Turn Not Back, 1 of 2
Title: Turn Not Back
Author: ladyblahblah
Beta: ninjaboots
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, background Bones/Gaila and Uhura/Chapel
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Slight dub-con
Disclaimer: One day I will complete my time machine, go back to the '60s and convince Gene Roddenberry to sign over the Trek franchise to me. Unfortunately, until that day I'm afraid that I own nothing but the plot, which isn't even making me any profit. *sigh*
Summary: Pon farr hits and Spock finds himself without a mate. Except . . . wait, when did that happen? Accidental!bonding fic.
Author's Note: For the st_respect Event 2 prompt: Origin Stories--How Your Ship Came To Be. I was working with a word and a time limit here, which is sort of like my double plus ungood kryptonite. I FINISHED AHAHAHAHAHAHA, but it necessitated cutting out a couple of things that were supposed to be in here. I'll start working on the Director's Cut after the event is over, for anyone interested. This entire thing was spawned by listening to Howl by Florence + the Machine on repeat, and a subsequent chat with the glorious ninjaboots . Funtiemz!
“Damn it, Jim!” McCoy snarled. Trails of sweat cut through the dirt that covered his face, but he made no move to wipe them away; his hands were red to the wrist and pressed firmly against the captain's abdomen. “I swear to god, if you die on me I will kill you. Spock, talk to me here, I need information.”
“Respiration and cardiac rates are falling. The blow to his head was worse than we originally surmised, as well.” Spock's voice was cool and calm, a direct contrast to his white-knuckled grip on the tricorder. “His brain activity appears to be weakening.”
McCoy let out a stream of vicious curses. “I can give him trianoline for the concussion, but his system can't take more than half a normal dose of netinaline. It'll help keep him with us, but only for a few minutes. Damn it, I need more time!”
“Administer the netinaline, Doctor,” Spock said, dropping the tricorder in the dust and reaching towards the captain's face. “I will secure you the time you require.”
“Are you insane?” McCoy shouted. “You can't risk a meld with him in this state; if something happens you might never be able to pull out of it!”
“That is a risk that I will have to take.”
“Spock-for god's sake man, you could die!”
“As a Starfleet officer, I must guard my captain's life even at the expense of my own.” Spock's eyes met the doctor's for a brief, furious second. “It is my duty, and I will not abandon it now.”
He didn't wait for a response, merely slid his fingers into place. For a moment the blood that leaked from Jim's temple was slick against his skin, and smoke from the wreck of the shuttlecraft stung his eyes and throat. Then his mind opened, and the world slid away.
Spock could feel the moment the drug took effect as Jim's mind seemed to sharpen and tighten around him. He seized at it with all his mental strength, turning himself into an anchor for the human consciousness. The captain's mind, usually so bright, so strong, was too weak to hold on in return. There could be no help from his side, and Spock felt him begin to slip away again as Spock's own hold faltered.
A grip on the edges of his consciousness was not enough. If he wished to be successful, Spock needed to go deeper, to find the center of the captain's mind and stabilize it. The captain was drugged, concussed, bleeding out; logic clearly indicated that the risk outweighed the potential benefit of a deeper connection. Every moment brought Jim Kirk closer to death, and the deeper he went the greater the chance that Spock would die with him.
The captain's mind began to slip.
Spock took a deep mental breath, and dove after it.
*******************************
“Attention, attention please!” Jim waited for the chatter to stop, smiling down the table at his crew. “Now, you all know I'm not a big fan of speeches, but I want to thank everyone for making it tonight. It's been an incredible three years so far; now we've got three weeks to forget that we're sick of the sight of each other.” There was a general round of laughter and eye rolling. “Before we scatter to the winds, I'd like to take this moment to point out that it's the first time we've all been off-duty at the same time, and I for one hope not to remember a moment of it tomorrow morning.” He raised his glass. “Here's to a relaxing shore leave.”
“To Leonard's best hangover cures,” Gaila chimed in with a wink.
“To getting the Admiralty to approve my request to oversee the Enterprise's repairs,” Scotty called from the other end of the table.
“To three weeks without flashing people every time you try to sit down,” Uhura offered dryly, earning a cheer from Gaila and Christine and disappointed groans from the men.
“To the best crew I could've asked for,” Jim finished. “Here's to all of you.”
He sat back down amidst hollers and cheers and calls for more drinks and carefully looked past his best friend to offer Gaila his most charming smile. “So, gorgeous, you haven't told me yet what you have planned for the next few weeks.”
