I wish that I could remember his name. But I will not, I know it. I have already agreed to this.

I shall neither see this again nor remember what passed between us, even if I live so long, for not less than 60, nor more than 100 years. Not until either I see him again, or until his heirs return this tape to me, still Privacy-sealed. That is all, now, that I am certain of. And soon enough I will forget even that.

-----///-----

The beginning of it was innocuous enough. An anomaly on the sensors, on a day when the Enterprise had time to divert and investigate. The anomaly turned out to be a shuttlecraft, of a highly advanced design, and bearing StarFleet insignia. Or, more precisely, what StarFleet insignia might look like, in another Vulcan generation or so...

We could read one life sign aboard, very faint, but could not tell to whom or what it belonged. The vessel's shielding was of a type we had not encountered before; it blocked most of our sensors. Since this precluded the use of the transporter, I chose to pilot the Copernicus to rendezvous with the newcomer. Captain Kirk was already aware from my preliminary report that this might be a situation covered by General Order Number Ten.

Upon my arrival, I locked the two craft together with tractor beams, and used a fieldsuit for the short jump between our airlocks, since they were not of compatible design. The visitor's shuttle was sleek, trim; somewhat larger overall than mine, but with a slimmer profile. As I finished crossing the gap, the other ship's lock began to cycle. It was considerably faster than that of Copernicus. This confirmed my earlier impression.

Once inside, I knew my conjecture for fact. This was indubitably a StarFleet vessel -- but it was not from our time. It was from what to us was still the future. I indulged myself with a quick visual survey; it was fascinating to see what had changed, and what had not.

I still had not found the pilot. Finally, I turned off my fieldsuit and just listened, and then I was able to hear laboured breathing.

He was wedged into a corner underneath the control console, crumpled small, quite unconscious. His hands were damaged, broken -- he had tried, it seemed, to ward off some impact. The cabin bore evidence of a very hard ride indeed. The pilot's chair was partly sheared off at its base, badly twisted and bent; broken ends of straps matched those trailing from the pilot's unresponsive form. Blood marked the wall beside his head, dripped from his obviously broken nose, from a badly split lip -- and that blood was as green as my own.

He had not engaged the healing trance; his breathing was ragged and uneven.

By the look of him he was from Vulcan's southern reaches; perhaps even Psai'kihsa, on one side or the other of his Family. He was somewhat more heavily built than I am, with a lean high-cheekboned face and slender long-fingered hands, much like my own. His hair had the tight-kinked curls of one of the desert folk. How strange it felt, to be around another Vulcan. It had been so many years... For although I last visited the Homeworld just over a year ago, I was in no condition, then, to notice what was around me. I can barely remember her presence; between the pain of the broken Bond and the heat of the Fire that was then within me, almost all else is lost. I remember only her -- and the way Jim's face looked, darkened, eyes closed, as I lowered him to the sand... But I digress.

I put my fingers to the pilot's throat, and was reassured to feel his pulse, a strong fast beat, as it should be. It did not occur to me, for some reason, to scan him with the tricorder instead.

A Vulcan! What are you doing out here, and when are you from? That is what I was thinking, as I worked to free him. Finally I was able to tug, and have him float toward me. For once, artificial gravity had failed at a convenient time, rather than in the usual way.

After a moment's thought, I draped him over my shoulder and reprogrammed my fieldsuit. Thus I was able, holding him close, to extend the field long enough to jump from his ship to mine.

I saw him safely to a bunk before starting the journey back. Locked as she was to his own powerless craft, Copernicus would be slow. It could not be helped. If I was correct about his origins, I would have to help him return to his own time. There would be nothing for him here.

Having advised the Enterprise of our status, I inspected my passenger again. I found him conscious this time, though obviously weak. He had sustained a blow to the head, and a belated tricorder scan showed that he had several broken ribs, in addition to innumerable bruises and abrasions, and the damage to his face and hands. None of his injuries were life-threatening, but he was definitely in need of assistance.

When he saw my face, his eyes grew very wide. "You... you are Spock cha' Sarek, are you not? Then somehow, I have traveled back in time." His voice was almost inaudible.

Even after all these years, it never fails to surprise me when someone I have never met recognizes me. I know that as Sarek's son, the halfling, I have a certain... notoriety. But I have never become accustomed to it. I have never sought renown. Only peace. And that, of course, continues to elude me.

I could feel my eyebrows climbing. "Yes. I am Spock. And I believe you are correct."

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Then General Order Number Ten is... in effect?"

I nodded also, relieved that he understood. "Yes. Do you require assistance? I am no Healer, but I have gained some small skill, over the years."

Eyelids fluttered, over eyes as dark as my own. "I would be grateful. I am Tuvok cha' S'khel. I regret that I cannot give you my clan name."

No, of course he could not. StarFleet General Order Number Ten concerns matters of Temporal Conservation, and expressly forbids any transmission of knowledge.

"It is of no importance," I told him. "What can I do?"

