Archive of Our Own

"Au claire de la lune, mon ami Pierrot,
Prete moi ta plume, pour ecrire un mot.
Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu.
Ouvre moi ta porte, pour l'amour de Dieu."
--Jean-Baptiste Lully, 1633-1687 CE

The stark peaks, gray sentinels of a cold world that
had never known life, looked down indifferently as the
three men in Starfleet uniforms came hurrying over the
ridge. Dr. McCoy, carrying three hastily-grabbed
survival packs, ran and stumbled in the coarse gray
sand and trailed a stream of fine and intricate curses.
Captain James Kirk saved his breath for running and for
carrying his unconscious First Officer. Commander
Spock of Vulcan hung limp in the Captain's arms and
dripped green blood from a small cut in his scalp and a
large one across his ribs.

"Find some shelter fast, Jim, " McCoy panted. "That
craft's going to blow any minute!"

"Up there!" snapped Kirk, turning his face toward a
dark gap in the rising mountainside. "Looks like a
cave. Run for it!"

They ran. The heavy wind pushed at their backs as they
pounded across the narrow valley, scrambled up the
jumbled rocks and clawed their way into a dark hollow.
It wasn't much of a cave: a low-ceilinged rough-floored
crack in the mountain, with no useful dimension but its
depth. The Enterprise officers scrabbled their way
into the stony tunnel as far as they could get before
the light failed.

"Far enough," said Kirk, carefully setting down his
unconscious burden. "Open that marked kit. There
should be a sub-space communicator in it. Dig out the
light in any--"

He was interrupted by the distant but monstrous roar of
an explosion. McCoy yelled something unintelligible
and dropped flat. Kirk threw himself down across
Spock, shielding him from the hammering shockwave.
Above them the mountain shuddered and roared.

When the last rumbling had gone from their ears, they
were in total darkness.

"Landslide," Kirk explained unnecessarily, brushing
rock-dust and pebbles off himself and Spock. "It must
have closed the entrance. Find us a light, and let's
see how badly he's injured."

McCoy grumbled as he found a pack, grumbled as he pawed
it open, and grumbled as he dug through its contents
for a light. "--Bad enough using the transporter. Now
I won't dare set foot in a shuttlecraft for fear it'll
go blooey, and for no particular reason. Hereafter
I'll walk, thank you. Goddam idiot mission anyway;
formal tea with a bunch of windy diplomats. Not worth
diverting the ship, so we take the shuttlecraft. Good
ol' shuttlecraft! Safe, says you? 'Beep-beep' says the
warning light! Bursting pipes all over the-- Ah, here
it is."

McCoy flicked on the light and set it down on a level
patch of stone. Its glow revealed a grim scene: the
tight gray tunnel of the cave terminating in a
narrowing crack at one end and a mass of rubble at the
other, the three survival packs tumbled on the uneven
floor, Spock lying limp and bleeding with his head in
Kirk's lap, and Kirk ignoring his own cuts and bruises
as he gently wiped dust and sweat and green blood from
Spock's closed eyes.

"Find the marked pack," Kirk spoke without looking up.
"Dig out the big communicator. Follow the instructions
written on it, and call the ship."

"Hadn't you better do that?" McCoy asked, looking
sidelong at the Captain. "You know the gear, and I
have to look at Spock."

"Oh. Yes. Take care of him, Bones." Kirk gently
relinquished Spock to McCoy's care and went to the
packs.

"Jim," said McCoy as he worked his tricorder, "quit
kicking yourself, will you? You didn't make the
shuttlecraft malfunction, you didn't make that feed-
line burst, and you certainly didn't make Spock jump
between the blow-out and you. It's not your fault,
dammit!"

"I know, Bones. I know..." Kirk studied the way his
fingers yanked out the straps on the marked pack.
"It's just that he's always doing things like that.
Whether it's hostile wildlife or berserk machinery or
attacking Klingons or whatever, he's always ready to
jump between me and danger, always there to push me
aside and take it on himself ... I never asked for
that, Bones. I never wanted him to hurt himself for
me." The pack surrendered to his tugging and fell
open, revealing the sub-space communicator.

"Oh hell, Jim. Haven't you done the same for him?"
McCoy answered over the hum of the tricorder.
"Friendship is a give-and-take proposition. Besides,
he can give you dozens of perfectly logical reasons for
everything he's done--that pig-headed, pointy-eared,
stubborn--"

The rest of McCoy's fond epithets were drowned in
static. Kirk maneuvered knobs and dials and antenna
controls until he was rewarded by the sound of Chief
Engineer Scott's voice, distant and distorted but
definitely there.

"Captain, what's wrong? Where are ye?"

"We don't know, Scotty. The shuttlecraft malfunctioned
and we crash-landed on the nearest planet we could
reach. We don't know our location, and we're using the
emergency communicator. How long will it take you to
find us?"

"About ten hours, Captain. Can ye last that long? Are
ye in any danger?"

