"And In the Darkness Bind You..."
TOS K/S h/c, NC-17

PART 2

Were I given to cursing, now would be a good time to indulge. Of course, I will not. But I can certainly understand the temptation, at the moment.

I do not know where I am. I know that I am still on the same deck as Sickbay, for I have entered neither a crawlshaft nor a turbolift since I arrived here. But I am somewhere outside the area which I surveyed in planning this expedition. There seem to be no doors in this immediate section of hallway. I did not think to bring a communicator -- it is not customary to carry one on board ship -- and so far I have not been able to locate a comm-panel.

I could call out, I suppose, ask anyone who hears me to render assistance. I am reluctant to do this, however. I would greatly prefer to solve this problem unaided. The journey began well enough. I found the turbolift nearest my quarters with ease, exited it on the proper deck, and set out for Sickbay. However, on the way there, I found myself unexpectedly surrounded by a crowd of chattering people -- apparently civilians, since none of them recognized me -- all talking at once, bumping into one another and myself as well. I stumbled twice. Both times I caught myself and did not fall. I was sure that I had retained my spatial orientation. Once the others moved away I set out again. And now I am here, instead of at Sickbay.

I need to find either a comm-panel or at least a placard containing sector and room numbers. So far I have found neither, as I cautiously walk up and down this wall, reaching here and there to touch at what I think is the proper height. Finally, I permit myself a small sigh and begin to simply run my hands over the wall. I had resisted this, not wishing to appear quite so obviously blind and lost -- but that is illogical. I am in fact blind, and I am certainly lost.

Finally I encounter first a door-jamb, then a placard. I trace it with my fingertips; it reads "Biolab 3, Stores; Sector 12, Deck 7."

Ah. *Now* I know where I am. Much better. I turned in exactly the wrong direction after my encounter with that group of civilians. They must have been refugees, here for medical aid perhaps, I do not know. Certainly no crewmen would have behaved in such an illogical and disorganized fashion. At any rate, I now know what I need to find my way to my goal. I open my cane and begin my journey anew.

It does not take long for me to reach my goal, now that I am oriented again. I find it disturbing how easily I became lost, but perhaps this can be attributed more to lack of practice, than to lack of ability. I certainly hope so, for I must somehow persuade StarFleet to allow me to remain here. Now more than ever, I do not wish to leave.

I can already smell the faint medicinal tang of Sickbay when I become aware of someone standing nearby, and stop.

"And just what do you think *you're* doing?" Ah. McCoy has found me.

"I would think that is obvious, Doctor. You are always complaining that I do not show up for my exams; I am endeavouring to prove you mistaken."

He snorts. "Uh-huh. Do you know I've been trying to call you for almost half an hour? I was about ready to page you ship-wide, or set Security looking for you in case you were hurt, somewhere."

"I see. Well, I know now. And as you can see, I am unhurt." He is annoying me again. He has a talent for doing that to me, though it should not be possible. With a certain amount of difficulty I bring myself under control again. Perhaps I should have meditated for a longer time this morning. It has been a long time since I let *all* my shields down, as I did last night, with Jim...

"Spock, hey, you listening?" I nod, and he continues. "I'm sorry, but I need to reschedule you. Sickbay's full of refugees; everyone's asking questions, Central Supply is even more confused than they normally are... I don't know which way to turn."

I do not give him the satisfaction of expressing annoyance. It is only that recent events have been somewhat stressful, that is all. I simply nod. "Very well." Then something occurs to me. There is an odd quality to his voice, one I have heard before -- ah. Guilt. Like Jim, he is blaming himself for my misfortune. I turn toward where I last heard his voice. "Doctor McCoy."

He sounds uneasy. "Yes?"

I draw a deep breath, try to reinforce my shields. Even from here I can feel his discomfort. "Doctor -- I believe you are blaming yourself for my situation. I would have you know that it is not your fault. The choice to proceed was mine, and I was aware of the risk. What you may not have realized is that I had no choice. My endurance was at an end. I was exhausted. The creature was about to overpower me, making me a danger to the ship and to all of you. I was not willing to chance that. Therefore it was necessary to proceed."

He sighs. "Spock, it's not that simple. 'First, do no harm.' Remember that? I'm the one that threw the switch."

"Indeed. But you did so at Jim's order and my own insistence, against your own preference. Surely you are no more responsible than either of us. And it is done, now. As a result of your efforts I am free, no longer in pain. Do not dismiss that so lightly. I do not."

He sighs again, but I can feel a certain ease begin in him. My shields are in a deplorable state of disrepair, but there is nothing to be done about that right now. Instead I decide to change the subject. "You mentioned that you are having difficulty in organizing relief efforts. Perhaps I can be of some assistance. Do you have an unoccupied terminal?" After all, I am already here.

His voice changes completely -- I have surprised him, which is not easy to do. I find it oddly satisfying. "Why yes, I do," he says. "And now that you're here you might as well come on in. I doubt you can make things any worse and maybe you can help. Thanks, Spock." Now I am certain; his voice is definitely more even, his aspect less troubled. It is well.

"One does not thank logic, Doctor, but I accept the intention." We begin to walk again. "I believe I can assist with organizing, at the very least. It cannot be so different from setting up a planetary survey, which I have done many times."

"I hope so." He begins to detail some of the problems they have encountered, as we turn and walk into Sickbay. Immediately my ears are assaulted by a cacaphony of noise; a large number of people all talking at once, several crying, scanners running, Sickbay personnel also talking... It is an impressive imitation of primal chaos. Beside me I hear McCoy say, "See? I told you it was crazy in here. Come on, there's an empty terminal in my office; I haven't had time to sit down in there once today."

Sickbay's terminals are equipped for either speech or visual output, to facilitate online access during surgical or containment-field procedures. He shows me to his own and gives me the filenames I will need. I am just about to start work when he pauses and says, "By the way, Spock -- that was pretty clever, the way you got here by yourself."

"It was necessary," I say. And for once he does not argue with me.

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

"...Spock? Are you all right?"

