Archive of Our Own ^beta

Red does not elicit a warning on Vulcan. It is not the color of crisis.

The winds come and sands drift in shades of maroon, scarlet, and rust. Ochre leaves flutter on spindly, low branches. Buildings thousands of years old, erected from blocks of the desert, encircle plazas and crawl up the mountains, flecked with shimmering garnet sand. Tips of volcanoes reach toward the reddened sky, their threat dormant, molten lava hidden below a mantle so thick the ground rarely shakes. He sprinkles yon-bar-kas in a bubbling pot and his fingers stain mahogany. Yon-savas, fire fruit, is a brush of sweetness on his tongue, not flames. He walks in his mother’s garden and cups a ruby bloom in his hands, the scent awash with warm memories, good memories.

It is the spikes of green that catch against his skin if he’s not careful enough. His blood beads on his fingertips. There is so little green on Vulcan that if there was a color of warning, it would be that. It has been a long time since he stepped foot on Vulcan, though.

Before the Enterprise, red was the color of home.

Since the Enterprise…

Spock downs the attacker with a phaser blast to the chest then takes off at a dead sprint, heart hammering against his ribs. Blood pools on the cracked soil, soaking the ground, but it’s not green. He has his communicator in hand and open before he’s dropped to his knees.

“Enterprise, two to beam up. Send us directly to sickbay. The captain is injured.”

The acknowledgment comes through static - transporter unavailable - delay inevitable with the electrical storm crackling above their heads.

Spock drops the communicator to the ground, leaving the channel open, and swipes off his tunic. Later, he will think about contamination, pathogens, or infection. Later, he will think about transference and shields.

For now, he presses his science blues into the gash across Kirk’s neck, straddling the line between compression and suffocation. It is unclear whether favoring one over the other would have a more favorable outcome. If the attacker’s blade hit the captain’s carotid artery or jugular vein, Kirk has minutes - perhaps seconds.

“Enterprise, we need an extraction now.”

The communicator pops, crackles, hisses.

Kirk’s eyes widen, tears slip free. His mouth opens, but a gurgle emanates instead - a line of blood trickling from his lips to join the tears in the dirt.

“Do not try to speak. Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Remain focused on me, Jim.”

Blood soaks through the tunic. Kirk’s fear rolls through him, Kirk’s urgency. There is something Kirk wants to say and Spock cannot separate it from his own disjointed thoughts. Crimson seeps through Spock’s fingers.

Before the Enterprise, red was the color of home. Since the Enterprise, red is a color of warning, crisis.

Red is the color of death.

***

The surgery doors close behind Dr. McCoy and Spock is left with a bloody tunic in his hands.

“Commander, you can get rid of that over here,” a voice says.

Spock restrains a flinch. He is not prepared to face anyone, but he must. He is the acting captain.

He inclines a brow and looks at Scott. “Who has the conn?”

“Sulu. We pulled out of orbit the second we had the landing party back on board.” Scott grimaces, his guilt infusing the sterilized air of sickbay. It slithers inside Spock’s tattered shields. “Commander, if I had been in the transporter room instead of on the bridge…“

“Regret is illogical, Lieutenant, as the past cannot be changed.”

“But the captain… Commander, if he -”

The red of Scott’s uniform elicits an autonomic reaction that Spock cannot suppress. His hands clench in his tunic.

“We will not speculate on events that may not come to pass. Return to the bridge and communicate to Starfleet command that planet XT75 is to be approached with extreme caution until the level of hostility can be further evaluated.”

Scott “wears his damn emotions on his sleeve” - as McCoy likes to say. They are, Spock notes, reflected in his facial features and, most notably, his posture as well. Scott slumps even more as he nods.

“Aye, sir.”

The plasteel swishes shut behind Scott, and Spock stands alone in sickbay, all active duty staff cloistered behind the surgery doors, attempting to save their captain’s life - Jim.

Spock deposits the blood-stained tunic in the hazardous disposal receptacle then retrieves a standard-issue black t-shirt from sickbay’s supplies. He does not wash the blood from his hands. Not yet.

He waits.

***

“It’s going to be touch-and-go for a while.”

At the sound of McCoy’s voice, Spock immediately stands to vacate McCoy’s chair.

At some point during the surgery, Spock relocated into McCoy’s office so he could finalize his reports to command. He should be concerned that he does not precisely remember when that happened, but he - as Jim would say - has other things on his mind.

He moves now, ceding the desk chair back to the doctor, and McCoy simply waves a hand at Spock in refusal. McCoy drops into the chair across his desk instead.

McCoy’s words filter through Spock’s splintered awareness then. He does not bother to point out how imprecise that phrase is - touch-and-go; he does not need to. Ship’s gravity appears to be affecting McCoy’s features with an inordinate force.

“What are the calculations for survival, Doctor?”

“If it was anyone else, I’d say they were minimal. A miracle, really. But this is Jim we’re talking about.”

Yes, it is. And the two of them, more than anyone else on this ship, know how much the intangibles drive their captain. Someday death will be inescapable, but if Jim has any awareness of his situation, then today will not be that day.

Spock studies his hands, cleansed of blood. The ship is continuing on. He is continuing on. He must. It appears it will be an indeterminate time before they know more about the captain’s condition, and, “There are duties I must attend to, Doctor.”

He doesn’t stand.

“There are,” McCoy says carefully. “But I haven’t checked you out yet.”

“I was unharmed.”

“Physically, yes.”

It isn’t a question. Spock hears it nonetheless.

“There was something he was trying to tell me,” Spock admits. “There was…transference when I staunched the wound, but I could not separate his intent from my own. If…”

He allows that sentence to drift off, regardless that he chastised Scott for the same thing. Regardless that McCoy will infer his meaning correctly.

“Look,” McCoy says. He digs his knuckles into his eyes before he levels a tired gaze on Spock and begins speaking again. “The next few hours are going to be the most critical. Go sit with him. Talk to him. I think you being there could make a difference.”

“That is illogical.”

“Yes, Spock, it is. Get in there. I’ll keep ‘Fleet command off your back until we know more either way.”

“Very well.” He makes it out of the office before he’s turning around. “Thank you, Doctor.”

McCoy grimaces. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Spock cannot suppress the shiver that ripples down his spine.

***

The lights in the recovery suite have been dimmed to a pale yellow.

Spock steps into the room with his shields cracked, his fingernails digging into his palms. His controls falter, flicker, threaten to fail.

Jim lies unnaturally still in the biobed - the monitor blinking above him, oxygen hissing into his lungs, and a red cover draped over him. The shade matches the fused wound that skips from the left side of Jim’s collarbone to his neck to below his right ear. Spock flinches.

The doctor’s recommendation was clear: Sit with him. Talk to him.

If he is to speak to Jim now, his words will come from a place of raw emotion - confusion, fear, and regret.

If he is to sit with Jim, he will not resist reaching out.

Spock settles himself into a meditation pose in the corner first.

***

“…I-Chaya survived and lived for many years after that.”

The monitor blinks, the oxygen hisses. Jim does not respond.

Spock sighs.

Two things became clear to him during his meditation time - first, Dr. McCoy’s words came from a place of Human entreaty. Therefore, speaking to Jim about lab experiments, ship status, or other formal topics was likely not his intention. Second, while Spock has come to understand his captain in ways other crew mates never will, there is much he and Jim have never spoken about. Therefore, in the absence of detailed guidance, Spock has opted to share stories from the time before he met Jim rather than reciting their shared history.

These are stories Spock would not speak aloud if Jim was awake, focused solely on him. Jim’s smile is too warm. His hazel eyes too aware. His acceptance too complete. Spock would reveal too much of himself in that unveiling, and yet…

And yet.

“What is it you wanted to say to me, Jim?”

His voice carries a hope that can only be expressed behind closed doors.

Spock leans forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. Jim has not moved. Spock doesn’t move either.

He syncs his breath to Jim’s. Slows his heartbeat. He falls into a light trance even as his gaze never leaves the biobed. He does not physically reach for Jim, but his mind does - the draw inescapable.

There are more stories he could tell, but Spock fixates on that which is unwritten.

He pushes on the ashen pallor of Jim’s mind, seeking hints of the vibrancy rooted at Jim’s core. He does not have permission to go deeper, circumstances do not warrant it, and he’s placed himself too far away for skin-to-skin contact - even if he could justify the necessity of such a connection. He will have to make do with this.

He presses incorporeal hands into the fog of Jim’s mind and pushes out warmth, awareness, acceptance. If Spock had something to say to Jim then it would be that. He is welcomed, understood. Spock would have Jim in no other way than that which he is.

In a story that has not been written, he would have it all.

Hours pass and Spock’s perception of the recovery room shifts, the trance slipping away. The monitor blinks, the oxygen hisses.

Spock stands and -

“Computer, adjust the light spectrum to that of Terran daylight.”

The pale yellow brightens to a blue-tinged white, the shift confirming Spock’s observation.

A flush has spread across Jim’s cheeks. One not of fever or pain. One that was not there when Spock first situated himself next to Jim’s bed.

He presses the comm.

“Doctor, I believe you may want to come in here.”

McCoy is through the door and at Jim’s bedside before Spock releases the button. His medical tricorder whirs, jaw set as his eyes bounce between the readings there and above the biobed. Sickbay staff hover outside the open door, waiting. McCoy’s shoulders move with a deep inhale and when he looks to Spock his eyes shine.

“Good work, Commander. I think we’ve passed through the worst of it.”

Spock grips his hands behind his back to conceal the tremor.

It is then that he realizes…

Red is also the color of life.