"Not immediately. We're sealed in a cave, but there's
plenty of moving air--probably some of these cracks
lead to the surface--and we have survival packs. Some
injuries, but we're all alive. We can wait."

"Verra good, sir." Scott sounded definitely relieved.
"Leave the beacon on and we'll follow it in. Call us
if anything happens."

"I will, don't worry. Oh, and Scotty, find out who the
idiot was who supposedly checked out that shuttlecraft,
and pin his ears back for me."

"Aye, sir. I'll have him crucified t' a bulkhead by
the time we reach ye. Scott oot."

Kirk acknowledged, shut off the transmitter save for
the signal beacon, and turned to give McCoy a
questioning look. The doctor raised his eyes and
smiled reassuringly.

"It looks a lot worse than it is, Jim. Mild
concussion, scratches, bruises, a cracked rib--nothing
worse than that. He'll be all right with proper care.
Now let me have a look at you."

"Never mind me; I've got nothing worse than bruises.
What kind of care does he need?"

"Who's the doctor here, anyway?" McCoy complained,
giving Kirk a quick once-over with the tricorder. "He
needs his wounds cleaned and bandaged, of course. He
should be kept quiet and comfortable--and warm. This
cave's cold, and with that concussion he can't go into
his healing trance."

"See to it," said Kirk, turning away from the
disquieting sight of Spock's half-open, unseeing eyes.
He untied the remaining packs, dug out one of the
phasers, set it for heat and warmed several rocks in
the cave wall. Next he chose a comparatively smooth
area of floor, opened up the sleeping bags and spread
them there, one on top of the other, hoping that the
multiple layers would soften the underlying roughness
of the stone. Last, he spread out the smooth light
thermal blankets in triple thickness over the opened
sleeping bags. By the time he was satisfied with the
results, McCoy had finished stripping away Spock's torn
shirt and had cleaned and bandaged the wounds. Kirk
studied the Vulcan's pale immobile face with worried
eyes, and asked, "Will there be any danger in moving
him?"

"No, not if we're careful." McCoy put his tricorder
away and helped Kirk lift and carry Spock to the nest
of sleeping bags and blankets. "Good," he commended.
"We can lie down on either side of him and help keep
him warm. Heat up another rock there by his feet, and
I'll get his boots off. Also, we'd best roll him on
his side, keep pressure off that cracked rib,
and...Jim, do we really need that light?"

"Not particularly," said Kirk, examining the rock he
had just heated to glowing. "Why?"

"Then turn it off. His eyes are more sensitive than
ours, and strong lights could disturb him. Right now
he needs rest and warmth more than anything else. If
he could just slide from this into normal sleep..."

Kirk turned off the light, pulled off his boots and
slid under the blankets, guided by touch and by the red
glow of the heated rocks. His hand brushed against
Spock's bare arm. He paused, then settled himself
under the blankets with meticulous care. The triple
layer of sleeping bags was surprisingly comfortable,
and the satiny texture of the bag lining and blankets
seemed downright luxurious. He relaxed in the growing
warmth and felt his own multiple aches begin to fade.

"--But we'll have to keep him still, " McCoy was
saying. "There's a chance he may slip into delirium
and start thrashing around. If that happens we'll just
have to hold him down, and with his strength that won't
be easy."

"We'll manage." Kirk sat up to pull off the remains of
his tattered shirt, being careful not to disturb Spock
with the motion. As he settled back down he discovered
that there was no way to avoid the Vulcan's outflung
arm. He finally pulled it under his back and lay down
on it, which wasn't uncomfortable, though the feel of
that warmer-than-human hand against his bare skin was
faintly disturbing.

"That's it, " McCoy said. "There's nothing more you
can do right now, except catch up on some much-needed
sleep. Quit worrying. Doctor's orders."

"Yes, Doctor." Kirk acquiesced and lay still. McCoy
kept quiet too, listening to him breathe, knowing
damned well that he wasn't asleep. *Jim*, McCoy
thought, *you may be the best Captain in the fleet, but
if you don't stop fretting yourself over every last
detail … That's my job, anyway.* He pressed one hand
against Spock's neck, feeling for the pulse.
*Heartbeat regular ... physically as good as could be
expected. But mentally! Who knows. What's going on
in your thick, mulish, pointy-eared head, Spock? What
surprise is your labyrinthine Vulcan mind going to come
up with this--

Just then Spock groaned.

"Bones, what--" Kirk threw off all pretensions of
sleep.

Spock stretched and arched his back, crying out vague
and broken syllables.

"I was afraid of this, " said McCoy, darting a
protective hand over Spock's bandaged ribs. "Hold him
still!"

Kirk grabbed the Vulcan's free arm, McCoy pinned his
legs, and together they fought to hold him down. It
was harder than either of them had expected; although
Spock moved slowly and aimlessly in his delirium, he
was still incredibly strong. He arched backward, his
arms closing blindly around the Captain's ribs, hard
enough to squeeze the breath out of Kirk's lungs; then
he recoiled, thrashing fiercely enough to lift McCoy
partly off the floor. Between spasms he groaned and
muttered incoherently and Kirk and McCoy lay still and
panted and tried to summon strength for the next round.
Little by little the struggles slowed, and the broken
syllables took on recognizable meanings.

