Through Blind Men's Eyes, Part 3
Title: Through Blind Men's Eyes
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: eventual NC-17; Bones and Jim have dirty mouths, so possibly R for language at this point
Disclaimer: You think I own anything? Have you seen my car? Nothing is mine but the Noctaens and the plot, but I'm pretty sure no one's gonna fight me on that.
A/N: Another part so soon? WTF? Massive thanks to everyone who's been reading so far. I swear, the fun stuff is going to start . . . soonish. Eventually. Is it mean to look forward to character torture this much? Eh, whatever. As always, thoughts (or telepathy) indicated by italics.
Summary: The obligatory Pon Farr story . . . with a bit of a twist.
Part 1│Part 2
They ate together again in the morning, another set of dishes that Spock selected. A part of Jim missed the social whirl of the commissary at breakfast-solitude was the entire reason he tended to avoid the officer’s mess like the plague-but he didn’t much relish the thought of dealing with the crew’s reaction to whatever had happened to the two of them. And he certainly couldn’t fault his company. Spock had retrieved fresh clothing from Kirk’s room and somehow managed to walk out of the ‘fresher looking every bit as starched and pressed as he usually did in his own body, Kirk’s flyaway hair persistent stubble be damned.
“How’d you sleep?” Kirk asked as they started on their food.
“Soundly, I believe,” Spock said after a moment’s consideration. “I trust your night was satisfactorily productive.”
“More or less. Sort of boring, actually. What do you usually do all night?”
“I have several experiments running in the science labs that require my attention, and I am occasionally scheduled for a Gamma shift rotation. I also meditate.”
“Huh. Pretty much all of that is out for me. I wouldn’t even know how to begin meditating, or what experiments you’re running at the moment, and we’re neither of us cleared for duty yet, obviously. Honestly, I never thought we’d make it to ship’s morning.”
Spock sipped at his tea. “Though I realize it may be cold comfort, I confess that I found the amount of sleep that I required to be unsettlingly excessive. So much time that could otherwise be devoted to more productive pursuits.”
“Just a regular human frailty,” Kirk shrugged. “I’d take a good night’s sleep over that productivity any day. Though I did get quite a bit done,” he mused. “I have a pile of datachips with finished reports I’d like you to look over when you get a chance. I’d appreciate your input before I sign off on them.”
“Certainly. I will review them when we return from our trip planetside.”
“All right, good. Oh, you’ll want to check your message log, too; there’s a bit of a backlog from last night, including a message from your father. I thought about waking you, but it wasn’t marked as particularly urgent.”
Spock blinked at him once, twice. “May I ask, Jim, how you managed to intercept a personal communiqué from my father?”
“Not just that one; all of your messages.” Kirk shrugged. “I figured we didn’t really want the bridge crew paging down to your quarters and finding me there. Well, what looked like me, anyway. So I hacked the comms station and had all messages directed to you rerouted here instead.” He grinned at the astonishment in Spock’s blue eyes. “I told you I got bored. The admin work only took up a couple of hours, and I had to entertain myself somehow.”
“Indeed.” Spock considered his food thoughtfully.
“I only looked at the subject lines, I didn’t so much as peek at any of the contents,” Kirk assured him.
“I would never have considered that you would,” Spock said with quiet confidence, and Kirk willed down a blush.
“Right. Well.” He wiped at his mouth and rose. “I’m going to take a quick shower. You can use the console in here if you want to check any of those messages. Then we should have time for a quick check-in with Bones before we head planetside.” He nodded and rose without waiting for a response, heading immediately for the bathroom.
He didn’t even realize that he had forgotten to grab a fresh uniform until he saw Spock’s science blues neatly folded by the sink. He was grateful for his first officer’s foresight, but at the same time he was suddenly aware, as he hadn’t been a moment before, that he was going to have to remove what he was wearing now. That he would be alone with Spock’s naked body. Just the thought was almost enough to get him hard, and he gripped the edge of the sink in frustration. This was ridiculous. He hadn’t found his sexual impulses this difficult to control since he was sixteen. He was an adult now, a starship captain, and he wasn’t going to act like a horny teenager just because . . .
He stared into the mirror. Dark brown eyes stared back from beneath straight black bangs. Sharp cheekbones, pale skin. Pointed ears that flushed green at the tips when he let his control slip just the tiniest bit. He squeezed those eyes closed and breathed deeply. He could handle this. He would handle this. He only had to make it through the next few hours and then it would all be over and he could go back to locking this all away, the attraction and the affection and the need.
Right. First thing was first-he had to relieve himself. Refusing to blush, he swiftly undid the front of his trousers. Nothing embarrassing here, it was all completely natural. It wasn’t an invasion of privacy to look, it was necessary. Just as it was necessary to touch, just the barest grip of fingertips on unfamiliar flesh. If he noticed the size and shape of what he held that could hardly be helped; if the differences between that and his own body registered it was only to be expected. He kept his mind as blank as possible as he finished and stripped off the rest of his clothes, and pointedly didn’t look down at himself.
Sonics rather than water, as it would eliminate the need for scrubbing or really touching himself at all. Instead he let the bursts of energy knock the dirt from his skin, his hair, hands braced against the shower wall and eyes tightly closed against anything that he might see. He finished quickly, dressed just as rapidly. A comb through his hair was hardly necessary; the strands fell into place almost on their own. He took a deep breath to shore up his control and stepped back into his quarters.
Spock flicked off the console and rose from his seat at the desk. Kirk thought that he might be imagining things, but there looked to be a line of tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
“Everything all right?” he asked, straightening out his cuffs. “Not bad news from your dad, was it?”
