Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They've been there Jim's entire life. Flowers and flora bursting from his skin in stripes and bundles where his soulmate's skin bleeds. It's not unusual, of course. Nearly everyone gets flowers by their early years, sometimes even newborns, if they're so unlucky. It's another celebrated milestone in a human's life. Jim's parents' first flowers hang together in the kitchen, just by the window. A pink orchid and a pale daisy.

But the thing about Jim's flowers, is they aren't from Earth. Unlike the other kids, who gasp at lilies and sometimes even sunflowers, Jim...has no idea what his are.

His parents, bless them, take it in stride.

"Jim, lots of people have alien soulmates. The numbers have only grown after the Federation formed." George Kirk Sr. sits by a six-year-old Jim on his star-themed bed sheets. It's well past his bedtime, but considering it's the weekend, Dad's more lenient on Jim's questions.

"What kind of alien?" Jim asks, a child's wonder filling his eyes. He hasn't met many aliens yet but he pictures a blue Andorian in his mind. A cute girl with antennae. She'd wear a blue dress, he decides.

"I don't know. You'll have to find out, huh." Dad gives him a smile and gently pushes him to lay down.

As soon as he moves to stand, Jim sits up again. Sam groans from his own bed, a pillow pressed over his head. He goes ignored.

"But, Daddy," Jim protests, "no one else at school has weird flowers! What if they make fun of me?!"

"Your flowers aren't any different than anyone else's, Jim." Dad's voice is serious, but his face is soft. "It doesn't matter if they come from Earth or somewhere else. They're from your soulmate. That makes them, and you, special."

From his soulmate. Jim looks down at the small white flower-thing on the tip of his thumb. His head turns with endless questions. "But which planet? Oh! Can I come with you to space soon?! Then I can find them faster! I'll show them off in class and-"

"Sleep, Jim." Dad stands fully this time, a hand left on the light dial before he goes. "Maybe you can ask your school librarian for some books on alien plants? Make it a project."

"But-"

"Goodnight, Jim."

Jim sighs and falls back on his pillow. "Goodnight, Daddy."

The light turns out and the silence of night fills the room. The house's cooling system flicks on, leaving a soft hum as white noise.

"Sam? Do you think Andoria has flowers?"

"Shut up, Jim." His brother groans.

Jim becomes obsessed with finding what kind of alien his soulmate is. He takes pictures of every flower that pops up and tries to match them to the flowers in the books he finds. He rules out Andoria pretty quickly, given the icy climate couldn't possibly support cactus flowers.

But it's not until nearly seven months later -a good portion of that time spent drawing his imagined soulmate instead of researching- that Jim finds a match.

"Mom! Mom, look!" He runs into Mom's office at warp speed, one sock hanging on for dear life as he skids to a stop in front of her desk.

She looks up hesitantly.

"Mommy, it's a..." Jim squints hard as he reads the name, "Fa-vee-nit. Favinit! See!" He drops the two records on her desk and bounces as she takes a look.

For an agonizingly long time, Mom looks between the professional picture and the one Jim took two months ago. "Favinit: Edible. Spicy smell, sharp pedals...yellow stem..." Jim's heart leaps when she finally smiles. "It sure looks like a match, Buddy. Did it smell spicy?"

"It did!" Jim doesn't actually remember, but he thinks it did. Maybe that's why his leg itched for a week after it showed up. It was spicy! And he could've eaten it!

It's like his soulmate gave him a snack.

Jim stops bouncing when Mom's smile falls into a frown. "Vulcan? Wait a minute," Mom slides the files aside to pull up her own computer. "Computer, search common flowers on Vulcan."

"What is it, Mommy?" Jim leans over the side of her desk, eager to see what comes up. Is something wrong with Vulcan flowers?

She reads out portions of the article in a whisper. "Tree...Bush...Tea...Hm. Jim, do you have other pictures?"

"Uh huh!" He runs away to grab them, then returns with as many as he can fit in his arms. The sock has been completely left behind now.

Mom stays silent a while longer as she compares different pictures in the article to Jim's. He waits, barely breathing through the anticipation.

"Induku...Kal'ta...Ameelah? No, this can't be right. Vulcan's don't..."

Finally, Jim loses his thin patience. His lip warbles as he tugs on Mom's sleeve. "Are the flowers bad, Mommy?" Do they mean something bad will happen, like the old stories of soulmates finding wilted flowers on their throats or hearts. Or maybe they're all poisonous.

Jim saw a story about that too while he was researching. A few years after First Contact, a human baby died because the flowers were evil and killed her. They never found out what planet it came from. Sam said her body's still in a museum, but his teacher said that was a lie.

"Am I gonna be in a museum?" Jim whines, tears building in his eyes. He doesn't wanna be suck behind glass.

"Oh, it's nothing like that, Honey," Mom bends down to kiss his hair. "It's just...well, rare. Vulcans don't really like humans enough for this sort of thing. I don't know if anyone's ever had a Vulcan soulmate before. Not that I checked. Maybe-"

The fear of being left behind in a display leaves and curiosity takes its place. "But, Mommy, aren't Vulcans our friends?"

Mom makes a kind of face that means it's grown up stuff he doesn't understand. "Yeah, but they're very private. They don't even live on Earth, let alone..." She shakes her head, a full smile returning. "It's okay, though. I'm sure your soulmate's going to love you like everyone else. It just might look a little different."

Oh, Jim knows this one. "Like how sometimes boys like other boys the way you like Daddy?"

"More like, they'll have a different way of acting and showing that they love you. Like how your grandpa likes hugging your grandma, but she prefers writing him letters."

"Oooh," Jim's eyes go wide with wonder.

He mentally changes the Andorian girl in his head to a dark haired Vulcan one, with pointed ears and straight bangs. She still wears blue, though.

Whoever Jim's soulmate is, they get hurt often.

He'll find spiky flowers and little buds across his skin after he wakes up. Sometimes, he'll catch them appearing at breakfast, but never into the day.

It turns out, that's exactly the time Vulcan's midday is. Bullies, then. Jim doesn't want to imagine something worse.

At ten-years-old, Jim's become accustomed with the different plants he finds and picking up on the ones that seem to repeat often. It's still a mystery whether the flowers hold any real meaning -conspirators and priests will swear there's a clear pattern and people often pay interpreters for their readings- but Jim has found that the location is far more telling.

Like, for instance, when Jim feels a tickle on his lip and shivers when that spicy smell hits his nose a moment later. His soulmate must've gotten into a fight and split their lip. Flame-colored leaves across his forehead attest to his hypothesis.

But today, Jim doesn't find a flower. No, a thorny cactus bud grows out of his back. It rips into Jim's shirt and pokes at his skin painfully.

"This looks stupid," Sam complains as he places another piece of cloth between the thorns and Jim's skin. They've made a protective ring until the wound heals, but that could take days. Even weeks, depending on how bad the injury is. It'll leave Jim open to laughter at school, but he's much more engrossed in his research.

"Adun Cactus: Often found in the Tu'vakian deserts. Used as a water source in travel."

"Most cacti are, Jim. What makes this different from those Cir-cen flowers?"

Jim turns to look at Sam but hisses when a new thorn gets him. "Because," He starts, a little more biting from the irritation, "this isn't just a flower. It's the full plant. Which means my soulmate might be really badly hurt." He has no real foothold on this theory, but the oddity of it still worries him.

"Or," Sam cuts in, "it's because Vulcan has like five flowers total and your soulmate gave up trying to be original."

Jim wishes it worked that way -that he could pick and choose which flowers he could send, like an encoded message from his lover across the stars. He's spend many sleepless nights wondering what his soulmate's skin might look like after Jim cuts his knee or breaks an arm. Do they know what a lilac is? Are they as endlessly fascinated by the flowers as he is?

He wonders how they look, standing against their skin. Maybe he should try poking behind his ear or making a line like a crown around his head.

Bad ideas. Mom would kill him if she found out he was hurting himself on purpose, flowers or not.

"You boys better be done packing!" Dad yells from down stairs and Jim jumps away from his PADD.

"Almost!" Sam yells back. Jim sees his brother stand from the corner of his eye. He still doesn't dare move. "Listen, I'll finish packing your stuff too if you promise not to whine about this on the way to Tarsus IV. Deal?"

"You'll pack all of my books, right? And the telescope?"

"Yes," Sam groans.

Jim holds his hand out in front of him and waits for Sam to reluctantly come around to shake it. "Deal."

The air hangs thick with death and iron. Jim chokes into his palm from where he hides in a broom closet. The tears won't stop and terror grips him as if the monster outside were stealing his life too.

Just like how the monster stole it from the other kids like him. Everyone else in the colony.

"Over there!" Voices shout and Jim sobs as quietly as he can. He's going to die. He's going to die and there's nothing Jim can do to stop it. He thought he was grown, a smart kid at the top of his classes, but the truth leaves him cold and bare.

He's a child. A stupid kid that never should've left Iowa.

"Find every last one of them! Not a single one can survive!"

Boots thunder into the room Jim hides in and he scrambles to push himself further under the shelves. Broomsticks clatter around him and a bucket of paint hits his hand and spills out over the floor, leaving him a deep blue color.

He shakes when the boots start to draw closer.

Quickly, Jim grabs the first sharp object he can find and holds it close to his chest. If they grab him, he'll cut them. If he's lucky, he'll hit a vein.

The closet door opens and Jim stops breathing. A shadow looms over and more tears drip into the spreading paint.

Deep, raging breaths echo from high above. The soldier will find him. Time's run out for James T. Kirk.

Jim bites his lip hard enough to bleed as he slowly raises the edge of the paint lid to his palm and carves out the word 'help'. He knows his soulmate can't do anything, not light years away on a desert planet, unaware Jim's even going to die. But he wants to be known in his last moments. He wants someone to watch those flowers wilt, even if it's a Vulcan he'll never meet.

"Nothing. Move on." The soldier steps away, leading the party further into the house.

Only once the boots have disappeared completely does Jim gasp out his first breath. Then, he promptly spits up any bile left in his stomach.

That day, Jim learns two things. One, that Humans are killers, only a few arrogant steps away from rabid beasts.

And two, that his soulmate heard him. A small line of vibrant, blue flowers circle the plea for help; and for the first time since the massacre started, Jim feels hope.

Jim isn't the same after Tarsus IV. The childish interest in soulmates diminishes despite the comfort they gave him. He becomes far more interested in what his career should be, now that he's got a future to live.

By the time Jim enters Starfleet Academy, he's stopped thinking of some vague Vulcan person and moves onto choosing his partner. When fate lets you keep breathing another day, it feels silly to wait around on one person to show.

So, Jim feels no guilt at all when he starts building a...reputation among cadets.

He gets caught making out three times, dates two of his tutors and sleeps with at least three of his roommates.

It's not easy, despite how it might look on the outside. Many people wait eagerly to find their own soulmate and hardly consider anyone else worth their time. It leaves Jim finding more companionship in those who don't care for their soulmates for whatever reason, or the rare few who don't have one at all. It's far less frustrating to wake up and run when the person across the bed isn't expecting a blood ritual to prove you belong together.

He simmers down once assigned to a real starship, but the ability to fall into men and women alike, to love them without some soulmate hanging in his mind, is freeing. He isn't held down by anything unless he wants to be.

And as an ensign shooting for the captain's chair, he really doesn't want to be held down.

Yet, the Vulcan still slips into his mind every few serious injuries. He trims the flowers given to him without thought -never too short, in case he severs the flower at the root and risks a permanent bud forming for him and his soulmate - but his own wounds? They remind him of his early years.

This injury, in particular, makes Jim hot with embarrassment.

It was his first time bottoming, so it's expected that he sustained a slight injury in the, erm, rectal area-

The ass. Jim got a rip in his ass.

Not on it. In it.

"Do we need a course on proper anal sex preparation, Boys?" Doctor Heimzel levels Jim and Fernando with a scathing eye.

An eye Jim can't see from where he's bent over the medbay bed, ass still bare and very much out.

"I can bring it up to Captain Garrovick-"

"No, Sir!" Fernando insists. "We'll be careful next time! Not another scratch from us!"

In the heavy silence that follows, Jim too gives a panicked apology. The doctor sighs, letting his threat go with a shake of his head. "Well, at least you two aren't soulmates. The last thing I need is a bunch of flowers getting in the way of my work."

Oh, God, his soulmate!

Jim's impossibly red face turns another two shades harder. He didn't even think...Lord, his soulmate must hate him. The poor Vulcan is probably sitting side-ways at the pounding Jim got! And it's not like this will go away within the hour, either! There's no bandage to put over a cut like this, not without keeping Jim in the medbay all night. And he definitely doesn't want to stay here, naked from the waist down, for that long.

Jim almost hopes he never meets the Vulcan, just to avoid bringing this up.

"You're done," Doctor Heimzel throws Jim's pants at him as he pulls off his gloves and moves to wash his hands. "Give it a few days and you'll be fine. But just know, if I have to stick my fingers in your rectum again, Ensign Kirk, I'll go back to rubbing alcohol."

A shiver runs down Jim's spine. "Understood, Sir!" He dresses in a flash and scrambles out of the medbay with Fernando at his heels.

A few hours later, Jim finds the word 'safe?' bloomed into his upper arm. The sentiment has Jim both gasping in horror at his poor soulmate's assumption and infinitely grateful for the Vulcan. Even after all these years...

He cuts a circle around the word, their unspoken comfort.

She's unlike anything Jim could've imagined. He stands in pure awe at her very beauty, her grace. For years, Jim has thought of her. Has hoped and fought and screamed to have this one thing, this...this Goddess! A marvel in which he has no clear words to describe the deepest love of his heart.

The starship Enterprise.

He will have five years with her, but Jim knows that will be all too short. He wants to hold her tight and never left go. James T. Kirk is her captain and no other will proceed him.

"Lovely, isn't she?" Christopher Pike slaps a hand onto Jim's shoulder, pulling him out of his daze. "She's treated me well over the years, but I imagine you'll find no issue in respecting her as I did." He gives a knowing laugh and begins to turn them away from the view port.

"I...don't know what to say, Captain. It's all I've ever dreamed of." Jim barely feels in control of his own body. His fingers tingle and his stomach twists. He's never been so excited, yet so anxious.

They stop just before a door. Fleet Captain Pike's smile turns sad for a moment. "Kirk, it's not just the ship I'm trusting you with. My Chief Engineer and Science Officer are staying aboard for the mission. They'll guide you and the Enterprise better than even I. If they can't handle you, I'm not sure who could."

Again, Jim is left near breathless. "Thank you, Sir. I'll do my best not to disappoint them." He's apprehensive of the idea, despite the honor. Will two old men be breathing down his neck his entire command? Will they object to anything he does that opposes Pike's own philosophy?

He holds the doubts down. Pike's young enough on his own. He wouldn't saddle Jim with wrinkled old farts as his senior officers.

"With that said," Pike gently leads Jim into the room they've been stationed in front of, a twinkle in his eye as he addresses the two officers inside.

Jim falters a step when he sees a Vulcan among the two. A tall, surprisingly young, Vulcan with a hand raised in silent greeting.

Stupid. Jim stamps out the thought of soulmates before it can even manifest in his mind.

"Kirk, this is Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott." Jim turns to him a little too quickly. If Mr. Scott notices, he doesn't comment as they shake hands.

The man is solid in his handshake. The roughness of his hands says he's definitely a good engineer, as well as the electrical burn scars along his fingers. He meets Jim's eye with a friendly smile. "A pleasure, Cap'n!" Mr. Scott's accent surprises Jim, but it's a welcome one. "I promise ya, the Enterprise is as fine a ship as the fleet can offer."

Warmth fills Jim's chest. It seems the Chief Engineer holds just as much love for the lady as he does. They'll be fast friends, then.

"-And this will be your First Officer, Spock," Pike continues.

Without thinking, Jim offers his hand to shake the Vulcan -Spock's. But before he can retract it and make an equally embarrassing display of the ta'al, Spock's hand is wrapped around his in a firm and...cold embrace.

It's only a moment, but static shoots up Jim's arm and he feels something press at the front of his mind. It goes beyond words, beyond just feelings, but Jim can't fully grasp it before it's gone. His hand hangs between them a full minute before he can think to put it down.

Touch telepathy, Jim remembers. Spock must've just...opened some kind of telepathic communication in their handshake. It was a sign of respect, obviously. Nothing more. If anything, Jim should be grateful he got anything more than a cold stare from a Vulcan.

And yet, that feeling still lingers in his mind like the aftertaste of a good rum.

"-with you, of course. The list is long, but you'll find-"

"Captain Pike," Spock speaks and Jim snaps back to the conversation. "I do not believe Captain Kirk is listening."

Damn. How does he sound both offended and bored at the same time?

"Ah, I apologize-"

Jim stops when Pike holds a hand up. "It's alright. I know how exciting this is and you'll have plenty of time to get to know your crew. For now, I'd suggest you get a few fresh meals in while you can. It can feel stiff up there. Trust me."

Maybe that's how Pike feels, but Kirk wants nothing more than to live among the stars. He'll stay there for the rest of his years, if he can.

"You'll see us off?" Jim asks instead, hope in his voice.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Pike promises.

"I swear, Kirk, you'll run out of shirts by the end of the first year." Bones grumbles as he realigns Jim's arm. What was a sprain, then a fracture, turned into a full break after Jim's untimely fall off a cliff. Then a rough tumble down a rock hill.

They're still just stepping past acquaintances, but Jim finds himself drawn to the doctor. Maybe it his unique perspective as someone who's never stepped foot in the Starfleet Academy, or maybe it's his southern heritage. Either way, Jim is determined to call him 'friend'.

"Come now, Sawbones, it's not my fault mass produced uniforms are so flimsy." He gives Bones a signature 'James Kirk' smile.

Bones's frown deepens.

"If you really knew what's good for ya, you'd think before you jumped!" He huffs, then adds, "I'd hate to see what happens if Spock took command."

Jim isn't sure what happened between his First Officer and Bones, but the two have started arguing at every turn. It would be concerning if both parties weren't so quick to forget it. It never escalates nor does it come back up to fuel further animosity.

As Captain, should he step in and warn against active xeno-prejudice? Or should he ignore the mess entirely, trusting his senior officers to handle it between them?

"Shit," Bones's voice breaks through the fog. "These damn flowers again!"

Jim looks down at his arm in time to spot a Vulcan kylin'the flower grow out of his shoulder. Right where Bones was holding it too.

"I swear, this soulmate nonsense is gonna make me quit!"

Jim sees a potential discussion and latches on.

"Bones, don't tell me a romantic such as yourself doesn't like soulmate flowers." He plays up most of the disbelief. It could go either way with this one.

He knows he's got Bones when the doctor rolls his eyes and arches his brows. "Oh, spare me that bull. These flowers are good for nothin' but ruinin' a good bandage job."

With a surgeon's hands, he trims the flower as low as he can, them goes back to his work.

"Don't you yearn to find yours someday? You seem the type who would enjoy retiring with a loved one." Jim knows the topic of Bones's past is a touchy subject, but he's curious how far he can go. How much will the man admit before he clams up again?

"I tried that," Bones levels him with a somber, yet annoyed look. "Now I'm divorced and stuck on a damn starship."

Oh. So, there's the line.

"I'm sorry, Bones. I didn't-"

"Shut it," Bones cuts him off. "I don't want your pity. Or sympathy for that matter. What happened happened and talkin' about it's just gonna make me wish I were anywhere else."

Jim stays silent a long time. Then, "Was she your soulmate?" He asks it carefully, but honestly.

That earns him a snort. "No. I don't have one. Part of the lucky point seven percent." His lip twitches. "But she does."

An apology rolls to his tongue but Jim bites it back. No pity.

Bones steps away once the fuser-cast is set over Jim's arm. "There. Keep this on for twelve hours and you'll be good as new. And damn tired, but you'll be sleeping it off anyway."

"Sleeping?" Jim sits up straight in dismay. "I still have an away team on that planet! I can't call off now!"

"You want to test me, Kirk?" Bones threatens. "I can always tranquilize you."

He backs down, trying for a diplomatic solution. "No, no, that won't be necessary. But, Bones, you must understand that as Captain, I-"

Bones's eyes narrow. "Don't you start that with me, James Kirk! I'm the doctor here! You come to me with broken bones and I make sure if gets fixed!"

Jim feels like he's talking his mother into letting him have a treat before dinner. "At least give me until the away team is back. Let me ensure my crew is safe."

The doctor sighs long and angry. "I can't force ya, Kirk. But if you end up with a miss-healed arm, then know it was your own damn fault."

"Thank you," Jim breathes, already standing to head for the bridge.

"Jim."

He stops, gaze turning to the doctor and the kylin'the flower now in his hand.

"This isn't from Earth." A statement, not a question.

"No, it's not."

"Is that why you ran out into space? To find your one and only?"

It takes a moment to realize Bones isn't mocking him. He's being playful.

Jim smiles sadly. "No. I just...needed to be in the stars. I think, perhaps, my soul doesn't belong to some far off Vulcan but instead to- to this!" He gestures above him. "The unknown. The wonder. And this magnificent ship."

Bones makes an outright disgusted face. Jim has no idea why. "Christ Almighty, this is gonna be a long five years. 'Far off Vulcan' my..." He mutters the last part, almost too quiet to hear.

"A problem, Doctor?" The reaction of defense is automatic. Bones may have his arguments with Spock, but speaking ill of all Vulcans is another issue. He won't allow such bigotry-

"Nothing. Go do what you need, then rest your arm. Doctor's orders."

For now, the topic is over. Jim leaves the medbay.

"Mr. Spock. A word, if you will?"

Spock leaves his post by his station and stands beside the captain's chair. Jim chews on his words before letting them out.

"You and Doctor McCoy...is there a sense if hostility between you?"

Of course, Spock's face remains perfectly neutral besides a raised brow. "Are you perhaps inquiring whether or not our disagreements are born from a place of contempt or aggression, Sir?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm asking." Jim watches Spock carefully, but that Vulcan shield is too thick to see past.