I start; I have lost track of time again. Jim has been here speaking to me for some moments, I think. I turn toward his voice. "I am well," I say. "I became absorbed in the data flow. Jim, there is so *much*... Their needs are almost overwhelming."

He sighs. "I know. There's a lot of pain and suffering down there." He laughs, but it is a flat, bitter sound. "I guess I thought that when we lit up the satellites the problem would be solved, poof, just like that."

I raise one eyebrow. "I had hoped it might be that way," I say, "but I did not expect it." I gesture toward the terminal. "As far as I can tell, virtually no-one older than 70 or younger than 10 survived. The very old and the very young were simply permitted to starve once everyone was infected, as were most physically or mentally handicapped individuals." I pause, unsure of how to say this. Directly is best, I suppose. "Jim -- I had not realized that your brother had three children, that Peter lost not only his parents but his younger brothers as well. I grieve with thee."

Another sigh. "Thanks, Spock. But it's done, now. At least Peter's still alive. Bones says his prognosis is good. He had his first session with the counselor today and it went well. It'll take time, but I think he's going to be all right in the end." As always, he is putting it behind him, not permitting himself to be affected, at least, not outwardly.

"I am pleased he will recover. But Jim -- there are many problems facing the survivors. Most of the former hosts are malnourished and exhausted; many are ill. Some are dying. No crops were planted this summer; the cold weather is only a month away. Food shipments are going to be necessary for at least the next eight standard months.

"Fires, when they occurred, were mostly let to burn unchecked. A considerable amount of essential infrastructure has been destroyed. Some areas have no potable water due to neglect and ignorance. Others have water but no power to pump it. Dr. McCoy is quite concerned about the possibility of further outbreaks of disease."

I hear Jim suck in a sharp breath. "Damn. It sounds even grimmer when you say it all at once like that. How did you find all this out?"

"I have been sitting here sampling the data streams from the landing parties, as if this were a routine planetary survey. My conclusion is that the Denevans' problems are not insurmountable, but they will require substantial assistance for quite some time to come. Do we have any updates on when the first relief fleet will arrive?"

"Still another four days, according to FleetCom. There just isn't anything available any closer than that."

"Then we must do all that we can in the meantime." I type in a sequence of commands. It is easy enough to do, I have not needed to look at a keyboard since I was six years of age -- yet I still find it strange, to be unable to see what I am doing. Kaiidth. I hand the newly recorded data chip to Jim. "I have done a certain amount of organizing today, as Dr. McCoy stated that was our biggest need. I have notified Mr. Scott's department of damaged powerplants and the like, and referred reported health hazards to Dr. McCoy. Commander Giotto and his people are planetside at the moment, to assist the Denevan authorities in maintaining order until they can once more manage that task for themselves.

"But Jim, there is so much damage. So many dead, so many more injured..." I find I have clasped my hands tightly together; I force them down to the desk again. I am disturbed by the things I have learned today. I cannot put the survivors' plight from my mind, cannot engage Mastery of the Unavoidable. My control is still not what it should be, and my memory of my own experience is entirely too fresh.

There is one last thing I must tell him.

"Commander Giotto tells me that his men have prevented several suicides just today, and have heard of many more attempts, some of which succeeded. Some of the survivors are not able to accept what has happened to them and to their world. Dr. McCoy is arranging for counselors to go down there as soon as possible."

I notice that my hands have begun to shake, and realize suddenly that I am exhausted all over again. I have not really done that much today, but perhaps I am still not fully recovered from the parasite's effects.

A hand is placed, very gently, on my shoulder. "Spock," Jim says softly, "you're relieved of duty for today, all right? Bones told me to, and I quote, 'thank him, and tow his ass the hell out of here'. So. Now you know." I lean into his touch, once more finding comfort in his presence. "You did a lot to help today, Spock," he continues. "You did exactly what was needed. I've already authorized work to proceed on a 24-hour basis, as you recommended. What say I take you out of here and get us something to eat? I dunno about you, but I'm starving."

It is an easy decision to make. I put my own hand over Jim's. "I accept," I tell him, savouring the sudden warmth a breath of his scent brings to me.

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

Dinner, served in Jim's quarters, turns out to be Japanese food, something of which I have become quite fond over the years I have served with humans. I am comfortable here; I know Jim's quarters nearly as well as I know my own. The scents tell me that all the selections are vegetarian. They prove to have a pleasing assortment of flavours and textures, and Jim has provided green tea 'to wash it down', as he says. It is most pleasant, and I discover that in fact I was more than a little hungry. It has, after all, been a long day, the ones before it even more so.

We take our time eating; Jim tells me of his own day, what he accomplished, how the relief effort is progressing. Some of this I already know, some is news. I must admit that in truth I pay more attention to the sound of his voice, than to exactly what he is saying. Slowly I begin to relax a little, to gain a certain perspective on the things I learned today. We *are* making a difference down there; our efforts are helpful. The entire crew is focused upon the relief effort now. It is only that the need is so great... A small sigh escapes me and I blink, take the three deep breaths to once more trigger Control. What is, is. Endless preoccupation on my part will not further assist those on the planet below, and it will have adverse effects upon my own recovery. It should not be necessary to keep reminding myself of this -- but I am tired. Perhaps the cause is sufficient...

It is agreeably warm in here; Jim must have re-set the temperature to accomodate me. Ordinarily I would demur, but I am tired enough that I find it relaxing and therefore logical to accept.

After we have finished eating, he clears away the dishes and brings out the chess set. We play for a time, but I am not really concentrating and after I lose the first game, he hesitates. "Do you want to play any more tonight?" he asks.

I think for a moment before replying. "In truth, Jim, I am somewhat fatigued. Perhaps another time."

"Do you need to meditate?"

"Not tonight, no. In the morning I shall need to do so, but not now."

I hear him inhale sharply. "Do you want to go, or would you like to stay a while?"

I permit myself the almost-smile I reserve for Jim alone. "I would prefer to stay, if that is your wish also."

