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Chapter Text

If logic and reason are opposite to emotion, why am I so emotional about logic and reason?

“Captain’s log, stardate: 4436.9. Smooth sailing the past few days. In the next twenty-four hours, the Enterprise will be coming into close orbit with the ice planet Sylandro. As yet there have been no attempts at contact, though there remains the possibility of intelligent life without means of interstellar travel or broadcast.”

Captain James Tiberius Kirk paused, here. He would appear lost in thought if anyone were to see him sitting in his quarters. It was late evening, according to the Earth-calibrated watch that he still kept in his pocket, though the progression of a sun across the horizon of a turning planet in a distant solar system had little bearing on his current position in spacetime.

Truth be told, he was thinking of something else entirely. Something he didn’t dare allow himself to think about outside of his quarters. He feared that somehow, by some odd facial tick or muscular twitch, he would give himself away, and the entire bridge crew would at once be privy to his most hidden desires.

He depressed the recording button once more. “Some turbulence is expected when the Enterprise begins to pass through the topmost levels of Sylandro’s atmosphere. I hope to send a few personnel down to collect samples, once we gauge the stability of the weather systems. Updates to follow. Kirk out.”

He tossed the recorder haphazardly onto his bed, watching it tumble across the slightly rumpled blankets. Struck suddenly by the emptiness of the single bed, he stood up and paced the room.

Though it was true that the tireless spinning of the planet he still called home need not dictate his time, it was also effectively night on the Enterprise. He and the primary members of his crew were on their mandatory 12-hour rest period, while the relief crew took over. He should be getting some sleep, but he felt wide awake. Alert. Almost… giddy.

What’s wrong with me?

He looked out the small window, seeing first his reflection, and then the endless empty blackness of space. He felt small, like a child in need of comfort. While the captain’s quarters would be considered comfortable by any human standards, he still felt compelled to slip quietly out the sliding door and into the belly of the Enterprise.

The halls were quiet, awash in a dim, yellow glow meant to simulate the conditions of an Earth sunset. Kirk was suddenly struck by the hubris of that idea, that despite the numerous non-human crew members of the Enterprise, it’s very light levels were still tailored to suit his, the captain’s physiology. Did the rest of the crew notice this? He thought about the recording he had just made. What would a Sylando native (if such a being existed) think of these lights? What about someone closer, easier to gauge?

Someone from… Vulcan? Perhaps?

Kirk felt a drowsy warmth growing deep inside him, had to derail this train of thought. He raised a hand to rub at his collar. The coolness of his palm, slightly clammy, served to drag him out of his reverie… if only for a moment.

Feeling hot, he picked up his pace, telling himself that he was out for a nighttime stroll, with no destination in particular, even while his feet led him swiftly to that same place.

The door to his science officer’s quarters.

Spock’s room.

Again, as so many nights before, Kirk scarcely dared to glance at the door. What if officer Spock was to suddenly open it, to see his captain frozen there, not quite knocking at the door but certainly not on his way briskly past?

Of course, there were the dreams in which Spock looked at Kirk and immediately understood, glanced down the hall before grabbing his captain gently by the wrist and leading him into that forbidden place.

But stronger, in Kirk’s mind, were the nightmares in which he had to hastily explain himself, saving face, while losing something far more urgent and vital.

Kirk felt his heart beating nearly out of his chest. So much for the lights being relaxing. Feeling sheepish, dejected, he turned on his heel and made his way back to his own quarters.

Though he could hardly remember falling asleep at all, he was roused from some unconscious state by Sulu over the com.

“Captain, sorry to wake you, but we have a fix on Sylandro and will be pulling into orbit in the next 30 minutes.”

Kirk rubbed his face and rolled over roughly to smack the responding button. “Thank you Mr. Sulu. Let the rest of the crew know I’m on my way to the bridge.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes and running one hand through his hair. He checked his watch. As it turned out, he had managed at least two hours of sleep.

The captain was the last member of the regular crew to arrive on the bridge. As he stepped through the sliding doors there was a flurry of activity, and he was heartened by the various familiar beeps and clicks of equipment in use. He glanced up - Mr. Spock was already in his usual position, bent over the monitor, intently focused on viewing the gravitational waves that surrounded the new planet.

Kirk took his seat in the Captain’s chair.

“Mr. Spock,” he said, feeling the sharpness of the name in his mouth. “Report.”

“The planet has an unusually strong gravitational pull for its size, Captain.” Kirk’s first officer did not look up from his monitor. “It may be more dense than we originally believed.”

Kirk paused. “Well, that doesn’t sound like anything our people can’t handle.”

“One more thing, Captain.”

Kirk steadied his mind against the tiniest of jolts, an almost imperceptible skip in his heartbeat. “Yes, Mr. Spock?”

“While we have yet to detect any signs of living organisms, surface images do show some structures that do not appear to be natural formations. It is entirely possible that they are ruins, or that the imagery is misleading, but I would all the same advise extra caution during the expedition.”

“Duly noted, Mr. Spock.”

There was a shift in pressure and the Enterprise lurched to the left, then dramatically to the right. Kirk gripped the sides of his seat, gaze fixed on Mr. Sulu, who seemed to be gritting his teeth but was otherwise betraying no emotion. The ship righted itself, and after a moment Kirk relaxed.

“Just a bit of turbulence, sir,” said Sulu. He’d apparently noticed the Captain’s attention. “We have achieved stable orbit. Welcome to Sylandro.”

“Very good Mr. Sulu.” Kirk turned to address Uhura, though his gaze fell momentarily on Spock’s hunched figure. “Uhura, are you picking up anything?”

“No, captain. No signals, no background noise, nothing.”

Kirk nodded vaguely. There was a momentary pause, as the sense of tension left the bridge and everyone allowed themselves a moment to breath before launching into busywork.

Captain Kirk gave himself that same pause, then said, “I’m heading for the transporter room. Mr. Spock, when you’ve taken the appropriate readings, please meet me and the designated security officer there. I’ll have Mr. Scott beam us down to the surface.”

“Captain, surface readings show a temperature of 228.3 Kelvin. I trust you’ve prepared the appropriate attire.”

Kirk’s eyes met Spock’s for a fraction of a second too long. “Of course, Mr. Spock,” said the captain, with a wry smile.

***
Fifteen minutes later Kirk, Spock, and security officer O’Connor were standing in their separate spaces under the transporter beams, waiting to be sent down to the planet. O’Connor was at probably a decade Kirk’s junior, red-headed and with pale skin. The downy parka she had pulled on over her uniform concealed any impression of body type.

Kirk and Spock wore similar parkas, and Spock had stowed his tricorder carefully under the downy fabric so he looked like an oddly inflated, plush version of himself.

“We’ll be in contact once we’ve touched down on the surface. If you don’t hear from us within two hours follow the usual protocols.”

Scotty nodded at Kirk and in an instant they were standing on the surface of the planet.

Though the parkas were of the highest insulation grade available in the Federation, Kirk’s face still stung as a blast of chilled air hit him. He squinted at Spock, who seemed to be fighting a sneeze - though the native Vulcan had acclimated to cooler temperatures by now, his physiology remained that of a desert-dweller. Kirk bit his lip, chastising thoughts of huddling for warmth.

O’Connor put a gloved hand over her mouth and nose and looked to her captain.

“Alright gentlemen. Um, lady. Here we are.” Kirk flipped open his communicator and sent a very abridged message to Scotty, then they were alone, the three of them on a desolate, apparently untouched planet.

“Visibility is lower than expected, captain. However, if my calculations are correct, the structures I noticed early should be about a kilometer due north.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, making a point not to look at his first officer. “Let’s get on our way.” He paused. “How long do we have before sunset?”

“Captain, according to my earlier readings, Sylandro has an extremely slow rotation. A day on this planet is equal to about 18 months on your Earth calendar. I took some measurements before we entered orbit and we should have around four Earth months before the sun sets.”

Kirk nodded, shivering involuntarily. A planet blanketed in cold darkness for over a year at a time. No wonder no one lived here.

The trio made their way slowly north across the terrain. Once they were moving, the howl of the wind against their hoods made talking impossible. Kirk, in the lead, took it on faith that the other two were in fact following him - short of turning around to check, he’d have no way of knowing if anyone decided to desert and beam back up.

The land was mostly flat and rocky, and ahead - far ahead - it seemed there was a ridge of dark, jagged mountains rising up from the tundra. Yet, as with each step they came closer, Kirk realized that these weren’t mountains at all, but much smaller, and much closer than they initially appeared.

The ruins! Kirk stopped and turned to face his crew members. “I believe we have arrived at the border of these so-called ruins. I’d say it’s quite unlikely that they’re inhabited, but let’s not take the chance. Set phasers to stun, and keep your hands on ‘em.”

There was a quick shuffling of parkas, then the group continued onward.

A few moments later, the dark shapes opened up to them, and they found themselves walking among the ruins. If nothing else, Kirk noted, the great stone-like structures proved to be excellent wind-shields, and as they ventured further into the maze of tall, rectangular objects it began to get quiet - almost eerily so.

“Captain,” Spock’s voice rang out from behind Kirk.

“Yes Mr. Spock?”

“I’d like to attempt to sample one of these… structures.”

“Of course, Mr. Spock. Sample away. O’Connor, stand by.”

Security officer O’Connor palmed her phaser through a gloved hand and positioned herself to the left of Mr. Spock. Spock fiddled awkwardly with his tricorder, unaccustomed as he was to wearing such thick gloves - though he of course would know better than anyone that removing said gloves would result in a fast case of frostbite.

Kirk stood between the pair of officers and the monolith opposite them, staring into its black surface, his back to Spock and O’Connor. Now that he was up close, it didn’t look like stone. It had a glossy shine, like polished obsidian, but seemed in a weird way to be translucent - as if the matter wasn’t actually black, only looked opaque because it was so thickly layered.

He stepped a little closer to the form, squinting into it as if somehow being closer to it might suddenly give him x-ray vision. Forgetting himself entirely, Kirk reached out a gloved hand, and with a single finger, gingerly tapped the surface of the monolith. It was hard, ungiving, as Kirk had well expected it to be - yet, despite his thick, insulated gloves he could somehow also tell that the stone was not cold. It was not exactly warm, but…

Then all at once Kirk was acutely aware that something had changed. He withdrew his hand from the object and spun around. Behind him, Spock looked as though he had done the same thing, and was standing still with the tricorder clutched to his chest, eyebrows raised in an expression that on a human face might have been shock.

While the monoliths remained in place, the entire landscape had changed. No longer were they standing on the icy surface of a planet. Instead, they were inside some sort of chamber. Kirk guessed they were underground. It was dark, yet it seemed that the walls themselves had a kind of luminescence, as everything was bathed in a soft pink glow.

There was no sign of O’Connor.

Chapter Text

“Spock!” Kirk stepped unabashedly to his first officer and grabbed him by the shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“I do not know, captain,” said Spock, seeming to relax slightly under his captain’s grip. The Vulcan straightened, apparently gathering his composure. “It would appear that these structures are not inert after all.” Spock looked around. “Judging from immediate observation, I would hazard a guess that they are in fact some form of transporter.”

Kirk stepped back to look around the chamber. If Spock was right, they could be anywhere in the sector.

“Did you see what happened to O’Connor?”

“No, captain. I was... focused on the tricorder.”

“O’Connor? O’Connor!” Kirk called uselessly into the darkness. He noted that his voice barely echoed, then turned back to Spock. “Did you happen to get that sample?”

Spock glanced down at the tricorder and frowned. “The temperature, combined with the hardness of this substance, seems to have been too much for the instruments on hand. My best guess is that these are primarily composed of diamond, perhaps with some titanium irregularities.” He looked back up at Kirk, cold eyes searching his captain’s face.

Kirk grimaced and pulled his communicator out of his pocket, though he was already beginning to fear the worst. “Mr. Scott. Mr. Scott, do you read me?”

