Waking up in a young body was considerably more pleasant than waking up in an old body.

It was not the first, or the last, time Kirk would wake up on a sickbay bed. But now his back was not aching, and his body seemed to be coming back under his control more fluidly. He still felt like he had been hit by a bus, but he felt in his bones he would spring back more readily than he had grown used to, toward the later part of his life.

"He's recovering well, Captain. He should be awake soon."

Kirk opened his eyes, about to ask Bones what he was talking about, and noticed somebody standing in the doorway. And then he realized she had turned in response to 'Captain' and that Bones was looking at her. She nodded toward Kirk, and when Bones saw he was awake he came to tend to him. When Bones was blocking her view Kirk pointed at her and mouthed 'Captain?'Bones raised an eyebrow in a way that had come to mean 'long story; I will tell you later' and ran the tricorder detector over him.

"Well, your blood pressure has stabilized."

"I feel a lot better."

Bones pushed him back down the second he started to sit up. "I'll be the judge of that. Let me finish your examination."

Kirk batted his hand away and tried to sit up again, and Bones pushed down harder. "Would you—" He paused a moment to calm down. "He's not going anywhere, Jim. Just let me look you over."

"Does everybody know everything about my business now? Was there some sort of meeting I didn't know about?"

Bones closed his eyes a moment and looked toward the ceiling. "Oh, just everybody who had to watch you two dance circles around each other for years. God's sake—" Kirk had tried to sit up again. "—hold still! The sooner I'm done the sooner you can leave." He looked over at the captain, who had been watching silently and had drawn closer. "Do I at least outrank him now?"

The captain stared down at Kirk for a moment and shrugged. "Why not."

"Excuse—" Kirk stopped himself halfway through sitting up, this time; Bones hardly had to push. "—me. Captain? Who are you exactly and where am I?"

"Garak did not fill you in?"

"Not about this ship, no."

The captain folded her hands behind her back and thought for a moment, looking him over. "Are you going to sit still for a thorough explanation or might this better wait for a time when you are not agitated?"

"Spock will fill him in," said Bones. "You can't get that Vulcan to shut up once he gets going."

"He would probably be more likely to sit through that."

The communicator on her belt chirped. It was a woman named Dax, who wanted the captain down in the laboratory. The captain said she would be right down and put the communicator back on her belt.

"I trust you can handle this, Doctor."

Bones waved her off without looking at her. "Go, go."

"Captain," she said. Kirk looked at her. Now she was making eye contact. Concern? "Spock is not going anywhere. Do not overexert yourself." She paused. "Nice to meet you."

She left. Kirk pointed after her as Bones turned back to him.

"What the hell was that about?"

"Jim—"

"That's a civilian. A young civilian."

"She's older than she looks. And you'll get used to her, if you could get used to Spock. She's actually not bad. More fun than Spock, at any rate, although basically anything is. This is her ship. Or, at least, she found it first. She came out of the warp, too, from the early twenty-first century."

"The early—" Kirk thought for a moment. "That's before First Contact. Bones, she's not equipped to captain a starship."

"You can talk to her about that, although she seems to know an eerie amount about the twenty-third and –fourth centuries for somebody from the dark ages. She won't say why." Bones tapped something into the tricorder. "We're not doing much right now, Jim. We're hovering around the warp and waiting for ship parts and crew, and setting up some sort of laboratory. The only real missions they went on, before I got here anyway, were to Ceti Alpha and Vulcan, and that was because there was nobody else who could get there in any reasonable time. They made out all right. Spock saw fit to join them, in any case." Bones gave Kirk a significant look. "Surely that was purely on their merits alone and had nothing to do with the fact that they were planning on studying the warp, from whence people enter this universe."

Kirk pressed his lips together and rubbed between his eyes.

"We can address the chain of command issue later."

"Oh, I'm not so sure I'm eager to do that." Bones seemed entirely too self-satisfied. "I outrank you right now, remember?"

Kirk pointed at him, about to say something, but let it go for now and rubbed between his eyes again. Something about that being an example of a bad command decision. Evidence he needed to take over. Whatever, the moment was gone, and there were other things Kirk wanted to see to first.

"All right." Bones put the tricorder scanner back into the main unit. "You're stable. But don't push it. You were in mild shock when you came in."

Kirk realized he was being allowed to leave, and jumped up before Bones could change his mind. That was a bad idea. His vision went out and he grabbed the side of the table, waiting, lowered his head to get blood flow back to his brain. When he looked up Bones was glowering at him.

"I get it."