***

“So, here’s what we’re looking at…”

Spock stands in sickbay with his arms crossed, facing McCoy as the doctor activates a medical viewscreen. There is another set of eyes focused on the information filling the screen, but Spock cannot meet them yet.

“You got lucky, Jim,” McCoy says. “Again. Your vitals are steady and within a healthy range. The wounds are healed - no infection - and I can remove them before they scar if you want me to. I would have no qualms with releasing you for active duty tomorrow, except for…”

If circumstances were different, this is the point where their captain would be interjecting with a preemptive argument or, at the very least, a heaving sigh.

Kirk remains silent and McCoy switches the viewscreen to what looks like a map of blue lines. Spock suppresses a reflexive swallow.

“…the main nerve to your vocal cords was severed. I fixed what I could, but it’s going to take time to heal. And until then, you’re not going to have a voice.”

It’s been a day since Kirk woke up in sickbay. Three since Spock sat at his side. Spock has not visited in the intervening time, preferring to receive updates over the comm or on his padd as McCoy saw fit. He has spent all off-duty time of those intervening days in heavy meditation. He does not want to know if Kirk has questioned his absence. The lack of communication from his captain answers that for him.

Kirk has other things on his mind besides his first officer - as it should be.

Spock looks to Kirk then. He sits on the biobed, his head bowed, jaw clenched. His knuckles whiten as he grips the edge.

It is not like Spock to speak for someone else, however, his duties as first officer and acting captain require that he has a strong grasp of all situational information. And Jim’s - the captain’s - situation currently precludes him for speaking for himself.

“How long do you estimate the recovery period to be, Doctor?”

McCoy acknowledges Spock with a nod but returns his focus to the captain. “Well, here’s the part you’re not going to like, Jim. I can help it along, but nerves don’t regenerate like skin. It will be days to weeks before we have a solid hold on your prognosis. And until I have a better idea what we’re looking at, I need you to rest your voice. No whispers, no groans of frustration, no snickers. Absolutely no vocalizations for at least the first week. After that we’ll re-evaluate.”

Kirk opens his mouth. Shuts it abruptly.

Spock is at his side before the captain draws his next breath, a padd and stylus in hand. Kirk looks up at him then, hazel eyes too aware - snaring him - and Spock has to quash the racing of his heartbeat.

He thinks, What is it you wanted to say to me, Jim?

He says, “Until we can evaluate all options and determine the best course of action, I believe this method of communication will suffice, Captain.”

A grimace contorts Kirk’s features. He hunches over the padd and scrawls furiously. Spock watches the words pour from Kirk’s mind to his fingertips, a manifestation of his stream of consciousness.

Days to weeks? Bones. I’m fine, but how can I captain the ship without a voice? I could use a padd for any normal day, but if there’s an emergency? How can I possibly

Kirk inhales sharply. He erases every word and writes one sentence:

Will I get my voice back?

When Kirk turns the padd toward the doctor, McCoy shakes his head.

“I don’t know, Jim,” he says - his blunt honest just as much a tool as his tricorder. “As much as medicine has advanced in the last thousand years, nerves are still a tricky thing. Your best chance is following my orders to the letter.”

Kirk gnaws at his lip. A bead of blood rises to the surface.

Spock knows what he must do next.

***

Spock has shields and controls.

His shields operate much like the Enterprise’s deflectors, only on a telepathic level. A self-contained defensive barrier to bar his mind from other telepaths and to protect his mind from species with no psionic control. Like the Enterprise, his shields can be affected by both internal and external factors. Damage can be done, and it takes time to repair.

His controls do not have as apt a parallel. He feels - deeply - yet he chooses not to be ruled by emotion. The controls do not dam the flow, soothe the tumult of Human versus Vulcan, or smother an upswell. They are a series of prescribed steps, a ritual of acknowledgement and release, a constant battle. Unlike his shields, if his controls fail it is solely of his own doing.

Both must be in perfect alignment before he approaches the captain.

Spock does not rise from his mediation mat until he has released his own selfish desires and buttressed the strength of his shields. As first officer, the health and well-being of the captain is his responsibility. It is his duty to ensure Kirk returns to the bridge.

In deference to Kirk’s healing process, he sends a comm instead of entreating entrance at Kirk’s door.

If you remain awake and are not fatigued, it would be beneficial for us to consider options.

His padd chimes seconds later - Come on over

He enters Kirk’s quarters through the chess corridor instead of the main, gaze alighting on the game abandoned before their mission. His black pieces outnumber Kirk’s white pieces. He did not take that as a sign of Kirk’s imminent defeat then, and he still doesn’t now. He is gratified to find that his shields and controls remain in place despite the sight.

“Captain,” he says after he enters the living area through Kirk’s bathroom.

The corner of Kirk’s lips ticks up. He scrawls on the padd in his hands then turns it to face Spock. It says, quite simply, Mr. Spock.

He hears the greeting as surely as if the captain spoke it out loud. Warmth suffuses him. And while some Vulcans may consider that a failing, Spock does not. It is the trust and loyalty between them - their friendship - that Spock is relying upon to secure Kirk’s approval.

He extends a hand toward the chair across the desk from Kirk. “May I?”

Kirk nods.

Once he’s seated, he says, “Dr. McCoy notified me that he discussed vocal aids and accessibility options with you.”

The captain holds up a finger and stands. He heads toward the seating area, his brow furrows, then he swivels on his heel to enter his bedroom. Although the movement is accompanied with no sounds outside of Kirk’s footsteps, Spock has spent enough time in Kirk’s quarters to infer the inner monologue coursing through Kirk’s mind. Previous to the attack, Kirk would have narrated each step with half-formed thoughts, asides, and rhetorical questions.

The captain exits his sleeping area with a smile and triumphant flourish - padd in hand that he sets in front of Spock. It contains a file of each option McCoy presented to the captain. Spock scrolls through it, silently commending the doctor for his thoroughness.

There are the immediate needs - a fingerprint enabled chip to access systems activated via voice, upgrades to allow text entry instead of voice for communications and reports, daily visits to sickbay to stimulate nerve regeneration, the on-board speech therapist, a new replicator card programmed with the foods and beverages most conducive to comfort and healing.

Then there are the longer-term needs - the options to explore if it appears Kirk’s voice will not return. The Federation databank of signed languages. An exploratory nerve regeneration project in Kaasptad, Earth. A neurological implant to tie into the computer and replicate Kirk’s voice…

While the list continues, Spock’s ceases his perusal there.

He looks to his captain, noting the marked shift in demeanor from the sickbay to now. “The doctor has eased your concerns.”

Kirk nods as he writes - There are more workarounds than I anticipated

“I believe I have another that the doctor has not considered. One that would allow you to return to the bridge tomorrow at full capacity.”

A raised eyebrow connotes Kirk’s reply.

“A telepathic link between the two of us. In previous missions, you have heard me speak for those who do not communicate as we do. It would be similar to that but would not require ongoing physical contact and would not be as…extensive.” Kirk swallows then, the movement highlighting the raised red wound on his neck. Spock persists. “I assure you, it would be a shallow link - one that would preserve your privacy and mine - yet allow me to communicate for you when a padd is not sufficient. Or, perhaps, in lieu of the padd - if you do not wish to avail yourself of the device.”

Spock did not speculate on how Kirk would react to this offer, as to do so would have been illogical. However, he did anticipate a request for time to consider the option.

He was wrong.

The rushed script on the captain’s padd is definitive - Can we set it up now?

Spock folds his hands together carefully on his lap, considering.

Indeed, the trust and loyalty they have fostered on this ship has proven to allay Kirk’s potential concerns. Now that Kirk has agreed, however, Spock must set aside friendship. The question that has lingered in his consciousness since the attack - What is it you wanted to say to me, Jim? - is of no consequence at this juncture. The answer may come in time, or it may never come. Kaiidth.

Duty and responsibility must come first.

He re-centers his mind and inclines his head in acknowledgement. “That is acceptable, Captain.”

The smile on Kirk’s lips strengthens his resolve.

He will not fail his captain in this.

***

Spock has had ten hours, thirteen minutes, and twenty-six seconds to acclimate himself to Kirk’s presence in his mind. He has utilized every second.

His shields do not flex with the press of the captain’s mind to his. Kirk, however, has no shields. While Kirk isn’t always talking to him, his mind never quiets. It is emotion and color. Speed and abrupt turns. Dizzying. Kirk’s mind teases at the link as if it is a bond.

Spock withdrew from the captain’s quarters the first time Kirk pulled, controls faltering. He had to resist reaching back.

After ten hours, nine minutes and eleven seconds of meditation and ritual, he is prepared to take to the bridge at Kirk’s side as the captain’s voice and first officer - shields and controls firmly in place. While the link tugs at him like a bond, it is not so. Their link is limited and of necessity. It is not a choice Kirk would make absent his injury.

It is not intimate - not a choosing - and Spock must adhere to that fact.

All okay over there, Mr. Spock?

Spock looks to Kirk - his hand on the control for the turbolift, hazel eyes glinting with mirth. His lips haven’t moved yet Spock hears him clearly. Despite his unexpected response to the link, Spock cannot regret his decision - the captain of the Enterprise is returning to the bridge.

“Indeed, Captain.”

Everyone knows?

“Correct. I sent out a communication last night to the bridge team notifying them that until you fully recover, we are telepathically linked so I may serve as your voice.”

Spock has been informed that Chekov’s response to that missive was, “And that’s different how?” He has not shared that…quip with the captain and does not intend to.

Excellent, Mr. Spock. Thank you.

“Captain, please do ensure that if you have a communication solely for me that you address me first. I will voice all other commands in real time.”

