The BLTS Archive - And in the Darkness Bind You...
by Greywolf the Wanderer

---

ObDisclaim: ParaViaBorg owns the Enterprise, Kirk and Spock and the
whole damn Trekiverse.  Nae money bein' made here,  and there's nae
point in suin' me for I'm broke.  All I own is my  arse and a 1958
Ford 1/2 ton pickup truck...

In case of glass, break fire.  Contains m/m sex; if that's nae yer
bag then go read somethin' else.  Not suitable for wee kids, farm
animals, or elderly Republican Congresscritters...

Summary:  Call this, my attempt to tell what *else* happened, during
and after the episode "Operation: Annihilate".

This story was originally inspired by a short piece that Wildcat wrote
for the ascem round-robin "The Small Screen".  My thanks to her  for
her permission to use her as inspiration; also to her, jonk, Doc
Science and Maelen for beta-reading, and to arachnethe2 for a
wonderful last-minute suggestion...

---
"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them,
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie..."

from "The Lord of the Rings", by J.R.R. Tolkien

---

//I have never in my life felt such pain as this.  It  comes in
blazing, incandescent waves.  It floods my nerves, tears at my
control.  Every single nerve is afire; each screams  out its own
separate signal.  All contribute to the flood that is burning me
alive.  The mind rules enable me to function, but they do not make
this easy.  Nothing can make this easy.  I cannot sleep, nor have I
been able to eat.  I dare not relax, not even for an instant.  I have
no strength to spare.  And that endless voice, deep within my mind...
Even with the mind rules, I cannot shut it out completely.

It is not a human voice, nor a Vulcan one.  It is not really  a voice
at all.  It has no words.  But the creature does speak to me.  It
speaks in concepts.  I *know* what it wants.  It wants this crew, this
ship -- and far more besides.  It is pushing at me, hard.  Only the
thinnest edge of my control remains now.  It wants me to beam aboard
seeds like the one which planted itself on me, so that it can take
over this ship as it has already taken Deneva.  The on-planet
coordinates where the seeds lie waiting are engraved on my mind in
purest fire.

I shall step out of an airlock without a helmet before I permit that
to happen.

No.  There has to be a way to defeat this creature, a way to spare
Jim from what he is even now grimly preparing  himself to do -- for if
all else fails, it will fall to him to order the orbital strike which
will sterilize the planet.  No matter what, we cannot let this
creature spread beyond Deneva.

But I do not know how much longer I can hold out against the pain.
The creature never stops pushing at me, never lets go.  Every instant
that I do not obey its wishes, it inflicts more pain.  I *must* hold
on.  But the pain never subsides at all, and I grow weary...

When my control does break -- as it must, all too soon  -- I will be a
danger to us all, even to Jim--//


"No!"

I sit up in bed, gasping for air, my heart hammering in my side.  I
was dreaming, reliving a memory, that is all.

This is the curse of an eidetic memory -- to think of something is to
re-live it.  But the creature that was within me is truly gone.  I can
no longer feel it in my flesh, nor can I sense it in my thoughts.

I open my eyes and blink -- and *remember*.

I am not only free, I am also quite blind.

Haste was necessary.  I myself urged the doctor to  proceed.  I knew,
through my link to the creature, that its Denevan slaves were
building a ship, that their work was very nearly done.  The creature
itself was not precisely intelligent, though it did possess a crude
self-awareness.  Rather, it used the brains of its slaves much as I
might use a computer.  And I, being a telepath and part of it, could
access some of the other minds it had possessed.  It was not a meld;
it was more like looking for a certain file in a large and poorly
organized directory.  But I could not discover the precise plan of
their ship.  The creature itself did not understand such concepts,
and my access was limited by that lack of understanding.  We had no
way to discover what sort of vessel they were building, or how fast it
might go, or what range it would have.  The Enterprise is a ship of
the line, not a hunter-interceptor.  Had the Denevans managed to
launch, we might or might not have caught up to them in time.  The
nearest Border Patrol squadron was more than  five days away at max
warp; Deneva is far from the Rimworlds.  Truly, there was no
alternative but to complete our tests as rapidly as possible.

But now I contemplate the ruin of the life I have built  here.  The
Enterprise, whatever her other duties, is inarguably a military
vessel.  A blind man cannot serve as her First Officer.

Nor does it seem likely that I can function as head of the Science
Department.  At the moment I would not be entirely able to care for my
own needs were I somewhere other than my own cabin, where everything
is known to me.  I need training, adaptive equipment -- all of it
time-consuming and none but the most basic available here.  It has
taken me this long, nearly 24 hours, just to begin reconfiguring my
terminal in readiness to start the necessary studies.

My station on the bridge can produce verbal output on command, of
course, but this is only a desk terminal, which I myself altered to
text-only mode some years ago as a means of speeding up my access.
Now I must reconfigure it once more, by hand.  And I keep thinking...

It is very possible that I have already worked my last shift on the
bridge of the Enterprise.

I shall have to leave this ship, which has been my only  home for more
than thirteen years.

I shall have to leave Jim.

Were I fully human I might rail against my fate, but it would be
pointless.  What is, is.  This was the only logical choice open to us.

Enough.

I rise and make my way to my desk.  It is not difficult.  My quarters
are small, I know them well, and I have had almost a full day in
which to practice sightless navigation.  I sit down in front of my
half-rebuilt terminal.  Perhaps, now that I have rested somewhat, I
can at least finish the job of reconfiguring it.

Just in case anything has changed, I open my eyes as  widely as I can,
but I still see nothing.  I reach for my commpanel, touch the switch
for maincomp access.

"Computer."

"Working."

"Lights to 100%."

"Unable to comply.  Lights are already at that level."

"In that case -- computer: lights off."  There is no point in wasting
ship's power.  The switchover is soundless, but I know that my
quarters are dark now.

I lean forward, pick up my tools, and concentrate.  After a time I am
able to summon a mental image of the terminal's interior.  I orient
myself by touch and resume my work, careful to avoid the power sink,
which can deliver a dangerous shock even with the terminal
disconnected.  It is gratifying to note that despite my continued
exhaustion, my hands are quite steady. This, at least, is still as it
should be.