This time, Spock speaks as if he's explaining calculus to as child. "With all due respect, Captain-"

Oh, here they go.

"-Vulcans do not engage in petty displays of aggression. I believe it is the doctor's human emotionalism that prompts our misunderstanding and the appearance of your supposed hostility. If you analyze such events closely, you will find that my statements are rooted in logical fact, while McCoy's in emotion."

Jim can't place is feelings on Spock just yet. He's perfectly effective as an officer, but the crew -including Scotty, who's already served with Spock for years- seem almost unnerved by his Vulcan obsession with logic.

Sorry, not obsession. A Vulcan would never claim to be something so human.

But where Jim finds himself agreeing with his crew and rolling his eyes -internally- at the over specific and drawn out explanations of human failings, a part of him finds it...endearing. Charming, almost.

Like Bones, it's such a unique perspective that Jim latches onto it at every chance he can get. What does Spock see that he can't? What are the plain facts, and what is Jim taking in personally?

In this instance, Jim finds Spock pleasantly annoying. An absurd mixture of offensive and dryly objective. It's damn refreshing after a political mission.

"Yes," Jim says, bringing himself back to the conversation. "And I know it would be wrong of me to ask a Vulcan if he's offended or hurt by Bones's name calling and prodding of your biology. Yet..."

He can practically see Spock gearing up. "Captain, my disagreements with the doctor hold no emotional weight on me. It is impossible."

"Impossible?" Jim almost laughs. "Quite a strong word. Are you sure you aren't exaggerating, Mr. Spock?"

"Not without need, Captain. And here, there is no need."

"Right." Jim pats Spock's back absentmindedly. He's reached the conclusion he wanted. "I apologize for my assumptions. You may go back to your station."

Spock leaves without a word, but Jim watches him with a smile he can't fight down.

If Spock insists he doesn't feel their arguments need to be addressed, then that is his choice. They're all adults here. He may be the Captain, but interpersonal squabbles that don't effect the running of his Enterprise hardly qualify as his business.

Yes, Jim thinks with a low chuckle, he's going to enjoy the company of these fine men very much.

Jim breathes hard, the taste of blood under his tongue and pain stinging his near-bare chest.

But victory has never been so sweet.

He's supposed to be on shore leave. They all are, but this planet's figments have certainly made for a more dangerous adventure than any real time to rest. Since the very moment Jim beamed down, he's been running around like a wild chicken. And finally punching the jaw off of his academy tormentor, Finnegan. Real or not, it felt good.

Spock's at his side, now; cold hands helping him navigate the rocky hills around them.

"Stop, stop!" Jim hisses when the pain flares up enough to make his knees weak. Spock levers him gently to the ground, their hands held tightly together until Jim's leaning back. "Ah...he got a few good licks in." A raspy chuckle. Then a sigh. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spock. It was reckless of me to go off like that."

Spock doesn't answer right away and Jim turns in time to see the Vulcan pull something from his mouth, grimace, then toss it away into the dirt.

It looks like a crumbled plant. But what would that be doing in Spock's mouth? Especially if it wasn't wanted there.

Then, Jim looks closer to Spock's uniform. It bulges oddly around the shoulder and down his arm. If Jim were thinking more clearly -or if he hadn't just been thrown around by another grown man- he would leave it as Spock's business and move on. But he isn't, so Jim reaches out and pulls at Spock's shirt instead, exposing just enough of that green-tinted skin to see-

"Captain, what are you-"

"Flowers?" Jim interrupts, his voice distant in his own ears.

They're round, white flowers that layer upon themselves like a fully bloomed rose. The faintest hint of a yellow center peeks from behind tiny, pale pedals. Their beauty leaves Jim's throat dry and his mind scrambled. He never thought Spock could possibly...

In the next instance, Spock rips the flowers from his exposed skin and tosses that away as well. Jim stares in open shock. All that's left is a little stem poking out from his skin.

Strangely, anger is Jim's first reaction. "Why would you do that?! They were lovely, Spock!"

Spock levels him with a perfectly neutral expression. "Holding sentimental value to them is illogical. They will appear again."

"But-" Jim flounders.

He needs to calm down. The thrill of that fight has him all sorts of agitated. With a deep breath, Jim forces his gaze away from Spock and those crumpled flowers. Spock's right. He's certainly lost his bleeding heart for his own soulmate flowers. Given, his have far less variety.

"I find myself a fool once again, Mr. Spock. I can only ask you forgive me a second time."

"Granted. I understand your aggression may very well have been caused by the increase of adrenaline in your bloodstream. Though, I would prefer you do not attempt to undress me again, Captain."

Jim huffs a laugh. "Granted, Mr. Spock."

They sit in silence. Jim rubs at the muscles of his leg, trying to ease the ache that lingers. But even so, that white flower won't leave his thoughts.

"I...was under the impression that soulmate flowers were a uniquely human trait." Jim tries to phrase it in a way that won't offend Spock's physiology.

"I remind you, Captain, that I am half human. It seems this certain trait was a dominant gene in my mother."

Imagine that. Spock with a soulmate. He can't quite picture Spock with anyone but a well manufactured computer, but the thought is oddly...nice. The soulmate must be human, if he's receiving Earth flowers. Jim tries to imagine whatever man or woman would complete a man like Spock, but every person he creates seems wrong. A shadow of a person who would hold their Vulcan flowers against Spock's own.

Jim blinks.

Wait. Vulcan flowers.

Suddenly, the planet is much too hot and Jim's throat very, very dry. "Spock." He waits for the Vulcan's attention. "Logically, would you say your soulmate would receive...Vulcan flowers?"

He dares to look Spock in the eye. The depth he finds is too much and Jim turns away just as quickly. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult.

"I do not believe so." Jim can barely hear him over the thundering of his own heart. "This unfortunate bond is of my human blood, therefore my soulmate would receive human flora in turn."

"Logical," Jim nods slowly. He struggles to get a grip of himself. "Give me a number. How likely is it your soulmate would not get Vulcan flowers?"

A pause. "I estimate as high as ninety-seven point oh three five."

Very high. That's...right.

"And...pardon me, but full Vulcans have had human soulmates before?"

"Indeed, Captain. My own father was one of them."

Then it's settled. Jim's soulmate would have to be a full Vulcan and Spocks...would be quite surprised with who they meet. Pleasantly, Jim hopes, but surprised all the same.

After what feels like hours, Jim can breathe properly again. "Thank you, Spock. That was very enlightening to me."

"Might I ask why?" Spock tilts his head just slightly, a brow raised.

"I was obsessed by the topic as a young boy. Alien soulmates are particularly rare and I wished to know all I could about it." He doesn't mention his own flowers. He doesn't want to press what Spock so clearly doesn't care for. Nor does he want the Vulcan to suspect what Jim had just sweated over.

But the planet, apparently, found that enough proof to manifest Jim's thoughts.

A woman rounds the nearest rock formation, her dark eyes set on them. She walks slowly, elegantly, so very much like Spock. Dark bangs bounce against her forehead and a blue dress flows around her knees with astonishing beauty.

She stops in front of Jim, a perfectly Vulcan expression staring down at him, and he tries his best to hide from both her and Spock.

"...Fascinating," Spock whispers to Jim's left.

"Holder of my soul," the woman addressed Jim. Her voice is odd, like an echo in Jim's mind without the security of a real memory.

Heat spreads down Jim's neck. He doesn't look up.

Spock shuffles forward and his voice follows. "This is another trick of the planet, I assume? But this is no person I have acquaintance with. Might I meld with you?"

It takes Jim a moment to realize the last part is directed toward the woman. When he dares to look, he finds Spock attempting to mind meld with the other Vulcan, only to pull away with a frown.

God, he does not need images of Spock and his 'soulmate' touching in his head!

"She is not real, Captain. As I suspected. But I still fail to understand why she appeared-"

Jim shoots to his feet despite the pain. "Spock, why don't we ignore her and get this...mystery sorted out. We may never leave if we stop at every strange thing that pops out of the air." He practically yanks Spock away from the woman and down the gravel trail. At this rate, he'd rather face that tiger again.

Of course, once everything is sorted and they've been left to a real shore leave, Jim enjoys some time with his 'soulmate' quite thoroughly.

It's become an increasingly rare sight for Sulu to be in the botany lab. Much like Uhura's singing, after the mess with Nomad.

"I admit I'm jealous, Mr. Sulu." Jim smiles from where he's leaning against the door frame. Sulu looks up from the plant he's tending. "You're never that careful as a navigator."

Sulu smiles and it's as if the sun itself were in the room. Out of everyone on his bridge, Sulu has become a near constant. He's reliable, beyond competent, and knows Jim's plans almost the second they form. On the clock, Sulu is a quick and sharp officer. Off duty, he's an unstoppable force of a friend.

"I can't tell if that's an insult to my navigating or a compliment to my botany," Sulu beams as Jim moves to accompany him. "But I think I'll take the compliment, Sir."

Jim smiles in way of answer. He's much more engrossed in the flower bed of different colored roses. "Might I ask what this is?" He's kept up on Sulu's hobbies here and there over the past few years. The man loves collecting, Jim's discovered, but this bed seems new.

"I'm trying to grow my soulmate flowers."

It takes a moment for Jim to understand what that means. "These...you've planted them from off your skin? How?"

Sulu laughs as if it's simple. "The same way you plant any flower. You set the water capsule around the stem, seed it in fertilized soil, then let it take root. See, I've been working on this one for three months now." Sulu moves to show Jim his PADD screen. It's a scan from under the soil, a map of the roots attempting to take form.

To Jim's surprise, the roots don't grow out like a normal plant's would. No, these roots twist themselves in knots. It would seem a failure, like the flowers have choked themselves out from their water source, but the pattern in the root is too...symmetrical. Too consistent between the roses planted two weeks ago and one.

"I hate to say a coined phrase but...fascinating."

"Isn't it?" Sulu scrolls through his PADD to show the roots growing in times five speed. He then shows some kind of molecule in the exact shape of the roots.

Jim squints at the screen. "What am I looking at, Mr. Sulu?"

"Hemoglobin, Sir. Or, one of the proteins in red blood cells."

Jim stares at him, wide-eyed. "It's...recreating the blood patterns? Could you collect your soulmate's DNA from this?"

The possibilities of this...it could change everything. People would no longer need to seek out their soulmate, they could just collect the data and find them. They could connect at younger ages, grow up together if they choose. This simple experiment could rewrite their entire culture around these flowers.

But what past the search for a destined companion? Could this be used in a court case as evidence? Could it branch farther than even Jim can see?

"I don't know about DNA," Sulu shrugs. "I'd have to call on Dr. McCoy's skills for that, but it's unlikely. These are made from my cells, after all. They simply mimic the blood of my soulmate. Not an exact copy."

"Right," Jim breathes. "Still, this is quite a feat. I'd love to learn more of your progress."

Jim stands to leave, but Sulu stops him with a raised hand. "If you don't mind," Sulu asks quickly, "could I start a bed from yours?"

"My flowers?" Jim looks down at the roses and imagines another filled with Kylin'the, Sikrah, and Plomeek. He thinks it would be very nice. "I don't see why not. Is there something particular about them?"

"Well, it's not every day you know someone with an alien soulmate. I think it would help in my experiment. Sir."

It's the expected answer, yet Jim smiles anyway. "Of course. I'll give you a sample as soon as I receive one."

With that promise in place, Jim offers Sulu seven different samples over the next month or so and they wait.

Eventually, captain's duties take the forefront of Jim's mind. The most recent of said duties came in the form of a death match between him and a commanding Gorn. Thankfully, all turned out fine, aside from Spock's odd avoidance and -dare he say- flustered attitude afterward. By the time Sulu comes to him again, the subject of soulmates has nearly left his mind entirely.

And just as Jim expected, the bed of Vulcan flowers is beautiful. The soil is different to accommodate their needs, as well as the heavy sun lamps that shine over them. The watering capsules have been set to drop once per three weeks and twice every fourth.

In summary, Sulu is an excellent botanist.

"The roots are still young, but you can already see the pattern growing," Sulu shows the footage he has of the Plomeek's growth. Like any plant, it starts from the stem branches outward. Then, it shoots off into six different near circles, two on either side of the stem, mirrored. It's nothing like the roots of Sulu's roses, yet the pattern repeats with the rest of the plants after.

"Am I to assume this is the Vulcan equivalent of hemoglobin?"

"Correct. The roots are mimicking the copper-based protein in Vulcan blood cells, hemocyanin." Sulu shows him the molecule and...yes, that is a good description of what Jim is seeing.

They did confirm no DNA could be taken from the flowers; whether for the better or worse, Jim can't be sure. He still wonders about his soulmate, somewhere out on that desert planet. He doesn't give way to the fantasy of living together or even finding romance with them, but he owes them his gratitude at least. For Tarsus IV.

"...Sir," Sulu's voice holds a baffled humor, "I just noticed the strangest thing. While the larger pattern follows hemocyanin, the finer roots are mimicking hemo...globin" Sulu stops dead.

Jim waits for him to continue, but no explanation comes. Only Sulu's look of panic directed right at Jim.

"Well?" Jim doesn't snap, but he's a little annoyed that it requires his asking at all. "What does that mean?"

He watches Sulu's mind work. It's too easy to see through the casual smile the man gives him. "Oh, nothing. Just a silly mistake."

Jim doesn't pretend to buy it. "Sulu, you do realize it's a violation to lie to your captain?"

Sulu swallows. "It, uh...I think I might've contaminated your samples with some of my own blood. On accident."

This time, Jim isn't sure if it's a lie or not. He chooses to believe it's not for Sulu's sake.

"Very well," Jim stands. "Tell me if you find anything new. Good day, Mr. Sulu."

"Uh, Good day, Captain!"

They run as fast as the heavy gravity will let them. Spock is fastest with his long legs, but he doesn't leave them behind as he scouts ahead for shelter. Bones huddles by Jim's right, doctor's hands holding the bleeding wound on his side.

It all happened so fast. They had beamed down to explore what Jim thought was a world ripe for mining. There were no native lifeforms bigger than a beetle on the surface, so it would be a quick report to starfleet and a later check in to ensure the proper operations got here safely.

Now, Jim realizes why there is no life.

Hail-like crystals fall out if the sky. They are as large as Jim's big toe and growing as the shower continues. His head throbs from the pelting and bruises have already formed around their visible skin.

"Here!" Spock shouts ahead. When he and Bones around the rocky hill, they see a decently sized cave and crawl in. Spock helps Jim settle on the dusty floor, then he's pulling out his tricorder to analyze the storm.

Jim moves to adjust himself but stops when the open wound on his side tears. Bones is quick to help him.

"Stop moving! You're gonna make it worse!" Bones snaps. His grumpiness means it's not too serious. Jim lets out a sigh of relief, both at his condition and the cool cloth Bones uses to wipe the blood.

While the crystal aren't sharp enough to cut through their skin, Jim found that the dull green ore of the planet is.

He had fallen on an exposed bundle of it when the raining started. It cut clean through his shirt and deep into his skin. They had no time to see if it could infect him.

"Shit," Bones mutters as he scans the wound. "Left some flakes in there. I'll have to pull them out before I stitch it back up. And trust me, Jim, you best be asleep for that."

"I can handle it, Bones." Jim insists. He doesn't want to sleep when they're separated from the ship like this. He'd leave Bones and Spock completely vulnerable to the environment.

"Just rubbing against that thing cut you clean open!" Bones argues. "Getting the pieces back out is gonna tear you apart no matter how careful I am!"

Still, Jim fights. "Then gag me if you must!"

Bones gives him a look, then turns to Spock. "Help me here, will you? Can you put him out with some of your Vulcan magic?"

When Spock turns, he's careful to avoid exposing his left side. Jim worries he might've been cut too. "My use of touch telepathy is not magic, Doctor-"

"Shut up and help, Spock! We don't got all day!"

Surprisingly, Spock doesn't argue back. He simply kneels on Jim's other side -still hiding his left hip- then brings his fingers mere centimeters above Jim's skin.

His eyes are worries when they meet. "Will you allow me to induce sleep, Captain?"

Seeing as he'll be stuck between their bickering if he doesn't, Jim gives in. "Fine, but work fast. There could be other things living beneath the planet's surface."

Spock's brow rises. "I did find readings of life below, Captain. I suspect mole-like creatures may have found refuge-"

"Spock, I'm gonna kick you," Bones snaps.

"Impossible in your current position," Spock says with all of his Vulcan sass. But before Bones can bite his head off, cool fingers plant themselves on Jim's face. "Sleep," Spock's deep, rumbling voice echoes in Jim's mind and he's helpless to resist.

What feels like only seconds later, Jim hears voices filter into his mind.

"-don't understand why you don't just tell him!"

"It would be illogical, Doctor."

Ah, Spock and Bones. At it again.

"I'm starting to think that's your excuse for everything," Bones hisses. "How can telling Jim be illogical? You're his First Officer!"

Wait, what are they not telling him?

"That is exactly my reasoning, Doctor." Spock's voice is strained. Jim can't tell if it's because he's failing at whispering, or because he's holding down an emotional response.

"You're as good as equals in the eyes of the fleet!" Bones argues. "Look, I'm gettin' real tired of you two dancing around each other-"

"And you will continue to do so for the foreseeable future, McCoy." If Jim didn't know better, he's say Spock almost sounded upset. It's slight, held within the curve of his vowels and the punch of his Ts, but still there. "I am the one who holds this knowledge and you are under the medical oath to remain silent."

Jim dares to peek up at them. His heart spikes at how close they are, only inches apart from over Jim's face.

"Then you're damn lucky I'm good doctor," Bones swallows and Jim watches it work down his throat.

Spock's eyes flick down, then further to Jim. The Vulcan backs away in an instant.

It's a silly reaction, but disappointment burns in Jim's chest.

"Jim!" Bones smiles in relief. His eyes only flick to Spock twice between they're levering him into a sitting position. The pain from his side is just a dull ache now. "How do you feel?"

"Much better, Bones, thank you." It takes a moment to recalibrate. He's still very hot from what he just witnessed.

"The ore is a highly reactive glass formed by the planet's pressurized gravity." Spock starts off immediately. "I do believe it would be invaluable to the Federation."

"If we can set up a mining base here," Bones frowns. "Jim, it would be damn tricky to figure out. This gravity and the hail storms aren't gonna be stopped by a few umbrellas."

Jim smiles at both of them. "That's for starfleet to figure out. We'll gather a few more samples and send them off." If it's soft enough to flake into his skin from just a bump, then they'll probably be able to get a chunk or two by hitting it with their phasers.

"Are we picking straws for who has to go back out there?" Bones grimaces.

"I will," Spock says. "I have the thickest skin out of the three of us and the speed to return quickly."

Jim nods slowly. "Good idea, Spock. Make it quick. I'll contact Scotty."

He watches Spock shove a fistful of something green and pink into his pocket before he goes.

Jim fishes out his com, but hesitates to open it. He catches Bones's eye.

"I heard pieces of your conversation before I woke up."

Bones visibly tenses. "What parts?"

"Enough to know you're hiding something from me." Jim's voice lowers with his hurt and disappointment. The two men he trusts the most...

"Then you also heard that it's Spock's secret and he's bound me by my duty." The way Bones raises his brow in clear disdain is enough to relax Jim's aching muscles.

"Then we'll wait on him," Jim decides. Sadly, with a man as stubborn as Spock, they could be waiting a very long time.

He can't breathe.

Jim stands across from Spock in a dark room adorned with Vulcan antiques. It's hot, hotter than usual, but there's no telling whether it's the changed climate of the room itself, or...or Spock.

Spock, who does all he can to conceal the arousal plaguing his mind. His body.

Pon Farr.

Neither speak. They don't need to. Spock has given his pain-filled explanation of his current state, as well as what needs to happen for him to survive it. Jim permitted their course to Vulcan immediately.

But still, Jim cannot move from his place, knowing- no, imagining what Spock may feel at this very moment. He must be cold from the heat in his veins. Uncomfortable with the bombardment of emotion escaping him. Humiliated at his displays of anger and irritation.

Jim swallows hard at the image of Spock adjusting himself through his pants. Of him possibly losing the original purpose if his action and touching himself-

Stop. These aren't thoughts Jim can have about his First Officer. Especially in this situation.

Like a tsunami crashing over him, Jim realizes he is very much attracted to Spock.

"What..." Jim licks his dry lips. "What if we were to find you a mate? Here on the ship?" He turns his head to imply exactly who that person would be. And if it still isn't clear, Jim touches the skin of Spock's hand in a gentle brush.

Jim receives a rush of arousal before Spock yanks his hand away. They're both panting. "No," Spock groans deep in his throat. "It would not...the melding of minds is required to satisfy Pon Farr. And I cannot do so with...those aboard this ship. I cannot."

"Then we'll get you to Vulcan." Jim promises. His own feelings will be left forgotten. They must.

He can't breathe.

Jim feels the burning in Spock's blood. He feels the arousal, the madness, and the bloodlust through the shaking grip he has on Spock's hands.

The very hands that choke him.

The air is too thin. The fire at Jim's back is too hot. Everything is tilting, spots decorating his vision.

Spock's erection grinds against Jim's body. First his leg, when they rolled through the sands. Then against his stomach as Spock held him over the pit of coals. But now, as Jim is held over Spock's black eyes, that sweet friction finds itself at the cleft of his ass. It rubs with growing ecstasy, just as the fight leaves Jim's body entirely.

He...only hopes that...that Spock won't blame...himself.

He can't breathe.

They don't speak of Pon Farr again.

Jim typically avoids the rec room when he knows others will be gathering there. Especially on Valentines day.

On year three of their mission, the number of excused leave requests have dropped from triple digits to double. It proves troublesome to fill in for so many officers, but experience makes it easier every time. It has less to do with the needs of his crew and more with Jim's own capabilities. He's learned when to let his crew have their holidays and when to remind them what their job is and why they're here.

This won't be the first year Jim's alone, either. After Yeoman Rand's transfer and their course landing them in the open end of space this time of year, it's expected that he won't have a warm body to share. He can handle it.