There was a brief crackle of static, then silence.

“Mr. Scott? Hello, Scotty?”

No response.

Kirk glanced up at his first officer, whose face betrayed a flash of concern that was probably only perceptible to the captain himself. “Captain, it is possible that there is some residual electromagnetic interference from these structures. It may be affecting your communicator.”

“Well, there must be something we can do besides standing here.”

The two men looked at each other for a moment. In spite of their peril, Spock raised one Vulcan eyebrow in a gesture that Kirk found incredibly comforting. It was the closest his first officer would come to purposefully cracking a smile, and in Kirk’s opinion, if Spock could find some humour - or at least fascination - in this, so could he. He looked around, his eyes having now adjusted slightly more to the dimness of the space.

Of course, Kirk would never say exactly what had come to his mind as for what they could do instead of waiting.

The obsidian monoliths were arranged in a rough circle. Kirk found it reminded him vaguely of the ancient Stonehenge back on Earth, though on a smaller scale. There didn’t seem to be nearly as many of the structures here as there had been on the surface of the planet.

Past the monoliths, directly ahead of Kirk and Spock, a pool of shadows indicated a potential passageway.

“Mr. Spock, look up ahead. I think it’s a tunnel.”

“It would seem so, captain.”

“If these structures were put here by a living being, it would seem that a passage out of this… room… should lead us somewhere more useful.”

“A dubious hypothesis, sir. However, I admit that the possibility of finding an exit seems more logical than waiting here.”

“Shall we, then?”

Spock gave an affirmative nod.

Kirk led the way, feeling a pang of guilt at his apparent disregard for security officer O’Connor. If Spock was correct, and the monoliths were indeed a transporter, it would follow that O’Connor was now standing alone on Sylandro’s freezing tundra, with only her phaser to protect her. Or, worse, that she had touched one of the stones in turn and been transported somewhere else entirely, where the crew of the Enterprise might never find her.

The captain felt suddenly compelled to say something, if only to dispel any rumours that he was dispassionate to the young officer’s plight - but he stopped himself, knowing that Spock would have already worked out the logic of the situation.

The tunnel entrance yawned before them, larger than it had appeared - in fact it was tall enough that Kirk could stand nearly upright, while Spock could make do with a slight hunch and bent knees. It also lacked the soft pink glow of the chamber, and looked to be a possibly endless depth of pitch black.

Kirk felt fear rising in him, but stifled the urge to turn away or admit it - though he and Spock had been friends for years, Kirk was still captain, and they were still on duty.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Kirk said, and took his first step into the blackness. A few more steps, and the glow from behind had all but disappeared.

“Captain?” Spock’s voice rang out, searching.

“I’m here, Mr. Spock.”

“I believe it would be prudent for me to hold onto you, given the total lack of visibility.”

Kirk was momentarily glad for that total lack of visibility, so Spock was not invited to speculate on why his captain’s face had suddenly flushed beet red. James T. Kirk got a hold of himself in short order and gruffly replied, “an excellent suggestion, Mr. Spock. I am extending my left hand backward, grab it if you can find it.”

He heard the sound of Spock’s feet shuffling slightly as the Vulcan groped blindly. After an excruciating moment, their gloved fingers made contact. Spock latched onto Kirk with a grip strength that would always surprise the human man.

“All secure, Mr. Spock?”

“Yes, captain. I have adequate footing.”

They continued their slow procession to nowhere. Kirk found himself half-praying to some unknown deity that this path actually led somewhere, that they weren’t walking toward an unseen pit, toward their certain deaths.

There were things that he had not yet gotten out of life.

He must have been imagining it, but he could swear he felt the warmth of Spock’s fingers through two layers of thermal gloves.

Kirk was struck by an idea, then. “Mr. Spock, the tricorder may not be able to detect material composition, but can it at least detect the presence of matter?”

There was a short pause while Spock apparently contemplated Kirk’s statement. “Captain. Are you suggesting we attempt to use the tricorder as a navigational device?”

“Indeed, Mr. Spock.”

“Excellent, captain. I believe there is an… 87.4 percent chance of this idea working.”

“I like those odds, Mr. Spock. Let’s stop here so you can test it.”

The pair stopped where they were. In a motion that Kirk imagined took far longer than it logically should have, Spock withdrew his hand to attend to the tricorder. Though it was still below freezing, and the darkness was oppressive, the air around the two men felt somehow charged. Kirk tried to focus on his breathing as he stood, listening to the soft sounds of his officer’s gloves brushing against his parka, the clicks and faint blips of the tricorder.

Vulgarly, he thought to himself that this must be one of the strangest places in the universe to be fighting off an erection.

Kirk’s hands had never felt so empty. He reached into his pocket and grasped the useless communicator. The tricorder lit up, casting the faintest of light, just enough to illuminate Spock’s hands and a section of his parka.

After a tense moment, the first officer said “captain, it seems we have a safe path if we keep going… er… forward.”

“Great, Mr. Spock...now, where exactly is...forward?” A slight flaw in the plan, thought Kirk. He wondered if Spock had foreseen this and was merely humouring him.

“Captain. Forgive me for this…” and before Kirk could inquire as to what he was forgiving, he felt Spock’s stomach - or, the layer of plush fabric where his stomach would have been - make contact with his lower back. He inhaled sharply as Spock effectively cocooned Kirk with his taller body, wrapping his arms around the captain and grabbing him by the wrists.

“If we continue ahead this way,” and here Spock lifted the captain’s left wrist in demonstration, “we should find ourselves in another large chamber.”

Kirk swallowed roughly. “Right. Good. And what will we find in that chamber, Mr. Spock?”

“I… I do not know, captain.”

“Well, it can’t be any worse than this.” Kirk immediately regretted his words. “I mean… not that… um… it’s quite dark, is all.”

“Illogical, captain. There are numerous things worse than darkness.”

Kirk said nothing, but was acutely aware that they were still in an odd, half-spooning position. He didn’t dare make a move, to extricate himself or otherwise. Spock’s breath was hot against the back of his neck, and he could feel the Vulcan’s legs pressing into his backside.

Now’s not the time, Jim.

“Captain,” Spock said, mercifully backing away until his hands on Kirk’s shoulders were their only contact, “if we move forward like this I can keep an eye on the tricorder and steer you in the correct direction.”

Kirk nodded, then realized that Spock couldn’t possibly have seen it, and grunted an affirmative instead.

The pair began, once again, their progression through the tunnel, Kirk taking gingerly steps forward and Spock occasionally jerking the captain’s shoulders to the left or right to redirect. After a few minutes, or possibly a few hours, Spock tightened his grip suddenly and Kirk stood, looking ahead.

It occurred to the captain that he could see, a simple fact which sent a jolt of excitement through him.

“Spock--”

The first officer responded by bringing up one hand to clamp his gloved fingers over Kirk’s mouth. Right. Neither of them knew what lay inside this new chamber - best for them to stay as silent as possible.

Spock said nothing more, but withdrew his hand, and, now that there was some measure of visibility, backed away from Kirk. The captain noted that the Vulcan did not entirely pull away, and kept one hand softly on Jim’s right shoulder while they entered the room.

Suddenly, the tricorder blipped impatiently. Now Spock did pull away, as if in shock. Kirk whirled around. “What is it?” He whispered sharply.

“Captain, the tricorder is detecting a life form in the next room.”

“Alright. You know what to do, Mr. Spock.”

The two men inched forward with bated breath, each gripping his phaser. Whatever the life form was, it certainly wasn’t making a sound.

When they were close enough to the entrance that Kirk could once again see the shine of Spock’s eyes, he turned and gave a hasty three-count, then jumped into the chamber, knees bent, phaser pointed dead ahead.

He was met with the barrel of another Starfleet issue phaser, wielded by none other than security officer O’Connor.

“Captain!” She gasped, nearly throwing her phaser aside and rushing toward her superior officers. “Commander Spock!”

Chapter Text

Kirk clapped the girl on the shoulder, feeling a surprising sturdiness to her small form.

“How did you get here, Ms. O’Connor?” Spock immediately inquired, ever the voice of reason.

The young woman turned to face Spock. “I… I don’t know. Well, we were up on the planet, and then all of a sudden you two disappeared! Oh, I was scared…”

“Did you alert Mr. Scott?” Kirk cut in.

“Yes sir, captain,” O’Connor nodded vigorously. “I was in communication with him immediately. I told him everything I knew, and he advised me to stay where I was, while he put together a rescue operation.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well… I was waiting, and well… there was nothing much else to do but look at those, these… ruins.” She gestured around her, and Kirk now properly noticed that the chamber was, in a similar fashion to the one where he and Spock had found themselves, filled with a series of shiny black monoliths.

“Ms. O’Connor,” said Spock, “did you happen to… touch one of these structures?”

O’Connor looked at Spock with wide, guilty eyes. “Yes, sir. I shouldn’t have, I know, but…”

“Quite alright, Ms. O’Connor. Spock, do you have a theory?” Kirk turned to face his officer.

“Something of a hypothesis, captain. Based on anecdotal information, I would guess that these transporter devices are activated by touch. Somehow, I believe the faint electromagnetic impulses that pass through living bodies interact with the devices, causing a reaction. Namely, transportation.” Spock paused, and Kirk could see the gears turning in his head. “It would also seem that the impulses are somehow magnified, or that these devices are sensitive enough to detect them through thermal gloves.”

“But how do these big chunks of rock determine where we end up? Why did Ms. O’Connor end up here by touching the same stone that sent us half an hour’s walk that way?” Kirk gestured dramatically into the tunnel they had just emerged from.

“That information is... not yet apparent, captain.” Spock’s eyes cast downward. Kirk felt a strange, vague sense that the Vulcan was opting not to make it apparent.

He turned once again to his security officer. “O’Connor, did Mr. Scott give you an indication of how long that rescue party was going to take?”

“He didn’t say for certain, captain...though my impression was that they were going as fast as they could.”

“Great!” Kirk threw his hands up. Pent up anxiety and arousal flooded him, adding to his brewing sense of melodrama. “Scotty and his boys are probably just getting to the surface and soon they’ll accidentally transport themselves to the goddamned twelfth moon of Vetruvius!”

“Jim…” Spock’s voice was like a shot of brandy in a snowstorm. Kirk looked at his first officer, allowing himself to become momentarily lost in those chocolate-coloured eyes. He had always admired the Vulcan’s ability to distinguish between helpful emotion and an impending tantrum. Something the man had inherited from his mother, though Spock would never admit it.

“Alright, alright. I’m calm.” Kirk closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nostrils. “Has anyone attempted to touch one of these things since we’ve come down here?”

A pause. “No, captain.” Spock’s right eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly north. O’Connor, wide-eyed, shook her head.

“Captain, unless we have some way of knowing where we’ll end up, touching the devices again seems like a...a fool’s gamble.” Kirk smiled inwardly at his first officer’s awkward use of the English turn of phrase.

“Certainly, Mr. Spock. I assume if you thought it was a good idea we’d have already attempted it.” He glanced at Spock, whose head was tilted slightly in a gesture that Kirk knew to be gratitude at the captain’s faith. “Tell me, though… do you have any hypotheses as to our current location?”

Spock paused and raised both eyebrows. “Captain. Based on the ambient temperature, the approximate density of the chamber walls, and the apparently permanent presence of these underground monoliths, the likelihood that we are somewhere just below the surface of Sylandro is approximately 97.8 percent. Despite the functional issues I have been experiencing with the tricorder, the fact that I am not detecting any continuous electromagnetic field indicates that these transporters are not exceptionally powerful. I would assume, based on this information, that we are within 10 kilometers of our original beam-down location. Furthermore, this lack of background electromagnetism could also indicate that the network of transporters is not very large. We’ve encountered three separate sets of monoliths thus far - I posit that the total number of transporter locations is no greater than seven.”