I get the feeling this is going to take some practice. No time better than the present, though.

With that the turbolift doors slide open and Kirk steps onto the bridge. He is greeted by smiling faces, handshakes, and a cacophony of Human voices all speaking at once. Kirk flushes with the welcome, pink spreading across his cheeks and a lightness to his demeanor that has been absent since before the attack.

Spock steps out of the turbolift, at the ready to assist if the captain wishes to speak. However, Kirk does not convey his thoughts through words directed through the link; Spock receives faint impressions instead - warmth, comfort, gratitude. Perhaps humility and pride. It feels…bronzed? Golden. Spock does not understand.

The initial outpouring of welcome quiets and crew filter back to their stations. Kirk catches Spock’s eyes then and waves him in.

Spock steps forward, hands clasped behind his back, and begins to speak for Kirk. “Let’s get the awkwardness out of the way immediately. I know this is going to be an adjustment for all of us, so there are bound to be missteps. We will weather this together, as we have faced countless challenges before, and I’ll be back to nagging you myself before you know it.” Spock side-eyes his captain at the next sentence that comes through their link. Kirk raises an eyebrow - the hint of a smirk on his lips. Spock restrains a sigh. “Until then, enjoy the dulcet sounds of Mr. Spock’s voice.”

The bridge crew stands silent and still for a moment, then Chekov erupts into laughter and collapses against his console, shoulders shaking.

Sulu grins. “I wondered how we were going to tell when it was the captain speaking versus the commander. I’m not wondering anymore.”

Spock chooses to communicate with Kirk through the link. Dulcet sounds, Captain?

Well, Mr. Spock, it is true.

Spock has no professional response to that; therefore, he heads for the science station. “Gather yourself, Mr. Chekov. You are on the bridge of the flagship, not a schoolyard.”

“And there’s the commander,” Sulu says.

Spock chooses to ignore that, as well as Kirk’s silent laughter. The captain retakes his seat, and the business of the Enterprise settles in.

Throughout their shift, Kirk is approached with padds to sign and questions to answer. Spock relays Kirk’s orders and observations, the cadence and shape of words not his own becoming more familiar as the hours progress.

There are, indeed, missteps. An ensign who approaches Spock to deliver a message to the captain - as if Kirk cannot hear instead of speak. Two instances in which Spock begins to deliver an order only for Kirk to shut the thought down because he’s “spoken” before he intended. Once when Spock begins to speak only to realize the communication was meant solely for him. Kirk does not finish the sentence and a flush spreads up his neck. The link between them remains silent for a significant amount of time after that.

It is during that pause that McCoy calls the captain down to sickbay for his daily nerve stimulation treatment. The link pulses with relief and Spock is ashamed to find he feels the same.

He thinks, What is it you wanted to say to me, Jim?

He says, “Your orders, Captain?”

Kirk freezes mid-stride, hesitating before he looks to Spock. The slash across his throat moves with a deep swallow and the link feels red. The sensation swirls, fades, before Kirk responds.

Continue mapping of the XT-Omicron system. Notify me if there are any anomalies. You have the conn, Mr. Spock.

Spock relays the orders then slides in the center seat. He does not glance over his shoulder as the turbolift doors swish open then shut.

“Commander?”

Spock looks up to Uhura. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“I’ve been monitoring this subspace frequency for the last few hours. It doesn’t appear to be a communication - terrestrial or non-terrestrial - in nature. I thought someone on your team may be interested in studying it in case it has to do with the gravitational anomalies we’ve picked up in this sector.”

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention,” he says. “Please pass your findings on to the Alpha shift science team and send them to me as well.”

“Aye, sir.”

When she does not depart, Spock inclines an eyebrow. “Is there another matter you wish to discuss?”

“There is. Yes.” She does not physically lean in; however, the pitch and volume of her voice relay a similar intent for discretion. “It’s my understanding that Vulcan melds and mindlinks are private actions. Please know that I don’t bring this up to invade your privacy or the captain’s… But I can’t imagine what it’s like for you as a Vulcan to have a Human in your head. We are highly illogical beings.”

“Indeed, you are.”

Uhura smiles at that. “I just want you to know that if there are ever any Human tendencies or emotions that don’t make sense - now, with the captain, or at any time in our mission - I’m willing to confidentially help, sir. Translation is what I do.”

It is a kind offer; one that Spock is aware can be taken exactly as it’s given. Lieutenant Uhura, more than anyone else on this ship besides the captain, has endeavored to respect Spock’s culture and heritage. He trusts her.

He also cannot deny that the offer intrigues him. While the link is fainter due to distance, Kirk’s mind pulsates even now. As before, Kirk’s mind remains void of directly communicated words, yet…impressions of color cross their divide. It is wholly outside of Spock’s experience. Puzzling. Fascinating.

“May I query you now, Lieutenant?”

“Of course.”

“Do Humans experience emotions in a spectrum of colors?”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“I am unsure. That is for you to translate.”

The lieutenant taps her stylus against her lips as she considers that. “I haven’t thought of it that way before, but I suppose we do both, Commander. The symbolism of a color changes from culture to culture - and person to person - but it would be fair to say that Humans relate color to certain emotions. There’s a reason we have phrases like ‘green with envy’ or ‘seeing red.’”

The meaning of the first, although illogical, is simple enough to glean. The second, however… He has neither heard it nor thought of it since he resided in the House of Sarek. His mother, after all, was not one to avoid a fight - even with Sarek.

The remembrance stills him. “Red is a color of anger.”

“And many other emotions. Like I said, it varies from person to person and moment to moment. Other contextual clues come into play then - facial features, immediate circumstances, personal history, cultural influence… There is no one correct answer to what a color represents, but it is logical - in a Human way - within that framework.”

“Thank you for that insight.”

“You’re welcome.” Uhura smiles and begins to turn away then stops. “I never considered that Vulcans don’t contextualize emotions that way, sir.”

“We do not.”

“Then thank you for providing me with that insight.”

“You are welcome.”

Spock continues to ponder the thought and its implications as the shift continues, sacrificing an acceptable amount of his productivity to the task, yet reaching no viable conclusions. The link snaps taut before the bosun whistle sounds and Spock vacates the chair.

Kirk does not hesitate when he emerges through the turbolift doors. Spock stands at parade rest next to the center seat and meets his captain’s eyes.

“There have been no significant changes to course or mission since your departure, Captain.”

Kirk nods. He otherwise does not comment. Spock turns to retake his station.

Mr. Spock?

“Yes, Captain?”

If you don’t have other plans, could we rehash the day over dinner in my quarters? See if there are any adjustments we need to make?

It is, at first glance, a logical request. They have passed many evenings in Kirk’s quarters discussing the events of the day and strategizing.

Whether Kirk realizes it or not though, he tugs at the link as if attempting to draw Spock closer. It is clear to him that this is another aspect in which Humans and Vulcans differ - Kirk does not grasp the underlying…intimacy of his invitation. Spock suppresses the instinct to reach out to the link as if it were a fledgling bond then inhales a slow, steadying breath.

He glances over his shoulder to answer. “Very well, Captain.”

Kirk’s responding smile is warmth, awareness, acceptance.

Yes, a significant amount of meditation time will be required tonight. And yet, Spock still cannot regret his decision.

***

Are you okay, Spock?

Spock looks up at Kirk across the table. They finished their evening meal thirteen minutes ago and have since moved on to completing reports - both activities interspersed with conversation then moments of extended silence. Spock has found the quiet to be soothing.

“I am well, Captain.”

Are you sure about that? You seem much more…Vulcan than usual. Kirk’s gaze narrows, studying Spock. You’re not finding this link too invasive?

Invasive? No. Spock spent the hour previous to entering Kirk’s quarters in meditation, releasing the desire to deepen the link. To explore what else it could become. His shields and controls are now firmly place - perhaps strengthened to an acute degree.

As Kirk assessed, Spock grips tightly to Surakian teachings in the moment. As such, he does not wish for his need for protection and stability to undermine the necessity of the link. That would be illogical. If the captain believes the link is causing his first officer undue stress, then he will insist it be severed, regardless of the fact that would lead to Kirk being removed from the bridge for an unknown length of time.

The link must be maintained.

“On the contrary, Captain, our minds are highly compatible. Despite your lack of shields and emotional controls, the experience is not unpleasant.”

The furrow in Kirk’s brow tells Spock that answer has not allayed his concerns.

 I’d choose to focus on the latter rather than the former, but… What can I do to make it easier on you?

“I believe it is I who should be asking that question.”

Why?

“You are driven by emotion in a way that enhances your ability to command. In order to speak effectively for you, I must connect my perception of your emotions to your words.” In that, he believes he is failing. But that is not the critical point. “As you and I experience emotions in disparate ways, it is difficult for me to reconcile the two. Therefore, I must extrapolate based on the available information. It is my perception that I have angered you in some way and I wish to remedy that.”

Angered? Spock… Kirk slumps into his chair then digs his knuckles into his sockets. When he opens his eyes again his gaze is resolute, jaw tightened as if he’s holding himself back from speaking out loud. I’m not angry with you. Let’s get that out in the open first. I’m not doubting your perception either. Can you tell me what I did or thought to give that impression?

“Your thoughts are…red, Captain.”

Red? I don’t understand.

“I do not fully understand it either,” he admits. “It is not a color as much as a sensation or impression. Based on my personal experience and taking your cultural influence into account, the most likely conclusion was that you were angry about the link or at me.”

I am neither, Spock.

“Understood.”

So, my thoughts need to be less…red?

“No. Your thoughts are your own. It is my duty to learn how to translate them appropriately, Captain.”