A flicker of pain across that previously impassive brown face, the slightest of gasps. "If... you could help me... to initiate the healing trance..."

"Of course." I reached for the meld points on his face. "Tuvok -- here. Allow me." And in the end, he did not need much assistance; it was simply a matter of helping him to divert the pain until he could properly establish the trance. After that, I kept watch over him, until at last we reached the Enterprise.

-----///-----

"Speculation is a waste of time. So I have always believed. But at the moment, I can almost understand the temptation. Captain -- Jim -- we have a problem."

Jim sighed. "Out with it, Spock."

"Extrapolating from the design of his ship, our ...guest... is from a time between 60 and 100 years in what to us is the future. His ship, and his person, and all pertinent recorded data and images, are therefore subject to General Order Number Ten."

Jim winced. "Temporal Conservation. I see. Yes, that qualifies as a problem, all right." He reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose, the way he always does when a headache is coming on. He thinks that I do not notice, but of course, I do. How could I not? I wished, as I always do, that I could take away his pain -- but that is not possible. If I were to touch him, I might give myself away.

"God, I hate dealing with time travel," he muttered. "Just thinking of all that paperwork..."

Then he smiled, and looked over at me. Those eyes of his... I get lost in them. I always have. I have to force myself to concentrate, when he looks at me like that. He said, "Listen to me gripe. You're going to have as much of it as I am, maybe more. And you'd rather be in the lab, wouldn't you?"

I nodded. "Given my preference, yes, sir." It is not my true preference, no. But it is the only one I dare to speak of.

"Well, I guess we're stuck with this. You say he's Vulcan? And in StarFleet himself?"

"So it appears, yes. Dr. M'Benga is confident that he will make a full recovery. Before I turned back toward the Enterprise, I was able to help him initiate the healing trance." I had to work to keep my frustration out of my voice, my curiousity off my face. Jim and I helped to write General Order Number Ten, at the behest of Admirals Nogura and !Xiqe. I myself had proposed the guidelines we were now following. But it was more difficult than I had expected, to contain my curiousity. Even knowing what was at stake, I desired to learn more.

Jim's smile was almost blinding. "An 'interesting' situation, Mr. Spock?" I would not be surprised to learn that he knew exactly what I was feeling. He has always been perceptive.

I allowed myself the barest nod. "An 'interesting' situation, indeed, Captain."

He sighed. "Well, you might as well keep on handling it, Spock. Strict containment protocol, especially the technical end of it. Scotty does not get a look at these engines, unless absolutely necessary. As much as possible, let it be just you and Dr. M'Benga in contact with our guest."

"So I had surmised was best. I plan to offer him my quarters for the duration, once he awakens. I have already begun to compare my sensor logs with his; if I can determine how he arrived here, I may be able to return him to his own time. It would certainly be the least troublesome solution, both to his problem, and ours."

"Well, for his sake, I hope it works out." He sighed again, and stretched, working his shoulders to loosen them. "Ugh. That's enough for me, for one night. I'm hungry; I think I hear the mess-hall calling. Care to join me, Spock?"

"Perhaps later, sir -- but if I am to share my quarters, I should make ready for a guest."

"Carry on, then." And we left, I to return to my quarters, and Jim, presumably, to the mess.

-----///-----

After two days, Dr. M'Benga called me, to tell me our guest was out of the healing trance.

Jim and I had already agreed that pursuant to General Order Number Ten, only M'Benga and myself, if possible, should have contact with Tuvok. Hearing that, McCoy had grinned, and thrown his hands in the air. "Lord have mercy. Two Vulcans -- and I don't have to deal with it!" He slapped M'Benga on the shoulder. "Kesse, m'boy, they're all yours!" Then he grabbed Jim's arm and pulled him down the hallway, laughing as he went.

I did not permit myself to react. I touched McCoy's thoughts, once, on the Melkot world. It is just his manner. He stood beside me at Koon-ut-Kalifee, which none of my clan would do. He stood beside me, and he saved Jim's life, when my Fire would have destroyed us both. He is an honourable man.

Now I entered Sickbay, to find Tuvok awake and looking much improved, sitting up in bed, and playing a rapidfire session of sim're at'cha! -- the Dancing Words Game -- with the doctor. M'Benga was very carefully not smiling -- but his eyes were dancing. He does not get many chances to practice his Vulcan -- as a rule, I make it my business to stay out of Sickbay.

I took a seat to await the game's conclusion. In the end, as might be expected, Tuvok won. But the doctor gave quite a good account of himself.

"A good game, Doctor M'Benga. My thanks." Tuvok's voice was soft, pitched low. He seemed quite recovered, now -- other than a few visible patches of new, tender skin, there was no sign of his injuries. He was using his hands easily and without pain. Most satisfactory.

He glanced over at me. I bowed, the middling bow, of cautious-respect-between-equals. I spoke to him in Vulcan, knowing M'Benga would understand, as well. I had given him my name already, aboard his ship -- but I felt a more formal introduction was called for. "I am Spock cha' Sarek, of the clan of Surak. It is my task to assist in your return home."