Kirk gave Spock a look that made O’Connor’s cheeks flush red. The security officer seemed suddenly engrossed in pulling at a frayed thread on the sleeve of her parka.

Spock looked quizzical, and the captain reminded himself that all that information didn’t do a lick of good if they still had no way of contacting the Enterprise.

“Okay, okay.” Kirk was pacing now, gesticulating wildly at no one in particular as he spoke. “Mr. Spock, you said there was some electromagnetic interference that might have been causing problems with the communicator. But the communicators also operate on electromagnetic radio waves.” He paused and turned. “Is there any way we could jury-rig the communicator into working on the same wavelength as these… things?” He threw a hand up at the nearest black structure.

Spock looked at Kirk for a moment without saying anything. “It may be possible… I could combine the signals of the communicator and the tricorder. It is possible that these transporters could act as a signal amplifier, provided I am able to correctly aim the signal.”

“Go to it then, Mr. Spock,” said Kirk, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Captain, in order to combine the signals I will have to reconfigure the communicator, which may affect its ability to receive your voice.”

O’Connor stepped forward, holding out her communicator. “Use mine, Commander. That way the captain can use his to send out the message.”

Spock glanced briefly at Kirk before taking the security officer’s communicator. “Thank you, Miss O’Connor.” He pulled the tricorder strap up over his head and looked intently at the two devices in his hands. “This may take some time.”

“Try to hurry, Mr. Spock,” said Kirk gently.

--

Fifteen minutes later the trio was sitting cross-legged on the (surprisingly not frigid) floor of the chamber. Kirk and O’Connor had shared some brief small talk but both had now settled into silence as they watched Mr. Spock fiddle with the electronic devices. Tiny components were scattered evenly across roughly a square meter of ground, and though it looked chaotic, Kirk didn’t doubt for a second that there was some rhyme and reason to it.

Mr. Spock’s thin fingers worked nimbly even in their gloves, and something about watching Spock so intently was bringing back a surge of Kirk’s earlier arousal. He wished O’Connor would say something.

He tried to distract himself by looking around the chamber. If they had been here on purpose, prepared and able to contact the ship, he might have thought it beautiful. The vague glow of the walls was warm in the same way his quarters were, in the dim light of artificial evening. He couldn’t seem to focus on exactly where the light was coming from - it seemed to emanate from the very air, the shimmering black walls reflecting it endlessly back and forth across the space.

The way the pink light played against Spock’s green-tinged skin was something Kirk suspected he would spend months or maybe years wishing he could recreate.

At last, Spock shifted backward and held up the combined communicator and tricorder. “Captain, I have completed the necessary alterations.” He turned to look at Kirk. “Once I’ve set up the signal correctly, you may speak into your communicator as normal. Without knowing our exact coordinates, I cannot guarantee that the amplified signal will penetrate to the surface of the planet. If it does indeed make it within range of the Enterprise’s sensors, it will be up to Lieutenant Uhura to open the correct channel for your message to be heard.”

“Understood, Mr. Spock. Thank you.”

Kirk and Spock stood up, followed by O’Connor who seemed slightly dazed, as if she’d been daydreaming and was trying not to show it.

Spock twisted the dials on the device, moving a few steps closer to the transporter structures. After a moment of observation he looked over at Kirk and gave a slight nod.

Kirk held up his communicator and took a tentative breath before launching into an SOS call. “Kirk to Enterprise. Kirk to Enterprise. Requesting signal triangulation. We are located underground, most likely on Sylandro, but coordinates are unclear. Please respond.”

The air in the chamber was thick as O’Connor and Kirk held their breath. Spock wore his usual calculating expression - only Kirk could sense that the human half of his first officer was standing with balled fists and gritted teeth.

A crack of static, then nothing. Kirk had to consciously loosen his grip on the communicator to avoid crushing the instrument. He tried again.

“Kirk to Enterprise, this is Captain Kirk to the Enterprise. Do you read?”

The pause was excruciating. Kirk felt his heart sinking, then at once the communicator burst into life.

“Kirk! Captain Kirk! This is Lieutenant Uhura! I read you, sir!”

Jim Kirk could barely speak for a moment. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, fixing Spock in his gaze as he replied. “Uhura! Can you triangulate our location based on the signal?”

“I can try, sir. It will just take a moment.”

“Go ahead Lieutenant.”

No one in the chamber said anything, Kirk and O’Connor’s barely restrained anxiety playing against Spock’s reserve. Uhura came back a moment later.

“Captain, I’ve managed to pinpoint your location. I’m getting Sulu to lock on and map it. How did you end up underground, sir?”

“I’ll tell you all about it once we’re back up there, Uhura. Please prepare to beam up the three of us, as well as Mr. Scott’s landing party.”

“Aye, sir.”

The communicator went silent once again. Kirk turned to flash a smile at O’Connor, then to Spock. “Mr. Spock,” he said, unable to keep the emotion from his voice, “what would I do without you?”

A slight twitch at the corner of Spock’s mouth betrayed a flood of human emotion to Kirk alone. The half-Vulcan appeared to be searching his mental data banks for an appropriate response, but was interrupted by the shimmering sound of the transporter beam beginning to do its work.

The journey was strange, something that Kirk only realized after the fact - standing on the platform aboard the Enterprise, with Scotty cheerfully clapping him on the shoulder as he and two young security officers threw off their heavy parkas in celebration. He wanted to ask if anyone else had remembered the trip, but bit his tongue, knowing that having any recollection of the space between planet and transporter platform went against the basic facts of how the transporter worked.

Yet, still… there were flashes. As he stood on the platform, Kirk felt as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. It felt as if an intense, thickly plotted dream was falling away from him in filaments.

Kirk glanced at Spock, who gave him a vague look but said nothing. So Kirk shook it off.

“Glad to have you back aboard, captain!” Scotty was standing tall in the doorway, hands on hips. Beside him, Uhura was beaming over the transporter control panel.

“I’m glad to be back, Mr. Scott. We… all are.” He looked at O’Connor, who nodded vigorously. She looked slightly pale, the parka still hanging off her frame. “O’Connor, go find McCoy in sickbay and get him to check you for shock… and get you a cup of hot tea while he’s at it. That’s an order.”

O’Connor nodded again, weaker this time, and hurried out the door, joining the parade of other security officers, led by Mr. Scott. Jim was certain the chief engineer had promised each of them a shot of his best scotch.

“Excellent work, Lieutenant,” said Spock, nodding at Uhura. Her and Jim both gave the commander a sidelong glance, but if the taller man noticed he made no indication.

“Thank you, Mr. Spock.”

Chapter Text

Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Scotty sat around the table in the briefing room. McCoy had taken it upon himself to extend the offer of hot tea to all landing party members. Kirk and Spock sipped periodically from steaming mugs of their respective favourites - orange pekoe with sugar for Kirk, and an aromatic blend of Vulcan-native herbs for Spock. Scotty had all but obliterated his Earl Grey with a stiff pour of Johnnie Walker.

“So, let me get this straight, Scotty,” McCoy was saying, one eyebrow firmly raised. “You’re telling me that when you beamed down to the planet you re-energized an entire kilometer away from your intended landing spot?”

“Aye, that’s correct, doctor.”

“Spock, it pains me to ask this, but do you think there’s any logic to what Mr. Scott here is saying?”

Kirk fought back a smile and turned to watch his first officer ponder the question.

Spock steepled his hands, resting his chin elegantly atop the points of his index fingers, before speaking. “Doctor, although the chance of the transporter experiencing a spontaneous internal malfunction is roughly 0.0024 percent, we must take into account the possibility of interference from the background electromagnetic radiation that I detected coming from the structures - or, devices - on the planet.” The Vulcan lifted his head to look pointedly at McCoy.

Bones widened his eyes and spread his hands out on the table in a pleading gesture.

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk interjected, “if the interference from the planet’s transporters is to blame, why didn’t the same thing happen to us and O’Connor when we made planetfall?” He swivelled his chair to face Spock.

“I do not know for certain, captain. However, my current hypothesis is that prior to our landing, the structures were in an inert state. This would be consistent with the null readings of the ship’s instruments prior to our beaming down. I posit that we inadvertently activated the devices by touching them. Potentially just by being near them, depending on how sensitive they actually are.”

The four men looked at each other over the table.

“What does that mean for the Enterprise, sir?” Scotty addressed Spock directly.

“Nothing at present, Mr. Scott. It is merely a point of interest.”

“Sure, it’s a point of interest until it gets you all transported into solid rock,” McCoy interjected bitterly.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Kirk, pulling up the reins of the conversation. “I think we can all agree that excessive caution should be exercised until we know precisely how this is affecting our transporters.” He looked around, smiling passively, hoping his face didn’t betray the exhaustion that had begun to creep into his muscles. “It’s about time we all retired. McCoy, Scotty, you’re dismissed. Mr. Spock, if you’d join me in my quarters there are a few things I’d like to discuss further. For my reports.”

Spock nodded and stood while the other men bid each other goodnight and went their separate ways.

Kirk and Spock covered the distance through the halls of the Enterprise in silence. Kirk was acutely aware of his own posture, but too tired to pull back his shoulders and angle his chin in the way he often did to better meet his first officer’s height.The weight of the lingering chill, drowsiness, uncertainty, expressed itself in a hunch of his spine. He granted himself a few sparing glances over at Spock, noting the composure, the effortless grace with which the half-Vulcan conveyed his slim body.

Pull yourself together, Kirk.

Arriving at his quarters, Jim took his usual seat at his desk while Spock sat pin-straight in the chair opposite.

“Now, do correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Spock, this is not meant as an interrogation - but I got the sense you were withholding something from your hypotheses earlier.”

Kirk tried to keep the flush from his face, the delicate tremble from his fingers, crossed as they were on the table. He met Spock’s gaze with deliberate intensity.

To his surprise, Spock reached across the surface of the table and placed his hand atop one of Kirk’s.

Kirk glanced at this, then back up at his commanding officer. The points where Spock’s fingers met his skin thrummed with energy. Spock had not broken eye contact. “Spock…” Kirk had no idea what he was asking.

“Jim. Are you ill? You are projecting an unusually strong sense of anxiety.” Spock paused, looking as if he were about to say something else. No words came.

Kirk felt a strange mixture of swelling infatuation and pure mortification at the idea that Spock was telepathically checking on him. Though he’d learned, in the academy and in his years serving with Spock, certain shielding strategies and points of etiquette around Vulcan telepathy, if Spock were to go looking for some evidence of Kirk’s… attraction...

“I’m…” Kirk broke eye contact. He couldn’t do this. Not now. “I’m fine, Mr. Spock.” He was tempted to add some halfhearted qualifier, I’m tired, or, just lost in thought, but stopped himself. It would have been redundant.

Illogical.

“Jim… I…” Spock’s brows knitted ever so slightly. “...you’re correct about the statements I made regarding the devices on Sylandro.”

“What else is there?” Kirk leaned forward over the desk, happy for the change of subject.

Spock withdrew his fingers, but kept his hand on the table beside Kirk’s. “My earlier theory about the reason for ours and O’Connor’s separate destinations was incomplete. I believe I am correct in thinking that the devices register electromagnetic impulses coming from living tissue. However, in retrospect it is unlikely that the impulses that are registered are only those coming from contact points.”

Kirk stared blankly. Spock continued. “What I mean to say, captain, is that I believe the transporters also work by some highly advanced form of artificial telepathy.”

Now Kirk narrowed his eyes. Certainly, if the machines were somehow telepathic, Spock would have been the first to know.

“What makes you say so, Mr. Spock?”

“Captain.” and here Spock leaned closer, over the table, meeting Kirk halfway so that their noses were scarcely three inches apart. “My current hypothesis is that at some point, Sylandro was indeed inhabited. The society that thrived on the planet was advanced enough that they built these transporters as a way of quickly moving a large population of individuals underground during planetary night, when the surface temperature would become too cold to support life. If my theory is correct, these… clusters… of transporters were intended to move groups of individuals in what you or I might recognize as family units, of some fashion. Obviously, unless these beings had evolved near supernatural reflexes, it would have been easier to use some sort of thought projection to direct the destination of the transporter beam.”