“No.” His shoulders straightened even farther, something that Kirk hadn’t thought possible. “He simply expressed a desire for me to visit the new colony if I was able to arrange for leave. If you’re ready, we can proceed to Sickbay.”
“Yeah, sure, I’m set.” They set off, strides matched as always. “You know, if you want to go I can arrange some time for you,” he said a moment later. “You certainly have it stored up, since you never take full advantage of shore leave. Just let me know when you make your decision and I’ll work it out.”
“Thank you. I will consider it further when we return to the Enterprise.”
And that was the end of it. Kirk recognized that Vulcan tone as one that closed a conversation and had long since stopped taking offense. They walked the rest of the way in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Sickbay was quiet when they reached it, and Doctors McCoy and M’Benga were waiting for them.
They ran through the standard protocols for heading planetside and Kirk managed to deflect Bones’s attempts to drag out their stay with more tests. Their request for an audience with Chancellor Laaen had been received and acknowledged, and all he wanted was to get down there and get things fixed as quickly as possible. It cost him promising his friend a full hour in Sickbay on their return and at least half a day’s additional medical leave for ‘psychological recovery’, but he managed to extract them in just over twenty minutes.
“So, I have a conundrum, Mr. Spock,” he remembered on their way to the transporter room, and suppressed a smile at the single eyebrow quirked in response. He really would have to figure out how to do that when this was all over; it looked damn good on him.
“A conundrum, Captain?” Spock asked smoothly.
“Yeah. See, after you left last night I thought I’d have a little bit of dessert. Nothing fancy, just cake. You never told me you couldn’t process the taste of anything sweet, by the way.”
“It never seemed pertinent to the subject at hand. I presumed you had noticed that I never consumed sweets. This was your . . . conundrum?”
Kirk laughed. “No, not exactly. My conundrum has to do with a sort of an urban legend that circulated around the Academy, about Vulcans and chocolate.” He glanced at Spock. “I’m guessing you know the rumor?”
“I assume you are referring to that of chocolate acting as an intoxicant on Vulcan physiology. If there is another, I confess that I am unaware of it.”
“That’s the one,” Kirk nodded. “The thing is, I had several bites of chocolate cake-I kept replicating new pieces until I figured out why it wasn’t tasting right-and I didn’t get even the tiniest bit buzzed. So tell me, is there any truth to the story?”
“Chocolate does indeed act on our bodies in much the same way that alcohol affects humans,” Spock said easily. “However, it would take more than even several full pieces of the replicator’s chocolate cake to reach a recognizable state of intoxication, just as several swallows of a low-alcohol content drink would inhibit you less than a single swallow of Romulan ale. Generally speaking, the higher the cocoa content the stronger the chocolate’s effect.”
“Huh. But how do you even get past the taste? Without the sugar, chocolate kind of sucks.”
“It is . . . an acquired taste,” Spock admitted.
Jim was silent for a moment as he considered. Then, “So a bite of really dark chocolate would be like doing a shot?”
“Essentially accurate, yes.”
Kirk couldn’t have possibly helped himself. Granted, he didn’t try too terribly hard. He fixed Spock with the raised eyebrow that he had practiced in the mirror and said, “Fascinating.”
He might have imagined the flash of amusement in Spock’s eyes, but he doubted it.
“It’s settled then. When this is all over, you and I are celebrating. We’ve got that mandatory medical leave to look forward to, so it’ll be brandy for me and dark chocolate for you. We’re not far from a Betazoid outpost; I hear they have stuff so dark that’s it's not even palatable to most humans.”
They reached the transporter room before Spock could respond, and Kirk did his level best to school his face into Spock’s customary blankness. Ensign Siragher from the Engineering department was at the controls, standing next to a member of Spock’s science team. Both women saluted as they entered.
“Sirs.” Siragher moved back to the control panel, her hands flying as she ran a final diagnostic check. “As per protocol, you’ll be beaming down this time directly into the Chancellor’s audience chamber.”
“The only problem with that,” the other woman-Lieutenant Hood, Kirk thought, but wouldn’t have sworn to it-said, “is that the audience chamber is underwater. The temperature should be comfortable enough, but you’ll need to wear these.” She stepped forward and handed over a pair of complicated-looking plastic masks. “Designed off of a prototype from Deneva. These will fit around your nose and mouth, here,” she said, pointing to indicate. “They’re equipped with canisters of argon and other trace elements. Nitrogen and oxygen will be pulled from the water around you, and the carbon dioxide you produce is captured and recycled here. Not recommended for indefinite use, but perfectly safe for up to twelve hours.”
“These will take the place of your usual communicators,” Ensign Siragher took over smoothly as the Lieutenant stepped back, handing over a pair that seemed identical to the ones clipped to her commanding officers’ belts. “As you know, all Starfleet communicators are designed to withstand total immersion. However, as it will be impossible to verbally request beamup when you’ve finished, these will function as an automatic beacon. They’re set to an empty frequency that we’ll be monitoring here,” she said with a gesture at the console. “All you need to do is open a channel and we’ll beam you back aboard. Your personal communicators will be your failsafe in case something goes wrong with these. Not that it will,” she amended hastily. "Sir." Her face flushed as red as her hair and Lieutenant Hood visibly smothered a grin.
“If you’ll put your masks on, sirs, and get into position?” she prompted.
Kirk had never felt so lucky as he did in that moment, never so grateful for his crew as he did when he realized he was going to be able to get away with nothing more than a single terse nod. God bless Starfleet efficiency. He quashed the urge to attempt to communicate the sentiment to his first officer with a look-not a very Spock thing to do, that-and settled his mask into place.