An eyebrow rose, in a familiar gesture I had not seen in some time, except in my mirror. There are no other Vulcans aboard the Enterprise. "I am... grateful," he replied, in the same tongue. "I am very willing to accept your assistance."

I sat down next to his bed. "Do you remember how you arrived here?"

He inclined his head. "I do." He looked both M'Benga and myself in the eyes, and I found myself wondering what sights his eyes had seen, what manner of time and place it was, where he came from. I knew already that I would never have answers to my questions -- but I am Vulcan. I can no more cease to be curious, than I can exist without breathing.

Whatever he saw in our eyes, it seemed to satisfy him. He spoke again, this time in Standard. "I must ask you both -- should my return home prove possible, will you accept a memory alteration?"

I nodded, having already deduced that this would be necessary. M'Benga, after some thought, also nodded.

"Well enough." Our guest bowed, then told the doctor, in formal tones, "Then know that I am Tuvok cha' S'khel, of the clan of Selai. I am an officer on a StarFleet vessel, which was thrown 70,000 light years from home during an encounter with a powerful alien. We have survived, but we are understandably very interested in shortening our journey home. To that end, I was investigating a somewhat stable wormhole we had encountered, hoping it might take me to the Alpha quadrant. Which it has, but apparently it took me some distance back in time, as well. I see two options: either I must somehow manage to return to my own time, or I must live here, in seclusion, until that time comes around again. My preference is to return home."

I felt constrained to remind him, "You could also go to the Homeworld."

He nodded. "Indeed. But I would have to live in isolation, even there. Never to touch another's thoughts... I am not a monk, kinsman." Kinsman indeed. Selai were once woven to us, distantly. It is an ancient connection -- but such things endure, on Vulcan.

I understood all too well. It had driven me off Vulcan myself, years ago. Just exactly that. To be surrounded by fellow telepaths; to feel the richness of the life of the mind, going on all around you -- and to be forever excluded, alone, isolated... No. I did not blame Tuvok for his lack of interest. At least here, it is silent not from disdain, but simply from humans' lack of ability. "It is an experience... not unknown to me. And I am not a monk, either. I do understand."

He was Bonded; I could feel that just from being near him. I found myself a little envious; it had only been a year since my own disbonding. It still hurt, the place in my mind where the Bond used to be. It was beginning to seem, now, as if it always would hurt. So strange, for when it was there, I had scarcely been aware of it at all. I had not felt T'Pring's presence in my thoughts once, from the day we first bonded to the day when she called for the Challenge, and broke the thread that had joined us for so long. Whereas I could plainly feel, in Tuvok, a sense of his mate's presence, both in his thoughts and in their Bond. She was a shadow around and behind him; an unseen factor that nonetheless influenced everything he was and did. And again, I felt envy.

There was no help for it. Kaiidth -- what is, is. I was, and am, alone.

No. I could not wish disbonding upon any other. If it hurt me so, to lose the thin shadow that my own Bond had been, how much worse would it be for someone with a fully realized Bond, like Tuvok? I would do my best to spare this man that experience. He had to get back to his own time. Nothing else would suffice.

I looked up, met eyes as dark, as Vulcan, as impassive, as my own. Nodded, firmly, let him see that I meant every word. "If it can be done at all, to return you to your home, I shall do it. For the moment, if Dr. M'Benga is willing to release you from Sickbay, you are welcome to share my quarters; I keep them at Vulcan temperature and humidity. I also have lab-quality computer access. Or if you prefer, we could find empty quarters for you --"

"That will not be necessary. It is logical, if we are to work together, to share your space. And I must admit that it will be pleasant, to be warm and dry again. On Voyager, my ship, we do not usually have the resources to spare. We must be always careful; we have a very long journey ahead of us."

"Then, be welcome, Tuvok." And so it was done. We cleared the halls, and I escorted him to my quarters.

It was... refreshing, to work with one of my own again. And more than that -- unlike the Vulcans I'd known as a child, he simply accepted me at face value. I never saw him look at me with that doubt in his eyes, that cool measuring glance I could somehow never satisfy. He quite literally did not care that I was half-human. He doubted neither my Vulcan-ness, nor my skills. And that, too, was... refreshing.

-----///-----

As the days passed, I grew accustomed to Tuvok's presence. I became at ease in his company, as I am with no one else, except possibly Jim. We spent much time working together, for I had been excused from my regular duties for the duration, to permit me to devote my full efforts to this problem and its solution.

There were so many things that he understood, which even Jim does not. At night, when I stared into the Flame and tried to meditate -- he knew how it is, how sometimes, peace simply is not there to be found. Sometimes, just surviving is all we have left. I have become quite adept at surviving, over the years. And again, unlike those on my homeworld, Tuvok neither judged me nor found me wanting.

Only Jim had ever shown me that much acceptance.