No matter how many times Jim says it to himself, the ache in his chest doesn't leave.

The thought of Spock pops into mind but Jim shoves it aside just as quickly. Spock's vulnerability in that sand pit means nothing to their relationship now. It can't.

Besides, any non-sexual requests would be met with a raised eye and a perhaps unintentionally -very intentionally- demeaning question of the logical aspect of it. Jim simply can't handle that right now.

And Bones is also completely off the table in all ways. Valentines day is one of the only two days Bones asks to be alone. No pitying friendship, no requests for drinks. Jim knows enough about the divorce to respect it.

So, here Jim is, walking into the rec room of his own volition. The room is relatively loud, being as it's filled with nearly twenty crew members. They talk in pairs, mostly, but a few groups play chess or watch old romantic movies as they cuddle together in the room's folding chairs.

He immediately spots Uhura and Chapel sitting together, the latter woman still in her medical blues.

Uhura has taken to wearing an Ankara dress with vermilion and white designs crossing over one side, and a solid red color on the opposite.

The women smile as Jim draws closer.

"Captain!" Chapel pulls a chair out for him without getting up. "Join us!"

He does.

"Have you heard Chekov talking about Russian Valentines traditions?" Uhura asks with a spark in her eye. "Apparently, they poke holes around their fingers and wrists to make bands for their soulmates! See!" She shows off her daisies.

Jim glances down at Chapel's wrist and sees a matching ring of poppies. "I see." Chapel makes a shy attempt to cover them, but she abandons the motion a second later. Her eyes brighten when they land on Uhura's.

"Ah, Captain!" Sulu's voice comes from behind and he and Chekov sit down across from him. Where they came from, Jim has no idea.

"I see you've noticed my good word going around," Chekov lifts his chin in pride as he says it. "De tradition is called страсть татуировка. Or, love tattooing. It was started by De Great Rasputin in de early twentieth century! He would poke little dots in his lowers' wrists to see if dey were his soulmate, but no record shows he had one. It is now a great Russian tradition centuries later!"

Sulu gets a playful look as he leans over Jim to false whisper, "Ironic, since Rasputin was actually born in France."

Chekov's voice switches from pleased with himself to scandalized in a fraction of a second. "Dat iz not true! He was born in Pokrowskoye! Little town!"

"Was he?" Sulu challenges, his smile never waning. "Or was he simply brought up there? You see, Chekov, Rasputin's parents were taken during the Franco-German war of 1870. When conflicts in France rose, they immigrated back to Russia-"

"When Rasputin was born!" Chekov all but shouts.

"After, my friend. After he was born."

If this is the night Jim's going to have, then he'll need a stronger whiskey than he was originally going for.

Uhura places a gentle hand on Jim's, ending the heated debate beside them. "Captain, why don't you try it? It doesn't hurt and I think it's a cute tradition."

Jim holds her hand properly, the comfort of her friendship easing his tension. "While I'm sure that's true, I doubt my soulmate would much enjoy it. It wouldn't be very logical." It's well known among the closer crew that Jim's soulmate is Vulcan. And even if it wasn't, he's never had a reason to hide it away.

"Oh, but I'm sure we could convince him," Uhura argues. "Why don't we call him down?"

The others chime in agreement, but Jim can only frown in confusion.

"I'm...sorry, Uhura, but I haven't met my soulmate yet."

They go quiet. Sulu's eyes avoid Jim's to watch the very interestingly painted walls. Chekov's lips twist into a grimace and Uhura cover's her mouth with her hand. When Jim looks to Chapel, her eyes are trained on her poppies.

It shouldn't sting so much, but it does.

"Don't feel too bad, now," Jim attempts at a joke to lighten the mood as he stands. "I believe I'm much more likely to find my true soulmate is a five million metric ton starship with the name Enterprise."

Thankfully, Chapel recovers quickly. "In that, you'll be competing with Scotty," She doesn't laugh, the room is still far too tense for that, but she does ease the furrow of her brow and the lines on her face lift. A smile.

"Indeed I will," Jim agrees before turning away from the group and rec room as a whole.

Maybe a good book will suit him better.

After nearly two months of playing transport for aristocrats and ambassadors, Jim has finally decided he'd rather drown in the bogs of Tellar, freeze to death in the Andorian deserts, and climb the highest mountain on Vulcan, than deal with another Federation official.

The whole ordeal has been a mess that's well earned Jim's humiliation, but he acts civil and kind up until the last day before their arrival to Babel. An assassination plan has been thwarted, a certain Science Officer's father has been saved thanks to Bones's skilled hands, and all Jim has to show for it is a throbbing stab wound.

Jim remains in the sick bay once Spock is well enough to take the conn. Bones has left to rest for the night and Nurse Chapel has already ensured Ambassador Sarek will recover quickly enough to speak at the conference.

It leaves the room dim and quiet in the late hours. Jim has tried to sleep the time away, but then his wound will throb again and he'll bite his lip to avoid waking the other patient. He wonders if Sarek is a heavier sleeper than Spock. He hopes so.

The door hisses open and Jim looks up to see Lady Amanda step in. She's changed out of her red dress and into something more fitting of sleepwear. It's long and billowing as she bends over her husband's form, gentle hands brushing his face. He doesn't wake, so she lingers there.

Meeting the pair was not planned in any way, but Jim finds himself pleasantly surprised by their open displays of affection. Their two-fingered gestures seem filled with passion by Vulcan standards and Jim is eager to ask Spock what exactly the human equivalent would be.

Amanda stands again, but she doesn't leave. Instead, her eyes meet Jim's in the dim light and she ventures toward him with a quiet shuffle. A smile ghosts her lips when she sits at his side. It's oddly intimate for someone Jim has only just met, yet it feels right.

"Have I thanked you yet for what you've done?" Her voice is low, just above a whisper.

"Even if you had, I don't require it," Jim says. "It's my duty to ensure your and your husband's safety, as well as the smooth running of my ship."

Her eyes droop, as if he missed the point. "Well, I give it regardless. It's comforting to know my son is in good hands. A mother worries, you know."

"I do, in a sense." Jim may not speak to his parents often, but he's always been closer to his mother. Her kindness and patience with him as a child has prepared him to show the same for his crew. It's built him into the man he is, Jim thinks.

"I always wondered if he would accept his soulmate in time and vice versa. He was always so...caught between human traditions and Vulcan's. But this is something even Sarek can embrace. So," She lays her hand over Jim's. "Thank you. For accepting my son."

The sentiment is nice, but..."Ma'am, I'm not aware of Spock having met his soulmate yet." It couldn't have been T'Pring and all of the few others Spock has shown interest in were while he wasn't in control of himself. It leaves Jim at a loss.

Lady Amanda blinks at him. "But of course he has. It's you. There is no doubt in my mind."

The certainty in which she says it makes Jim's stomach turn. "I can't be. He's only half Vulcan."

"But he wears your stab wound," Amanda argues, gesturing to the throbbing in his side. "I saw the flowers myself. The gerbera."

No. No, it's not possible. He thought...but Spock said...

"I can't," Jim insists, no longer caring to keep his voice down. "Spock said my soulmate can't possibly be human. I only have Vulcan flowers."

"As do I," Amanda reaches into the vertical folds of her dress, right where a Vulcan's heart would be, to grab a handful of-

Chamuz flowers, but different. Not like the ones Jim has found on his person. It's color is richer and it lacks the little buds Jim always finds with his own flowers, whatever they may be. He always assumed they were just another aspect of Vulcan botany, but could it be...

"I may not have met you long, James Kirk, but I do know that you are my son's soulmate." Her eyes harden.

How can he prove it? How can he know?

"Twenty one years ago," Jim's voice wavers but he presses on, "there was a genocide on Tarsus IV. I was thirteen."

Amanda's heart breaks. He can see it in her eyes and her pressed lips.

"I carved a word into my hand, only for my soulmate's eyes. What word was it?" It's a wild guess, a risk that may not pay off. Who knows where Spock was at the time, or if he even told anyone about it. Knowing the Vulcan, he could've slipped off to his bedroom and cut that circle with- anything, really. It's a very high chance neither knows it happened at all, let alone the word, but it's all Jim has.

"Help," Amanda breathes. "You wrote the word 'help'. But I had no idea why or that it was..."

Jim stares ahead at nothing. He wants to scream, he wants to cry. He does nothing but stare.

"I remember finding Spock with blood all over his hand. I helped bandage it up, but we were so concerned about what you were asking for. Spock wouldn't eat for days." Amanda covers her mouth with both hands. "We helped him press those flowers so he could remember them. They were rhododendrons. Pink ones."

They still hang in Spock's quarters now. Jim's seen them over their games of chess.

It starts as a laugh, then rises in Jim's chest until he's started sobbing into the sterile sheets he sits under. His shoulders shake and his heart can't decide whether to loop in knots or sink into his gut. Despair and relief swim together in a bitter, bitter pool. The only true word he can feel at the moment is 'why'. Why would Spock keep this? He knows. Jim knows he knows. Someone as brilliantly observant as Spock must've found out within the first year, but why wouldn't he come running to Jim once he found out? Why did he toss away his flowers and stamp them into the dirt?

A distant conversation returns to the forefront of Jim's mind. Hushed voices and arguments that crossed over Jim's drowsy head. A secret Spock made Bones swear never to tell him. One Jim spent weeks raking his brain to solve, until he eventually gave up and moved on.

This whole time, Spock's secret was...Jim.

Warm arms circle Jim's shoulders and he can do nothing but lean into Amanda's hold. He cries into her dress and shivers as her fingers run along his hair. He finds comfort from someone else's mother and he hates that it feels right. Good, even.

"You did not know," Sarek's voice echoes through the room, deep and tired. Jim can barely see him through his tears. "Yet, you are clearly fond of him. You respect him. For that, you are a good man."

It does nothing against the storm, but Jim feels it try. Sarek's words, Amanda's comforts. They try.

It's more than Jim could ever ask for.

"Finally," Bones speaks just as Jim enters the secluded bar on deck fourteen. "I thought I'd be walking myself home tonight."

"A chance to drink my pain away? I would never miss this." Jim regrets it immediately. He shies away from the suspecting look Bones gives him, but it's unavoidable now.

Thankfully, Bones lets it go for the time being. Instead, he pours them both a drink and leans against the bar. "You know it's bad when you start plannin' these things. Next thing you know, we'll be settin' up calendar dates for our arguments."

He must've already had a drink before Jim came in because his accent is particularly thick this evening. By glass three, Bones'll be calling him 'Jim-boy' and 'Darling'. Not that either nickname bothers Jim.

The conversation lulls already. Jim tries to think of something to say, but it always lands on...the root of Jim's problems.

He could mention that bizarre brain surgery Bones just preformed, but it would bring up Spock. He could talk about the super computer M-5, or that Medusan ambassador they transported. But again, it only brings him back to Spock.

It's been months since Jim found out the truth, but he's dreaded bringing it up. He's a coward, he knows, but how does one willingly walk to his own death? How can he approach Spock about the topic of soulmates when the Vulcan so clearly avoids it?

"If you keep thinkin' so hard, your brain'll leak out," Bones says.

Jim sighs. "I'm sorry, Bones. Let's just...forget it and enjoy ourselves. Here," he raises his glass in toast. "A toast! To living long and-" the word 'prosper' gets choked down, "-good health. We've made it this far into the mission, at least."

Four years. The remaining months already count down like a death march.

"...Alright, I'll drink to that," Bones gives in, albeit reluctantly. "To good health and finally getting off this damn ship."

That pulls a genuine smile to Jim's lips.

They sit in silence again; only the sounds of their sipping and the shifting of the ship dare break it. It's not a tense silence and Jim is glad for it, but it's not exactly comfortable either. Something weighs between them. Something that only gets heavier as Jim pours a second and third drink.

Only once he's gotten to the fourth does Bones say something. "Someone's in a hurry," he mutters. "Now that you've got a buzz, you want to tell me what's really going on with you?"

"No," Jim feels how his muscles have relaxed, how his tongue moves slower than it usually would. "I don't."

"Figures."

Jim stops and stares at his half-empty glass, the amber liquid sloshing. He can feel the lingering burn in his throat and the warmth in his gut.

"I know." Jim doesn't say more.

He can see Bones out of his preferential vision. The man's face is screwed up in a frown and his cheeks are dusted with a light blush, a visual sign of his state.

"You know what, Jim?" Bones says it with clear irritation.

"What Spock had you keep from me."

There's a moment where Jim thinks Bones will laugh. But when he doesn't, Jim worries he's already forgotten what that thing is.

"Dammit, Jim, I'm not gonna play twenty questions with you! Just say what it is already!"

"You don't remember?" This isn't some trick, is it? A game?

"Jim, near every goddamn crew member on this ship has me keeping secrets! Spock's are some of the highest grossing." Bones lets out a delayed chuckle. "Like the fact he keeps getting into arguments with the guy that keeps his station before his shifts. Who is it again? Lieutenant...Something with a C."

Jim's previous statement falls to the side at this discovery. "He...is?"

"Technically it's the Lieutenant's secret," Bones continues in a light tone. "Came to me of all people askin' to talk to him. Don't think it did much good, cause they still flip each other off when they pass in the hall. Behind the other's back, of course. And in Spock's own Vulcan way."

"I...I will speak to them." Dammit, he should've know Spock of all people would get pissy about how his station is set up before his shift.

But that topic is a distraction from what's really on Jim's mind, and if he doesn't get it out while he's edging over tipsy and into fully drunk, he may never.

And he can't stand another day like this.

At last, Jim speaks clearly. "Spock is my soulmate."

The levity evaporates like water on hot coils. Bones audibly swallows. "Right. How long have you known?"

"Since that business with his parents."

Bones's hand slams down on the bar. "Are you serious?! And you haven't said anything until right now?! Oh, I really aughta-"

"We've been busy, Bones. When would've been a good time? Between you getting diagnosed with a disease we thought would kill you and Spock losing his actual brain? Where could I squeeze in time for this?"

"This is space, Jim!" Bones all but shouts. "There's days just sitting here in the open void!"

Bones shifts, his fist tightening as it remains on the bar. His eyes narrow coldly.

"But no, no, you wanted to push this off. You've let it eat you up inside. And for what? Huh?! As some kinda self-hatred? You a masochist, Jim?!"

"Bones," Jim starts, but he's cut off.

"No, I'm tired of you two pussy-footin' around each other! Are you adults or aren't you?! How many more times do I gotta watch Spock rip off his damn flowers while you're lookin' the other way?!"

Jim responds in kind by shouting back. "He doesn't want me!" Jim's breathing hard, his fingers shaking where they clench his glass. If he were Vulcan, it would've shattered by now. "All this time and he said nothing. He's a human-Vulcan hybrid but he's never once dared admit his human side matters beside it's negative effects. He hates human emotion- no. No, he doesn't hate at all! He doesn't hate and he doesn't love!"

Bones has been stunned to silence.

Jim can't stop. "You know, his parents knew almost immediately? They knew me for a day and could tell we were soulmates but Spock never said a word. Not for years! And he made you keep quiet too. My best friend..."

The air is thick with tension. Jim breathes shakily and runs a hand over his face.

"But...but maybe I'm just as bad. I don't hesitate to share my heart, you know this. I've found my fill of men and women to kiss over these four years. I gave up on my soulmate so long ago...And even now that I know, I haven't said anything. Not a word."

"Jim," Bones is soft. "We humans fail in a lot of ways, but openly lovin' others ain't one of them."

Jim scoffs. "Even if it's in front of him? How many times did he watch me fall in love with someone else while he sat with this knowledge."

"He coulda told you. At any point, he could've decided to sweep you off your feet himself."

And that's the problem, isn't it? "But he didn't."

Bones sighs, his nimble fingers tapping against the curves in his own glass. He chews at his cheek and his brows furrow, then lift as he thinks hard.

Heat fills Jim's stomach and he barely controls himself as he turns to Bones fully.

"Leonard..."

Bones stares at him, cautiously surprised.

"Maybe I don't need him. If I had someone...if I had you, then I could still be happy. Could still love..."

Jim reaches for his hand but Bones stands with a jolt. His chair screeches against the floor. He's panting, shock clear in his eyes.

But he's a doctor above all else.

"I'm cuttin' ya off," Bones says as he takes Jim's drink. "You're havin' water for the rest of the night."

He rounds the bar, empties out the glass, and starts locking away the whiskey.

"Bones, I'm serious! I want to hold you, to protect you! You understand me and our friendship-"

"Stop it, Jim!" Bones snaps over his shoulder. The cabinet locks with a mechanical beep. He turns around and sets a glass of water down.

When they lock eyes, some of the anger leaves Bones.

"You're drunk. You don't know what you're sayin'."

"But I do!" Jim insists. He grabs Bones's hand around the glass, their fingers touching with a flutter. "I love-"

Water splashes over Jim's face before he can finish. He gasps from the cold. And the shock.

"I'm not gonna be your side piece 'cause you can't have Spock," Bones's voice cracks. He sniffs and swiftly leaves the room, red and angry.

Dread pools in Jim's gut as he watches Bones leave.

He's a fool, the kind written about in old twentieth century novels. He denied himself a chance at Spock, so he went and ruined his remaining friendship out of selfish need.

It would hurt worse if Jim were just drunk. He could shuffle into the medbay later, tail between his legs, and ask forgiveness for a drunk man's mistakes. But he does love Bones. He wants to hold him and kiss his frowning lips. He wants to hear that accent against his skin.

Alone in the ship's deck fourteen bar, Captain James T. Kirk cries. He cries until there's nothing left to give.

Two hands run down the yellow fabric of the captain's starfleet uniform. A stray finger bumps against the insignia, but it's corrected in slow, automatic movements. The wrinkles disappear with a tug here and a pull there. Not a spec of dust can remain.

His arms fall to his sides. Jim stares at his reflection with dull eyes. They stare back, never so foreign as now. So disgusting.

Boots. He needs to put on his boots.

Jim moves three steps across the cabin to his bed. It takes him longer than it should to sit, but once he has, a gasp escapes him from the cold that stings his skin, even through his clothes. His sheets are ice on his thighs. It's enough to snap Jim out of his blackened fog.

But what Jim meets on the other side is no more welcome. The hurt returns and Jim bites his lip to avoid letting out his pathetic noises. It's no use, however, because the noises come out in a low whine and tears pool in Jim's eyes.

As a child, he dreamt of becoming legend. He would be a starfleet captain, a hero among the stars and his crew. Since then, Jim as realized the weight such a role carries, but he flew for it regardless. He wanted to be something. Someone, instead of a lowly kid from Iowa or a rare survivor of Tarsus IV. He wanted a title for his own and a legacy that would inspire generations after him.

But all Jim has become is a lonely bastard who can't stand a cold bed.

The selfishness of it haunts him. He kisses old flames because at least he knows they want him physically. He can play pretend, act like the man they knew him as instead of the one he's become through the years. He can take what he wants, have someone to warm his sheets for a night, then move on with his own life.

Even that's not enough, because he wants Spock. He wants Bones. And now both are out of reach.

The clock chimes and Jim wipes his face with a shaking breath. His tears will dry and his face will lose it's red tint. It has to.

Because through all of this, the very least Jim can do is stand on that bridge and do his job. He owes it to the five hundred crew member on this ship who fought hard to make it this far. He owes it to the Enterprise.

Just as Jim hits the button to unlock his door, it opens to show Spock already standing on the other side, both hands clasped behind his back. Jim startles more than he should, a cry of surprise escaping him as he stumbles back a step.

Spock catches him before he can fall, strong hands holding him tight. Jim jerks out of the grasp as soon as he's collected himself again. Spock lets him go without a fight, but his head does tilt.

"Captain, I wished to speak privately with you before the beginning of our shift." When Jim doesn't respond immediately, Spock continues. "In regards to your interpersonal relations with Doctor McCoy."

What Jim means to say is 'dismissed', but what actually leaves his mouth is, "Get out."

"I understand humans find offense in ill-worded phrases or sensitive topics, but I believe whatever such offense has transpired should be quickly solved and put aside. Harboring on such human errors is illogical."

Jim scoffs. "What, are you my therapist now? Or has Bones been ribbing you too hard lately?"

"'Ribbing', Captain?"

All at once, the anger leaves him and Jim's exhausted again. He sits on his bed with a hand against his temples. "Spock, just...I don't have time for this. Not right now."

"Inaccurate. Should you cooperate, our conversation can end seven point three five minutes before you are required on the bridge. Though, it is a crude calculation. Humans are known to prolong their explanations and linger on topics not fitting to the conversation-"

"Spock," Jim sighs, "I can't...I can't talk about this. Not right now, at least." If ever. He's been trapped in this limbo for days now and the weight on his stomach only seems to grow heavier as time passes. Will it kill him eventually? Or will he find a point which he stops caring entirely?

Jim isn't sure which outcome he fears more.

Spock shuffles in a way a Vulcan shouldn't. "If you do not wish to speak, perhaps a mind meld would be advised?" He offers his hand to Jim, fingers spread and waiting for his touch.

It could make everything worse. Letting Spock into his mind? The man would see everything. The pain and torment Jim has fought to keep to himself. Worse, he would know that their little secret is out and not only has Jim been upset about it, but he too has kept quiet like a damn hypocrite.

He'd see Jim's conversation with Bones. The painful rejection of the one other person Jim would be happy spending the rest of his days with, short or long as they may be.

But when Jim thinks of staying like this, trapped in a dungeon of his own making, he knows the depression will kill him sooner than humiliation.

"I don't want to talk about this," Jim finally looks up and meets Spock's eye, "but if you think this will help..."

"Our minds will touch. What happens thereafter have will be up to you."

Jim reaches out and, after a moment of hesitation, lays his palm against Spock's. The connection is immediate, but it's only a surface level one. It makes Jim's fingers tingle and his head itch. He can feel small surges of Spock's calm and an underlying worry the man would never admit to having.