“Energizing,” the ensign said, her fingers flying over the controls, “in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
The last thing Kirk noticed before the world went fuzzy was the undisguised relief on Siragher’s and Hood’s faces that they had managed themselves so well. He smiled behind his mask.
That smile was blasted from his face the instant they materialized. Being suddenly immersed in water was a disquieting sensation under the best of circumstances; it was not dissimilar to experiencing zero-g, his body simply floating tranquilly in the mass of pitch-black water. He couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t sense his first officer’s presence or absence, couldn’t begin to tell if there was anyone there at all or if he was completely and utterly alone. He couldn’t even tell in which direction the surface lay, or if there was a surface at all. Under normal conditions he would already have been severely uncomfortable.
This was inarguably, immeasurably worse.
Vulcans, as it turned out, did not like being wet.
The water pressed in all around him, surrounding him, enclosing him. There was no escape from it, no remedy for the feel of it against his skin, soaking through the fabric of his uniform. It felt like insects crawling over his entire body, but he couldn’t brush them off, couldn’t rid himself of the horrible creeping slithering sensation no matter how he squirmed and twisted. Panic began to lick at the edges of his mind, threatening to consume him entirely.
Be easy, Captain. The gentle voices spread through him like light, soothing him almost immediately. The water against his skin no longer bothered him, and the panic died a quiet and uneventful death. We have blocked the sensation that you find unpleasant, though it has necessitated shallow intrusion into your mind. As we are aware of your unease with such measures, we will withdraw should you prefer it.
No! Kirk thought immediately. No, that’s . . . thank you. Your kindness is acknowledged and appreciated, he added in the traditional phrase.
Lights began to glimmer faintly around him, golden light that filtered softly through the water. Ripples and currents pushed and tugged at him as Noctaens swam by carrying large chunks of fluorescent and phosphorescent rock. In moments there were enough to cast dim illumination around the small chamber that they found themselves in. Spock floated at his right, apparently at his ease, and in front of them was the surprisingly familiar ghostly form of Chancellor Laaen. He lit up luminously golden as the light filtered softly through translucent flesh.
Again, our apologies. His eyes fluttered; Kirk could feel the faint vibration from the movement against his face. We should have been better prepared, but we received your request quite late, and we had been given to understand that your visit yesterday would be your last. Has there been some problem with your departure?
Kirk didn’t know quite how to respond, his mind too busy racing with the countless ways in which he could answer. Too many problems for him to count, too many to possibly list, all flooded through him at once. There were startled motions from the Noctaens all around him.
I see, said Chancellor Laaen. We seem to have been . . . mmm, speaking at cross-purposes? What an odd phrase. But yes . . . yes, I can see the applicability. You did not expect such a thing as we have done.
Not even remotely. Kirk tried to keep his thoughts firm. He didn’t hear Spock chiming in, and wondered if her were a party to this conversation or not. From the way his concentration seemed fixed on the Chancellor, Kirk rather thought not. And we need you to undo whatever it is you’ve-
Apologies, Captain Kirk, Laaen broke in, but the tone of his thoughts was distinctly less conciliatory than it had been before. I must inquire as to what you did expect, then. When we offered you the opportunity to stand for the one you esteem so highly, the one that, yes, we can see how you hold him above all others. When we offered, you accepted. How did you expect to shield him if not by standing in his place?
It wasn’t easy to shift nervously with one’s entire body suspended in water, but Kirk did his best. I didn’t really expect anything, he admitted. It happened too quickly for me to be able to formulate an opinion.
Such is our nature. Once a decision is reached, action swiftly follows. Perhaps we should have allowed you time to consider the idea, but time was in somewhat short supply.
Kirk’s stomach dropped. What do you mean?
Do you recall my words to you, Captain? You are to stand for him in the face of his worst fear, to keep him from falling to it. To save him.
I remember. Unease was settled heavily in his chest. Don’t suppose his worst fear was getting drenched, was it?
A flicker of sad amusement. I regret to say that the trial is yet to come, though it approaches swiftly.
You keep saying that. What do you mean? What approaches, and when?
I can not tell you, Laaen said with genuine regret. Such a revelation is not our right. You must now choose, Captain. Whether you will hold your ground despite your blindness or allow what is to come. There is no shame in either choice. Should you wish it, we will reverse what we have done and allow you to return to yourself.
Damn it, I need more than that! More than half-baked promises and prophecies. Can’t you give me anything concrete?
All I may say is that the time approaches when both your fears-yours and your First Officer’s-will come to pass. Mr. Spock’s life will soon be in danger. You would take this opportunity, would you not? He will stand alone in this otherwise, should you decide to-
What kind of danger? If this is a threat-
No threat, Captain, I assure you. The danger comes not from us, but from within himself. In deference to your notions of . . . privacy, yes? Yes. In deference to this notion, I can say no more. How strange, this concept, how limiting to keep so much hidden away. But again, this is our own view of the universe. The peril he faces is one in which you would be equipped to aid him, but he will not ask. Indeed, he will not speak at all until it is too late. This we have seen. The signs are there for you to read as well if you would only see them. So I ask again. Would you face his fear for him, and stand in his stead?
Dead. Spock dead. Could he bear that? Leave him to mortal danger, his to face alone simply because Kirk couldn’t . . .
I will, he replied firmly.
Though it means remaining as you are? Laaen pressed. Though it may well mean your own death?
I’ll risk it. I’ll risk anything.
Wonder and delight. You truly would. It has been an honor to know you, Captain. Knowledge and peace be yours.
May such blessings find you in turn, Kirk responded automatically, trying to ignore the funereal sound of the ritual words. He shot a look over at Spock, who nodded his readiness to depart. Thank you for your assistance. He paused for a moment. When whatever’s going to happen happens . . . assuming I’m successful, how will we . . .