"We are all different, that is all," Tuvok told me. "You have a gift for temporal physics, an intuitive understanding of it that I shall never equal. If sometimes my control seems stronger, it is only that I have had somewhat more years, in which to refine it."

I had to agree that this was true. It was an interesting experience.

This was an intriguing problem in temporal physics. The equations were aesthetically pleasing, almost what Mr. Scott might have called elegant. It surprised me, to hear the wanting in Tuvok's voice when he spoke of physics, of my understanding of it. It had never occurred to me that another Vulcan might not be able to simply see the equations in his mind, to appreciate them in that way. Tuvok was not unintelligent; he simply did not think in the same way that I did.

On the other hand, he was far more comfortable than I was, when dealing with humans. Decisions and situations which seemed almost insurmountable to me, he negotiated with ease. This was also interesting.

And it was pleasant, to see the face of one of my own again, to speak and to hear spoken the tongue of my homeworld. It had been a long time.

After three days of hard work, it was possible to state that there would be a solution. Work remained to be done, but the bones of the answer were in place. I was pleased, though of course I did not let it show. But at the end of that day, I took Tuvok to the ship's rec deck, by means of the service crawlways. In this way we encountered no others. Once there, I pointed out the sauna. Being Vulcan he did not smile -- but he did move with some alacrity.

I had taken the liberty of reserving it for a time. The air was pleasantly hot and dry. The red wooden walls were not the same as Vulcan sandstone -- but they were an acceptable compromise. The two of us climbed to the top level and basked for a time, in comfortable silence. It is rare for me, too, to be warm enough, aboard the Enterprise. Only in my quarters and there in the sauna, and occasionally, in one of Sickbay's private rooms. But it was logical to relax; it would aid us in sleep, later. We had accomplished much in a relatively short time.

So why did I keep hearing Leonard McCoy in my mind, laughing and muttering something about "a coupla lizards on a damn rock"...? It occurs to me that possibly my father is correct, about the deleterious effects of so much contact with humans...

We worked on.

At one point, a day or so after that, we had his shuttle suspended in midair, and were both sitting on antigravs beneath it. Tuvok was spot-welding, and I was re-installing some circuitry I'd repaired. We had agreed that since my memory was to be altered anyway, it was more efficient for me to have the necessary knowledge to help repair his ship. And so we had melded and he had given it to me. I had been both impressed and humbled by the calmness, the serenity and order, of his thoughts, and, as one will in the meld, he had seen that in my mind. He had considered it for a while, as we worked. Now he looked over at me, and I found that I knew what he was thinking of. "Spock -- the difference in our controls, it is nothing. Only it is that I spent some years as a student, at Gol. I do not doubt you could do as well -- but why would you wish to? You conduct yourself quite properly, kinsman; there is no need of shame."

I could not find words or even clear images, to tell him why. I thought about it, and finally reached for his hand. He nodded his acceptance, and I offered him a complex weaving, of memory and shame, of difference, of effort where others seemed to need none. Of the disappointment in my father's eyes, how they seemed to turn to black ice on the day I told him that I was leaving Vulcan for StarFleet. The day that I stood on the sands of Koon-ut-Kalifee and heard the Challenge, felt my Bond broken -- and the only one of my clan in attendance was T'Pau herself, and were she not the officiator, she too would not have been present...

I froze, finally, and cut myself off before I could spill any more. "I am sorry, Tuvok. I am more fatigued than I had realized. I did not intend to burden you..." I was shamed, by my lack of control. Obviously I required more time in meditation than I had been achieving of late.

He shook his head, very slightly. "You have not burdened me -- the cause is sufficient. No offense is given, where none is felt. And in truth I am fatigued, myself. We have accomplished much, this day. Perhaps a rest and some food are called for. And a game of chess, afterwards?"

And so an awkward moment was put aside, as Tradition permits one to do.

We worked on.

In the evenings, Tuvok and I played chess, or discussed Vulcan history. I spoke to Jim perhaps once each day, keeping him advised of our progress and expectations. Other than that, I saw almost no-one, for the less our crew saw of Tuvok, the smaller the chance of any temporal mishap. It was quite the longest time I had been away from Jim since coming aboard, three years previously. I should not have been surprised, perhaps, to find how strongly I missed our conversations -- but I was, nonetheless. I continually found myself about to tell him something, or ask his opinion, only to realize that he was not there, nor should he become involved.

Tuvok noticed this; on an evening when we once more sat basking in the sauna, he said, "You are very close to your Captain, are you not, kinsman?"

I looked away, schooling my face to control, thinking that to him my feelings must be transparently obvious. More shame, on top of what I already bore.

"It is true," I said, for to pretend otherwise would be worse than useless. "For a human, he can be surprisingly logical when it suits him. And he is an able tactician. I am fortunate, to serve such a one." Ahh, Spock, such a liar you are. The remembered voice of some teacher from my childhood... And yet, what else might I have said? For in truth nothing has ever been settled, between Jim and myself. Nothing has ever even been discussed. I dare not. I have no idea what Jim's response might be, and I am unwilling to risk the friendship that we share. At least, as things are, I have his presence in my life.