Then, as Spock moves closer until he's stationed between Jim's thighs, making Jim crane his neck up to keep the eye contact, those cold fingers slip away and plant themselves against Jim's face. With acceptance, Jim closes his eyes and lets Spock into his mind.

Jim is both himself and Spock. He sits on his bed, but also stands against Jim's warm body. He feels the stretch of his neck and the human hand gripping the small of his back. Their minds connect and there is nothing Jim can hide. Nothing at all.

Calm and worry turns to surprise, just as shame turns to relief. Then, the pain of rejection reflects back and forth, building until it finally breaks like a glass bubble. Now, there is only understanding. Love that has never been spoken. Fear of loving that can only seem silly when they are finally whole. They lived with this yearning for too long.

The image appears in their minds, of two flowers joining at the root. A Vulcan favinit against an Earth lilac.

Jim opens his eyes again, breathless. He feels cold at the lack of Spock, like he's suddenly missing something he needs badly, but it returns again in less than a second. Jim sees Spock lift their hands, index and middle fingers connecting with Jim's own. Spock's mind is back, sending love, affection, acceptance. Jim presses his own fingers back in a Vulcan kiss, sending love, adoration, relief.

It's everything he's ever needed in one touch. Jim finds himself weightless and gasping as he reaches skyward to pull Spock down with a hand on his raven hair. With their two fingers touching, Jim closes their mouths together as well, initiating a human's kiss.

The kiss is soft and chaste at first, but soon grows desperate and wet. Jim's tongue slides against Spock's lip and pulls him in deeper. Their fingers glide against each other, setting off fireworks in Jim's veins.

Their mouths break but their hands never stop. Spock's cold breath dusts against Jim's face, making him feel feverish and lightheaded.

"Jim," Spock's voice rumbles, their foreheads resting together.

Jim leans up for another long press of lips before he pulls away with a sobbed, "Spock."

His parents always lamented about their first meeting and human poets waxed long of the joining of souls, but only now can Jim attest to it's magic. They are connected in a way they never have been before. Spock fits so deeply in Jim's body, his soul, that to lose him would be a pain unimaginable. The warmth, the familiarity of having his soulmate finally connected with him...

Jim has never been happier.

Chapter Text

"How long until we arrive at Noden V, Mr. Sulu?" Jim leans back in the captain's chair, his fingers playing at the buttons without pressing them.

"Seven and a half hours, Sir," Sulu responds easily.

At that, Jim stands, that same hand now sliding along the steel incurves and protrusions of the backrest. They stop where the soft cushion ends, nails picking absently as he stares out the view port screen for point nine two seconds. Then, his head declines. "I'll end my shift here, then. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn. Contact me when we're thirty minutes out."

"Aye, Sir."

He walks to the lift, but not without flashing Spock a quick smile, hidden for only them.

Spock does not react. He stays completely under control, even as Uhura and Chekov mutter their farewells and wishes of a 'good night'. There is no logical reason for his heart to beat faster, or for his temperature to rise. Yet, Spock's body betrays him, leaving a faint green tint on his cheeks. He hides it away before it can become a point of interest.

When Jim set their terms for this relationship, Spock had expected to feel unchanged. In hindsight, it was a foolish notion. They have created a bond between their minds. Jim is no longer just Captain and friend. He is T'hy'la. A Terran soulmate.

The meld was...glorious. Exhilarating was it to feel Jim so closely, to touch and be touched in the way only T'Pring could be, before that dreadful time. But now, Spock has at last chosen to accept Jim as T'hy'la, and he has felt lighter ever since.

That same light feeling follows Spock as he ends his shift three hours later, leaving a strongly worded note for Lieutenant Candor. He silently leaves the bridge, only nodding to the echo of well wishes sent his way. He will endeavor to rest well, indeed.

With every step Spock takes toward his quarters, his heart beats faster in his side. It starts at a steady thrum, then crescendos into a hammering race as Spock enters the humble room. He dresses for his evening meditation, the dark robes a comfort from the tight Starfleet uniform. It took many months to become accustomed to the dress of Starfleet officials. They show off far more of the body than he is was used to on Vulcan.

Of course, that was also before he met James Kirk. An excellent man with just as adequate a build. One often shown off during times of conflict.

Spock lets the calm of meditation wash over him before he can dive deep into the image of Jim's shirt cut open at his chest, or the glistening red that covered his pectorals during that ritual. It is best forgotten.

A calm mind is the one who truly knows. Cast out his fears, cast out his emotion. A calm mind...

Desert sands wash against young skin. The air is light and hot. The dirt tastes of spice and root. 40 Eridani A shines above, warming the planet with her stare. She sees Spock, she knows Spock. She touches his skin and kisses his nose. He will sit still, upon the sands, for her grace. He will be where she touches, in the burn of the rock below, just as he touches I-Chaya's fur beside him.

Spock is Vulcan. He must be Vulcan.

A shuffle to the left pulls Spock out of meditation. He opens his eyes to see Jim watching him from the doorway, eyes shining in the dim light. There is a way to Jim's smile, especially in how he shows it to Spock. His face relaxes and his lips will pull upward at a forty-three degree angle. At times, the human's head will tilt to the side and his entire expression with...soften.

Love, Spock has learned the name of this emote. Jim is looking upon Spock with love.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Jim says and it appears he means it. His shoulders rise minutely. "We're still on for this sleepover, right?"

"I have made no indication it is no longer agreeable." Spock stands, now reaching for his sleep robes. He does not feel embarrassment by dressing in front of Jim.

Obviously pleased, Jim walks into the room proper and sets his belongs down by the foot of the single bed. He has brought toiletries, a separate blanket, and his own personal set of sleepwear; which he changes into in the same moment Spock finishes.

"I didn't look too eager to leave the bridge, did I?" Jim makes conversation as he pulls his shirt on.

Spock thinks it over. "You perhaps stalled too long. There was no reason to wait upon giving Sulu command. Your decision was obvious."

"Hm, noted," Jim nods. He then stands before Spock silently, his eyes wandering the room. "Well, how would you like to go about this?"

Sleeping arrangements. They had talked at length about the proper sleeping positions they would engage in for this 'sleepover'. Jim had assumed they would 'figure it out' once the time arose, but Spock was not so confident. The bed is small and to properly fit both individuals will be a challenge. So, Spock has devised a plan for the best possible outcome.

"You will lay on your back, seeing as you are wider than I am. Then, I shall move around you, placing my right arm under the curve of your back and my left over your chest. My legs will-"

"That sounds nice, Spock, but I think spooning would be easier. It's a little tight to lay side by side like that, don't you think?"

Spock blinks. "Spooning?" They have no such utensil with them. Unless Jim brought them? But the ending '-ing' refers to a verb, meaning this 'spooning' is an action they would partake in-

"It's laying on your side, back to chest. The big spoon will have the little spoon against their middle, like a...protective gesture. They'll hold them, kind of."

The image is difficult to produce.

Jim tries to explain it again. "It's named after the shape of two spoons when placed together. Think of the way one curves around the other."

"Is it not similar to the hugging gesture?" He had planned for something similar, but if Jim prefers this position, then he will cooperate.

"Think hugging from behind. Here, let me show you. It'll be easier to understand." Jim steps around Spock to lay on the bed, his back near touching the wall. Then, when he gestures for Spock to follow suite, the two of them find themselves huddled together horizontally.

It is...not optimal, Spock decides.

"And then we can rest our arms, like this." Warm, human hands reach from around Spock and clasp their fingers together. Jim's head nestles into the space at Spock's neck, hot breath sending shivers down his spine.

A beat.

"Well? How do you like it?"

Their legs are tangled, the arm under him is uncomfortable, and the space before Spock feels empty. He is enclosed and stiff.

"May I attempt at being the 'big spoon'?" He turns his head and nearly hits Jim's nose with his ear.

A huffed laugh breathes against him and Jim is moving. They shuffle, apologizing profusely for trapped garments and tangled limbs, until the position is reversed. Spock has Jim in his arms, his left knee tucked between Jim's own.

This is warm. This is comfortable, and Spock finds he could stay like this for a millennia, if his life span were to extend so long.

Jim lets out a hum as he scoots back the last three point two centimeters. "I like this. I'm usually the big spoon, but...yes, this is nice."

Spock leans away to gather the blankets around them, making sure to tuck it under Jim's arms but high enough over his chest to keep his internal organs warm.

That too earns a laugh.

"Who knew you'd be a fusser, Spock. Or a cuddler."

Those two words circle Spock's mind until he can think of a possible definition. 'Cuddler' has the suffix '-er', implying Spock is one who cuddles. He is not sure of the exact definition, but in the context of Jim's statement, Spock can deduce that their current positioning is 'cuddle'.

Similarly, the root 'fuss' in 'fusser' is familiar to Spock from when McCoy had become upset over their concern for him. He had said, "stop fussin', it's just a damn scratch".

Right. McCoy.

"Jim." He waits for acknowledgement. "While it is imperative you get the recommended seven hours of sleep allowed to you at this time, and my bringing this topic to light may risk that much needed rest, I would like to speak about your relationship to McCoy."

Spock can feel how Jim tenses, then forces himself to relax again. He clasps their hands together in comfort, linking their minds enough to send calm to his t'hy'la.

Jim clears his throat. "I assume you saw our...that during the meld?"

"I did, in a sense." It was not a perfect viewing of the scene, but Spock did witness the memory of it. He felt Jim's heartache at being rejected so aggressively, as well as the helplessness that followed.

"You...love McCoy." Spock states. "And you are in pain from the distance you two have held."

Jim sends his anxiety through their link. He worries they will never be so close again; that his drunken confession, true as it might've been, has destroyed their bond.

Again, Spock sends calm.

A sad chuckle rumbles against Spock's chest. "You're very good at this. It was stupid of me to avoid you so long."

A stray thought echoes that Spock was foolish too, for never speaking of it. The flowers.

Spock cuts their link abruptly, his hands retreating. He was not guided by fear the way Jim was. To have a soulmate is not Vulcan. The flowers that grow from his skin are shameful and his nature to discard them is compensation for it. He knows their names and the occasional placement will alarm him, but Spock lost his curiosity at a very young age. He had no other choice.

No, Spock was no fool to hide his knowledge. But perhaps he will be a fool for accepting this indulgence. This...romance.

"I would like to return to the topic of McCoy," Spock says. Jim grimaces. "Why do you allow emotion to interfere with your friendship? Is embarrassment stronger than the benefit of the doctor's continued alliance?"

"It's not so simple, Spock. I feel as if talking to him first would only make things worse."

Spock thinks on this. "You believe he would misinterpret your intentions as a second attempt at courting?"

"Maybe," Jim's voice quiets. "And I do...love Bones. But I'm with you -and I love you as well. So much." A swallow. "Would I be proving him right by offering friendship again? Was he only a real option to me after I thought you weren't?"

"A troubling predicament indeed." Spock hums, pulling Jim closer.

Jim turns his head with a huff. "You are not helpful." The pout in his voice nearly pulls a smile from Spock's lips.

"It is not my friendship in jeopardy," he replies. Then, more seriously, Spock continues. "But if it is a polyamorous relationship you seek, then I believe it could provide...benefits to each of us."

Jim's heart skips under Spock's fingers. It is a pleasant sensation. "You mean...All three of us date? Spock, are you sure? This isn't the only solution! We can-"

"McCoy would aid in fulfilling and understanding your more human needs, which would benefit my own in turn. I cannot solely support you emotionally. Not in the ways a human lover could."

"I...Spock, I can handle a Vulcan lover. I've spent my whole life preparing for it! I don't need someone else just for that!"

Their hands meet again. Spock sends his acceptance as clearly as he can. Jim loves McCoy and McCoy will show it in turn. Jim loves Spock, and Spock will be free to not show it in emote. This leaves McCoy happy, Jim happy, and Spock certain in its logic.

Jim smiles hesitantly. "You're absolutely sure of this and everything it'll mean for all three of us."

"Vulcans cannot lie, Jim." That is adequate enough of an answer.

Blissful joy fills their link, until it calms into a quiet admiration. "Alright. Then I'll talk to him. On Thursday."

"Tomorrow?" Spock raises a brow.

"Tomorrow," Jim relents with a tender kiss. A yawn interrupts it and Jim faces forward again, content in Spock's arms.

They remain silent for several minutes. Spock lets himself fall close to sleep, a task made surprisingly easy like this. Perhaps the exchange of body heat is to blame.

Jim's voice breaks the silence like a droplet on still water. "Will you be accepting some of that Southern Loving from Bones as well?"

He sounds far too proud of himself.

"Of course not," Spock frowns. Yet, his heart beats faster.

"Right. Right," Jim whispers. "But maybe I don't need to take all of it for myself, hm?"

Spock kicks his foot lightly. Jim laughs. "Sleep. You will regret it if you do not."

"Always need to be right..."

Finally, Jim falls into sleep. And when Spock will wake three hours before him, he will remain here at his side.

As he always has been and always will be.

Spock walks quickly through the front door and up the stairs to his bedroom. He does not stop to greet Mother, nor does he inform her of the fascinating lessons of the day.

Those lessons are gone from his mind, replaced with the sting from his skin.

He pulls off his school uniform and stands in nothing but his undergarments, eyes glued to the itching stems spread along his arms, knees, and the palms of his hands.

The yellow dandelions are gone, leaving bundles if torn flowers in their wake. A strange milk common in the Terran weed seeps from the ends. It is as if the flowers themselves are bleeding from their torment.

Spock struggles to control himself. His breaths come in gasps and his eyes water every time he blinks. He does not understand why his peers are so cruel. Why must they call him names, insult his family, and pinch the flowers from his skin? It hurts him and Vulcans are not supposed to hurt.

A whine escapes him when the stems start to regrow their flowers. What once was a scabbed over wound must now have reopened on his soulmate's palm.

In a fit if shameful rage, Spock rips the buds out before they can blossom. More take its place, so Spock pulls those as well. He will crush as many of the weeds as he must until the bleeding stops.

Until he can forget that he is anything but Vulcan.

The bedroom door opens and Spock is quick to pull on a neutral expression. He quiets the rage down to a simmer and the tears no longer press behind his eyes.

Mother steps into the room, hands behind her back. "You didn't greet me, Spock. Are you alright?"

Spock looks at her evenly. "I am well," he responds, trying to sneak his hands away before she can see the wake of his destruction.

But it is too late. Mother spots the flurry of petals and comes into the room proper. "Spock, you mustn't pull those out!" Her warm hands clasp around the regrowing buds on his palms, gentle and delicate.

She checks him over with a click of her tongue. She is concerned for him.

"Spock, you cannot risk pulling one from the root. They will bleed and then your flowers will be permanent." Her voice is stern, but her eyes are soft.

Spock cannot bear to look at them. "I want to be rid of them, Mother." He is proud of the strength in his voice. It is well fought for. "It is not the Vulcan way."

A finger hooks under Spock's chin, pulling his eyes to hers. "My boy, this is a part of you. It may not be a Vulcan trait, but that doesn't mean it's unnatural."

Slowly, Spock breathes in. "I want to be rid of them," he insists. She can feel his pain through their link, he knows, but to maintain his composure is vital. No one must see him hurt from this. Not even his own mother.

It is always difficult to see Mother smile so sadly. "Then I will teach you how to hide it safely." She holds his small hand in hers, then grasps a dandelion stem with the other. "You must pinch and twist it. Do not pull until it tears."

She demonstrates twice and the process does not sting the way his classmates' plucking did. This is gentle and efficient.

Spock tries after her, pinching the plant close to his skin, then twisting it off until it severs completely.

Soon, his palms are near bare, only the slight indents and milky substance marking the flowers were ever there.

"Oh, my dear Spock. Someday, you will see these as a blessing instead of a curse."

Mother stands and leaves the room soon after, the aftertaste of her words sour in Spock's mind. He is not so sure of that fact.

Much to their surprise, McCoy comes to Jim first.

He and Spock sit at opposite sides of the rec room table, a chess board set between them. Spock is winning for the time being, but he knows Jim could be playing the long game. All it takes is a single gap for him to slip through and the match will have flipped entirely.

"Well, it sure looks like you two sorted things out," McCoy leans against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning over them with a doctor's skill. He must enjoy whatever conclusion he's come to.

Jim sputters, possibly having not seen the doctor until he spoke. A disadvantage of human hearing. "B-Bones! Uh, yes, Spock and I have..." He shakes his head. "It's good to see you, Bones."

"Not too good I hope." The jokes invokes a wince from both parties. Spock simply raises a brow.

The chess game is forgotten as Jim turns in his chair to face McCoy directly. "Bones, I..." He spares a glance to Spock, then refocuses. "We should talk. Uh, excuse us, Spock."

McCoy follows with a pained expression as they huddle in the far corner of the room. They are still within Spock's Vulcan hearing. Only a few words are lost to him as Jim formally apologizes.

He does not understand the logic in keeping the discussion between just them, in this case. Jim should know by now Spock's hearing range. And if Jim is speaking of what Spock suspects, then why is Spock not allowed to be an active participant?

There is no jealousy or offense. If Jim wished to pursue a romantic relationship with only McCoy, then he would have said so much earlier. No, Spock is simply curious to the human reasoning for this behavior.

It seems even four point seven five years after their first meeting, his t'hy'la can still finds ways to surprise.

"What?!" McCoy's voice echoes through the room.

"Bones, just listen-"

"No! No, no, no! You are not doing this to me again, James Tiberius Kirk! The once was bad enough, but to come back -and while you're with Spock?! For pete's sake!"

Jim holds his hands out as if to comfort a frightened creature. But McCoy appears far from frightened. In fact, he looks only a few short steps away from becoming the aggressor. It is clear in the clench of his fist and the shake of his lip. He is in a much too elevated state to respond to Jim at this time.

Spock moves to stand by his love's side, if only to act as a deterrent for any physical quarrels.

"Spock, did you just hear-" McCoy is red in the face when he rounds on the Vulcan.

"I did. And I agree with his proposal, as he might have mentioned." Spock remains perfectly neutral.

While his Vulcan repression is often a point of contention between Spock and McCoy; it seems to act as a calming factor in this situation. A fascinating note for later.

McCoy's shoulders lower and his fingers wave violently in the air as he looks between them. "This is ridiculous. Is this some kind of -of greed? Jim can't stand not having us both?"

The manner in which McCoy speaks ignites a defensiveness in Spock. "Do you think so little of him? Jim holds love for us both. There is a clear benefit in a polyamorous relationship. It is logical."

"Damn your logic, Spock!" Yet, McCoy's anger cools. He looks again between them both, blue eyes softening when he sees Jim's pain. "I can't...Jim, I can't do this. You know how things went with Jocelyn. You two are soulmates..."

"We are." Jim's voice is achingly gentle. He speaks from his heart in such a manner that Spock's own leaps in admiration. "And I know the divorce left you a broken man, but let me offer something more. Let us."

Jim brings Spock's hand up in a Vulcan kiss. The power of his emotions is almost too much, but Spock endures.

"We want to share our love with you as an equal. Our burdens, our love, and everything in between." Jim offers a hand to McCoy. "We work best as a team...don't you think?"

Slowly, shakily, McCoy's hand hovers over Jim's. His eyes, however, are steel. "I'm not gonna regret this, right? This isn't some rash decision based off your serotonin high?"

Jim smiles. "I can't guarantee you a future together. We don't know when our last days are, not in this line of work, but I can promise you this; we will love each other with everything we have until then. For better or worse. Soulmate or not."

Their hands clasp together in a firm hold and Spock is not sure he's ever seen McCoy so...bright. He scoffs and rolls his eyes at the kisses Jim plants on his hand, but there is a new light to his eyes that was not there before.

McCoy pulls away enough to offer his other hand to Spock, bouncing on his heels. "You too, Pointy. Don't think you'll slip out of this."

Spock accepts the offer. "I made no such indication." And...'pointy'?

"No one's slipping out of anything. We're together." Jim pulls them into a tight hug. Both McCoy and Spock squirm away when it stretches a second too long.

Jim lets them go without a fight. "So, gentlemen? Any first date plans?"

"It's been five minutes, Jim," McCoy rolls his eyes. "Give a man some time to get used to all...this." He gestures wildly with his hands.

"Inaccurate, Doc- McCoy." Spock corrects quickly. The use of McCoy's title would be inappropriate in such a personal setting. "It has been only three point four six minutes. Point four seven. Point four eight-"

"I get it, Spock! You can stop with your computing and power down for a sec."

A comment intended as an insult. Spock finds it flattering. "Your way with words continues to usurp my expectation-"

"Boys," Jim interrupts. "Another time? Please? As fun as this is, I'd much rather continue winning our game of chess."

Spock turns his heated gaze to Jim. "According to my eidetic memory, you were losing, Captain."

"Losing? No, I believe I was just about to sweep the game with a final move." Jim is already walking back to the abandoned board. He beckons McCoy. "Care to watch, Bones?"

"If I wanted to waste my time watching you two flirt, I'd be on the bridge every day."

Spock does not mention that McCoy is on the bridge as often as his work permits. Nor does he admit that seeing McCoy there in the future will be more amendable than in the past, for Jim's sake.

This shall prove interesting.

"After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting."

Spock is in ruin. His pains of the past hold no flame to that which he feels now.

He had burned. His blood was fire and his mind a rising blaze. Pon Farr had reduced him to a mindless animal, seeking only flesh in whatever sense he could take it. It had not known mating with T'Pring from killing his best friend.

It could have been avoided. Spock knew it was unusual to bring humans to this ceremony. There was no reason to have anyone else in attendance. Jim could not have forced the madness away, nor could McCoy have banished it with a hypo.

Yet, Spock brought them because he...he wanted Jim. He wanted McCoy. He wanted them there with him, embarrassments long irrelevant.

And then he had Jim. He had Jim to hold, to openly lust for, to consume as if it were his purpose. He had Jim's body to relieve his burning against. And in having Jim, he has lost him.

Now, Spock stands beside McCoy, only his own death on his mind. Flowers lay beneath his shirt, a line across the chest. They will have wilted by now. The last thing he will have of Jim before they are both gone.

