Archive of Our Own ^beta

He doesn't need to look up from the steadily blinking monitors or the too-still form on the bed to know she has entered sickbay. "Nyota," he says in acknowledgment.

She stands nearby, her Human scent and body heat a heavy presence behind him. "Is Bones letting you stay all night?" she asks. Her voice is sharp; Spock thinks he detects a note of reproach.

"Dr. McCoy does not outrank the acting captain," he says simply. A number on the hovering screen increases by point-four, then drops back to its original state. Jim Kirk breathes on the bed, and Spock watches.

Uhura waits a long moment before saying, "Can the acting captain at least hear a suggestion?"

"Of course." He looks up at her then and sees his error. The lieutenant is not well. Her eyes are red and swollen around their rims. "Nyota?"

She shakes her head. Her posture says anger, defeat. "What you did today--"

"You are upset by my violence," Spock says slowly. He remembers hearing her as if through a long, foggy corridor. Her screams hadn't stopped his fists from striking. He had forgotten himself completely, ignoring even the green blood that trickled into his eyes and the red blood coating his knuckles. He had turned into some kind of animal, and all right before her eyes. He swallows. "That is understandable. I can assure you I do not intend to repeat--"

"First: I can handle violence. Don't you dare speak to me like I'm some greenhorn. Second: you can't promise me this will be the last time. It's become a pattern with you." She stares at him, her mouth forming an angry oval. "I'm tired of watching you make these decisions without thinking of how it would affect me. What if you hadn't stopped? What if you had gotten your payback?"

Spock considers this. Charges would have been leveled against him, of course. Murder, even of a criminal, could not go unpunished according to Starfleet regulations. There would have been a long inquiry, a period of suspension or perhaps dismissal. They would have taken the Enterprise away from him, Spock realizes. He glances at the body stretched out on the bed before him. The idea is as unacceptable as his captain's death was, but his only thought had been for Jim. It disturbs him to come to this conclusion.

Nyota is still waiting for her answer. She is correct, of course. She had been the last thing on his mind when he'd gone after Khan. The most dangerous man in the universe, his older counterpart had said, and he hadn't even noticed when she followed. Illogical, to disregard a lover's safety in such a way.

Uhura must sense his thoughts behind his eyes, because she gives a dry, humorless laugh. "I'm not going to spend the next five years as a miserable wreck," she says. "Not even for you. This?" She gestures to the air between them. "It's over." She turns and walks away. The sickbay doors sweep open for her. "Enjoy your vigil, Acting Captain," is her parting shot.

Spock does not begrudge her that jab. He turns back to watch Kirk's chest rising and falling in a steady, sane rhythm, keeping time with the beeps and whistles of McCoy's rigged machinery. The emotional toll of losing Nyota slices into him, and he smothers it beneath a heavy shroud.

The minutes crawl by. Spock waits.

~@~

Spock isn't there to see Jim awaken. He's on the bridge, explaining the situation to the admiralty with a few select edits. He does not lie, but neither does he offer the entire truth. The process feels unnatural and grueling, and Dr. McCoy's alert--the news that the captain had opened his eyes--fills him with dread. There's no telling the exact effect Khan's blood will have on the captain's physiology.

But when Spock rushes into sickbay, Kirk is sitting up in bed, lucid, speaking to a nurse. He turns his head slightly to allow McCoy to dispense a hypo into his neck, and his bright blue eyes catch sight of Spock in the doorway.

He's saying Spock's name. He's offering some kind of greeting. But Spock cannot return it, only stare at those living eyes he'd thought he'd never see again.

He's at Kirk's bedside without remembering the short walk from the door. It's not rational, he knows, to be irritated by these events: that Kirk had woken at the one time Spock wasn't there to witness it. Spock's presence or absence in sickbay had no bearing on Kirk's recovery, of course, but still. It rankles somewhere low in his gut.

"You acted foolishly," is the first thing Spock manages to bite out.

Kirk's smile doesn't even falter. "It's good to see you too," he says.

Later, when the doctor's preliminary tests are complete, sickbay is quiet and empty save for the two of them. Kirk complains of being confined to his biobed despite the fact that he feels "healthy as a horse," so Spock suggests he fetch a three-dimensional chessboard to serve as a distraction. Kirk frowns.

"I don't know how to play," he says with a shrug. He hesitates, then shares something of himself with Spock: "My father used to, but mom got rid of his set when I was little."

"I will teach you," Spock offers.

Kirk is a fast learner, but overconfident. They play six games, all in Spock's favor, before Spock declares it's time for the captain to get some rest.

"Just when I'm getting the hang of it," Jim grouses. He folds himself under the bedclothes, his standard-issue black shirt stretching tight across his chest when he folds his hands behind his head.

Spock promises to return the next day after Alpha shift to play again. It becomes a routine that lasts far beyond Jim's forced convalescence. After several weeks, Jim has won twelve out of their thirty-six games, which is rather impressive for a novice. Yet he asks Spock if he'd like to play a round of poker.

Spock blinks. "I was under the impression that game required some skill in telling lies." They're in Spock's quarters this time; they take turns by unspoken agreement. Kirk has stripped off his command golds in deference to the heat of Spock's rooms; his sleeveless black undershirt is damp under his arms but he is smiling.

"Bluffing, Spock. Surely that's something you need to learn." He resets his white pieces on the board in preparation for their next game. "Or improve on." He is still fielding inquiries from high command regarding the Khan incident, even though the Enterprise has been repaired and their five-year mission is underway.

Spock doesn't rise to the bait. "I'm not sure I would make a good opponent for you," he says.

Kirk's eyes are dancing now. "Let me be the judge of that, Mr. Spock."

Jim retrieves a standard pack of Terran playing cards from his quarters and explains the rules for five card stud. Spock diligently counts the cards and computes the odds as Jim deals. It should be a simple matter of percentages, but Spock quickly learns that Human subterfuge and boldness makes it a more difficult game than he'd anticipated. Their fingertips brush when they place their plastic chips in the center of Spock's gaming table, and Spock chooses not to comment on the action. But when it happens during the next hand, and the next, Spock decides now might be the time to broach the subject that has been lingering at the back of his mind. He clears his throat and says, "Are you aware that the touching of fingers is a very intimate gesture for Vulcan couples?"

Kirk frowns at his cards. "Hm. Is it?"

Spock cannot tell if his captain is being willfully ignorant or honestly does not realize what they've been doing all evening. He feels his neck and face flush slowly.

"Yes. It is."

"I never see you and Uhura do it. Is it, like, behind-closed-doors kind of intimate or--?" He glances over the top of his fanned cards, his eyebrows lifting. "You okay? You look a little green around the gills."

He's never been this flustered before around Jim, so of course Jim does not see the pale seafoam tint to Spock's skin as anything other than queasiness.

"Lt. Uhura and I are no longer entangled romantically," he says.

"What? When--? How could I have missed that!" Jim's mouth is a perfect circle. His cards lower to his lap, tilting almost enough for Spock to see them if he cared to cheat at their game. Kirk's brain is working, making connections. His throat bobs in a swallow. "When I was still...out?"

The word is 'dead' but Spock doesn't correct him. He merely nods. "Not that my former relationship has any bearing on the topic. The lieutenant preferred more Human means of affection." He cringes inwardly at the memory of those kisses. So public, so wanton, like he was being flayed open and shown to the rest of the crew as a biological diagram. He'd tried to explain this discomfort--both the wanting and the not-wanting--to Nyota, but could never quite form the right words to make her understand.

Kirk shakes his head, hunching forward. It seems their card game is forgotten. "Whoa, back up. You dumped your girlfriend and you want to talk about Vulcans holding hands? Bigger fish, Spock."

Now it's Spock's turn to display his shock. One raised eyebrow is sufficient. "For your information, Captain, holding hands is much more obscene than the display to which I referred. And you are incorrect: Nyota was the one to terminate our arrangement." He holds his tongue on the captain's last comment; he has no idea why a fish of any size matters in this discussion, but he doesn't want Kirk to know that.

"She dumped you?"

"You are ignoring the main point of my--"

"Do you--do you want to talk about it?" Jim squints one eye almost shut as if the idea pains him.

Spock suppresses a sigh. The teachings of Surak did not include how to handle overly emotional captains who fling themselves headlong into danger and brush against one's hands while wearing clothing that reveals their collarbones.

"No. I do not."

"Look, I know these past few months have been crazy. And if you ever need to--" Jim reaches out then, his hand seeking Spock's on the table, just millimeters away before he realizes what he's doing and snatches it back again. "Sorry. Right. Obscene." He blinks in disbelief. "That's what you were trying to tell me."

Spock looks at this man--this miraculously living man whom he had thought dead for the most interminable twenty-three point six minutes of his existence--and he says what he's been trying to say all evening. All week. Every moment since Jim came back to life.

"I was trying to tell you, Captain," he glances up, his ears heating deliciously, "so you would be aware enough to consent the next time it occurred."

Jim's face runs through a gamut of emotions so quickly, Spock cannot hope to classify them all. Intrigue seems to be the dominant one.

"Why, Mr. Spock," he finally manages to choke out, "I believe I'm finally seeing the kind of Vulcan smoothness that snagged Uhura."

"I did no 'snagging.' Lt. Uhura propositioned me," Spock corrects. "She was very persuasive in her arguments. And persistent."

"And what's your argument, Spock?" Jim asks. "I assume it's a logical one." His eyes are bright and also, yes, fearful. Does he think Spock would broach this subject lightly?

Spock places his cards facedown on the table and extends two fingers toward Jim. Blue eyes widen at the gesture. "As Nyota pointed out before I had the chance to come to the conclusion myself," he says softly, "my actions are rarely logical in regards to you."

"Remind me to thank her," Kirk whispers, and brushes his own fingers against Spock's.

~@~

Kirk sits in the captain's chair and sweeps his gaze around the bridge. His eyes fall on Uhura, her profile pinched in thought as she scans through a data padd at her station. Nearby, Spock is hard at work on his own tasks. Kirk tries to divine some kind of tension between them, but he can't. From what he's seen so far, they remain polite and professional with each other. He hadn't noticed any standoffishness until Spock told him about the breakup, and maybe any he notices now is just his imagination filling in the gaps. He hasn't yet shared with her what happened between him and Spock; he's not even sure what to call it. They'd just touched, damn it. And while it was amazing and electric and strangely comforting to feel Spock's fingers slide against his own, it wasn't like that meant they were together or anything. Did it?