"You know that it is," he says. "I'm still on call, of course -- but hopefully I can steal a few hours before something else goes wrong. Sulu has the conn and Scotty's on back-up call; beta-shift's continuing the relief work and gamma will take over at 2300 hours." He sighs, and I know that he is thinking of the plight of the survivors, wishing that there was more that he could do. I have had the same reaction myself; even though I know my subordinates are capable and dedicated, it is tempting to set aside my fatigue and return to work. But it would not be wise. Even Vulcan strength has its limits, and I have come very close to them these last few days. As has Jim; he drove himself as hard as he pushed us, in the hunt for some solution to the problems the creature represented. Logic tells me that it is wise for us to rest. I hold to that thought, against the temptation to do otherwise. Beside me Jim shifts his weight and I hear him take a deep breath. "Do you know," he says quietly, "Bones threatened to come after me with a trank rifle if I didn't get some sleep tonight." I can hear his smile, though I cannot see it.

Cool human fingers enclose my hands; I return the grip, savouring his touch, the fact that he is concerned. I find it a comfort, illogical though that may be. We sit like that for a time, before he says, "Spock -- I swear, I can feel your fatigue, sitting here touching you like this." I simply nod. I *am* tired, though I do not think that I should be. That Jim can feel it is one more sign of how close we have become. Perhaps I should find this alarming, but I do not. This is Jim, not some stranger. There is very little that I am unwilling to share with him.

He rises and goes to stand behind me. "Here. Let me rub *your* neck, for a change. You always rub mine when I'm tired..."

For a human Jim has very strong hands; he seems to know all the places where my muscles are tight. One by one he finds them and makes them relax. It is doubly pleasant, for it is *Jim* touching me. Eventually I find myself simply leaning against his hands, eyes closed, very relaxed, while he smooths his fingers lightly over my skin. I hear a rustle and feel his lips brush my cheek, before he releases me and returns to his seat. He is silent, but I hear him sigh.

"Jim? Is something wrong?"

Another sigh, even fainter. "No, Spock. Nothing's wrong -- but there's something I need to talk to you about, and I'm not sure how to do it."

I straighten myself and reach for his hands. When I find them, I clasp them loosely between my own. "I have found that the direct approach is usually the best," I say quietly. Apprehension flickers, but I do not permit it to overwhelm me.

He takes a deep breath, returns my grip with his own. "I've been thinking a lot, today," he says. "About last night, about you and me together.

"I need to tell you -- I can't be casual with you, Spock. I can't share with you and then walk away, as I've done with so many others. You matter to me. I keep wondering if I've pushed too hard, if I'm moving too fast, if you're really ready for this. I'm a persuasive bastard, I know it. I don't want you ever to feel like you have to do something just to please me. I want to make sure that this is right for you, as well as for me.

"All day today, I couldn't get you out of my mind. I kept remembering how it felt to touch you, to hold you. But I don't want to push you into doing this unless it's what you want, too. You aren't just another man; you're the best friend I've ever had. And that's a helluva lot more important to me than just scratching where it itches."

He stops, takes another deep breath, and I realize that I can feel his hands trembling ever so slightly, where they are clasped between my own. What he is saying is very important to him; I can feel how difficult it is for him to put this into words.

I wait, but he is silent. Now it is I who must seek words, for feelings I never thought to know, much less need to describe. But for Jim, I will do this thing.

"You ask if this that we have shared is 'right' for me, Jim. I do not know, in truth. I know that you are my t'hy'la, my more-than-brother. I have known for some time that there is nowhere else I wish to be but here on this ship, beside you." A shiver strikes us both; the future looms, with all its doubts and dangers. I sigh, push it away, and continue to reach for the proper words, the words that he needs to hear, that I need to speak.

"I have not felt this way with any other, before you. I do not know what will happen, Jim. I do not know if there can be a place here for me as I am, now. I do not know what the Fleet will decide. I know only this: for today I am here with you and I would not wish it otherwise. You have brought me peace. I slept well last night, for the first time since I was attacked. My thoughts are calm once more; I can contemplate my situation without falling into fear or despair.

"Logic suggests that whether or not you are 'right' for me, you are most definitely beneficial. I certainly do not feel in any way coerced, if that is what you fear. More than this I cannot say at this time; I must hope that this will suffice."

Evidently it does, for I feel him relax, hear him laugh, his voice very soft and warm. "Hm," he murmurs. "Your logic, as always, is impeccable, Mr. Spock." His fingers are tracing the lines of my face again; it is as if, with that simple touch, he is drawing out the last of my tension. It is very pleasant, very relaxing.

I raise an eyebrow, knowing that it will please him. "Of course," I say, permitting the corners of my mouth to rise just a little.

He laughs again, a little louder this time. "Smug Vulcan."

"Indeed? I merely observe facts." My body is beginning to awaken now, stimulated by the scent of him, the touch of his fingers, a certain anticipation... My fatigue has not gone away, yet somehow it seems less important.

I hear him rise and come to stand behind me. "Ah, I see. Facts, only? Or do you also conduct observations in the field?" He leans down and his breath is warm against the back of my neck. "Such as this... for example..." Soft lips brush the tip of my right ear and I cannot prevent the small gasp that escapes me -- a jolt of electric sensation rushes from that spot straight to the core of my being.

I fight to maintain my control, enjoying this game we are playing. "I have been known to conduct such observations at times," I say, willing my hands to stay relaxed, my pulse and respiration not to speed up. I am not entirely successful.

"Well then," he says, "I'll have to make sure that you have plenty of material for your... research." And with that, he traces the outline of my ear with the tip of his tongue, delicately exploring the hollows and ridges of it, huffing warm breath into the interior. This time my gasp is unmistakable, the rush of heat to my loins much stronger. I can feel my face begin to flush, my shields to melt away as they did before. All this, from such a simple touch... He never ceases to astonish me.

"Hmm..." he purrs, taking delicate licks at the back of my neck, moving to subject the other ear to a similar exploration. "I seem to be having a certain effect on your Vulcan equanimity, my friend. Perhaps this should be investigated further...?"