I could order this done, of course.  I have that right.  Any of my
subordinates would be capable.  Many would consider it an honour.
But I intend to do this for myself.  I may indeed be blind, but I am
not willing to be helpless.

The work is delicate, but not particularly difficult.  I am reassured;
the creature's attack on me seems to have left no residual nerve
damage.  My sense of touch, my dexterity -- these, at least, are
unaffected.

A most fascinating creature.  So very different from our own kind of
life.  I should have liked to study it longer, had our circumstances
permitted.  But it would be a lie if I were to say that I regret its
death.

I cannot begin to conceive of what the affected humans  must have
suffered without Vulcan strength, without the mind rules to help
them.  Truly a subject for which I must invoke Mastery of the
Unavoidable.  It is well that it was I who was stricken, rather than
any of the others.  If it had attacked Jim...

No.  I will not think of that.  It did not happen.

There.  The task is done.  It takes me but a few moments to
reassemble the terminal and test it.  Its functioning is satisfactory.

That done, however, I find myself disinclined to pursue any of my
current research.  Exhaustion has robbed me of my strength.  It is
enough simply to sit, for now.  I do not wish to try sleeping again,
so soon.  I might not be able to prevent the dream from returning, if
I did.

Perhaps I should have used the healing trance after being purged of
the creature -- but that would have required me to stay in Sickbay.
I was not willing to do so.  I wished only to return to my quarters,
where I could be warm and have privacy.  So now I sit, and although it
might also be wise to meditate, I do not do that, either.  I sit, and
I *remember*.  My memories are clear, bright and sharp; it is like
being able to see again.

I remember being at my station on the bridge.  I remember the feel of
the ship as we go from impulse to warp.  I remember the way the crew
works together so smoothly, whenever a crisis occurs.  I remember
walking the corridors late at night, surrounded by the small night
sounds of the ship, the scent of the air, the colours and patterns of
the almost-empty hallways.  I remember the way the stars look in warp
space.  Most of my human crew-mates claim to find that sight
disturbing; I have always thought it aesthetically pleasing.

This is the blessing of an eidetic memory; to think of something is to
re-live it.

I remember the colours of the sky on Deneb Altos IV -- infinite
variations of pink, lavender, purple, blue.  A combination  of fine
high-altitude dust and certain airborne micro-organisms accounts for
the colours.  But mostly I remember the look on Jim's face as he
watched the sunset there, with the planet's rings arching high above
us, glittering in the last of the light...  He was utterly entranced.
In that moment all his cares had left him and I could see him as he
must have looked  in his youth.  It left me quite speechless; it was
fortunate for me that, distracted, he did not seem to notice, or to
consider my behaviour in any way strange.

And that is when it hits me again that I am going to have to leave.
There will be no more bridge duty or landing parties for me; no more
shore leaves, no more late-night games of chess  with Jim.  He will
still be here, but I will be gone.

I have lost *everything*.  How do I go on from here?  What am I to
do?

I do not know.  I am *tired*.  It is difficult to think, difficult to
order my thoughts.

Slowly, painfully, I compose myself again.  I *must*  meditate, since
I dare not sleep.

But I cannot do that, either, it seems.  Peace eludes me, and in the
end I am left sitting quietly, looking into memory again, watching
Jim.  Storing up what images I possess against the time when I will be
alone again, as I was for so many years before.

Hours pass, before something catches my attention.  Ah  -- the door
chime.  There it is again.  I get to my feet, slightly awkward,
bumping my hip against the table.  My body has grown stiff, sitting
still for so long.  I am about to speak when the door slides open and
I hear Jim's voice.  "Spock?  It's me, Jim. Am I disturbing you, can I
come in?"

I can hear the fatigue in his voice, as deep as my own.  The regret,
the grief he will not speak of, for the loss of his only brother.
"Please," I say.  "Come in.  You are not disturbing me."

He takes an oddly hesitant step, then asks, "Can I turn the lights
on?  I can't see you."

I had forgotten.  "Of course, Captain.  I was merely conserving power,
since I cannot use them.  Computer: lights to  50%."

"Thanks, Spock.  I'm sorry to have to ask."

"It is of no consequence."  I hear him approach; by the time he sits
down across the desk from me I can feel him, too.  It is like
sunlight on my skin, this awareness that he is near.  Has it always
been so?  Did I simply not notice, busy as I was before with watching
him?  Fascinating.

"Are you managing all right?  I thought you'd still be in Sickbay."  I
hear his concern for me in his voice; I must find some way to reassure
him that I am well.

"Dr. McCoy admits he can do nothing more for me; he agreed to my
request to be allowed to return to my quarters once he had treated
what he called my 'sunburn'.  It is warmer here, and far more
comfortable."  Not to mention more private.  In Sickbay there are
always people walking in and out, disturbing my rest...  It always
smells odd there, faintly unpleasant.

Jim laughs, a little uneasily.  "Yeah, I always get out of Sickbay as
quickly as possible myself.  Bones means well, but..."

"Indeed."  I cast about for a safe subject; there is much  that
neither of us wishes to say.  "Can I get you something, Captain?
Some coffee, perhaps?"

"I can get that for--"  I hear him start to rise.

"That will not be necessary. Please, permit me..."  He sits back
down.  I rise and walk carefully over to my synthesizer, one hand held
just slightly in front of me.  I am interested to note that I seem to
be able to *feel* when I am nearing the wall.  I had not expected
this, but it is certainly useful.  It takes me but a few moments to
prepare coffee for him and tea for myself.  With some concentration, I
am able to carry the cups back and set them carefully down on the desk
without spilling any.  It is a small thing, but an accomplishment
nonetheless.

At one point during the preparation I spill hot water on my hand.  I
hear Jim draw a sharp breath, but he keeps silent.  I am grateful
that he does not jump up, try to help.  He has always understood me,
perhaps better than I understand myself.  He is most perceptive, for a
human.

Task accomplished, I resume my seat.  I take a sip of  my tea.  It is
hot and fragrant; I find it most pleasant.  "The  doctor tells me that
the satellites were successful."