"Spock hasn't been sleeping, Jim. He was supposed to come by for a sleeping pill by now but wouldn't you just know it, the stubborn bastard hasn't shown himself." He rolled his eyes. "I knew it was too good to be true."

"Hasn't been sleeping, why? What's wrong?"

Bones took a deep breath, hands behind his back, and looked up. It was a question he did not want to answer. Kirk grabbed him by the shoulders and shook.

"Bones!"

"He—remembers a lot of his past life, or whatever you'd call it. More than the rest of us. He said it's like his whole life occurred yesterday. I don't know what you know about how things played out for him but there was some really bad stuff, Jim."

"I know. I saw it. Trelane visited me as well."

"Trelane?" Bones drew back a little. "Spock said it was some Vulcan god, or at least took the shape of one."

"He took the shape of Chronos for me. Bones, he did something to us. To our memories. Spock's right in that they're vivid and it's like it all happened yesterday but you also don't forget how long time is. All that time I thought he was dead… all that time after our last mission… It's still nothing compared to what Spock suffered. I died, Bones. I died and I left him all alone for almost a hundred years. A hundred years! My human brain still can't comprehend that and I saw it, but his can, goddamnit."

Kirk realized he was almost hyperventilating. Bones grabbed his arms and steadied him. "Jim. You have to calm down."

"Vulcan was destroyed, Bones. He was there, he saw it, he felt it. My God, do you remember the Intrepid? How he reacted when that whole thing happened? That was only four-hundred souls. What was the population of Vulcan?" He had to catch his breath again. "—Bones. Oh my God, Bones, if Spock can comprehend time in a way humans can't, can he comprehend large numbers like that? I mean, to a human, the death of a million people feels like one, but to Spock—to Spock—"

He felt himself crumpling. His vision was going. Bones let go of one arm, and for a terrifying, blissful moment, he freefell, but then he was grabbed up short and a hypospray shot into his arm. He numbly felt Bones haul him sitting back onto the bed and sat with his head between his hands, trying to calm his breathing.

"Jim. Look at me."

Kirk glanced up. Bones was kneeling down to his eye level. He looked deeply worried.

"I don't know what Trelane did to you, but your body is reacting as though you've lost a huge amount of blood. You have to keep your heart rate and respiration down. I gave you a mild sedative but you still have to try not to get yourself worked up."

"And how the hell do you expect me to do that?" he hissed.

"Jim, I swear to God I will knock you clean out. Don't make me do that."

Kirk nodded and sat there for a while, head down, lost track of time. His breathing slowed and his heart calmed down.

Spock is here. Spock is alive. Spock is okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's—

"Fiiinally," said Bones. Kirk looked up. Spock was standing in the doorway. The young Spock, of corroborating age with Kirk, but his eyes looked very old.

"I knew your Vulcan bond thing would send you up here looking for him. Might I persuade you to take your medication while you're up here?"

Spock seemed to be ignoring McCoy. He just stared at Kirk, unsure, head tilted slightly, as he shambled forward, stumbled, and ran through the forward momentum to drop to his knees in front of him. He hesitated, raised his hands like he was going to grasp Kirk's shoulders, and instead clasped his hands. Kirk could not speak. He just stared at Spock, but his eyes were filling up. Spock looked like hell—sleep-deprived, more wan and pale than usual—but it was otherwise Spock, alive, young and healthy and alive. Spock squeezed his hands and a jolt went through them, up his spine.

I'm here.

Spock smiled. It was the most beautiful thing Kirk had ever seen. It was the same smile he had gotten, for a few brief, precious seconds, when Spock had found out he was not dead after the kal-if-fee. Kirk grinned back and laughed a little and leaned forward to press his forehead against Spock's. Spock was laughing softly, too.

Spock stiffened and looked up, then, in another startling display of emotion, glared above Kirk's head. No—it was his usual irritated expression. But Kirk had felt the flash of rage and embarrassment through their bond, and the strength of it made him flinch.

"Doctor. That device you are holding would not function as a camera, would it?"

Kirk looked behind and up. Bones smirked and waved a small, square card. "I knew I'd catch you smiling again! This time I wanted proof."

"I would very much like to see that device."

"Oh, no." Bones put it in his pocket. "This is blackmail material. The next time you want to ignore my orders I have some ammunition. Or I could just upload it right now and see who might come across it."

"Spock," said Kirk. Spock looked back at him. He was jade and his eyes were wide. Through the bond Kirk felt he was paralyzed with embarrassment. Kirk squeezed his hands and smiled, hoping to get another smile out of him. He was going to say something witty, and romantic, and appropriate, and the only thing that came out was "Spock", again. Spock clutched his hands and pressed their foreheads back together.