If you like, you may return to us here and we will set things right. However, your First Officer is also capable of reversing the effects of our gift. It may be well to remember, should the burden prove too great.
Spock can do it? Kirk frowned. Then why hasn’t he said so?
He may not be aware. Or he may find the cost to be higher than he wishes to pay.
Kirk considered that, then with a terse nod flipped open his communicator. From the corner of his eye he saw Spock do the same, and moments later they found themselves standing on the transporter pad, pulling off their masks as water pooled on the floor beneath their feet.
Bones was waiting for them, his eyes locked on Spock, but a full-body shudder from Kirk had the hopeful smile fading from his face.
“Dismissed, Ensign,” he said sharply to the woman still at the controls. “I’ll take care of them from here. And get a maintenance team in here to deal with this water.”
She saluted quickly and hightailed it from the room as fast as dignity allowed. Kirk couldn’t blame her; the entire crew had been witness to that particular expression on their CMO’s face at one time or another by now, and it never meant anything good. At the moment, however, the ensign could have stripped naked and danced like an Orion slave girl and Kirk wouldn’t have cared. The Noctaen presence was gone from his mind, and he was dripping wet.
“Towel,” he gasped as soon as the three of them were alone, snatching at the terrycloth McCoy threw at him in such desperation that he almost missed. He began scrubbing at himself immediately, desperate to get dry. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me, Spock?” He applied the towel to his hair, which was currently dripping unpleasantly down the back of his neck. “That was the most awful . . . oh, god am I glad I opted for sonics this morning. Never again. The feel of it all over like that . . .” He shuddered violently again.
“What the hell is going on?” McCoy demanded.
“Water, Bones. An entire freaking cave full of water, and someone’s First Officer neglected to mention a possible negative reaction to being Vulcan and suddenly plunged into a damned underground lake!”
“On the contrary, Captain, we were not plunged, but rather materialized directly inside-”
“However we got there, the fact is you didn’t tell me you hated water so-”
“At the time it did not seem relevant-”
“-the fact that I nearly had a panic attack is really-”
“SHUT UP!” They both fell silent at McCoy’s bellow. He was staring furiously back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not,” he bit off, “talking about the water. I’m talking about you. I thought you were going down there to get this fixed.”
“Yeah.” Kirk shot a glance at Spock. “There was a bit of a . . . hiccup.”
“A hiccup?” McCoy repeated ominously.
“The Noctaens could not reverse the effects,” Spock replied.
“They couldn’t fucking reverse it?” McCoy’s shout of outrage kept Spock from noticing the shocked look on his captain’s face. “Why the hell not?”
“They claim that there is no way; that it must run its natural course.” Spock’s hands linked behind his back, and his lips thinned, his posture growing even more ramrod straight. “Attempts to determine what that course might be proved . . . fruitless.”
Kirk’s thoroughly expected surge of guilt was quickly drowned in curious speculation. “They did mention another possibility,” he said, still trying to soak up the last bits of moisture that clung to his body. Both other men turned to him, and he raised an inquiring eyebrow. “According to them, you could reverse the effects yourself, Spock.”
“How?” McCoy asked, looking skeptical. “Another one of his melds, I assume?”
“Dunno. Probably. Which I guess sort of means I’d be the one doing it, but since I normally have the esper rating of a turnip he’d have to help me along. But I’d bet between the two of us-”
“No.” For a moment Spock looked as surprised at his interruption as the others, before his face schooled itself back into tranquil blankness. “As you have said, you are unpracticed in such a field. I would hesitate to entrust our mutual safety to my ability to guide you through the process as I myself am without a solid base of knowledge and experience. The attempt is not worth the risk.”
Kirk studied him for a moment. It was all very sound. Very logical. And yet . . . yet. Unformed suspicions clouded his mind, but he pushed them away. Time enough for that later.
“So what, we just wait it out?” McCoy threw up his hands. “That’s just peachy. The ship’s two commanding officers are compromised in a way that nothing in the regs even begins to cover, but let’s just hang around and see if it fixes itself!”
“If you are finished with your hysterics, Doctor, there is an alternate solution.”
“We’re all ears,” Kirk said before McCoy could let loose the righteous rant that he could see building. Spock quirked an eyebrow but didn’t question the phrasing.
“The healers on New Vulcan should have both the experience and the skill to return us to our normal states. With your permission, I will speak to my father and request that he make arrangements.”
“Hmm.” Kirk turned the idea over in his head. While he had no intention of letting anyone reverse anything, it still seemed like a decent enough plan. If something did happen, if Spock really was in danger, then it certainly wouldn’t hurt to be in close proximity to the people who could best help him. “It sounds workable. In any case, the Noctaens were our last hope of keeping Command out of this particular loop. We’ll have to notify them of the, ah, situation, and get permission to detour to New Vulcan. I’ll set up a call to Pike; Spock, contact your father and see if he can’t ease our way there a bit.
“Bones,” he said, turning to his friend, “I’ll have to owe you that hour in Sickbay. I need you to set up a briefing for the senior staff at 1600. We need to figure out who’s going to be minding the store while Spock and I are indisposed. Spock, meet me in my quarters in thirty minutes. I’m going to go change my clothes.” He couldn’t suppress another shudder when a stray drop of water slid down his side. “Water,” he muttered in irritation, wincing when his boots squelched as he walked to the corridor.
“I suppose you fared just fine,” he heard McCoy say behind him.
“Indeed. I found our surroundings to be quite refreshing,” Spock replied calmly.