The temperature in this room seems to have risen markedly in the last few minutes. I take a deep breath, grasp the arms of the chair and push myself to my feet, so that I can turn and take him in my arms. I feel a shiver run through him and then he is returning the gesture, wrapping himself around me, running gentle fingers up and down my ribcage, bending to kiss the side of my neck. Ahh...

"Mmmm," he says, very quietly. "Yes, I'm definitely seeing some changes here, Spock. I think we need to pursue this in more detail, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed... Ah!" He has nipped at the tip of my ear, startling me. But it is not unpleasant; quite the opposite in fact. Now it is my turn to act; I pull him close against me and allow him to feel the strength of my arousal. I reach down, clasp him to me, permit myself to caress the firm round flesh for a moment. Ah, yes. Most pleasant, the feel of his hardness sliding across my own. It is not difficult to lift him off his feet, to hold him there for a moment before releasing him once more. "Perhaps," I say, very quietly, "we should move to a more suitable location?"

He is breathing somewhat erratically now; I find it gratifying that I can have this effect on him. "Mmmm," he purrs. He turns, takes my hand and pulls me after him. "C'mere, you."

I follow, as he leads us both to his bed, guides us to sit together. I am as reluctant to let go of him as he is, of me. But somehow we manage to shed the cloth that impedes our touching, until we lie once more entwined together, nothing between us now but skin. Ahh... exquisite, the feel of him against me, so cool, so smooth... Jim. I am lost in sensation, consumed with the need to touch all of him, to feel what he feels, to join us once more...

And he understands! His hands, reaching for my face; his voice whispering, "Yes, yes, do it, touch me -- join us, Spock, please..." And my hands are already there, reaching for the meld-points, caressing his face, my thoughts and his rushing together, swirling brightly, meshing so smoothly, so well... Oh, yes. *This* -- this, I need. *Him*, I need. And he is here, within me, part of me, so familiar, so *good*... Dimly I can feel our bodies slide together, joining as our minds are joined, echoing what is happening *here*...

Ahhh, *so good*... So warm, so *right*...

We fly together, caught up in the fire that is our joining...

We are One.

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

I am not certain, at first, what has awakened me. I lie silently, basking in Jim's presence, content and relaxed. My hunger is sated; my weariness a pleasant languor within me. I know that I have slept for some time; the actual duration does not seem important. Jim's breathing is soft, muffled, almost but not quite a snore. He is very deeply relaxed. The mixture of his scent and mine is a pleasant one, the feel of him against my skin is also pleasant.

I listen to my body for a time; I do not seem to require anything at the moment. Only gradually do I become aware of a certain discomfort, where none was felt before.

My eyes are itching, deep inside. In fact they are beginning to hurt, a little. What is happening? I reach up to touch my eyelids -- no, the sensation is not there, it is *within*.

I do not understand. There has been no pain since the creature within me was destroyed. Why is this happening now? I take the three deep breaths that trigger my Control, and I am able to set the pain aside. It is not severe. But it is puzzling, nonetheless.

Beside me Jim stirs, mumbles something unintelligible, reaches out to caress my face. I return the caress. He rouses a little. "What's wrong, Spock? Are you all right?"

He is so aware... I hasten to reassure him. "I am well, t'hy'la. It is only that my eyes are itching; that is what awakened me. Do not be concerned."

He sits up, fully alert in an instant. "What? Computer: lights, one quarter. Sit up, Spock, let me look at you."

I do so. I open my eyes wide, strain to discern any change, any lessening of the darkness around me. But as before, I see nothing. Only then do I realize that I had begun to hope... Foolish of me to do so, I suppose. Jim leans over me; I can feel his breath against my cheek. "Huh," he says. "Nope, they don't look any different. But we should have McCoy check you out, make sure everything's all right."

He is excited; I can feel it in him. It is not logical; I am still quite blind.

"Jim," I remind him, "it is very late. Undoubtedly the doctor is asleep now." In truth, I realize, I am reluctant to leave this room. I am warm and comfortable, except for my eyes, and I do not wish to impose full Control on myself just yet. I also need some time to accept, once more, that which *is*. "Surely the morning will suffice, for a visit to sickbay?"

"Spo-ock..." he chants my name in a sing-song tone. "You're avoiding the issue. Why?"

I am not certain. I consider the matter. Finally, I say, "Jim... I do not wish to disturb him for what may prove to be nothing significant. He is at least as fatigued as either of us. When you turned on the lights just now, I saw nothing. The discomfort is minor. I would rather wait."

He is silent for a time, then I hear him sigh, very softly. "OK," he says. "I think I understand. I might even feel the same way if it was me. You really *don't* want to go right now, do you?"

I reach to touch his face. "No," I tell him. "I do not. I wish to remain here. I believe that both of us still require additional rest."

"Will you go see McCoy first thing tomorrow morning?"

"If you insist, then yes, I will do that. But Jim -- the odds are that nothing has changed."

"Maybe not. But if that's the case then a visit to Sickbay won't do any harm, will it."

"No." I am silent, then. I feel unaccountably chilled, though I know that it is quite warm enough in here even for me.

And Jim encircles me with his arms, sliding up beside me until he is wrapped about me like a blanket. "Never mind, then," he says very quietly. "Let's just stay right here." He draws gentle fingers down the side of my face, bends close to place a kiss on my cheekbone. "We can worry about all that in the morning." I nod, unable to put my feelings into words, but grateful that he is here, that I am not alone.

Once more he huffs warm breath into my ear. "I'm glad you're here," he says. "I'm glad I didn't lose you. I'm glad for whatever time we can have together." And with that he lays his head down upon my shoulder and relaxes against me.

I hold tightly to him and do not speak -- but I, too, am glad.

We fall asleep like that, curled up together under the blankets.

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

I jolt awake once more, fighting for control, for calmness. Again I remind myself that the creature is dead, that the visions which haunt my sleep are no more than dreams, powerless to hurt me. I remember so clearly...

Deneva. The creature. The pain. My eyes...