Spock paused, giving Kirk a searching look. Kirk stared into the Vulcan’s brown eyes, watched the way the light of his quarters illuminated the stately angles of Spock’s face. He breathed deeply, attempting to quell his rising heart rate.

“Jim, what I’m attempting to convey is that I think the transporters work by grouping together individuals who are thinking about each other, or who have some...connection to one another.”

Spock watched Kirk intently as understanding bloomed across the Captain’s face.

“Spock… I….”

Spock barreled on, evidently not wanting the Captain to continue until he’d said his piece. “Jim. Though it did not occur to me until after the fact, the central point of my hypothesis is the fact that I felt you, telepathically, at the moment we were transported.”

Kirk’s mouth hung slightly open. He dared not look away from his first officer, though his eyes could suddenly find no safety on the Vulcan’s face, and darted from nose, to lips, to eyes and back again. For a moment, the captain could swear he saw a green flush trace its way up Spock’s ears, but he could not linger long enough to confirm the thought.

“You felt…. me?”

“Yes captain. It was… fascinating.” As if in response to the pained look Kirk gave him, he offered, “and certainly not unpleasant. Merely a… novel sensation.”

“You’ve connected… in that manner… with me before, Spock. Was this time… different?”

Spock tilted his head slightly, considering this. “Indeed. In prior instances, I have entered your mind with a deliberate goal. Regardless of whether you were in an appropriate state to shield or divert attention from certain areas of your psyche, I tend to…” Spock leaned back in his chair, again seeming to search. “I have always tried to show respect, and leave your private thoughts… private. Jim.”

Spock looked back at his captain. “However, when we were on the planet I felt… a much more whole impression. It happened very quickly, and I was not able to retain the majority of what I felt. The only thing I was left with was a definite impression of… myself. Reflected in your superficial thoughts. Perhaps embedded deeper.”

Kirk sat frozen in his seat, unsure of how to proceed. Thankfully, Spock continued for him.

“It is not illogical, given that we have served alongside one another, in close proximity, for an extended period of time. While officer O’Connor has certainly been nearby, neither of us, I believe, interact with her on anything close to a daily basis.”

Nodding slowly, Kirk stood up from his seat and began pacing. “Indeed,” he said, reflecting his friend’s syntax. “You’ve certainly left a… lasting impression in my mind, Mr. Spock.” He felt his face growing hot, cursed his apparently fragile pride. “More so than O’Connor, I dare say.” He paused, turned on a heel. “Not, of course, that I find anything objectionable about O’Connor. I simply haven’t gotten to know her.” His eyes fell back on Spock, who was carefully watching the captain’s path across the room.

Spock now stood, leaving one hand on Kirk’s desk. “At any rate, captain, it is merely a hypothesis. I should like to study these devices more thoroughly during our orbital passage, as they may be able to tell us more about the inhabitants of the planet, and their fate. For the time being, however, I shall leave you to your mandatory rest.” He finished with a rather pointed look at Kirk.

The captain nodded.“Thank you Mr. Spock. We’ll resume this conversation at 0600 hours.”

A moment passed. The two men stood frozen, looking at one another, a sense of anticipation filling the space between them. Or maybe Kirk simply imagined it.

Spock was the first to straighten, pulling lightly at the front of his uniform. “Goodnight, captain.”

“Goodnight, Spock.”

--

Jim Kirk’s dreams were fitful and vivid.

He drifted through an imagined story arc that started off normally, on the bridge, the view from the captain’s chair. Flashing to other locations. The briefing room. His own quarters.

Spock’s quarters.

Impressions of teeth. Skin flashing against red curtains. Heat.

Back to the captain’s chair, only this time the bridge was empty save for Spock, on all fours between the captain’s knees, one eyebrow raised to the heavens. Bending, crawling forward, a flutter and some breathless motion that didn’t seem to have any start or end, then Kirk was staring over slick black hair at the viewscreen and colours were exploding out of it.

Colours that Kirk couldn’t describe, somehow knew he wouldn’t remember when he awoke, even while unaware that he was dreaming. Each seemed to have its own sound, its own flavour. Some were distinctly sharp, and Kirk felt himself jump as a particularly vivid shade of orange-green sliced razor sharp across his cheek, and he watched as Spock, engulfed in a growing fuzz of pink and yellow and metallic bronze, rose to meet Kirk’s face and smeared deep, arterial crimson across his lips with two fingers.

Then the Enterprise lurched violently, weighed down by the crush of pooling color and Kirk jolted awake.

Back in reality, the Enterprise was in a state of revolt, snapping aggressively to one side, causing Kirk to slide down the mattress and press against the adjacent wall. He struggled to unwrap himself from the blankets, which were sticky with sweat and tangled around his limbs. He reached frantically for the comm above the headboard but was thrown backward by another thump of turbulence.

Finally kicking himself free of the blanket, Kirk lunged again for the comm, hitting his mark this time. “Kirk to bridge! Report!”

Chapter Text

The bridge was a flurry of activity and alarms as Captain Kirk half-ran through the sliding doors, still in the process of pulling his yellow tunic on over his black undershirt. It was just after two in the morning by his Earth-standard watch, and most of the bridge positions were still being manned by panicked-looking relief crewmen.

There was a concerning sideways tilt to the entire space. Kirk slid into his chair with some difficulty just as the sliding doors hissed again and Commander Spock strode in, bearing his usual air of authority.

Kirk, sleep deprived, confused, and worried for the state of his ship, gave Spock a look that must have been pleading, for the commander met his eyes with a frown that was nearly human.

“Captain.” A sense of something unsaid hung between them, still.

“I hope you managed to get some rest, Mr. Spock.”

“Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans, captain. I am quite functional.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Spock.” Kirk looked back at the comm screen, over the heads of his relief helmsman Adams and navigator Th’taasrik. “Adams. What can you tell me?”

Adams turned in her chair to face Kirk. “We don’t know for certain, captain, but it would seem that we’re caught in some sort of gravitational pull. It’s coming from the planet, and it’s very strong - too strong to be strictly related to the planet’s mass.” The helmsman’s dark eyes flickered quickly to the commander, as she continued, “Unless our current calculations are inaccurate.”

Kirk turned to look at Spock, who had taken his place at his monitor, relieving a younger science officer who seemed happy to relinquish the controls, though unsure of what to do with his new freedom.

“Spock?”

“Captain, Ms. Adams is correct, we are being pulled toward the planet by a gravitational field that seems to be originating from… inside the planet.”

“Inside? What do you mean inside?” Kirk stood and covered the distance between his chair and Spock’s station in three long strides.

Spock kept his focus fixed intently on the monitor. “As I said, the helmsman is correct. I have run the planetary mass calculations again, and I see no error. We are being pulled toward the planet by gravitational attraction, despite not having moved our position from what was a stable orbit approximately four hours ago. I am detecting an extremely dense mass below the planet’s surface, however, it is not associated with the planet’s core. It is, functionally, inside the planet. Jim.”

Kirk thought to himself that if the Enterprise weren’t in danger of being wrecked, Spock’s statement would come across as a joke made for his benefit. He looked at the blank comm screen for a moment, then back at Spock, watching the Vulcan’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly under the blue fabric of his uniform.

Get to work, Jim.

“Ensign Th’taasrik. I’d like you to perform a search in the control panel memory. Approximately seven hours ago, Mr. Sulu was able to map our location under the surface of the planet using the comm signal that Mr Spock devised. Sulu should have saved the sensor map. Would you please pull it up on the screen?”

“Aye Captain,” said Th’taasrik, his Andorian-accented voice calm and steady as he tapped various lighted keys on the control panel.

“Helmsman, correct course away from the planet, just enough to regain stable orbit.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The Enterprise shuddered for a frightening moment. “Captain,” Adams said, voice as steady as the navigator’s. “There’s too much resistance. We need more power.”

Kirk depressed one of the buttons on the right side of his chair. “Bridge to engineering!”

To his surprise, Mr. Scott’s voice sounded through the comm system. “Aye, captain.” There was a pause. “I couldn’t sleep, sir, I was getting seasick. I’m giving ‘er power now, hold on a moment.”

An image appeared on the central screen, catching Kirk’s eye. “The map you requested, sir.” Th’taasrik kept any sense of self-assuredness out of his voice.

“Thank you navigator.” Kirk stood up, as if a heightened vantage point might allow him to better scrutinize the image. A series of radar-green lines and circles intersected across a field of black space on the viewscreen. “Mr. Spock--”

A blinking red spot appeared on the map. Spock was, as usual, way ahead of his captain.

Kirk cleared his throat. “Thank you, commander.”

He stared at the overlay of visual inputs, steadying himself with one hand as Scotty’s work came through and the Enterprise righted herself, gliding a few kilometers further away from the planet and settling into a new orbital trajectory. Adams sounded slightly out of breath as she declared it.

Taking advantage of the ship’s stability, Kirk walked over to lean on the railing in front of Spock’s station. “What do you make of that, Spock?” He tried unsuccessfully to keep the playful lilt out of his tone.

They shared a look. Spock raised an eyebrow and turned back to the screen. “It would seem, Captain, that the gravitational force originates from an underground chamber very close to the one we recently explored.”

“What is it?”

“Unclear, captain. Were it in my nature to guess, I would assume that the planetary transporter devices are somehow involved.”

Kirk smiled broadly, and though Spock did not turn around, the captain had the distinct feeling that the Vulcan was aware of it. “What a shame that it’s not in your nature, Mr. Spock.” He looked again at the viewscreen. “Is it stable?”

“Captain, it appears to be slowly taking on circumference, though its mass and density are evidently static, for the time being. The fact that we only recently noticed its presence leads me to believe that it began to accumulate from a negligible mass starting some time after we made planetfall.”

Kirk looked back at Spock, and something caught in his throat. Spock straightened and turned to the captain, as if waiting for the statement.

“We have to go.”

Chapter Text

“In a pig’s eye you’re beaming down planetside. If what Spock just said is true you’ll both be killed!” Dr. McCoy was stuffing a kit bag with hypos and medical scanners. “I’m coming with you.”

“Doctor, it is most illogical for you to accompany the captain and I, if you are concerned about the safety of the mission.”

“It’s the safety of you two idiots that I’m concerned about, Spock.”

“Careful there Bones,” said Kirk, watching as McCoy tossed a handful of coloured vials into the bag, “wouldn’t want to give Pointy here the impression that you... care about him.” He looked up at Spock with a sparkle in his eyes. The Vulcan raised his right eyebrow.

McCoy responded by passing his medical scanner over the top of Kirk’s head.

“Strange, you seem to be in your right mind…”

“Alright Dr. McCoy, if you insist on coming for medical reasons, I suppose even I can’t dispute that. We’d better hurry though, we don’t know how much time we have before this… disturbance… gets even bigger.”

--

Scotty was waiting for them in the transporter room - he seemed momentarily surprised by the presence of Dr. McCoy, but said nothing of it.

Spock had requested they be beamed down to the same coordinates as Scotty’s earlier rescue party, assuaging Kirk’s protests about the inefficiency of such a location with an offhand remark about wanting to test a theory.

Kirk wondered, as he stood once again on the transporter platform dressed in his heavy parka and boots, whether McCoy thought him a doormat for the Vulcan.

“Ready to beam down, Mr. Scott.”

“Aye, captain.”

The transporter began to work, and Kirk was plunged into a thick, whirling tide of colours.

He set his jaw, suddenly unable to focus on anything. The effort of reaching out an arm felt like pulling himself through a pool of molasses, and he was flooded with the conflicting senses of weightlessness and simultaneous crushing. He felt disconnected from his body, watching his hand flashing upward and across his field of vision at a speed and angle that seemed impossible for human physiology.