Kirk scowled, and stalked off to get dry.
Part 4
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: eventual NC-17; Bones and Jim have dirty mouths, so possibly R for language at this point
Disclaimer: You think I own anything? Have you seen my car? Nothing is mine but the Noctaens and the plot, but I'm pretty sure no one's gonna fight me on that.
A/N: Another part so soon? WTF? Massive thanks to everyone who's been reading so far. I swear, the fun stuff is going to start . . . soonish. Eventually. Is it mean to look forward to character torture this much? Eh, whatever. As always, thoughts (or telepathy) indicated by italics.
Summary: The obligatory Pon Farr story . . . with a bit of a twist.
Part 1│Part 2
They ate together again in the morning, another set of dishes that Spock selected. A part of Jim missed the social whirl of the commissary at breakfast-solitude was the entire reason he tended to avoid the officer’s mess like the plague-but he didn’t much relish the thought of dealing with the crew’s reaction to whatever had happened to the two of them. And he certainly couldn’t fault his company. Spock had retrieved fresh clothing from Kirk’s room and somehow managed to walk out of the ‘fresher looking every bit as starched and pressed as he usually did in his own body, Kirk’s flyaway hair persistent stubble be damned.
“How’d you sleep?” Kirk asked as they started on their food.
“Soundly, I believe,” Spock said after a moment’s consideration. “I trust your night was satisfactorily productive.”
“More or less. Sort of boring, actually. What do you usually do all night?”
“I have several experiments running in the science labs that require my attention, and I am occasionally scheduled for a Gamma shift rotation. I also meditate.”
“Huh. Pretty much all of that is out for me. I wouldn’t even know how to begin meditating, or what experiments you’re running at the moment, and we’re neither of us cleared for duty yet, obviously. Honestly, I never thought we’d make it to ship’s morning.”
Spock sipped at his tea. “Though I realize it may be cold comfort, I confess that I found the amount of sleep that I required to be unsettlingly excessive. So much time that could otherwise be devoted to more productive pursuits.”
“Just a regular human frailty,” Kirk shrugged. “I’d take a good night’s sleep over that productivity any day. Though I did get quite a bit done,” he mused. “I have a pile of datachips with finished reports I’d like you to look over when you get a chance. I’d appreciate your input before I sign off on them.”
“Certainly. I will review them when we return from our trip planetside.”
“All right, good. Oh, you’ll want to check your message log, too; there’s a bit of a backlog from last night, including a message from your father. I thought about waking you, but it wasn’t marked as particularly urgent.”
Spock blinked at him once, twice. “May I ask, Jim, how you managed to intercept a personal communiqué from my father?”
“Not just that one; all of your messages.” Kirk shrugged. “I figured we didn’t really want the bridge crew paging down to your quarters and finding me there. Well, what looked like me, anyway. So I hacked the comms station and had all messages directed to you rerouted here instead.” He grinned at the astonishment in Spock’s blue eyes. “I told you I got bored. The admin work only took up a couple of hours, and I had to entertain myself somehow.”
“Indeed.” Spock considered his food thoughtfully.
“I only looked at the subject lines, I didn’t so much as peek at any of the contents,” Kirk assured him.
“I would never have considered that you would,” Spock said with quiet confidence, and Kirk willed down a blush.
“Right. Well.” He wiped at his mouth and rose. “I’m going to take a quick shower. You can use the console in here if you want to check any of those messages. Then we should have time for a quick check-in with Bones before we head planetside.” He nodded and rose without waiting for a response, heading immediately for the bathroom.
He didn’t even realize that he had forgotten to grab a fresh uniform until he saw Spock’s science blues neatly folded by the sink. He was grateful for his first officer’s foresight, but at the same time he was suddenly aware, as he hadn’t been a moment before, that he was going to have to remove what he was wearing now. That he would be alone with Spock’s naked body. Just the thought was almost enough to get him hard, and he gripped the edge of the sink in frustration. This was ridiculous. He hadn’t found his sexual impulses this difficult to control since he was sixteen. He was an adult now, a starship captain, and he wasn’t going to act like a horny teenager just because . . .
He stared into the mirror. Dark brown eyes stared back from beneath straight black bangs. Sharp cheekbones, pale skin. Pointed ears that flushed green at the tips when he let his control slip just the tiniest bit. He squeezed those eyes closed and breathed deeply. He could handle this. He would handle this. He only had to make it through the next few hours and then it would all be over and he could go back to locking this all away, the attraction and the affection and the need.
Right. First thing was first-he had to relieve himself. Refusing to blush, he swiftly undid the front of his trousers. Nothing embarrassing here, it was all completely natural. It wasn’t an invasion of privacy to look, it was necessary. Just as it was necessary to touch, just the barest grip of fingertips on unfamiliar flesh. If he noticed the size and shape of what he held that could hardly be helped; if the differences between that and his own body registered it was only to be expected. He kept his mind as blank as possible as he finished and stripped off the rest of his clothes, and pointedly didn’t look down at himself.
Sonics rather than water, as it would eliminate the need for scrubbing or really touching himself at all. Instead he let the bursts of energy knock the dirt from his skin, his hair, hands braced against the shower wall and eyes tightly closed against anything that he might see. He finished quickly, dressed just as rapidly. A comb through his hair was hardly necessary; the strands fell into place almost on their own. He took a deep breath to shore up his control and stepped back into his quarters.
Spock flicked off the console and rose from his seat at the desk. Kirk thought that he might be imagining things, but there looked to be a line of tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
“Everything all right?” he asked, straightening out his cuffs. “Not bad news from your dad, was it?”