Uhura looks up and catches his eye, gives him an inquisitive stare. Kirk clears his throat. "Report?"

"No change, sir." She frowns at him in question. He inclines his head in a universal gesture that means 'I have to talk to you about Spock later because you're the only one on this ship who speaks Spockinese and won't let me get away with any bullshit, all right?' And because she's the best communications officer in the fleet, Uhura just nods in that unimpressed way and turns back to her work. Kirk lets out a relieved breath. It's good to have this easy rapport building between him and his crew. It feels right. Like they're finally getting on the right path.

Then Spock sits up straighter.

It's not all that unusual; Spock probably could be a poster child for correct posture. But something about his distant eyes, like he's staring off into space, makes Jim's brow furrow. The stylus in his fingers droops like he's about to drop it. And that is worrisome; Vulcans, as a rule, are not given to daydreams and distractions. Maybe he's caught up in memories of the previous night too. The idea is a heady one that almost makes Kirk smile.

"Mr. Spock?" he says.

Spock blinks in his direction twice before his eyes focus. "Yes, Captain?"

"Is everything all right?"

Spock doesn't speak for a few moments, then says, "No." He seems surprised at himself for saying so, his eyebrows high and arched.

Now Uhura and Chekov have turned in their chairs to watch the proceedings. Jim presses, concerned in earnest, "What's wrong?"

Spock stares at his instruments, running his fingertips along the lines of navigational data, tapping in queries and counter-queries faster than Jim's Human eyes can follow. "Captain," Spock says, "may I request a slight change in our course?"

"Helm is showing no errors," Sulu says from his station. His tone is defensive, bordering on hurt.

Kirk waves a hand. "Your course is true, Mr. Sulu. Spock, what do you mean, 'request?'" That's the trick in dealing with Spock, parsing out all those little details.

Spock actually hesitates. It's something Jim doesn't often see. Finally, he says, "My sensors indicate a small shuttlecraft, most likely a Stargazer-class vessel, bearing mark four-two from our standard course. Judging from its size and distance from the nearest colonized planet, the shuttle is low on fuel and in danger of drifting back into the asteroid belt. We could intercept in twenty-eight-point-three minutes at our current speed if we change course as I have plotted."

"Uhura, can you hail them?" Kirk watches as she pulls up the coordinates Spock's feeding her.

"Out of range, sir. Stargazers can't receive from this distance."

"Guess we're picking up a hitchhiker, then. Mr. Chekov, lay in new course." Jim gives Spock a pleased nod. "How'd you find that blip with all the asteroid interference, anyway?" It's a roundabout question. What Jim's really asking is, how did you know it was there before you went looking for it?

Spock struggles to respond. Kirk could wait all day, but Chekov jumps in with a sweet, "Perhaps it was intuition, Captain."

"Intuition?" Spock appears scandalized in his own subdued way.

"Gut instinct, sir," Chekov says.

"I assure you, Ensign, Vulcans do not rely on 'gut instinct,'" Spock responds archly. Uhura looks like she's about to argue that, but Kirk cuts in before she can say anything.

"Well, our friend out there will be glad of the rescue, whatever its cause. Uhura, continue hailing as we get closer."

"Yes, sir." That seems to get everyone off Spock's back and focused on their own stations. Kirk stares at the back of Spock's head, willing him to turn around and give some clue as to what the hell is going on. But Spock doesn't meet his eyes, and the fact of the matter is the Enterprise can't let some hapless shuttle drift into an asteroid if they can help it, strangeness aside.

Kirk signs off on the extended Alpha shift schedule due to their forty-plus minute change in course. Bones is shuffling his way onto the bridge to co-sign the shift change when Uhura says, "We're in range, Captain. Shuttlecraft is responding."

"On screen."

"Sir." Spock gets to his feet and approaches the chair. "Permission to conduct this communication myself. In private," he adds. Uhura looks up sharply, her hand motionless on her controls. Bones purses his lips. His glance at Kirk says, This oughta be good.

Jim frowns. "Protocol, Spock. I'm responsible for dialog with unknown vessels." He watches the obvious (to him) discomfort flit across Spock's eyes. "Unless this is a known vessel."

Spock doesn't answer, or can't. Jim nods to Uhura. "Go ahead."

The view of the stars flickers and fades, and a young woman's pale face fills the screen. Her tapered fingers shake on her navigation panel like someone wracked with delirium tremens. Her hair is cut severely across her forehead and her ears end in elegant points.

"My god," Bones mutters, his eyes glued to the screen.

Jim focuses on the task at hand. "This is Captain Kirk of the--"

"Spock," the female Vulcan interrupts. Her mouth thins into a tight line.

"It is I," Spock says without inflection. He takes a step forward, standing right next to the captain's chair.

Jim gives him an annoyed glance and tries again. "And I am James Kirk, captain of the USS--"

"Parted from me and never parted," she says without taking her eyes from Spock. She speaks in Standard but with a much heavier accent than Spock's, a tang to her words. "Never and always touching and touched. We meet...not at the appointed place, for it is gone. We meet here." She gives a distressingly un-Vulcan wave of her hand to encompass her frustration with her craft's cramped interior. The tremor in her hand belies her calm face.

"Parted from me and never parted," Spock responds. "Never and always touching and touched. I await you." His voice is steady, almost serene. Kirk wonders if these words are a prayer or a formal greeting reserved for very close family.

"Open the bay doors and your waiting will be done! I grow weary of these pleasantries," she barks. Sulu and Chekov flinch in their seats, obviously not expecting such an outburst. The screen goes black without a sign-off.

"Well, she's lovely," Uhura drawls. "Who is she, Mr. Spock?"

Jim turns to watch his first officer's internal struggle. Yes, Mr. Spock, who is she, he thinks.

"She is T'Pring," Spock says at last, "my wife."

There's five or six full seconds of complete quiet on the bridge before Sulu says, "What."

~@~

"Did you know?" Uhura hisses at Kirk when they pile into the turbolift. Bones squeezes in just before the doors shut. Uhura glares at him, to which the doctor merely says, "Incoming visitor exhibiting clear signs of physical distress. What are you two going to do, talk at her?"

Jim muffles a frustrated groan. He'd ordered Lt. Uhura to accompany him to the shuttle bay because of her skill in Vulcan languages and customs. Ostensibly. Spock had not pointed out that an actual Vulcan would be the more logical choice, only let his face suffuse with a modicum of displeasure as they left the bridge. Kirk chooses to ignore Bones for the moment and turns back to Uhura.

"Of course I didn't know!" Jim says. He drags a hand down his slack face. "Married. Shit."

Uhura narrows her eyes at McCoy. "Bones, did you know?"

McCoy raises his hands in defense. "How would I have known? That Vulcan is as tight-lipped as an Aldebaran shellmouth around me, and it's certainly not in any of his files."

"None of us knew," Uhura says, half to herself. "He didn't tell anyone." She shakes her head in disgust.

"How do Vulcan marriages even work?" Jim sputters. "He's been at the Academy for years. When the hell did he have time to get married?"

"Maybe it was one of those shotgun things," McCoy says brightly. At their twin glares, he shrugs. "Just an idea."

"Vulcans are pretty cagey when it comes to marriage rites," Uhura tells Jim, ignoring Bones. "My xenocultural studies only covered sketchy details."

"And Spock never elaborated?"

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I just assumed he would say something if it was important. It never came up. Now I know why." Her hand comes up to cover her mouth and Kirk realizes just how upsetting this whole thing must be for her.

"Uhura," he says with a gentle touch to her elbow, "it's not your fault that--"

She straightens her spine and stares ahead with her usual poise. "Sir. Mr. Spock's personal life is no longer my concern."

"Well, that makes one of us," Jim mutters to himself, then immediately regrets it. Bones and Uhura stare at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"What the hell does that mean?" Uhura asks.

"Don't tell me you have a thing for that pointy-eared desert elf!" Bones says.

The turbolift doors choose that moment to swish open, revealing a wide-eyed Chief Engineer waiting for them in the shuttle bay. They all freeze and stare back. "I'm not even going to ask," Scotty says.

"If everyone on this ship is done poking their nose into everyone else's personal business?" Kirk tugs the hem of his shirt into place, darts out of the lift, and walks across the bay floor. "I swear, this crew is getting more incestuous--"

"Oh yeah, the crew. We're the ones who got into this mess. Not James Kirk, no way, no how," Bones says, picking up the pace to stay abreast with him.

Scotty is on their heels. "I don't know what all this shouting is about, Captain, but you might want to know--"

Uhura follows close behind, her face like stone. "The captain has a crush," she says simply. Jim wishes he could have three minutes alone with her to explain. He has to say something. Their party comes to a halt at the transparent shield separating them from the airlock. "I'm sorry," Kirk says to Uhura. "I just-- Sorry."

Uhura gives him a small smile, tentative but not entirely cold. It's a start.

Scotty clears his throat. "Captain. Before our guest arrives--"

"Our guest!" Bones snorts. "She shows up out of the blue; we've never heard a thing about her! For all we know she could be--"

"--piloting a shuttlecraft that was reported stolen from Beta 3 several days ago," Scotty finally lets out in a whoosh.

"Stolen?" Jim takes the padd Scotty offers him, flicking through the report. The serial numbers match, no doubt about it. "What the hell is going on?"

"Guess you can ask her soon." Bones juts his chin at the airlock beyond the shield, which is opening to receive the battered craft. Its hull is pockmarked with small hits from debris, and it moves jerkily as Stargazers do when they're running on fumes. Nevertheless, the shuttle lands neatly in the center of the receiving pad and the airlock closes with a groan.

"Shuttle bay repressurized. Lowering shields," Scotty calls from his control panel, "if anyone cares."

The shuttle craft's door opens and the pilot climbs out. She's smaller than she seemed on the viewing screen. Petite is the word, Jim thinks. He leads his crew members closer, not bothering to try and copy Uhura's precise ta'al gesture. McCoy gives it a shot but his fingers aren't cooperating so he drops his hand with a frustrated huff.

"Welcome aboard the Enterprise," Jim says. Cool dark eyes skate directly over him, like he's not even there.

T'Pring returns the ta'al and speaks only to Uhura. "Spock is not here to greet me?"

"He had duties to attend to on the bridge," Uhura says. "I'm Lt. Uhura, communications officer."