A relieved sigh.  "Yes.  Calls are coming in from all over the
system, now.  The things are dead; even the people in the lunar
mining towns are free.  Seems like when we killed the ones on Deneva
itself we got whatever served that thing for a brain; all the rest
just up and died."

I am surprised at the intensity of my relief.  It is finally over,
then.  Now that the rest of it has died, I am truly safe.  "I see.  It
is gratifying to hear that.  And you, Jim; how are you?"

I hear him shift uneasily in his chair.  "Oh, keeping  busy.  You know
the routine.  Trying to get the relief effort organized, answering
endless requests from FleetCom for more data."  He pauses; I hear him
swallow, force himself to take a breath.  "Peter woke up today.  He
doesn't remember much; I suppose that's for the best."  He pauses once
more; I can clearly hear the strain in his voice.  "I -- I called Mom,
told her about Sam and Aurelan."

That cannot have been an easy task.  "How was it,  with her?"

"She took it kind of hard.  I don't think it's really hit her yet.  I
called my aunt; she's going to go over and stay there with her until I
can arrive.  At least Mom won't be alone."

I never met Jim's brother in life, but Jim often spoke of him over
the years.  I know that they were close.  Jim's control, when we found
what had become of his family, was admirable, almost Vulcan.  "I
grieve with thee," I say.  It is all that can be said.

"Thanks, Spock -- you know that means a lot to me."   He sighs.
"Bones says Peter's going to be fine, physically.  Kids are tougher
than we give them credit for.  But we'll have to watch him carefully
for a while.  He's been through things that no child should have to
endure.  I'll be surprised if he doesn't end up having some pretty
horrific nightmares."

I manage not to visibly start.  "Indeed."  If Jim knew  what I -- but
I will not speak of this.

Jim is persistent.  "How about you, Spock?  How are you doing?"

I permit myself a small sigh.  "I am, as you say, managing.  I have
rebuilt my terminal for speech output.  I have much reading to do.
There is much I must learn."

"Spock -- I'm *sorry*.  I feel responsible for this."  First there was
concern in his voice; now, I hear guilt.

I did not intend to provoke *this* reaction.  "Jim, no.  It was my
selection as well.  It was necessary.  Please, do not.  I have
accepted what is."  I can be quite a shocking liar, when I must.

Jim is undeterred.  "But dammit, *I* can't accept this!  It isn't
right."  And for this, I have no answer.  What a strange sensation I
am feeling.  Is this laughter, here, inside me?  It is a bitter thing,
I fear.

Under his breath, I hear Jim mutter once again, "It isn't *right*."

Always the captain.  He will worry at this and pick at it, turning it
over in his mind, looking for some answer that we might have missed.
I know him.  But for myself, I am exhausted.  I wish only to rest,
now.  I have not the strength to fight any more.

We both finish drinking at the same time.  Jim gets to  his feet.  He
seems frustrated; I hear him sigh, very softly.  When he speaks again
his voice is hesitant, uneasy.  "Well,  Spock, I guess I'd better let
you get back to your computer.  Here, let me take those cups..."

"That is not necessary, Jim."  I rise, turn to follow him--

And fall, as I become entangled with his chair, which is not where I
had expected it to be.  He is on his knees beside me almost as I hit
the floor.  When I come to rest, I simply lean my cheek on one
upraised knee, not trying to rise.  Suddenly I am utterly discouraged,
disillusioned.

"I'm sorry, Spock.  It's my fault, I shouldn't have moved that.  Are
you all right?"

I cannot prevent the sigh that escapes me.  "I am  unhurt, Jim.  But
it is not your fault.  The fault, if anything, is mine.  I have been a
fool.  I have been thinking that I can carry on as if nothing has
really changed.  That is manifestly untrue."

I hear his sharp intake of breath.  "But surely, there are devices,
ways to compensate--"

"To a degree, yes.  But I can no longer serve as your First Officer,
even with adaptive equipment.  I cannot serve as Science Officer,
either.  A blind astronomer?  A physicist who cannot read his
instruments?  What place exists for a blind man, on a ship of the
line?"

A quick flash of pain that is not mine.  I cannot shield against him;
I never could.  "No!  Spock, your career can't be over...  There's a
way, there's got to be a way...  This is all my fault, this never
should have happened.  I've lost Sam and Aurelan, and now you as well?
*Dammit!*  I won't lose you, too!"  The raw pain in his voice is
difficult to bear.  Now I have hurt him, and I did not intend to do
that.  I am not accustomed -- I do not know what to do...

"Jim, you have not lost me.  I am still your friend.  I will always
be your friend.  I agree that this is not the result that either of
us desired.  But it is what *is*.  I *am* sorry.  I would change this,
were it within my power.  But it is not."  Still I reach out, find his
hand, take it.  He holds on with the strength of one despairing.  We
sit silently for a time, unmindful of appearance, each of us all too
aware of how much we have lost that we did not think to lose, that
neither of us had realized was at risk.

Jim begins to speak again, his voice leaden now, dull.  "It *is* my
fault.  I never should have authorized that last test.  We could have
waited."

"We did not know that.  Jim, they were building a ship, as Aurelan
said.  I could feel the creature driving its slaves to that effort.
The slaves in the link believed that their work was nearly finished.
There was *no time*, t'hy'la.  We did only what had to be done."

"But your eyes, Spock...  Your career; dammit, your  life!  What
happens now?"

I release his hand in order to sit up straighter, to  gather and
compose myself.  "I do not know.  I have not yet considered that.
But Jim, there was another factor -- I was  almost out of time.  My
endurance was gone, used in fighting  the pain.  The creature would
have overpowered me in the  very near future.  Once my control broke,
I would have been a danger to the ship, to you...  I meant what I
said in the lab.  It was an equitable trade.  It is done."

"I can't accept that."

"Jim, please -- you must."  I must have become slightly disoriented
during this conversation, for this time when I reach out, I brush
unexpectedly against his face.  I am shocked to discover that it is
wet.  "Thee weeps, for me?  Jim, no.  Please, do not."  No-one has
wept for me since I was a very small child.  That *Jim* would do so...
No.  I cannot pretend to ignore this, I cannot permit it.  This is too
much.