“No.” His shoulders straightened even farther, something that Kirk hadn’t thought possible. “He simply expressed a desire for me to visit the new colony if I was able to arrange for leave. If you’re ready, we can proceed to Sickbay.”
“Yeah, sure, I’m set.” They set off, strides matched as always. “You know, if you want to go I can arrange some time for you,” he said a moment later. “You certainly have it stored up, since you never take full advantage of shore leave. Just let me know when you make your decision and I’ll work it out.”
“Thank you. I will consider it further when we return to the Enterprise.”
And that was the end of it. Kirk recognized that Vulcan tone as one that closed a conversation and had long since stopped taking offense. They walked the rest of the way in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Sickbay was quiet when they reached it, and Doctors McCoy and M’Benga were waiting for them.
They ran through the standard protocols for heading planetside and Kirk managed to deflect Bones’s attempts to drag out their stay with more tests. Their request for an audience with Chancellor Laaen had been received and acknowledged, and all he wanted was to get down there and get things fixed as quickly as possible. It cost him promising his friend a full hour in Sickbay on their return and at least half a day’s additional medical leave for ‘psychological recovery’, but he managed to extract them in just over twenty minutes.
“So, I have a conundrum, Mr. Spock,” he remembered on their way to the transporter room, and suppressed a smile at the single eyebrow quirked in response. He really would have to figure out how to do that when this was all over; it looked damn good on him.
“A conundrum, Captain?” Spock asked smoothly.
“Yeah. See, after you left last night I thought I’d have a little bit of dessert. Nothing fancy, just cake. You never told me you couldn’t process the taste of anything sweet, by the way.”
“It never seemed pertinent to the subject at hand. I presumed you had noticed that I never consumed sweets. This was your . . . conundrum?”
Kirk laughed. “No, not exactly. My conundrum has to do with a sort of an urban legend that circulated around the Academy, about Vulcans and chocolate.” He glanced at Spock. “I’m guessing you know the rumor?”
“I assume you are referring to that of chocolate acting as an intoxicant on Vulcan physiology. If there is another, I confess that I am unaware of it.”
“That’s the one,” Kirk nodded. “The thing is, I had several bites of chocolate cake-I kept replicating new pieces until I figured out why it wasn’t tasting right-and I didn’t get even the tiniest bit buzzed. So tell me, is there any truth to the story?”
“Chocolate does indeed act on our bodies in much the same way that alcohol affects humans,” Spock said easily. “However, it would take more than even several full pieces of the replicator’s chocolate cake to reach a recognizable state of intoxication, just as several swallows of a low-alcohol content drink would inhibit you less than a single swallow of Romulan ale. Generally speaking, the higher the cocoa content the stronger the chocolate’s effect.”
“Huh. But how do you even get past the taste? Without the sugar, chocolate kind of sucks.”
“It is . . . an acquired taste,” Spock admitted.
Jim was silent for a moment as he considered. Then, “So a bite of really dark chocolate would be like doing a shot?”
“Essentially accurate, yes.”
Kirk couldn’t have possibly helped himself. Granted, he didn’t try too terribly hard. He fixed Spock with the raised eyebrow that he had practiced in the mirror and said, “Fascinating.”
He might have imagined the flash of amusement in Spock’s eyes, but he doubted it.
“It’s settled then. When this is all over, you and I are celebrating. We’ve got that mandatory medical leave to look forward to, so it’ll be brandy for me and dark chocolate for you. We’re not far from a Betazoid outpost; I hear they have stuff so dark that’s it's not even palatable to most humans.”
They reached the transporter room before Spock could respond, and Kirk did his level best to school his face into Spock’s customary blankness. Ensign Siragher from the Engineering department was at the controls, standing next to a member of Spock’s science team. Both women saluted as they entered.
“Sirs.” Siragher moved back to the control panel, her hands flying as she ran a final diagnostic check. “As per protocol, you’ll be beaming down this time directly into the Chancellor’s audience chamber.”
“The only problem with that,” the other woman-Lieutenant Hood, Kirk thought, but wouldn’t have sworn to it-said, “is that the audience chamber is underwater. The temperature should be comfortable enough, but you’ll need to wear these.” She stepped forward and handed over a pair of complicated-looking plastic masks. “Designed off of a prototype from Deneva. These will fit around your nose and mouth, here,” she said, pointing to indicate. “They’re equipped with canisters of argon and other trace elements. Nitrogen and oxygen will be pulled from the water around you, and the carbon dioxide you produce is captured and recycled here. Not recommended for indefinite use, but perfectly safe for up to twelve hours.”
“These will take the place of your usual communicators,” Ensign Siragher took over smoothly as the Lieutenant stepped back, handing over a pair that seemed identical to the ones clipped to her commanding officers’ belts. “As you know, all Starfleet communicators are designed to withstand total immersion. However, as it will be impossible to verbally request beamup when you’ve finished, these will function as an automatic beacon. They’re set to an empty frequency that we’ll be monitoring here,” she said with a gesture at the console. “All you need to do is open a channel and we’ll beam you back aboard. Your personal communicators will be your failsafe in case something goes wrong with these. Not that it will,” she amended hastily. "Sir." Her face flushed as red as her hair and Lieutenant Hood visibly smothered a grin.
“If you’ll put your masks on, sirs, and get into position?” she prompted.
Kirk had never felt so lucky as he did in that moment, never so grateful for his crew as he did when he realized he was going to be able to get away with nothing more than a single terse nod. God bless Starfleet efficiency. He quashed the urge to attempt to communicate the sentiment to his first officer with a look-not a very Spock thing to do, that-and settled his mask into place.