"I see," T'Pring mutters and sweeps across the bay floor. She's wearing the stiff, high-collared robes often worn by Vulcans. She unfastens the outer layer of the garment; underneath is a delicate silken frock. "You will take me to him."

"Excuse me, Missus--" Jim stops himself from making a huge inter-species faux pas at the last moment. "T'Pring, before we can do that, I have to know: how did you come to be in a stolen shuttle?"

T'Pring blinks once, slowly, and turns to stare at her Stargazer like she's never noticed it before. "It was obtained without permission?"

"So you deny stealing it?" Kirk asks.

"No. I deny nothing." T'Pring furrows her brow. "It is quite possible I did such a thing, though I have no memory of such an action."

"Ma'am, I'm the ship's chief medical officer. Dr. McCoy." Bones makes a move to extend his hand, then retracts it at Uhura's sharp glare. "You seem disoriented, if you don't mind me saying. I'd like to look you over."

Vulcan eyes land on him like talons. Even though T'Pring is a good foot shorter than the Doc, she seems to grow larger by force of personality alone. "Would you?" she says coldly, then, to Uhura: "Come. I wish to hurry."

Kirk takes a step to the side to block her way. "I'm sorry, but we need to clear some things up first. Bones is right, you should be--"

The first punch comes out of nowhere, a left hook that has Jim reeling as soon as it connects with his jaw. The second punch is more of a backhand across his face. Scotty reacts first, though it's just a yelped "Bloody hell!"

Uhura and Bones unfreeze then, grabbing T'Pring by the arms before she can complete a jab to Kirk's nose. Still, she kicks out and manages to get him good in the ribs. Kirk's down on one knee, cracking his sore jaw.

T'Pring screams something that sounds like a promise to murder his children and his children's children. Not for the first time, Jim is glad he never had kids.

"Security!" he shouts. Scotty hits the comm panel and relays the order. Jim thinks back fondly to this morning, when his biggest problem was how to deal with his first officer's tentative touches.

"Should we put her in the brig, sir?" someone asks.

"Sickbay." He wipes a trickle of blood from his mouth. "No Vulcan I know is supposed to act like that."

T'Pring spits on his boot as she's dragged away.

~@~

"If it's not too much trouble," Bones says in a way that any human could tell means he doesn't particularly care if it is, "I need to ask you some questions."

T'Pring sits sullenly at the edge of a bio-bed. She'd calmed down on the way to sickbay, so much so that they didn't need to restrain her. Still, her stubbornness is making his job difficult. She snarls at every nurse who tries to approach until Bones is left alone with her.

"You say you don't remember leaving Beta 3?" Bones asks.

"No." She stares at the doorway. "Is Spock's arrival imminent?"

"Soon," he says, though that's relative. Surely the captain will want words with him first. "What's the last thing you remember before boarding that Stargazer?"

"That is none of your concern," she says. Her face is like marble, cool and impassive.

"You're not worried about the memory loss? Or the shakes?" He grabs at her arm, which is trembling lightly against her side. She jerks it from his grip.

"It is a very personal matter. It is not for outworlders to know."

Bones tries a different tack. "Do you currently reside on New Vulcan?" Most Vulcans did, after the disaster. "What were you doing on Beta 3? Were you trying to track down Spock?"

T'Pring shakes her head. "I cannot speak to you of these things."

McCoy watches the bio-bed's monitors with a sigh. The readings are all over the place, too wild even for Vulcan physiology. "Ma'am, I think there's something seriously wrong with you. Medically. Now, Spock is not a physician, so you'll just have to make due with me."

"You do not understand. Please, I need--" T'Pring's chest rises and falls like a bellows, and her readings climb as McCoy watches.

"Son of a--" He's flying blind, no idea what kind of dosage a Vulcan of her age and weight might need, but he can make a guess. He has to unless he wants to see her die from a complete system failure. Bones readies the hypo and jabs it into her forearm. He doesn't realize he's holding her hand until her fingers curl around his. "Better?"

She nods jerkily.

"Ready to tell me what's going on? Because you don't seem surprised with what's happening," he says slowly.

She shakes her head.

"Of all the Vulcan nonsense!" He releases her hand and takes a step back, his own heart pounding now. "You'd rather die on my table than tell me what the hell this is? And what exactly do you think your husband is going to do about it?"

"Is that what he calls himself?" T'Pring looks honestly curious despite the pain. "I suppose it is the most correct term."

Bones pulls back further. "So you're not...married?"

"Bonded, as children are. Promised to each other. Yet not--" She tilts her head in thought before settling on the word. "--consummated."

"Great." McCoy throws his hands in the air. "This is just perfect! All this trouble over something that isn't even--" Another thought hits him. "Good god," he hisses, "please tell me this isn't about consummation."

~@~

"It has to do with what?" Jim feels light-headed. To be fair, he's felt like that since returning to the bridge and seeing Spock pop out of the captain's chair like a jack-in-the-box with a rushed, "Captain, may I have a moment?"

They have the turbolift to themselves, which is a mixed blessing. Kirk is glad for the privacy but wishes he could sit down. No man should have to absorb this kind of news standing up, is his feeling.

"Vulcan. Biology," Spock repeats. Like he's the most put-upon one in the lift.

"So T'Pring is here," Jim says slowly, "to have sex with you. Or else she'll die."

"Precisely." Spock shifts uncomfortably against the far bulkhead.

"And that's--?" Kirk is aware of his voice getting higher but he doesn't care. The turbolift doors sweep open, and they stride down the bustling corridor in silence. Their conversation begins again only when they're within the privacy of Kirk's quarters. He's talking again before the doors are finished whooshing shut. "That's normal for Vulcans, this...what did you call it? The breeding mechanism?" He collapses in his desk chair, gesturing for Spock to sit too. Spock ignores the invitation and stands at parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back.

"The term is pon farr. And yes, it is a natural occurrence. Although I admit it is rare for the female of a bonded pair to undergo pon farr before the male, and at such a young age." His eyes drop to the floor, considering. "Perhaps the stress of the disaster spurred T'Pring to experience the drive prematurely. Vulcan science is still unsure of the long term effects the loss of our planet will bring to bear."

And just like that, Jim's finding it really hard to be angry at Spock right now. Losing your homeworld makes whatever their problems are look like peanuts. "So what are you going to do?" Jim asks softly.

Spock looks up then, his brow furrowed. He tugs at the hem of his science blues even though they're already impeccably straight. "What can I do? I do not desire to have T'Pring's death on my hands. I would not wish the throes of plak tow on anyone."

"Plak tow?"

"The blood fever. It may cause her to lash out as the pain worsens."

"You don't say." Jim rubs his jaw. Bones had managed to get the worst of the swelling down but it still aches. "I think she's already at that point, Spock."

"Then I should waste no time," Spock says. Still, he doesn't move from his spot in front of Jim's desk. "Captain..." Jim wonders how much of their friendship will be like this: Jim sitting in his chair, looking up at Spock and waiting for him to speak. The thought makes him indescribably weary.

"I regret that--" Spock swallows. "Please understand, it was always my hope that I would be spared the trials of pon farr because of my Human heritage. T'Pring also thought this likely. When Lt. Uhura first pursued me at the Academy, I contacted my bondmate to seek her thoughts on such a relationship."

Jim leans forward, his elbows on his desk, his eyebrows raising. "You're saying your wife knew about Uhura?"

"She knew and approved. T'Pring had a lover as well, a male named Stonn. We agreed to pursue these relationships, thinking, perhaps, that we need never formally cement our bond."

A headache is forming behind Jim's eyes. He can feel the twitch that means it's just going to get worse. With a sigh, he presses two fingertips to his temple. "That was a pretty big leap of faith, Spock, betting on the luck of the draw like that."

"Sir." Spock stands straighter. "There is no reprimand you can give that will be as effective as the one I am delivering to myself. My actions were illogical and I am ashamed of the unnecessary pain they have caused." His eyes drift closed. "To all involved."

"I'm not reprimanding you," Jim says quietly. "This is just one of those times where it's nobody's fault and nobody wins."

Spock is quiet for a long moment, then says, "I know how abhorrent those kinds of situations are to you, Captain."

Jim forces a watery smile on his face, feeling foolish. They just touched, damn it, it's not like Spock put a ring on his finger. It shouldn't feel like such a loss when he's not losing anything, not really. Right?

He clears his throat. Order mode. "You should explain all this to Lt. Uhura."

"For what purpose?" Spock asks. "We are no longer together."

Jim tries his best to speak Spock's language. "It will ease her conscience to know there was no...breach of trust when you two started dating. Trust me, it'll do her a world of good."

Spock seems to think about this. "Has it done you 'a world of good,' sir?"

Kirk's smile falters. "Not particularly, Mr. Spock."

He sits, and Spock stands, and neither of them say anything. Didn't even get a chance to kiss him the human way, Jim thinks, and in that moment the whole thing seems so unfair he just wants to do something childish, petulant, like pull Spock into his arms for the first and last time. Just to get the feel for it once.

"I must see to T'Pring," Spock says, his voice low and tired.

"Go." Kirk waves to the door. "I assume you'll need to take leave."

"Yes. Perhaps a few days."

Kirk nods, businesslike. "You've got it. Now go."

Spock leaves not like one dismissed, but one burned. He actually holds his left forearm with his right hand, a gesture Jim's never seen him make. Long after the door slides shut, Kirk sits alone in the silence of his quarters.

~@~

"I see," McCoy says in what he hopes is a professional tone. It's a struggle to keep his eyes in his skull at the moment. "Thank you for your forthrightness, ma'am." A forthrightness, by the by, he'd never before heard from anyone when it came to describing various sex acts--and that included Jim Kirk, who was something of a poet laureate in the field. Bones swings his gaze back to his padd but it's not like that thing has any answers. Everything T'Pring has told him fits with the numbers: she's stable for now, but she's going to die if something doesn't give.

"Well, it's a good thing you reached the Enterprise in time. I'll call Mr. Spock into sickbay so you two can," Bones makes an appropriately vague gesture, "catch up."

T'Pring folds her hands in her lap. Perched on the edge of the bed like that, she looks like a songbird in her flowing robes. "I would ask you not to," she says.

Bones pauses with his hand an inch away from the comm panel button. "What? Why? A few minutes ago, you were throwing punches to get to Spock!"

"I am blessed now with a moment of lucid thought." T'Pring shakes her elegant head. "I do not want him."