And Jim. Here, beside me. Involuntarily my grasp tightens for an instant. It is enough to rouse him. He yawns and stretches, then returns the embrace. I turn my face toward him, brush against him, meet his kiss with one of my own. Illogical perhaps, to find such satisfaction in so simple a thing -- but it would be more illogical still to pretend I do not. Whatever the future may hold I cannot find it in me to regret this. He completes me.

"Mmm," he murmurs. "Morning. How do you feel?"

"I am well. And you, t'hy'la?"

"Very well, my friend. I *like* waking up like this." He stretches again. "You thirsty?"

Ordinarily I am not thirsty first thing in the morning. Today, however, I find that I am. "Yes," I tell him, surprised.

He laughs. "Hmmm, I wonder why..." One of his hands is stroking my ribs; I feel my face begin to flush.

"Jim..." I cannot decide what I wish to do next.

He laughs once more and rolls out of the bed. "Come on, we've got a lot to do today. Can't lie around in bed all day -- although if I could, you would *definitely* be my first choice."

Reluctantly I allow him to peel off the blankets. I sit up and stretch, appreciating the absence of pain. Before Deneva I had always taken that for granted, presuming that as a Vulcan I would always be immune. I do not think that I will do so again.

"Here," he says, and hands me a mug of hot tea.

I take a sip. Vulcan spice tea -- I did not know there was any on board. It is not something the synthesizer can prepare. I raise an eyebrow. "This is good, Jim."

"Thought it would be. I found it on Rigel VII, during our shore leave there." He falls silent for a moment and I know that he is thinking the same thing as me -- Rigel VII was the place we visited immediately before we received StarFleet's order to investigate the situation on Deneva. I hear him sigh, then he speaks again. "There was this weird little shop, just a hole in the wall really, but they had all kinds of different teas and spices -- and when I saw this I thought of you, and I had to get some." For just a moment he touches my shoulder. "In all the confusion since then, I'd forgotten I had it. I certainly never expected I'd be able to wake you up with it, but here we are."

He sits down beside me and I can smell the coffee he is drinking. We share in silence for a time, each enjoying the other's presence, neither of us willing to confront the day just yet. It is good simply to be here, with him.

Eventually his alarm sounds, and it is time to get dressed. But I am grateful to have shared this quiet time together. Whatever will happen now, nothing can take this from me.

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

Jim insists on walking me to Sickbay before he goes to the bridge. I accept, for it is obvious that he will not be dissuaded. But I take my cane; I will not be seen holding on to him like a child. He accepts that, and we walk together silently. At the door to Sickbay he touches my hand once, lightly, before taking his leave. I pause, then take a deep breath and walk though the door.

It is quieter in here than it was yesterday, but still chaotic and noisy. I am grateful for the time I spent in meditation this morning, for the renewed strength of my shields, for the sleep I needed so badly. I find it easier to be here now. I am not so disturbed by the chaos around me.

I listen, and make my way toward the sound of McCoy's voice. He is arguing with someone over a comm-unit, about the best way to purify a contaminated reservoir. Almost I turn away -- but Jim made me promise that I would speak to him.

Finally his conversation ends and he notices me standing there. "Mornin', Spock. How do you feel?"

"I am well, Doctor. But I have noticed an odd sensation in my eyes. I still cannot see anything, but they have begun to itch, since yesterday."

I hear a familiar soft warbling, as he passes his handscanner over me. "Huh," he mutters, "that's interesting. Come over here, Spock. Hop up on this table, would you? Now, let's see..." Assorted noises, as he turns on more detailed scanning units. Around us the chaos continues unabated. I sit quietly, feeling the cool surface of the table under my hands, striving for acceptance, trying to feel neither hope nor resignation. I am not entirely successful in either endeavour.

He is nearly done, if his mutterings are to be believed, when both of us become aware of a commotion across the room. A tangle of raised voices, the rapid breathing of several different people, the clatter and clang as a tray of instruments is dislodged, falling to the floor...

Sudden silence, and Nurse Chapel's voice is clear and soft within it. "Geoffrey, no honey, come on, put that down, you don't want to do that..."

And in answer, the voice of a child, high and clear and oddly flat. "Why do you care. You weren't down there, you don't know what it was like. Stay back! All of you, stay back. Or I'll blast you!"

Beside me I hear McCoy draw a quick breath, start to speak, change his mind. "Damn," he whispers. "Kid's got a surgical laser and it's cranked up all the way. He'll fry himself if he hits the wrong button..."

And I feel time start to slow down, for suddenly I realize that of all the people in this room, I am probably the best suited to handle this. I am blind, I have almost no experience with children, and I am Vulcan, not human -- but I can hear the pain and confusion in the boy's voice, and I can *remember* all too well how it must have been for him. I wonder how old he is; his voice is high-pitched, not yet mature.

I wonder where Jim's nephew is, and hope that he is safely elsewhere. But there are no answers for these questions, and there is no time to investigate further. I draw in one deep breath, and being careful to move slowly and easily, I slide off the table to stand beside it. My cane is in my hand and extended as easily as if I have been using it for years; all my awareness is focused on my hearing, trying to track what is happening across the room.

I take one step. Two. Three. I am beginning to take a fourth when he speaks again. "Hey, you there. Stop. What are you doing?"

I stop. "I am approaching your position," I tell him. "I would speak with you, if you will permit it."

A pause, while he thinks about it. Finally, he says, "Okay. You can come a little closer. but you have to stop when I tell you."

"I will do so," I say, and resume my slow approach.

After ten more steps he says, "Stop. That's close enough. Why are you walking like that?" His voice has a little more tone, now. It seems I have engaged his interest.

I turn my head a little, to hear him more clearly. "I cannot see," I tell him. "The cane enables me to avoid collisions." Around us the room is silent, except for the beeping of monitors and the soft, frightened breathing of humans under stress. I can hear the boy's breathing clearly now; it is ragged, erratic, as if he is fighting away tears.

"What do you want?"

"Only to speak with you. These others do not know how it was. I do." I am going by instinct, now, an instinct I did not even know I possessed.