Bones hovered behind Spock and waved his tricorder wand over him. "…okay." He put it back in its housing. "I'm pulling rank. You're both at the point of a physical and mental breakdown and you will be getting some sleep. You can go back to Spock's quarters but I will be giving you each a sleeping pill and you will take it as soon as you get there."

"I can put myself into a trance, Doctor. I do not require medication."

Kirk could feel Spock was telling the truth, somehow. He looked up at Bones. "He's not lying."

"Well then why didn't he—why didn't you—earlier—"

"I could not. My will was sapped. I had no mental stores from which to summon discipline. I will be able to do it now."

Bones closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, shook his head, opened his eyes, and smiled.

"You are going to be the death of me. Both of you." He rummaged through his medicine cabinet over the bed and pulled out a carafe, dropped a pill into Kirk's hand. "You will—look at me." Kirk's gaze had been wandering back to Spock, but he looked back at Bones. "I am sure you have lots to discuss but you will be taking this when you get back to Spock's quarters. Is there anything about this that is unclear?"

"No, Bones. Quite clear."

He felt as though he should want to stay up and talk all night. That would be the fitting thing to do, in congruence with the strength of his emotions. But he was too damn tired. He did want to sleep. Spock squeezed his hands in acknowledgement—Kirk was going to have to get used to this bond—and looked up at Bones.

"I will see to it he does."

"Good. You can be each other's wardens. It saves me a lot of trouble."

Spock silently asked if Kirk was able to stand, and Kirk nodded, physically. Spock steadied Kirk under his elbows and pulled him to his feet. He had forgotten how strong Spock was, even when exhausted. How could he have forgotten that? He forgot as he always did and remembered/not remembered, memories of a lifetime piled up in immediacy.

Kirk hesitated, and grabbed Bones in a tight hug.

"I'm so glad to see you, Bones."

"Jim." Kirk pushed back to see Bones's face. He was smiling and nodded, looking aside almost as if he was being shy. "I'm glad to see you too." He looked up at Kirk and clapped his arms, and looked up at Spock. "Go. We'll talk later."

Kirk nodded several times, gave Bones another tight hug, and stumbled toward the door. Spock grabbed his elbow and hauled him upright.

"Jim. Spock." They turned back. Bones was trying to look stern, but he just looked—concerned. Almost sad. Wistful?

"Don't let him get away this time."

Spock huffed. "I am right here, Doctor. I am not going anywhere."

Bones shook his head and shooed them off, trying not to smile.

Spock was gone when Kirk woke up. Before he opened his eyes he noticed the loss of warmth, the free flow of air, and placed his hand on the half of the bed where Spock had been sleeping. There was one narrow bed in Spock's cabin, and they had just collapsed upon arriving, Spock laying on his back and meditating himself into sleep, and Kirk on his side, staring, staring. He's alive. He's alive.

He stared at the wall like this for a long time. The bedding smelled of Spock; he allowed himself a little time just to soak this in and bury his face in the pillows. The heat was bringing out sweat under his chin and hairline and he kept wiping the skin on the sheets, not wanting to stir to take a shower just yet.

After a while the heat finally got to him. He turned and saw an orange cat lounging by the milkhouse heater. The cat regarded him with mild kitty detachment.

"Hello there."

The cat stared at him. Kirk twisted to put his feet on the floor and the cat bolted, an orange blur bouncing from shelving to an open-hanging vent. He stood, mildly disappointed, and looked around the room.

It was a tiny quarters, with a twin bed to match, and meticulously clean, but empty of Spock's usual room artifacts. He was in his black undershirt and shorts, and could not find his tunic or trousers. Spock likely took them to be laundered. God knew they needed it and Spock would not tolerate dirty clothing sitting around in his room, even temporarily.

Kirk considered rummaging through Spock's drawers to find some underwear to borrow, as he desperately wanted a shower, but sat with his hands folded in his lap and stared at the dresser. He could just take the shower and wait in a robe or a towel or whatever he found in the bathroom, but that would come off as presumptuous, perhaps. Wait, why was he second-guessing this? He and Spock had shared a bathroom and shower and had lockers next to each other in the gym for years without any awkwardness. It was all very military. People of the same sex on a starship were not afforded the luxury of modesty, even in high rank. But it was different, now. Some line had been crossed. The context, or framing, or something, had changed. And for the first time Kirk felt very exposed.

No, it was not even that simple, was it? How easily the past was smoothed over in memory, into continuous, homogenous wholes. There was some charge there, sometimes. Some tension. It flowed with a genuine military de-sexing of the other, and both existed undiluted, twisting. Kirk rubbed his head. His thinking was muddy, still. He had certainly found convenient excuse to be casually shirtless when Spock came calling, more than once. Usually it was after a workout, again, conveniently, when he was feeling the most impressed with himself and his muscles were still warm.