No, having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting. Not when it has taken his friend. His love. His t'hy'la.

"What do you think?" Jim's shoulder brushes Spock's as he steps back to get a full view of the display.

Beside the pressed rhododendrons Spock has had hanging in his quarters since his first day as first officer abroad the Enterprise, Jim has placed a set of four Vulcan Ground Creepers. They spent weeks pressing the bright blue flowers, each day filled with endless anticipation on Jim's part. He quite literally pushed Spock into his own quarters to set up the frame.

Apparently, the Ground Creeper was the flower Jim received on Tarsus IV. The meaning behind it alludes Spock still, but the theories fascinate him. Was it due to the rare nature of the flowers bloom? Was it born from Jim's desperation or Spock's own fear? Perhaps the irrational attempt at comfort is the root of their origin. Logically, cutting a circle around the rhododendrons would do nothing to alleviate the starvation and genocide taking place, but he did so anyway. A rare lapse in logic causes an equally rare flower to appear.

Though, the flower is not entirely rare to Jim, seeing as he has grown a few from their last away mission. Spock has since been bandaged from the spear that cut a line across his left shoulder.

Looking properly at the two frames side by side, Spock finally reaches his conclusion. "It is satisfying. A complete set."

"Well, as complete as we can get, at least," Jim agrees.

With McCoy not having a soulmate, they found themselves lacking in a way to include him in their display. Thankfully, McCoy had not been offended. In fact, he seemed not to care for a place on Spock's wall, stating it was 'silly'. An odd sentiment. When Spock pointed such out, McCoy had gone off on a rant about human emotionalism, as if Spock is not in constant exposure to such behaviors.

Silly, Spock would describe McCoy's argument.

"You know, I...am still grateful for that circle you gave me." Jim does not turn to Spock, but his voice has lowered in volume. He is showing vulnerability. "I think that's what pushed me to keep moving. To try for Starfleet and make something of myself. You allowed me to dream of life after Tarsus."

The words settle deep in Spock's heart and he fights the physical reaction it draws. "My circle did no such thing. Your own efforts brought you along, not my poor attempts at communication."

"But they did, in a sense," Jim argues. He turns, now, hands grasping Spock's shoulders. Warmth seeps into Spock's cold skin. "You gave me hope and that was the fuel I needed. Yes, I'm the one who worked to get into the Starfleet academy. And I won't say you did it all, but I certainly wouldn't be here without you."

Spock does not know what to do with something so passionate. It heats his chest and leaves him a little breathless. He wants to hold Jim back, to tell him every corner of his heart loves Jim as if it were the very thing that gave him life. Jim is his sun, his warmth, his bright and shining celestial.

But Spock does not speak a word of that. Instead, he simply raises his fingers to touch Jim's and sends his devotion through their bond. He will follow Jim anywhere and anytime.

Jim's eyes wrinkle at the edges as his smile softens. "I love you too, Spock."

After an evening filled with music and celebration, Spock finds the calm afterward much more enjoyable.

They have arrived to a Federation allied planet. Tonight marks a start of another year and Starfleet had asked the Enterprise to attend such festivities.

Mr. Sulu and Mr. Scott have spent the majority of the evening drinking together. They have become properly inebriated by this point and their off-key song is drowned out by the roar of lively chatter.

Ensign Chekov, Uhura, and Nurse Chapel laugh with the planet's prime minister. They have kept reasonable in their beverage consumption, but are affected none-the-less.

Spock stands apart from them in his own corner. His glass drips condensation, forcing him to wipe his hands on an offered handkerchief. The alcoholic contents of the drink does not disarm his mind, so he stays plainly sober. It is preferable.

"Ah, I shoulda guessed you'd be in the quiet," McCoy's voice breaks the lonely serenity Spock has embraced for the evening. "The party too loud for your Vulcan ears?"

Spock lets McCoy settle in beside him, their close proximity no longer uncomfortable. "I find the environment of such events displeasing."

"Figures," McCoy sips his own drink. "Jim let go a lil' more than usual. Think he's gettin' antsy about the mission ending."

To this, Spock lifts a brow. "Nearly six months remain of our voyage. It is not logical for him to be upset so soon."

Those beautifully blue eyes narrow at Spock, a sly smile twisting his lip. "Spock, you should know by now that we don't operate under pure logic. Jim's just upset that a good thing's ending! That, and he'll probably have to pass on the Enterprise."

That, Spock understands. "I see. What would be your prescription, Doctor?"

McCoy scoffs. "I'm a surgeon, not a psychiatrist."

"But you are his lover."

Again, McCoy's eyes narrow at him. This time, there is no smile. "Jim's spent five years ignoring my advice, I don't think bein' his lover's gonna make a difference." McCoy pauses to empty his cup. "He listens to you, though."

"Hardly," Spock frowns. "It seems Jim delights in our combined displeasure."

"...Whatever you say, Spock. Actin' like he doesn't kiss the very ground you walk on."

Spock's head tilts. Their shoulders bump. "I have not witnessed such an act, and it would be highly concerning if it were to happen. Not to mention unsanitary. I believe you have fabricated this observation."

The doctor makes a noise in the back of his throat. He is offended. "You green-blooded cunt, are you callin' me a liar?"

McCoy's face reddens, but it is unlikely from his raised emotional state alone. He too is intoxicated, as his accent seems to slip through in particularly thick patches. The use of the word 'cunt', especially.

But before Spock can reply, a crash draws attention to the now shattered glass display in the center of the room. A look further gives the rest of the story. Jim and Mr. Scott are on the floor, laughing despite the glass shards that have fallen over them. They attempt to stand, but McCoy is on the scene in a flurry, barking orders for them to stop.

"Goddamit, I can't take my eyes off you for a second! Just look at this mess!"

"Bones! I was just looking f'you!" Jim slurs, his arms going to circle to doctor, only to be slapped away.

"Shut up and sit still, will ya? Scotty, you better stop right there or I'm sedatin' botha you!"

A tingling sensation starts at Spock's forearm and he breaks the flowers off unconsciously.

His hand stops before it can stuff the petals away. His relationship with Jim is no secret among the crew of the Enterprise. In most Terran cultures, the flowers are natural. Expected, even. There is no shame in them.

For the first time in years, Spock allows himself to look at the flower properly. It is made up of two large petals, both curving open like a wrinkled fan. It is soft to the touch and delicate under his Vulcan hand.

Lathyrus Odoratus, also known as the 'sweet pea'. A flower native to the Terran country of Italy, known for it's perfuming uses and beauty. It is most commonly found in shades of coral, pink, lavender, and deep purple.

Spock breaths it in, eyes closing to focus on the smell. Sweet, as the name suggests, with an underlying soapiness. He would like a bottle of its perfume.

Oxytocin releases into Spock's green blood and he is entranced by the romanticism of the flower.

Perhaps it is a wondrous thing, after all, to have a soulmate.

Captain James T. Kirk is dissimilar to Captain Christopher Pike.

Spock knows that Kirk is younger, but he was ill prepared for the casual way the captain prefers to command his ship.

He speaks informally with his subordinates. Seven times thus far, Spock has catch Captain Kirk slipping in his log reports. He referred to Chief Engineer Scott as 'Scotty', a friendly nickname instead of the lieutenant commander's title. The captain has similarly has taken to calling Doctor McCoy by the name 'Bones'; a shorten derivative of the term 'sawbones', referring to a skilled surgeon.

Captain Kirk also holds a juvenile levity to him that Captain Pike lacks. Spock attributes this to his age and inexperience; therefore, it can be forgiven, as perturbing as it is.

But most concerningly, Captain Kirk frequently questions Spock's judgement, even going so far as to actively avoid it on occasion.

This last point, Spock does bring up to his superior officer.

"Sir, I request your attention." Spock stands before Captain Kirk's quarters, hands clasped behind his back.

Kirk looks up from his PADD and smiles. Why does he always smile when Spock addresses him? "Mr. Spock, come in! Why I was just going to ask for a game of chess."

He thinks on this proposal. "A game would be acceptable, but it is not the purpose of my presence."

"Well, by all means, sit." Jim motions to the chair across from his desk.

Spock sits.

"Captain, I would like to inquire as to why you asked my judgement concerning the Tellarin ambassador's safe rescue."

Again, that smile. This time, Jim's eyes look over Spock's frame, their conclusion only made available to the human. "I...wanted your input. Is it wrong to ask my first officer for advice?"

"No, it is not, Captain."

Before he can continue, Jim plants his feet on the floor and leans very close over the desk, fingers steepled. "Then what's the problem, Mr. Spock?"

Spock holds his tongue. Kirk may be an irritant on occasion, but he is still the captain. "You asked for my advice, then disregarded it entirely a moment later. I fail to see why you would inquire of my guidance when you clearly had no intention of following it."

There stretches a long silence as Jim simply stares ahead at Spock. Foreign emotions play across his features, each too quick for Spock to properly analyze. If this were Captain Pike, it would be easy to see the tells of frustration or interest.

But Kirk is so very different.

"You are...Vulcan, Mr. Spock."

"Obviously," Spock deadpans.

"You hold a unique perspective that I value highly. When I ask your advice, I'm not simply looking for solutions to the problem at hand, but for...logic. I want to know the numbers, the facts. You are excellent in providing just that."

Irritation flips in Spock's head, and he finds himself sitting back, shocked."That is...kind of you to say, Captain." He does not express gratitude, for that is a human response. Just a statement of acknowledgement.

Kirk continues. "When I strayed from your advice, it wasn't in disregard for your suggestion. I simply used your information to better patch my own plan. And it worked! The ambassador is safe and unharmed, thanks to your intel."

Again, the compliment has Spock uncharacteristically flustered, but he is quick to release the emotion. "How am I to know when you are asking for my honest judgement and when you are simply seeking fact?"

Kirk shrugs casually. "I don't think it needs to be so binary, Mr. Spock. If your plan is safer and better executed, then I will make the call to follow it. If not, I will gather the information you've provided to create my own." He pauses. "That...is my job, after all. Don't you agree?"

Does he?

"It would seem...fitting of your role, Yes." Spock says eventually.

"Then there's no harm done."

The conversation is left at that, but Spock finds himself lingering on Kirk's words. The flattery, yes, but mostly the odd inflections and rises of his voice. The way his eyes met Spock's so heavily.

Yes, Captain Kirk is very dissimilar to Captain Pike. But perhaps it is not such a bad thing.

Spock has been left alone in his quarters, as per his request. In this moment, Jim and McCoy can offer him no comfort.

Meditation is a bloody and vicious battle that Spock cannot guarantee he will win tonight.

He...has never experienced something quite so shattering to his soul. The puppeteering of Plato's stepchildren was unlike the pollens or parasites of the past. There was no scientific mystery to uncover, nor was it a battle of his mind.

They took his body. They used it to dance, to play, to fight, and sing. Spock was nothing more than flesh for their amusement and he played exactly as they wished. There was no Vulcan technique to fall back on.

It has left Spock raw and at a complete loss of control.

He must regain control!

Spock attempts again to retreat into the sands of his mind. He wishes for the memory of his planet to return him to his nature.

But his hands won't stop shaking. They clench painfully, leaving crescents of blood in his palm. His jaw aches from grinding his teeth, but nothing will elevate the tension. His every muscle is wound to spring.

Anger courses through him. Hatred. He feels hatred.

Spock's eyes slide closed. He forces his hands to unclench, but they no not relax. He gasps for every breathe.

They made him sing. They forced him to kiss.

Fingers clasp together, leaving the first and middle digits pressed firmly together. He feels the phsy points connect together, creating a cycle of feedback as a blockade for the raging waters of his emotion; though, it's only a pebble against the waves.

"The mind controls...the body," Spock wheezes.

He images the pebble growing into a rock, then a slab of stone.

"Control the mind, and the body will follow."

The stone builds into an arch, the keystone placed with expert precision.

"Cast out fear. Cast out anger. Cast out hatred."

Wood splits from tree, then carves into the bindings of a door. Spock places it within the arch and holds it shut. He needs only to lock it.

"The calm mind is the one who...who truly knows."

Spock is calm. The door is locked.

And he shall never open it again.

The view screen flashes and finally, Spock can see the clear image of Jim roaming the barren planet he has been transported to.

Him and the Gorn commander.

Spock watches with baited breath, eyes never leaving the figure of his trapped captain. He mutters quietly as Jim finds the necessary components for an advanced weapon, one that will ensure his victory.

"Yes...yes," Spock encourages, despite Jim being unable to hear him. Jim's intellect is one often forgotten by his opponents. He is young, and at times, foolishly ambitious; but James T. Kirk is also a master tactician and connoisseur of the sciences.

It has surprised even Spock in instances of crisis, Jim's determination to avoid no-win scenarios.

"Mr. Spock!" Scott gasps and Spock reluctantly pulls his attention from Jim. "Your head! You've got flowers!"

Spock touches across his forehead, fingers stumbling when they meet a bundle of flowers growing just over his brow. He twists one off to inspect it.

Poppies.

The crew of the bridge stare at Spock openly. Scott seems especially anxious, but there is no logical reason for such emotion. Spock has had flowers appear visibly before.

The Gorn has returned and quickly, the attentions of the crew divert back to the screen. Spock discards the flower and goes to continue his engrossed viewing, only to stop when he sees a matching cut on Jim's own head.

Spock's blood runs cold.

Logically, it is unlikely they are truly matching. There are ten billion humans spread across the galaxy. For Spock's one soulmate to be Jim...

"You got some on your cheek too," McCoy's voice is low and dull.

Spock turns to him slowly. He feels for more flowers and finds just that. Poppies have sprung up on his forehead, his cheek, and his elbow beneath his shirt.

Jim is cut across his forehead, his cheek, and he has skinned his elbow in escape from the Gorn.

Breathing becomes difficult. Spock's fingers clench around the poppy in his hand, red petals crumbling under the pressure.

Logic tells Spock what he dreads, but the real confirmation is that look in McCoy's eye. He knows. Knew, likely, this whole time. And now that Spock knows, he too is cursed by the reality of their situation.

Spock is Jim's soulmate, just as Jim is his. A captain and his first officer.

"Congratulations, Mr. Spock." McCoy speaks loud enough for Scott and Uhura to hear, but his words are for Spock alone. "You finally figured it out."

It was the product of the time. Nothing of what transpired reflects on Spock's own psyche. It can't.

They -he and McCoy- were sent five thousand years to the past. In that time, Spock had become...emotional. Uncontrollably so.

He gave up hope the moment an obstacle blocked their path. Not once had Spock questioned the word of a lonely woman trapped too in the far past. He had eaten meat, convinced there was no other option. He showed aggression toward McCoy.

Now, in their proper era and free of the doomed trap, Spock still cannot leave the events behind him. Meditation does little when the root of his problem is his own biology.

McCoy had explained away the mood spells as his own Vulcan history catching up with him.

Spock is not so certain that is the truth.

Something is happening to him. He can feel it even now, knelt for meditation in the dim lights of his quarters. He finds himself here more and more often, hoping desperately that it will banish the feelings that have infected him.

He feels love for Jim and McCoy. Swooning, blushing love. He feels agitation toward the mistakes of the ensign aboard. He feels and feels and they never end. They come too quickly to cast out, to replace with a Vulcan mask.

Spock...does not know who he is anymore.

The joys of love make him human. The agonies of love will kill him.

This is what Spock has come to accept. Jim has made him human through their love. It is impossible to know when it started, if there ever was a start at all, but now the truth is clear as the morning sun.

He thought he was strong enough to be Vulcan, and for many years he was, but the human half will always haunt him. There is no stretch of space that Spock can run to where his humanity cannot. Among Vulcans, he is an imposter. They knew it the moment he was born and it was a fool's errand to deny it to himself.

Therefore, Spock must cleanse himself. He must become completely free of emotion and bond.

"Admiral, huh?" McCoy's voice is rich with humor this evening. He is pleased with the end of their five-year-mission come this following month.

Jim leans back against the red cushion of their booth. His skin glistens under the warm diner lights. His hair is artfully quaffed to the side, making him a particularly attractive sight.

"I could barely believe it myself," Jim smiles but his eyes are downcast. "I must've really impressed them."

"But admirals don't fly, Jim," McCoy says. "You're really gonna let the Enterprise go like that? And what about the rest of them? Uhura and Chekov and Scotty? Sure, Sulu's got a promotion waiting, and Chapel's gonna make a damn fine MO, but where will the others go?"

"I'll put in my best word for them," Jim shrugs. "They deserve a chance at command, don't they? This isn't meant to be our forever, Bones, you know that."

The doctor rolls his eyes. "Lord do I."

They exchange a long look. Hands clasp together over the table.

"I'll accept it," Jim says eventually. "Maybe then I'll get to visit you in retirement more often." His eyes flash with that sadness once again. "Someone will have to patch us up."

McCoy clicks his tongue. "You'll be welcome just as long as you don't bring the trouble with you. I don't want any worries bigger than what I'll be making for dinner."

"You have my honest word," Jim salutes.

It's waved away with a snicker. "We both know what your word's worth. At least in that, anyway."

Jim's gaze turns to Spock and dread pools in the half-breed's stomach.

"Spock, have you thought about your own promotion? I personally think you'll make an excellent captain. You've proven yourself more than enough while standing in for me, at least." Jim tries to connect their fingers in a Vulcan kiss but Spock pulls away.

He ignores the hurt expression that follows.

"I have decided to..." Spock breathes in, feeling the nausea that rises in his throat, then out again. "I have resigned from Starfleet and-"

Immediately both Jim and McCoy jump to their feet.

"You what?!" Jim shouts, not caring for the peace of the other patrons.

"Are you out of your Vulcan mind?!" McCoy exclaims. "You have to be! There's no way in hell you'd just go and do something like that! Jim, hand me my scanner!"

Spock remains still. "Sit, please."

Slowly, and still fuming, they sit.

"As I said, I have resigned from Starfleet and will be returning on Vulcan. There are matters that must be seen to."

McCoy slaps the table. "What matters?! Did you-" His eyes go wide. "Your father didn't talk you into this, did he? Vulcans may be stronger than humans, but I'll get him with my bare hands if I have to!"

"You will do no such thing," Spock snaps. Even now, he is riddled with emotion he cannot cage inside.

"Well, Spock?" Jim may not shout, but his anger is ever present. "What matters need you more than Starfleet? What is so important that you would deprive them of one of their best officers?"

Jim uses the word 'them' to refer to Starfleet, Spock notes. Not 'us'.

"There is a ritual on Vulcan called the Kolinahr," Spock continues, not looking at either man. "It...cleanses one of all emotion and connection. In the times of Surak, it was considered the ultimate Vulcan philosophy. No longer will there be emotion to repress...only logic."

McCoy stares in complete shock, his mouth hung agape.

Jim has gone silent, his face unreadable.

"It is rarely used modernly, but I have chosen to undergo this procedure once I return to my home planet. I must embrace my chosen heritage."

This once, Spock wishes for an interruption. The silence has become deafening.

Thankfully, McCoy has never been able to remain unheard for long.

"You can't be serious. Spock- How is this even possible?! You can't just get rid if your emotions like that!" McCoy demands.

"It involves a long meditation. I will survive in the Vulcan deserts until my mind is prepared. Then, all mental links will be severed."

McCoy scoffs in disbelief. "Forget retirement, you're going off to Vulcan to become a real robot! Your mind will be no better than a computer's! An android will have more emotion than you!"

"I will be Vulcan," Spock's jaw tenses.

How can they possibly understand? They do not live between two worlds, forever split. They do not know the loneliness of being an outcast no matter where he goes. There is no more of him. There is just Spock.

And perhaps there was never meant to be Spock.

For the second time tonight, McCoy is stunned to silence. He sits back, head shaking slowly, and bites down on his lower lip so it might not shake.

Jim's voice is hollow when he speaks. "You...really want this? You have wanted this?"

Spock is a coward to avoid his gaze, but he cannot bear Jim's disappointment. "Yes."

"And what will this do to us? Our bond as soulmates?" Jim knows the answer, most likely. Yet, he asks anyway.

"It will be severed. You will no longer see flowers appear on your skin. Nor will I."

McCoy covers his mouth with his hand. "No..."

"Spock," Jim reaches for him again with no more success. "Is there anything I can say to change your mind?"

"No. My mind is made." A bloody battle rages in Spock's chest. He wants Jim to be outraged, to demand Spock return with him to Starfleet. But he knows it will kill him. He does not want Kolinahr, he needs it. It is the only prescription to the illness of his biology.

Jim's voice is but a whisper. "Then this will be our end. In one month, we will never see each other again. Not in person, or in flora."

McCoy opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him.

Spock stands from the table. "Good evening. And goodbye."

He hears the whispers that follow his absence, but Spock does not stop as he exits the diner and walks into the night. They will be better without him, a Vulcan unable to love. Their hearts may break and they may feel betrayal, but they will see the truth in time.

And at last, he will be free.

Sparks light Spock's nerves like thousands of explosions igniting under his skin. He breathes in heavy gasps, pure instinct controlling him entirely. His blood is hot, an echo to Pon Farr, but not nearly as animalistic.

His thoughts are filled with Jim. Jim's sweating, smooth chest as he battles whatever adversary they've discovered this week. His shirt is ripped asunder and open is his skin for all that obverse it.

The pace of Spock's hand increases.

But Jim needs not to be unclothed for his beauty to shine. Spock sees him in the captain's chair, leaning heavily on one elbow as his uniform-clad legs spread ever so slightly. His boots scuff the ground. The elastic band would be so easily pulled aside for Spock's access.

A shiver.

He would kiss with his soul. Jim's face would go red as the night continue on. He would squirm and shout at the increase of stimulation until Spock finally let him release. Clothed, or perhaps shed completely, it would not matter. Not when that voice would ring through the air in desperate bursts.

Spock's hand stops. It holds tight around the base of him, wet slick pooling around his thumb as he keens into the sweet pressure.