Kirk tried to cry out and was met with surging resistance, as if his mouth had filled with some heavy, foamy substance as soon as he’d parted his lips. Were his eyes open, or was he seeing a strange world through lids that were stuck shut?

“S-p-o-c-c-c-c-c-k-k-k-k-k-k?” His cry seemed to reverberate through the density of this universe, slowed nearly to a stop so the monosyllabic name was the very beginning, and end, of time.

“Captain?”

Kirk blinked, Spock’s face filling his field of vision. The olive-coloured skin was once again bathed in pink, and Kirk gathered that he must still be alive by how his heart rate quickened with the effort not to touch his first officer’s cheek. He looked down at his hands, and experimentally lifted an arm, allowing the hand to come to rest on Spock’s shoulder.

“Spock--”

“Jim, what the hell is that?”

McCoy was gesturing into what looked like unoccupied space. They were in an empty underground chamber, possibly the same one that Kirk and Spock had entered upon previous planetfall. Possibly an entirely new one. The omnipresent black monoliths stood in a silent ring in front of them. Kirk steadied himself, gritting his teeth against a wave of nausea and panic.

Then something caught in his vision, and he squinted at a point in the centre of the ring.

It seemed at first to be an anomaly on the wall opposite them - though when he tried to adjust his focus, the disturbance shifted instantly into his blind spot.

Kirk shuffled nearer to McCoy, his eyes fixed on that spot that he couldn’t quite see, his mind only vaguely cataloging the fact of Spock’s gloved fingers hooked delicately around his forearm for support.

Something seemed to materialize as his point of view moved on a horizontal plane, something that he couldn’t describe except to say it seemed as though the fabric of space itself was folding inward at a particular juncture, as if he was seeing the chamber reflected in a funhouse mirror.

“Doctor.” Spock spoke slowly and carefully. Kirk noticed that the Vulcan was still holding on to his arm, and the Captain now wondered if it was in fact Spock who needed stabilizing. “If my tricorder readings are accurate - and I have no reason to believe they are not - that is a wormhole.”

“A wormhole!?” Kirk nearly choked on his whisper, more of a hissed half-shout. He turned to look at Spock, who met his gaze steadily, though a roiling storm brewed just behind the dark eyes.

“Indeed, captain.”

McCoy whirled around with a severity that usually meant he was about to tear into the half-Vulcan, but as he came to face the other two men all surety faded from his expression.

“A wormhole, Spock?”

“I am certain you were within earshot of my previous statement,” said Spock.

“Can it, Mr. Spock, I heard you. ...A wormhole. God almighty, I thought these were just a theory!”

“The theory was apparently quite sound.”

Kirk glanced back at the anomaly, then, deciding it was too much of a strain on his already exhausted mind, turned to rest his gaze on Spock. “If this is what’s dragging the Enterprise toward the planet, how come we’re not getting torn to shreds standing here?” As he said it, Kirk felt his balance fail, fractionally. His imagination? He wanted to grab Spock, but resisted the urge.

“Captain, I believe the monoliths are serving to protect us from that effect. While the wormhole is exuding a strong gravitational force, within this chamber, spacetime is bending back proportionally against the shape of the wormhole as it forms. This may also explain the issue of the transporter’s inaccuracy - the pull is so strong here that it is dragging the photons of the energy beam toward it. This chamber is an incredibly powerful gravitational stasis field.”

Kirk moved to run his fingers through his hair, but was met with the hood of his parka. ‘I’m not even going to ask how that’s possible”

“Incredible,” McCoy was saying. “Terrifying.” He shook his head. “What I wouldn’t give for a Saurian brandy right about now.”

“The fact remains that the wormhole is increasing in size. If it grows to overtake these monoliths, it is logical to expect that the stasis field will fail. At that point… there is only theory to predict what will happen to us… or the Enterprise.”

“But it’s not good, is it?”

“Considering we have no way to determine if the wormhole is traversable by carbon-based life forms… no, it is not good, Jim.”

“Can’t we just transport out of here?” Asked McCoy. "Cut our losses and go?”

Kirk shivered under the trickle of ice water that flowed down his spine as he looked at Spock. The Vulcan’s face was as calm as it ever had been, but there was something about his eyes… the captain felt fear washing over him him, emanating from the tall figure.

“Given that our very atoms were pulled into this chamber, several kilometers away from our intended coordinates on the surface of the planet, the chances of us beaming back up to the Enterprise fully intact are 2,896:1.”

Kirk grimaced, allowing himself, for just a moment, to give in to the fear. Then he took a breath and said, “so what do we do?”

The uneasiness dissipated, slightly, as Kirk watched his first officer straighten, the brown eyes steeling themselves as they met the hazel ones.

McCoy stood, arms crossed, looking back and forth between captain and commander, and Kirk sensed a heavy sigh caught in the doctor’s throat.

“We will require a strong source of electromagnetic energy,” Spock said, choosing his words slowly, a plan assembling itself as he spoke.

Kirk glanced around them. “The communicators? Your tricorder?”

Spock shook his head slightly, more of a twitch than anything. “Not direct enough.” The Vulcan glanced at McCoy, then met Kirk’s eyes with an almost undetectable thinning of the lips, an infinitesimal tilt of the brows, something that looked like an apology for an event that had yet to transpire.

“What?” Kirk said it so quietly he wasn’t sure if Spock had even heard him. No, those Vulcan ears…

“I believe I understand more about the beings who built these structures, now,” Spock began, turning his gaze to the nearest black form. “To harness the power of a wormhole… they were very advanced. And... likely not possessed of physical bodies.”

“Energy beings?” McCoy piped up.

“I believe so, doctor. The cold temperatures on Sylandro render carbon-based life on an intelligent scale nearly impossible… however, for purely energy-based life forms it would be merely… difficult. They were desperate. The entropy required to forge these monoliths out of the stone of the planet must have nearly depleted them… all to create this… portal. So they could escape the planet.”

Kirk watched Spock with rapt attention. The commander was stone-faced, with the barest hint of sorrow playing across his mouth. Spock turned to face them.

“As I am the only one in our current party with any telepathic abilities, I believe my mind has the strongest electromagnetic impulses.” He paused, gathering himself. “Effectively, I must attempt to communicate with the structure. Reach into it, with my mind and… attempt to control it, or cease its function. Something like a mind meld, with an inanimate object.”

“You’re putting yourself in danger, Spock.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, though Kirk felt himself hoping that Spock would respond with a reassuring negative, Captain.

“Possibly, captain. However, I see no other way to stop the wormhole from growing… and the needs of the many…” he gave a tiny shrug, looking into Kirk’s eyes. Kirk didn’t need to finish the sentence aloud - he was certain Spock heard him thinking it.

“Alright Mr. Spock. But McCoy and I will be standing by if…” he trailed off, knowing Spock would only admonish him for putting his friend above his entire crew.

Spock moved toward the nearest monolith, the earlier confidence of his stride vanishing with each step.

He pulled off his gloves, and Kirk reached out, stopping himself just before crying out. A human could lose a finger to frostbite and be fine, but a touch-telepath like Spock? Before Kirk could say anything McCoy had his hands on Kirk’s shoulders, holding the captain back.

“Jim, let him do what he has to do.”

Kirk was quiet. They watched as Spock drew in a preparatory breath, closing his eyes and resting the palms of his hands against the smooth obsidian. There was a beat in which Spock’s posture seemed to relax into the meld, the face dropping its stiff Vulcan mask in fractions, smoothing into a look of total vulnerability as Spock gave himself to the link. Kirk couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen Spock in the process of a meld, and he felt his breath hitch at seeing a look so akin to the expression of sexual ecstasy he’d imagined, in his more indulgent moments, blossoming across the pale face in response to some stroking pressure of Kirk’s fingers or tongue.

It was a face he’d wanted desperately to look at, for so long.

But not like this.

The mask fell once more like a shroud over Spock’s features, and as Kirk and McCoy watched, it hardened and twisted into a grimace, a snarl of pain that Kirk felt as an icy blade through his stomach.

“Spock!”

“Jim, damn it, leave him--”

The Vulcan’s neck jerked, then his entire body shuddered, the hands appearing fused to the monolith while he convulsed.

Then Jim was fighting against McCoy’s grip. McCoy was surprisingly strong, but Kirk was stronger. He tore free and was halfway to Spock before McCoy’s fingers could close around arms that were in his grasp half a second before. Kirk heard the doctor swearing as he pitched forward onto the chamber floor, having sacrificed his footing in a ditch effort to capture his superior officer.

But Bones could take care of himself. And Spock… Spock could take care of himself better than anyone. But Kirk needed Spock. Kirk wasn’t going to lose Spock.

Not here, not now. Those words that he’d been repeating like a mantra for months seemed suddenly to reverse their meaning. Protecting Spock would mean laying his mind and heart open, like a map for his first officer to read. It would mean giving himself over to the Vulcan, confessing everything. Everything.

Kirk’s mind and heart screamed NOW!

He tore off his gloves and pressed his bare fingers against Spock’s.

Chapter Text

For a split second, Kirk was enveloped in a hum of energy that he’d felt before, on those occasions when Spock had entered his mind. The energy exploded outward, exponentially amplified until it overwhelmed Kirk’s senses and he felt as if he might explode, his head ripping apart in a burst of light.

Disconnected, floating in a sea of flame, he tried to call out to Spock or to reach for him mentally, but he couldn’t make a sound. His small thoughts were quickly swept away in the tide of energy that was threatening to obliterate him entirely.

Focus, Jim. C’mon and focus.

Kirk strained against the light and heat, struggling to feel, to open his eyes or ears for any sign of Spock. An eternity passed as Kirk drifted in that rushing slipstream, and he clung to the idea of himself like a raft - his physical body, out there with McCoy. He was still alive, at least.

Focus!

He wished Bones could be here as well, maybe to deliver a swift slap across the face. Kirk grabbed at that feeling, reeling it in around himself, the familiar knowledge that he was out there, in a real body, in a real place.

Focus!

Jim!

The voice wasn’t his own. Kirk opened his eyes.

Spock.

He saw, somehow, the Vulcan’s face passing in and out of his mental vision, blurred and distorted behind a wave of colors. Was he dreaming again? Spock’s image reached out a hand. Kirk grabbed it and felt the pull and the jolt as Spock’s mind entered his with a level of force that went against the man’s usual gentle demeanour.

Kirk said, or thought, in spite of himself, Spock. The name was suffused with emotion. He was powerless to mask it here. His heart swelled with sadness, need, fear, desire… love. The image of Spock was gone but Kirk could feel the sharpness of the half-Vulcan mind, the heat of that body, the spider-silk tangle of the link threading itself around his mind, trying to find some hold.

The name.

Jim Kirk felt the tightening of the web around him, fears - that he was lost or that Spock would be torn away - melting off of him, as ice in hot water. He searched inside himself for Spock’s presence and felt a jumble of confused, fragmented thoughts firing simultaneously, coming to the surface and sinking back again like sparks.

There was surprise. Under it, sorrow. Guilt. Fear.

The link seemed to tremble under the weight of both Kirk and Spock’s minds, boiling with Kirk’s anxiety, and Spock’s pain at the power of the monoliths. Kirk steeled himself, pushing away the fear and shame.

He was lighter. He had done the thing he’d thought he couldn’t, he’d confessed everything to Spock. He sidestepped the sadness at the thought that his love was not reflected in Spock’s mind, and he felt powerful. Kirk imagined himself wrapping the lightness around Spock like a blanket, pushing away the wormhole, the monoliths, everything that would harm his first officer. His love became a shield, his want, a weapon.

Kirk felt surety. He felt Spock, and Spock’s mind again, reflecting back at him.

Relief.

Spock was safe, with Kirk by his side. And more emotions flooded into the link.

Desire.

Kirk steadied himself, asserting his focus.

Love.