"But without him--"

"Yes." She smoothes a small wrinkle out of her dress. "Selfish of me, perhaps, now that our people are so few. And yet while I still have the choice, I would choose logically."

"How the hell is this logical!? Of all the ridiculous, green-blooded--!" McCoy cries. She flinches at his volume, her eyes admonishing. Bones takes a deep breath. She says she's in her right mind, and for the moment, the readings agree. "Ma'am, let me bring in a specialist. Dr. M'Benga interned on Vulcan; surely he knows of a way to get you through this." His hand inches toward the comm again.

T'Pring is on him in the blink of an eye, her grip like iron on his wrist. "There is no clever trick to stop the inevitable, and I will suffer no more doctors. Your specialist does not know of the pon farr; no outworlder does.These things are never spoken of, not even among Vulcans ourselves. I can tell no one."

"Except me?" McCoy says evenly.

T'Pring inclines her head and releases his wrist. Bones fights the urge to rub the feeling back into it. "I am not sure why I took you into my confidence. I find you," she pauses, "strangely comforting for all your emotional volatility. Or perhaps the blood fever is affecting my judgment."

"Boy, you Vulcans sure know how to lay on the compliments," McCoy mutters.

T'Pring does not hear him, or chooses not to listen. "You must swear never to tell anyone of this," she says. "It is my dying wish."

"No one is dying in my sickbay today!" Bones roars. "Now sit down and let me scan you before I sedate you into next week!"

"You are not permitted to speak to me like this," T'Pring says. Bones can see her hackles rising by the second. "I am not yours to rule!"

"While you're in my care, you damn well are!"

Of course that's when Spock enters sickbay with one perfectly raised eyebrow.

"T'Pring. You...have cut your hair," Spock says. Pretty unnecessarily, in Bones' opinion. He would've started with a hello, himself.

"What good is hair to me now?" T'Pring snaps. Her hands are shaking again. "For whom would I arrange it every morning?"

"T'Pring--" Spock seems as flabbergasted as Bones has ever seen him, which for Spock means slightly widened eyes.

"Leave us." T'Pring shoves Spock hard enough to cause him to stumble back a step. Spock looks wildly at McCoy.

"You are not well. I can help you."

"I do not want your help. Go!" Her fingers dig into McCoy's upper arms as if to anchor herself in the room. She shoves her face against his neck, and Bones looks over the top of her head at Spock, his eyes wide and helpless.

"Give us a minute here," he tells Spock.

Spock seems reluctant. "I will remain in the corridor. If you need assistance--"

Bones jerks his head in his best silent 'get' gesture. Spock turns and leaves. The door whooshes shut as T'Pring shudders against him.

"The drive to touch him is almost too much to bear," she mumbles into his medical blues.

McCoy pats at her shoulder with awkward movements. "Yeah, there's a lot of that going around." He can't stand to see a woman cry, so he says, "Sorry about hollering at you earlier. I only meant--"

"Our ancient ceremonies tell us the female is the property of the male. Were you aware of that?" T'Pring gives the briefest glance up at his face and sees the answer clear as day. "Can you fathom the arrogance, the absurdity of it all?"

"Uh, I think most traditional Human ceremonies have a similar bent. But no one takes them literally anymore, right?"

She doesn't seem to hear him, just continues muttering. "By biological chance, I am the one who burns. And yet he is supposed to claim me? It is the height of illogic." Her eyes are almost black when she looks up at him, pupils growing large and deep. "Are you married, doctor?" she asks.

"Erm." Bones' gaze is drawn to the floor. "I was, once. Now I'm divorced."

"Divorce. I know this word. On Vulcan, there was only one way to dissolve a promised bond. I do not have that option now." She slumps, then makes her way back to the bed, sitting at the foot of it like a ragdoll. "The way was destroyed along with our world. After the disaster, I had nothing left. I had lost Stonn."

"Stonn?"

T'Pring looks up as if surprised to find the doctor still in the room. "My consort. I wanted him. He wanted me." She reaches a hand up to touch the back of her head, smoothing down her close-cropped hair. "He did not survive the disaster. Perhaps I should not have either."

"Look here, I don't let patients talk like that," Bones warns. "So you better stop it right now." There has to be a way to save her; he won't let this go without a fight. He retrieves his instruments from the console and approaches her like he would a wounded animal. New readings pop up with an ominous humming. He talks to her to distract her from the sound. "Uh, this dissolution. Was it like divorce on Earth? Lots of lawyers gumming up the works, hurt feelings on both sides, slicing everything down the middle?"

"No," T'Pring says, staring into nothingness. "Our way was quite simple. One bondmate would be defeated in combat."

"Combat?" McCoy pulls a face, impressed. "I didn't think you Vulcans had it in you. So you were going to deck Spock to get out of marrying him?"

"Not I. A champion would have represented me. Stonn, most likely, as no other males would have been present at the marriage ceremony, save for the priests." She examines her fingernails as Bones sweeps the sensor over her head.

"What, Spock doesn't get a best man?"

"Best at what?" T'Pring asks.

McCoy gropes for the words. "You know, friends to accompany him. Stand with him."

"The male is allowed this. However," T'Pring says simply, "Spock does not have any friends."

Bones smiles down at his padd. T'Pring's stare is heavy on him.

"You find this amusing?" she asks.

"Ma'am, you haven't seen Spock in a long time," Bones says with a grin. "Maybe he didn't have a lot of friends back on Vulcan, but he's got them now. A whole damn crew of them."

"And you are one?" T'Pring's eyes widen. "You would stand with him at our sacred place?"

Bones shrugs. "If he asked me, sure." He doesn't realize it's true until he says it. That Vulcan may be a pain in his ass, but he's the best damn first officer in the fleet and Bones wouldn't trade him for a hundred others. He flushes. "Don't tell Spock I said so, though," he adds hurriedly. "Wouldn't want to embarrass him."

"Interesting." T'Pring mulls this over. "Perhaps I would have chosen you as my champion, then."

Bones laughs and fights the blush rising in his cheeks. "I don't know if that would be a fair fight. I'm only Human. Spock could probably snap me in half before the bell was done ringing."

"Yes, there is that." Her eyes go far away again. "Stonn was very strong. I calculated a 78.4% probability that he would have killed Spock in the first round of combat."

Bones clicks off his sensor. His fingers feel numb. "Kill Spock?"

"Yes."

He gapes. "Why would he do that?"

She turns to look at him over her shoulder, her severe brows pinched. "Why, doctor, it is the only way."

~@~

Jim heads to sickbay because he knows the correct, captainly thing to do right now is to get a report from his chief medical officer so he can give Beta 3 a good explanation as to why their stolen craft is sitting in his hangar. He expects T'Pring and Spock are long gone by now--probably back to Spock's quarters, which Kirk is resolutely not thinking about. So he's surprised to round the corner and see Spock standing outside sickbay with his hands folded behind his back.

"Spock?"

Spock looks up at his approach. "Captain."

For one wild moment, Jim wonders if maybe Spock just couldn't bring himself to do it. "Cold feet?" he asks.

Spock doesn't even make his usual dry comment about human idioms. He just looks down and says, "It seems T'Pring is resisting the call of pon farr."

"Oh. I see," Jim says, even though he really doesn't. "Why?"

"I can only theorize that she has no wish to cement the bond with me," Spock says in a resigned kind of way.

Jim bites his tongue before he can ask why someone wouldn't want Spock like that. Maybe Vulcans just have different ideas of what a good mate should be, he reasons. "Can she really do that? Hold out forever?"

"Negative," Spock says. "Eventually the fever will engulf her."

Kirk glances at the sickbay door. "Is she dangerous?"

Before Spock can answer, the door slips open and McCoy bustles through it, his face red and blotchy with rage. He points a shaking finger back toward sickbay. "That woman," he says, "is a cold-blooded psychopath!"

Spock's eyebrows lift clear to his hairline. "Indeed?"

"Did she attack you?" Kirk grabs Bones by his elbow and looks him over. No blood, no bruises that he can see.

Bones shakes his head. "No. But she's been plotting for years to have this one killed," he hisses, jabbing his finger in Spock's face.

Spock blinks. "You refer to the kal-ifee? T'Pring was going to invoke her right to trial by combat during our marriage ceremony?"

"Damn right she was," Bones says. "She wanted her boyfriend to take your head off, Spock!"

"That is not logical," Spock says. "There is no reason for T'Pring to have preferred Stonn over me."

"Logic has nothing to do with it! She was in love with him!"

"Bones," Kirk says softly. They're drawing the attention of some passing crew members: all concerned stares and little whispers. "Maybe this isn't the time or place." He looks back to Spock, about to ask him if the brig will hold an angry Vulcan in heat, but the lost look in Spock's eyes stops him cold. "Spock?"

"Fascinating," Spock says slowly. "T'Pring was always capable of strong attachments as a child. I suspect that is why our parents agreed to bond us. It was feared that I would exhibit more Human tendencies as I aged, and perhaps they hoped T'Pring would complement me in this regard. But I never thought her desire for Stonn could be so..." He meets Jim's eyes for a fraction of a second. "Consuming."

Bones huffs like he needs something to punch. "Come on, Spock, where's your indignation? Aren't you mad about this?"

"Why should I be angry with T'Pring?" Spocks says. "She was exploring the only avenue available to achieve her goal. I am quite impressed with her forethought. Did she mention what my odds against Stonn would be?"

"You have got to be joking!" Bones explodes.

"That bad, huh?" Jim pulls a face.

The doctor whirls on him with a murderous look in his eyes. "This isn't funny, Jim! In a few hours, maybe less, we're going to have a sex-crazed, super-strong Vulcan tearing through this ship and Spock's the one with a target on his back!"

"I hardly think T'Pring will harm me, Doctor," Spock says as gently as Spock does anything. "She would gain nothing by my death now."

"Red alert, Spock: people do pointless things when they're emotional!" Bones says.

"Okay, enough." Jim tries not to think of Spock getting his brains bashed in and instead focuses on their T'Pring problem. "Bones, give me our options."

McCoy drags a hand through his hair. "I can't see a way to medically stop the pon farr. She says the only thing that'll help is...." He looks over at Spock and grimaces. "And I think she's right. But she's not budging."

Spock shakes his head. "I will not force her. Not even to save her life."

"Not sure you could even if you wanted to." Bones flexes his hand. "She's stronger than an ox."

Jim massages his temple with two fingers, tamping down on a blush when he sees Spock watching the movement closely. This devil will be the death of me, he thinks. And T'Pring too, come to think of it. Unless... "Does it have to be Spock?" he asks.