He is shaking soundlessly, trying to stifle what he feels.  His
breathing is hoarse, ragged.  He will not let go, will not permit
himself to lose control.  It is no easier for him to do such a thing
than it would be for me.  Awkwardly I pull him toward me, put my arm
around him.  He turns his face in to my shoulder, still fighting for
control.  The arms that reach around me in turn are trembling
violently.  The strength of his emotions batters at my
already-weakened shields, but I am not willing to pull away from him
while he is in such pain.

"God, no," he whispers.  "Not you too.  I won't stand for this; I
don't see how we can go on from here, Spock.  This *can't* happen."

His words only echo my own thoughts.  I have no easy answers for
either of us.  I agree with him, this situation is intolerable.  I do
not wish to leave here; it is my home.  I cannot bear to leave *him*
-- and yet I will have to go.  "Jim...  I am here now.  You are my
t'hy'la, my more-than-brother.  You will always be my t'hy'la.
Nothing will ever change that."  It is all I have to offer, and I
know that it is not enough.

Finally, I feel him take a deep breath, try to re-assert his control.
He stiffens, slightly; I allow my arms to fall to my lap.  "I'm sorry,
Spock," he says quietly.  "I didn't mean to impose..."

"You are not.  You could never do that."  I do not know  what else to
say.  It is true.

I wish...  I am not even certain what it is that I wish for. I take a
deep breath -- and time itself seems to freeze, as gentle fingers
brush against my face.  Once, twice...  And now I feel the faintest
touch of his lips against my own.  I am incapable of moving.  So
soft...

"Spock," he says.  I am silent, my heartbeat suddenly  racing, uneven.
He kisses me once more, his touch stronger now,  less hesitant.
"*Spock*."

Long-denied need begins to grow, within me.  Hunger...   I am frozen,
unsure what is the ethical thing to do.  It is difficult to bring
myself to speak, to say what I feel should be said.  "Jim--" I say, my
voice noticeably unsteady, "you feel responsible for my blindness.
You have suffered a great loss.  You are vulnerable; it would be easy
to do something you do not--"

He kisses me again.  "It isn't like that."  His voice is so quiet, yet
I hear him so clearly.  "I do want this, Spock.  Very much."  Again he
touches my face, softly, carefully.  I let my head fall back; I yearn
to feel that touch repeated.  I feel his fingertips tracing, caressing
the shapes of my face; feather-light, human-cool.  Once again I can
feel what he feels -- concern, for me.  Hunger; loneliness as deep as
my own; desire, new and hot and bright.  And it is not in me to refuse
this, or him.  How can I, when he is offering what I have wanted for
so long, what I never dared to ask for, never hoped to achieve?  "Do
you want me to stop?" he asks, and I feel his fear, so much like mine.
Fear of loss, rejection; fear that he has misread me...

With some effort I find my voice again, though it is rough, harsh,
full of hunger.  "No," I say, little more than a whisper.  "No, please
-- do not stop."  I reach out with one hand, touch his cheek, his
forehead, the edge of one ear.  His skin is cooler than mine,
slightly damp.  He turns his head, kisses my fingers, sucks them into
his mouth for just an instant...

Some small, muffled sound escapes me.  He strokes the sides of my
face, then kisses me again.  I feel my own desire  spark, sputter,
burst into flames...  Clumsy, desperately hungry, I return the kiss.
My hands roam his sides, caress his back; I wish, suddenly, to touch
every bit of him, to never stop.  His arms surround me, his strength
supports me.  He is stroking my ribs, my shoulders; his touch is every
bit as eager as mine.  And this is *Jim* doing this, touching me,
holding me.  Oh, I *have* needed this.  I have yearned for this, for
him -- all unaware.

"Ahh," I hear myself saying, "Jim, t'hy'la..."  *Bright One*, I think.
For he is that; even in this newly darkened world of mine, he is that
to me.  He has been, almost since the day we met.

We kiss again; we are still awkward together but we are *hungry*.
Need is a great teacher.  "Spock..." he says, so quietly now that even
I can hardly hear his voice.  I bend and kiss the side of his neck,
eagerly inhaling the beloved scent.  I know that scent as well as I
know my own.  That close have  we become, over the years.  "Ohh..." he
whispers.  His arms reach to encircle me again, and now we are
swaying together, still sitting on the floor of my quarters.

Jim leans back, pulling me with him till he is lying on his back with
me draped on top of him.  "You're always so warm,"  he says, his hands
dancing along my ribs, my shoulders.  His touch...  Ah, his touch does
intensely pleasant things to my nervous system.  It feels as if, with
him touching me like that, all my shields have vanished at once.  I
can *feel* Jim, not just his fingers but his mind as well.  I reach
for words, to tell him, warn him -- I must not, he has not asked, he
does not know...  He takes hold of my hips, pulls us more tightly
together.  Now I am the one who gasps for air.  He is moving, sliding
against me, lifting his hips.  He is as hard with desire for me as I
am, for him.  Oh I am truly lost now I cannot think at all and I do...
not... care...

I reach down, take his face in my hands, and kiss him as he kissed
me, very thoroughly.  Wildness is growing in me, a fierce hot need
for this, for Jim's touch, for Jim.  His skin tastes of iron and salt.
I am certain that I cannot ever have enough of him.  I feel
intoxicated -- dizzy, short of breath.  And such a strange feeling; am
I *happy*?  Is that what this is?

Jim strokes the side of my face; his other hand wanders down my back.
When he reaches the place where my belt would  be if I were wearing
one, he touches -- ah'ai, what is *that*?  He does it again.  He
strokes the hollows just above my hips, where the chenesi lie
hidden... ai, yes!  "Jim -- ah!  That is... there is... ohh..."
*Such* pleasure, from just a touch...  Cha'ot, this has never happened
to me before!