“Ny's invited me to her family's place for the first week,” she said excitedly. “I've never been to Africa before, and you know Dakar is supposed to be just beautiful. The rest of the time . . . well.” She glanced over at Bones with a nervous little smile curving up her lips. “I'm going to be in Georgia.”
“Finally gonna get to meet Jo, huh?” Jim raised his eyebrows. “Big step.”
“I know. I'm nervous about it, to be honest. Excited, too, but-”
“I've told you,” Bones interrupted, reaching out to take her hand, “she's gonna love you. Hell, she's half there already; she asks about you in her letters more than she asks about me.”
“I want her to like me,” Gaila said helplessly, and Jim couldn't help but grin.
“I wouldn't worry too much. Her favorite color's already green, after all.”
Gaila laughed and Bones rolled his eyes, and Chekov spoke up from his seat on the other side of Sulu. “Vhat are your plans, Keptin? You have not said.”
“I'll be doing some traveling. See where I end up.”
“Starfleet Command,” Spock began, breaking off from his conversation with Scotty but Jim just held up a hand.
“-has no say in how I spend my legally-required shore leave, so long as I'm keeping my nose clean. I'll check in every few days or so, let Bones know where I am in case of an emergency.”
One dark, slanted eyebrow winged up. “And why, may I ask, have you chosen Dr. McCoy to be in sole possession of your whereabouts?”
“Because he's the only person I know who wants his shore leave interrupted even less than I do,” Jim smirked, “and he knows that if Command hauls me back in I'm taking him with me.”
“Yeah, his secret's safe with me,” Bones said with a scowl. “Doesn't mean I have to like it,” he went on in an undertone as the others' attention turned away again.
“I'll be fine,” Jim promised. “It's not like this is the first time I've done this, you know.”
“Oh I know. Except that last time you didn't contact anyone for a week and a half, and when you finally turned up again you'd managed to break your damn arm and nearly go into anaphylactic shock from the pain meds you'd been given.”
“That was different.” Jim picked up his glass, put it down again. “I had to . . .” He glanced down the table to where Spock was arguing over something with Chekov and Scotty. “I had to get away for a while. You know that. But that was over a year ago, and it's not like I've had any mind-shattering realizations that are going to make me act like an idiot this time.”
“That's bullshit,” Bones said flatly. “You've been even twitchier around him than ever since Boranis III, and now you're running again. We both know it.” He glanced down the table as well. “Why don't you just tell him-”
“Drop it, Bones,” Jim said sharply. “I'm not going over all of this again.”
For a moment it seemed that Bones would argue, but in the end he simply sighed and fixed Jim with his best scowl. “Make sure you refill your cervaline prescription before you leave, and don't forget to actually take it just because I'm not there to pester you about it.”
“It's been two months already,” Jim complained. “When am I gonna get taken off these damn meds?”
“When your doctor gives you a clean bill of health, and not before. Of course, if I could trust that you were somewhere your health could be properly monitored-”
“You don't have to worry about me, Bones,” Jim smiled. “I just . . . need to get away. I need some time to deal with things.”
That was all he needed, he assured himself as he let his crew's excitement wash over him. He glanced down the table again, shivering as the constant humming at the back of his mind grew stronger when his eyes landed on Spock.
He just had to get away.
*******************************
“-so we ended up just jumping on the next shuttle to San Francisco, and here we are!” Nyota's smile faded when he did not respond. “Spock?” She reached out, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Spock!”
“There is no need to raise your voice,” Spock said, reaching for his tea to cover his instinctive flinch.
“Right.” Nyota sat back, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Have you been listening to a word I've said?”
“As fascinating as your travel plans certainly are, I would remind you that some of us have chosen to spend our leave time in a productive pursuit,” Spock replied stiffly. “I am afraid that my full attention can not be-”
“Save it.” Nyota cut him off with a single raised hand and a look of icy disdain that would have made a Vulcan woman proud. “You can lie to me if you want, but don't talk down to me and don't treat me like I'm stupid.”
“Vulcans are incapable of lying.” Spock was shocked to hear what very nearly sounded like petulance in his voice, but Nyota just rolled her eyes.
“Prevaricating, then. Deliberately obfuscating.” She dropped her arms and leaned forward again, her eyes softening in concern. “Why do you think I came here, Spock? Why do you think I paid for a same-day transport to San Francisco when Chris was supposed to be meeting me at home in two days? It's not like I came here for the weather, you know.”
Spock conceded the point with a nod. A preference for warmer climates had always been something that he and Nyota agreed on. “I confess that I am at something of a loss as to why you are here.”