"How? You're not one of us."

"No. But I too was attacked, when we first beamed down to investigate. I too felt the pain, heard the voice of the creature inside my mind. I remember these things." All too well, I remember these things. This is the curse of an eidetic memory... I shiver, and must force myself to stop.

I hear his breath catch in a barely-muffled sob. "It never *stopped*," he whispers. "It never once stopped. I cried and cried and nobody listened, nobody came to help me..."

"No," I say. "No-one did. They could not. The creature did not permit it." Cautiously I take a step, another. He does not say anything at first, but I can hear him fighting for control, to keep from being overwhelmed.

"*Why?*" he shouts. "Why did this happen? It isn't *fair*!!! Mairi's dead and Mom's dead and Grandma's dead and no-one will tell me where my Dad went... They want me to go back down there and I *can't*!!!" He is crying now, struggling to get the words out, his breath ragged. I hear an odd sound and it takes me a moment to realize what it is -- his teeth, grinding together. I take another step. I believe that I could touch him now, if I were to reach out. No-one else speaks. It is an effort to maintain my own control in the face of his pain. I remember it all so clearly; I can imagine all too easily how it was for him. I cannot ignore this, cannot simply accept it. I *must* help him.

Instinct again... I sink to my knees, lay my cane aside. I focus all of my will toward my goal, that *this* one shall survive, that he will not end up as just another casualty. I will not permit it. "Geoffrey," I say, my voice very soft. "If you cannot bear to return, no-one will force you to do so. This is a very large ship. We have plenty of room here. You can stay with us for a time, if you need to." I have no idea where these words are coming from. I have never felt such things before. Somehow the words I need just come to me.

"Would you like to stay with us?" I ask him. "I am sure Captain Kirk will allow it..." I am reaching, here. But I think that surely he can stay with us at least until the relief fleet has arrived, until some sort of stability has been restored on the planet's surface... I can only hope that that will be a long enough time, that somehow he can find peace again, the strength to return to what remains of his home. I do not know. I only know that I cannot stand by and witness his pain, and do nothing. I *cannot*.

An endless pause -- a minute, an hour, I cannot tell. I am focused only on the boy. Around us no-one moves, no-one speaks; no-one dares to disrupt the uneasy balance between us. Finally I hear the welcome sound of the laser hitting the floor, and suddenly my arms are filled with a small, slender form, trembling and crying and pulling at me. I permit the contact, though his pain completely overwhelms my shielding. I do not push him away; instead I make my arms come up and wrap around him, make myself sit still, let him sob and pound my back with his fists and bury his head against my shoulder. I feel a completely illogical sense of victory; if I could I would shout to the creature that *this* one will not be its prey.

Most illogical -- the creature is dead, it cannot possibly hear me. But the wish remains, regardless.

Sounds of humans, all around, breathing sighs of relief. Someone picks up the laser; others begin to resume interrupted activities. Slowly conversations begin again. In my arms the boy begins to relax, very slightly. His sobs are quieter now. He no longer hits me with his fists; instead he has his arms very tightly about my neck. His strength is nothing compared to my own, but I understand his desperation only too well. I permit this, too. In truth I am overwhelmed; I have no idea what to do next; it is all I can do just to sit quietly, to hold myself apart from the violent emotions I can feel within him. His pain revives the echoes of my own suffering. I shiver again, force myself to ignore it, to maintain the embrace. I sit still and hold him and wait for the storm to pass. I find my hands are stroking his shoulders, as if he were a cat or Ee-Chiya the sehlat, my childhood companion. It seems to be the right thing to do; slowly he quiets, relaxes a little more, begins to get himself under control. No-one interrupts us; rather they pass by as if this were nothing unusual, as if this sort of thing happened every day. I am grateful for that; it is quite difficult enough to feel this one boy's emotions without anyone else intruding.

Eventually he quiets, rests within my arms. He is still trembling but the worst of it has passed. I can begin to restore my controls... Only then do I hear another person kneel beside us. Another hand reaches out to stroke the boy's back -- McCoy. Of course. Ever empathic; my nemesis, my friend... His hand brushes past mine and for a moment I can feel his surprise, his pride -- pride? In me? Now it is my turn to be surprised. I have done only what had to be done.

"Geoffrey?" he says, softly.

The boy does not reply at first, but after some moments pass he mumbles, "What."

"Geoffrey, I'm Doctor McCoy. I run this place. I just wanted to tell you that you're real welcome to stay here. Spock's right; no-one's gonna make you leave, if you don't want to." I feel relief; with McCoy in agreement it is more likely that we will be able to keep this promise.

"Promise!" The last traces of anger still colour the boy's voice.

I can hear in his voice that McCoy is smiling. "Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die." What a morbid saying -- yet the boy relaxes even more; evidently it is a familiar one.

"Cross your heart?"

"Yep. And lightning strike me if I lie."

Silence again. Then, very quietly, "Huh. You mean that..."

"You bet. And I'm the boss, here."

A subdued sniffle. Another. A deep, hitching breath. And finally the arms clasped tight about me begin to loosen their grip. It takes some time before he will actually let go of me, but in the end he permits McCoy to lead him away. As they walk across the room I hear him ask if he can handle McCoy's tricorder, and I know then that it is over, that he has accepted life.

A wave of profound fatigue washes over me. Though I know it is not yet noon, I feel as if I could lie down and sleep for the rest of the day, quite easily. I realize that I am still kneeling in the middle of the floor, and I rise carefully to my feet, cane in hand. I am still shaking; I need solitude, privacy... Time in which to meditate, to somehow accept what has happened to me. I thought that I had done so, but now I see that in truth I have been fooling myself. I *know* that the creature is dead -- yet I still fear its return... It is illogical -- but it is true.

I am not certain in which direction I am facing; I am still contemplating how to find the door when I feel a presence beside me.

"Mr. Spock?" Ah, it is Nurse Chapel. For once she is keeping her emotions to herself; I find it a distinct relief. "Dr. McCoy asked me to show you to his office. He said to tell you he wants to discuss your scan results, but he's going to be busy talking to Geoffrey for a while yet."