"... No ..." he murmured vaguely. "No ... not dream
... no ... "

*Dream!* Kirk wondered as he held Spock's arm away
from his bandaged ribs. "Bones, I didn't know that
Vulcans could dream."

"They do," McCoy gasped. "They just don't like to
think about it. No control then. They--Look out!
Here we go--"

Again Spock twisted and heaved, and his friends
strained to hold him. Kirk couldn't be sure, but he
got the impression that the Vulcan was trying to
struggle away from something. *What kind of danger?*,
he wondered. *What could frighten him so much!* "It's
all right, Spock," he murmured, squeezing his friend's
shoulder. "It's all right. Nothing can hurt you.
There's no danger here, only me ... "

The words did no good. Spock arched backwards, feebly
trying to thrust something away, crying out in near-
terror. "No! Control ... not fall ... no ... bad
dreams ... Don't! Please, no!"

Kirk held tight, riding down the nightmarish bucking
until it sank down to a heavy trembling, then raised
himself on one elbow to see how McCoy was doing. In
the sullen red light from the heated rocks, the
doctor's face was covered with sweat and visibly
strained with fatigue, but he glanced up at Kirk and
winked reassuringly. Kirk wasn't entirely reassured.

"Bones, can you tell what's frightening him so much?
What does he mean by 'bad dreams'? Is that some
effect of the concussion?"

"No, no. That's been going on for some time," McCoy
panted. "It's nothing special. Don't worry about it."

" 'Going on for some time'? What do you mean, don't
worry? Dammit, Bones, what's wrong with him? Tell
me!"

"It's really nothing worth mentioning," McCoy sighed,
wishing that Kirk wouldn't worry like a mother hen,
particularly about Spock. "Nothing's wrong, except
that he came to me about a week ago complaining about
bad dreams. He asked if I knew any medication or
technique that would make them go sway, that's all."

"That's all? Spock? Having bad dreams? What kind of
bad dreams?"

"Dunno, Jim. He either couldn't remember them or
didn't want to tell me, but for him to come to me at
all, they must be real rip-snortin' nightmares."

"Nightmares ... Bones! It couldn't be--He isn't in--"

"Oh no, nothing like that," McCoy hastily assured him.
"That was my first guess too, but I checked him over
and found no such thing. He's definitely not in pon-
farr. Physically, he's quite normal. All I can
conclude is that he's got something on his mind, but
wants to deal with it himself."

"That isn't much of a conclusion," Kirk complained.

"He didn't give me much to go on," McCoy countered.
"He just marched in and asked me if I knew any special
techniques for controlling dreams. Of course I
questioned him, but he was wearing his Super-Vulcan
face--which told me only that he was upset about
something--and I couldn't get anything else out of
him."

"I see ... " Kirk muttered. "That fierce Vulcan need
for privacy ... "

"Well, whatever it is, we can't deal with it right--Oh
no, he's starting again! Hold on, Jim!"

This time the dream-wrestling was long and slow, and
both Kirk and McCoy were shaking with fatigue by the
time it was over. Long after the thrashing had
subsided they held him sandwiched tightly between them,
too weary to move away.

Eventually McCoy dredged up the energy to check Spock's
bandages, and was relieved to find them in place. "No
harm done, thank God," he panted. "Let's hope he
doesn't do that again. I couldn't take it." He pushed
himself away from Spock and rolled over on his back,
aching with strain and exhaustion, hoping he could
safely sleep. He noticed that Kirk hadn't let go,
still had one arm wrapped around Spock's shoulders and
the other cradling his bandaged head. *Worrying yet,*
McCoy thought. *But maybe he's right. Spock needs
certain reassurances that he'd never dare ask for ... *

Spock was mumbling again, and now the syllables sounded
a little more coherent. Perhaps he was speaking some
form of Vulcan that the simple implant-translators
couldn't pick up. Then again, the translator might
have been broken in the crash or the scramble
afterwards. McCoy felt for the spot in his arm where
the translator rested under the skin, but found no
injury there. Then Spock's voice steadied slightly,
and McCoy began hearing definite words.

"No ... again ... not Vulcan ... can't ... Please!
Not ... again ... "

*The dreams are surfacing,* McCoy thought. *Now maybe
I'll find out what's eating him ... * Right on the
heels of that thought came a stab of embarrassment that
he'd dare to eavesdrop. While shame and curiosity
chased each other around the inside of his skull, he
saw--dark against the red-glowing rock--Spock's free
hand slide up Kirk's arm to his shoulder, then to his
neck, then his face.

"... Jim?" The whispered word was quite clear.

*He's beginning to come out of it,* thought McCoy. *He
may not know where he is, but at least he knows who
he's with ... *

"Yes, it's me." McCoy heard Kirk's quiet reply. "I'm
here, Spock. I'm right beside you. Lie still."