“I'm worried about you,” Nyota said bluntly. “You practically bit my head off when we talked a few days ago, and Chris says that she's heard about you snapping at at least three different cadets since your class started.”
Spock felt irritation boil up inside of him and tried futilely to suppress it. “Gossip is hardly conduct becoming a Starfleet officer, and Ensign Chapel should not-”
“You know as well as I do that the Academy's a small place; you can't honestly think that emotional displays from its resident Vulcan are going to go unnoticed.” When Spock said nothing to that, she pressed on. “I haven't seen you like this since . . .” She faltered for a moment before visibly firming her resolve. “Since the last time you were emotionally compromised.”
“My next class in less than an hour.” Spock tried to ignore the furious rush of blood in his ears as he pushed back from the table. “I am afraid that I must cut our conversation short.”
“Is this about Jim?” she pressed, and jumped back when Spock's hand slammed down onto the table.
“I have not requested either your interference or your concern,” he snarled. “If I require your assistance I shall ask for it; until that time, do not presume to comment on subjects that you could not possibly comprehend.”
Spock straightened again with a growing sense of horror. For the first time in their acquaintance, Nyota looked afraid of him. He could not blame her; he could hardly believe his own actions. He straightened again and clenched his fists against the anger that still burned hot in his veins.
“My apologies,” he managed. “I . . . I regret that I will not be able to join you and Ensign Chapel for dinner tonight after all. Please excuse me.”
There was a chill drizzle falling outside, but Spock chose to walk rather than endure the crowds of strangers availing themselves of the city's public transit. He would have to contact Admiral Pike, he thought dimly. Even the most cursory examination of his mental shields-something that he had, he admitted to himself, avoided in the five point seven days since his return to Earth-revealed what he already knew.
He was indeed emotionally compromised, and far past the point of being able to rectify the problem himself. The rest of his guest lectures would have to be canceled; he could not remain at the Academy in such a state. He would go to New Vulcan and see a Healer, something that his father had been urging him to do for some time. Spock, however, had not been able to accept the idea of granting another access to his mind.
His thoughts strayed, as they had done so often of late, to Jim. Spock would gladly open himself to Jim, to the warm, golden haven of that vibrant Human mind. The idea of it haunted him, enticing as nothing else in his experience had ever been, and with every recollection of its impossibility Spock's control fractured that much more. Jim had no desire to so much as see him during their leave, Spock reminded himself sharply; he had disappeared into the horde of other Federation travelers at the first opportunity. It was hardly surprising, as determined as he had been to avoid Spock since he had woken in Sickbay with Spock's mind still carefully wrapped around his. Even if Spock were to seek Jim out, he would not-
He cut off the thought as soon as it began. Jim was not a trained Healer; despite what Spock wished, he could not help the current situation.
At least, Spock reflected as the cold rain hit his face, on New Vulcan he would finally be warm again.
*******************************
Jim woke in a cold sweat, rock hard and trembling and still half-convinced that he could feel Spock's weight pinning him to the mattress. He could still feel Spock inside him, feel hot breath bathing his face and slim hips rutting roughly into him again and again. He reached down and wrapped his fist tight around his own cock, bringing himself off in barely two full strokes.
Sticky and shivering, Jim collapsed back into the pillows as he struggled to even out his breathing. These dreams were getting ridiculous. They had started almost a week ago, vague and formless at first, just enough to lend a delicious sense of urgency to his customary morning release. As time went on, however, he found himself recognizing the large, strong hands and fierce brown eyes of his dream lover, and it wasn't long at all before he was waking up with Spock's name a half-formed whimper on his lips.
It wasn't limited to sleep anymore, either. He'd begun to have daydreams so vivid that it was getting hard to tell what was real and what was only in his head. More than once he'd found himself startled back into awareness of his surroundings, genuinely surprised to find himself alone. He half-expected to find Spock waiting every time he turned a corner, to feel hot arms wrap around him from behind whenever he didn't have a wall at his back. It was an itch between his shoulder blades, a constant sense of pursuit that never allowed him to relax.
There was a buzzing sensation beneath his skin, like the beginnings of an adrenaline rush, and Jim knew he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep. Instead he threw off the covers, shivering, and padded across the dark room to adjust the environmental controls. He'd leave in the morning, he decided; he needed someplace warmer. In the meantime he turned the temperature up another five degrees and headed for the shower.
He was already hard again by the time he stepped under the hot water. With the water up as hot as he could stand, he braced his forearm against the wall and rested his head against it. With his mind firmly fixed on the physical-the beat of the water against his back, the thick steam beginning to clog his lungs, his breath fogging against the tiles as his breathing grew heavier-he wrapped a fist around his cock and stroked himself to a swift, hard climax.