Don't think about it. That had been the policy that had kept him sane all those years. There was some line that they still had not crossed. And here the fuck he was, now, sitting awkwardly on the edge of Spock's bed like a schoolboy the first time he had been invited back to somebody's room, hands folded between his knees like he was afraid of what he'd get up to if he did not keep them clamped. At an effective age of well over a hundred, despite his physical body.

He was still staring at the wall when the door chirped and opened. Spock entered, carrying a stack of clothes, black with a layer of gold. He paused and stared at Kirk, as though still not believing that he was there, and set the stack of clothes on the desk.

Something had pulled Spock back. Of course, after a good rest his Vulcan defenses would be back up. Not to the full extent they were on his original tenure on the Enterprise, not as brittle and prickling, but definitely back. And the momentum they had built with their meeting in sickbay was halted.

Finally, Spock nodded and turned toward his own closet, removing his blue tunic. "I have brought you some fresh clothes. You do not need to wear your uniform on this ship, but I thought you might find it more comfortable."

"Thank you."

Spock hung his tunic in his closet and turned toward Kirk. Kirk cleared his throat.

"You look good. Uh. In the undershirt. Without the tunic. It looks good."

Spock arched his eyebrow. Kirk sighed and buried his head in his hands.

"I'm already making a mess of this."

"Jim."

Spock touched his shoulder. Kirk looked up. Through the thin fabric of his undershirt Spock's fingertips were warm, and there were threads of thought Kirk caught just as Spock lifted his hand, hesitantly, awkwardly. It was the edge of restraint, something in hesitancy, but he did not catch more than that.

"You got a cat." It was not what he had meant to say, first.

"Spot is under the care of Mr. Data. She is partial to the heater. She is not quick to trust strange people."

"I bet she trusted you right away. You've always had a way with cats."

Spock nodded. They stared at each other for a moment. Spock finally cleared his throat.

"If you wish privacy to change—"

"Spock, don't start that now. We've changed in front of each other for years with no problems." Spock barely nodded. Kirk clasped his hands behind his back. "I would like a shower, however."

"There are fresh towels in the bathroom. You will find a new toothbrush by the sink."

"Right." Kirk picked up the stack of black clothes, leaving the tunic on the desk. He hesitated a moment. "I'll be off, then."

Idiot, he thought, as soon as he had closed the door of the bathroom. What were you expecting? Him to jump in with you immediately? We haven't even had time to talk about—this—whatever it is, whatever is going to happen.

He scrubbed himself pink in the sonic and carefully cleaned his teeth, hoping he would be up to Vulcan standards of hygiene. When he got back to the room Spock was meditating on the bed, on his back. Kirk sat at the desk, expecting Spock to be about his business for a while, but Spock spoke.

"You may come over here."

"Oh. Uh. Okay."

Kirk sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Spock opened his eyes and stared at him, hands still folded over his mouth.

To hell with it.

Kirk grabbed Spock's folded hands. Spock's eyes widened and—

—he was afraid to drop the pain. It had become a comforting weight. No weight giddy flying freefalling. The weight kept him grounded. Here he was—everything he had ever wanted, in front of him—and he was afraid to move.—

—he dropped Spock's hands. Spock sat up and watched him for a moment, hesitating.

"Jim, I am sorry. I underestimated the strength of the bond we initiated in the sickbay. I did not expect you to be assaulted by my emotions." He firmed his jaw. "It is unseemly."

"Unseemly—what—who cares about—fuck it."

Kirk grasped Spock's hands again. Spock was ready, this time. There was no intrusion of thought. Kirk dropped his hands in surprise.

"Wait, what—in sickbay, I could hear your thoughts through your hands—I mean—"

Spock looked down in shame, collected himself, looked up.

"I was… emotionally compromised. Mentally and physically weak. I suspect there is lingering psychic damage from my contact with an entity that fashioned itself as Kaniel."

"Trelane. It was Trelane."

"Was it?" Spock thought for a moment. "Ah, it does make sense. But it does not matter. It was improper, and an imposition on my part. There is no excuse for such a gross breach of discipline. I am sorry."

"Oh, shut up. Just—for once in your goddamned life, shut up." Kirk grabbed his hand again so tightly Spock's bones ground. "There is no need to apologize for this. You never need to apologize for showing me your feelings, Spock. Never, do you understand? I don't give a shit about your goddamned Vulcan discipline. I want to know all of you. I spent a lifetime barely getting glimpses of the 'you' below the surface and god damn it I will not make that same mistake again."