"Jim ... " Spock repeated. "Here ... yes ... "

*He'll keep quiet now.* McCoy was grateful. *He won't
try to move, thrash around, hurt himself ... Maybe
he'll sleep. Then I can sleep too.*

"I dream," said Spock, softly but distinctly. "It has
come ... This happens ... only in dreams ... "

*What happens?* McCoy wondered. *'This'? A bash on
the head? Red-lighted darkness? Or is it something to
do with Jim?*

" ... In dreams ... " Spock continued. "All things
possible ... allowed. I need not ... fear to speak ...
"

McCoy kept perfectly silent, holding his breath. If
his ears could have moved they would have pricked up
like a cat's.

"It's all right," Kirk whispered again. "Don't be
afraid. You don't have to be afraid of anything."
McCoy felt the faint tug at the blankets as Kirk's hand
moved to Spock's shoulder, patting him gently.

"I fear ... waking ... " Spock insisted. "Dreams ...
forbidden … Bones was right ... "

McCoy twitched in surprise. *'Bones'* he said! *He
really does think of me that way! Of course he'd never
admit it, not awake ... *

" ... I remembered ... dreams ... knew ... what they
meant ... wanted to tell him ... but I was ashamed ...
"

*I'm a doctor, goddammit.* McCoy felt hurt. *I know
how to keep confidences. I wouldn't have teased you
with it, whatever your secret is ... *

"Don't be ashamed, Spock." Kirk's voice held an
infinite gentleness. "You don't have to be ashamed of
anything. Not now, not with me. You can say anything
you want to. It's all right."

*Jim, you'd make a pretty good psychiatrist,* McCoy
admitted with a faint twinge of envy. *Better than I
can do, right now. Keep him calm, encourage him to
talk it out, always bear in mind that he's quite out of
his head ... *

"Must tell ... cannot contain it ... "

*Oho! At last!* McCoy felt almost gleeful until he
heard Spock draw a deep shuddering breath that strained
the bandages.

"Thee has won, Jim ... Thee has defeated me. Not all
Vulcan in me could withstand thee ... "

McCoy gulped, considered the use of the formal Vulcan
phrases and what that implied, and made some guesses as
to what was coming next.

"What? Defeated you?" Kirk sounded genuinely puzzled.
McCoy wanted to kick him for his outrageous ignorance.
"How? What do you mean, Spock? How have I won, and
what?"

" ... I am as a fortress, taken by siege ... " The
words were muffled, as if Spock had buried his face
against Kirk's chest. "Thee has worn away my defenses
... breached the walls ... "

*Military terms, yet!* McCoy marveled. *He really is
badly shaken up!*

" ... Thee has freed the prisoner ... I was commanded
... to keep bound. I ... failed my trust ... to Vulcan
lost ... lost ... "

"I don't understand." Kirk's words shivered with
distress and concern. "What did I do? How did I hurt
you? Please tell me."

There was a faint sound of weight shifting on the deep-
piled sleeping bags as Spock turned his face toward the
Captain. "Thee has seduced me into feeling," he said,
very clearly.

McCoy winced at that choice of words, feeling through
the twitch of the blankets that Kirk had flinched too.

"Thee has caused me ... to feel a thing ... I cannot
deny it ... cannot control it. It is with me
constantly ... when I look on thee ... when I hear thy
voice ... when I stand beside thee ... Oh friend, my
friend," Spock almost cried. "Thee has caused me to
love thee, and now what shall I do?"

Kirk gave an almost-inaudible gasp, and his arms
quivered under the blankets.

*So now you know,* thought McCoy. *The human half
rises, and with a vengeance ... vengeance for all its
imprisoned years. I saw this coming a long time ago.
I knew that impossibly emotionless pose had to crack
someday, knew it would be hard for him, hoped he'd keep
enough Vulcan control to accept it without too much
pain ... But no. No such luck. He's too rigid, too
brittle, breaks before he bends ... Now he's cracked
open all the way down to the bedrock, the core of his
mind laid bare ... * McCoy felt tears start in his
eyes. *Dammit, Spock! I tried to warn you, ease you
into accepting it ... But you denied, made excuses.
Why wouldn't you listen? Did my teasing hurt you that
much?*

Across Spock's body, Kirk reared up to look for McCoy.
"Bones?" he whispered urgently. "Bones, what should I
do?"

*No!* McCoy held absolutely still, wanting to yell at
Kirk, *No! Don't call his attention to me! He'll
never forgive himself if he know I heard ... *

"Bones!" Kirk's appeal went unanswered.

" ... Jim?" Spock whispered, sounding almost
frightened. "Where are you? Where ... where have you
gone?"

"Nowhere," Kirk sighed, sinking back down on the bed.
"I'm right here, Spock. I won't leave you. I'm here
... my friend ... "

An unidentifiable motion rustled the blankets. Holding
his breath, McCoy turned to look. He could see little
in that dull red light, but that little was enough.