Jim let the hot water rinse the sweat and semen from his skin as a series of fine tremors shivered down his spine. The aftershocks of orgasm, he told himself, but he couldn't ignore the way the hairs at the back of his neck were rising, or the tension that was already flooding his body again. He wrenched off the water and snatched a towel from the rack.
No need to wait until morning, he thought as he scrubbed himself dry. He'd leave now.
*******************************
Spock stared at the ticket in his hand, struggling against a rising sense of panic.
The spaceport was quiet, only a handful of other travelers waiting in the immediate vicinity. Few people had seemed inclined to venture through this particular stretch of space since the Battle of Vulcan; Spock himself had not been back since the day his planet had been destroyed, despite several offers from the scientific research team investigating the area. He had no wish to be there now. By all rights, he should have been on New Vulcan, already on his way to one of the healing temples. Instead, he found himself disembarking on Canopus III with no recollection of how he got there.
He could not, he realized with a sinking feeling, remember actually buying the ticket. The entire span of time from when he had accessed a terminal to when he had boarded the transport was a blank, and most disturbing of all he had not so much as registered the inconsistency until now. He had begun with such a sense of certainty, almost a serenity that had disappeared by halfway through the trip, leaving him even edgier and more irritable than before.
Spock could no longer ignore the evidence.: shortened temper, heightened sensitivity to touch, memory loss. The diagnosis was nearly as terrifying as the symptoms, but pretending otherwise would not make the fact of the matter change.
It was all the more imperative now that he make it to New Vulcan. T'Pring had died when Vulcan was destroyed, but Spock's father and the rest of his surviving clan members would be able to find him a mate. The wave of disgust and fury that swept through him at the thought was nearly unbearable. He did not want a stranger's body, a stranger's mind to ease him through his Time. He could not endure it, would not, he wanted-
Spock cut that thought short before he could finish it. What he wanted was irrelevant; what he needed was the priority. Over the past three years a great many Vulcans had found their cycles thrown into chaos, the mating instinct triggered by their race's near extinction complicated by missing bondmates and the mass relocation effort. Based on his current trajectory, Spock hypothesized that, bondless himself, his mind was propelling him towards the space where Vulcan had once existed. If he was going to make it to New Vulcan before his time ran out, he would have to attempt to correct the error.
Unwilling to spare the time necessary to secure a solitary space, Spock simply chose a seat in the nearly-abandoned lounge. It would be quiet enough to suit his purposes, at least as far as performing a preliminary diagnostic. He closed his eyes and centered his thoughts, struggling as never before to move past his own physical awareness.
He had erected heavy shields around his broken bond when T'Pring had died, unwilling to expose the rest of his consciousness to the agony of the severed link and the compulsion to bond again that would almost certainly follow. It was those shields, he believed, that kept him from maintaining full awareness when his mating drive began to determine his actions. They would have to come down if he wished to regain full control. Focusing all of his available will, he sent the shields scattering. For a moment, nothing. And then-
Jim. His scent, the coolness of his skin, the intoxicating warmth of his thoughts-it suffused Spock's mind in the space of a breath. The sense of him was so strong that he might have been in front of Spock at that very moment, waiting only for his mate to reach out and claim him.
His mate.
Spock.
Jim.
Spock's eyes shot open, already scanning the room. Jim was not there. His mate was not there.
There was a bond where there should have been emptiness, a link to Jim that should not have been possible. Spock had only touched his mind a handful of times, and though he had thought each meld indelibly engraved in his memory they all seemed to blend together now in a haze of remembered bliss. Melding with Jim had always been exceptional, had always made Spock wish that he might never have to leave. Apparently at some point, his emotional state had overpowered his better judgement. He had bonded them, and now did not even know how or when he had done so.
This was what had been pulling him off-course, Spock realized as he surged to his feet. Why the thought of going to another repulsed him so. However it had happened, he already had a mate. And whatever it took, Spock would find him.
The possibility that Jim might not be alone was swiftly pushed away. If that was the case, Spock would deal with the telsu pi'tak when he found them. For the first time in his life, Spock knew that he could kill without question; he would end any creature that attempted to take Jim from him, would snap the interloper's neck and claim his mate before the body had even gone cold. The violence that threatened to erupt in him at the mere thought was terrifying, but there was nothing to be done. When the time came, Spock knew, what happened would happen. For now, he focused on the tug at the back of his mind.