I know that the chenesi are reputed to be a source of pleasure, but...
no-one has ever touched me there when all my  shields were down.  It
is not my Time, they are not currently active, I am not usually aware
of them at all.  I did not realize they could feel like this...

And now I hear Jim laugh, gently.  It pleases me to hear it, to know
that I have brought him some measure of relief from the pain we have
both felt.  "You mean, this?" he says, softly.  And ai, there it is
again...  Oh, yes.  He touches *that place* on my back and I am lost.
I cannot hold myself still, I am *hungry*,  and he is *right here*...
He laughs again, meets my hunger in mid-air, answers it with his own.
"Mmm," he purrs, kissing me  again.  "Mm-hmm, you *like* that, don't
you?  We'll have to  remember that one!"  He smiles, I can feel it in
his thoughts, he is smiling...  "Spock," he says.  "Just a matter for
scientific curiosity, of course, but -- don't you think we'd be more
comfortable on a bed than here on the floor?"  I reach down and find
that he *is* smiling, as I touch his face once more.  He holds me
steady while I rise; I then turn and offer a hand, pull him to his
feet.

He keeps hold of my hand.  "Come on," he says, very  softly.  "This
way."  I follow like a man entranced.  My entire awareness has
narrowed to the feel of his fingers in mine, the  sounds of his
footsteps, his breathing, the faint trace of his familiar scent.  I
hold to his hand as a drowning man holds to his lifeline.

He stops, touches my hip.  "One more step," he says, quietly.  "The
bed's right here."  He stands up on his toes to steal a kiss.
Surprising myself as well as him, I growl and with great enthusiasm,
return it.  He wavers, and now it is I who am supporting and he who is
supported.  He leans backward against my arm, secure, sighing happily,
as I find the seam release and peel his shirt from his body.  He does
not wear a second shirt, as I do.  Delighted, I bend to devour my
so-willing prize.  A long, deep kiss first, and then I am licking at
his neck, biting his earlobes, nuzzling at his throat.  Only the
pressure of my arm about his hips keeps him standing, I think.  To
think of a thing is to do it; I reach down between his legs and there
he is and oh, he is hard, yes, like me -- ah.  Yes.  *This*... this is
for me, this is mine.  He gasps, pushes himself harder against my
hand.  I can feel his pulse beating here, right here under my fingers,
the flow of his life itself.  Ahh...  Quickly I undo the seam, pull
the cloth aside, take him in my hand.

He groans, helpless to control himself, thrusting into my eagerly
grasping hand.  With my thumb I stroke the tip of him, gather and
spread the growing moisture there, the better to please us both.  I
can feel in his mind what it is that he needs.  His arms are
quivering, tight around my waist; my own growing hardness is pressed
against his hip.  Jim moves against me and I gasp aloud, overwhelmed
by these new sensations.  It feels *so good*.

"Oh!  Spock -- oh, oh..."  All his muscles lock and he thrashes in my
arms, moaning his delight.  His penis jerks wildly in my hand; I feel
it pulsing, slipping...  Finally I lose my grip on it just as he sags
against me, laughing and gasping and sighing all at once.  I hold his
waist while he catches his breath, while he straightens and very
gently kisses me once more.  "God," he whispers, shaken by the speed
and the force of whatever this is that we are making between us.  I,
too, am shaken -- but oh, I do not want to stop.  I do not ever want
to stop.

He stands, and I can tell that he is removing his remaining clothes
as fast as possible.  Now he reaches for me  and I help him to pull my
shirts up and off.  I shiver for an instant and then he is warmly
wrapped about me once again.  He gently  pushes us toward the bed,
guides me to sit down.  "Spock -- I  want you to fuck me.  Now."  Heat
flashes through me, at the thought.

He is undoing my pants, and I let him pull them down, away.  I do not
remember taking off my boots, but they are gone.  As he comes into my
arms again, it is like coming home, it is how  I have always thought
that coming home would feel.  "Jim..."  I can hardly speak, for
wanting him.  "Yes, Jim, yes.  Anything..."  He pushes, and I lie
back.  He slides over to lie beside me, takes my hand, still wet with
his seed, guides it to my own yearning flesh.  Slowly, savouring
every moment, he wraps me in my own wet hand, curves his hand around
that.  He squeezes, and when I moan and lift my hips, he begins to
stroke, to squeeze, to slide...

In moments I am writhing, gasping, out of control; he takes pity on
me and stops.  "Mm.  Yes, now.  Come on..."  He rolls to the side,
pushes himself back against me; now he is warm, not cool.  I know
that his skin would look flushed, if I could see it.  He reaches back,
pulls my hand around to show me.  He is curled toward his left side,
his left leg drawn up in front.  Curious, now, I investigate his body.
I wish to know this man in all ways.  I stroke the tender skin below
his scrotum; he shudders, arching his back.  I explore between his
cheeks, run a curious finger back and forth across the small tight
pucker, hear the sudden sharp intake of his breath.  I am surprised
that I know what to do; perhaps I have taken this knowledge from  him,
I do not know.  But I do have it.

I stroke myself, take this new wetness and rub it on him  and in him.
He is as eager as me, I can feel it in him.  His flesh grasps greedily
at my fingers, clamping down around them, taking my breath away...
Now I roll toward him, fit myself around him, gently guide the head of
my penis between his cheeks.  I am slicked now, hard and wet,
*hungry*...  And this, too, is intoxicating.  I stop and hold like
that, catching my breath, clinging to some remaining shred of control.
I want this, need this, so very much.  I must be careful.  I must not
hurt him...

"Hey.  It's okay.  Don't worry.  You aren't going to hurt  me, that's
not how this works.  Just relax, we'll be fine."  He pushes back
gently, pushing me, in turn, more firmly against him.  The
sensation...

Ah, *there*.  Yes.  I take myself in hand, find the right spot, push.

Jim gasps.  "Yes, yes..."  We both feel it, a strong bright flash,
pleasure/pain all mixed together, when the ridged head of my penis
pops through the tight muscle, when I begin to actually enter him.  He
groans, throws his head back.  For a moment his muscles clench around
me; I am nearly overwhelmed...  I hold still once more; very soon, the
pain is gone.