Spock was pressed tight against Kirk, clutching him
like a drowning man clinging to a floating timber. His
expression had softened to something very like a
frightened child's, and his eyes were wide open,
unfocused and glassy. Kirk hadn't moved away; his arms
had closed around Spock, holding him tight. His cheek
rested against the Vulcan's disheveled hair, and on his
face was printed an aching tenderness that he would
never have admitted by daylight.

"My friend, my friend Spock ... " His whisper was
softer, and ragged. "I didn't realize you could ...
feel like that. I didn't know ... Oh, don't be afraid!
Please don't be frightened. Don't be ashamed. You
haven't done anything to be ashamed of. Love isn't
such a terrible thing ... No, it's not terrible at
all."

*Accepted!* McCoy dared to breath again. *He can even
accept it in himself, even though he's a starship
Captain with his own pose of cool-headed toughness to
maintain ... much like a Vulcan. A brave man, Jim--and
an honest one. If Spock can go this far, so can he.*

" ... Half-human ... " Spock groaned. " ... The human
blood ... betrays ... me ... "

"Yes, half human." Kirk's quiet murmur was muffled in
Spock's hair. "But it really isn't so horrible to be
human. We're not such monsters. We can be kind ...
and loving. Love is one of the best things we have.
It isn't such an awful thing to feel ... Spock, listen
to me; I've known you long enough to be sure of this.
The human in you isn't a bad man. There's nothing
vicious or cruel or selfish about you. You can trust
that human side! You can trust your feelings--they're
not evil!"

"But what should I do?" Spock asked again. "Here logic
fails. All is darkness ... I'm lost ... and afraid ...
and cold ... cold ... "

"I'll keep you warm," Kirk promised. His hands rustled
against the cloth as he pulled the blankets up to
Spock's ears. McCoy quietly pulled up his side of the
blankets too, resentful that he had to move with such
stealth and pretend he was no part of this.

" ... Cold ... always cold ... logic does not warm ...
" Spock's voice sounded close and velvety under the
blankets. "Warm me ... yes ... oh yes ... "

"There. There. Hush. You're safe. Rest ... "
Kirk's whisper took on a gentle rhythm, soothing and
hypnotic, almost like a lullaby. The enveloping
blankets pulled and sagged, tightened and relaxed, in a
steady repeated motion.

" ... Yes ... ah, yes ... hold me ... yes ... " There
was no mistaking the deep, quiet rapture in Spock's
voice. It was the sound of ancient wounds at last
beginning to heal.

McCoy blinked in surprise as he realized that Kirk was
literally rocking the Vulcan in his arms, and almost
singing him to sleep. *How long has it been since
anyone did that for him?* McCoy wondered, marveling at
the incredible image of Kirk as loving parent and Spock
as small lonely child. *Mother and child reunion...Of
course! His mother adopted Vulcan ways, couldn't give
him as much affection as he needed, and he didn't dare
ask ... All these years he's been yearning for this,
and fearing it ... And that's why he can't deal with
human females!* The revelation hit McCoy like a punch
between the eyes. *His mother was human, so all women-
-for that matter, all things human--are like her:
forbidden and fascinating and forever tempting his
human side with the promise of joy like this! And Jim
... human, but not female, so he's comparatively safe
... Oh, Holy Freud!*

McCoy lay still, considering all that, listening to the
gentle rhythm of acceptance and love and solace long
overdue. This act of healing was happening less than a
foot away from him, and he had no part in it, and it
left him feeling rather lonely. Time seemed to have
stopped, doubled back on itself to a long-past
childhood, returning to fill a hollow that had stood
too long empty.

* ... Making up for lost time,* McCoy smiled. *Hold
on, Jim. God only knows how much of this he needs. Be
patient. When he's full-fed he'll fall asleep, like
any small child ... Provided that he stays at the
small child level ... *

He could never be sure, afterwards, just when it
changed.

" ... Yes ... warm ... this is right ... " Spock's
words were growing fuzzy and indistinct. McCoy hoped
that meant he'd fall asleep soon. " ... Warm ... hold
me ... touching ... " The tone took on a soft purr,
like a drowsy kitten's. " ... No guide but feeling ...
touching ... yes ... " There was a faint sliding sound
of skin on skin. " ... Touching ... good to touch thee
... so warm ... close ... closer ... more ... " There
was a different sliding and the blankets tugged
crosswise to the rocking rhythm. Spock turned
slightly, stretched under the yielding cloth, and
slowly pressed the whole length of his body against
Kirk's. Waves of heat poured off his back like the
breath from a furnace. " ... More of this ... yes ...
there is more ... good ... "

McCoy went rigid with alarm. *Oh no, he's growing up
too fast! Doesn't Jim realize? Dammit, Spock, go to
sleep! Sleep ... Make him sleep. Hypospray, in the
medical kit. But I'd have to rummage around in the
dark. He'd hear me, and what then?*

"... So warm ... strange ... like brightness ... "
Spock's purr deepened. "Lost ... follow the brightness
... warmer ... yes ... " More whispers of flesh
against cloth, and flesh against flesh. " ... Yes ...
good ... soft fire ... I must ... what? What should I
... " Under the purring came more sounds of sliding,
stretching.