He realized he was shaking Spock's hand rather hard, and loosened his grip. Spock brought up his free hand to clasp Kirk's.

"You may well be disappointed by what you see."

"Oh, is that what you're afraid of?"

"It is complicated."

"Spock, you've seen me at my very lowest. I've lain my veins open before you. Why do you think I would be unimpressed learning that you have feelings beneath that perfect Vulcan mask?"

"I have told you that I have feelings—"

"Oh, sure, the friendship feelings. The safe feelings. But you were always holding part of yourself back." And then he remembered something and had to open his mouth. "Look, there's a Vulcan word for—a romantic friendship, a comradeship, right? T'hy'la?"

Spock froze. It was something very slight—really, nobody but Kirk would have noticed it as an outward expression—but Kirk felt a shock run up Spock's spine, something that was felt in the bone, and his eyes widened and the pupils dilated. Some light flickered in Spock's heart—Kirk felt it in his side—like a butterfly made of light fragments, barely catching the inner eye and gone, something fleeting and secret, sublimating back into his marrow, into the most secret parts of his mind. The most sentimental, the thoughts he couldn't bring himself to even look at, most of the time. It was a near-constant game of don't-think-about-it, expending mental energy all the time to not-think-about-it. It was too precious a fantasy to ruin. It was only seen clearly late at night, in bed and half-asleep, when the ego was calmer and the brain's self-censoring mechanism was switched off. And Spock wanted to cross his arms over his chest, protect his own core and guts from anybody knowing something so intimate—but the physical Spock was utterly still.

Is this what Spock is really like all the time, all these emotions he doesn't show? Dear God. He's as turbulent as a storm.

"T'hy'la," Spock finally said. His voice had even less inflection than usual. A micro-movement—the tip of his tongue came out to wet the inside of his lips—and he straightened his neck. "Yes. Your breadth of reading does you a credit again."

"Right…" What Kirk was not admitting was that he had done a great deal of reading, indeed, on this very subject, and he was desperately afraid Spock would use that A7 clearance to look at his reading logs. Of all the decades of conversations he had with Spock about everything, this topic had conspicuously never been explored in any detail. It had come up, sure, in abstracted terms, referring to other people. But there was a force field around it that forced their conversations to skirt it, should context lead them dangerously close.

"Right. Well, I remember in some books I'd read at the academy…" (And hundreds of sources. He'd read on the Enterprise. After he'd met Spock.) "…I'd heard about this concept, and—I always kind of thought it might apply to us. But—as a human I guess that's presumptuous."

"No more presumptuous than a human offering an opinion on the integrity of translations of Vulcan literature."

Kirk looked up. Something warm flooded into his stomach. Spock was watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"You remember."

"The day we first spoke, truly, as friends. Yes, I remember, Jim."

"Right, that was…" Kirk scratched the back of his head. "Perfect Vulcan memory. Kind of a dumb thing to be surprised about. Sorry. I'm all sorts of mixed up right now." He chewed his lower lip a moment. "I mean… sorry, that's sort of insensitive; you're clearly trying to tell me an event meant a lot to you and I'm blowing it off saying it's your usual memory at work." He rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. "Forgive me; I'm not getting my words together very well."

"There are Vulcan ways of coming to an understanding that words can never emulate."

Spock was staring at him. Kirk lowered his hands, slowly, and blinked.

"You really do want me to know totally how you feel, don't you?"

Spock was silent for a long time and broke his stare, looking off somewhere. Kirk wanted to reach for his hand. He waited a while for Spock to speak, and was firming his lips, about to speak himself, when Spock finally looked at him again.

"We will never understand each other one-hundred percent, Jim. Not even with the mind-meld. But I came to an understanding in my past life. That is all right. No two entities can. You can never close that last iota of distance between two souls. It matters not how similar or different they are."

"It's the source of all the angst in the world."

"I would not say 'all'. That is an exaggeration."

"And you were almost being poetic for a while, there. I was getting worried Trelane had really given you a concussion."

"But we can try to get as close as we can. And that will be enough." He paused for a moment but did not break eye contact. "Being in your company is the closest I've ever come to feeling that."