Spock. Weariness pervades the link. You’re in my head. Call me Jim.

“I cannot, Captain. You asked what you could do to make the link easier on me and this is a boundary I must hold.”

Regret, hurt.

Spock feels both through the link before they are reflected in Kirk’s features. Spock mentally retreats. He is responsible for his own emotions; he cannot be responsible for those of the captain.

Kirk leans forward, hands clasped on the table, hazel eyes too aware. Please. Don’t pull away from me. I need you now more than ever.

The link pulses red. Spock still does not understand.

“If you will excuse me, Captain, I must meditate.”

He does not await permission.

Kirk is silent in movement and mind as Spock retreats physically as well.

***

That was not the correct choice.

Even before Dr. McCoy shows up at his door, Spock has concluded that leaving the captain’s quarters in the midst of an ongoing discussion was not the correct course of action. However, he sees no need to clarify that with the doctor.

“If it wasn’t for the Hippocratic oath, I would strangle you. You know that, right?”

Spock side eyes McCoy, hovering above him in front of Spock’s desk. “I fail to see how harming me would support the captain’s recovery.”

“It would make me feel better.”

Spock knows that, in fact, it would not. He chooses not to share that sentiment either. “Doctor. You have been in my quarters for two point three three minutes and have yet to make a salient point.”

“Joke’s on you, Spock. I avoid those points like they’re bathed in the Andorian flu.”

“I am quite aware.”

McCoy huffs then crosses his arms. “Fine. You want to have this out? You aren’t supporting the captain’s recovery.”

Spock has no rebuttal to that; therefore, he says nothing.

“Le-mataya got your tongue? Well then let me tell you something - I should be in bed. But no. I’m trading messages on my comm with Jim because he thinks his first officer is breaking up with him. Goddammit, Spock. I’m a doctor, not a relationship counselor!”

“While it is not your preferred beads and rattles, you are certified in therapeutic interventions for individuals.”

“Now you’re just being purposefully antagonistic,” McCoy growls. He plants his hands on the desk and leans in. “However you do or don’t want to label your relationship with Jim, there is one. And right now, that man is going through a personal crisis.”

“I am aware of that too.”

“Are you? Because all I see is a highly competent Starfleet officer, not Jim’s friend.” When Spock ventures a glance at the doctor, McCoy’s lips have lifted into a smirk. “My momma always said you catch more bees with honey than vinegar, and I got you with that one, huh? Maybe you’ll hear this then - Jim needs you. And the fact you don’t want to face is that both of you were traumatized and you need him too.”

“Vulcans do not require -“

“Yeah, yeah. Comfort, sleep, water, food… I get it. Whatever way you want to end that sentence, you’re right that Vulcans don’t require as much as Humans. But you’re the one who likes to remind me that your thick skull isn’t fully Vulcanoid.”

It is a point he must, reluctantly, concede.

However, “You do not understand, Doctor.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you do either. Because this is a hell of a time for your self-preservation instinct to finally kick in.”

Spock stills.

The doctor is correct.

Restraint is not his way when faced with a sentient being in need; self-protection and self-preservation negated in favor of sacrifice. So why has he chosen to prioritize both in this case?

The captain is not an unknown being on a planet Spock will never set foot on again. He is Spock’s friend. He is the companion to Spock’s katra, fused to the core of Spock’s existence. And yet, Spock has enforced a professional distance between them since the attack.

Why?

His emotional controls roil, and he sees…red. The answer lies in blood seeping through a tunic and trembling fingers as he stands next to a biobed. It is unheard words and unasked questions.

It is fear of a loss he would not survive.

“Look.” McCoy’s voice has softened. “Nothing will be irreparably broken if you save this for the morning. So take some time to overthink things tonight - it’s what you goddamn Vulcans do best. But I’m telling you right now - if you don’t show up for Jim tomorrow then he won’t make it to the end of the week with his sanity intact.”

Spock cannot meet his gaze.

“Well, then. Great talk. I’m off to do some light reading about dendrites, axons, and myelin sheaths because there’s no numbing agents on hand that won’t trigger an allergic reaction or impede progress. Sweet dreams to you too, Commander.”

Despite the doctor’s recommendation, Spock is on the move as soon as the plasteel swishes shut. Dendrites, axons, and myelin sheaths… The captain is in pain.

Red could be the color of pain.

He opens the induku wood box set back in his meditation area, extracts a canister, then heads for his computer terminal. His search yields positive results and his subsequent approval from the doctor comes suspiciously swift.

Spock’s mind reels.

He has erred and he must make things right.

Their aborted game remains unchanged as Spock crosses through the chess corridor. He knocks softly on the entrance to the captain’s bathroom, then clasps his hands behind his back, the canister smooth against his palm.

The captain’s arms are crossed when the door opens with a hiss. He’s shirtless, a towel draped around his neck as if Spock interrupted his evening routine. His gaze hardens. Their link is cold, ashen. Gray.

It is then that Spock realizes…

His error was greater than he conceived.

***

Hours ago, his captain’s mind never quieted - tugs of recognition, of warmth, dizzying speed, abrupt turns, emotion, color. Spock assumed an inability to shield and the innate disorder of a Human mind. He actively dismissed the idea of shared intimacy and choice.

The rigidness of his captain’s mind tells him he was wrong. His captain has shielded himself and withdrawn, made a different choice.

Spock aches for the disorder, the vibrancy - the life.

He begins, “It has come to my attention that I have acted out of duty and responsibility to Starfleet instead of duty and responsibility to you.”

Frost edges the link, crystallizing.

Bones got to you, huh?

“He…visited my quarters, yes. However, he is not the reason I am here.” Spock discreetly glances at the doors leading out to the main corridor. While this space is rarely utilized, thus their setup for games, the arrival of an engineer or ensign is not unprecedented. “May I enter?”

If the captain could sigh, Spock believes he would in the moment. Kirk retreats no farther than the sink and drops his gaze to the deck. The plasteel slides shut behind Spock.

“I was in the wrong to abandon our conversation today.”

Our conversation. Right.

Spock clarifies. “I was wrong to abandon you.”

Kirk does not ease. In fact, his fingertips dig into his biceps.

Spock sighs.

Yes, he fears the loss of Kirk, but it is not solely death that defines the end of life. He fears the loss of companionship just as much. Perhaps more.

When he sat next to that biobed in sickbay, he thought his captain’s smile too warm. His hazel eyes too aware. His acceptance too complete. Spock feared he would reveal too much of himself in an unveiling, and yet…

On the chessboard, in the corridor now, Kirk has attacked Spock’s knight. Spock is unable to move it at the risk of exposing his rook - a piece he cannot afford to lose if he is to win the game. He had not determined his next move before their mission, playing out various scenarios to their approximate outcomes: capture the attacker, attack it and force it to move, block it. Or, perhaps, move out of its way.

He is pinned, forced into action, yet not without options. He has a choice in this too and it is clear to him how he must move, what he must say.

He fears the loss of his companion more than the truth.

“Jim,” he says. It feels like a plea; it is a confession. Finally, hazel eyes meet his. “I could not care for you as you needed because I could not admit that I care about you.”

The link remains silent, but there’s an infinitesimal thawing.

Spock must continue.

“My mind has reacted to the link as if it were a bond, and it would be a lie if I said I did not desire that it was.” At that, his captain’s eyes narrow yet the grip on his arms eases - seemingly a contradiction. Absent cues from the link, Spock is unsure of Jim’s thoughts, but resolute in his own. “I place no expectations that the sentiment or intent is returned. However, I do care about you, therefore, it is anathema to both my Vulcan and Human natures not to care for you.”

In other words, your actions were illogical.

“That is correct. In attempting to deny my regard for you, I harmed you. I apologize that I did not identify my fault at an earlier time and caused you distress.”

Spock. I…

Jim slowly releases his hands from their grip, he rests against the sink basin. His gaze firmly meets Spock’s, yet the link remains quiet.

Spock waits. He will hold his silence for as long as it takes for Jim to order his thoughts. He owes his captain much more, but it is all he can give for now.

Then, I accept your apology.

Spock cannot suppress his exhale of relief. “Thank you, Jim. It would honor me if you would allow me to care for you.”

If I… Jim blinks, his jaw flexes. You’re going to have to explain that one.

“The doctor insinuated that you are in pain,” he says. He uncurls his fingers and holds up the canister. “This is a balm my mother formulated after a surgical procedure. While it does not impact Vulcan physiology as strongly, I have found it to be soothing after strenuous missions. She relayed to me that, for her, it had analgesic as well as desensitization properties. I cross-referenced your list of contraindications and there are no ingredients that would cause an anaphylactic response. The doctor has approved it as well and confirmed that it will not stunt the regrowth process.”

Jim raises one rounded eyebrow. As thorough as always, Science Officer.

Spock thinks, I did not wish to harm you again.

He inclines his head in acknowledgement instead.

It’s not so much the pain as it is this…itch. You’ve found it - the balm - soothing?

“I have.”

Then I’d like to try it.

Spock takes one tentative step forward. “Will you allow me to care for you, Jim?”

The link…softens at the same time as the set of Jim’s shoulders.

Yes. Of course I will, Spock.

Jim widens his stance as Spock steps up to him. Jim’s fingertips curl around the edge of the basin. It is unclear to Spock whether his captain is doing so out of respect for Spock’s physical boundaries or if he’s reinforcing a necessary distance. But…

“You are aware that in order for me to apply -“

Red flickers along this link, giving Spock pause, but Jim’s lips pull into a hint of a smile.

It’s okay. Go ahead.