"Easy, Spock. Don't--don't hurt yourself." Kirk's
voice held a growing note of apprehension.

"No, not hurt ... not afraid ... trust ... gentle fire
... so warm ... " A great hunting-cat's purr, and the
rustling of wind in leaves, or of a long caress. " ...
This is right ... sweet burning ... but what is it?
... I know not ... what I want ... must have ... must
do ... but I burn ... "

"Spock," Kirk whispered nervously, stirring in the
blankets. "Spock, be careful ... Keep still now. Be
still!"

" ... Burning ... I must ... what?" The deep purr was
thick with blind urgency. "Jim, help me. What must I
... " Unmistakable surf-sound of hands closing tight
on bare flesh. "Is it this? This seems ... yes ...
yes!" The blankets tautened and sang as Spock rose on
one elbow and began to roll forward.

"Dear God, no!" Kirk's whisper soared to a near-
scream. "Not that! Spock, no! No!" The blankets
racketed like wind-beaten sails as he struggled to get
out of the Vulcan's grip.

*Jim, don't panic now!* McCoy drew breath to shout at
him.

Spock's reaction halted both of them.

"Don't hit me!"

"What?" Kirk gulped, stopped cold in mid-flight.

"Please ... Jim, please ... " Spock moaned, shaking so
hard that McCoy could feel it through the sleeping
bags. "Don't hurt me. Not again ... not like this ...
what I feared ... please ... "

"I--Spock, I won't hit you." The fright was fading
from Kirk's voice. "I won't hurt you. What made you
think I would?"

"Twice ... twice before ... " The words came,
incredibly, in quiet sobs. "My control ... broken ...
once by disease ... once ... pod-flower spores. I was
defenseless ... opened to thee ... "

"Oh. Yes, I remember."

"... And thee hurt me ... even struck me ... when I was
most ... " Heavy sobs smothered the end of his
sentence.

"I remember," Kirk lamented. "Oh, I remember ... "

*So do I,* thought McCoy, cringing at the stark
memories of Kirk telling him about those two incidents,
each time late at night in his quarters, just the two
of them and a brandy bottle, and Kirk almost pleading
for some relief from his drayload of guilt. *But both
times it was necessary!* McCoy wanted to cry to Spock.
*The ship was in danger and he needed your help, had to
snap you out of it. You know that ... but you still
ache from it. And to think I once believed that it was
harder for Jim than for you!*

"Spock, I'm sorry ... " Kirk's apology was whispered
against the Vulcan's bowed head. "Oh God, but I'm
sorry! I didn't want to. Not then, not now. I won't
hurt you. Not like that, not again, I swear it. Won't
hurt you. Not you. Not now ... " Slowly, amazingly,
his voice slipped back into that gentle, steady, sleepy
rhythm, offering more comfort than words.

He's going to risk it! McCoy marveled, listening to
the rustling-leaves sound of Kirk's arms moving under
the blankets, slipping quietly around Spock's still-
shaking body, settling firmly and drawing him close,
and resuming the slow, easy rocking. Little by little
the shivering faded, the smothered weeping grew less
and still less, ending at last in a long sigh of vast
relief. McCoy sighed too, hearing the old scars fade
and knowing he couldn't have done it. *But you'd never
show those wounds to me, would you, Spock? Damn your
stiff-necked pride! ... And mine.* He pressed his
forearm over his eyes and listened to that strange
enchanted cradle-song weaving up the rips in the
tapestry of time. *Oh sleep, child!* he silently
implored. *If you stay awake much longer, you'll grow
older ... *

"Jim..." Spock asked quietly. "Is this what love is?"

"Yes." Kirk's reply was infinitely tender. "Oh love,
yes. This and more ... but never deny it. Never be
afraid of it ... and I won't either."

" ... My friend ... I love ... I can love ... " The
vast, profound joy in Spock's voice was unmistakable.
So was the rippling undertone. "It is warm ... so
bright ... like the sun ... "

*Here we go!* thought McCoy, as his heart tried to jump
right out of his chest. *Nothing can make him stay a
child ... innocent ... Jim, don't be afraid! No matter
what happens--*

" ... Shining, golden ... sun of my mother's world ...
love ... yes ... " The rippling purr deepened,
followed by the whispering-leaves sound of arms moving
against satiny cloth and bare flesh. The blankets
pulled taut, slipped loose and pulled again, like
impatient sails in a rising wind, as Spock moved up and
forward.

There was a sharp gasp from Kirk, but no other sound.
No motion. No resistance.