This was the tug-and-pull in Spock's mind—he would think the most intimate thoughts, things that were too true to articulate, and his heart would pull back in on itself, trying to hide itself away. This was something Kirk was coming to understand. Spock, whether because he was half-Vulcan, or Vulcan at all, or just because he was Spock, was—something shifted in his mind. No, it wasn't even that simple. He felt Spock's constant tug between his strongest, most romantic emotions and the stoicism and rationality he tied to his ego, this turbulent storm of emotions that could rip limbs from joints, but he sensed this was not his usual state. It would have been easier, to assume that all the time, no matter how mundane, that Spock's hyper-logical mannerisms were a façade. But they weren't, most of the time. He genuinely was calm, genuinely not prone to reading meanings into occurrences the way humans always looked for an oracle, genuinely detached. That was who Spock genuinely was, most of the time. And this was also Spock—a man who experienced such powerful emotion in bursts he wasn't equipped to deal with. A consciousness divided, almost schizoid. He guarded his feelings like open wounds and instinctively shielded them if he touched them. They were too raw. They hadn't been exposed to air and time and roughness. Kirk was always wearing his heart openly and it could handle the exposure and assaults.

Time to turn back and descend the stair

It was a snatch of thought, over that non-contact bond. Where did that come from?

Spock watched him for a moment in the doorway of their garret, a sallow, bone-thin face the pallor of a broken green branch, beneath the heavy navy wool. He turned his back to walk out the door, to the stairwell.

He had realized he was falling in love.

And he turned his back and closed himself off.

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

"Wait!"

In Spock's cabin, in real light, Kirk grabbed the shoulder of his shirt. Spock inhaled sharply and grabbed his wrist, and froze. They stared at each other for a long time.

"Don't run away from me. Not this time, goddamnit." Kirk choked on a sob. "Not now. God damn it, not now. Not again."

Kirk's fist shook, still clutching the fabric on Spock's shoulder. Spock's hand on his wrist relaxed, and he ran his thumb up the inside of Kirk's hand, and Kirk gasped, and loosened his grip. He let Spock pull his hand away and stared at the peak of fabric left, his eyes finally welled over, and he closed his eyes, covering them with his hand. Kirk froze. The tears finally dripped beneath the blade of Spock's hand and he took a shuddering, deep breath.

Oh fuck. Oh god. What have I done? He's crying.

"Ninety-seven years, Jim." He hesitated, fighting some impulse, and forced his hand away from his eyes. Kirk felt the strain in his own wrist. He stared into Kirk's eyes. "Do you have any idea how long that is? No, humans forget what time feels like when they're no longer in it."

"Are—are you crying?" Which was high up there on the list of stupid-ass questions he could ask at that point, but Spock merely blinked.

"Vulcans do not cry."

"You—you goddamn liar." Kirk punched him on the shoulder. Spock smiled, laughed a little. "You are such a goddamn liar. 'Vulcans don't lie' my ass."

"You must admit, it is a very useful rumor to keep in circulation."

"I never want to be parted from you again."

Spock thought about that for a moment. "…no."

Kirk's stomach dropped out. "No?"

"No, Jim. Not strictly speaking. We both treasure our autonomy and possess a desire to explore."

"Wha—I was speaking metaphorically, you ass."

"And what if one of us is on an away mission and does not come back?"

Kirk thought about it for a moment. "…we'll have had this." He ran his fingers up the back of Spock's hand and Spock shuddered, and then took Spock's hand in both hands. He rested his forehead on their clasped hands. "You're right, Spock. As always. I can't—we can't—live like that. I want you at my side no matter where I go but I realize practicality does not always allow that. But I won't ever regret this, no matter what happens."

"If you have for some reason absorbed the idea that I am immortal, I'm afraid you are mistaken. The events surrounding Genesis involved a very fortunate sequence of events that allowed a katra transfer and those same key components are not likely to occur in concert again."

"I know that, you blowhard. Why can't you just let us have this right now?"

"I am a Vulcan. I do not know what you think you are signing up for in suggesting any sort of intimate relationship but my essential nature will not change."

"All of it." He shook their clasped hands and kissed them, again. "I'm signing up for all of it. I want all of you, Spock. Even the condescending killjoy parts. I want you just the way you are. I love you."

Spock froze—through the residual link Kirk felt his heart freeze—and he was preparing to haul him back if he started to pull away, but Spock rested his free hand over their clasped hands and pulled Kirk closer to his chest. Kirk's cheeks felt hot.

"…love." Spock thought for a moment. "That's… a very all-encompassing word in English. It contains eros, agape, philia—"

"Spock. I swear to God."

"—but." Spock stared Kirk down until he closed his mouth. "In the way you are saying it, in the context, you're admitting an aspect that we had not admitted to before. The sexual, or erotic aspect."

Kirk took a deep breath through his nose and tried to pull his hands away. "Spock, it's way more than that—"

"Right. We've always known—always been open about—what you would call philia. A bond between brothers. Agape, also, I do not think anybody would deny we had expressed. But eros can be felt between people who lack those other aspects. And I want to remind you—most assuredly—I do not lack those other aspects. And not one is weakened by the inclusion of the other."