Jim was waiting.
>>Part 2
Author: ladyblahblah
Beta: ninjaboots
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, background Bones/Gaila and Uhura/Chapel
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Slight dub-con
Disclaimer: One day I will complete my time machine, go back to the '60s and convince Gene Roddenberry to sign over the Trek franchise to me. Unfortunately, until that day I'm afraid that I own nothing but the plot, which isn't even making me any profit. *sigh*
Summary: Pon farr hits and Spock finds himself without a mate. Except . . . wait, when did that happen? Accidental!bonding fic.
Author's Note: For the st_respect Event 2 prompt: Origin Stories--How Your Ship Came To Be. I was working with a word and a time limit here, which is sort of like my double plus ungood kryptonite. I FINISHED AHAHAHAHAHAHA, but it necessitated cutting out a couple of things that were supposed to be in here. I'll start working on the Director's Cut after the event is over, for anyone interested. This entire thing was spawned by listening to Howl by Florence + the Machine on repeat, and a subsequent chat with the glorious ninjaboots . Funtiemz!
“Damn it, Jim!” McCoy snarled. Trails of sweat cut through the dirt that covered his face, but he made no move to wipe them away; his hands were red to the wrist and pressed firmly against the captain's abdomen. “I swear to god, if you die on me I will kill you. Spock, talk to me here, I need information.”
“Respiration and cardiac rates are falling. The blow to his head was worse than we originally surmised, as well.” Spock's voice was cool and calm, a direct contrast to his white-knuckled grip on the tricorder. “His brain activity appears to be weakening.”
McCoy let out a stream of vicious curses. “I can give him trianoline for the concussion, but his system can't take more than half a normal dose of netinaline. It'll help keep him with us, but only for a few minutes. Damn it, I need more time!”
“Administer the netinaline, Doctor,” Spock said, dropping the tricorder in the dust and reaching towards the captain's face. “I will secure you the time you require.”
“Are you insane?” McCoy shouted. “You can't risk a meld with him in this state; if something happens you might never be able to pull out of it!”
“That is a risk that I will have to take.”
“Spock-for god's sake man, you could die!”
“As a Starfleet officer, I must guard my captain's life even at the expense of my own.” Spock's eyes met the doctor's for a brief, furious second. “It is my duty, and I will not abandon it now.”
He didn't wait for a response, merely slid his fingers into place. For a moment the blood that leaked from Jim's temple was slick against his skin, and smoke from the wreck of the shuttlecraft stung his eyes and throat. Then his mind opened, and the world slid away.
Spock could feel the moment the drug took effect as Jim's mind seemed to sharpen and tighten around him. He seized at it with all his mental strength, turning himself into an anchor for the human consciousness. The captain's mind, usually so bright, so strong, was too weak to hold on in return. There could be no help from his side, and Spock felt him begin to slip away again as Spock's own hold faltered.
A grip on the edges of his consciousness was not enough. If he wished to be successful, Spock needed to go deeper, to find the center of the captain's mind and stabilize it. The captain was drugged, concussed, bleeding out; logic clearly indicated that the risk outweighed the potential benefit of a deeper connection. Every moment brought Jim Kirk closer to death, and the deeper he went the greater the chance that Spock would die with him.
The captain's mind began to slip.
Spock took a deep mental breath, and dove after it.
*******************************
“Attention, attention please!” Jim waited for the chatter to stop, smiling down the table at his crew. “Now, you all know I'm not a big fan of speeches, but I want to thank everyone for making it tonight. It's been an incredible three years so far; now we've got three weeks to forget that we're sick of the sight of each other.” There was a general round of laughter and eye rolling. “Before we scatter to the winds, I'd like to take this moment to point out that it's the first time we've all been off-duty at the same time, and I for one hope not to remember a moment of it tomorrow morning.” He raised his glass. “Here's to a relaxing shore leave.”
“To Leonard's best hangover cures,” Gaila chimed in with a wink.
“To getting the Admiralty to approve my request to oversee the Enterprise's repairs,” Scotty called from the other end of the table.
“To three weeks without flashing people every time you try to sit down,” Uhura offered dryly, earning a cheer from Gaila and Christine and disappointed groans from the men.
“To the best crew I could've asked for,” Jim finished. “Here's to all of you.”
He sat back down amidst hollers and cheers and calls for more drinks and carefully looked past his best friend to offer Gaila his most charming smile. “So, gorgeous, you haven't told me yet what you have planned for the next few weeks.”