"Sun of Earth ... " The words were blurred, crossed by
the hushed sound of fingers running through hair.
"Thee are sunlight ... cast in bright colors ... Thy
hair is like rough bronze grass ... so strong ... " A
different, velvety whispering of skin on skin. " ...
Such great eyes ... bright bronze pools ... revealing
everything, everything ... expressive ... unafraid ...
Oh, how can thee be so fearless? Not to deny ...
feeling, unhidden ... Friend, oh friend ... lend me
that courage. Show me ... how not to be afraid ... to
feel ... and to reveal it ... "

Kirk's only reply was a small brief sound that might
almost have been a sob, and a faint rustling of
blankets in an unidentifiable motion.

" ... Warm ... so smooth ... flesh in rolling hills and
valleys ... new world to explore ... by touch ... oh,
the joy of it!" The words were almost
indistinguishable in the rising, thunderous purr.
"Thee are beautiful ... delightful past telling ...
Oh, I do love thee!"

Spock moved with the sound of an incoming tide, feeling
his way blindly, but growing surer with every touch.
There was a soft rasp and creak of shifting weight, and
a clink of colliding belt-buckles.

Kirk's breathing came in long leaping gasps, climbing
suddenly to a choked cry. "Easy! No! You're hurting
me--"

McCoy froze, wondering what in all the worlds he should
do.

Spock shifted, pulled back, his tiger-purr rough-hewn
into words. "No ... not hurt ... never, never hurt
thee ... " Soft hissing of sliding hands. "Not hurt
... opposite ... please thee ... so ... Is this right?
Touch ... there ... "

The sound of moving hands halted a moment, paused
almost uncertainly, then changed. There was a tugging,
a creak of leather, then a shockingly loud rip as cloth
was torn away. Kirk gasped, but didn't move or cry out
again.

"Yes ... yes ... so ... " It was hard to identify the
sounds as words. "Almost same ... matching ... thus
... yes ... " Fingers whispered across hair, then
flesh again.

"There," Kirk gasped. "There. Better ... Oh, God
..."

The sounds slowed as Spock settled gently, by
infinitely careful degrees, matching himself inch for
inch over Kirk's motionless body. The heavy rumbling
in his throat blanketed the harsh gasping of Kirk's
rapid breathing, and a faint sound that was something
like a smothered cry. The satiny whisper and tug of
the blankets settled into a slow regular pulsing, and
the rippling purr and ragged breathing of their two
voices fell into cadence with it.

McCoy sweated in the close heat, bit his knuckles until
he thought they'd come apart, and tried not to think
too precisely of what was happening less than eighteen
inches away. *Vulcans ... design slightly different
... * Fragmentary images flickered past his
determination. *Central shaft alike ... but those two
flexible side-tendrils ... they twine ... lash them
together ... No, don't ask! Oh, Jim ... God, what is
he feeling?*

Then he heard, undeniably in Kirk's voice, a long
splintering groan--exactly like the sound of an oak
beam giving way under too heavy a load. Following that
came another silk-whispering of motion, cutting through
the surging rhythm like wind across waves. McCoy felt
the hair lift up off his scalp, and he turned his head
slowly, carefully, until he could be sure of what he
was seeing.

Even under the roiling blankets, in black silhouette
against rocks that glowed like coals, there was no
mistaking it. Kirk was no longer lying still. His
arms were moving across Spock's back, his body arching
upward and sinking down again, both in regular pulses
that matched the Vulcan's rhythm perfectly. His head
was thrown back, and Spock's hands were nowhere near
it, and even in outline his expression was plainly
readable.

*It isn't the mind-touch,* McCoy thought dizzily.
*Spock isn't doing it. That's him, all his own! My
God, I didn't realize ... * He turned his face away,
certain that if he kept watching them he'd start
gibbering in another minute. *I let it go too far,* he
kicked himself. *But what should I have done? Where
could I have interfered without hurting Spock? And now
... how much will this hurt Jim?*

Behind him, the sound and motion changed. The cadence
grew heavier, faster. McCoy gritted his teeth and
desperately wished they'd hurry; he couldn't take much
more of this. The pulses of sound came quicker, closer
together, like birth-pangs, like drum-rolls of thunder
heralding an oncoming storm. The pattern was overlaid
with a fierce last-minute motion, and McCoy turned just
in time to see Kirk pull Spock's face down against his
own, and then both of them went rigid save for one long
heavy shuddering that shook them from head to foot for
seconds that stretched into eternity, and their twin
cries were drowned in each other's throats.

*I think I'm going to faint ... * thought McCoy. He
turned away and concentrated on taking deep breaths
until he was fairly certain that he'd stay conscious.
Behind him all motion stopped. McCoy curled up into a
tight knot of misery, and quietly beat his fist against
his forehead. *What am I going to say? How am I going
to handle this? They've got to wake up sometime!*

At his back, there was a stirring, a sliding, a
pressure on the sleeping bags, as Spock slipped back to
his original position in the warm nest of cloth between
Kirk and McCoy. He stretched, sighed, gave one last
drowsy purr, and sank quietly into a deep normal sleep.
McCoy kept absolutely still, hardly breathing, until he
was certain that the Vulcan was safely unconscious.
Once assured of that he moved one hand, stealthy as a
pickpocket, checking to see that the bandages were
still in place. They were. At least there was no harm
done in that department. He sagged with relief,
gratefully soaking up the temporary peace of silence.