"…is that your roundabout Vulcan way of saying…?"

"T'hy'la is a sacred word in Vulcan. It is a way of saying that yes, all three of those aspects are present, in full, to the fullest you can develop them. Any of them on their own would be a bond worthy of celebrating. But a bond between t'hy'la is, to quote the Edicts, deeper than the universe, more multifaceted than the sands of Vulcan, and more enduring than the most fundamental of elementary particles. It evolves and shifts with circumstance and its strength is never muted. So, yes, I believe my meaning reflects yours in all its implications and depth when I say that I love you." Spock rested his forehead on Kirk's. "I love you, James Kirk. I will always love you. And you will always be my most precious friend." He paused. "You're crying again."

"Of course I'm crying! What happened to you?"

"This is a very serious declaration."

Kirk blinked and stared back. Spock kept a very serious expression, then, slowly, began to crack. Spock was laughing. Spock was grinning without restraint, like the most precious and hidden star, and he was laughing. Kirk grinned and unwound his fingers from Spock's, stepped closer so they were pressed together and ran his fingers up the back of Spock's neck. Spock gasped—honest-to-God gasped—and that reaction went straight to Kirk's groin as he ran his fingers up Spock's hair. It felt like silk. He brought his other hand up and ran his fingertips down Spock's cheek.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Spock leaned into his hand. "We have been kissing."

"Oh, no." Kirk shook his head firmly, even though the truth of that statement hit him in a very giddy way. "Not in the human way, it's not. This is all very lovely but it's just—"

"—foreplay, I know." Kirk paused and blinked, a little taken aback. "I have studied the ways humans show physical affection." Spock blushed at that, green rising to his high cheekbones, and Kirk realized that he was physically-thirty-something-mentally-a-hundred-something years old and might actually go off just from touching somebody above the waist.

"Yeah, well…" Kirk swallowed. "I did a little of my own research. You know. I mean, we had to learn anatomy for lots of different races, back at the academy. Basic biology, you know."

He realized how Spock might take that, just as he looked up, and indeed, Spock was arching his eyebrow. Kirk huffed out his nose.

"Not like… well, okay, yes, like that. But it's not like I was with any Vulcans, in the flesh. I had to do all that research the academic way."

"I am half-Vulcan."

"Yeah, and I didn't exactly find a lot of information on that, considering…" Kirk realized he had admitted to looking up Spock's possible anatomy after they had met, while he was his commanding officer, and the blood drained out of his face. He forced himself to look up at Spock. He did not look disgusted, anyway. But there was that eyebrow again.

"Well," said Kirk. "Medical considerations. You know. Considering how often we got ourselves into scrapes."

He did not for a second expect Spock to believe that. Kirk arched his eyebrow back when Spock did not even dignify that with a response.

"I'm sure you did plenty of your own research, yourself, mister."

"Full humanoids are extremely common. They were the majority of those with whom I served. Of course I learned human biology. Much as I learned prokaryotic biology or lithic biology."

"All very professional and scientific then, was it?"

"I did just admit to you that I studied the biology of humans also with an eye to less-than-professional aspects. And…" Spock looked away. "…I am phenotypically heavily Vulcan. The Vulcan traits tend to dominate over the human."

"Tend to."

"I would say it is a definite bias in that direction, yes."

Spock stared into the middle distance for a while. Kirk finally patted his hands, trying not to puzzle out 'tend to', not right now.

"Spock, look. I can tell you're really uncomfortable." Kirk gave him his most winsome smile. "We do not have to talk about anything you're uncomfortable with."

"My discomfort stems from the fact that this is new territory, for me. It is not that I wish to retreat."

"New territory?" Kirk thought about that for a moment and blinked. "Spock. You're not a virgin."

"This is true."

He did not volunteer further information, and they were silent for a while. Kirk cleared his throat quietly. This, then, was the point that would have to be addressed.

"Is it because I'm a man?"

"Your sex has nothing to do with my apprehensions. It is not a foreign idea to me. In the militant pre-Reform era relationships between men much like those in your Roman and Greek antiquity were encouraged and it was something we encountered in literature quite often. Your story of Alexander and Hephaestion is very much like one of our most famous Vulcan epics."

Kirk felt his professor from his 'history and sociology of military interpersonal dynamics' seminar breathing down his neck—homosexuality as we conceive of it was not the way these men understood themselves, many of these were romantic friendships—but the conversation was already veering far away from the direction he wanted things to go. As much as he loved debating history with Spock this was not the damn time for that.