It was as if Tuvok understood all this; he made no reference to it at all, merely answered, "Indeed, so. As am I, myself. My own Captain is human, also. And like Captain Kirk, Captain Janeway is an able leader. T'Pel and I knew her when she was at StarFleet Academy; it is gratifying to see her succeed in her endeavours. Almost I could wish for more time here; I would find making your Captain's acquaintance most satisfying. However, that cannot be helped. I have been priviledged enough to meet you -- certes I never expected to do that."

"It has been a most interesting experience, I must admit. I regret the need to relinquish the memory -- but I know it must be so."

"Indeed. However there is much to be done, yet, before that day arrives. Do not burden yourself, kinsman." And he reached for the sauna's controls, to increase the heat, and both of us relaxed once more into silence.

At the end of a tenday, we knew exactly how this had happened, and essentially, how to correct it. I had almost finished the calculations. I myself was satisfied with the work; and although he admitted to not completely understanding all of it, Tuvok expressed a similar sentiment. For his part he was going over his small ship with a meticulous eye for detail, and an apparent depth of knowledge equivalent to that of Mr. Scott. Nothing could be left to chance, if he was to survive. He added to the bracing and shielding of his shuttle as best he could, hoping that in this way, he would escape uninjured on his return journey.

Each day seemed much like the last; we had fallen into a comfortable routine of work, more silent together than humans might have been, but quite at ease for all of that. It was only gradually that I began to realize something was wrong.

At first, I thought it was the slowness of the work that had begun to trouble him.

He looked over my calculations to date. I was by that time finalizing the solutions to his return itself. It would be twelve more days, most likely, before we could make the attempt to return him to his own time and place.

But gradually I became aware that it was more than that.

He had been having increasing difficulty sleeping. I often suffer that trouble myself; I thought nothing of it at first. But he was haunted by dreams even when he did sleep, which is not usual for a Vulcan who has been able to meditate. When there was but a tenday remaining before his chance to return home, I became aware that he had also, apparently, stopped eating. I grew concerned. I sought him out, then, and found him tossing and turning, once more unable to sleep.

"Tuvok, kinsman... something is wrong. May I ask...?"

He was startled; uncharacteristically, he had not heard my approach. For a second his face was stark indeed, before the flawless Vulcan mask covered it up again. "Your concern is appreciated, kinsman. But I do not require assistance, at this time."

I knew even then that he was not being entirely truthful. But Tradition left me no option but to bow, murmur my acceptance, and leave him to his meditations. For my own part, I, too, found sleep difficult to attain, that night. I was too aware of the silent figure in the other room, not asleep, but heavily shielded, lying motionless in the dark.

I could not help being concerned, but I respected his wishes, and said nothing more that night. And the next morning it seemed he had managed to resolve at least some of whatever had disturbed him. He was calm, and his hands were steady as he drank the tea I had made. So I put it from my mind, reminding myself that his Privacy was just as important as my own.

That morning I finished the last of the calculations we needed, and they proved that we would be able to return him, if his initial observations had been correct. Jim ordered our course changed, and the Enterprise turned back toward the place where we had found him. This was where the wormhole should reappear, in another nine days. Being free of that task, I turned my attention to helping with the shuttle's re-fit, working to be certain all was in optimum condition. Tuvok was ostensibly finishing up inside, adding some last-minute bracing and reconfiguring his shields. Only gradually did I become aware of how slowly he was moving whenever he exited his ship, how carefully, as if to shield himself from pain. My concern returned, twofold.

I put down my tools, and closed the hatch I had been working on. Then I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and entered the shuttle.

I found him on his knees beside an open panel, hunched over, his arms wrapped tightly about his abdomen. His eyes were tight-shut and his breathing ragged; it took some moments before the spasm passed and he was able to relax and meet my eyes. When he saw me his eyes grew wide, then narrowed, as he gathered up his strength.

I said only, "Tuvok -- is there nothing I can do? I do not mean to disrespect your wishes, but I cannot pretend that all is well when so plainly, all is not. If you choose not to answer, it is your right. But kinsman -- I must ask. What ails thee?"

He sighed, then, looking up at me, and I was struck by how deeply shadowed his eyes were, how gaunt his face suddenly seemed. He sat up straight, not without some effort, and winced. "Aye, Spock. Thee may ask. I believe this is... an effect of having traveled in time. My physiology has become... disturbed, it seems. I have tried to resolve it with meditation, as they teach us to do, at Gol, but I have not succeeded. I Dream of T'Pel; I hear her calling me -- but she is 85 years in the future, kinsman. Our Bond survived my journey here, it is true. But now I am... in some difficulty."

