A kind reader pointed out a discrepancy here, in that I mention Spock's heart rate being low, which I state due to McCoy's saying "Well, your Vulcan metabolism is so low it can hardly be measured" in the episode in question (since metabolism is usually correlative to heart rate).

However, that's directly contradicted in another TOS episode, so who knows what was really intended as canon. Hopefully it won't take away from the story too much. Thanks for reading!


The chronometer has just turned to 2300 hours when his door chimes in a request for entry.

The sound is typically quiet and almost soothing in its rhythmic clarity; but this particular evening, it only serves to startle him quite abruptly from an exceedingly unsuccessful attempt at light meditation at his desk, while reports are being correlated by the computer into a condensed file for Starfleet Command. The last to arrive had been McCoy's final medical report, less than thirty minutes ago, bearing the additional news that Kirk's late wife on the planet had been approximately six weeks into gestation.

It is just another burden for the human to bear, one more tragedy in a long line of such, and in this case, all because it had taken so long to return to what they are calling the Preservers' Planet.

The door chimes again, and for one single, solitary instant, Spock permits the feeling of frustration to be felt, categorized, and summarily dismissed. He then reaches over to return the computer from energy saving mode back to its correlation task, while simultaneously calling for the being standing in the corridor to enter.

He is expecting McCoy, as the man has been strangely attentive the last few days and entirely too interested in Spock's general health and well-being; he is not, however, expecting for his near-midnight visitor to be James Kirk, particularly after the day the man has had.

"Captain. I had presumed Doctor McCoy would require your overnight presence in Sickbay."

"Oh, he tried," Kirk agrees, tone carefully neutral. "But I am actually in pretty good health, all things considered. I suppose a simple lifestyle agrees with me, when I'm not aware of what I am missing."

"That would seem to be a logical conclusion."

He cannot at this time decipher if Kirk's words have any particular emotional subtext, as it is difficult enough to parse human subtleties when functioning at full capacity. And right now, Spock is not anything close to full capacity.

"May I impose on you for a few minutes, Mr. Spock?" The question is calm enough, although the careful way Kirk's eyes are scrutinizing him is slightly disconcerting.

"Of course, sir." Spock indicates the chair opposite the desk, and only then does he realize that he did not stand upon the man's entrance to the cabin. Lethargy apparently has made the decision for him, without intention; he can only hope the anomaly has gone unnoticed or unremarked. "What do you wish to discuss?"

Kirk settles in the chair, but does not lean back or relax, merely perches on the edge. "It is more of a request, than a discussion," he replies, slightly hesitant.

Spock raises an eyebrow in unspoken question.

"On the planet, you restored my memory."

An almost physical chill of regret makes itself quite known. "I did. Against your consent, at the time." Kirk's eyes flick up from the desk to meet his questioningly. "It is an unacceptable breach of privacy, and I will accept any censure you deem necessary."

"Any cen – no, Spock, no, that's…that's not it." The captain leans forward, one hand on the desk. "Well, that is part of it, but not to the extent you're clearly thinking. I gave you blanket permission that very first time, Spock, if the ship was in danger. And she was, along with the whole planet. You did nothing wrong."

"You were clearly not in the same frame of mind as when that blanket permission was given, however; that by definition means you were not able to properly give consent."

"Spock, I promise. Of all people, I would trust you to make the right decision if I couldn't. I hadn't given it another thought, really." The man shifts slightly in his chair, and rubs the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. "At least, not in that respect."

His eyebrow inclines further, still unconvinced. "In what respect, then?"

"I came here to ask if you'd mind doing it again, right now," Kirk says quietly.

Reflexes dulled by exhaustion, it takes a moment for the words to register. Kirk seems to see that as a bad sign, as he hurries onward, gesticulating in a quick, abrupt movement of urgency.

"I am aware it's an extremely private act, and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"May I ask the reason?" he requests carefully.

Jim sighs, eyes back on the desk, and finally slumps back in the chair. "It was painful, Spock," he finally says bluntly. "I was fighting it, which I assume was part of the reason."

"You were, and it was." His tone betrays none of the regret he feels, even hours after the fact, over his actions, necessary though they had been.

Kirk's mind has always been alluringly dynamic, a truly unique place of chaotic organization, discordant musicality, unpredictable steadfastness – a study in contradiction, but with an overarching intelligence and creativity Spock has never encountered before in quite this manner. Their mental compatibility is so exceedingly high as to be unheard-of, and this fact is something he dares not put more words to, as it is highly dangerous to the Vulcan Way.

But never before had Spock felt such ferocious, almost dangerous self-defensive measures as when he tried to reverse the memory wipe the obelisk had caused. It had been both physically and mentally painful, and were they not so attuned normally, it could have been no less than disastrous for both.

"I thought as much." Kirk glances back up at him. "And I don't want my last memory of a mind fusion with you to be…unpleasant. I can see it being a problem down the road, if it were to become necessary again."

That is quite logical, if unexpected and indeed unwelcome at this particular time. Spock has not yet regained his own sense of self, his mental controls having eroded far too much to recover in the few hours since they left the planet. What energy he has, should be devoted to that cause, not to a non-essential one.

However, Kirk's point is valid; and besides this, it is the least he owes the man, after blurring the lines of consent so severely today on top of their lengthy return. In that sense, perhaps it is indeed essential.

"Your request is logical," he replies, and sees Kirk's expression relax slightly. "Are you prepared at this time?"

"As I'll ever be, I think." Kirk glances from him to the small sitting area across the cabin, warmly lit by rosy light cast on low but soft furniture. "Could we move, though?"

