upper body was leaning slightly toward him with his arms outstretched, and the voice that accompanied the gesture was almost patronizing,

"What?"

Damn it all...

"Computer, enable security lock command, four-delta-seven."