He looked away again, and I realized that he was no more comfortable discussing such a thing than I had been, a year ago. He could not bring himself to ask for help. I had not been able to, either. Jim had been forced to drag the information from me. I looked at Tuvok, saw the tremors that were beginning to afflict him, and I remembered all too clearly how he felt. Remembered the nausea, the chills, the fever -- the hunger, that I had never felt before. The way the merest touch of my clothes against my skin had seemed the most exquisite of torments. I remembered the ache in the small of my back, how tight every single muscle had been, how I had yearned for rest, yet been unable to achieve it...

I knew, then, what I was going to do.

I touched his hand for a moment, just the barest brush of contact, to let him feel that I spoke the truth. "Tuvok -- kinsman -- I would be honoured to serve your Need. I am UnBonded, and not near my own Time." And I knelt, then, before him, as was done of old. As Vulcans have knelt, since the Time of the Beginning. We do not speak of this. But all know. The good of the many, we say only, and then nothing more. Awareness exists, acceptance of necessity, of the saving of Bonds -- but it is not discussed.

As nothing important, it seems, is ever discussed.

I have always been proud of my Vulcan heritage -- but I am less sanguine about some aspects of Vulcan custom. Such silence nearly cost my captain his life, a year ago, for I did not then know all that I needed to, and, constrained by a lifetime of custom, I could not bring myself to speak to him openly of even the little that I did know.

All of this I thought of, as I knelt there and waited for Tuvok to answer. He was watching me, silently; his nostrils flared as if to catch my scent. His skin was beaded with sweat, and his breath sounded harshly in his throat. I swallowed, and let my shields begin to fade. And I could feel, then, the flames that were beginning to burn within him. I made myself stay silent, only watching -- it must be for him, to accept or reject the offer I was making. It seemed we stayed there, in silence, for an endless time, before finally he met my eyes again, and nodded.

I reached for the comm panel, and requested Mr. Scott to beam two directly to my quarters. He agreed to do so, and very soon we stood in incense-scented dimness, in the comfort of the hot dry air. I felt myself relax a little, as I always did when that door closed behind me and I could be warm again. Tuvok simply stood and watched me, his eyes wide, tremors coursing through his flesh.

At that moment, I admit, I was perhaps not thinking entirely clearly. His scent was strong, resinous and musky; I found my own heartbeat beginning to accelerate, as my body reacted to his condition. I could not quite catch my breath. The skin at the back of my neck was prickling.

I took one step closer to him; now we could feel one another's tsek'khala'n... Fields? Aurae? Standard does not have a word for this; it is an awareness perhaps only another telepath can really understand. None of my crewmates could have done so. But, like the warmth of his scent, this new awareness served only to accelerate what was happening. Tuvok was flushed, now, olive highlights gleaming on his brown cheekbones. His head was tilted back, his eyes were closed. His mouth was partly open, and he was breathing too fast, fighting for control. Ah, I remembered that feeling. So I myself had fought, once. And lost. Now, as I watched him, a slow heavy warmth gathered in the pit of my belly. Once more I knew hunger, as Tuvok knew it. I had not realized how clearly I remembered all this -- ordinarily, the memories are among those that I prefer not to access.

I took one last step forward, and I knelt again, before him. "Tuvok -- will you let me help?" His eyes closed and he shuddered.

Finally, very slowly, he reached out to take my hand, and pulled me to my feet again. "Yes," he whispered, his voice harsh with the effort of speaking. "Yes, Spock -- I accept thy offer. The honour is mine, kinsman."

No-one had ever said that to me. I had never had occasion to even offer it, before. For a moment it was all I could do to remember to breathe. He held out his arms and I stepped into his embrace. I reached to put my arms around his hips, and pulled him closer. My own eyes drifted closed, as I concentrated on the warmth beneath my hands, on that enticing and wonderful scent. I could feel his pulse against my side, triphammer fast -- just like my own.

He was already hard, in Need; as he pressed himself against me my own flesh twitched, and I felt myself growing rapidly to match his desire. When he reached up to stroke the back of my neck, a shudder ran through me. His Need was strong; he Burned -- and I began to feel that Burning with him, the sweet hot Fire we Vulcans profess to fear, even as we crave its glorious touch. And, unlike the events of a year ago, this time, my body knew what was happening, welcomed it, sought eagerly to feel even more. Now I understood the changes I had felt in myself, over the past year. The growth of hair, the changes in muscle size and mass, the peculiar dreams and longings I had felt -- all of those had been for this, that I might properly respond, the next time I Burned.

Before, I was a child, despite my learning, and my rank. This time, I felt as a man feels.

I offered him two fingers, felt his fingers and mine twine together, caressing, stroking. Promise of things to come. So gentle, he was. Even flushed and sweating, shaking as he was, he moved so slowly. Such control...

He drew the tips of his fingers down the sides of my face, brushed them gently across my lips. The first brush of his thoughts, soft against my own... So hot; ah, so good... His nostrils flared again, as he leaned closer to me, drinking in my scent. "Ahhh..." His voice was hoarse now, deeper than it had been. I reached up to caress the sides of his face, enjoying the electric tingle of his thoughts beneath my fingertips. He turned his head and nipped at my fingers with his teeth. The contact sent a shock running down my spine.