Spock should have already suggested this, and so certainly does not deny the man. Kirk gets up to make himself more comfortable on the small sofa, while Spock hastily types a few additional commands and shuts down the computer. He will not be able to properly scan the reports for errors until tomorrow, at the earliest.

He settles in place beside the human, already doing his best to shore up dangerously low mental shields. There is no inherent danger in performing a mind-fusion in this condition, as Jim's mind has never been anything but welcoming when he is in full possession of his faculties; but it will still be taxing, even draining, in Spock's weakened state.

For the first time, it is not something which he anticipates as a pleasant experience, but rather a necessity of duty.

"Do you need me to do anything to prepare?"

"Negative. However, it would assist if you were to keep your mind away from the events of today as much as is possible, during the initial contact. The sensory association will likely be strong."

"Understood." Kirk turns his head slightly, as if to offer better access, and offers him a slightly rueful smile of what is likely supposed to be encouragement but in reality looks more like apprehension.

Spock exhales deliberately, slowly. Gathering his thoughts for the process, and finally moving his fingers into position – only to have his wrist caught suddenly in a firm grip before the connection can be made.

"Captain?"

Jim's eyes are soft, warm with concern. "Spock, your hand is shaking."

This is apparently an accurate assessment, despite the fact he was unaware of it until now. However, given that Doctor McCoy has already called attention to his lowered circulation and metabolic rate, it is not inconceivable that his extremities are feeling the effects first. Perhaps a further review of the symptoms is in order…

"Spock. Spock, you're scaring me, can you look at me?"

As if coming back to himself after a long period of meditation, he blinks, and the world rights itself once more, slightly hazy but much improved.

A quick, shaky exhale opposite. "There you are." The hand on his wrist tightens rather than loosening, slides slightly to the radial pulse point before moving back to his sleeve. "I know your resting heart rate is far lower than a human's, but this is very low, even for you. What's going on?"

"I am perhaps functioning sub-optimally," he admits, because there is no logical point in denying a fact.

What sounds like a strangled sob of laughter. "I would agree with that understatement. When was the last time you slept, Commander?"

"Forty-six-point-three hours prior to your accident on the Preservers' Planet."

"Today, you mean?" Kirk's eyes suddenly widen, and his hand tightens almost painfully. "Wait, you don't mean prior to the first landing party? Spock, that was two months ago!"

"I have already advised Doctor McCoy that I do not require a human opinion on my daily habits, Captain. That includes yours."

"You may not require it, but you're going to get it, mister. I thought McCoy meant you'd been typically uncooperative, not that you were suffering from the effects of non-stop stress and sleep deprivation, and no one even bothered to say anything for eight weeks!"

He blinks slowly, processing this. "I do not understand your anger, Captain. The blame for the extended time lapse certainly lies with me; it therefore follows that any consequences should as well."

"What?" Kirk's free hand comes up hesitantly to rest on his shoulder, a comforting weight without distraction, and he shakes his head, sighing. "Oh, Spock. I read the reports."

"Then you agree."

"No! No, I do not agree," Kirk almost snaps, quite vehemently. "You made the exact same decisions I would have, and in the order I would have. I would tell you if I thought you were wrong," he adds, clearly seeing and correctly interpreting Spock's skepticism. "The fact is, you made the best command decisions you could with the knowledge at hand. Failure does not always indicate that the action was incorrect, Spock."

"If you indeed read the reports, I believe you will find that Chief Engineer Scott does not share that opinion."

"I did read them, and I went to clarify some things with him as well. He agrees with me, you made a command decision and there was no better one to be made. We humans call it taking the least bad option."

"That is not what he said at the time."

"I'm well aware, and for what it's worth, so is he, I think. But you can talk to him tomorrow. Tonight, I think you'd do well to get some genuine human sleep."

"I do not believe that is possible at this time."

"Why is that?"

"My mind is…unfocused." He shakes his head. "I was unable to meditate prior to your entry, and I do not anticipate that mental state changing."

"Hm." Kirk releases his shoulder and sits back against the couch cushions with a thoughtful huff, but for some reason keeps a hand on Spock's wrist. It is not entirely unwelcome, and Spock soon adopts a similar such position, as it would be an uncomfortable angle otherwise. If the captain's grip shifts fractionally back to slight skin contact, well. At the least, this human's thoughts have never been intrusive or offensive.

"I suppose it's not surprising, if you've been in a constant state of stress for two months like McCoy says. He seems to think you've been laboring under the human emotion of guilt."

Spock closes his eyes briefly, trying to gather the flickering shreds of his mental controls in the face of a wave of unexpected weariness. "Doctor McCoy's belated concern for my welfare has been made quite clear, Captain."

A faint snort, and Spock senses amusement for a brief instant. "That's some very Vulcan shade you're throwing, Mr. Spock."

He is entirely too exhausted to pretend ignorance of the idiom, but the captain does not seem to expect an answer.

"And you dodged the question very neatly," Kirk says, after a moment of almost hypnotic quiet.

"I did not hear a question."

Affection, tinged with regret, flickers through his consciousness. "I don't need a mind-meld to know McCoy's right, Spock. Guilt is a part of making any command decision. Human or otherwise."

"So it would seem." Weariness presses upon him, and he is uncertain now if it is all his own. "I would welcome a more in-depth review of the matter tomorrow at your convenience."

"I think that can be managed," is the gentle reply, almost inaudible in the stillness of the room. "I've missed our breakfast briefings."

"Indeed."

A brief flash of fondness, and then only a sense of peace remains.

This is followed by a very obvious fleeting image of a bed with truly ridiculously large pillows.

"I would suggest more subtlety in your imagery to increase effectiveness, Jim."

"Mr. Spock, I am sure I have no idea what you're talking about. Lights, five percent."