“Ny's invited me to her family's place for the first week,” she said excitedly. “I've never been to Africa before, and you know Dakar is supposed to be just beautiful. The rest of the time . . . well.” She glanced over at Bones with a nervous little smile curving up her lips. “I'm going to be in Georgia.”
“Finally gonna get to meet Jo, huh?” Jim raised his eyebrows. “Big step.”
“I know. I'm nervous about it, to be honest. Excited, too, but-”
“I've told you,” Bones interrupted, reaching out to take her hand, “she's gonna love you. Hell, she's half there already; she asks about you in her letters more than she asks about me.”
“I want her to like me,” Gaila said helplessly, and Jim couldn't help but grin.
“I wouldn't worry too much. Her favorite color's already green, after all.”
Gaila laughed and Bones rolled his eyes, and Chekov spoke up from his seat on the other side of Sulu. “Vhat are your plans, Keptin? You have not said.”
“I'll be doing some traveling. See where I end up.”
“Starfleet Command,” Spock began, breaking off from his conversation with Scotty but Jim just held up a hand.
“-has no say in how I spend my legally-required shore leave, so long as I'm keeping my nose clean. I'll check in every few days or so, let Bones know where I am in case of an emergency.”
One dark, slanted eyebrow winged up. “And why, may I ask, have you chosen Dr. McCoy to be in sole possession of your whereabouts?”
“Because he's the only person I know who wants his shore leave interrupted even less than I do,” Jim smirked, “and he knows that if Command hauls me back in I'm taking him with me.”
“Yeah, his secret's safe with me,” Bones said with a scowl. “Doesn't mean I have to like it,” he went on in an undertone as the others' attention turned away again.
“I'll be fine,” Jim promised. “It's not like this is the first time I've done this, you know.”
“Oh I know. Except that last time you didn't contact anyone for a week and a half, and when you finally turned up again you'd managed to break your damn arm and nearly go into anaphylactic shock from the pain meds you'd been given.”
“That was different.” Jim picked up his glass, put it down again. “I had to . . .” He glanced down the table to where Spock was arguing over something with Chekov and Scotty. “I had to get away for a while. You know that. But that was over a year ago, and it's not like I've had any mind-shattering realizations that are going to make me act like an idiot this time.”
“That's bullshit,” Bones said flatly. “You've been even twitchier around him than ever since Boranis III, and now you're running again. We both know it.” He glanced down the table as well. “Why don't you just tell him-”
“Drop it, Bones,” Jim said sharply. “I'm not going over all of this again.”
For a moment it seemed that Bones would argue, but in the end he simply sighed and fixed Jim with his best scowl. “Make sure you refill your cervaline prescription before you leave, and don't forget to actually take it just because I'm not there to pester you about it.”
“It's been two months already,” Jim complained. “When am I gonna get taken off these damn meds?”
“When your doctor gives you a clean bill of health, and not before. Of course, if I could trust that you were somewhere your health could be properly monitored-”
“You don't have to worry about me, Bones,” Jim smiled. “I just . . . need to get away. I need some time to deal with things.”
That was all he needed, he assured himself as he let his crew's excitement wash over him. He glanced down the table again, shivering as the constant humming at the back of his mind grew stronger when his eyes landed on Spock.
He just had to get away.
*******************************
“-so we ended up just jumping on the next shuttle to San Francisco, and here we are!” Nyota's smile faded when he did not respond. “Spock?” She reached out, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Spock!”
“There is no need to raise your voice,” Spock said, reaching for his tea to cover his instinctive flinch.
“Right.” Nyota sat back, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Have you been listening to a word I've said?”
“As fascinating as your travel plans certainly are, I would remind you that some of us have chosen to spend our leave time in a productive pursuit,” Spock replied stiffly. “I am afraid that my full attention can not be-”
“Save it.” Nyota cut him off with a single raised hand and a look of icy disdain that would have made a Vulcan woman proud. “You can lie to me if you want, but don't talk down to me and don't treat me like I'm stupid.”
“Vulcans are incapable of lying.” Spock was shocked to hear what very nearly sounded like petulance in his voice, but Nyota just rolled her eyes.
“Prevaricating, then. Deliberately obfuscating.” She dropped her arms and leaned forward again, her eyes softening in concern. “Why do you think I came here, Spock? Why do you think I paid for a same-day transport to San Francisco when Chris was supposed to be meeting me at home in two days? It's not like I came here for the weather, you know.”
Spock conceded the point with a nod. A preference for warmer climates had always been something that he and Nyota agreed on. “I confess that I am at something of a loss as to why you are here.”