Now it was my turn to let my head fall back, to sigh. "Ahh..."

Two warm fingers brushed across my lips, stroked along my cheekbones. Lips, warmer yet, followed in their wake. I tilted my head to catch them with my own. Vague tangles of memory, of a sweet scented flower, a flash of blonde hair; of an instant of pain, and an oddly timeless sunny afternoon among the trees -- I did not really remember, but it that seemed my body did. I reached to return the kiss, found it a familiar gesture. It took every scrap of my rapidly fading control to stop, to pull myself back a little, to find the words I needed. "Wait, kinsman -- only a moment. I must... take my leave..."

He blinked, and I could see how hard it was for him to understand, to think of anything but the plight of his body. So well, I remembered; so it is for all of us, when the Fire comes to take us. Swiftly I contacted Jim, on the bridge. I spoke of nothing Private, saying only, that both Tuvok and myself would be unavailable for a time. As I had known he would, Jim agreed. I do not know how much he understood -- but I do not, as a rule, ask for leave. He knows that if I do, it is for a good reason. That done, I switched off the comm unit, coded my door for Privacy, and turned back toward Tuvok.

Then his fingers brushed my face again, and I found myself open, ready, all my shields gone. "Yes..." I whispered. "Take what you need. I would share the Fire with you, Tuvok."

He moaned, very softly, and for a moment his eyes rolled back. "Ahh -- Spock... I Burn. It is not my Time, but -- I Burn..." I said nothing, only tilted my head again, so that his hand lay upon the side of my face. We stood like that, frozen, for an instant, and then he moved, spreading his fingers, reaching for the meld points even as I was reaching for his.

We fell together, then, into one another's thoughts, into the heart of the Fire.

Once more, I knew what it is to Burn. But this time, no other was at risk. This time I knew who I was, and where I was, and who I was with. And knowing, felt my knowledge cool his Fire, just enough, a little, that he kept some awareness, too. He was swaying slightly, his eyes closed, his face shining with sweat.

In front of him his hands nervously twined together, then apart. When he felt my hands upon him again, he gasped; I could feel his heartbeat racing ever faster.

I reached around behind him and put my hands on his back; very gently I stroked, up and down, on either side of his spine. The chenesi were hard under my fingertips, swollen and tender; as I began to massage around them he moaned and rubbed himself against me. A flash of heat, then, in the small of my own back -- oh yes, my body remembered. So hot...

Once more he reached for the sides of my face, and this time, when he let fall his hands, the link between us did not fade. Instead, as he reached up under my shirt to stroke and pet my newly-sensitive skin, I could feel it from both my viewpoint, and his. I leaned in toward him, let my weight rest against him. I could feel his hardness, pressed tightly against my own -- and that sensation was enough to wash away the remains of my control. I do not know which of us moved first toward the bed, nor does it matter, for in this we were of one mind, one desire. One Need...

I fumbled with his shirt-clasp for a moment, my fingers made clumsy by the strength of my arousal. Finally I found what I sought, and was able to divest him of it. He was smooth-skinned, as Jim is; his nipples were flushed a dark olive green, drawn up tight and hard. I bent to lick first one, then the other, and he gasped and swayed again. I quickly stepped out of my own clothes; it was quite warm enough. Then I knelt and began to open his trousers, for I could see that his Need was making him tremble. I guided him down till he sat on the edge of my bed, with me kneeling in front of him. He was fully erect; his sheath withdrawn, his sex standing proud and hungry, a single drop of fluid glistening at its tip. I touched just the tip of my tongue to him, and he groaned. "Ohh, yes... oh, please..." And I took him in my mouth, all of him, sucking swift and hard, using my tongue, the edges of my teeth... From his own mind I drew the knowledge of how best to serve his Need. His hands were restless, his fingers carding through my hair, caressing the back of my neck, pressing me tightly into his groin. His hips thrust upwards in the age-old rhythm, driving him ever deeper, while I did my best to devour him whole.

It did not take long, that first time. All too soon, he stiffened, threw his head back, gasped for air... Spasms shook his body, and my mouth was filled with the hot sweet taste of his pleasure. I drank it all, and licked him clean, before I lay down beside him and pulled him into my arms. Already I could feel him growing hard again, the Fire within him relentless in its course. And I could feel my own body Burning, my own flesh eager to be touched, and used.

His hands were all over me, stroking my skin, pinching here, scratching there; now tugging at the hair on my chest, now tracing along the edge of my ear, my jaw, my lips. He kissed me, and it was like no other kiss I'd ever known, a harsh, devouring hunger that drew me ever deeper. He was hot, and his scent was so strong; with every breath I took in more of it, felt my own body Burn, in answer and in promise of fulfillment. He reached down to stroke my sex, and now it was my turn to gasp, for with that touch I felt a new hunger.