The image of Jim duplicates and now, McCoy unexpectedly joins the fantasy. The doctor would be more dominant, bratty. He would force Spock's mouth onto Jim's most sensitive spots while McCoy takes what he wills from them both.

Climax hits him with the power of a supernova and Spock is left spent and panting in the quiet of his quarters.

Alone.

They do not touch. Jim and Spock must stand together as the captain becomes an admiral, but they do not touch once. Jim's eyes turn down as he walks up to the spotlight, a false smile on his lips as he accepts the badge and handshake. He does well to focus on his speech. To anyone else, Jim seems entirely himself. A true gift to Starfleet.

But Spock knows him. He knows that Jim is heartbroken, dejected, but unusually accepting of Spock's decision. They played the part of captain and first officer quite well until the last day of their five years. Now, Jim only has to tolerate Spock another twenty minutes or so.

Once those agonizing minutes are up, Spock gathers his few belongings from his temporary living quarters. He leaves much of the odd findings he's held close over his time on the Enterprise. There is no logical reason to keep sentimental items when he will lose such sentiments.

Tucked away among Spock's clothes is a white envelope addressed to him in familiar handwriting. The enclosed letter will hold McCoy's parting words, no doubt. A sweet sentiment or angry words, Spock does not know.

It remains tucked away as Spock completes his packing and heads for the first shuttle to Vulcan. The walk is long and traffic will be high from the ceremony. Spock finds himself walking at a brisk pace through the chaos of it all. Thankfully, the Vulcan waiting station is pleasantly sparse.

"Spock, a word?" Jim's voice causes Spock to freeze. He wishes to ignore it and run, but the regret of missing his last conversation with Jim would make Kolinahr that much more difficult to achieve.

So, Spock sets his bags down and turns to Jim, nothing on his expression giving way to the constant pain he feels. It has become as dear a friend to him as the crew of the Enterprise.

He will be rid of both in time.

Jim stands before him, his eyes somber. "I just wanted to say that I hold no ill feelings toward you. I'm just...happy to have experienced you."

Spock is not sure what to say to that, so he says nothing.

"I hope you get everything you want. Truly, I do." Jim's hands twitch, an instinct to reach for him, but the action is quickly aborted. They hang awkwardly by his sides.

"I wish you the same," Spock rasps. He holds his hand out in ta'al. "Live long and prosper, James Kirk."

Jim mirrors the gesture as best he can. "Live long, Spock. And prosper."

There is nothing left to say, yet Spock hesitates to leave. He tears his gaze away first, then forces his shoulders toward the landing shuttle. Only once his feet are pointed away can he lift his bags again and leave Jim behind.

Spock creeps through the night. His muscles are tense and his lungs ache from holding his air so long, but to breathe too loudly would cause him to startle again.

The boy stands in front of his parent's door. The storm rolls on outside, light flashing through their large windows. Logic suggests it will pass without event and Spock should not be scared, but he is. He's terrified.

Slowly, Spock opens the door and follows the small ray of light to his mother's sleeping face. She sleeps soundly, as she has only gotten four of her recommended eight hours of sleep tonight.

It will be unfortunate for Spock to interrupt this time, but he must.

"Mother?" Spock whispers, his hands held out but not touching. He is hesitant to wake her.

Is the situation really so dire? He could return now without consequence. Neither of his parents would know he snuck from his room, or that he is experiencing plain emotion. Mother cannot calm the storm, so why should he seek her to aid him? Meditation would be a better solution.

A loud crack echoes from outside and Spock squeaks. The sound is loud enough to rouse his parents, who flip on the secondary lights.

Shamefully, Spock stands before them in his pajamas.

"Spock?" Mother rubs her eyes, voice rough with sleep. "Why aren't you in bed?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but his jaw quivers and his throat tightens. Tears press at the corners of his eyes.

"Why are you afraid? There is no danger," Father says, much more awake that his wife. His eyes are dark and his hair mused. In another situation, the appearance may bring humor to Spock.

But not tonight.

"I..." Spock breathes deeply to control his voice. "I am not afraid. I simply wish we exercise precautions we have yet to."

"Precautions?" Father questions. Mother yawns and sits up fully, her sleep forgotten.

"Yes. One year ago, the family Sodok's home was struck by lightning. Seeing as our home is at a similar height, and there are no other structures for the lightning to be directed to, it is just as likely we will be struck too."

Father raises a brow to this. "Spock, the roof of our home has been constructed to absorb and distribute lightning without damage to us or its exterior."

Spock whines in the back of his throat before he can stop it. "But the sound is very loud."

"Oh, Spock," Mother smiles through another yawn. "Come h-"

Crack!

Spock jumps into his mother's arms with a cry. Tears fall over his face now, even as he tries to convince himself he is not afraid.

Warm hands circle Spock's small frame and he is calmed. "Spock, come sleep with us for tonight."

"My wife, Spock is old enough-"

"His concerns are logical," Mother interrupts. "His ears could be hurt from the sound. It'll be muffled if he's between us."

For a long moment, Father looks between them, unsure. Then, he settles back under the covers. "Very well. Spock may stay."

Mother pulls Spock onto the bed between them and lifts the covers so he may crawl under. He settles against his mother's breast, her warmth like the heat of the mid-day air. Spock finds it easier to call upon his control.

The lights flicker out. Father's sleep robes brush against Spock's back, indicating his hand is close, but not touching.

"Good night, Spock," Mother kisses his hair.

"Sleep, my son," Father whispers.

Spock closes his eyes. "Thank you."

When the thunder comes this time, Spock is not afraid. Not when he is protected like this.

His parents were informed prior to Spock's resignation; yet, his mother looks upon him in shock.

"Spock!" She gasps. "I- I thought you would stay longer! Wasn't the ceremony just yesterday?"

"There was no logical reason to stay. I am no longer a Starfleet official."

"Yes, but...Oh, nevermind. Come in," She does not touch him as Spock enters the house, as is Vulcan custom. Spock hates himself for wanting anything else.

Mother busies herself with setting up tea for them. "Sarek is still at the Embassy, but he will be home for dinner. I can help you unpack until then and we can catch up-"

"That will not be needed. I plan to start Kolinahr as soon as possible."

Mother stops, her eyes shining with human emotion. Spock found it embarrassing as a youth. Now, he feels as if a mirror has been placed in front of him.

"Spock...please wait until Sarek returns. He will want to speak with you first."

The thought of speaking to his father at all, even in the context of Kolinahr, makes Spock deeply uncomfortable.

His mother must see it in him, as she continues, "Please. There is much he wants to discuss."

"I...will not deny this," Spock says eventually. "Call for me when that time comes. I will be meditating." With that, Spock climbs the stairs to his old bedroom. He changes into a set of tan robes, removes his shoes from his feet, and kneels in meditation.

For hours, Spock fights the waves of feeling that washes against his peace. He tries to sort through them, to cast out individual emotions as he would in the past, but they build faster than he can focus on them. He thinks of Jim, of McCoy and their future together. Without him. He thinks of the stars and how sorly he will miss being among them.

He thinks of the rhododendrons, pressed and framed in his Starfleet quarters. And the Ground Creepers beside them.

All too soon, Spock feels a pull through his mother's mind link.

When Spock descends the stairs, he sees his mother and father together in the main sitting room. They share tea and plomeek cookies that were not there before.

"Spock," Sarek addresses him. "When will you depart for Kolinahr?"

Spock stands before them, feeling so much like a child under observation. He despises it greatly. "Once the sun has fallen." It will allow him much needed time to properly refamiliarize himself to the Vulcan heat. He will be among the sand for a long time. There is no point in starting this journey already in shock.

"I see."

Sarek says nothing more.

"Sit with us, Spock," Mother asks. She holds up a third cup that was hidden by the couch cushions. "Let us speak to you without barriers."

Spock sits. He does not take the tea.

It is Sarek that speaks first. "I understand you wish to fully embrace the Surakian way. Do you know the survival rate of this ritual?"

"Forty two percent," Spock answers.

"Then you know the risk you take."

"I do."

Sarek opens his mouth, but closes it again. His brows pinch ever so slightly in an uncharacteristic show of...concern? Spock is not certain his father could be so emotional as to feel concern for Spock. But perhaps it is rooted in another cause, one still unknown to him.

Mother lets out a sudden sob. Tears run down her face but she does not wipe them away. "Oh, Spock, I hate this. You want to erase all of you that is me. Is it really so bad to be part human? Not even full Vulcans turn to Kolinahr, so why do you?!"

"Amanda-"

"No, Sarek! I cannot watch our son kill himself over-" She gasps. "I...I'm sorry. I don't mean to reject you, Spock, but this choice is no easy one. It pains me to see you take it."

Spock steels his jaw. He has faced his mother's tears before. "It is necessary, Mother. There is no other way."

"Not even a logical one?" She begs. "Can you not find any alternative to- to destroying yourself?"

"Kolinahr is not destruction, but rebirth," Sarek corrects. "Our son will be remade into a full Vulcan." Mother weeps openly and Sarek touches their fingers together. "My wife, do compose yourself."

She nods, beginning to wipe her tears and breathes deeply to regain control.

Spock levels his father with a hard look. "What say you? Is it not logical I rid myself of all emotion? Was it not your choice I was raised Vulcan?"

"It was," Sarek remains neutral. Spock envies him.

"But?"

"...But you are unlikely to survive. And I do not wish the death of my son, even in search of emotional repression."

Anger turns Spock's stomach. "You think me incapable?"

Sarek meets his eye and there is something new within them that Spock has never experienced before. "You are capable, my son. You hold logic in your decisions, but I do not wish Kolinahr for you."

His father opposes him, just as he opposed Spock entering Starfleet. It was foolish to think anything else.

"Do you reject me, Mother?" He no longer cares for Sarek's answer, but his mother's sadness is his own. He is not sure he will be strong enough to bear its weight across the desert.

"No," she cries. The short time given to her has done little to ease her emotions. "I could never. I love you, whether you are like this or Surakian. I will always love you."

Spock's relief is immense. "Then I will depart, now." He stands, prepared to bring nothing but his robes with him to the Vulcan masters. Then, he shall be whole at last.

"Return to us, Spock. Promise me." Mother grasps his hand in hers, her hold tight and pleading.

"I promise," Spock holds her back, feeling her mind against his. Her love. Her care.

He will miss this too.

"Live long and prosper," Spock offers in farewell.

Sarek returns the ta'al in silence.

Desert sands wash against aged skin. The air is light and hot. The dirt tastes of spice and root. 40 Eridani A shines above, warming the planet with her stare. She sees Spock, she knows Spock. She touches his skin and kisses his nose. He will sit still, upon the sands, for her grace. He will be where she touches, in the burn of the rock below. Alone.

Spock is Vulcan. He must be Vulcan.

A flower falls upon sand, a Terran sin against Vulcan's heat. The little blue petals will scorch, and the blackened centers will be buried deep enough to be considered corpses.

Spock cannot wait for them.

Jim. This is the last time Spock will think of Jim.

The bath water is cool with every pass of the sponge. Motherly hands rub it along his long limbs, cleansing him of the years of grime and dirt that has accumulated under his ridges.

Spock does not look at her. He can only feel shame. Shame, and that call from afar.

Mother is silent as she washes, a pleasant smile on her lips. Her sleeves have gotten wet, but it does not appear that she cares. Not when she continues to bathe her adult son.

Once Spock is wrapped in a bath robe -a blue one Mother kept just for him since he left for Starfleet- she sets about cutting his ragged, sun damaged hair into what is Vulcan standard.

Spock watches the black strands fall around him.

Once the process is finished, Mother sets the sheers down with a metallic click. "There. All better." She angles the chair so Spock can look himself in the mirror.

Wrinkles line Spock's face where they hadn't before. The softness of his cheeks have hollowed from years surviving on cactus and spare fruits. His mouth droops and his eyes seem smaller, somehow. More severe.

"Do you see failure, Mother?" His voice is rough from disuse. It is the first time he's spoken since returning home.

His mother's eyes drift as she thinks. A hand rises up the back of the chair to touch his neck. "I cannot lie and say that it doesn't please me that you failed to achieve pure Surkainism. But Spock, this failure is not one of your character, or strength. It is...a new paving for you. Another path to take forward."

Even now, Spock keeps the neutrality he's found. His mind has become quieter than when he entered Kolinahr, but that voice torments him. It's beckoning and calling keep him from full Vulcan control.

"I must find my answers." Spock's voice is barely above a whisper. "If I am to become whole, then I must research this voice. Find it's origin."

"Voice? What voice?"

"It spoke to me before I could complete Kolinahr. I heard it...and my t'hy'la. They call for me."

But he will not answer Jim. He cannot. Their bond may not have been severed, but it has grown dim as the moonless night. To reignite it would mean stepping backward years of progress.

Jim has McCoy. He does not need Spock.

"Go, Spock," Mother says. "Go out and follow it."

Spock looks upon her. "Are you not eager to keep me?"

"I am," she laughs. "By God, I wish you would stay in my arms forever, but I know now that you must do this. You have to find who you are and where you fit in this world."

There is comfort in her words. Spock gathers strength from them. "I will go, then. And we will speak once I have my answers."

Mother leans close and plants a kiss upon his hair. "I love you, Spock. And I will try to be patient."

He is in his room now. He searches through his old belongings for a record he once had of highly advanced beings that could speak without words. It may be his foothold into his research.

Amidst the shuffling of carefully preserved robes, a white envelope falls to the floor. Spock stares at it upon the floor.

He picks it up slowly, memories from long ago pulling him toward it. He never did read McCoy's letter.

Now is as good a time as any. If the information were sensitive in time, then it will have passed and Spock would cast away the guilt. But that is unlikely the case.

The letter itself is written upon the back of an old advertisement for shaving cream. Where McCoy found it is unknown, only that it was cherished to have survived whatever away mission they were on.

Spock stares at the scrambled handwriting. A doctor's penmanship. He can nearly picture McCoy having written it, hunches over his desk with the pen in hand. He might've complained about hand cramps afterward.

Dear Spock,

I honestly don't know what to write. What do you say to a mindless-

The rest of the line is crossed through.

I don't want to be mad at you. After years together, I guess I kinda figured out how you work. How that tricky brain of yours sees itself.

You wanna be Vuclan so bad. You were raised Vulcan, you lived among the people all your life, I'm guessing. It's not like you ever tell us stories of your childhood-

The last line is also scribbled away.

You always talk about logic. What's the logical thing to do? What is the logical answer? Why aren't my human crewmates being logical, haha.

But here's the thing about you. You're stubborn. You're damn prideful and get annoyed easy. You think puns are funny and there's nothing that makes you happier than seeing Jim win a dangerous game of chess with all of our lives.

Now, I'm not gonna get all romantic or anything, but I think there's more to that than you realize. That's character, Spock. It's you! You've tried so hard to be only one half of yourself while completely missing the charm that makes up the rest of you.

And no, I'm not just saying this about your split heritage. You're half and half, but those parts make you something hole. Sorry, whole.

Look, if you do read this, I guess I'm just saying that...

Spock touches the paper there. The ink has collected on the space between words, as if McCoy was stumped for a long period. He does not know why it makes him want to cry.

I'll miss you. I'll miss the good man I met on that awful five-year-mission. I'll miss those flowers you two kept tossing, even if they made my job harder. I'll miss the way you make Jim glow.

And I hope you can find it in your cold, green-blooded heart to miss me too.

From Leonard "Bones" McCoy.

Spock sets the letter down. He folds it up and returns it to the envelope, so that the words cannot reach him. Cannot pull emotion from him the way they so attempt to.

But they are already in his mind and Spock as to fight for his composure.

He...he must go. More important matters must be delt with than this letter. He does not have time to miss someone already years into his retirement. It is not logical.

Even so, Spock does not throw the letter away. He keeps it tucked under his pillow, so it may be kept from his parent's eyes.

Spock is prepared for his arrival aboard the Enterprise. He has monitored its activity, as well as its communications. There is no logic in avoiding the ship, as it is the one following this consciousness he feels.

Personal complications are illogical and will be cast away.

"Permission to come aboard, Sir?" Spock's tone is neutral as he faces the vibrant smile of Chekov. The open display is somewhat disquieting, but human behavior will become accustomed to him again soon enough.

"Granted, Sir!" Chekov all but rejoices.

Spock does not hesitate to move along, even as Chekov continues to speak. He must make his business clear with the captain.

Lieutenant Uhura gasps when he steps onto the bridge. Another startlingly bold emotional response.

This, Spock has prepared for best of all. He knows that Jim is the current captain of the ship, despite what Starflelt had originally intended. He will also have the most emotional reaction of the crew members. It could be anger, joy, or anything in between. He could refuse Spock's entry and an alternative is set in place for that scenario.

The reaction is shock.

"Spock!" Jim sees him for the first time. Then, he rushes forward as far as he can before hitting the hand rail. "Spock!"

Spock looks upon him, expressionless. Jim's hair is curly. And darker than his usual blond.

It is easier to dismiss him than Spock thought. He sets about his business, requesting to rejoin their crew as science officer. Once it is granted, Spock searches through days of voice messages.

The humans gasp and mutter their surprises, but Spock does not pay it mind. He has answers to find and the next step forward is just within his grasp-

"Mr. Spock-" That is Nurse Chapel. Unimportant.

"Well, so help me, Spock, I'm actually pleased to see you!"

Spock pauses. He tries to retain control but his heart begins to pound heavily.

McCoy.

No. no, McCoy should not be here. He is retired in Georgia. He should be suckling weed and grumpily tending children's cuts. How can he be here, on the Enterprise?

McCoy watches him with expectation. He is older, but no less alluring. If anything, the doctor has grown more lovely. There is a certain calmed joy to him, as well. It highlights his smile lines and the arch of his brow.

Spock's heart picks up dangerously and he knows he must leave. Quickly.

He walks to the elevator in measured steps. Farther and farther from McCoy. The...information must be checked with the engineers. Right.

"Mr. Spock," Jim's voice is sickeningly rich with love.

Spock turns to acknowledge him. He is the captain after all.

"Welcome aboard."

It gets no reply as Spock allows the metals doors to close around him, blocking off the views of the crew. Finally, he can breathe again. His heart, however, continues its pace.

He may regret this deeply.

The consciousness is named V'ger.

The closer they get to it, the stronger these calls pull. Spock hears it ringing in his mind, a perfect logic that he yearns for. Envies. He needs to be apart of V'ger, more strongly than he needed Kolinahr.

They are hours away from the blooming gate between them, so Spock waits. Once they are close enough, he will abduct a thruster suit and meet V'ger himself. But until then, there is no reason to leave the Enterprise.

Spock hears McCoy walk toward him and lean against the science station panel. Spock does not look up from the scans.

"I wanted to, uh, mention something."

Spock thinks of not answering, then decides against it. "You are free to do as you please, Doctor."

He does just that, leaning closer. "That letter I wrote you. It was sappier then I really wanted it to be. I didn't expect to see you again, after all..."

To this, Spock looks up. "Letter?" He does not wish to speak of it. Not even to McCoy.

McCoy's bright eyes watch him, embarrassed humor dampening with each second they hold the silence. "Well, yeah. I left you a letter before I left for Georgia. I made sure you'd see it."

"Ah, yes. I do recall seeing a letter upon my robes."

"And you read it, right? I mean...you went away. It was my last word to you. You must've read it," McCoy's voice is uncharacteristically fragile. He is deeply emotional about the matter.

To lie would be a disgrace, so Spock tells the truth. "It is in my quarters on Vulcan."

McCoy's face falls with hurt. "I can't believe you," he scoffs. Before Spock can stop him, the doctor storms away and back to Jim.

Spock watches Jim question McCoy's anger, then offer his hand in comfort when there us no clear answer.

They still love each other. The prospect is both heartwarming and uncomfortable to witness. He cannot focus on his human urge to join them, not when he us so very close to his answers.

Spock turns away. His time among them is nearly over.

It was so simple.

Spock traveled far and wide for this. He agonized over the failings of human emotion and the loneliness of his existence. He wanted perfection, a completely analytical mind.

He followed the voice and the consciousness that went with it, only to find himself back where he started, but different. Changed. As if his eyes have been opened for the very first time.

Spock is Vulcan, so he is logical. But he is also human, so he holds great emotion. Both are true. Both are the complete being. Spock.

He loves Jim. He is hopeful of their future together. He is fascinated by V'ger's existence and function, as he is sorry for it.

Spock closes his eyes and feels through his bond with Jim. To use it again is like drinking water after being years without. This is what he has always wanted, if only he had allowed himself.

"T'hy'la," Spock says. "My captain, my friend, and my lover. Soulmate."

Jim smiles so beautifully. It is a sight Spock will never tire of. "Spock," he shifts his hand to press their two fingers together. Their first kiss in years. "I've missed you so much. Please...stay."

"I will." Spock sends his pure love to Jim. It is returned two fold. "I know my purpose."

McCoy stands by Jim's side, but it is not close enough. Spock beckons to him as well, his fingers extended out.

"I...You two seem happy enough. Don't let me intrude-"

"I believe I have found it in my cold, green-blooded heart to miss you, McCoy." Spock quotes.

McCoy's eyes widen. Then, his lips stretch wide. "You Vulcan bastard, you did read my letter!"

A rare display of humor plays on Spock's face. He feels no shame in it. "It is unfortunate you did not take up the skill of writing. You would make an excellent poet."

Again, Spock asks for a kiss. Finally -and with roll of his eyes- McCoy accepts.

The connection spreads between the three of them, thoughts mingling without a single word needed.

Jim kisses McCoy and Spock feels it on his lips. He tastes the pressure, the softness between them. It holds their combined love in a chaste contact. The intensity has Spock gasping as if his own breath were stolen away.

"I love you," rings between them. Spock cannot say who utters the words, for they all accept it at once.

This is Spock's purpose. To love and be loved. To feel and to act. To analyze and conclude. He is both halves of himself, undivided or defined.

At last, Spock is balanced.

Chapter Text

The front door opens with a hiss, and Leonard sets his keys down in a wooden pineapple-shaped bowl. They hit the second pair with a click.