Bones and Spock lock gazes and stare at each other for a moment.

"Hell if I know," McCoy says.

"The bond pushes her toward me," Spock says. He's got that thinking face on, all furrowed brow and parted lips. "That is what caused her to journey all this way, her instinctive need. I have heard rumors of Vulcans surviving their pon farr with the assistance of someone other than their bondmate. But those cases involved long distances between the bonded ones. I do not know if a substitute would appease her fever."

"But it might work. Would a Human do, or does it have to be a Vulcan?" Jim asks.

Spock gives one of his little nods. "My parents' marriage suggests a Human partner would be acceptable."

"Right. Good. That's...that's good." Kirk licks his lips without thinking, but he certainly thinks about it once he notices Spock staring again. "If that's the case then--"

"Are you three standing here in the hallway discussing my future?"

They all spin around to find T'Pring standing in the sickbay's doorway, watching them with narrowed eyes. "I believe I should be consulted, at least," she says.

Bones and Spock seem to have lost their ability to speak for the moment, so Jim steps forward with an apologetic quirk of his lips. "Of course. But I am responsible for the safety of this ship and my crew. If the situation escalates like you say it will, then I need to be ready."

"If you had bothered to ask me, I would have told you what must be done," she says. "I require a room with a lock that will not break. I will need to be kept apart while the pon farr rages."

"T'Pring," Spock says in a voice that is almost gentle, it's so soft, "please do not choose death. There are so few of us now, and despite everything, I would grieve for you."

She looks over at Spock with a cool, lofty gaze. "Calm yourself. I have considered it and I do not wish to die. I merely choose another mate." She points to McCoy. "This one, if he is willing."

Jim turns to Bones, his mouth hanging open. Bones, for his part, looks like he's been hit with a truck full of unexpected sexual offers driven by pointy-eared aliens.

"Me?" Bones squeaks.

"Him?" Jim says at the same time.

There's that eyebrow lift again, which Jim is starting to think is the Vulcan version of a shrug. "It is logical," she says. "Dr. McCoy expressed an interest in my well-being, so he is likely to agree to my proposal. He is also not altogether unpleasing to me. Physically." T'Pring gives a little nod of finality.

Jim holds in the hysterical bubble of laughter that wells in his throat at the sight of Bones blushing like a teenager. Spock, meanwhile, looks on with polite interest, like the only horse he has in this race is called Mild Curiosity.

"Well, Bones?" Kirk nudges his friend in the ribs.

"I--I barely know you," McCoy sputters at last, staring at T'Pring with bulging eyes.

"Yes. Fortunately I estimate I have four to five hours of lucidity left before the plak tow takes hold of my nervous system again. Perhaps you would like to spend it," she wrinkles her nose as if trying to remember a foreign phrase, "chatting some more."

"Oh, like the nice little talk we had about you wanting Spock dead?"

"Doctor, please," Spock says. "While it is gratifying to see you so concerned for my health, there is no need to leap to my defense in this manner; without our sacred place and elders to oversee the kal-ifee, the point is moot."

Bones turns his wild gaze to Kirk. "This is insane. Am I the only one who sees this is insane?"

Jim shrugs in a way he hopes encompasses the myriad emotions of 'Vulcans: what are you gonna do?'

"If you do not consent, that is your choice. I will seek someone else," T'Pring says with a barely suppressed sigh. She gestures in the general direction of Jim's chest. "This one, perhaps."

Kirk opens his mouth to decline in the most polite way possible, but Spock steps cleanly between him and T'Pring, effectively cutting him off. "Find another," he says, curt and sharp.

McCoy rolls his eyes. Kirk files away that tone in Spock's voice for a lonely night. T'Pring looks on the verge of a smirk.

"I look forward to experiencing this Human charm that has so completely conquered you, Spock," she purrs. Then, looking at Bones with a gleam in her eyes: "My time is short. Your answer, Dr. McCoy?"

"Oh hell." Bones glares at Jim, then Spock, like it's all their fault. "I guess if it'll save a patient's life--"

"Excellent. Captain, is there an appropriate room nearby?"

"I'll put a special security clearance on Bones' quarters. Only my voice command or Bones' will be able to open the door," Kirk says.

"That is sufficient. Spock, we shall make an appointment to dissolve our bond the next time you are in the vicinity of New Vulcan. I trust you can find the necessary excuses to achieve this. Otherwise, I suggest you use your clout as the savior of our race to secure special treatment."

Spock nods. "I will find a way. I know...someone who may be able to assist us. An elder." Kirk blinks. The idea of that older Spock dissolving his younger self's marriage--it makes his head hurt a little.

"Good. Doctor?" T'Pring lifts two fingers in the air. "Attend me."

Bones gives Jim a confused look, and Jim does his best to subtly mime the correct response by touching his own fingers together. Spock nods encouragingly.

"My quarters are on deck nine," McCoy mumbles as he touches his fore- and middle fingers to hers.

They walk away together, fingers touching. T'Pring's profile radiates contentment as she turns to say to her companion, "Tell me why your crewmates call you Bones. Have you set many in surgery?"

"Well, it's a long story...." Bones glares at Kirk and Spock over his shoulder, then they turn the corner and are out of sight.

Spock glances at the upper bulkhead, perhaps out of politeness, Kirk thinks. "A gratifying solution, Captain," he says.

"You're sure Bones will be all right?"

"T'Pring may prove a vigorous...conversationalist as the evening progresses, but I do not think the doctor will be permanently damaged," Spock says.

"Hm. Well, Mr. Spock." There are still several hours left until the end of their ship, and as much as Jim wants to grab Spock and kiss him in relief, his lady the Enterprise always comes first. "Let's go mind the store."

Spock follows him to the turbolift that will take them to the bridge, and while they're moving through that constant stream of engineering and security personnel that always seem to be salmoning up and down this deck, Jim feels a light brush against his hand. At first he dismisses it as the press of the crowded hallway, but when it happens again he looks down and finds Spock's long, lithe fingers pressed against his own. Jim's heart judders in his chest; Spock is here, he's here, and he's not leaving, he's right here at Jim's side. He glances over at his first officer and smiles at the sight of those eyebrows raised in challenge.

"Perhaps tonight we may converse as well," Spock says.

"That Vulcan smoothness." Jim shakes his head in wonder as they enter the lift.

~@~

"--and on a warm summer night, you can just sit on the front steps and watch the lightning bugs blink along. Little green lights flickering in the air. Like magic. It was my little Joanna's favorite thing," Bones says. He drains his cup and gestures to T'Pring, who is seated on the bed opposite him with her knees tucked up under her chin. "I feel like I've been yakking at you all night. Are you sure I can't get you anything?" He waves his empty glass. He'd upped the temperature of his quarters toward Vulcan norms when they'd arrived and secured the door, and he'd needed a few gulps of ice water to keep himself cool.

T'Pring shakes her head. "I will not eat or drink until after the pon farr is over. Please, continue. You make the principality of Georgia sound almost pleasing. I have never been to Earth and I wish to hear more."

"But that's not fair, me just talking about myself. I'd feel more comfortable with a little give and take," Bones says. Is this flirting? It feels like flirting. God, he hasn't flirted in ages. Well, knowingly. He clears his throat and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: the only topic they have in common: "Tell me what Spock was like as a kid."

T'Pring stiffens at this, and McCoy is about to take it all back, but she says, "He was as normal as any child, I suppose. He was burdened, however, by the circumstances of his birth. I despaired when our parents agreed to bond us. I knew even then that Spock would not be content to pursue a career at the VSA as so many of our classmates did. I had no wish to leave my home. Ironic, as I do not have a choice in that matter any longer."

"Oh. Huh." Bones refills his cup from the pitcher on his bedside table as he thinks that over.

T'Pring must take his silence as judgment because she hurries to add, "I will specify: I do not condemn Spock's path. The first Vulcan in Starfleet, a symbol of the future...." She shakes her head. Her shorn hair settles back into place almost immediately, soft as silk. "But I am not meant to stand in the shadow of a legend."

"I can see that," McCoy says gently. Even tucked up on the lip of his bed, T'Pring is a study in easy grace. She piloted a near-busted Stargazer across the Galvanized Asteroid Belt. Her left hook is something out of a How To manual. She's a work of art, a master tactician in a size five shoe. "You want to be your own legend."

Her dark eyes go round. "How gratifying that you understand me," she breathes. "Even Stonn did not always comprehend." Her gaze flickers to his cup. "Have you had enough to drink, doctor?"

"Oh, plenty hydrated." He salutes the glass in her direction. "Sure you don't need any water?"

Her face falls. "Not alcohol, then? I had heard that Humans often drank liquors before intercourse to ease the process."

Bones nearly chokes on his next sip. "Uh, sure. Sometimes. But I thought--what with your condition--I should stay clear-headed. In case. You know. Something medical happens."

"I see. Logical." T'Pring looks pointedly at him. Bones realizes this was a compliment.

"Thank you."

She loosens the delicate collar of her dress robes, her gaze now fastened on the bedsheets. "I am sorely uneducated in the ways of Humans. You must tell me if I do something to offend, Doctor."

"Leonard," Bones says. "You can call me Leonard." She stares at him in open confusion; the pon farr must be getting bad for the emotion to be showing so plainly on her face. He shrugs. "That's my given name. You know, my first name. Like T'Pring is yours."

"Leonard," she sounds out in a slow purr. It sounds pretty good.

"What's your, uh, full name? I usually know that kind of thing before I sleep with someone."

"We will have little time for sleep," she says reproachfully.

"It's a polite euphemism."

"It is inaccurate." Then, quirking her lips into a strange shape, T'Pring creates a series of melodic syllables that Bones could never hope to repeat. "That is my clan name." She sees his discomfort and actually smiles. "You may simply call me T'Pring."

Bones laughs. "I'm sorry, I just can't get over the sight of a Vulcan actually having fun."

"And I am having a difficult time processing the fact that a Human has bowed to the inevitability of logic and will be servicing me sexually for the next solar day," T'Pring fires back with a grin.

"Well." McCoy sticks his tongue in his cheek to stifle an unattractive snort. "Maybe Vulcans and Humans aren't so different after all."