Spock sets the canister on the counter. He slips the towel from Jim’s neck.

Jim’s psionic field exists as a whisper against Spock’s own every time they’re in close proximity, but it is the heat of Jim’s Human body that overwhelms Spock’s senses when they’re this close. In this moment, it is…a comfort. The heat of Jim’s body means he’s alive.

His gaze lingers on the reddened wounds - skin taut where it was fused, then raised, swollen, at the edges. Spock’s heartbeat quickens. His controls falter under the upheaval of what could have been as well as what came to pass. Sorrow and gratitude. Fear and relief. For a moment, his skin feels slick with blood.

He cannot fully contain the magnitude and understands that Jim has felt it too when his captain inhales shakily and pulls - drawing Spock closer despite his shields.

Spock reaches for the canister, opens it, the link tugging at him, guiding fingertips to skin, and there…

Warmth, awareness, acceptance.

Trust.

All seep through his psi-points as he smooths the balm over Jim’s skin.

The reality of his skin against Jim’s - of permission granted, welcome - should elicit a further loss of emotional control. It does when he reaches with desperation or want. But this is invited, necessary, and Jim is one of his controls - whether his captain realizes it or not. A foundation that, when the captain of the Enterprise is set in his actions, cannot be moved. His steadiness is one of Spock’s strongest controls.

Spock tethers himself to Jim’s strength and re-centers his mind with ease.

At Jim’s collarbone, he places gentle brushes that morph into sweeping circles when the tension vacates Jim’s body. Jim tips his head back, resting it against the mirror, exposing his neck and closing his eyes. An exhalation slips past his lips. Vulcan cold meets Human heat and Spock breathes with him, finding solace in the contact.

Jim does not release his shields and Spock does not press against them. His own flex and bend, wavering between a lifetime of self-protection and an ache to be fully seen and understood. It is a need he has suppressed for so long that he can easily slip it under his control, yet he doesn’t. There’s no need to deny it anymore.

Spock?

Jim’s eyes remain closed.

“Yes, Jim?”

What kind of a bond were you talking about?

“I leave that decision to you.” On this, Spock will not press. A bond must be chosen freely - or not. “I harbor no limitations and will respect the decision you make.”

Their link flickers with hesitation, then, No limitations?

“None.”

Thank you for your honesty.

“Thank you for allowing me to aid you.”

Of course. It feels better already, Spock.

“I am glad of it, Jim. Now, I will leave you to your rest.”

Jim’s eyes open slowly then. The awareness there steals Spock’s breath.

Spock lingers, stills, for a Human heartbeat, two, then surveys his work - skin reddened with the most recent press of his fingertips, yet fading to pink where the balm has begun to soothe. He steps back, reminding himself…

For some Humans, red is also the color of healing.

***

Spock is coaxed out of his meditative state by color.

It flashes by at dizzying speed, a whirlwind of impressions and sensations too disparate for Spock to identify or categorize. Gone is the chill and gray. Their link thrums with life.

His door chimes and Spock has no doubt who is on the other side.

“Enter.”

Jim bursts into the room. He whirls around searching Spock’s quarters, a wide smile gracing his features when he spots Spock in the meditation area. Spock does not hesitate to look, to meet Jim’s gaze and match his warmth through their link - there’s no need to deny anymore.

Up, up, Mr. Spock. We have a planet to investigate!

Ah, yes. That information provides much needed context for the speed and sensations of Jim’s thoughts - he is excited.

“Very well, Captain.” He rises from his mat. “If you will permit me approximately six minutes, I will be prepared to depart.”

Approximately? Jim’s smile widens even more. Someone’s in a good mood this morning.

“My meditation time was more than adequate.”

Yes. That one word comes through the link in a contented sigh. Hazel eyes hold his. I slept well too. Thank you for that.

It is not often that Spock is required to suppress his sympathetic nervous system - specifically the physical response Humans call “blushing” - although it is a more frequent occurrence in Jim’s presence. This moment is no exception.

Despite Spock’s success in doing so, the lines around Jim’s eyes deepen and his lips press together in restraint, as if he’s seen behind Spock’s shielding.

Six minutes, Mr. Spock. The clock is ticking. But don’t think that leeway means I’m not going to brief you while you’re getting ready.

“Very well, Captain.”

True to his word, Jim conveys the known details about the planet and their mission through the link while Spock proceeds through a shortened version of his morning routine. Without the link, it is likely Jim would have done so anyway - the sole difference that it would have been Jim’s voice radiating through the bathroom door instead of their link.

Regardless of how Jim speaks, Spock finds the familiarity comforting.

Five point two minutes later, they exit his quarters side-by-side, headed for the transporter. The captain is waylaid on occasion and Spock finds Jim’s words coming to him with ease. Inflection, tone, pauses, and turns of phrase all flow without hesitation, their communication in sync.

Spock utilizes the opportunities when Jim is quietly listening to their crew to study Jim’s movements and features, attempting to match color to emotion. He catalogs, deduces, and extrapolates. The spectrum is too wide and varied for any theory to hold validity for long, with the notable exception of one - golden is joy, pride. It is a case where Spock finds a Terran colloquialism - “ball of sunshine” - to be quite apt. Jim shines with it and Spock basks in it.

The sensation holds for twelve minutes and forty-two seconds, until the second the transporter room comes into view and Dr. McCoy is standing outside of it.

Jim’s emotions go gray - his shields go up.

“Could I have a word with you, Captain?” McCoy asks.

Jim tugs at the link and Spock awaits a verbal answer to convey, then McCoy waves the padd and stylus in his hand. Jim slumps.

Mr. Spock. Please go on ahead and prepare the science team. Beam down when you’re ready and I’ll meet up with you when we’re finished.

Spock resists the urge to incline an eyebrow or inquire for further clarification via the link. “Understood, Captain.”

McCoy catches his eyes as Spock begins to enter the room. “Don’t have too much fun down there, Commander.”

“I assure you I will not.”

“Yeah.” McCoy’s frown is point one centimeter deeper than usual. “That’s what I thought.”

Jim’s mind remains gray and cold and Spock steals one more glance at his captain before the plasteel swishes shut. He wants to study, deduce, and extrapolate, but his team is already gathered, calibrating their instruments and discussing their mission, so Spock attempts to place his focus on readying them.

The planet itself, uninhabited and unnamed outside of its alphanumeric designation in the quadrant, causes a ripple of disturbance across Spock’s controls when he materializes.

It is red.

The predominant color of the planet is not a surprise - or rather it should not have been. He reviewed the preliminary spectrographic data with a lieutenant mere minutes ago. However, at the time, he was focused almost solely on gray.

It is an inexcusable lapse, one that threatens his stability.

Red rocks crunch under his boot, a river steeped in iron flows in the distance. For a moment, Spock’s hands feel slick with blood.

He relays orders for his team to begin their work before he loses all control, then divides off in a separate direction. He did not lose his captain. Jim did not die. Their link is stretched thin, spread across such a vast distance that it transmits no hint of thought or emotion - but it’s there. Jim is alive.

Spock inhales deeply and attempts to release his fear.

The terrain here differs greatly from that of Vulcan, yet the palette is similar enough that, as he walks, he sinks into the first of his prescribed steps to regaining emotional control.

He draws upon peaceful memories of his home world - the rustle of ochre leaves, shimmering garnet sand, fire fruit on this tongue. Of being alone in the House of Sarek, free from all thoughts except his own. This leads him unerringly to a worn book of Surak’s teachings, of the peace he found in the philosopher’s words, his wisdom. He leans on that foundation now.

To focus on what could have been is illogical. Immaterial. It did not occur.

So why can’t he release it?

It is, perhaps, as Jim would say, Spock’s “pesky Human side” breaking through. It’s a thought worthy of consideration at a later time. For now, this foundation has held steady for him - his controls tamping down the fear. It exists yet it will not hold him captive. He can straighten his spine, look out over this unexplored world, and discover it.

Exactly fifteen minutes after beaming down, the link flickers then is snapped taut. Spock doesn’t venture any farther from his current place of study, the planet’s sun taking on a new warmth as the link strengthens, his captain drawing nearer.

Aware of Jim’s proximity in a new way, Spock is standing at parade rest when his captain steps out of the coniferous forest.

All okay, Mr. Spock?

It occurs to Spock then that Jim has asked that question of him three times since leaving sickbay. Spock has yet to ask it of Jim.

“I am well, Captain. And you?”

Yes, yes. Bones was just being a mother hen.

“If Dr. McCoy is acting like a Terran fowl, then he is compromised, and we will be in need of a new CMO.”

If he’s…? Jim grins as he shakes a finger at Spock. I’m onto you, Mr. Spock. The link told me so. You understand much more of our idioms, adages, colloquialisms, and metaphors than you admit.

Spock chooses to neither confirm nor deny that. “If you are amenable to it, I would welcome your company while I survey this meadow. I intend to go no further on this visit.”

Jim sets his hands on his hips. He surveys Spock with greater precision than a tricorder. You can tell that walk did me in.

Indeed. His captain’s heart rate is elevated, his respiration rate as well. There is a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

“As the doctor stated, full recovery will take time, Captain.”

 It annoys me when he’s right.

“I see no reason for him to become aware of that information.”

Up to now, Jim’s mind has remained…muted. No longer gray and cold, but not vibrant either. It shines a fraction brighter with Spock’s reply, shields lessening.

Spock considers the reasoning behind the cold and gray - and the brightening - for nine seconds then returns to his work. His controls are back in place and he cannot afford the loss of them. The captain’s safety is dependent on him.