Leonard knows better than to call out his arrival. Joanna could be just getting to bed, and the last thing he wants is another hour spent getting her back to sleep.

But when the sound of bare feet against hardwood floors and a happy shout of 'papa' comes from down the hall, Leonard knows he'll be the one putting his daughter to bed tonight.

"Jo!" Leonard hugs Joanna as strongly as he can without hurting the four-year-old. He lifts her up, despite his aching knees, and spins her until she's a mess of giggles.

"Papa, I made a picture! See!" She excitedly points to the old-school fridge, where Leonard walks them to see the...picture.

The paper is warped from the globs of glue caked onto it. It's covered in green glitter with dry macaroni noodles set in seemingly random shapes that might be an animal, or some kind of word.

"It's beautiful, Bunny," Leonard smiles.

Jocelyn steps into the room then, her smile soft but tired. She's been hard at work running her repair shop on top of keeping Joanna safe, fed, and entertained.

It's a shame his line of work doesn't allow for the occasional 'bring your kid to work' day. It's best for the patients and Joanna, though.

Leonard sets Joanna down to offer a kiss to his wife. She exchanges it with a whispered, "I'll grab you a glass of wine once she's asleep."

Not his favored poison, but he'll never refuse a moment's peace before bed.

"Come on, Bunny." Leonard pulls Joanna along by her hand. "Bedtime."

"But I wanna tell you about my day!" She complains. Even so, her feet follow him to her bedroom.

A bundle of stuffed animals lines the far wall. They're a collection, Leonard thinks. A special brand that Jocelyn gets from her great-uncle. They've got everything from a teddy bear to a short-necked giraffe.

"Up ya go," Leonard lifts her onto her bed. She scoots under the covers with a yawn. "Now, you tell me about your day as fast as you can. Papa's tired."

Joanna likes this game. "I saw Kevin and he let me pet his ears! Ma asked me to get a...a tool and I did it! But Blueberry told me it was wrong. And then he told Ma I was being bad!"

Leonard tries not to smile at her distress. Blueberry, their nickname for Jocelyn's assistant, Bolt, is a hardened kid and doesn't hesitate to correct Joanna. He's never been cruel to her, but her innocence gets them bickering.

It's damn funny on a good day, watching a twenty-seven-year-old argue with a four-year-old. On a bad day, Leonard wonders how a grown adult can be so petty.

"Maybe you should make Blueberry a picture. He might like it."

Joanna frowns. "No. He'll just say it's wrong. He always says that."

Leonard pats her arm. "Give it a shot anyway. You never know when somethin'll click."

He stands and shuts out the light. "Good night, Jo."

"Wait, Papa!"

Leonard steps back into the doorway wearily. He can already hear that glass of wine calling him. "Yeah?"

"You didn't say you love me yet."

Leonard couldn't fight the smile if he wanted. "I didn't, did I? Well, I love you. More than anything."

"I love you too, Papa," Joanna finally settles down, eyes closed.

He watches her a moment, then he shuts the door with a click and makes his way to the living room.

"That was easier than usual. You must've tuckered her out," Leonard smiles as he accepts the offered wine glass from Jocelyn.

He doesn't notice she's avoiding his gaze until they're halfway through talking about the leftovers he'll take for lunch tomorrow.

"Hey, now. I might like the sound of my own voice just fine, but I'm not talkin' to myself."

Usually, Jocelyn would roll her eyes at his humor and fire back with a sass of her own. Tonight, however, her eyes stay ahead and her lips hover just above the edge of her glass. She's not thinking, he can tell. At least, not about what's been said.

No, Leonard knows the crease of that brow and the purse of those lips. The decision is made. She's just trying to force it out.

"Hey." She looks up this time. "Just tell me. Whatever it is." God knows, they've had their conversations.

But it does concern him. Last time she was this anxious, she was three weeks pregnant, apparently. Leonard's not sure a second's the best idea right now.

"Joanna got her first flower today."

Whatever Leonard was preparing for, it wasn't that. He's careful not to grimace, but his silence is enough.

Okay, so it was pretty damn likely this would happen. Yet, a part of Leonard really hoped she'd grow up like him. He could help her through the challenges of not having a soulmate in a world where that's all anyone talks about. He could comfort her. Teach her. Help her find someone really worth knowing.

Or maybe he just wanted someone else like him.

"I already started pressing them. The daffodils."

Leonard swallows the rest of his wine. He wishes he had something better for this conversation. Something that could numb his exhaustion and fill him with something more alive.

"Is that all?" Leonard mutters. He doesn't mean to sound so dull, so dismissive, but he can't help it.

It earns him another sad look. Great.

"I also..." Jocelyn bites her lip hard. "I met my soulmate."

The exhaustion evaporates away into pure, icy dread. Leonard sits up and looks at his wife. "You...what? Wait, when the hell did this happen?"

"A few days ago-"

"You didn't tell me?!"

She stops him with a raised hand. "Don't start, Lenny. I didn't want to tell you because you'd get like this. But against my better judgment, I thought you deserved to know."

He wants to argue, but he doesn't. "Okay." It takes honest work to cool himself, but he manages it just in time. "So, you met your soulmate."

Jocelyn nods. "I slipped at the grocery store and he caught me. Even helped me patch up my elbow."

Leonard watches her eyes closely for signs of...God, infatuation. Romance. Anything that would tell him her feelings on this.

She continues. "He didn't say a word when we realized, but he didn't have to."

"Careful," Leonard warns lowly. "You're married to me, remember?" But even as he says it, it sounds so frail an argument. Her soulmate. A connection she has with a stranger that outweighs the one they've spent years building.

"I damn well know that," Jocelyn snaps in offense. "I'm not gonna run off just because of some flowers. You know that."

Jocelyn was never interested in her soulmate. She didn't mention it until their fifth date; and even then, it was just to say she wasn't gonna waste her time searching. She found it in herself to pick Leonard McCoy. She married him and had Joanna.

Then how can he still doubt her now?

"You weren't gonna tell me about this because you don't care about him?" It's not a real question, which isn't fair. But her silence speaks volumes. "Thought so."

"Can you stop?" She snaps again. "I'm not leaving you! Through sickness and all that, remember? I love you, Lenny. As thick-headed and stubborn as you are, I love you with all of me. And I'm not gonna let this change that."

It hits him square in the chest. He's the one being insecure.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't assume so much." He feels nauseous, but with shame or worry, he's not sure. Both make him equally guilty.

"No, you shouldn't." She smiles, and it's enough to make him forget about a glass of whiskey for the night.

So often, Leonard hears people say, "The divorce came out of nowhere".

But it didn't. Leonard saw how Jocelyn started to withdraw. He saw her try to keep them together, to protect Joanna from it. They never fought aloud, but maybe that just pushed everything further.

Now, Leonard sits in his old, rusted hovercar with nothing but the papers on his passenger seat and three boxes in the back.

He fights the tears in his eyes, even if it all feels so stupid. He needs a drink badly, but he always needs a drink these days. More than to cut off some stress from the long shifts, but to stop hurting. If he doesn't feel, then he won't have to hurt so damn much.

They agreed to let Joanna stay with her mother. Leonard isn't capable of taking care of himself, let alone his six-year-old daughter. He's a raging alcoholic, and poor little Jo doesn't deserve to see her papa dead on the couch when he's had one too many.

And God bless her, Jocelyn tries to get him into therapy. And counseling. Anything to keep them at least friendly and him alive. But he went to one session and decided he'd rather forget about it instead. The bottle's cheaper, too.

Going back to living with his folks leaves him with a bitter, bitter taste, but living alone gives him too much freedom to self-destruct. He could work long shifts at the clinic without a single person to come home to. He could starve for days or get run dry, and no one would know until days later.

Leonard turns the key, the rumbling engine doing little to drown out the noise. Tears fall as he finally pulls into the street and drives...no nowhere. Anywhere. Somewhere he doesn't have to feel anymore.

He ends up looping the old country roads three times before he eventually ends up at his parents' house. They give him a bed and offer him a cinnamon roll from on too of the fridge, but he just curls up with a ratty old blanket on the couch.

"Life doesn't stay like this, Lenny." His dad rests an old, tired hand on Leonard's head. Like he's just a little kid again. "You're a healer. A doctor. You know how to stitch things back together."

Leonard doesn't speak. He can't.

"...We'll give you the thread and needle. You just gotta sew it back up."

He goes to space.

It's the stupidest idea in the whole of the galaxy, but Leonard McCoy willingly drives to Starfleet, signs his way into the medical team, and goes up on one of those giant flying death traps.

The shuttle ride alone terrifies him, but it's better than being so numb. There's a rush of living that Leonard has missed since they emptied Dad's room. Since he saw the light leave his mom's eyes.

Besides, CMO sure isn't bad, even if it's on some ship called Enterprise.

Leonard looks out the viewport window, eyes looking out over nothing but empty space. Earth rests on the opposite side of the ship, out of view.

He's really gonna be out in open space for five whole years, huh. God, what would Jo think? Her coward of a father, running away to the stars?

"Doctor McCoy, was it?"

Leonard turns to see a sharp blonde woman and a kind-looking African man beside her.

"I'm Christine Chapel, your head nurse, and this is Doctor M'Benga."

"How do you do?" Leonard nods in way of greeting. He's still not used to the whole formal thing in Starfleet. So long as his medical staff are competent, he doesn't much care who outranks whom.

M'Benga hands him a PADD. "Unfortunately, we won't be serving closely together for most of this mission. My expertise is required elsewhere, but this Padd should have all you'll need to care for your first officer."

Leonard gives the information a curious look through. He hums, seeing he'll be serving beside a Vulcan. He's never personally operated on a Vulcan, but they've had a few come to the clinic, and Leonard's read plenty about 'miraculous' procedures done with their green blood.

He does pause, however, upon seeing the...rest.

"Half human? This can't be right." Leonard looks up at M'Benga, hoping desperately that this is some joke. A prank on the new guy that can get swept away with a laugh.

M'Benga doesn't so much as smile. "As Commander Spock's biology will be very unique, it's imperative you study this data thoroughly. His life will be in your hands."

Damn. If time spent among Vulcans does this to a guy, then Leonard might want to avoid this first officer at all costs.

Nurse Chapel is quick to ease the tension. "You won't be alone in this, Doctor. All the medical staff will study Mr. Spock's biology."

There's a flash in her eyes that Leonard ignores.

"Well, I'll get a check-in scheduled and we'll play it by ear from there." He chuckles to himself at the unintentional pun. "Uh, thanks, Doctor M'Benga."

M'Benga nods, finally easing into a more human-looking expression, before he leaves.

"Sorry," Chapel winces. "I don't think he realizes he does that."

"I take no offense, Ma'am." Leonard thinks twice of the casual gesture. "Ah, Nurse."

They stand for a second too far past comfortable before Chapel too leaves him with a little wave of her hand.

He needs a drink.

The thought itches, deep in his chest, where it really irritates him. But he can't start off like that. This is a new leaf turned. A chance to change things. To use the thread and needle.

But even so, the itch never leaves him. He really needs a drink.

The first time Leonard meets the captain, he nearly drops his worst country metaphor then and there.

The man's young and damn gorgeous.

"Doctor McCoy," Captain Kirk shakes his hand firmly.

Leonard barely thinks to return it with some strength. Those deep brown eyes overflow with charm, but it's as if Kirk doesn't even know it. There's no seduction happening here. No prize to win, surely.

Just pure personality and a force of a human being.

God, this job's going to be a living hell, isn't it?

"McCoy's fine," Leonard mumbles as their hands drop. Then, he straightens his back with a bounce of his heels. "I'm just getting through the sixth round of physicals. It's tedious, but a baseline for every crew member will be a blessing in the long run, trust me."

Kirk smiles at that and, somehow, he shines brighter than the sun. "I'm not here to question your methods, Doc- McCoy. I just came to greet you. Five years is a long time to lay my life, and those of my crew, into your hands."

Leonard flushes. The last Starfleet captain he talked to didn't flatter him like this. "Well, they're good hands. Starfleet's given me a damn fine medical team. Or-ah, darn." Is it wrong to speak so freely in front of a superior officer?

A strong, broad palm grips Leonard's shoulder. Firm, but not painful. "Don't worry too much about keeping up appearances with me. As far as I'm concerned, the only line between me and you is our particular skill sets. We are, after all, just men."

"That's...reassuring."

Kirk leans close, and Leonard breathes in the smell of his shampoo and aftershave. It's surprisingly minty. He expected forest dirt and maple leaves. Something more macho.

"Is it true you've never been to the academy?" Kirk not-whispers. "I don't mean to pry, but I was very curious about Starfleet's decision to accept you so readily."

"I'm just a surgeon," Leonard shrugs. "What Starfleet sees in me, I really don't care."

Kirk nods, considering. "Then I look forward to finding out for myself." He straightens and turns toward the door with a teasing salute. "May we meet again, Ol' Sawbones."

"Sooner than you think," Leonard calls after him. "You have a physical to finish."

"Yes, yes, of course!"

Leonard learns quickly that, while Kirk has a good head on his shoulders, he is a terrible patient to work with.

Sometimes, Leonard can't help but tease Spock for all of his logic. The Vulcan's easier to rile up than most would think, especially if you aren't afraid to get a fist to the nose. He trusts Spock's ability to control himself more than he trusts his scanners to work.

Spock will act out of pure instinct sometimes, like when he jumped in front of a poisonous plant to save Jim's life. By Jim's own words, the logical thing would've been to inform him of the plant and let Jim's reflexes kick in. The man's fast enough, Leonard is sure.

But Spock spent those few seconds walking nearly two yards toward the plant, standing in front of Jim, and took the shot in his chest, venom and all.

It ends in Jim's stern reprimanding that usually comes when Spock does something stupidly self-sacrificing for them. But Leonard isn't so keen to let the matter go.

"That move you made." Leonard sits right beside Spock in their little hut. The others have gone off to find Chekov. "Not very logical. I mean, it took you just as long to jump in front of Jim as it would to simply warn him."

He watches Spock's mouth twitch as he turns to give Leonard a look, raised brow and all. "Doctor, I assure you that my decision was guided by logic, even if your human mind could not comprehend it."

Oh, he's gettin' nasty about it.

Leonard presses with a sly smile. "Oh? Then tell me, Spock. What is so logical about risking your life for someone else's when it wasn't explicitly necessary?"

"The captain was engaged in deep conversation. We have already lost several lives to the dangers of this planet's ecosystem, and to love our most senior officer at such a time would put the entire away mission at risk. I simply-"

Leonard interrupts with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, yeah, I get that part. But you know Jim. He can take that kind of weight without getting sluggish. You still could've warned him first. And in fact, putting yourself in danger could've really derailed this whole mess into catastrophe. Losing you would mean Jim gets rash and stops thinking so much with his head, and more with his heart."

It's absolutely hilarious the way Spock tilts his head in genuine confusion. "That...is not likely, Doctor. He holds me in the same regard as every other member of this crew."

Leonard rolls his eyes so hard, they nearly fall out and bounce across the dusty floor. "Right. Like how he was so focused on your recovery, he didn't notice the flowers poking out of his shirt-"

He stops when Jim steps into the hut, but his eyes never leave Spock's. He may hide behind mounds of logic, but Leonard can see straight through him.

All the way into that green-blooded heart.

Sometimes, Spock makes Leonard right angry.

This has to be one of their worst mission yet. Pelted by rocks and dragging a bloody Jim along, Leonard rethinks his decision -not for the first time- to join Starfleet.

And to add fuel to flame, he's stuck between two obvious soulmates pussyfooting around like a bunch of kids. It makes everyone's job just that much harder; his especially. Leonard already spends hours a day plucking, sorting, and throwing away pedals of all kinds. He doesn't need the added weight of keeping it all secret from his captain.

"I don't understand why you can't just tell him!"

"It would be illogical, Doctor."

"I'm starting to think that's your excuse for everything," Leonard hisses. "How can telling Jim be illogical? You're his First Officer!"

"That is exactly my reasoning, Doctor." Spock's voice is strained.

"You're as good as equals in the eyes of the fleet!" Bones argues. "Look, I'm gettin' real tired of you two dancing around each other-"

"And you will continue to do so for the foreseeable future, McCoy." If Leonard didn't know better, he'd say Spock almost sounded upset. It's slight, held within the curve of his vowels and the punch of his Ts, but still there. "I am the one who holds this knowledge, and you are under the medical oath to remain silent."

"Then you're damn lucky I'm a good doctor," Bones swallows.

It's just as Leonard's eyes dare to graze Spock's lips that he sees Jim's movement. The man's starting to wake from his surgery -if the crude method could even be called that.

Leonard jumps away, feeling annoyingly embarrassed. Like they've been caught doing something wrong. He chalks it up to Spock's little secret and nothing else.

"We hath need for a doctor! Is anyone a-"

"Move!" Leonard shoves his way to the fallen civilian, his scanner already out and ready to give as quick a diagnosis as possible. Every second counts. "What happened right before she passed out?"

The other civilian, a brown haired woman dressed in the planet's traditional gold, dirties her dress by kneeling at his side. Her hands shake were they hover over the fallen woman's throat. "She spoketh of our future. A terror that would come upon us by the vine. Then, she fell."

"What do you see, Bones?" Jim's voice comes quieter, a near whisper in his ear.

Leonard glares down at the readings. "A fast-working poison, it looks like. Something in my history banks..." That means it came from off-world. But how is that? And who would poison this woman?

Not important. He needs an antidote and now. But as he thinks through anything on his person or in his medbay, the chances of saving her life get slimmer and slimmer.

Leonard clenches his fist in anxious frustration. "I need something with immunoglobulins, like a...a kylin'the."

It hits him then, looking up at Jim. His captain just so happens to harbor exactly what he needs, under the right conditions.

"It was the Creator!" The brown haired woman cries. "She hast seen visions and the Creator hath taken her up!"

"We can't be sure that's the case." Jim soothes, but the crease in his brow never eases. "Perhaps my doctor here could-"

Leonard interrupts them with a firm demand, "Call Spock! I think he's got something I could use."

Without argument, Jim flips open his communicator. "Kirk to Spock. The situation is urgent. I'm handing you to McCoy."

Jim sets the device into Leonard's waiting hand. The other is pressed firmly against the downed woman's throat, feeling how her heartbeat flutters. "Spock, I need kylin'the! How quickly can you get some?!"

An agonizingly long pause later, Spock's voice crackles through the speaker. "I do not believe that is possible in your time frame, Doctor. There are no such species native to this-"

Oh, for Pete's sake! "You know someone who has it on hand! How fast can you get it from him?!" If ever there were a time for Spock to pick up subtexts, this would be it. Otherwise, Leonard's just gonna blurt the damn truth out, oath or not.

"I see." Leonard barely resists the urge to sigh in relief. "In that case, I can have what you need shortly, but it may take many attempts to yield the proper results."

"Go jump off a cliff, then! I'm losing time here!" Leonard snaps the comm shut and tosses it back to a sputtering Jim. He's almost thankful for the dying woman, if only to protect him from a 'threats against fellow crew members' talk.

A second later, Jim's skin blooms with patches of Vulcan plants, seemingly everywhere. Sweet Jesus, did Spock actually toss himself off a cliff? Before he can dare be thankful for the Vulcan, Leonard starts sorting through the patches for what he needs.

"What perfect timing," Leonard mumbles as an afterthought, hands busy stuffing fresh sap into the poor woman's mouth. "Guess your soulmate pulled through before Spock could."

"And with not a moment to spare," Jim hums. His eyes remain tense, but he's quiet on the subject. For now. Hopefully, things will stay that way, because Leonard has no way to explain all this shit.

The things he does for that ingrate.

Later, when negotiations are over and the threat of pirates lifted -apparently, a society of gold is highly sought after- Leonard takes care to patch up Spock with as much patience as he can muster.

"What did you do, exactly? You've got cuts everywhere." They stretch across both ankles, his left calf, shoulders, back, and along his hands. Thankfully, the fight against those pirates explained the injuries away for Jim and the others. But even so, it was frightening to see Spock so green.

Spock's gaze showers Leonard as he's wrapping a sparkling bandage around the Vulcan's inner thigh. Long, thin fingers twitch at Spock's side, but they never leave the mattress.

"There was a garden of Earth roses. They are known for their thorns, so it seemed the most logical choice. Jumping from a cliff, as you suggested, would not only take longer to locate but would more likely lead to internal damage than the bleeding you sought."

Leonard does not smile when he mutters, "figures..."

Though, the image of Spock throwing himself into a thorn bush and rolling around gets to him later, when he's alone.

"How...How much longer?" Jim's voice comes out in hot pants, his face red and sweaty from exertion.

Leonard watches a bead roll across that shaven chest. "Just a little more, Darlin'. You're doing so good."

Jim's head falls back against the cushion with a whine. He keeps pushing, his damn beautiful muscles working harder and harder. He's almost there, right at his limit. Leonard plans to hold him there as long as he can, before the man's reduced to putty.

And there it is, not ten seconds later. Jim lets out a low moan and finally gives in. He breathes hard, eyes wandering as his body registers it's allowed to function again. Leonard holds his hand through it, a rock for Jim to come back to once he's past the high.

"How...was that?" Tears brim on Jim's lashes as he smiles up at Leonard. "Good?"

"Good," Leonard nods.

He helps Jim to his feet and offers him a towel. "You're in better health than last time I took your cardio," Leonard reads off of his PADD. "See what happens when you listen to your doctor?"

Jim wipes his face off with a sigh. He glares at the fitness machine with disdain, but it's half-hearted. "I can't tell if you're trying to heal me or kill me half the time. Are you sure you're not pushing too hard?"

Amusement colors Leonard's voice. "What? You can't handle a hard workout?"

"I'm showering," Jim rolls his eyes. "And no, you cannot join me."

"Wasn't askin'!" Leonard calls back with a smile. He'll have Jim back here all too soon.

He thought they'd have more time together.