“Energizing,” the ensign said, her fingers flying over the controls, “in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
The last thing Kirk noticed before the world went fuzzy was the undisguised relief on Siragher’s and Hood’s faces that they had managed themselves so well. He smiled behind his mask.
That smile was blasted from his face the instant they materialized. Being suddenly immersed in water was a disquieting sensation under the best of circumstances; it was not dissimilar to experiencing zero-g, his body simply floating tranquilly in the mass of pitch-black water. He couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t sense his first officer’s presence or absence, couldn’t begin to tell if there was anyone there at all or if he was completely and utterly alone. He couldn’t even tell in which direction the surface lay, or if there was a surface at all. Under normal conditions he would already have been severely uncomfortable.
This was inarguably, immeasurably worse.
Vulcans, as it turned out, did not like being wet.
The water pressed in all around him, surrounding him, enclosing him. There was no escape from it, no remedy for the feel of it against his skin, soaking through the fabric of his uniform. It felt like insects crawling over his entire body, but he couldn’t brush them off, couldn’t rid himself of the horrible creeping slithering sensation no matter how he squirmed and twisted. Panic began to lick at the edges of his mind, threatening to consume him entirely.
Be easy, Captain. The gentle voices spread through him like light, soothing him almost immediately. The water against his skin no longer bothered him, and the panic died a quiet and uneventful death. We have blocked the sensation that you find unpleasant, though it has necessitated shallow intrusion into your mind. As we are aware of your unease with such measures, we will withdraw should you prefer it.
No! Kirk thought immediately. No, that’s . . . thank you. Your kindness is acknowledged and appreciated, he added in the traditional phrase.
Lights began to glimmer faintly around him, golden light that filtered softly through the water. Ripples and currents pushed and tugged at him as Noctaens swam by carrying large chunks of fluorescent and phosphorescent rock. In moments there were enough to cast dim illumination around the small chamber that they found themselves in. Spock floated at his right, apparently at his ease, and in front of them was the surprisingly familiar ghostly form of Chancellor Laaen. He lit up luminously golden as the light filtered softly through translucent flesh.
Again, our apologies. His eyes fluttered; Kirk could feel the faint vibration from the movement against his face. We should have been better prepared, but we received your request quite late, and we had been given to understand that your visit yesterday would be your last. Has there been some problem with your departure?
Kirk didn’t know quite how to respond, his mind too busy racing with the countless ways in which he could answer. Too many problems for him to count, too many to possibly list, all flooded through him at once. There were startled motions from the Noctaens all around him.
I see, said Chancellor Laaen. We seem to have been . . . mmm, speaking at cross-purposes? What an odd phrase. But yes . . . yes, I can see the applicability. You did not expect such a thing as we have done.
Not even remotely. Kirk tried to keep his thoughts firm. He didn’t hear Spock chiming in, and wondered if her were a party to this conversation or not. From the way his concentration seemed fixed on the Chancellor, Kirk rather thought not. And we need you to undo whatever it is you’ve-
Apologies, Captain Kirk, Laaen broke in, but the tone of his thoughts was distinctly less conciliatory than it had been before. I must inquire as to what you did expect, then. When we offered you the opportunity to stand for the one you esteem so highly, the one that, yes, we can see how you hold him above all others. When we offered, you accepted. How did you expect to shield him if not by standing in his place?
It wasn’t easy to shift nervously with one’s entire body suspended in water, but Kirk did his best. I didn’t really expect anything, he admitted. It happened too quickly for me to be able to formulate an opinion.
Such is our nature. Once a decision is reached, action swiftly follows. Perhaps we should have allowed you time to consider the idea, but time was in somewhat short supply.
Kirk’s stomach dropped. What do you mean?
Do you recall my words to you, Captain? You are to stand for him in the face of his worst fear, to keep him from falling to it. To save him.
I remember. Unease was settled heavily in his chest. Don’t suppose his worst fear was getting drenched, was it?
A flicker of sad amusement. I regret to say that the trial is yet to come, though it approaches swiftly.
You keep saying that. What do you mean? What approaches, and when?
I can not tell you, Laaen said with genuine regret. Such a revelation is not our right. You must now choose, Captain. Whether you will hold your ground despite your blindness or allow what is to come. There is no shame in either choice. Should you wish it, we will reverse what we have done and allow you to return to yourself.
Damn it, I need more than that! More than half-baked promises and prophecies. Can’t you give me anything concrete?
All I may say is that the time approaches when both your fears-yours and your First Officer’s-will come to pass. Mr. Spock’s life will soon be in danger. You would take this opportunity, would you not? He will stand alone in this otherwise, should you decide to-
What kind of danger? If this is a threat-
No threat, Captain, I assure you. The danger comes not from us, but from within himself. In deference to your notions of . . . privacy, yes? Yes. In deference to this notion, I can say no more. How strange, this concept, how limiting to keep so much hidden away. But again, this is our own view of the universe. The peril he faces is one in which you would be equipped to aid him, but he will not ask. Indeed, he will not speak at all until it is too late. This we have seen. The signs are there for you to read as well if you would only see them. So I ask again. Would you face his fear for him, and stand in his stead?
Dead. Spock dead. Could he bear that? Leave him to mortal danger, his to face alone simply because Kirk couldn’t . . .
I will, he replied firmly.
Though it means remaining as you are? Laaen pressed. Though it may well mean your own death?
I’ll risk it. I’ll risk anything.
Wonder and delight. You truly would. It has been an honor to know you, Captain. Knowledge and peace be yours.
May such blessings find you in turn, Kirk responded automatically, trying to ignore the funereal sound of the ritual words. He shot a look over at Spock, who nodded his readiness to depart. Thank you for your assistance. He paused for a moment. When whatever’s going to happen happens . . . assuming I’m successful, how will we . . .