"Very well," I say, and wait to see what she will do. She surprises me, simply walking beside me and not touching me. With my cane it is easy to follow her lead, and her discretion is most welcome. Soon the door of McCoy's office swishes shut behind me and I am alone.

I find his desk easily enough and seat myself before his computer. I am shaking; my own emotions are roiling and disturbed. It takes me some time to bring myself under control. The shock of the boy's anguish has brought all my own memories of pain roaring to the surface.

This is illogical. I am free; the creature is gone from me, and from the planet below. Yet I *remember*. I force myself to consider those memories; to relive the pain and the fear I felt. I was so afraid that I would lose control, that I would somehow harm Jim or the ship under that influence. I tried to, when first I regained consciousness after being attacked. I fought them very hard; I could easily have injured any of those who fought to subdue me. It was pure fortune that I did not. Indeed, I spoke more truly to the boy than I had realized at the time. My fear is no more rational than his. The creature is *dead*. It is gone. It can never hurt any of us again. I have been so busy I have neglected my practice of the Disciplines. I see now that I must remedy this; I must come to terms with that experience and pass beyond it. I *must*, though to revisit those memories is something I greatly wish to avoid.

I grip the arms of McCoy's chair and take the three deep breaths with which I was taught as a boy to trigger Control. It helps, but even then, it takes longer than I think it should before I can compose myself sufficiently to attempt meditation.

I am *tired*. Even now, after two nights of deep sleep, I am weary as I have seldom been. What I really need is to retreat to my quarters and enter the deeper levels of meditation, perhaps even to sleep again. But now is not the time. McCoy will be here shortly, and after that there remains much work to be done. Even though I am blind I can still be of assistance, and the need is very great.

Kaiidth. I set my will and slowly I am able to relax, to enter a light trance so that I can access all of the emotions that have touched me. My own, Jim's, the boy Geoffrey's -- it has been an intensely disturbing morning. Bit by bit I allow the memories to wash over me, allow myself to *feel* my reactions, to accept them and pass through them. It is not an easy process, but it is *necessary*. I allow my body to shake, my pulse to race -- I allow myself to really feel all the physical effects of the fear and the stress. It is unpleasant -- but the only way out of this is to go through it. And eventually it begins to ease. Eventually I feel myself grow calm once more, and I finally begin to really believe that it is over, that the creature is truly dead, that I am *safe*.

I suspect this time alone to be a deliberate arrangement on McCoy's part, and I am grateful. When at last I open my eyes, I am somewhat refreshed. I still cannot see anything, my eyes are still itching -- but I am more at ease within myself now.

The door signal sounds and I call out, "Come."

It is McCoy. "How're you feeling, Spock?" he asks, as his scanner begins its familiar warble in front of me.

"I am well, Doctor. My eyes are still itching, but it is manageable."

He pulls up another chair and sits down beside me. "That's what I want to talk to you about, your eyes. The scan results show that there's some regeneration beginning in the damaged tissues of your retinas."

What is he saying? Surely I have mis-heard him... But he is still speaking. "That second eyelid of yours must have protected them just enough... It isn't very far along yet; I'm not sure how long this will take or how much improvement you'll get. Once you begin to perceive light again we'll need to bandage your eyes for a few days; they're going to be very sensitive at first." It sounds as if -- no. Surely I am mistaken. It is only that I want this too much... Yet he continues. "I think it's safe to say you're going to regain at least some of your vision; maybe all of it." He laughs, very softly. "I never thought I'd admit this, Spock -- but it's a damn good thing you're a Vulcan. In humans those tissues usually don't grow back once they're damaged."

A vast wave of relief floods through me. It is well that I am sitting down; I do not believe I would be steady on my feet at this moment. I had hoped for this, yes -- but to hear it from McCoy, that is a different thing entirely. I know that he would never say such a thing unless he were certain it was true. He does not speak further, and I am grateful he does not. I require time in which to compose myself once more. But I nod, knowing that he will see it and understand the gratitude I cannot yet find words to express.

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

Evening, and again I have permitted myself to become lost in the dataflow. My sole concession to fatigue is that I am working from my quarters this time, rather than McCoy's office. It seemed logical. I can access the files I need from any voice-equipped terminal, and it is far warmer here than in Sickbay. Now, what was that... ah. Yes. The door chime.

"Come." Already I know who it must be.

And as the door opens I catch a whiff of familiar scent, and push my chair back from my desk. "Jim... please, come in. Have you eaten yet?"

He crosses the room and gives me a quick hug. "No, I figured we could share something. Bones ordered me to make sure you eat and take the rest of the evening off." A sly and devious man, Dr. McCoy -- I suspect his orders apply equally to Jim, though I will not mention that fact to my captain. I see no point in provoking the more contrary part of his nature...

In any case it is a welcome diversion; as on the previous night, I am quite fatigued. At my suggestion Jim selects food for us both, while I save my work and log off for the night. It is gratifying to see how much work we have accomplished. The first of the relief ships will arrive in three more days, and our landing parties are reporting that a few of the stronger Denevans have begun to volunteer their own efforts. Progress is slow but steady. But it has been a long and exhausting day for us both; I am more than ready to cease working. And there are things I must discuss with Jim, things which we both must consider...

It does not take us much time to eat; we are both quite hungry and Jim, being familiar with my preferences, has selected items he knows I will enjoy. Soon our plates are empty.

Once he has recycled the dishes Jim sits back down and reaches for my hands. "You look pensive, my friend. Penny for your thoughts..."