And there was Spock, whole, his entire mind suddenly radiating a sense of joy that was so powerful, so overwhelming, that it enveloped them, making them as one. Then the joy was tempered with sadness, and Kirk knew the sadness as Spock’s, and his. How long had they denied themselves this simple feeling, each man trapped in his own self-made purgatory?

Kirk heard his name reflected back at him, and was flooded with desire. God, but he had never wanted Spock as badly as he did at this moment, never wanted anything like he wanted Spock, knowing that Spock wanted him.

Spock wanted him.

Yes, Jim.

A trill of embarrassment passed across the link as Kirk wondered what effect this transcendental desire was having on his physical form. He’d owe McCoy a drink, when this was over. Then Spock’s stronger mind fed into his, as if to say, not now. Later. Later.

Jim, the wormhole. Spock’s voice rang out in his head, and Jim suddenly remembered the monoliths, the surging tide of energy and alien colors threatening to overtake them.

What do we do?

I have been able to glean some information. The monoliths seem to work on a system of control via visualization. Now that our minds are linked we can harness a level of mental energy on par with the weakest members of the race that built the structures. I am going to attempt to project a mental image of the wormhole. You must visualize it closing and disappearing.

Kirk tried to focus on Spock’s words rather than the underlying tone of almost tearful happiness that flickered across the link as the commander spoke.

Visualize it closing, got it. ...How will we know that it worked?

Have you seen the colours?

Yes. You’ve seen them too?

The wormhole appears to open into a six-dimensional region of space, possibly outside of our own universe, Jim. The colors are, essentially, the product of our four-dimensionally adapted minds trying to interpret that space. When the wormhole appears through the meld, you will likely see it in some form related to the colours that you have been seeing since we first made planetfall. I believe that the disappearance of the colours will signify that space being cut off from our reality.

Kirk thought an affirmative, opening his mind to the space. Somehow he understood that he would never again be able to see or even imagine what he was seeing here and now, this white-bright storm of energy and fire, Spock’s presence so strong that he could see and feel the man standing in front of him, next to him, behind him, all without really seeing a thing, in the bodily sense.

And then came the colours, spilling in from a growing tear in the fabric of Kirk’s reality. He couldn’t tell where the tear originated, only that it was growing to engulf him.

Jim. Concentrate on my voice. Focus yourself and find the center of the wormhole.

Kirk relaxed, holding the image of Spock in the back of his mind. His own, real, four-dimensional Mr. Spock.

The colours burst out from a pinprick circle of white light in the centre of Kirk’s vision.

He imagined the chamber where they stood wrenched against the monolith. The black, oblong shapes growing, folding inward, the chamber walls coming with them and flooding this dream-state. He imagined himself grabbing each tendril of pigment, the odd shapes that seemed to float past his vision, and pushing it all back through the tiny pinprick hole.

He imagined Spock, behind him, holding him, helping him. The sturdy Vulcan weight, the stoic yet oddly warm eyes.

Spock he said or thought, and felt the emotions attached to the name swelling up and out of him infusing each limb with an untold sense of power.

I’m here, Jim.

The mention of his name, the reverberating crescendo of joy, grew in Kirk’s mind and he gathered it up, imagining it as a ball of light, pushing it out at the wormhole.

Kirk felt Spock’s watchful mind as the ball of light travelled to meet the wormhole, gathering threads of color as it moved across that indescribable distance. As it reached the wormhole it distended into an ovoid, becoming longer and longer until it was just a colored string itself, and as it made contact with that tiny wormhole there was a crackle of electricity that shuddered down the entirety of the thread, the end of which Kirk could no longer find.

Captain. Jim. I believe it is working.

Kirk could scarcely hear Spock over the commotion inside his own head. He watched for a flash and bang of closure, but the color and light grew to overtake him, making it impossible to perceive much of anything else. At a point, it became a singeing pain in the back of his skull, and down his spine.

We have to break the link, Spock! But Spock was already pulling back, reeling in Kirk’s mind. The captain felt a twinge of brief regret, the sort that he might feel upon finishing a truly wonderful novel, or being forced to leave a picturesque world. Then everything turned to black and Kirk slipped into unconsciousness.

In the chamber under the surface of Sylandro, Jim Kirk and Spock simultaneously buckled and fell to the ground, fingers still intertwined.

Chapter Text

When Kirk next opened his eyes it was to McCoy’s face, lined with worry, and the familiar whirring of the doctor’s cylindrical medical scanner. Kirk blinked, holding his body still while the scanner passed over him.

“Thank god,” McCoy breathed.

“Spock…” Kirk said, his mouth dry. The cold came back to him all at once. He shuddered, realizing the front of his parka was unzipped, evidently to reduce interference during the scan.

“Spock’s fine, Jim. But--” and here McCoy clamped his hands down against Jim’s struggling shoulders, “he’s slipped into one of those healing trances of his.”

“Healing… trance…” Kirk paused as his heart rate levelled. “Right. Of course.” Feeling was returning to his limbs, a whole, bodily awareness along with a pounding ache in his left side, probably from hitting the chamber floor at terminal velocity.

“Do you think you can stand, Jim? I’m going to get Scotty to beam us out of here, but I’ll need your help in propping up Mr. Spock. I always forget how damned heavy he is.”

Jim wiggled his toes inside their insulated boots. For Spock, he’d stand with two broken femurs.

“Yes... Yes, of course. Help me up, would you, Bones?”

With McCoy’s help, Kirk got to his feet with only minor stumbling. His eyes flicked over to his first officer. Spock was lying prone on the floor beside them. McCoy must have dragged him away from the monolith, and Kirk found himself, perhaps illogically, grateful for this. He looked back to the structures, which seemed to have taken on a dull, weathered appearance. As if they were missing something, now.

Kirk took a few gingerly steps forward, then collapsed into a kneel. “Spock…” he whispered, not knowing if the man could hear him or not. Kirk pressed an ear to the chest to listen for breathing. It was there, regular, quiet and deep. Resisting the urge to brush the Vulcan’s face, he sighed with something like relief. “Alright, let’s get you back up to the ship where it’s warm.”

He nodded to McCoy, who flipped open his communicator.

This time, the trip back up to the Enterprise was instantaneous and unmemorable. A pair of security officers were waiting in the transporter room to whisk Kirk and Spock away to sickbay, with McCoy silently bringing up the rear.

--

Kirk must have dipped into unconsciousness again because when he was next aware of his surroundings he was lying on one of the hard beds in sickbay. The vital sign monitors hummed a comfortingly steady bass rhythm.

The captain turned his head to see Spock prone on a second bed, stripped down to his trousers and black undershirt, elegant as ever in his repose.

Kirk gazed unabashedly, knowing that there was no one there to see or admonish him. What a beautiful face, he thought. How beautiful Spock was, that knife-sharp mind, in that body. That body! Kirk savoured each angle of the Vulcan’s face, the gentle rise of the sturdy, slim chest and the inward dip at the waist. His eyes traced up the exposed skin of Spock’s arm, the oddly sensual contour of the vein that ran from shoulder to elbow along the bicep. A strange mixture of deep contentment and intense longing came over Kirk then, and he turned his attention to the ache in his chest, the familiar warmth growing below.

Be patient. Spock was here beside him. That would have to be enough for now.

He must have been smiling when Nurse Chapel came in. She gave him a bemused look, tilting her head as he turned to face her.

“Oh good, you’re awake, sir. How are you feeling?”

Kirk tried, with difficulty, to push away the hum of lust and take stock of himself. “I feel...good. Thank you, nurse. A little tired, perhaps… a little sore, but all things considered… good.” And the grin came back in full force, Kirk powerless to stop it. “How is Mr. Spock?”

“To my knowledge he’s in about the same state. According to Dr. M’Benga, the commander will be in ship-shape once he wakes up from his trance.”

“And how long until then, Chapel?”

The Nurse looked at Spock and gave him a slight, sad smile. “I’m not sure. The doctor estimated between six and 12 hours.”

Kirk nodded, then fell silent. Chapel stood beside his bed, reading his vital signs and making notes on her PADD.

The sliding doors hissed and McCoy walked in.

“Ah, Jim, you’re awake.”

“How long was I out, Bones?”

“Not long-- less than half an hour. You passed out in the hallway, luckily officer Werner had a good grip on you. I gave you a mild analgesic - you’ve got quite a bruise on your shoulder.”

Kirk flexed the shoulder in question, the injury making itself immediately known.

“How’re his signs, Christine?”

“Stable, sir.”

McCoy nodded. “Let’s keep him under observation for a couple more hours, nurse.” He turned to Kirk. “If you’re still stable after that we can release you, but only on the condition that you go straight to your quarters and get some real sleep.”

Kirk nodded.

--

Four hours of dozing half-consciousness elapsed. Kirk knew he’d dreamt, but when McCoy returned to check on him he found he had no recollection of any of it. He yawned, wincing only slightly as the doctor administered another hypo to his shoulder.

“You awake, captain?”

“Mm… yes doctor.”

“Uh huh. Right, well, if you’re still feeling alright and you’d like to retreat to a more comfortable bed…”

“Mmm.” Kirk felt himself waking up. He flexed the muscles in his arms, then his legs, feeling as though he was returning to his body for the third time today. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, favouring his injured shoulder.

“Do you need an escort sir?” Chapel asked, when Kirk had to steady himself against the bed after stumbling forward upon standing.

“No, no thank you Nurse. I’ll be okay. Just...need some sleep.” Kirk took a few more steps, as if to prove his point. By the time he’d reached the door he felt nearly normal, if slightly woozy from the pain medication, which was just beginning to take effect. He stepped halfway through the door, then turned back to look at McCoy. “Oh, and doctor… please, contact me as soon as Spock wakes up.”

“Jim...”

“Please, Leonard.”

McCoy sighed and shook his head fractionally. “Sure, Jim.”

--

Kirk thought that he actually felt fine, all things considered, as he made his way down the hallway to his quarters. He even offered a firm, almost paternal nod to an gold-shirted ensign who passed him in the hall.

The lights in his quarters were preset to a drowsy yellow glow, and he thought about simply flopping onto the bed and passing out. Instead, he steered himself into the washroom and ran water until it was almost unbearably hot, then splashed his face, relishing the nearly painful feeling of the heat on his ice-kissed nose and cheeks.

Kirk squinted at himself in the mirror. He’d looked better. His face was ruddy with windburn, and his eyes looked dull and red, shadowed from below by dark circles. He ran a damp hand through his hair and made up his mind to shower.

Ten minutes later he wrapped himself in a towel and carried out a final check for messages on his computer, before falling onto his unmade bed.

Sleep took him almost instantly.

Hours passed in the black oblivion of dreamless unconsciousness. Then, a sound - some creaking of the ship’s hull, a blip of machinery - Kirk’s subconscious filled in the gaps, and he dreamt.

He was standing on a smooth glacier in the midst of some unrecognizable terrain - the sun was shining brightly and directly overhead, reflecting off the ice and obscuring Kirk’s vision.

Then, through the brightness, a dark figure came walking toward him. Kirk shaded his eyes and watched as the man came closer, close enough to recognize.

It was Spock, dressed in something black and flowing that seemed to shift and change shape as he moved. Spock’s eyes sparkled with reflected sunlight, and Kirk found he could not look away from them - there was something about the eyes, an intensity that was almost hyperreal, a presence, a solid existence, that seemed to transcend Kirk’s subconscious.

Kirk reached out to Spock, soundlessly mouthing his name. Spock didn’t reply, but held eye contact and reached in turn, to Kirk. Their hands seemed to cross a great distance. Spock curled his thumb over his ring and pinky fingers, leaving his middle and index finger pointing straight at Kirk, a gesture that sparked memories, for Kirk, of cowboy games in the backyard, as a kid back in Iowa, far from all this. He mirrored the gesture, unthinking, and dream-Spock’s fingers met his. Kirk felt suddenly hot, a flash of electricity thrilling through his body, and his breath grew heavy and laboured.