"An admirable conclusion, Leonard." She slithers off the foot of the bed and unclasps the alien-looking fasteners along the side-seam of her robes. McCoy averts his eyes out of instinct, but T'Pring just sighs fondly. "Excuse my abruptness. My skin becomes more sensitive as the plak tow burns. Do you mind my nudity?" The fabric hisses as it falls.

"No, of course not, I wouldn't want you to suffer any--" Bones chances a look. Looks away. "--unnecessary discomfort."

"And they say we Vulcans fear sex," T'Pring murmurs. She steps lightly around the bedframe and takes McCoy's jaw in her hand, tilts his face up to look at her. "We may have our unspoken secrets, but you.... Do you all redden in the presence of a woman's flesh?"

"Not usually, no." Bones swallows. He feels his Adam's apple brushing against her thumb. "But you have to admit, T'Pring, this is kind of an unusual occurrence."

"Hm, yes. In many ways." She trails her fingertips over his cheek. "Leonard, I am flame. Soon I will be consumed. There will be aggression. Animalistic need." Her fingers climb into his hair and tighten, pulling his head back slowly by degrees. "You still have time to open the door and run."

Bones licks his lips. "I'll stay."

"I may break you," she warns.

"You might, ma'am. But damn if it won't be a good way to go," Bones says.

She's on him in an instant, straddling his hips, tearing off his blues and his underblacks and his trousers and his boots all in one frantic, irrational whirlwind. Bones would laugh if he could get the air; she knocks him flat on his back with a palm to his chest and the wind goes out of his lungs. He feels a little silly, just laying there while this tiny strongwoman rips his uniform to shreds, so he tries to assert himself by planting his hands on her narrow waist.

T'Pring licks his chin and spins them over so fast, they roll off the bed and hit the floor with a bang. The nightstand tips over, and so does the pitcher of water, and Bones' hair is soaked and hanging in his eyes and there's a naked Vulcan grinding on his thigh and he's laughing because this is crazy and she's laughing too and leaving bruises and he doesn't care, he doesn't care.

He thinks he won't even bother with the healing accelerant after they're done. The bruises feel nice, in a way, and he wants to keep them as long as he can. The subsequent laugh (swallowed by T'Pring) at this thought: of course he's turning out to be a masochist; he's on the Enterprise, isn't he?

~@~

Uhura is still at her station when Spock and the captain return to the bridge. She looks at them questioningly; she's used to knowing everything that happens on board the ship at all times. It's her job to coordinate communication between departments, and it worries her that she hasn't heard a peep about T'Pring. Not from Security, not sickbay, no one is talking about the Vulcan in the stolen shuttle. And she wants to know why.

Kirk gives her nothing more than pursed lips and a short nod. Spock ignores her gaze altogether in favor of drilling a hole in the back of the captain's head with his eyes. Oh, yeah. He's got it bad, all right.

Her earpiece chirps and Uhura taps the blinking light on her console: incoming prerecorded audio message. And it's on her personal frequency. Normally she would wait until after her shift to review personal messages, but this one--according to the calm computerized voice in her ear--is from Commander Spock.

She glances over at Spock, who is leaning over his science station, busying himself with reports. Uhura reviews her workload, decides that she can take a short break, and enters the relay sequence to retrieve her message.

"Lt. Uhura." Spock's voice is tinny through her earpiece. At first she thinks there's static interference but soon realizes it's just background noises, like Spock recorded this in a crowded room. "I apologize for the impersonal quality of this message, as well as the poor sound. I am outside sickbay awaiting news on T'Pring's condition, and perhaps you will find, as I do, that speaking to you like this is more conducive to straightforward thought." He pauses for a long moment, so long that Uhura wonders if the message has cut off. Then Spock says, "Captain Kirk has asked me to explain the situation to you." And he does, a long, monotone story about Vulcan bonding and the day Uhura approached him in the Academy mess hall, about T'Pring and pon farr and how being half-Human could be both a joy and a curse in equal measure. Uhura listens, looking up when she notices the weight of Spock's stare. She touches a hand to her earpiece and nods. Spock returns the gesture and moves off to speak to the ensign currently at the helm.

"I am sorry," the Spock in her message says. "It is tempting to say that our relationship was not meant to be, that its dissolution was no one's fault. But I must take responsibility for my shortcomings. You deserve a partner who--" He stops then. She can imagine him taking his bottom lip between his teeth in thought, just for a moment. That beautiful gesture he never realized he was making. "It is not my place to tell you what you deserve," he says quietly. "You know exactly what that is, and I do not. That was our relationship at its core. I could not admit my ignorance then; I hope confessing it now is the better option. I wish to remain friends, Nyota, though of course that is your decision. Whatever happens, I thank you for the time we shared and I am proud to serve beside you. Live long and prosper."

"End of message," the computer's voice chirps.

Uhura thinks about Spock's words for a long moment, then composes a brief text-only message to be sent over Spock's personal comm:

Mr. Spock: Ditto. -Uhura

Grinning, Uhura accepts reports from the engineering decks. It will be interesting, she thinks, to see who Spock goes to for the exact definition of the word 'ditto.'

~@~

Jim's shift ends more than an hour after Spock's. Too many tasks have backed up today, what with their unplanned side trip and new passenger. Little daily chores that only the captain can sign off on. Jim bites his tongue to keep from telling the yeomen to just forge his signature on the registers already and be done with it. Patience: one of those things he's still working on.

Finally he's able to turn the conn over to Sulu and leave the bridge. He makes a beeline for Spock's quarters, hoping it's not too late to pick up where they left off. His hand is still tingling from that furtive touch in the crowded hallway. Or maybe that's just his overactive imagination.

"Come," Spock calls when he requests access. The door slides open, and Jim steps in. It's always a bit of a shock, seeing Spock in his element like this. The first time he came to these rooms for a game of three-dimensional chess, he'd been expecting Spartan quarters, blank walls, no personal adornments. But Spock is seated in a chair of Vulcan design, a very elegant curve, and his walls are strewn with red silk and ancient weaponry. Incense hangs warm and spicy in the air. Anyone who accuses Spock of having no personality would see how wrong they were after setting foot in this space, Jim is sure of that.

Spock puts down the padd he'd been consulting and looks up at Jim's arrival. "Ah, Captain. May I inquire as to the meaning of an obscure Terran word? I cannot find a suitable definition in any of our--"

"Seriously? Homework? After the day I've had?" His fingertips fiddle with his shirt's hem. He usually strips it off when he visits Spock's superheated quarters, but now the gesture seems fraught with sensuality, and Jim isn't sure how welcome it would be.

Spock's gaze follows his hands. "It would be illogical for you to be uncomfortable during your stay here, Captain," he says, gesturing in the direction of his offending clothing. "Please. Do as you normally do."

There's so much Jim wants to harp on from that statement, but he ends up muttering a muffled "You don't have to call me Captain when we're off-duty, you know" into his shirt as he shucks it over his head.

"I know. Jim." Spock indicates the empty chair on the other side of the table, where the chess set is ready for a new game. Kirk's heart sinks. Just what they normally do. Maybe Spock had second thoughts about getting all handsy with his superior officer, also known as the infuriating asshole he can't stand sometimes. Yeah, okay. Kirk balls up his golds in his hands and slumps into the chair across from Spock.

"Want to take white?" he asks, not even looking at the board.

"No. I want--" The catch in Spock's voice makes Jim look up. Spock has his lower lip caught in his teeth just barely, just the smallest Human gesture of hesitation. Jim waits in silence because he doesn't want to tip any scales. Finally, Spock says, "May I touch your face?"

"Um." It isn't the weirdest request he's ever gotten. For a hot second, Kirk's imagining Austen novels and Byronic interludes, Spock cupping his jaw, tilting his face up to kiss him in the rain or something. But then he remembers what the older Spock did to him, that rushing wealth of memories and knowledge and emotions like water, waves and waves, an entire ocean of self, and he realizes that's what Spock is talking about.

"You want to...to meld? With me?" He licks his lips. Squints. "Why?"

"The experience can be pleasurable," Spock says.

"It can?" Jim asks. Spock merely nods. "But aren't other things pleasurable too?"

"That is true. However." And here Spock almost looks embarrassed. The points of his ears and the hollow of his throat take on a pale green tint which, Jim sees now, is his Vulcan blood rising to the surface. "It is not something I have ever done willingly with another for pleasure."

Oh. Oh. "Not even Uhura?"

"Nyota mistrusted the practice. She felt the nature of the meld was too...invasive." Spock's brows draw together. "She is not wrong. It is very personal, and can make one feel incredibly exposed. I will attempt to control myself and keep the meld shallow. But I may see things in you that you are not ready to show me. I would understand if you wish to--" He pauses. "--take things more slowly."

Welcome to Vulcan relationships, Jim thought, where putting your hand on someone's face is more intimate than taking off your pants. Which, in a logical way, kind of made sense. Jim had shared his body with plenty of people, but not many people had gotten a front row seat in his mind. He considers all the things Spock might find in there: fears, mistakes, awful stray thoughts, weaknesses. An ugliness Jim doesn't want to face, let alone share with someone he wants, above all others, to think him worthy.

Spock must sense his hesitation because he hurries to say, "Or we may play a game instead, if you wish, and I will not broach the subject again." He turns to the board, his shoulders tight under his science blues.

We could be flip-flopping here all night, Jim thinks wryly. It's time for someone to take the leap. "Spock, is this important to you? Doing this with me?" he asks.

"I would not suggest this lightly," Spock says. "For the first time in my life, I am--" He swallows.

"What?"

"Free of my childhood bond," Spock confesses in a whisper. "T'Pring is no longer in my mind. I have tried to reach her thoughts to no avail. Our bond is broken. This means I could someday bond with another of my choosing. Just thinking of it--" The green flush creeps up to his cheeks. "That is a topic for a future date, however. Tonight I only wish to...to illustrate to you...."

"Spock." Jim is out of his chair and on his feet before he knows what he's doing. Typical. He hovers over Spock, itching to reach for his hand but not wanting to jump the gun on this Vulcan wooing thing. "You don't have to explain. I get it, I think. You want me to know what I'm getting into."

Spock's breath whooshes from his lungs in a sigh, if Spock can do such a mundane thing as sigh. "Yes. Thank you for understanding." His relief is palpable.

Jim crouches down at Spock's feet so he's looking up into that elegant face, like he always does on the bridge. It feels right, familiar. "When we're alone," he says slowly, "you can be yourself. Whatever that is: Vulcan. Human. Some combination of the two. Because I think I know what I'm getting into, I do. And you should too."