“I'm worried about you,” Nyota said bluntly. “You practically bit my head off when we talked a few days ago, and Chris says that she's heard about you snapping at at least three different cadets since your class started.”
Spock felt irritation boil up inside of him and tried futilely to suppress it. “Gossip is hardly conduct becoming a Starfleet officer, and Ensign Chapel should not-”
“You know as well as I do that the Academy's a small place; you can't honestly think that emotional displays from its resident Vulcan are going to go unnoticed.” When Spock said nothing to that, she pressed on. “I haven't seen you like this since . . .” She faltered for a moment before visibly firming her resolve. “Since the last time you were emotionally compromised.”
“My next class in less than an hour.” Spock tried to ignore the furious rush of blood in his ears as he pushed back from the table. “I am afraid that I must cut our conversation short.”
“Is this about Jim?” she pressed, and jumped back when Spock's hand slammed down onto the table.
“I have not requested either your interference or your concern,” he snarled. “If I require your assistance I shall ask for it; until that time, do not presume to comment on subjects that you could not possibly comprehend.”
Spock straightened again with a growing sense of horror. For the first time in their acquaintance, Nyota looked afraid of him. He could not blame her; he could hardly believe his own actions. He straightened again and clenched his fists against the anger that still burned hot in his veins.
“My apologies,” he managed. “I . . . I regret that I will not be able to join you and Ensign Chapel for dinner tonight after all. Please excuse me.”
There was a chill drizzle falling outside, but Spock chose to walk rather than endure the crowds of strangers availing themselves of the city's public transit. He would have to contact Admiral Pike, he thought dimly. Even the most cursory examination of his mental shields-something that he had, he admitted to himself, avoided in the five point seven days since his return to Earth-revealed what he already knew.
He was indeed emotionally compromised, and far past the point of being able to rectify the problem himself. The rest of his guest lectures would have to be canceled; he could not remain at the Academy in such a state. He would go to New Vulcan and see a Healer, something that his father had been urging him to do for some time. Spock, however, had not been able to accept the idea of granting another access to his mind.
His thoughts strayed, as they had done so often of late, to Jim. Spock would gladly open himself to Jim, to the warm, golden haven of that vibrant Human mind. The idea of it haunted him, enticing as nothing else in his experience had ever been, and with every recollection of its impossibility Spock's control fractured that much more. Jim had no desire to so much as see him during their leave, Spock reminded himself sharply; he had disappeared into the horde of other Federation travelers at the first opportunity. It was hardly surprising, as determined as he had been to avoid Spock since he had woken in Sickbay with Spock's mind still carefully wrapped around his. Even if Spock were to seek Jim out, he would not-
He cut off the thought as soon as it began. Jim was not a trained Healer; despite what Spock wished, he could not help the current situation.
At least, Spock reflected as the cold rain hit his face, on New Vulcan he would finally be warm again.
*******************************
Jim woke in a cold sweat, rock hard and trembling and still half-convinced that he could feel Spock's weight pinning him to the mattress. He could still feel Spock inside him, feel hot breath bathing his face and slim hips rutting roughly into him again and again. He reached down and wrapped his fist tight around his own cock, bringing himself off in barely two full strokes.
Sticky and shivering, Jim collapsed back into the pillows as he struggled to even out his breathing. These dreams were getting ridiculous. They had started almost a week ago, vague and formless at first, just enough to lend a delicious sense of urgency to his customary morning release. As time went on, however, he found himself recognizing the large, strong hands and fierce brown eyes of his dream lover, and it wasn't long at all before he was waking up with Spock's name a half-formed whimper on his lips.
It wasn't limited to sleep anymore, either. He'd begun to have daydreams so vivid that it was getting hard to tell what was real and what was only in his head. More than once he'd found himself startled back into awareness of his surroundings, genuinely surprised to find himself alone. He half-expected to find Spock waiting every time he turned a corner, to feel hot arms wrap around him from behind whenever he didn't have a wall at his back. It was an itch between his shoulder blades, a constant sense of pursuit that never allowed him to relax.
There was a buzzing sensation beneath his skin, like the beginnings of an adrenaline rush, and Jim knew he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep. Instead he threw off the covers, shivering, and padded across the dark room to adjust the environmental controls. He'd leave in the morning, he decided; he needed someplace warmer. In the meantime he turned the temperature up another five degrees and headed for the shower.
He was already hard again by the time he stepped under the hot water. With the water up as hot as he could stand, he braced his forearm against the wall and rested his head against it. With his mind firmly fixed on the physical-the beat of the water against his back, the thick steam beginning to clog his lungs, his breath fogging against the tiles as his breathing grew heavier-he wrapped a fist around his cock and stroked himself to a swift, hard climax.