I kissed him again, and finally I gained his attention. "Tuvok," I whispered, my own voice now as hoarse and harsh as his, "I need... I want..."

He stroked me again, then reached to touch between my legs, to fondle my aching balls, and reach behind them. Of their own will, my legs fell open for him, that he might more easily reach his goal. "Yes..." Only dimly did I realize it was my voice I heard. "Yes -- please, Tuvok. Now..." It was all I could think of, that hunger, that terrible emptiness within me. I felt his hands on me, guiding me to turn, to draw one leg up, to curl back against the hard heat of his body. So good... so hot... Once more his hands caressed me, drawing heated patterns on my skin, fondled my eager sex. I was writhing now, from the strength of his Need and my own. When I felt his fingers touch me there, I groaned and pushed myself backwards -- and that easily, he pushed inside, the hard bulk of him slick now with the essence of desire. He took my sex in his hands, and squeezed, stroked, as he worked his way within me. Ah, he was hot, there, inside me. He was hot, and I was full, as I had never been in all my life - and oh, it was good. I had never felt such pleasure, not ever.

When he began to move, I found myself moving with him -- not as partners do, but as one man, with two bodies. I was full, and warm, and not-alone -- and oh, his hands were so hot. His flesh, inside me, even hotter than my own. His hands, so warm, so knowing; so clever, to find and touch all the secret places I did not know I owned. Even Burning as he was, he took such care, to share with me his joy, to ensure he did not hurt me. I Burned, even as he did; his flesh and mine, his thoughts and mine, together, flowing, leaping, reaching out to touch the stars themselves...

-----///-----

I open my eyes, and I see another Vulcan face. For a moment I blank, and then his name comes back to me. "Tuvok?"

He nods. "Yes. Is it well with you, Spock?"

I have to think about that. "I believe so. I agreed to permit memory alteration, did I not?"

"Yes, kinsman, you did."

"Then I shall presume that it was for a logical reason."

"It is. I shall leave you now. Your assistance in calculating my course was invaluable." He almost smiles, and offers me two slender brown fingers. I can feel my eyebrow soaring; then I shrug in the Vulcan way, and return the gesture.

Ahh... So warm, this one is. Not just to my fingers, but to my mind as well. And now it seems I do remember, for a little while. Enough to bring some colour to my face.

Again that not-smile. He reaches out and touches me on the lips. "I owe thee my life, kinsman. I, and my Bondmate, are grateful to thee. I offer what I can, if thee accepts."

I am amazed. None have ever offered me the Parting Gift. I had never thought to experience it. I nod; I would not think of refusing. And Tuvok reaches for the meld points of my face, and he touches my thoughts, and I let him.

kinsman, and ahh, his mindvoice is so soft, so warm -- and this is for me?

kinsman... here And a complex construct: warmth, touching/touched, gratitude. An image -- why, that is Jim! Gestalt: Acceptance, curiousity... So warm, your hands -- so warm. Saved my life...

see, here, and here -- thee has a partial bond already, kinsman. this is why we could not achieve the littlebond, i believe. but -- this bond of yours survives, even as does my own with t'pel. Jim's image again. And Tuvok's hand is on mine, and it is enough, even now. Just to touch, and be touched, is to me as rain to the desert. I have hungered for this for so long, not even knowing for what it was that I hungered. Until now. Now, I meet those dark eyes, so like my own. I let myself smile, let the smile itself show how very unsure I am, how confused. And he returns it, and his own smile is likewise uncertain. But I can feel his thoughts, and they are calm, controlled. Vulcan -- but concerned nonetheless. For me. He strokes my face with his fingertips. speak to him, kinsman. only this i ask. just... speak to him.

I do not ask him who he means, for I already know. it is... difficult, I reply. i do not know what to say to him. such things are not a customary subject of our conversations. But I will try. I let him see that, in my thoughts. The thought of it, of what is at stake, freezes me. But I have promised. I shall keep my promise...

One last time, he offers me his touch. Once more, I accept, allowing our bodies to press together. His lips against mine are soft and warm; the scent of him is the scent of home, so long forgotten, it seemed until now that I had only dreamed of needing it. The slight tingle of warm fingers at the meld-points of my face... And now he must leave me; there is no more time left. After I finish recording this, he will take the tape. If -- if I live, one day, he, or his heirs, will return it to me, if possible. I hasten to tell him. i remember, kinsman. i promised. i shall keep my promise. I cannot help the tremor that shakes me, at the thought of what this promise might yet cost me. But I will do this. I will speak to Jim. For in truth, I cannot bear to continue on as I have been, alone.

ahh, so warm... spock -- kinsman -- thee is worthy. doubt it not. as i do not doubt, he cares for thee. it shows, in your memory of his eyes. perhaps you do not see it -- but i do...

I shall try and remember that, at least. I wish I could be as certain of it as my kinsman is.

I wonder if I will dream about him, afterward.

I wish... I wish he could have let me remember his name.