His scans, and those of his team, confirm the lack of sentient beings on the planet. This world is in an evolutionary infancy, benign in a way that few unexplored worlds are. Spock casts a glance at his captain.

Jim has his hand stationed above his eyes, shielding them from the reddened light of the dwarf star this planet orbits. As with his shields, Jim’s heart rate has lessened, his respiration. The flush across his cheeks is one of excitement - setting eyes on a world no one has ever seen. It is an expression Spock knows well. He is happy.

Spock transmits warmth through their link and Jim looks to him, at him, and smiles.

Despite the link, there are unsaid words between them, a transference unacknowledged. A question Spock hasn’t asked - what is it you wanted to say to me, Jim?

Or, perhaps, he has.

What Spock would have said to him then was as simple as…

I need you, I desire you.

Don’t leave me…

And didn’t he state as much to Jim last night? Baring all and leaving Jim to answer as he would. It is an answer Spock will accept in pieces, in careful steps, just as readily as the whole. The vibrancy of life across their link, a shared morning routine, a smile. All are answers in and of themselves and Spock will accept them as they come.

He leaves Jim then, to undergo his own exploration.

Before long, Spock is focused entirely on the readouts from his tricorder and noting his observations, hours passing with intense study. The dwarf star reaches its zenith in the sky and Spock makes his way through the meadow, back toward the place he last sighted Jim. In the end, it is the link he must follow as he cannot visually locate his captain.

Jim is asleep in the grass.

Spock quietly seats himself at Jim’s side as not to awaken him then extracts his padd. He will utilize this time to compile his findings and review those of his team.

What is this stuff anyway?

Spock looks at Jim to find his eyes open. He was unaware Jim was awake. The link was so…serene. “To what do you refer, Captain?”

This… Jim reaches up and touches one of the tall red stalks next to him. His other hand he pillows under his head before hazel eyes are looking to Spock again. What is it?

“While its appearance differs, the chemical makeup is similar to that of Terran zea mays. The rugosa variety to be more exact.”

It tastes like…sweet corn?

“I believe so.” Spock inclines an eyebrow. “And no, you may not consume it until I have conducted further tests.”

Damn.

Spock glances down at his padd again, a flicker of a smile on his lips that Jim cannot see yet likely senses through the link.

This is a beautiful planet. Relaxing.

It was not before. With Jim at his side, another piece of his foundation set, it is peaceful now. He is peaceful now.

“Yes. It reminds me of Vulcan.”

I see it - the sky especially. How much longer do we have here? Don’t tell Bones, but I really could use a nap.

“We have one hour and seventeen minutes until we are to meet up with the team to beam back.” Spock ventures another look at his captain. “Until then, I will not be undertaking any further exploration. I have notes to consolidate and readings to verify.”

You’ll stay with me?

“I will.”

Jim smiles, his eyes close. His mind pulses an etheric red that matches the sky and, for this moment, Spock understands.

On this planet, as it is on Vulcan, red is a color of peace.

***

Captain, it is now one hour and twenty-three minutes past the end of Alpha shift, Spock sends through their link.

Jim doesn’t look up from the padd on his lap when he responds, I’m aware, Mr. Spock. But I only have…Jim glances over his shoulder. Weariness and defeat expand across the link when he sees that three more crew members have joined the line behind the captain’s chair. He refocuses on the padd with a mental huff. Where did they come from?

I suggest it is time for me to employ your ‘evil cop’ strategy, Captain.

The corner of Jim’s mouth lifts into a smirk. It’s ‘bad cop,’ and you are well aware of that. But yes. I don’t know how many more requests for additions to the replicator that I can take.

“Captain,” he says aloud. “I require your presence immediately for a previously scheduled engagement. The remainder of these requests must be delayed until Alpha shift tomorrow.” The captain looks to the crew member next to him and shrugs. When the line of ensigns and lieutenants doesn’t move, Spock raises an eyebrow and stares them down. “You are dismissed.”

The scattering happens so fast that the bridge is empty of all but Beta shift before Spock can inhale his next breath.

Effective, Jim says.

You are welcome, Jim.

Jim stretches after he steps out of the center seat, finally ceding it to Lieutenant Scott with a flourish of his hand. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder as he heads for the turbolift; he knows Spock will choose to follow.

I know you can obfuscate the truth when necessary, so do we really have a previously scheduled engagement?

Affirmative. I have arranged for dinner in your quarters.

With that, the weariness morphs into gold. Jim sets his hand on the turbolift controls and Spock calls out for Deck Six.

Best first officer in the universe. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

Hyperbolic and biased, however, Spock does not correct him. It is Jim’s trust that has allowed Spock to take on care like this for his captain since they departed from that unnamed red planet.

The Enterprise has been traveling through deep space for three standard days with another week to go. Theoretically, it is to be a period of respite for the captain of a ship - it is the theory Starfleet was operating under when they announced the change of orders, hoping that, given ten “free” days, Jim would rest and his voice would return in time for a diplomatic mission. However, in practice, during transit days the crew becomes occupied with the mundane and low priority tasks that are delayed during active missions. Tasks that, somehow, all end up needing the captain’s approval.

Jim is working nearly twice as much and on all of the ship’s business that saps his energy rather than builds it. He is not resting. Therefore, Spock is determined to alleviate as much of the burden as he can.

It is after Jim has showered and changed, after dinner, after Spock has eased the stack of padds out of Jim’s hands and replaced them with a hot cup of tea, that the creases disappear from between Jim’s brows. He leans back in his desk chair, cup cradled in his hands, and exhales heavily.

You know, we never finished our game.

The chess game abandoned when the Red Alert sent them beaming down to planet XT75. It is the first time Jim has mentioned it.

“Do you wish to continue it now?”

No. You’d have me in check in under eight moves. I simply hadn’t thought of it since...then.

Then.

It is just as imprecise as touch-and-go; Spock understands the intent nonetheless.

“We have not discussed the attack either,” he says.

The creases do not reappear between Jim’s brows, yet a…distance lapses across the link, a fading. Determination that shifts into gray.

Let’s finish that game, Spock.

“Very well, Jim.”

It is while sitting in front of the board in the chess corridor, opposite Jim, that Spock finally identifies what the color gray means to his captain. In retrospect, it is one Spock should have identified much earlier; perhaps when Lieutenant Uhura reminded him of the usage of color in Human phraseology.

Jim’s hazel eyes survey the board - black and white pieces and a mind shrouded in gray. Despite his mastery of the game, Jim does not see decisions as “black and white.” He does not accept the simplicity of that dichotomy. He views chess just as he views the world around him - in “shades of gray.”

Gray is intensity, focus. It is logical, therefore, that Jim shielding his mind would appear so.

As Spock catalogs Jim as readily as Jim does the board, it is unclear to him whether Jim is shielding his intentions in the game, his thoughts on the attack, or, perhaps, something else - unnamed.

Spock resumes their game by moving his pinned rook out of the way, as he had decided the night he made his confession to Jim. Jim’s gaze snaps up to him, surprised.

That is not what I expected you to do.

Spock allows the faintest smile to slip, one that Jim that will read in his eyes. “I suppose it is not.”

The gray deepens, but Spock is no longer confused.

They settle into the game, into quiet contemplation. Pieces are plucked off the board, positions attacked. Spock does not have Jim in check within eight moves. The shades of gray in Jim’s mind shift, muddle, lighten then darken again. Neither no longer has an advantage, yet they have not tipped into a draw.

The attack… Jim says then. The words feel quiet. May I ask you something about it?

“You may proceed.”

If you were afraid, it’s okay - I get it. If you weren’t… Jim looks across the board at him, hazel eyes too aware. Tell me how not to be afraid of losing you.

Spock is forced to restrain the racing of his heartbeat.

“I cannot, Jim, as I have not discovered a satisfactory solution.”

Jim exhales, the gray shifts.

That actually makes me feel better.

“Illogical.”

Yes. But it’s true. Jim sits back then, waves a hand over the board. I really do need to rest, and I believe it’s going to take more time to settle this.

Spock is not looking at the board when he answers. “I am yours when you desire that of me, Jim.”

Jim holds his gaze. The gray lessens and red pulses through.

Spock believes he may be beginning to understand.

***

How bad was it?

Spock looks up from his padd. From his usual chair next to Jim’s desk he can see Jim standing in his bathroom, shirtless, studying his reflection in the mirror. He has his chin tipped up, finger grazing the length of the wound that is solidifying into scar tissue.

Without further clarification, Spock is aware of what Jim is asking. His captain has been seeking out more information about the attack for the past two days.

Spock no longer attempts to “sugarcoat” his responses after another impromptu visit from Dr. McCoy advising Spock that their captain needed to hear the “unvarnished truth.”

“My hands were coated in your blood by the time we returned to the ship. Your heart had stopped.”

You watched me die.

“I did.”

Spock returns to the report on his padd, aware that - if the pattern of the last two days holds - Jim won’t make another query like this for a minimum of three hours.

As expected, out of the corner of his eye he sees Jim pull on his command gold, then, Ready to head on up? Scotty wants to meet with us briefly to talk about a modification to the transporter.

“I am, Captain. I already advised him to meet us in your ready room.”

Excellent, Mr. Spock. Thank you.

Then three point five hours later on the bridge...

Jim’s gaze is on the main viewscreen when he says, Spock, how tall was the assailant?

Spock chooses discretion, answering through their link. Two point seven meters.

You killed him?

Unclear.

As usual, his captain continues with their shift as if the conversation never happened. Jim’s reactions to Spock’s answers are just as unclear as the status of Jim’s assailant - his mind a wall of shifting grays since their chess game. Only the occasional hint of color breaks through. Jim is much more adept at shielding than Spock anticipated.