If you like, you may return to us here and we will set things right. However, your First Officer is also capable of reversing the effects of our gift. It may be well to remember, should the burden prove too great.
Spock can do it? Kirk frowned. Then why hasn’t he said so?
He may not be aware. Or he may find the cost to be higher than he wishes to pay.
Kirk considered that, then with a terse nod flipped open his communicator. From the corner of his eye he saw Spock do the same, and moments later they found themselves standing on the transporter pad, pulling off their masks as water pooled on the floor beneath their feet.
Bones was waiting for them, his eyes locked on Spock, but a full-body shudder from Kirk had the hopeful smile fading from his face.
“Dismissed, Ensign,” he said sharply to the woman still at the controls. “I’ll take care of them from here. And get a maintenance team in here to deal with this water.”
She saluted quickly and hightailed it from the room as fast as dignity allowed. Kirk couldn’t blame her; the entire crew had been witness to that particular expression on their CMO’s face at one time or another by now, and it never meant anything good. At the moment, however, the ensign could have stripped naked and danced like an Orion slave girl and Kirk wouldn’t have cared. The Noctaen presence was gone from his mind, and he was dripping wet.
“Towel,” he gasped as soon as the three of them were alone, snatching at the terrycloth McCoy threw at him in such desperation that he almost missed. He began scrubbing at himself immediately, desperate to get dry. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me, Spock?” He applied the towel to his hair, which was currently dripping unpleasantly down the back of his neck. “That was the most awful . . . oh, god am I glad I opted for sonics this morning. Never again. The feel of it all over like that . . .” He shuddered violently again.
“What the hell is going on?” McCoy demanded.
“Water, Bones. An entire freaking cave full of water, and someone’s First Officer neglected to mention a possible negative reaction to being Vulcan and suddenly plunged into a damned underground lake!”
“On the contrary, Captain, we were not plunged, but rather materialized directly inside-”
“However we got there, the fact is you didn’t tell me you hated water so-”
“At the time it did not seem relevant-”
“-the fact that I nearly had a panic attack is really-”
“SHUT UP!” They both fell silent at McCoy’s bellow. He was staring furiously back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not,” he bit off, “talking about the water. I’m talking about you. I thought you were going down there to get this fixed.”
“Yeah.” Kirk shot a glance at Spock. “There was a bit of a . . . hiccup.”
“A hiccup?” McCoy repeated ominously.
“The Noctaens could not reverse the effects,” Spock replied.
“They couldn’t fucking reverse it?” McCoy’s shout of outrage kept Spock from noticing the shocked look on his captain’s face. “Why the hell not?”
“They claim that there is no way; that it must run its natural course.” Spock’s hands linked behind his back, and his lips thinned, his posture growing even more ramrod straight. “Attempts to determine what that course might be proved . . . fruitless.”
Kirk’s thoroughly expected surge of guilt was quickly drowned in curious speculation. “They did mention another possibility,” he said, still trying to soak up the last bits of moisture that clung to his body. Both other men turned to him, and he raised an inquiring eyebrow. “According to them, you could reverse the effects yourself, Spock.”
“How?” McCoy asked, looking skeptical. “Another one of his melds, I assume?”
“Dunno. Probably. Which I guess sort of means I’d be the one doing it, but since I normally have the esper rating of a turnip he’d have to help me along. But I’d bet between the two of us-”
“No.” For a moment Spock looked as surprised at his interruption as the others, before his face schooled itself back into tranquil blankness. “As you have said, you are unpracticed in such a field. I would hesitate to entrust our mutual safety to my ability to guide you through the process as I myself am without a solid base of knowledge and experience. The attempt is not worth the risk.”
Kirk studied him for a moment. It was all very sound. Very logical. And yet . . . yet. Unformed suspicions clouded his mind, but he pushed them away. Time enough for that later.
“So what, we just wait it out?” McCoy threw up his hands. “That’s just peachy. The ship’s two commanding officers are compromised in a way that nothing in the regs even begins to cover, but let’s just hang around and see if it fixes itself!”
“If you are finished with your hysterics, Doctor, there is an alternate solution.”
“We’re all ears,” Kirk said before McCoy could let loose the righteous rant that he could see building. Spock quirked an eyebrow but didn’t question the phrasing.
“The healers on New Vulcan should have both the experience and the skill to return us to our normal states. With your permission, I will speak to my father and request that he make arrangements.”
“Hmm.” Kirk turned the idea over in his head. While he had no intention of letting anyone reverse anything, it still seemed like a decent enough plan. If something did happen, if Spock really was in danger, then it certainly wouldn’t hurt to be in close proximity to the people who could best help him. “It sounds workable. In any case, the Noctaens were our last hope of keeping Command out of this particular loop. We’ll have to notify them of the, ah, situation, and get permission to detour to New Vulcan. I’ll set up a call to Pike; Spock, contact your father and see if he can’t ease our way there a bit.
“Bones,” he said, turning to his friend, “I’ll have to owe you that hour in Sickbay. I need you to set up a briefing for the senior staff at 1600. We need to figure out who’s going to be minding the store while Spock and I are indisposed. Spock, meet me in my quarters in thirty minutes. I’m going to go change my clothes.” He couldn’t suppress another shudder when a stray drop of water slid down his side. “Water,” he muttered in irritation, wincing when his boots squelched as he walked to the corridor.
“I suppose you fared just fine,” he heard McCoy say behind him.
“Indeed. I found our surroundings to be quite refreshing,” Spock replied calmly.
Kirk scowled, and stalked off to get dry.
Part 4