Spocks nods, his lips parted. "Then...?"

Jim picks up Spock's wrist and presses his hand to the side of his face. "Go for it. But if you--" He laughs, nervous. "Do me a favor? If you see something weird, just back away slowly."

"I will be careful," Spock promises. He arranges his fingertips along the constellation of Jim's psi points, and his eyes drift shut. Jim closes his eyes too, because it just seems polite.

At first, nothing happens. Jim just sits there, Spock's fingertips cool and dry where they're pressing into his skin, and wonders if maybe this means they're just not mentally compatible. Like a battery that's the wrong size for a comm unit. Then he's aware that this anxiety isn't only coming from him; there's another shape right next to him in his mind, something cool and silver.

"That you?" he breathes.

"I--I think-- Yes," Spock says. "You are very warm. Like sand that retains its heat even after sundown."

Jim is absurdly proud of this. "That was almost poetic." He tries to return the compliment, but it's not easy to put into words, the feeling of Spock slipping into his brain. "It tingles," is the best he can manage.

"This signals the beginning of contact. Are you ready for me to enter?"

A breath gets sucked in. "Come on in, Spock. Mi casa es su casa."

All Jim can see are the backs of his own eyelids, and then that sight is gone and everything is black and nothingness, just the void staring back at him, through him. The silver shape next to him is missing; Jim gropes for it in the dark. Spock, he tries to say. But he has no voice, he has no mouth, no body. Spock!

Calm. Coolness. It enfolds him like an atmosphere. I am here, Spock thinks. I did not leave you.

Nerves. Embarrassment. I knew that, Jim returns. I just got a little turned around. It's dark, is all.

You don't need to see, Spock tells him. I will lead. Will you follow?

Yeah. You're the expert.

You trust me.

Of course I do.

Perhaps that is unwise.

It's thought so quietly, so terribly, that Jim knows it wasn't meant to be heard. He's in Spock's head too, he remembers. Things are bleeding through from both sides. He prods, trying for gentleness, dipping into the cool, silver surface that seems to make up Spock. He looks for the reason Spock thinks so little of himself and finds it in a small, tear-stained child with a split lip and a quivering heart. He holds that memory close, or imagines he does. It warms to him like a sea-glass marble cupped in his palms.

They were wrong, you know. You proved them wrong a hundred times over.

A colorless, sightless glow: Spock is thanking him without words. It reminds Jim of sitting inside a warm, dry house while a thunderstorm begins outside.

Come. I wish to feel you, Spock thinks, and they go together.

Jim's floating down a corridor or some other close, narrow space where he can stay at Spock's side, brushing against him periodically to stave off that feeling of being lost. They pass by thoughts both small and large, minutiae and towering, existential monoliths. Jim thinks they all belong to him, so he's surprised when he examines one more closely and sees not his own name stamped there, but Spock's.

I thought opposites attract, he wonders.

Perhaps there is no such thing as an opposite, Spock muses. He leads Jim away from the tower labeled What My Last Thought Before Death Shall Be. Let me show you something you'd enjoy, he thinks.

Then they're out in a starfield and the black is--not gone, for the void is still with them--but now it is dotted with bright lights and orbiting bodies and space, the kind of space Jim was born into and to which he will always return.

I should have known you would contain galaxies within you, Mr. Spock, he whispers inside their minds.

No, Jim. Not I alone. This is ours. This is where our minds meet.

Jim reaches for a star, or the thing that feels like a star. It is Spock's love--he would call it "preference"--for warm, thick soup after a lonely day. Spock brushes by an asteroid, which is Jim's memory of his first kiss (a dare, little Heda, who bit his lip open). Geranium air. Suns made of hopes. Orbits picked out like stitches on a canvas. Jim takes it all in.

I could stay here all night.

Jim's not sure which of them thought that, or if they both did. They lay on the surface of purple and red planets, sharing stars and ringed heavens as they pass by. A thousand small memories, a handful of big ones. It's a dream. It is warm. It is lulling them together until Jim doesn't know where he ends and his Vulcan begins, like liquid metal mingling.

Is this it? Are we bonded now?

No, Spock says. Though it would be easy. It is taking much of my control to keep it from forming. We fit together quite well.

Jim is happy. He presses into the surface of the planet and feels the drowsy contentment overtake him.

Are we safe, he asks. I feel safe, but I also have this nagging thought--

We should return, Spock finishes for him. It is a slow and reluctant thought.

I hope we didn't miss our shift. It feels like we've been here for days.

You will find only seventeen minutes have passed.

Kirk startles. That's all? He's learned more about Spock in seventeen minutes than he has in all their time together combined. And this is just scratching the surface. He can sense the layers waiting to be peeled back, the things they'll share the next time and the next. To be trusted with that much Spock is--Jim can barely comprehend it.

I think you very worthy, Spock says in the falling dark. The stars go out one by one until they're back where they started, and Jim has to keep reminding himself he's not alone. He turns some warmth in Spock's direction in farewell.

"Thank you," he says. And he opens his eyes.

He's not kneeling on the floor any longer. He's on top of Spock, straddling him in the chair with Spock's hand now leaving his face with a parting caress. Their noses are bumping alongside each other and their mouths are open and panting just inches apart.

"I think that of you, too," Jim whispers, and kisses him.

Spock holds him by his hipbones and returns the kiss, and somewhere in the back of Jim's mind he feels a tingle that sounds like stars.

~@~

T'Pring awakens slowly, languidly, her body responding only in fits and starts. The fever seems to have broken, for the most part. The flames are banked like glowing embers. She glances at the shape of the man lying next to her on the floor; they had not managed to stay on the bed during their last session.

McCoy--Leonard--is still asleep. His lips (bruised) are parted and his chest (also bruised) rises and falls in a steady rhythm. He snores lightly. T'Pring finds it fascinating; Vulcans make very little noise during sleep. Leonard's eyes are closed, another oddity, though she wishes this one could be avoided. She enjoys the color of his eyes, a rich hazel flecked with green. So exotic compared to the dark eyes of Vulcans.

A small, undignified flicker of pride courses through her at the sight of his skin, which is slicked in places with their mingled fluids. She can pick out the splotches of his ejaculate on his stomach and chest; the thick whiteness of it had been unexpected yet not at all off-putting. There is still a smear of her own juices on his cheek, bright and iridescent. T'Pring recalls--as if through a thick fog--the feel of his head between her thighs.

"I think I've finally discovered the purpose of the Human mouth!" she had crowed in her native tongue. Leonard, who did not seem to understand a single word of Vulcan, had continued in his thorough and enthusiastic manner. T'Pring seals the memory away in her mind. She does not wish to forget how it felt to be a queen on her throne.

She picks herself off the floor and asks the room to dim the lights to twenty percent. Leonard needs his rest; he is only Human, after all. She finds one clean set of regulation clothes in his drawers, and she dresses in a soft pair of black pants and a plain black shirt. The clothing is large on her; her arms especially swim in the sleeves of the shirt. But it is preferable to donning her robes, which are torn and stained. They had been...pressed into service at various points in the evening. As a gag, as restraints, as a quick solution to wiping the salty sweat from Leonard's eyes so he could see again. (Even in the throes of pon farr, T'Pring had not wanted to seem overly rude, and she is pleased by her relative clear-headedness.)

Leonard's computer console is distressingly easy to hack. T'Pring merely inputs a piece of code, taking care to include the parameters "Joanna" and "Georgia" in the string. The computer welcomes her after four-point-six minutes. From there, she is free to access anything within Dr. McCoy's security clearance, including the ship's tentative mission schedule (they'll return to New Vulcan in eleven months) and the layout of the crew's quarters. She takes note of all the information she needs and prepares to make her exit. It is necessary to access Leonard's personal logs for this, though T'Pring does her best to ignore the content. Again, she does not wish to be rude, but she requires a sample of the doctor's voice speaking the door release code. She finds the audio snippets she needs, pieces them together, and plays them back.

"Doctor Leonard McCoy. Starfleet. ID. Alpha. Two. Six. Nine. Dash. Zero. Open."

And it does.

T'Pring logs out of the console and pads across the room on bare feet. As she passes Leonard, still motionless on the floor, she bends down and presses two fingertips to his bitten-stung lips. "Peace and long life," she says quietly, so as not to wake him. Then she's out in the hallway and making her way to deck five.

At this time of night (T'Pring is strangely unsure of the date; her internal clock has suffered from the effects of the fever) the halls are empty. Only a few stray crewmembers spare a glance for the small, barefoot Vulcan female in oversized black clothing as she passes by. Her destination is not far from the turbolift, at any rate. T'Pring checks the cabin number to be certain she has the correct room and presses the alert button to request entrance.

"Come," a voice calls, and T'Pring steps inside. Lt. Uhura looks up from her padd, surprise evident on her face. "T'Pring? What...can I do for you?"

T'Pring admires her ability to cover her shock. "I do not wish to interrupt your leisure time, but I must speak to you," she says.

"No, think nothing of it. Please, sit." Uhura indicates a free chair on the other side of her desk, and she stows her padd away in a drawer. She turns her full attention on T'Pring once she's taken her seat. "I suppose you want to talk about Spock," she begins.

T'Pring blinks, her eyebrows drawing together. "Spock? Why would I wish to speak of him?"

Uhura's face contorts in that way Human faces sometimes do when they experience discomfort or vacillation. "Well. I know you were aware of our...relationship."

T'Pring waves the fact away with one hand. "Yes, but that is not my concern. Lieutenant, I would like to ask you about," she purses her lips for one moment before saying, "Starfleet."

Uhura sits up straighter. "Yes? What about it?"

"Do you think it likely that Starfleet would accept a female Vulcan?" T'Pring asks.

"T'Pring! Are you thinking of enlisting?" Uhura's eyes are bright and open. She is smiling with her teeth. "That's fantastic!"

T'Pring holds up a hand as if to ward off the Human enthusiasm. "I merely wish to consider my options. I have no family left for me on New Vulcan. And I--" She chooses her next words carefully. "I am concerned about the changes our society has undergone since the disaster. Childbearing has become such a paramount goal...." She trails off.

"And you don't want children?"

"It is not logical for those unsuited for motherhood to apply themselves to it," T'Pring answers.

Uhura sits back with a sly grin. "I agree completely." Then, with a shrug, "Starfleet would snap you up in a second. They might even waive some of the test scores and prereqs; what kind of track did you take in the VSA?"