I do not react to the illogic of his statement; instead I tilt my head as if to look into his eyes. All I can think of is how it will be, to be able to really do that once more. Suddenly my hard-won acceptance has deserted me; I wish to be able to see *right now*. It is impossible, of course. Instead I return his grasp and search for the words I need. "Jim -- I saw Dr. McCoy this morning, as you suggested. He says that my eyes have begun to heal." His hands suddenly grip mine very tightly and I hear him gasp, then freeze. I stroke the back of his hands with my fingertips, maintaining my grasp. He is stunned; all I can feel in him is a vast amazement, an unwillingness to let go and believe -- very much as my own reaction was. I continue. "The doctor estimates that I will recover most if not all of my vision, though he cannot be sure how long this will take." Jim is still silent, but I can feel *something* in him -- an upwelling of reaction, still far below the surface but growing as I speak. "He says that I shall have to spend some time in bandages. Once I begin to perceive light, my eyes will be quite sensitive at first, they will need protection. But I am going to be able to see, Jim."

He sits frozen in silence for a moment longer, before erupting up out of his seat, releasing my hands so that he can pace, as he always does when he is overwhelmed. I can feel in him relief, irritation, joy -- a vast and potent tangle of emotions, I can only begin to read the surface of it. Finally he speaks, his voice rough with the intensity of what he feels. "Spock, that's *fantastic*! Why didn't you call and tell me earlier? That's great!"

I swallow, feeling suddenly apprehensive. "I did not wish to disturb you, t'hy'la. I knew that you had much to do today, and I myself desired to return to the work I began yesterday. But I must admit, it is most gratifying to know that I will not have to leave the Enterprise."

His arms encircle me for a moment, his grip fierce and strong. "God, yes," he breathes.

He sits down again, reaches for my hands once more, clasps them tightly between his own. Silence, for a time, while he holds my hands and caresses the backs of them with his fingertips. His touch is gentle, his skin is soft against my own. I treasure this; suddenly I am unsure of what the future holds... I draw a deep breath, force myself to speak. "Jim -- I must ask... what do you wish to do? We turned to one another when it seemed that I must soon be leaving. Now it appears that that is not the case. How does this affect us?"

He lifts my hand to his mouth, kisses it, lowers it to the desk once more. "Hmm. So that's what's got you so thoughtful, is it? Well, it's a good question." He thinks for some moments; I find that I must remind myself to breathe. Suddenly I am as nervous as any human might be, wondering what he will say, how he will choose. I know my own wishes; I am not so certain of his. For a moment old fear overwhelms me again.

And then I feel his fingers, so cool, so gentle, run slowly down the side of my face, pause to caress my mouth, then rest upon my shoulder for a moment. He leans toward me and kisses me before sitting back once more. "Ah, I see. Spock... you worry too much. I can see how you'd be wondering -- but please, don't worry. I know all about the regulations, but believe me, the Fleet knows when to turn a blind eye and keep silent. There's more than one command pair who just don't ask and don't tell. These last two days have been wonderful, even with all the stress and strain, the relief effort, all of that. Even so, I don't think I've ever been happier than I am with you. The more time we spend together the more time I want to spend together. Am I right in thinking that you feel the same way?"

I have to concentrate to find the words; I am quite distracted by the feel of his fingers, which are once more caressing my face. "Indeed, you are. I did not think that we would have this option, but I do wish to continue in this new pattern. You complete me, t'hy'la. I have found, with you, a thing I had not realized I was missing; I would greatly prefer not to give it up."

He laughs. "Well, there's your answer then," he says, and kisses me once more. "I know it'll be difficult at times. I know I'm going to have a hard time ordering you into danger -- but then, I always did. It's never been easy, juggling friendship and duty -- but we've always managed before. And you complete me, too. I need this, Spock. I need *you*."

He reaches out and pulls me to my feet; we flow into a close embrace, drawn together like magnets by the strength of our desire. Without another word we turn and walk toward my bed, moving in unison as we have for years, in so many ways. In truth I think we have been growing toward this since the day we met; we simply did not realize it, before.

After that, the only sounds we make are the sliding of cloth from skin, his moans as I bend to take him in my mouth, my own sighs of contentment as he does likewise. We need nothing else; we are together.

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

It is two weeks later before I am finally able to return to the bridge. My eyes still itch; they are still unpleasantly sensitive. Only two days ago, McCoy finally removed the bandages. I did not choose to use the healing trance; there were so many who had greater need of Sickbay than I. There was no-one who could be spared to sit the watch for me. Instead I have been healing in the old-fashioned way, as McCoy would say. Even the relatively dim lighting of the bridge is uncomfortably bright. This is the first day that I can bear it without dark glasses; McCoy has insisted I must only stay for four hours before returning to my quarters where the lights are safely dimmed. But it is good to be here, in this place which for a time I thought I would never see again. It is very good indeed, and I savour every step as I walk to my station.

Around me the familiar routine continues. The pace is less frantic; Enterprise flies now among a fleet of forty other ships, all focused solely on the relief effort for the Denevan survivors. On the planet below, StarFleet engineers have restored over 90% of the power grid and more than three quarters of the municipal water supply. Slowly, we are making progress. It is well. All of the crew are tired, but content.

Jim knows, of course, that I am coming. We have been spending our nights together as often as our duties permit. It is an eminently satisfying arrangement...

I told him this morning that I was going to be cleared today for limited duty. But for the rest of the crew my presence is quite a surprise. Many smiles greet me as I take my place at the Science station. Jim has signed the report he was reading; now he walks over to stand beside me, with McCoy following him. He catches my eye and smiles.

"Mr. Spock," he says, loudly enough so that all can hear, "regaining eyesight would be an emotional experience for most people. You, I presume, felt nothing?" His eyes are merry as he speaks, and I know that he is as relieved as I am.

I incline my head. "On the contrary, I had a very strong reaction, Captain. My first sight was the face of Dr. McCoy, bending over me."

McCoy is standing beside Lt. Uhura, who is smiling as widely as I have ever seen her do. He affects a pose of wounded pride, though his eyes give him away. He is as pleased as Jim and I, though he will not admit it of course. "'Tis a pity brief blindness did not increase your appreciation for beauty, Mr. Spock," he says.

It is then that I happen to catch Jim's eyes for an instant, before we both look away. "Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Doctor McCoy," I say, very softly. And then I turn to my viewer and prepare to resume my duties.

It is *good* to be home again.

-----/end/------