It is fascinating.

And confounding.

Spock has spent much of his meditation time over the last two days in contemplation of what he believed he saw in Jim - the possibility of a return of affections. Jim’s demeanor towards Spock has not altered in any way that Spock would quantify as of note. His smile is just as warm, his eyes still too aware, his acceptance never in question. Yet the shielding…

If his affections are returned, why does Jim consider it a necessity?

Perhaps his interpretation of the red pulse of Jim’s emotions is, quite simply, out of sync.

He sets that consideration aside for the remainder of the shift, understanding that all that will come of it is a wall of gray.

***

Jim does not ask Spock another question about the attack after three hours pass.

Beta shift arrives and Jim is at the turbolift, his back to Spock, when he says, Mr. Spock, I’ll catch up with you later.

It is a divergence from their routine, one that is decidedly of note. Spock finds he cannot adequately reply to the captain - verbally or mentally - so he does neither.

He visits the lab to track the progress of one of his ongoing experiments. He finalizes his first officer and science officer logs, signs off on requisitions for the next time the ships puts in at a starbase, and files his reports. He takes his dinner in his quarters, alone. The link remains silent and gray, but not cold.

Interpreting the meaning of that is well past Spock’s capacity in the moment.

It has been seven days since Dr. McCoy gave the captain the directive to rest his voice. One week for Jim to follow the doctor’s orders “to the letter.” To the extent of Spock’s knowledge, Jim has.

It is likely that the captain visited sickbay after their shift. The wavering of distance in the link tells Spock that he may still be there.

With his shields intact, his controls in place, and an evening devoid of Jim’s company, Spock is unsure of how best to utilize his time. There is a selection of unread technical journals on his padd from Lieutenant Scott, an unanswered communication from his mother, the lyre he has not picked up in eight days. He has the completely irrational thought that he wishes I-Chaya were still alive and onboard.

He removes his boots and sets them inside the closet. He changes into the black of his regulation sleepwear and crosses to his bed. Perhaps it has been too long since he slept instead of meditating.

He closes his eyes.

Spock? Are you there?

He blinks his eyes open, awareness coming back to him slowly. Jim?

There is hesitation, then, Did I wake you up?

Spock stretches his legs, bends stiffness from his fingers. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. I believe you did.

 I’m sorry. I know you don’t actually sleep often.

He’s surprised to find that four point four hours have passed. I had an adequate amount of rest. Are you well, Jim?

The link remains quiet.

Spock assesses the distance in their link to find that Jim is close, perhaps in his own quarters.

Why is it unclear if you killed the being who attacked me?

An exhalation much like a sigh passes Spock’s lips. He pushes up to station his back against the bulkhead and looks out into his darkened room. However, the interior of the Enterprise is not what he sees.

Lieutenant Sulu took the ship out of orbit as soon as the landing party had beamed up, and he did not verify casualties before departing. However, I do not believe that is the answer you are seeking.

It’s not.

A knife at Jim’s throat. The giant towering over him. Fear overtaking Spock’s controls.

I shot him with my phaser at center mass. He dropped, but not before you already had. After that, you were all I knew.

It’s disjointed, out of sequence. Imprecise. Spock knows Jim has understood when the link bleeds sorrow.

Come here, Spock.

He puts bare feet to the deck and follows the link. It tugs him across his quarters, into his bathroom, through the door -

Jim is sitting in front of the board in their chess corridor.

His captain picks up his knight and moves it to the second level. “I believe that move puts us at a draw.”

Spock snaps his eyes up to Jim’s.

Jim’s voice scratches, rasps. It’s thick with disuse. But it’s the same voice that calls to Spock from across the bridge, that challenges him over a chessboard, that commands a starship. It is the same voice that brings Spock comfort.

He is too overcome not to state the obvious.

“You can speak.”

Jim holds his forefinger and thumb up, separated by centimeters. “A little bit. It’s going to be rough for a while, but Bones lifted all my restrictions.”

“Jim.” His exasperation is barely contained. “Rest. We now know it will return, so there is no need to strain it further.”

“Oh, but there is, Spock.” Jim stands and the link pulls. Spock takes an instinctive step closer. “You didn’t hear what I was trying to tell you when we were down on that planet, did you?”

“No, Jim,” he says carefully. “I did not.”

“I wondered if you had, and you were angry with me when you didn’t come see me in sickbay. Even more so when you shut down on me. Then you came to me and I…” Jim steps forward and rests one hand on Spock’s waist. The other he slides along Spock’s abdomen. It stills to rest above his heart. “Spock. I had to say it with my own voice so I’d know you’d heard me.”

The alien warmth of Jim’s skin seeps through the fabric of his t-shirt. The gray fades, dissipates - Jim’s mind a maelstrom of shifting, pulsing red.

“What is it you wanted to say to me, Jim?”

“That I need you, Spock. I want you. I couldn’t bear to think of leaving you when I’d never been brave enough to find out if we were an option.”

The ache he has not wanted to suppress, the need to be fully seen and understood, breaks free. He yearns for the touch of skin-to-skin. “With what limitations?”

Hazel eyes hold him fast. “None.”

Spock lifts his fingertips to Jim’s jaw, tilts his chin up, and takes.

It’s been a long time since he kissed another, longer still since he kissed in a way that is so very Human, but his body remembers. Lips to lips, a parting in invitation. Breathing as one. The slickness and heat of a Human mouth is intoxicating in its exoticness, and Jim’s… Jim’s mouth commands him to drown.

Spock wraps his arm around Jim, draws him in closer. Jim’s fingers dig into his waist and the moan that slips from Jim’s throat sends Spock’s heart racing, out of his control. Their link sparks.

The sensation arcs through Spock’s psionic field - to be held in Spock’s arms comforts Jim. He is protected, safe. Complete.

It’s not all that’s there, though. Spock draws back just far enough that he isn’t consumed anymore, close enough that he can linger against Jim’s lips sharing breaths.

“You are still afraid,” he says.

“Yes. But not of this.”

No, he isn’t. It’s fear of loss. Fear of pain.

Spock fears those too and can eradicate neither, but together they can soothe the roughened edges. Reassure.

“Then let us eliminate the fear of regret.” He pulls back to catch the awareness in hazel eyes and caresses fingertips over Jim’s swollen mouth. “Let me have you, Jim. Inside my mind and inside my body.”

Red is the color of Jim’s lips as they part on a hitched breath, a yes.

Spock finally, undeniably, understands.

***

“How often have you thought about us like this, Spock?”

As his mind is otherwise occupied - fixated, perhaps - he says, “I presume you do not wish for me to stop in order to calculate the frequency.”

“I think I might die if you do.”

“Illogical.”

Jim sucks in a ragged breath as Spock draws a pebbled nipple between his teeth. “Is it?”

Perhaps not.

Spock’s blood heats with the link pulsating red between them. It isn’t the frenzy of plak tow but it burns hot, heavy, nonetheless. This fever, this need, could be just as consuming and Spock will not fight it.

He’s already divested Jim of all his clothes - desperate for the expanse of soft Human skin under his hands, memorizing the scent of Jim’s skin - yet he hasn’t come close to sating his need to touch; to know and be known. He aches for skin against skin, no barrier.

He pushes off Jim, sets bare feet on the deck next to his bed, and strips. Hazel eyes linger, assessing. Spock stands unabashedly and lets him look.

“How familiar are you with Vulcan anatomy and physiology?”

“In theory, I know as much as a captain with Vulcan crew should know. In practice?” Jim slides his hand down his abdomen to hardened flesh, his breath catches. “Hopefully, I’m about to get much more familiar.”

Spock will give him anything he desires.

Jim widens his legs and Spock does not hesitate to situate himself between them, to replace Jim’s hand with his mouth and to take everything Jim will give too. Jim arches off the bed, a deep groan emanating from his chest. Jim’s quickened breath fills the room, the pulse of his desire. Spock would stay like this, coaxing Jim to completion, but the need steadily building in his core drives him up Jim’s torso. He leaves teeth marks in his wake.

He straddles Jim’s chest and Jim’s hands rise to bracket his waist.

Jim looks up at him. “Tell me what I’m doing to you when you think about us like this.”

A shiver ripples down Spock’s spine and he resists the urge to palm his sheath just as he does when he’s envisioned Jim’s hands on his skin.

Instead, he eases one of Jim’s hands off his waist and flips it palm up. “First, you kiss me in the Vulcan way.”

Spock slides two fingers down Jim’s and Jim’s curl into the correct shape, guided by the images Spock projects through their link. The tips of Jim’s fingers reach the most sensitive of Spock psi-points and a gust of breath escapes Spock’s lips.

Jim’s eyes snap back up to his. “You feel it that much?”

“Yes.”

“So would I do this?”

Jim gently pulls then guides Spock’s fingers into his mouth. Spock gasps. “Yes.”

Jim holds him fast there - heat, wetness, and pressure - then Jim’s hands are roaming, sliding down Spock’s hips and into the vee of Spock’s legs.

Spock slips his fingers from Jim’s mouth, sliding them against the edge of Jim’s teeth for the friction. He inhales sharply through the shallowing of his breath. “Then you explore my sheath.”

Red bursts across the link.

Jim’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Gotta be honest, Spock. I didn’t expect you to be so…confident.”

“You are willing, I am willing, and I am quite aware of my own anatomy and physiology as well as yours. It is only logical to be sure in our course of action.”