Jim.

The feeling grew in intensity. Kirk’s chest ached and something deep inside his belly unfurled like rising steam. He shuddered. The name, again.

Jim.

He wanted to respond in kind but was powerless to speak, captured and bound by the intense effect of Spock’s tongue sounding out that single syllable. His fingers curled around Spock’s, while he gazed into those deep, dark brown eyes, his other hand tightening into itself, a knot pulling in his abdomen with a shimmering rush. Kirk cried out soundlessly, and all he could see was Spock’s face, those shining eyes, red lips moving with the name.

Kirk awoke in his quarters, gasping, and sat up with a jolt. The towel had fallen to the floor, leaving him stark naked, splayed out on top of his bedcovers. His skin shone with sweat, and his cock stood to obscene attention.

He rolled off the bed and picked up the towel to pat himself dry. His computer screen was blinking with a message from sickbay.

McCoy had sent just two words.

“He’s up.”

--

Somewhere in the back of his mind Kirk was impressed at having found the strength to flat-out sprint the distance to sickbay. He was doubly impressed that he was fully dressed when he arrived. His heart pounded nearly out of his chest as the doctor waved him through the sliding door.

Spock’s head and neck were propped up on two pillows to better serve Doctor M’Benga’s aim as he delivered swift blow after blow to the commander’s pale face. Kirk’s steps faltered, and he looked on in horror - though he knew by now that such violence was an intrinsic aspect of a successful Vulcan healing trance, he suddenly found that seeing his first officer in such duress was almost unbearable. It awakened some primal, possessive instinct in him, as if he’d prefer to be the one doing the slapping, as if M’Benga had no right touching his… his…

Ashayam...

Kirk half-jumped. He glanced at McCoy. “Did you… say something, doctor?” But he knew it was a stupid question even as he asked it. The word had come from inside his own head, though he had no recollection of such a word, and no clue as to its meaning.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t, captain. You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes. Must have just been… the noise.”

McCoy looked as if he was about to say something, but the cessation of M’Benga’s assault caught both his and Kirk’s attention. Spock was sitting upright, one hand wrapped around the doctor’s wrist.

Chapter Text

A moment passed before Kirk remembered to breathe.

“Thank you Doctor. That will be sufficient,” Spock was saying, releasing his grip on M’Benga’s wrist. The Vulcan turned to Kirk. “Captain…”

Kirk rushed to Spock’s bedside, brushing past M’Benga. The doctor seemed, for a second, poised to try to stop Kirk, but apparently contained the action upon seeing Spock’s slight expression.

“Spock!” Kirk curled his fingers around the edge of the bed. He could feel McCoy’s eyes drilling into his back, as well as some subtle background hum of...eagerness? Want? He straightened, cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”

“Quite alright, captain. Your own state, should be more of a concern, given that humans are not generally equipped to deal with that level of psychic energy.” Spock’s eyebrows knitted as he looked at Jim, as if he were examining the captain, searching for any trace evidence of damage.

“I feel fine Spock. In no small part thanks to you.” Jim smiled warmly, a smile that masked the sudden teenaged nervousness that fluttered in the pit of his stomach.

At that moment Spock seemed to be struggling to fight back a grin, and Kirk - whether he imagined it or not - allowed himself to bask in the warmth of the idea that he could be the cause of such an elusive thing as a Vulcan smile.

McCoy cleared his throat rather loudly. “Spock, I’d like to run a few more tests just to make sure you’re, uh, functioning normally.”

“Unnecessary, doctor. I can assure you I am quite fine.”

“Well,” McCoy said, looking up at the monitor more to avoid looking at either of his patients than to actually check vital signs, “that certainly sounds like the Spock I know. All the same, you’re in my sickbay, and are therefore under my jurisdiction.” And here McCoy looked pointedly at Kirk.

Jim was almost inclined to pull rank and request Spock in his quarters immediately for a full report, but he bit his tongue. He wanted Spock in optimal condition, given all the things he wanted to do to the commander.

He gave McCoy a curt nod, then turned to Spock. “Mr. Spock, please notify me as soon as you’re discharged, I’ll require a full report for my records.Contact me on the bridge.”

Spock nodded without breaking eye contact. “Captain.”

--

It was two hours before McCoy finally deemed Spock fit to return to duty. Kirk was sitting on the bridge, by all appearances monitoring the Enterprise’s retreat from Sylandro’s orbit. In truth his thoughts were elsewhere - specifically, in his cabin, performing a variety of explicit acts with some imaginary Spock.

Then the call came through and Kirk responded, as flatly as he could, “excellent, thank you McCoy. Please have him meet me at my quarters, prepared to offer a full report of today’s events.”

“Aye, Jim.” McCoy’s response was knowing, but kind.

Five minutes later Kirk was tapping his fingers on his desk, keeping time with the pounding beat of his heart. He’d been so comfortable with Spock for so long. Yet now he felt as if he were awaiting trial in front of some decorated Star Fleet admiral. His eyes flicked from the door, to the chair opposite him, to his bed.

After an age, the door slide open and Spock stepped in, looking as calm and confident as ever - a fact which Kirk didn’t find helpful.

“Mr. Spock! Um… please, sit down.”

Spock sat, looking quizzically at Kirk. “You wanted my report, Captain?”

“Yes… Spock… “ Kirk switched on his recording device. “Please, inform me of any information you were able to glean about the former inhabitants of Sylandro, based on what you experienced during the meld with the monolith structures.”

Spock nodded slowly, then began to speak. “Yes… while the meld was extremely taxing, I was able to note some trace information and pseudo-visual impressions of these life forms…”

Kirk found he was unable to focus on Spock’s words - partly because of the pink tint of the man’s lips and the delicate way they bent around each word, and partly because he could swear he was feeling emotions that weren’t entirely his own, a heady mix of nerves and desire that was as alien as any number of opiates he’d declined to try on various shore leave planets, and somehow, he suspected, just as strong.

After a time he realized Spock had trailed off. A long look stretched between them and space itself seemed to distort, pulling their faces closer together. They seemed to lean forward in increments -- until Kirk couldn’t stand it anymore.

He stood against the table and pressed his lips against those of his first officer.

Spock stiffened at first, taken by surprise, but eventually melted into the kiss, standing and leaning in turn so as to increase the pressure, the closeness. At length he parted his lips, ever so slightly, and Kirk took the bait, beginning a taunting game: Spock giving, inch by inch, and Kirk pressing further, deeper, as he was so used to doing, his tongue flicking into Spock’s mouth.

It had been months, years, eons since Kirk had wanted a kiss this badly, and no matter how long it lasted it would never be enough.

Yet it was Kirk who finally pulled away, with a gasp, to look up at Spock, whose hands had somehow migrated to Kirk’s shoulders, leaving the taller man supported only by the tension of his thighs pressing against the table.

“I… are you… is this okay?”

Though Spock did not smile, his features seemed to soften. “Quite, Jim.”

“I wasn’t sure… I mean, I know Vulcans don’t usually kiss, uh, with their mouths…”

“That is true.” Kirk felt a sudden arc of affection pass through him, certain it had not come from his own mind, despite his complementary feelings. “However, my half-human upbringing did afford me some experience with human displays of affection… I suppose, this is something my human half has wanted for a long time.”

Kirk’s heart jumped. He smiled, then paused. “...and your Vulcan half?”

Spock took Kirk’s hand with both of his. He gently curled Kirk’s fingers into that same gesture that Kirk had seen in his dreams, leaving the index and middle finger stiff and straight. Spock then ran his own index and middle finger up Kirk’s outstretched digits, stroking up and down their length in a gesture that was as plainly erotic as it was foreign to Kirk. Jim felt that same heat growing in his belly, and the buzz in his head, what he now realized must be Spock’s mind, glowing with need.

Kirk’s breath hitched and he mouthed Spock’s name. The Vulcan gave him a look that set his heart racing, and turned him instantly, achingly hard.

And Spock knew.

“Spock… please…” said Kirk.

It was the only thing he could remember how to say.

At once Spock was drawing him out from behind his desk and leading him to his bed. The captain, so accustomed to being the controller, the dominator, gave himself away in moments, allowing himself to be pushed onto his back, allowing Spock to peel his command-gold tunic up over his chest, and to plant small kisses over the exposed skin of his chest -- allowing Spock to run his tongue in a trail down to the button on Kirk’s slacks, lips lingering there for an aching moment.

Captain?

Spock’s voice echoed silently through Kirk’s mind and all he could think was yes, yes Spock, please and then Spock deftly undid his button and yanked down two layers of fabric, allowing Kirk’s dick to pull free, stiff and pink and throbbing.

Kirk allowed himself a sparing glance at Spock’s face, feeling that youthful nervousness again at being laid bare in front of this man, who had become so important to him. This was the culmination of months’ worth of dreams and waking fantasies, and Kirk dared not breathe for fear of disturbing the delicate magic that held it together. For his part, Spock looked awed, and it occurred hazily to Kirk that this might be a first for the commander in more ways than one. But then Spock’s long, beautiful fingers were wrapping around Kirk’s shaft and he couldn’t think anything anymore.

There began a slow stroking slide into paradise for Kirk, awash in the sensation of not only his own hard-on being pushed to further extremes, but also of Spock’s obvious arousal, pushing against the black trousers. Getting a grip momentarily Kirk breathed “Spock..” and then began to laugh, “take off your damn shirt.”

Spock looked up at his captain, then quickly obliged, and the swift action of pulling his shirt up over his head, slightly mussing his hair in the process, was one that Kirk found desperately erotic. The captain smiled. “Come here.”

The Vulcan’s eyes seemed to map the topography of Kirk’s naked form. Then, with a decisive quickness, the taller man gracefully went about removing every stitch of his clothing, and tossing it to the floor in a manner that was uncharacteristically haphazard. He climbed on top of Kirk, supporting his weight with his arms, hips tilted just so in order to put a frustrating half-inch between his green-tinged, double-ridged member and Kirk’s human one.

Kirk bit his lip and failed to stifle an impulsive moan. Spock’s mouth twitched as he looked down at his captain, surveying Kirk’s face with a spark in his eyes that Kirk had seen many times before but had only just learned to recognize. A twinge of a question traveled from the Vulcan mind, creating a delightfully lewd impression in Kirk’s imagination. He nodded up at Spock, offering a reassuring smile that perhaps came across as a little hungry, and Spock lowered first his lips, then his hips, obliterating the space between them.

He began moving rhythmically, slow and tentative at first, but gaining in speed as lust overtook inhibition. Spock’s tongue explored Kirk’s mouth with a desperate intensity while Kirk found he was incapable of focusing on anything save for the friction of Spock’s dick against his own. It wasn’t quite the right pressure, not quite in the right place, but somehow the fact that this was Spock, that this was happening, had Kirk on the very edge of coming, far sooner than he wanted to.

He pushed up against Spock and gasped for air. “Wait.”

“Is something the matter, Jim?”

“No! No. Nothing’s the matter. I just… I want this to last and… god, Spock, you’re…”

Spock paused, lifting himself slightly higher. “Jim, I have heard of certain human methods of deferring climax during sexual stimulation. Do you wish me to...” he raised an eyebrow with the question.

Jim Kirk laughed. I must be dreaming.

You are not, captain.

Kirk felt Spock’s voice in his mind and looked back up at the Vulcan. “Never mind. There’ll be plenty of time for that… sort of thing. For now…I…” Spock had begun to move again, softly, and Kirk’s words evaporated. “Mmmm...”

Spock’s mind hummed with pleasure. “Captain-- Jim… if you are willing, there is something I have wanted to try…”

And before Kirk realized he’d been thinking a steady stream of “yes, yes, yes,” Spock had shifted his weight down the bed and was running his tongue along Kirk’s shaft.

The captain sighed and let himself go limp, knowing this wouldn’t last long. Spock seemed to gather nerve, pressing his tongue flat against Kirk, then taking him in his mouth in one decisive action.