Jim let the hot water rinse the sweat and semen from his skin as a series of fine tremors shivered down his spine. The aftershocks of orgasm, he told himself, but he couldn't ignore the way the hairs at the back of his neck were rising, or the tension that was already flooding his body again. He wrenched off the water and snatched a towel from the rack.
No need to wait until morning, he thought as he scrubbed himself dry. He'd leave now.
*******************************
Spock stared at the ticket in his hand, struggling against a rising sense of panic.
The spaceport was quiet, only a handful of other travelers waiting in the immediate vicinity. Few people had seemed inclined to venture through this particular stretch of space since the Battle of Vulcan; Spock himself had not been back since the day his planet had been destroyed, despite several offers from the scientific research team investigating the area. He had no wish to be there now. By all rights, he should have been on New Vulcan, already on his way to one of the healing temples. Instead, he found himself disembarking on Canopus III with no recollection of how he got there.
He could not, he realized with a sinking feeling, remember actually buying the ticket. The entire span of time from when he had accessed a terminal to when he had boarded the transport was a blank, and most disturbing of all he had not so much as registered the inconsistency until now. He had begun with such a sense of certainty, almost a serenity that had disappeared by halfway through the trip, leaving him even edgier and more irritable than before.
Spock could no longer ignore the evidence.: shortened temper, heightened sensitivity to touch, memory loss. The diagnosis was nearly as terrifying as the symptoms, but pretending otherwise would not make the fact of the matter change.
It was all the more imperative now that he make it to New Vulcan. T'Pring had died when Vulcan was destroyed, but Spock's father and the rest of his surviving clan members would be able to find him a mate. The wave of disgust and fury that swept through him at the thought was nearly unbearable. He did not want a stranger's body, a stranger's mind to ease him through his Time. He could not endure it, would not, he wanted-
Spock cut that thought short before he could finish it. What he wanted was irrelevant; what he needed was the priority. Over the past three years a great many Vulcans had found their cycles thrown into chaos, the mating instinct triggered by their race's near extinction complicated by missing bondmates and the mass relocation effort. Based on his current trajectory, Spock hypothesized that, bondless himself, his mind was propelling him towards the space where Vulcan had once existed. If he was going to make it to New Vulcan before his time ran out, he would have to attempt to correct the error.
Unwilling to spare the time necessary to secure a solitary space, Spock simply chose a seat in the nearly-abandoned lounge. It would be quiet enough to suit his purposes, at least as far as performing a preliminary diagnostic. He closed his eyes and centered his thoughts, struggling as never before to move past his own physical awareness.
He had erected heavy shields around his broken bond when T'Pring had died, unwilling to expose the rest of his consciousness to the agony of the severed link and the compulsion to bond again that would almost certainly follow. It was those shields, he believed, that kept him from maintaining full awareness when his mating drive began to determine his actions. They would have to come down if he wished to regain full control. Focusing all of his available will, he sent the shields scattering. For a moment, nothing. And then-
Jim. His scent, the coolness of his skin, the intoxicating warmth of his thoughts-it suffused Spock's mind in the space of a breath. The sense of him was so strong that he might have been in front of Spock at that very moment, waiting only for his mate to reach out and claim him.
His mate.
Spock.
Jim.
Spock's eyes shot open, already scanning the room. Jim was not there. His mate was not there.
There was a bond where there should have been emptiness, a link to Jim that should not have been possible. Spock had only touched his mind a handful of times, and though he had thought each meld indelibly engraved in his memory they all seemed to blend together now in a haze of remembered bliss. Melding with Jim had always been exceptional, had always made Spock wish that he might never have to leave. Apparently at some point, his emotional state had overpowered his better judgement. He had bonded them, and now did not even know how or when he had done so.
This was what had been pulling him off-course, Spock realized as he surged to his feet. Why the thought of going to another repulsed him so. However it had happened, he already had a mate. And whatever it took, Spock would find him.
The possibility that Jim might not be alone was swiftly pushed away. If that was the case, Spock would deal with the telsu pi'tak when he found them. For the first time in his life, Spock knew that he could kill without question; he would end any creature that attempted to take Jim from him, would snap the interloper's neck and claim his mate before the body had even gone cold. The violence that threatened to erupt in him at the mere thought was terrifying, but there was nothing to be done. When the time came, Spock knew, what happened would happen. For now, he focused on the tug at the back of his mind.
Jim was waiting.
>>Part 2