Very gently I lean over him, push myself deeper.  He is tight around
me, warm inside, soft and wet.  I rock my hips back and forth and
with each repetition I feel myself slide a little further into him.
Oh, exquisite, the sensation, *Jim* surrounding me...  I have caught
my lip in my teeth; I am chewing on it, trying to hold back, to go
slowly.  Finally I feel his back against my belly, his firm round
cheeks against my thighs.  I lie curled over him, inside him, held by
him.  "Jim, ahh..."

"More," he whispers.  "Please, Spock.  More."

I arch my back, push myself as deep as I can, then  slowly back away.
He moans when he feels me leaving, but I  am not gone for long.  Again
I find the right place, push...  More quickly, this time.  And again I
arch my back.  He writhes beneath  me, and I cannot hold still.  Once
more, and this time I am hurried. This is delicious -- but it is not
enough.  I shift position a little to get a better angle, then begin
to thrust, savouring the feel of his flesh, like silk sliding over me.
We settle easily into a strong ageless rhythm, perhaps the oldest one
of all...  Ahh, *so good*...  Jim flexes his hips, squeezes tight
around me, rides with me.

We move together; somehow he has risen to his knees  and now he
actively pushes back, driving me deeper into him.  I  am on fire,
consumed with delight.  We rock together, back and  forth -- and oh, I
know, I feel, what he wants, he needs.  I reach around and there he
is, erect again, eager.  I take him in my hand  and begin to pump,
hard, stroking him inside and out in unison, driving us together.  He
is strong and lithe beneath me, like a cat.  He is all hard muscle and
strong bone, sweaty human skin so soft...  We are in perfect rhythm;
we move as one, back and forth.  Swaying, rocking, together, apart.
There is a place, here, inside him -- I feel it, a quickspark
fireflash of pleasure soaring through his nerves, every time I brush
against it...

And something -- oh, yes, yes...  Ah!  He is reaching up, around, he
is brushing against my back, stroking the hollows at the base of my
spine -- ohh Jim, *yes*...

And I am shuddering, drowning in pleasure, slamming into him; somehow
I keep my grip on his hips, somehow we do not fall off the bed.  But
my nerves are on fire!  Pleasure flows from the place where his hand
rests to my penis, to my mind, it feeds back, it grows...  He thrusts
himself into my fist, drives himself backward onto me, pulls us
together.  I squeeze him in my fist, he squeezes me inside him.  Both
of us cry out.  Once more he manages to caress my back, right
*there*...  I cry out his name, words in Vulcan, I don't know, I
can't, I--  Ah'ai, what is--

oh...

*that!*  Jim, Jim, again, oh--

Ohh, *yes*!

	ahh...

	Slowly...

...very slowly,

the world reforms.

I am lying on my back in my own bed and my face is wet and I am held
very tightly in Jim's arms.  He is holding me and laughing and
gasping for air; his fingers are trying to smooth down my hair and he
leans forward and kisses me, so gentle, so strong, this human.  My
human.  Jim.  I am adrift.  I feel boneless;  I do not think I have
ever been this relaxed in my life.

"Jim, I--"  Oh, I *remember.*  Did I hurt him?  I lost control!  I try
to sit up--

"Shh.  Spock -- that was perfect.  That was marvelous."  He kisses me
again.  "Don't worry so much.  I know you -- you're worrying about how
you lost control.  Well, don't.  It was wonderful!  Good god, man, you
have nothing to apologize for."  I look up -- and of course I see
nothing.  But for once I do not care.  I look up with my fingers
instead, I feel the shape of his face, the smile that grows even wider
as I find it.

Ah, he means it, he is well, I have pleased him... and myself.  I
settle in against him.  In the aftermath of our pleasure I can no
longer feel his emotions so directly -- but he makes his happiness
known to me via gentle touches and quiet, almost-whispered words.

I am surprised, some time later, when I feel myself start to shiver.
Jim just laughs.  "I've been waiting for that to happen.  Come on,
Spock, let's get you under these covers."

Still shivering, I let him take charge; I go where he pushes me, and
soon I am lying under a pile of blankets, listening as Jim uses my
fresher, runs water, bumps and bangs around in there.  He surprises me
again when he returns to the bed, reaches under the covers and very
carefully and gently washes  me with a soft warm cloth.  I am so
relaxed I had not even thought of that, but it, too, is a delightful
sensation.  And now he is crawling into bed beside me, curling
himself against me, reaching to put his arms around me.  Ahh...  Yes.
I lean back, and there, I tuck my head in against his shoulder as he
pulls the blankets up to cover us both.  So soft, his skin, so
different from my own tough, wiry, desert-born pelt.  But he feels
right, against me.  I turn my head just in time for him to kiss me
again.  "Mmm," he whispers.  "Think you can sleep  now, without that
damned dream bothering you?"  I can feel my eyebrow traveling
upwards.  He laughs, and says quietly, "Who did you think you were
fooling?  I could hear you having nightmares in here, you know.  Or
maybe I could feel it, that you were sad...  I'm not even sure, now.
I just knew that you were having trouble."

A jolt of surprise.  "I was; you are correct.  But *how* did you
know?"

I can feel him shrug.  "Dunno.  I just did.  Something told me you
needed me.  It's why I came over, even though it was already so late.
I just *knew.*"

I sigh, and relax again.  "Then I am grateful that you  did, Jim.  And
yes, I think I will sleep well, with you here."  Moments later I am
yawning, hardly able to keep my eyes open.  I settle myself against
him, curled up in his arms, my head pillowed on his shoulder again.
It is most interesting, this, how well we fit together.  I shall have
to conside--

Sleep.

--

I awaken with a jolt, uncertain at first of where I am or what is
happening.  The shreds of uneasy dreams still cloud my thoughts; the
humming sound with which the creature filled the shadows on Deneva
still reverberates within my mind.  I know that it is dream only --
yet a chill runs down my spine at the thought of that sound here.  Now
I recognize where I am -- in  my cabin aboard the Enterprise.  I draw
a deep breath and remind myself that it did not come to that, the
creature did not come here, it did not succeed -- and it is dead now.
Still, the chill within me is slow to depart, despite the fact that it
is Vulcan-warm in here...