Kirk cried out, in spite of himself, and Spock’s movement paused momentarily, before starting up again in earnest. The hot Vulcan tongue swirled over Jim’s cock as the pink lips stroked up and down, gaining speed. Kirk thought of asking Spock where he’d learned to suck dick like that, then realized he’d already asked it. No immediate answer came from Spock, and Kirk didn't trouble himself.

Instead he thought of nothing save for the growing heat in his groin, his cock growing somehow even more rigid, his fingers tangling together with Spock’s, the involuntary bucking of his hips as Spock took him faster, deeper, and-- and--

His orgasm was the closest he would ever come to being back on Sylando, mind-linked with the monoliths. It was a rush of fire and electricity and his own, distant cries echoing off the walls of his quarters and deep inside both of their chests. He tensed, thrust through it, pumping his cock into Spock’s mouth as his first officer gripped him partially with one hand, lips and tongue yielding to each pulsing stroke.

Then Kirk collapsed back onto the bed, spent, save for a growing drive to return the favour. In just a moment, he said to himself, luxuriating in the view of Spock using his tongue to clean up the last errant droplets of come. Paradise, they thought together.

At length he regained some semblance of autonomy and barked in his best captain’s voice, “your turn, Mr. Spock.”

Spock looked up, suggestively wiping at the corner of his mouth, and raised an eyebrow.

“You don't think I’d just lay back and take without giving back… do you?”

“I… suppose not, captain.” Though the words were hesitant, Kirk was knocked back by a thrill of excitement that barrelled across the link. His eyes darted to Spock’s crotch and made mental note of the inviting patch of wiry black hair, and every gorgeous contour of his counterpart’s cock, which was hard and shiny with precum or the Vulcan equivalent.

Somehow they managed a relatively smooth rollover and Kirk found himself at long last right where he belonged -- barely an inch from the tip of a half-Vulcan penis.

Kirk steadied himself on his elbows, then took Spock’s shaft in one hand, cupping the pleasantly green-blushed balls in the other. He kissed the tip of Spock’s cock as he began slowly working up and down with his hand, fingers pressing the spots that he liked best, periodically looking up and trying to read Spock’s expression.

And oh, what an expression. For a man who was oft accused of being stoic to the point of robotic, Spock’s face was betraying an awful lot. The eyes were closed but the eyebrows and mouth had twisted into a mask of pure ecstasy. Kirk felt his own cock throbbing again, half a sympathetic reaction, half the surging power of Spock’s arousal flooding him mentally. He tore himself away, to focus on the task quite literally at hand, and brought his mouth down around Spock, eliciting a series of small sounds from the Vulcan that prompted him to release one hand in order to touch himself again, incredulous that was already so hard, so soon.

Spock, too, was on the brink rather quickly, if Kirk correctly read the snap of his hips, the flush across his chest, and the heavy breaths now punctuating the moans.

The commander propped himself up on his elbows. “Uh--Jim--”

Kirk lifted his head. “Mm?”

“Please--t-touch… mm...join...”

Kirk saw that Spock’s hand was outstretched in that odd gesture once again. Smiling, he released his own cock and pressed his index and middle fingers against Spock’s, jumping slightly at the static shock that accompanied the creation of this new mental conduit. He continued to work Spock’s shaft in swift rhythm -- though now he could feel Spock, in a way that was new, more intense. He could feel what Spock was feeling. His tongue ran up the length of his own cock as much as it did Spock’s, his own hand clasped around both Spock and himself, and when they cried out in unison, calling each other's names, and Spock came hard into Kirk’s mouth, Kirk was simultaneously pumping a second round of ejaculate onto his Starfleet regulation sheets.

They collapsed onto the bed, limbs turning to jelly, and lay breathing for an indeterminate amount of time, until Spock lifted an arm to offer Kirk a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. Kirk, his face pressed into Spock’s stomach, tasting the salt of the Vulcan skin on his lips, didn’t raise his head but made some sound of acknowledgement.

“Captain. Did you silence the recording device before we moved away from your desk?”

Kirk sat upright, his eyes wide for a second before they met Spock’s. Then he laughed, a hearty, too-loud chuckle brought on partially by a cocktail of hormones, and his feeling that nothing could go wrong here, not right now. Spock’s eye’s sparkled with the humour of the question, and his normally stiff lips -- which Kirk had just found to be anything but, under the right circumstances -- twitched into a warm almost-grin.

“No, Mr. Spock, I believe we'll find a rather... comprehensive recording of this meeting, when we check the computer.”

Spock looked at Kirk, beginning, “Jim…” but stopped, his eyes fixed on Kirk’s, his face soft. “Jim.”

Kirk melted. “Spock,” he said, softly, moving himself to wrap his arms around his first officer, struck suddenly with the feeling that no amount of skin-to-skin contact would be enough to satisfy, that he wanted to be wrapped up in all that was Spock. And he realized that Spock could probably hear everything he was thinking, but decided there was no sense in hiding. They squeezed themselves into an embrace before Kirk continued. “We’re still technically on duty, aren’t we?”

Spock nodded.

Chapter Text

It was a week before Kirk’s report was sufficiently polished to send to Starfleet. With some help from Spock he’d managed to cobble together a fairly in-depth explanation for the monoliths, and provide what he felt was an intriguing but still objective hypothesis for the exact nature of Sylandro’s former inhabitants.

In many ways, he hadn’t needed to directly ask for anything from Spock. The link between their minds, which he’d initially assumed was a temporary side-effect of their meld, had not faded away but had instead strengthened over the passing days. It wasn’t as if they could read each other’s thoughts, but Kirk found he was increasingly aware of Spock’s mental state, in a way that was subtle sometimes to the point of insidious. It took some getting used to, but after a few days he was beginning to get the hang of figuring out which emotions were his, and which were Spock’s.

Even so, he felt he might never get over the sheer amount of emotion that Spock was concealing from the rest of world, had been concealing from him. He saw the link for what it was: something intensely intimate for Spock -- and a tacit agreement that Kirk reveal to no one just what he knew about his first officer’s inner thoughts.

It was far too soon to say whether it was normal, or simply a product of recent developments, but he found that a good chunk of what Spock was feeling were giddy spikes of excitement or subtler, warm contentment -- both of which Kirk felt most strongly when Spock was looking at him.

He’d asked Spock about the nature of the link two days after he’d finalized the report, walking to Kirk’s quarters after second shift. Spock still seemed somewhat reticent to invite Kirk into his own quarters, and Kirk felt no need to push against that.

“I believe you are correct in assuming that it was initially a by-product of the meld,” Spock had said, absently brushing the back of Kirk’s hand with his fingers. “It is not uncommon for mind melds of that strength to form a spontaneous link. Usually such links disappear within 24 ship’s hours. In our case, it would seem that the energy within the underground chamber was so great that it exponentially amplified the strength of the link.”

“Still, it would have disappeared eventually… no?” Kirk spoke softly.

“That is true. But then we… well. The link was cemented when we touched minds again before it had had a chance to dissipate.” Spock touched his two fingers to Kirk’s in an illustrative gesture. Kirk smiled, feeling a milder but no less pleasant rush at the connection. It was like tapping into something, some new dimension of awareness. Each time it happened he found himself hoping that it would never lose its novelty.

“So… it’s here to stay, then?”

Spock nodded slowly. “At this point in time it has evolved into what most Vulcans would refer to as a bond. It is embedded much deeper than a mere mind link. A bond of this nature is sufficiently strong that the only way to break it now would be with the help of a Vulcan healer.” Something like concern flashed across the link just then, and across Spock’s face in a scattering of trace movements.

Kirk grabbed Spock’s hand. They had arrived at the captain’s quarters, and he led his first officer gently through the door. “Spock,” he said. “I know it hasn’t been my… style… in the past but, I… well, I have no intention of severing this link. Um. Bond. Not if you don’t want it.” His brow furrowed. “Of course, if you do want it removed --”

“Jim.” Spock’s brown eyes flickered. “There is nothing I desire more than to maintain this bond.”

Kirk looked up at his first officer. Their bodies hovered an inch apart, their hands brushing against one another. Not quite touching, rather, doing everything in their power to prolong this moment, knowing that the wanting was such a beautiful thing in its own right, and so fragile that they might never attain it again once coupled. Kirk’s chest ached with the tension, Spock so close, his for the taking, yet still shrouded in that brittle uncertainty, the thrill of something new. He felt a wisp of the Vulcan’s breath across his face, closed his eyes and inhaled gently, his desire amplified and reflected in Spock’s mind.

Entropy being a constant, all things must end, he thought to himself. Yet weren’t most endings simply gateways to something else, something better?

“Desire… isn’t that a human emotion?” Kirk’s eyes were shut but he let his mouth curl into a mischievous smile.

He imaged Spock’s eyebrow rising as the Vulcan’s lips pressed against his.

They shuffled further into Kirk’s quarters, an awkward dance, but neither of them cared. Hands skimmed bare flesh, pulling fabric up and down, over and off until they were both naked and falling onto Kirk’s bed, a tangle of limbs and small, needful sounds.

It was better this time, if that was possible, further removed from uncertainty and hesitation. Without the hurry, without the concern that the other might change his mind, both took their time, teasing, bringing things near desperation before backing off and letting themselves fall in waves, until the need took over entirely and they came together in an arcing shudder of pleasure that was almost, almost too intense.

At the peak of it, Kirk saw those same colours that had plagued his dreams during their time in orbit around Sylandro. They exploded out from behind his eyes, filling his vision. Clawing at the Vulcan’s shoulders, he looked up at Spock and saw the colours reflected deep inside the brown eyes. Then, sooner than it had begun, the image disappeared, and as the tide of his climax began to recede he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d actually seen anything.

Afterward, they lay tangled in one another for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep. Kirk wanted to ask Spock if he’d seen anything, but couldn’t muster the will to speak, or move.

Some time later the comm beeped and Kirk sat up straight.

He flicked the button for reception. Spock, beside him, rose gently to collect their clothing from the floor.

“Kirk here.”

“Jim, it’s McCoy. I need to update all crew vaccines before we reach our destination. You got a minute?”

“Of course, Bones. We’ll be right there.”

There was a pause. Spock gave Kirk a look as the captain felt himself going red.

The comm crackled into life again. “Uh huh. Give me another five minutes to adjust the ratios for Vulcan biology. McCoy out. ...oh, and Jim?”

Kirk cleared his throat. “Bones?”

“It’s about damn time.”

The comm fell silent. Kirk shut it off and stared at it for a moment, his face still hot, not daring to look at Spock. He felt an arm fall across his shoulder.

“Is something wrong, captain?”

Kirk looked at Spock, felt anguish across the link, and burst out laughing. He laughed for a long time, until he could hardly breathe, until he thought he might cry. When he finally calmed down he felt vaguely guilty for letting Spock stew in confusion for so long. “No, no Spock. I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong… in fact, quite the opposite.”

He let his eyes fall across the Vulcan’s bent-over form. “I don’t know how to handle it.”

Spock’s mind quieted and the half-Vulcan gave Kirk a smile that on a human face would have been scarcely detectable, but was somehow the most reassuring smile the captain had seen in years. “I offer my assistance, if you require it, Jim.”

“Thank you, Spock.” He looked into the Vulcan’s dark eyes and felt more at home than he’d felt since he’d lived in Iowa. Around them, the blackness of space became a soft, velvet tapestry, taking on a brightness that belied the reality of the cold vacuum.

Kirk wondered about the inhabitants of Sylandro. It seemed all their efforts had paid off. Childishly, he found himself hoping that they were happy. Or some equivalent to happiness, beyond human or Vulcan comprehension.

It is impossible for us to know, Jim

Spock was holding Kirk’s tunic, pushing it gently toward him. Kirk grabbed the garment and stood. “Let’s go see Bones, shall we?”

Spock nodded. “Yes, Jim.”

Kirk grinned.