Jim huffs. “Believe me, I’ve never been more grateful for logic than I am right now.” Jim then parts the sheath gently and dips one finger inside, tracing along the fold. Spock shudders, shivers, does not resist the urge to shift his hips closer and drive Jim deeper inside him. “Is that…?”

Spock slips one of his controls free and blood rushes to his lok. Jim’s hand tightens around it as it emerges from the sheath, slick with his own lubrication. Jim’s heartbeat races, thundering in Spock’s ears - an insistent pulse across their link.

“You’re so cold there, Spock. It’s…” Heady, intoxicating, new, you. Spock hears it all through their link. A flush rises on Jim’s cheeks. “I need…”

“You may taste me, Jim.”

Jim doesn’t hesitate. The heat of his mouth sends Spock falling forward, palm flattening against the bulkhead to brace himself. The other hand he threads through golden hair instead of seeking out Jim’s meld points. It’s not time. Not yet.

Jim takes him deep, cheeks hollowing, then traces his tongue up Spock’s length, down, around and inside the sheath. He slides his thumbs along each side of the sheath, teasing at the edges, testing. Spock lessens another of his controls, allowing Jim to feel the fever building within him. Their link leaves no doubt - Jim wants to take that too.

Spock tugs at Jim’s hair until lust darkened eyes are focused on his. “You may use the natural lubrication from my sheath to prepare me.”

“Fuck.”

The slide of his lok against Jim’s lips is almost as indecent as the word. Satisfaction lights up his psi-points.

“That would be desirable, yes.”

When Jim breaches him, his fingernails dig into Jim’s scalp of their own accord. Breath catches in his lungs.

“Do you have a prostate?” Jim crooks a finger and Spock shudders with a full body wave of pleasure he does not wish to control. When he forces his eyes open again, Jim is smirking. “Never mind. Found it.”

He pushes back against Jim’s hand, forcing it deeper, accepting more until the stretch morphs to undeniable need. He reaches inside his sheath and gathers the lubrication then slicks Jim’s lok. Jim’s hips buck up, his fingers slip out, he groans low and deep. A bead of sweat trickles down from Jim’s temple and Spock licks it away.

He hovers his lips above Jim’s when he says, “Now, Jim.”

Jim plants his feet on the bed, grips the base of his own lok, and Spock bears down, taking him in. Spock arches up, sits back. In the slow, gradually deepening slide to fullness - of Spock’s legs spread wide, straddling Jim’s hips, of Jim’s hands grasping at his waist - hazel eyes never leave his, as if Jim is just as determined as him to burn every second of this into his memory.

Spock softens his shields then, cedes all of his controls. He gives himself over to Jim’s passion.

It sweeps through his veins - to his fingertips, to his lok, to his mind. Jim thrusts up and Spock meets him there - then again, and again, and again. The fever builds between them, and Spock cannot be sure if the thought is Jim’s or his own, but it surges through both of them now - closer. Deeper.

In a move well-practiced on the mats, in the space between racing Human heartbeats, Spock has their configuration flipped. Jim drapes himself over Spock and thrusts back in and there… Yes, there. A cry is torn from his throat.

Jim pushes Spock’s legs back, bends him into a shape to be taken hard. The salt of Jim’s sweat drops onto his lips and Spock must have that too. He fists his hands in Jim’s hair and brings swollen lips to his until all he knows are Jim’s mouth, Jim’s lok - both so hot, so slick.

Tremors ripple through his body, yet his fingers are steady when he brushes them over a rounded, alien ear - sliding inexorably toward Jim’s psi-points. He can’t stave off that need any longer.

“Will you give me your mind?”

“Yes, Spock. Yes.”

The slide into Jim’s mind is just as hot, just as slick. There’s no resistance - it’s an embrace, a driving rhythm. It is the storm of hot meeting cold, gathering at dizzying speed. He takes of Jim’s brightness, his intensity, as Jim takes of his body. Then Jim is with him there, wholly, capturing him, filling him, enveloping him in a heat of a light he does not want to escape.

The Human in him begs for more. The Vulcan in him demands they dive deeper.

Jim pushes and Spock falls - Jim’s hand on his lok, Jim’s breath on his lips, Jim’s memories his own. Spock arches into Jim’s body, into the knowing. He takes, takes, takes, then lets go.

Red is the press of Spock’s fingers on Jim’s skin when Jim thrusts into him one final time, crying out his own release.

***

Spock drowses in the space between satiation and sleep.

He rests his head on Jim’s chest - over his heart - the beat slow and measured, compelling him to close his eyes. But he cannot sleep, not yet.

Despite Jim’s current lack of shielding, his thoughts should be shrouded, his emotions hovering on the edge of definition. Instead, Spock hears whispers of words and phrases, and if Jim’s emotions had been this clear to Spock days ago then he would have taken Jim to his bed much sooner.

It appears that their choice to meld during an unguarded moment has altered the link.

While it remains outside the realm of a bond, Spock can no longer deny that it is intimate, and it is a choosing. Therefore, there are…considerations they must discuss.

“Will you tell me more about bonds?” Jim asks quietly. “How are they different than our link?”

“You heard my thoughts.”

Jim’s heartbeat picks up. “Did I?”

“Perhaps.” Spock levers himself up on an elbow, reluctantly pulling away so he can look Jim in the eye. “Or, perhaps, an ‘impression’ of my thoughts is more accurate. I was contemplating a discussion with you about bonds since our link has strengthened.”

“But it’s not a bond.”

“No.”

Jim’s disappointment flares before it’s swallowed up in gray. It’s not a reaction Spock would have anticipated.

“Jim. While there are various types of telepathic bonds, if we are to continue like this then any bond between us would be akin to a marriage bond. Permanent.”

“If we are to continue like this? Spock. There is no other choice for me besides this - you, us.”

Spock does not conceal his confusion. “Then there is an aspect of the last seven days that I have yet to comprehend.”

“What is it?”

“Why did you shield yourself from me?”

“You mean besides that I wanted to wait for my voice to return to tell you how I felt.”

“Yes.”

Jim reaches up and brushes a finger over Spock’s lips as his own lift in a smile.

Because this is what I want, Spock, Jim says through their link, You in my head all of the time. A permanent bond. The words are clearer than if Jim had spoken aloud - intent unmistakable with the clarity of Jim’s emotions at the forefront. Then Jim sighs. “But I wasn’t sure if you cared about me because of the attack or before it. I couldn’t let you see how I really felt because you came to me talking about bonds, and I know how you are when you get a decision set in your head. I couldn’t ask you to give something you didn’t really want.”

“Are you certain now?”

“That it’s still unclear to you what happened to my assailant answered that for me.”

Spock has to inhale slowly to soothe his mind. “I lost control.”

“Yes, you did, but so did I. I’m sorry that I put us into a situation where you couldn’t maintain your controls.” Spock opens his mouth to refute that - that the loss was his own failing - and Jim silences him with a look. “Don’t make me pull rank on you. Responsibility for the safety of the crew falls on my shoulders, and that includes my Vulcan first officer.”

Spock suppresses a sigh that Jim will feel through their link nonetheless. This is an argument he will not win.

“Anyway,” Jim says, “I think I’ve made my position on if we continue this clear. Your thoughts on the matter?”

Spock inclines an eyebrow and casts a languid gaze over Jim’s naked form. “I believe I have made my intentions quite clear as well.”

Jim is laughing then. It rasps and hitches, not quite as resonant as the laugh Spock remembers, but it warms him just the same. He rests a hand on Jim’s chest to experience Jim’s joy through his fingertips too.

Jim captures Spock’s hand in both of his and holds it reverently, with care. For a moment, disbelief flickers through Jim’s mind and Spock understands.

“God,” Jim says on a sigh, “Bones said I was being ridiculous - that you’d been head over heels for me for years.”

Biological improbabilities aside, “It is aggravating when the doctor is correct.”

“I believe it was you who said that what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I said no such thing.”

“I’m paraphrasing and you know it. I can’t be too tough on him, though. For the last week, he was looking out for you too.”

Spock catches faint impressions through the link - images, snippets of conversation. Another missing piece of information slips into place. “He held you back from beaming down with me to the unnamed red planet.”

Jim nods. “He told me you were working through your own healing process and that our first landing party together could challenge that. Specifically, that my presence there - before you had time to strengthen your shields and controls - would be detrimental.”

Spock remembers the timing. How precise it was. “You told him you would wait no longer than fifteen minutes.”

“Not a second longer,” Jim confirms. He places a soft kiss on Spock’s knuckles then sets Spock’s hand on his chest again. It moves with a deep inhale, wariness tinging the breath. “Spock… Even though I have my voice back, can we keep the link? We could consider it a…trial run.”

“I see no reason why we could not, Jim.”

Jim exhales heavily. “Good.”

It is unfathomable to him that Jim would doubt his answer, then his gaze passes over the diagonal slash from Jim’s collarbone to his ear. There is much to be content about, to be joyful for, and still much to fear. Perhaps, with their choice for each other, even more.

Spock presses in, rests against Jim’s side until they’re laid out together chest to toes. “Have you considered if you will ask Dr. McCoy to remove the scars?”

“Even if I do, I don’t think I’ll forget.”

“Neither will I.”

Hazel eyes snare Spock and Jim’s throat moves on a deep swallow before he says, “So what do we do now?”

Spock leans down and presses a Human kiss to the mark on Jim’s neck. The warmth of Jim’s body soothes him. The coolness of his is a balm to Jim.

“We live a life we will not regret, Jim.”

Jim’s smile is warm, his eyes aware, his acceptance complete. Their link deepens with a red that is peace, healing, and life.

Red is the color of Jim’s passion. His desire. His love.

For Spock, red is the color of home.