I open my eyes to blackness.  My time-sense tells me that I have
slept for six point three hours.  Again I remember why it is so dark
-- and then I freeze.  A familiar scent surrounds me; firm warm flesh
is curled against me.  My body is as loose, as relaxed, as if I had
spent a day at the bathhouse in T'Ling'Shar.  And now I remember the
rest of it.  I feel my face flush hot, as I think of who lies here
beside me, and why...

"T'hy'la?  Jim?"  He does not truly awaken, but the arm draped around
me tightens for a moment.  He sighs contentedly,  then relaxes into
sleep once more.  This is real.  I am not dreaming.  This is Jim,
here, sharing my bed with me.  And last night...

Ah'ai, eyah.  Last night was such pleasure as I have not felt ever in
my life.  It is not necessary to ponder memories to know this.  From
Jim's pain and my own, we have made this new thing, this sharing.

Nothing is solved.  I still may have to leave the ship; I do not know.
But somehow, lying here with Jim curled against me, I am able to
regard even that possibility with a measure of equanimity.  Logic
tells me, now that I am calm and somewhat rested, that we will be here
in orbit about Deneva for some time yet.  We must be absolutely
certain that all of the creature is dead, and there are sure to be
problems for the survivors.  They will undoubtedly need our help.  I
know that Jim will not leave here until he is certain that all those
needs have been properly met.  I have some time, before I must come to
any decisions.

When I rise, I decide, I shall search the personnel records.  I
honestly do not know if there are any blind personnel serving aboard
any StarFleet vessels.  I simply assumed, lost in  my own pain, that
there were none.  It merits investigation.

Some options are closed to me now, of course.  Certainly  I cannot
continue to serve as the First Officer.  Blind, I cannot command a
landing party.  I cannot take the conn, cannot pilot the ship, cannot
fire her weapons.  Tactical plots cannot be accurately translated into
speech output.

But I have always been primarily a scientist, a computer expert.  I do
not share Jim's bone-deep *need* to command; in fact, I actively
prefer not to.  And sight is considerably less important for these
life-paths.  When I was a boy, one of my most gifted teachers in
computer studies, second only to my father, was a man born completely
blind.  To this day Stokal is a respected professor at the Vulcan
Science Academy.  Perhaps I will be able to stay on board in some such
capacity, if the Fleet will permit me.  Perhaps...

It is at this moment that Jim yawns, stretches luxuriously, then wraps
his arms more tightly about me and draws me to him for a kiss.
Without regret I cast aside my thoughts and give him all of my
attention.

"Mmm," he murmurs.  "Good morning."  He shivers as I  stroke his back,
his flank, then he presses himself against me once more.  "Mm, Spock,
that feels *nice*.  Now this is the way to wake up."

Heat begins to grow, inside me.  "I agree," I say.  I curl myself
around him, sniff at the hollow behind his ear, reach to taste the
tender skin there, the salty sharpness of human sweat. Such a simple
thing, to send a long slow shudder through his solidly-built form, to
draw from him a soft, yearning moan, muffled against my neck.  Now it
is he who strokes me, running his cool fingers along my ribs, reaching
to tease and pluck at the fur on my chest.  I feel my heartbeat
stutter, begin to race.  Suddenly it feels as if there is not enough
air in my cabin.

He draws his fingers down my belly and I cannot stifle the gasp that
escapes me.  Nor do I wish to...  I arch my back, press myself
against him; I can feel him flushing, his skin changing from cool to
warm, the first hint of renewed sweat springing out.  I bury my face
in the hollow between his neck and his shoulder and inhale deeply,
filling my lungs with the  scent of him, so familiar and yet in this,
so new.  My human.   My t'hy'la -- ah, yes.  Jim...

"Spock..."  He moves away and I am bereft, until suddenly I feel cool
soft moisture glide along my sex, licking at the needful, yearning
core of me.  I shudder, unable to control the thrusting of my hips.
I hear the soft chuckle muffled in his throat as he takes me into his
mouth -- ah!  "Mmmm" he purrs, around me, and the vibration of his
mouth against my flesh is indescribable, exquisite...  Oh...  I need,
I want -- I want to grasp his head between my hands and finish this,
to thrust into him, to bury myself forever...  I force myself to
grasp the edges of my bunk, to wait, shivering, as he slowly, slowly
lifts his head and lowers it again, gently sucking, touching me with
just the edges of his teeth... and then his fingers brush along the
insides of my thighs and my legs part of their own volition. Cool,
clever fingers, just slightly damp, so soft, insistent, touching me,
stroking me, cradling my hips in his hands as he moves with me, up and
down...

He pauses, lifts his head, and I can *hear* that he is  smiling again
as he speaks my name.  One finger strays between my legs, strokes up
and back, touches for just an instant where none has ever touched but
me.  I gasp, my body shudders, and he laughs, repeats himself.
"Spock--"  So soft, that voice; like velvet, like honey...  "Spock --
would you like -- do you want..."

"Yes!"  I can hardly breathe, for the need of him.  Suddenly I feel
empty inside...  "Jim, please.  I *need* -- I wish--"  And there, he
knows; that finger touches me again, but now it is wet, it feels even
softer.  I will my body to relax and there, ah yes, that easily his
finger slips inside me and it is *good*, this feeling.  Oh, yes...
But I need more; I need *Jim*.  I do not even try to hold still; my
body surges up toward him, my muscles tighten for a moment and now it
is he who gasps.  I can feel the hot flushing of his skin as he lies
there between my legs.  I reach out, pull him to me.  "Jim -- now.
Please, now.  You will not hurt me, t'hy'la..."

His finger leaves me and I feel him stroke himself; the knowledge of
what he is doing brings heat now to my own skin.  And then he is with
me again, pressing against me, hot and hard and wet with his need
which is my need also, and I open myself to him, feel him push inside
me, deep, strong, silk-covered steel.  He groans and I grasp his
shoulders, wrap myself around him, hold him close as he begins to
move.  And I am filled with Jim, his flesh, his thoughts -- we are not
melded, no, but so close like this, I feel what he feels, ohh... *so
good*...