"Right," said Kirk. "The T'hy'la bond. Of course."

"However," Spock continued, "all the times I was… engaged in intercourse, there was some extenuating circumstance influencing my behavior. Either a form of mind control, or some chemical aphrodisiac. I've never… voluntarily…"

He was clutching his opposite elbow and looking aside, into the distance. The green flush was coming back.

"…ah." Kirk nodded. "I see."

"It is a loss of inhibition. I realize that is romanticized as uncovering some 'true' self in much Terran literature, but our inhibitions and self-control are also a part of who we are."

Spock was silent for a long time. Kirk sighed and rubbed Spock's upper arms, and Spock stiffened—Kirk felt a sharp pain in his stomach—but then relaxed.

"It's all right to be scared. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable doing. Not now, not ever."

Spock looked him in the eyes and nodded. Kirk smiled and rested his head on his shoulder. There was something endearing about Spock, this tall, lanky, very masculine-looking creature, acting shy, but that was also probably high on the list of things Kirk should not say right now.

"You associate sex with being out of control and doing things you didn't volunteer to do. That's going to take some time to get over."

"I do want to get over it. Very much."

"Oh?"

"The reason is directly in front of me."

"Spock, even if nothing physical ever came of this, the depth of my feelings for you would not change. Don't force yourself to do something you're not comfortable with. Physicality is incidental to… this. Whatever it is we have. I know the Vulcan way is different."

"Not as different as you may think."

Spock did not elaborate on this. Kirk firmed his lips and breathed through his nose, fought the urge to sigh. Then, there was the other issue that needed to be addressed.

"Does it bother you that I was… intimate with people before you? Voluntarily?"

"You are a sensualist with a great deal of affection for everybody. It is part of who you are."

"That is not an answer."

"It does not bother me, no."

"I've been in love before, Spock. Real love. You know that. My feelings for you do not diminish those feelings. Are you okay with that?"

Spock hesitated, just a fraction of a second. Kirk flattered himself to think he would have noticed if he had not felt the prickling through the bond.

"I do not consider your prior relationships to be grounds for disqualification."

"…right." Kirk was tempted to say more, but he got the strong feeling Spock did not want to talk about it, and to be honest, he did not either. The heat had gone out of the room, a little. He needed to get Spock to stop talking and stop thinking and start doing, or they'd be here talking and thinking all night.

"We're always going to be a little bit alone, and that's okay. We're together in that."

Idiot, he thought at Spock looked at him sidelong. Where on earth did that come from? But it had felt like the right thing to say—the only thing—and his intuition for what would be best to say was heightened, through the bond. Spock was turning his body to face him, and Kirk felt his attention narrowing. He placed his hands on either side of Kirk's legs and leaned over him, caging him between his arms.

Kirk swallowed. Spock's nose hovered close to his, and Spock tilted his head, slightly. Kirk tilted his head to fit his, and Spock exhaled against his lips. Breathed in. Exhaled, a feather-breath. Kirk realized he was clenching the duvet so tightly his arms were shaking. His own heart was pounding. There was another flutter against the inside of his ribcage, in his side. It was so faint. But he focused on it, and it grew, and he felt nauseated and light-headed. Terrified.

No, Spock was terrified. It was bleeding into his own guts and limbs, freezing him.

"We will always be a little bit alone. That is true." The flutter in his side jumped, and Kirk feared Spock's heart was going to seize. He wanted to comfort Spock, tell him to calm down, but his own limbs were frozen in sympathetic tension as Spock steeled himself.

Spock stepped off the edge, and Kirk's stomach dropped out with his. An infinite moment, and he fell giddy, head-first, toward the earth, toward the gravity well. Then the stars swung, hard, as the suspension snapped, and the moment collapsed into reality, and the starry sky was blotted out with artificial light.

"I am tired of being completely alone."

But there aren't any ghosts, not really. Somebody dies and they are gone.

Maybe that was the only kindness Trelane showed them when they had to re-live their own lives. A cruelty to Kirk, certainly, to have to see all of this, but the first time around nobody had been there when Spock had crumpled. (What, did you doubt for a moment Spock would find the strength to keep moving forward even if Kirk was not there?) No consciousness, no ghost, nothing in the universe was there to care for him. There's that person inside your head, and you imagine what they would say, what they would do—what they would want, if they could know, and they would want you to do just that, imagine them and so keep them existing and influencing the world of the living—and that is all you have left. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, a brain is just circuits and circuits will rust.

Or, is it really that simple?

There are some things even a Q cannot tell you, gentle reader. There are things beyond even our ken.