He expected it to feel awkward at best and downright hostile at worst, them all being together like that. They both like Jim, so they'd fight over him, right? He'd get jealous about Spock's time with him, then the reverse. It would be a clawing game of pulling Jim back and forth until they realized just how stupid this was to begin with.

But once the fear of splitting up finally moved to the back of his mind, Leonard let himself truly enjoy his time with Jim and Spock. The former more so than the latter, obviously. It felt less like sharing Jim and more like nothing really changed at all. He still had private conversations with Jim over a nice glass of Tellarite liquor, and the chess matches only seemed to grow in number, but Leonard found himself watching them as often as he could.

They worked. Against all odds, the three of them worked together, and maybe that's what makes it so very painful when Spock cuts out. It leaves them feeling unbalanced. Lopsided. Like they've been left with a ghost, dampening the last few months of their mission.

It follows Leonard on his way back to Georgia for retirement. He spends long hours looking at nothing, a sick feeling making his skin crawl, but the bottle takes care of it fast enough. He's lived with ghosts before. He can tolerate this one too.

When Jim visits him three months later, now an admiral with a surprisingly empty schedule, the presence lifts just enough to put a smile on Leonard's face.

"I brought a gift," Jim kisses him openly and fully, a longing between them that neither will speak out loud. "And whiskey."

"Hm, you sure know how to butter a guy up."

"I would hope so," Jim laughs as he steps inside and shuts the door with his foot. "I've had years of practice."

Leonard makes dinner -something easy but filling- and they migrate toward the couch once dishes are rinsed. Leonard sits heavily, a long sigh escaping him. He swears his back didn't hurt this much before he joined Starfleet.

"A toast?" Jim offers his glass up, something dangerously enthusiastic in his eye. "To yesturdays, todays, and tomorrows."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Leonard snickers, despite already raising his own glass.

He lets Jim think on his answer. "I'm feeling... philosophical tonight. 'What could have been's and 'what will be's."

A snort. "Been readin' some Elinor Dorthy again?" A favorite author of Jim's. The woman writes like it's a Greek play, if you added some fifth-dimensional physics in there.

The kind of thing Spock would like.

Jim speaks just as Leonard loses his good feeling. "Yes, but it has more to do with us. Long-distance relationships are difficult, Bones, but I want this to work. It's worth every effort."

"Are we not working already?" Leonard's voice doesn't betray the anxiety that takes him by the throat, but Jim notices. He always does, for better or worse.

"We are, but I wanted to..." He trails off. "I wanted to make it more permanent. Feelings are a fickle thing, but it's easy to remember I love you if you have something to remember it by."

Slowly, realization creeps up on Leonard. "...Jim, are you..." He doesn't dare speak it. He doesn't even dare breathe.

Jim pulls a pair of silver rings from his pocket and offers one to Leonard. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I want to marry you someday. Not now, not even in a year, but eventually. When the time is right." Jim swallows. "If you'll have me."

Leonard stares at the metal band, his lip shaking the longer he takes it in. God, he hasn't thought of remarrying. Never thought it would be an option, being soulmate-less and prickly as an overgrown cactus.

But it just figures the man to ask is pretty used to cacti.

"Jim, I..." Leonard swallows. He takes the ring with careful fingers. It's damn beautiful.

"You don't have to say anything," Jim is quick to reassure. "Not if you're not ready."

With a renewed strength, Leonard slips it onto his finger and reaches over to do the same for Jim. A matching pair.

"Is that a yes?" Jim's cheeks lift with the fullness of his smile.

Leonard pulls him in with a muttered, "The hell do you think?"

It's different, feeling the cold of the ring as he kisses Jim, but it's so, so good. It feels right and precious and exactly what he needed. A promise that they'll stick it out, no matter how rough it gets. To remember the -frankly awful- days aboard the Enterprise, and awaiting more to come.

Only this idiot could make him so sappy.

"Wha-"

"Come on!" Jim pulls him to his feet with seemingly little effort. The scowl Leonard directs at him holds none of the annoyance he pretends he feels. "Dance with me."

With a roll of his eyes, he lets Jim arrange their arms into a proper hold, then groans when the man starts singing, "You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey."

"Oh, don't sing!" Leonard pushes against him, to no avail. Jim simply holds him tighter and begins to sway to imagined music.

"You're as sweet as strawberry wine!"

Leonard rolls his eyes as far as they'll go to get his point across, but he doesn't stop the smile that inches onto his lips.

"You're as warm as a glass of brandy!"

"And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time." They sing together, a little off key and completely out of time, but together.

They stare at each other in the dark, lying side-by-side in Leonard's bed. "You've aged like wine, Bones. I really, really did miss you."

"Me? Maybe like an old barrel of cheap liquor."

It's funny, the way Jim gets huffy in Leonard's defense. "Why not bourbon?"

"Fine, but you've aged like a...dark rum." Sweet but a little smoky.

"I'll take that. Better than cheese," Jim chuckles far longer than the joke is worth.

Leonard wonders, later that night, if Spock aged like wine.

The answer is yes. A real sour wine that only rich snobs enjoy.

Leonard worries. He worries Spock actually did, and he's the perfect model of emotionless Vulcan he's always wanted to be. Gone is any personality and sign of sympathy that so rarely showed in the past. They'll have to work with a walking computer that once was a man they considered a friend, like a horrible puppet sent in Spock's place.

But all of that anger, that boiling resentment, disappears as he watches Spock hold Jim's hand like it's the first time he's ever done it. Even without a mind meld, Leonard can see clear as day the very emotions Spock claimed to be rid of.

He's different, but it's good. Spock doesn't smile or crack jokes because that isn't his way, but he's emotional in others. He gives gifts, even if they're illogical occasions to celebrate. He admits to feeling things, even if it's mostly 'fine'.

He accepts when they offer him a ring and wears it with his chin up. Proud and almost humanly so.

Like nothing happened, they fall back together. They share their spaces and time, when they can. Leonard gave up on retirement the moment Jim yanked him back into the field. Spock makes a damn fine captain, even if they ignore how Jim looks longingly at the uniform.

Saavik is an unexpected surprise, but a good one.

She's no biological love child, but she's got all the quick wit of Spock and the unmatched determination of Jim.

They invite her over for dinner after midterms.

"I greet you, Admiral," Saavik holds her ta'al high as she is welcomed into their shared room at Starfleet Headquarters. It's no townhouse in Georgia, but it's home all the same.

"Make yourself comfortable, Saavik," Jim shows her to the dining room, where Leonard's managed to bully Spock into setting the table. "I hope you brought an appetite. Bones doesn't half-ass hosting for guests."

"Someone's gotta be welcoming!" Leonard calls back. He finishes stirring the pot and carries it to the table with mild fuss.

Spock and Saavik greet each other in Vulcan. Leonard doesn't pick up a single word, but he guesses by the way Saavik's eyes dart around that she's very nervous.

But what does he know about Vulcans who aren't Spock? It could simply be that the light fixture's too bright.

"Sit, sit," Jim urges as he himself takes a seat. "We're happy to have you."

"Laying it on a little thick, aren't we?" Leonard mutters as he passes by to retrieve the lemonade.

Jim shoots him a look.

The conversation continues. "Might I ask for your guidance, Admiral Kirk?" Saavik chooses the chair between Spock and Leonard, leaving her directly across from Jim. A good choice.

"Please, call me Jim. This is a casual setting."

"...I would prefer not, Sir."

Leonard interrupts to serve everyone a heaping bowl of potato stew -vegetarian, for the half-Vulcans. He also fills Saavik's cup and adds an extra biscuit on the side. "There ya go, Kid." He doesn't need her to thank him, but it's nice anyway.

No, he doesn't acknowledge Spock's questioning glance.

"Alright," Jim says, "what guidance were you looking for?"

"In your records, you stated that a mission had resulted in your CMO, Doctor McCoy-" she gestures to him, "-being thrown back in time to the nineteenth century. You then followed him through said device to retrieve him and, with hope, undo any damage the doctor may have caused."

Jim waits for her to continue. When she doesn't, he prompts her to. "I remember it, yes."

"It states that a woman helped you to achieve this goal, Edith Keeler."

Damn, she studied. Leonard was there, and he doesn't remember hardly any of this mission.

Given, he wasn't in his right mind for most of it.

Saavik goes on, "Edith Keeler was, as you stated, a turning point rewritten by McCoy's action. More specifically, her death."

The pause is broken by clicking utensils.

"My inquiry lies within that decision," Saavik says. "You did not know for certain that Keeler would die, nor that her death would be the key to your survival."

"I didn't," Jim offers, "but Spock had already researched the possible changes, as well as our effect on that time. The only way the dots lined up was toward Edi- uh, Miss Keeler's passing. It wasn't perfect, but I trust Spock's guesses more than others' 'facts'."

Saavik's brows furrow, and the blatant expression throws Leonard for a loop. "But how could you decide in that moment to allow her death, even with such knowledge? Could you not discover another way to prevent the change of time?"

For a long moment, Jim watches the young woman, his jaw working over his thoughts. "Saavik, I'm not quite understanding why you're questioning my decision. Letting her die did, indeed, fix what we needed to."

"I do not believe your decision was fully informed. Yes, with the gift of hindsight, you were correct; but in the time and place of said decision, you had little concrete information to make this action off of. It could have just as easily caused another disturbance, seeing as she was in your company when the vehicle hit her. That is a variable you did not calculate."

"Sometimes, you can't calculate everything, Saavik." When Jim speaks this time, his voice is soft. Pained, remembering something Leonard doesn't, but nowhere close to angry. "I had to let Edith die based on my intuition. A...gut feeling. Spock had a guess, and that pointed most of the way toward Edith's death, but I felt it in that moment that she was meant to die."

Saavik goes quiet. Her face twists with apparent anger, dark eyes jumping between Jim and Spock, then back again. "That is a baseless point," she frowns. "Human feelings cannot dictate such a thing!"

"Do not underestimate the human 'gut feeling'," Spock interjects. "It is common within Earth's myths for them to have a 'sixth sense' known as their intuition. It may be driven to bias through high emotion, but it is rarely incorrect in and of itself."

She rounds on him. "Is this an ability you speak of with personal experience?"

Spock's brow raises. Leonard almost laughs at the whole display. Who knew this student could challenge him so fiercely? About damn time someone else did it.

"Saavik," Jim pulls her attention again. "In your career, there may be a time when you must decide whether someone lives or dies. Whether through inaction or a direct decision, it is likely to fall on your shoulders. At some point, you just have to choose."

She goes quiet to that, her eyes downcast and still clearly unsatisfied by the answer.

It's then Leonard decides to play his own hand.

"Who's got room for pie?"

Leonard blinks awake with a splitting headache that vanishes a moment later. It leaves him dazed and confused, until he hears Scotty's desperate pleas.

Dread turns his stomach like a rotten plague. No, no, no!

"Spock! Get out of there!"

He's in shock, Leonard knows. The Vulcan has to be. It's the only way he continues moving amidst so much concentrated radiation.

Leonard's hands ache where they slam against the glass barrier, but his cries go unheard. He can beg, he can shout his throat sore, but nothing can change what's already been done.

It's too late, Leonard knows. All the advancements in medical technology combined can't fix this.

Spock slows, but he never stops until the warp drive is back online. Like a real hero, he powers through until Scotty gives him a teary-eyed cry and-

Oh, Scotty. He's already lost his damn nephew! This disaster has cost him so many of his young trainees, but now Spock? His captain and friend?

Spock...

It hits Leonard a second too late. He has to tell Jim.

His mind feels sluggish as he hits the comm button. Words spill out, but Leonard hardly registers them against the waves of 'how, how, how'.

How can the world keep spinning after this?! How can they lose someone like Spock?!

Jim rushes into the room like a madman. There's desperation in his eyes, but his body moves straight for that glass gate-

Leonard holds him back before he can do something really stupid. Scotty grabs him on the other side. "Stop! You'll flood the whole compartment!" Leonard's voice wobbles at the end.

"He's already dead." Scotty's voice has never been so grave.

Purple blossoms sprout all across Jim's skin. Slow, weak flowers that aren't sure whether to manifest at all, or wither away completely. One blooms, right on Jim's bare hand as it presses against glass, across from Spock's ta'al.

Leonard knows this one. The White Star of Night. A deadly flower, known to kill nearly two thousand Vulcans each year by its pollen alone. There is no known cure.

"Live long...and prosper."

Spock loses his strength in time with the little purple buds shriveling away.

He's there. Leonard doesn't know it at first, but he is there.

It's like wading into a river he didn't know what pushing him away. Leonard fights it at first, scared of the feelings and thoughts that crash against his own mind. A second presence he feels too small to accommodate.

But then the water calms and he starts to feel...carried, in a way. Spock yearns to reunite with his body, for a proper burial. He pulls Leonard toward it with every moment they pass in warp speed, but there is no fighting anymore. Leonard lets himself feel the pass of water, the twist of the current as it directs him to safety.

It explains why he felt so at ease during the funeral. No need to mourn when the goblin's in his brain, right?

Leonard sees it on their faces, though. Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, Scotty. Jim. They all look at him like he's a key to a locked door. A glass jar holding something very precious, something they're almost too scared to hope is really there at all.

The hope is dangerous, Leonard knows. This isn't the next chapter for Spock, but the final page. They're burying him again, this time on his home planet. There is no bringing him back. No saving him. Not with a dead body waiting for them.

But then Jim gets that call, and he goes down to the planet himself to retrieve Spock, and Leonard lets that dangerous hope in. He lets it take his heart and mind alike, willingly.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn't the end. By some miracle, they can have Spock back again. Jim can be happy again.

A gasp makes Leonard's head shoot up. Chekov is pointing at him with wide eyes. "Doctor..."

A tickle brushes Leonard's forehead, right where Chekov stares. Under the scrutiny of his friends, he pulls at the offending things and sees a flower laid in his palm.

It's a myosotis. Or, a Forget-Me-Not.

It's then, about seventeen years late, that Leonard realizes he loves Spock. Has loved Spock.

He watches the regrown form of a man he's long grown attached to. His body yearns to reconnect with this new one, to be whole. And it's his job to make sure Spock gets just that.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but it seems I've missed you. And...I don't know if I could stand to lose you again."

And he promises to love him this time. God, if he's getting a second chance, he's gonna love every part of the damn Vulcan.

Releasing his soul doesn't feel as empty as he thought it would. There is no sudden lack of something that was there, nor a loneliness he has to overcome.

It just feels like Leonard again, himself but changed. He knows things now that he never thought he would. Vulcan telepathy had always seemed such a dangerous superpower, a myth that should be unreal. Now, it's second nature.

He also knows Spock's heart, the constant swing of a pendulum, between Vulcan restraint and deep emotion. He knows Spock loves Jim with every part of his soul. And, funny enough, he loves Leonard too.

"Jim," Spock says, his eyes still uncertain, but he says it again with a returning light. A memory flipping into place, foggy as it must be for him.

Jim's smile is like the crest of a sunset; relief doesn't begin to describe it. "Yes."

They surround Spock, eager to finally be with him again after so much heartache. To know it was all worth something good.

Leonard spots a flower peeking from the skin at Spock's temple, a mirror to Jim's wound.

Forget-me-nots.

"One damn minute, Admiral," Spock speaks loud and clear as he moves to his station.

Leonard does a double-take, not quite believing his ears; but when he turns to share a look with Jim, the grimace tells him he heard correctly.

Later, after they've released the whales back into the water and Earth is no longer in danger of getting vaporized or whatever the hell was happening, Leonard gets Jim as he's speaking to the marine biologist they kidnapped, Gillian.

"-years of history, I'm sure, but for the time being, I'll put you under Ambassador Sarek's care. He and Amanda have the right contacts to get you...well, set up." Jim shrugs helplessly.

Gillian and her unwavering determination, simply nods along. "Whatever will keep me with George and Gracie."

Leonard saddles up from behind, a sly smile already tugging at his lip. "Already used to the pointy ears and flying machines?"

"Like I told Jim, there's nothing for me back there. If my whales are in the future, then I'll adapt with them."

Damn. She really is crazy about these whales. "Then they'll be in the best hands," Leonard nods in respect.

Then, he shifts topics.

"Jim, I've been talking to Spock recently and couldn't help but notice a new habit taking form."

On cue, Jim lets out a sigh and physically resists the urge to rub at his brow. "Strange, isn't it? He refuses to call me by my name, but when I advise against 'colorful metaphors', it's as if I haven't said anything at all!"

"Well, it's entertaining, at least," Leonard points out. He personally thinks Spock needed this kind of adjustment years ago. He's no less fun when they can't argue.

"Yes, yes," Jim frowns. "Let's hope we can nip that in the bud before he starts sharing his 'metaphores' with anyone else."

They share a look. If Spock were to go back to Vulcan -and his parents- cursing every other word...well, it wouldn't be pretty.

"I'll go talk to him," Leonard decides, pulling away with a nod to both parties. He does spare a kiss on Jim's cheek, however, just to gauge Gillian's reaction.

To his pleasant surprise, she makes no comment. In fact, a light starts to glow in her eyes. Maybe the future will treat her better than the nineteen-eighties ever could.

Time, it turns out, has been the real enemy. It takes Jim, somewhere they can't even start to find him. He's gone, and now, it's just him and Spock.

The others make it a little easier, but it's difficult to meet up when there aren't wild adventures to go on. No more exploring stars and slingshotting off of suns.

But he has Spock and -though he would never have thought it during that first mission- it makes missing the past easier. They fall into an easy routine, one still filled with endless bickering and battles of wit, but there's little heat to it anymore. He knows Spock like he knows how to breathe, and Spock him.

Every Earth year, on the day Jim disappeared, they put flowers out on the windowsill. Vulcan favinits against lilacs, a bouquet arranged from Sulu's botanical lab. At some point, Leonard adds poppies for his dad, and Spock includes some chamuz for Amanda.

It never feels like enough to honor such an alive person like Jim, but he was never a fan of big celebrations anyway.

"Leonard." Spock's voice is like a cool drink after a long, hot day.

Leonard is old. His surgeon's hands have left him shaky and frail. His hair has lost all color, and the wrinkles on his face outnumber the liver spots.

But hell would sooner cool over than Leonard ignore a call for help. Especially from Spock.

"Sarek refuses to admit his ailments." Spock walks by Leonard's side, his steps careful so he doesn't overstep too far. A younger Bones would find it offensive. Old Leonard finds it painfully endearing.

"Makes sense to me," Leonard huffs. "You had to get your stubbornness somewhere." Though, he does recall Amanda having been a particularly strong-willed woman. She'd have to, living among Vulcans so long.

Spock doesn't acknowledge the joke. "Even as he expresses emotion, my father insists he is guided by logic. I wish for a doctor's diagnosis."

Leonard stops. Spock does too, after a few steps. His robes move with him as he turns back, jaw tense. His fingers also clasp together in a soothing motion.

This is serious. More so than any common cold.

"Spock," Leonard swallows. "I'm no doctor anymore. You know that. If he's got a fever, you call the Vulcan healers."

Silence weighs heavily between them.

Spock averts his eyes, gaze following the curve of his sleeve. More self-soothing. "It is not an illness of the body, as Sarek insists. But of the mind."

"Like...dementia?" Leonard's heart sinks. Sarek is old, sure, but he's Vulcan. There's never been a case of it in anyone but humans or human hybrids.

"I fear it is worse. Bendii Syndrome. My father is losing control over his emotions. He loses his logic."

Leonard's never heard of it, but when is that new? Maybe if Vulcans started talking openly about their own biology, they wouldn't suffer in silence.

But that's Leonard's anger talking. No, his hurt. This feels all too familiar to him, and losing a father isn't something Spock deserves.

Funny how the world doesn't seem to care.

"I can't diagnose him," Leonard sighs, leaning on his cane. "But I can be here, right next to you."

Spock won't live for years with the regrets Leonard did. He'll make sure of it.

Spock doesn't smile exactly, but he does reach out his fingers to touch Leonard's, and that's all that's needed. Their bond fills with anxiety and sorrow, but also relief. Gratitude.

"Do you wanna go in?" Leonard says, once his knees have started locking up. He'll curse Spock for it another time.

The Vulcan looks down the hall, his emotions coming so easily through their bond, it's as if they were Leonard's to begin with.

Two memories surface at once.

Sarek's lip curls, and he turns to Spock with anger in his eyes. He shouts, yells that his logic is in place. The emotion that fills Spock in response is overwhelming, and he must leave the room to meditate the shock away. The fear.

Sarek has expressed disapproval at Spock's actions. He was unyielding in his teachings of Vulcan control. But never before has Sarek yelled at him.

The second is of a dark hospital room. Leonard stands on one side of a glass window as he prepares to enter his father's room for the last time. He wants nothing more than to run away.

"It's alright," Leonard tugs gently at Spock's hand. "Perrin can handle him for now."

Silently, Spock lets Leonard walk them back out of the Vulcan home. They aren't running away. Eventually, Spock will have to speak with Sarek again, to discuss the real possibility that he's losing himself.

And Leonard will be with him before, throughout, and after. As if he too held Spock's flowers.

Wind kisses the wrinkled skin of Leonard's cheek. Wooden legs creak under his thin weight, like a song against birds and rustling leaves.

It's quiet every day. Clicking pans and running water fall upon deaf ears. Dull eyes barely see the unsetting and rising these days, but they know. They remember.

Jim is gone. Spock too. Taken by whatever forces of nature and science they studied back in their young years. Another time, Leonard might've had the strength to go looking for them, but not anymore.

Now, Leonard has contented himself to a lonely little house in Georgia. Spock's lute hangs on the bedroom wall and Jim's book collection gets dusted every day. When Leonard goes as well, it'll go to Saavik and Joanna. A powerful duo, the two of them. They'll have statues erected in their honor, Leonard knows. 

A bird flutters down from the roof, its beak sifting through the coarse dirt for spare seeds and worms. Leonard likes to leave an extra handful out just for them, by the oak tree.

"Where ever you are..." Leonard's voice croaks, strains, "I'm comin' too. Just...Just wait for me."