He moves, I move, surging up against him, seeking to draw him deeper
still.  His arms are wrapped about me, my sex is squeezed between his
belly and mine; as we move, rock, thrust ourselves together, I feel a
strange shivering tension begin to  build within me.  I grow harder
still; his skin slides across my belly like electric silk, caressing
me -- oh, I cannot stand it, I cannot be without it...  Even the
friction of the sheet against my back adds to the pleasure; a ghost,
an ever-stronger echo of how it felt before, when he touched me
there...

Faster and yet faster; back and forth, in and out -- I am soaring,
now, weightless, climbing toward the sun, and Jim is climbing with me.
And finally, just when I cannot wait another moment, cannot bear that
strange and wonderful tension any longer, he shudders, buries himself
within me one last time -- and I am lost, carried with him, willing,
eager, spiralling out into coruscating waves of pure delight.

When I become aware of my surroundings again, he is collapsed on top
of me, still half-hard inside me, his heart racing, as is my own.  He
is gasping for air.  I feel him start to lift himself up, as if he
fears he is too heavy, and I hold tight and do not let him rise.
"T'hy'la," I say, very quietly, reaching up to nuzzle at his face, to
take his lips for my own.  I do not say anything else.  I do not need
to.  That word says all.  I am content.

---

Jim has taken his leave of me, with a certain reluctance.  We have
agreed that he will return when his shift is over, that we will share
the evening meal.  He did not wish to leave, nor did I wish him to --
but there is much he needs to do today.  Kaiidth.

Once he is gone, I spend some much-needed time in meditation.  I am
able to reach a somewhat deeper level now, in sharp contrast to my
efforts of the previous day.  In fact, from the moment the creature
first attacked me I was not able to achieve this.  I find it most
satisfying.  Not only does it fulfill a very real need for me, it
enables me to re-establish my Control, my shielding, which is
necessary if I desire to leave this cabin at any time in the near
future.  What Jim and I have shared is precious to me -- but I would
not wish to be so unguarded where any other might see me.  I am still
Vulcan.

After my meditation I am much refreshed.  I sit down at my terminal
with a cup of tea and begin my research anew.

It takes some time to accustom myself to speech-only output; I find
it considerably less efficient, but it is my only option at the
moment.  Soon enough I dismiss it from my mind and concentrate on
finding the information I seek.

At the end of the first hour I have determined that there are in fact
quite a number of blind personnel in StarFleet -- but only five on
active shipboard duty.  All but one are science department personnel;
the fifth is the second-shift comms officer on the USS Harrington, a
stellar physics research vessel.  Two are in fact astronomers; one
works with subspace, one with radio.  I must have been more deeply
affected than I thought, to have forgotten that such a thing is
possible.  It is true that there are no blind personnel currently
serving on any Constitution-class vessel.  Still, it is something.

I have also discovered that McCoy has apparently not yet informed the
Fleet of my change in status.  I do not correct his oversight.  In
addition, Jim has not changed any of the Command access codes yet; as
far as the computer is concerned,  I am still on active duty, still
the First Officer.  I know this will have to be changed, soon -- but I
appreciate the gesture.  My research is rendered considerably easier
because of it.

We are, in fact, under orders to remain at Deneva until the first
relief fleet can reach us, which will not be for at least another
four, possibly five days.  Such vessels cannot run at sustained high
warp factors, as the Enterprise can.

I call up information on adaptive equipment, but most of what exists
requires custom fittings and extensive training.  In the end, I simply
requisition a very old but still useful device -- a simple lightweight
cane -- and read up on the proper methods of its use.  Even this is
supposed to be accompanied by training, but the stated instructions
seem simple enough.  I am a Vulcan; it is not as if I am going to
panic somewhere and forget where I am.  And after nearly 48 hours in
this room I am greatly desirous of leaving, but reluctant to impose
upon any of my shipmates to ask for help.

Dr. McCoy is expecting me to call him to my cabin today for a
follow-up visit; instead, I have decided, I shall go to him.  I
believe that this is a logical task to set myself.  If in fact I am to
remain on board, I will have to be self-sufficient in such matters,
not so?

The cane is delivered by a yeoman from Supply.  I  spend some time
moving about my quarters with it, becoming  accustomed to the feel of
it in my hand, seeking the most efficient way of holding and moving
it.  It is surprisingly easy to use, elegantly simple in design; a
tunable field permits it to be collapsed when not in use, to a small
cylinder not more than ten centimeters in length.  When tuned the
other way the cane extends itself and locks, yet the whole does not
weigh as much as one ripe khist'lai fruit.  A static fastener permits
it to be fastened to the standard uniform, as if it were a phaser or
communicator.  Apparently Vulcan hearing is an advantage -- I can
easily determine whether the tip is striking floor, carpet, or
bulkhead by sound alone.  I am encouraged.

Next I call up ship layouts and have the computer  review my chosen
route.  I will not try counting steps -- the files I have already read
warn that this is subject to too many variables, that it is far too
easy to lose one's way.  Instead I review all the relevant room
numbers and sector nomenclature, as well as the distances involved.
I can decipher the placards on the doors if I become unsure of my
location; I have tried it on the door to my own quarters and it is
not difficult, although it is *slow*, reading with fingers instead of
eyes.  I am considering learning NeoBraille, for pursuing further
research; apparently it permits somewhat faster reading than audio
alone.  But this is a matter for the future.  My project for today is
to travel the two decks and three sectors between my quarters and
Sickbay, without getting lost.

Somewhat to my surprise, I find that I am quite looking forward to
this.  Now that I am rested and no longer in pain,  forced inactivity
is proving rather tiresome.  I am accustomed to a heavy workload,
after all, in my position as both Science and Executive Officer.

Once more, I review my chosen route.  Then I pick up  my cane, drink
the last of my tea, and step out into the hallway, intent upon my
goal.

---

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 cacophony 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
accommodate 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.  But 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 hand scanner 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.

---

The End