No, not quite silence.

From just beyond the innocently sleeping Spock came a
soft, repeated rasping sound. It took McCoy several
minutes to recognize it, and a few minutes longer to
believe what he was hearing. Alone in the dark, trying
very hard to stifle the sound, Jim Kirk was crying.

Professional habits snapped McCoy into action. He
straightened out, careful not to waken Spock, rolled
over and pushed himself up on one elbow. "Jim?" he
whispered. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"Bones--" Kirk fought to get his voice under control.
"I had to do that. No choice. After what he said ...
To refuse him would have been ... inhumanly cruel ...
I've hurt him ... so many times ... I only wanted to
... "

Right then McCoy made his decision. "Jim, " he said.
"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Wha--" Kirk grunted as if the wind had been knocked
out of him. "But you were--Didn't you--"

"I was asleep," McCoy insisted firmly. "Look, it's
been a long, hard day. The crash, the scramble
afterwards, the cave-in ... I'm afraid that delirious
wrestling match with Spock took up the last of my
energy supply. As soon as he calmed down I ... Well,
I just fell asleep. Didn't wake up until he elbowed me
in the ribs just now. I'm sorry I left you in the
lurch like that, but I was awfully tired."

"But--but didn't you hear what he was saying?" Kirk
sounded more than a little disorientated. "He started
talking right after the delirium stopped ... "

"Well, I recall him raving a little ... " McCoy
remembered an earlier thought. "But I couldn't make
head nor tail of it. He was speaking in Vulcan, after
all."

"Raving ... in Vulcan ... " Kirk managed to digest
that. "But your translator--It's good for all known
languages--"

"That damned tinker-toy?" McCoy replied innocently.
"I lost it."

"You lost it?" Kirk spluttered in whispers. "How the
hell could you lose a subcutaneous insert-
translator???"

"Uh..." *Damn! I should have said it got broken!*
"Well, I scraped my arm when I hit the floor during the
explosion, and--and I banged it around some more while
we were holding Spock. It must have gotten lost
somewhere in there." *Damn! Damn! Damn! Now I'll
have to--Oh shit, it's going to hurt ... *

"Your translator ... got lost ... " Kirk took all that
in, thought it over carefully, and didn't say anything
further.

"You sound pretty worn out, Jim," McCoy continued,
thoughts racing ahead of his words. "Sounds like
you're beginning to rave a bit yourself. Why don't you
get some sleep? I'll take the next couple hours'
watch, if you like."

"Sleep ... " Kirk muttered. "Yes, I could use it."

McCoy grinned and climbed out of the rumpled bed,
pausing only to find and pick up his medical kit.

"Bones ... " Kirk's voice stopped him.

"Yes?" Please, no last-minute confessions!

"Thanks."

"Uh, you're welcome." *What the hell! How much does
he know?* "Ah, think nothing of it, Jim. Just get
some sleep."

"Right"

McCoy moved away, making a show of checking over his
medical kit, hiding his very real dismay when he
couldn't find the local anesthetic, carefully ignoring
the way Kirk gently pulled the blankets up under
Spock's chin and then curled up beside him with his
face nestled against the Vulcan's warm shoulder. McCoy
took out his phaser, heated a few more rocks, and
otherwise made himself look busy until the deep, steady
breathing behind him indicated that both of them were
safely asleep. Then he sat back on his heels and
reviewed the whole incredible situation.

*Well, now we're all committed,* he thought. *We've
smashed customs and taboos and regulations right and
left, and I guess we're just going to keep on doing it
… Oh, the chances we take and the rules we break, all
for love!* He studied the way Kirk's arm lay
protectively across Spock's chest, remembered that
muffled weeping in the dark, and considered that this
was the only time he'd ever know Jim Kirk to cry. *For
whom,* he wondered. *For Spock, or for himself?
Probably both ... driven by a passionate tenderness
that both their worlds deny ... * He smiled fondly at
Spock, noting how the Vulcan's face seemed much
younger, more relaxed, with certain lines of tension
gone. *You pointy-eared, romantic, lovestruck kid,* he
thought. *So he seduced you into breaking the rules?
Well, you can consider yourself properly avenged!*

He would have watched them awhile longer, but his arm
itched. It reminded McCoy of the inevitable next step.
*Well, let's get on with it,* he told himself,
resolutely turning toward the inadequate light of a
heat-glowing rock. He rummaged in a medical kit until
he found a scalpel.

It took ten minutes of sweaty, painful, bloody work to
lay open the skin on his forearm, find the translator
and dig it out. It took only a few seconds to smash
the offending machine into a thousand pieces, and bury
the fragments under the largest available stone.

END