"Chemistry," T'Pring says.

"And is that what you want to stick with? Starfleet can always use good members on its science teams."

T'Pring hesitates to answer. "I was found to be adept at chemistry at a young age," she finally says.

Uhura quirks a brow. "But?"

"But what?"

"But is there something else you enjoy more?"

"It is not logical to prefer one task over another when one is capable--"

Uhura holds up a hand. "Put it this way: where else do you excel? Something you could imagine doing for the rest of your life."

T'Pring shifts in her chair. "I was always fascinated by the mechanical processes involved in engineering and piloting. But these skills are not very prized by Vulcans."

Lt. Uhura smiles. "They are in Starfleet." She leans forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. "I could write a recommendation for you. Kirk would too, if you want. You could get a position on a starship or a colony or a base. Hell, you could even apply to the Starship Development Institute, build the next wave of ships. It's all up to you."

T'Pring's mouth thins into a line as she thinks. "It sounds very tempting, a life away from New Vulcan," she says. "The colony is a cage. Everyone suffers yet no one has the courage to speak of it. When I talk of Stonn, I receive only blank stares and murmurs of 'I grieve with thee, I grieve with thee.' But no one is grieving, not truly. There is no time to grieve, only rebuild."

Uhura's eyes are soft and kind. "That must be very difficult. I wouldn't blame you for going to Earth, if that's what you wanted."

"And yet I do not." T'Pring stifles a growl; the fever must still cling to her if her frustration is showing so baldly. "You may call me prideful, but I do not wish to follow in Spock's footsteps. For me it is simple logic: he has cleared one path for our people. Should not someone else clear another?" The words tumble out of her mouth, but they feel right once they're been released into the air.

Uhura looks intrigued. "What kind of path did you have in mind?"

"I do not know. The remaining elders cling to the past as if it is the only thing that will save us. More and more females of my age are being wedded to their childhood bondmates. So young, to have the choice taken from them! Surely I am not the only one to have suffered an early onset of--" She looks up at Uhura sharply. "Forgive me, I speak too freely tonight."

"It's all right," Uhura says. "I think I know what you mean. For all your logical ways, some things haven't changed."

"Exactly."

"Someone should really do something about that."

"Precisely! Reform! Social reform is what New Vulcan needs. Why not now, when we are rebuilding so much? This too is broken and should be fixed before we go further." The idea churns in T'Pring's mind, a maelstrom of hope.

"Hear, hear." Uhura claps her hands. "A new dawn for New Vulcan!"

"Yes!" Her fist strikes the armrest.

"With Chancellor T'Pring at the helm," Uhura laughs. Her eyes glitter.

T'Pring freezes. "A chancellor? Myself? No, Uhura. This would be impossible."

"How come?"

"I have no grounds to request a seat on the council. My familial rights ended with my father's death, as I am unmarried."

"And don't you think that is some serious bullshit?" Uhura frowns.

T'Pring considers this. "I understand you do not think it actual fecal matter; you think it as repulsive as fecal matter," she says slowly. Uhura nods. "Then, yes. I do think it is."

"So do something," Uhura hisses. "Get some Federation bigwigs to back you; gender equality is one of its tenants, after all. Make your case, get the signatures. Get in those councils and make them listen to you."

T'Pring gazes at her hands, fisted in her lap. "A new dawn for New Vulcan," she repeats.

"Think about it," Uhura says. "It's not a bad idea."

A firm nod, then: "Thank you, Lieutenant, for speaking with me on this topic. It was refreshing to hear another opinion. You Humans are so creative, aren't you? The leaps you make...." She tugs at the neck of her shirt, which is in danger of slipping off her shoulder. "May I ask another favor of you?"

"Of course."

"May I borrow some clothing that might actually fit my person?"

"Come on, I think I can kit you up." Uhura rises and leads T'Pring into the next room. "What happened to your robes, anyway?"

"Many things," T'Pring says vaguely.

~@~

Spock awakens by degrees instead of all at once as he usually does. His quarters are dark and warm. The shape next to him on the bed makes it warmer still. He untangles his hand from Jim's. They'd fallen asleep in the middle of a kiss, a Vulcan one.

They're still in their clothes: Spock in his uniform, now woefully wrinkled; Jim in his black undershirt and trousers. Even their boots are still on their feet. It had been a chore even to move from their shared chair in Spock's sitting room to the bed, neither man wanting to release the other. And yet, when Spock had gasped out a desperate plea that their lovemaking go no further, Jim hadn't balked. He'd understood. Even given what little of Spock's thoughts he'd seen that night, he still understood: Spock wanted to do this correctly.

There was a fruit that had been native to Vulcan--the chambala--which had a tough rind that grew in between the layers of sticky-sweet pulp. Spock had learned to peel back that rind with care before eating the fruit's fleshy layers, one by one. That, in a way, was how he wished to approach this new territory with Jim. Slowly, with deliberation, like waking from a restful sleep next to the man who cradled your hands in his.

Spock takes the opportunity to observe Kirk at rest, something he hasn't seen since those tense days in sickbay when McCoy hadn't been sure he'd live. But Jim is alive now, fiercely so. His chest rises and falls, his lips parted slightly, a sheen of sweat at his temple. His hair is mussed, flattened on one side and sticking up at an angle on the other. Spock is wracked with the illogical impulse to run his hand through it, and since Jim had requested he relax when they were alone, Spock sees no harm in indulging himself. His fingertips are just grazing past a meld point (a whisper of Jim's essence, his soul, stretching like a pleased animal in Spock's direction) when the communication signal beeps.

"Commander Spock?" Scotty's voice says.

Spock snatches his hand away and, absurdly, puts more distance between himself and the captain, though no one can see them. "Yes, Mr. Scott?"

Jim is burrowing deeper into the pillow, grumbling something unintelligible. Spock wills him to remain quiet; they had not discussed whether their relationship necessitated public acknowledgement at this stage and Spock would rather give Jim the choice if he can.

"I couldn't raise the captain, sir, so I thought someone should tell you--" Scotty coughs. "Well. You see, sir..."

"Go ahead, Mr. Scott." Spock is already on his feet, combing his fingers through his hair. Not perfectly ordered, but enough to be presentable for whatever emergency has struck the ship.

"The lady Vulcan appears to have left the ship," Scotty says. "And she's taken a shuttle with her."

"Huh?" Jim squawks, wide awake now, head springing off his pillow in the blink of an eye. "She what?" He rolls to the left and ends up with his legs tangled in Spock's sheets. He hits the floor head first. Spock suppresses a wince.

"Oh, Captain, there you are. Mr. Spock didn't mention you were present."

Jim's head pops up over the far edge of the bed, his eyes finding Spock's.

"I apologize for the oversight," Spock says, staring at Kirk in what he hopes is a clear silent communication.

Jim works his sleep-slack mouth open and closed. "Just arrived, Scotty. Repeat that last part? She stole the Beta 3 shuttle again?"

"No, sir," Scotty says. "She, uh, took the Galileo."

"She took my shuttle?" Jim shouts.

"One of them, sir. We still have the other three. And the broken-down one she came in," Scotty says with false cheer.

Spock lifts an eyebrow. "It is sensible to travel in a shuttle that can make the journey, Captain."

"Who opened the bay doors for her?" Kirk demands of the ceiling. He gropes along the floor for his uniform shirt, which he tugs on inside-out. Spock throws him a pitying look and divests him of it again to fix it properly.

"No one, sir!" Scotty sounds quite scandalized at the idea. "I don't know how--"

"Bridge to Commander Spock," Uhura's voice cuts in on her priority channel. "Have you seen the captain, Spock? He's not answering in his quarters."

"The captain is--"

"Here, Uhura. Tell engineering we need a tractor beam locked onto--"

"Before we do that, sir," Uhura says, "you might want to hear this message. It's from the Galileo."

The entry chime for Spock's door sounds then, along with McCoy's voice hollering, "Damn it, you hobgoblin, open up! Jim's not in his room!"

Spock shoots Jim another weary look and says, "Enter." The Dr. McCoy who barrels into his quarters is distinctly different from the one Spock last saw. For one thing, this McCoy has a host of mottled bruises peeking out from his uniform collar, and he appears to be missing his underblacks.

"That green-blooded temptress hacked my door while I was asleep!" he shrieks, revealing that he is, in fact, Dr. McCoy and not some ill-dressed doppelganger.

"We gathered that already," Jim says, yanking his golds into place. McCoy notices him there behind Spock at last. He eyes their wrinkled uniforms with suspicion.

"And just what the hell have you two been--?"

"Captain!" Uhura mercifully interrupts. "The Galileo's message. Shall I pipe it down?"

"Yes, go ahead," Jim sighs.

The message is tinny; shuttlecraft communications often are. Spock folds his hands behind his back and listens to T'Pring's voice.

"Captain Kirk," she says, "I must belatedly apologize for availing myself of your shuttle. It was necessary to see myself to the nearest starbase. I hope to return it to you in eleven months, when the Enterprise will complete a supply run to New Vulcan. Spock, I will also meet with you at that time. I do not think our bond will need to be formally dissolved, as I cannot sense you, but our marriage contract will. It is my sincere hope that by then, there will be legal measures in place for us and others in a similar situation to dispense with the contract quickly and without dishonor. And Lt. Uhura, as I'm sure you will hear this message as well in your official capacity I will take the opportunity to thank you for your advice. In a show of good faith, I offer you some advice of my own, from one woman to another." Her voice drops to something quiet and dark. "Your ship's CMO has very capable hands. Strong and knowledgeable, yet soft and pleasing to the touch. I would recommend them," she purrs, "very, very highly."

"Oh my god." McCoy covers his red face with his palms. "Just let me die."

"And if you could also see that this message reaches Leonard," T'Pring's message continues, "I wish to...to say goodbye. I regret my abrupt departure but I hope he will understand. I have much to do. Perhaps when the Enterprise arrives at New Vulcan...."

Spock shares a look with Jim. McCoy ceases looking ill and instead appears to be flabbergasted once more.

"No. It is best not to suggest such a thing, do you not agree, Uhura? Much can change in eleven months. Perhaps one or both of us will be unavailable. And yet, if there is a chance-- I found him very stimulating. For a Human. Tell him that. I think he would derive some pleasure from the sentiment."

A slow grin stretched across the doctor's face as Spock watched. Some pleasure, indeed.

"Live long and prosper, Enterprise. T'Pring out."