The BLTS Archive - Take It Like A Man
by raku


----

copyright 1997 by raku

Disclaimer:  Paramount holds copyright in the characters and  some of
the locations used in this not-for-profit story.  The plot and the
characters T'Aeril and Tetsuo are mine.

Warning:  The following story contains a variety of material not
suitable for those under 18, including but not limited to m/m sex.
If you're under 18, you should be reading good books anyway instead
of this stuff.

Archiving:  ok to archive at will in pro-Star Trek contexts (i.e., no
frat-boy party sites!) provided that headers, my name, and
disclaimers are attached.

Author's comments: Part of the point of this story is to play with
notions of simultaneity of events in some characters' lives, of
interrelated states of wakefulness and  dream.  Big changes of point
of view and so on are marked  with asterisks ( * * * ).  SOME
SENTENCES AND THOUGHTS ARE LEFT INCOMPLETE AT THESE POINTS. It isn't
your newsreader.

Much of the setting involves Zen Buddhist customs and ritual
implements.  No disrespect is meant to fellow practitioners of that
religion/philosophy.

Acknowledgments/credits:  I'd like to give a very special thanks to
Kaki, Kim, and Greywolf, who kindly schlepped through various
versions of the story.  They gave wonderfully helpful comments on all
sorts of points large and small, and had many useful suggestions on
dialogue,  plot, and characters.  Any bizarrities left are mine, not
theirs.

---

They had embraced for several days, since the dark glory that was pon
farr had swept him into its vortex, and her in his wake.  Utterly
possessed, they had gradually worked their way around the room,
around each other's bodies, across each other like the hands turning
on a clock.  They employed every position, posture, and method they
knew or could devise to bring each other the utmost in pleasure,
again and again.  Now, at last, they were approaching the end of the
septennial ritual, the time when they became one, one in flesh and
spirit, beyond even the limits of the mind- meld.

He, sitting cross-legged on the floor, she, resting on his lap, legs
locked behind his back, like Lakshmi, like Vishnu before them.  They
balanced against each other as quietly as statues--thin, elongated
statues, no movement visible, yet inside a riot of feeling, a tumult,
a struggle of tinder and fire, of hot lava and the cold cold sea.

She pressed her forehead against his, touched his head with her
fingers at the meld-points, as he touched hers.  The blowtorch that
held them in its fiery torrent grew, and she felt the wet glow of his
mind meeting hers, echoing the wet glow beneath her from his physical
passion just moments before.

He became a hardness in her mind, and she in his, they jointly
created a solid foundation for their shared bond.  She felt the logic
in her swell and mold to the facets of his mind:  she felt reason,
and restraint, and logic take her like a tide.  Her mind rushed to
seek his, even as his body sought hers.  The image of him as perfect
mate, as the culmination of logic, the perfect rational match, filled
her mind and brought her a calm, reasoned contentment.

He crossed his arms against her back, feeling an intimacy, a wonder
that he had not known before.  He sensed her mind's logic and he
projected the deep love, the nonrational desire  to have her and hold
her, which had swept over him at intervals even before the pon farr.
He radiated acceptance and affection, and she responded with the cool
unsentimental response of her people, a thousand years in the
crafting.

Shards of light from the rising sun touched them and fragmented
through the room.  A prism in the window caught the light and sent
sparks, rainbows, across the couple and across the wall, making the
chamber a box of flame, a  furnace, they the fuel, the center of the
conflagration, creator and destroyer.

The day had begun.

---

Just ahead of him on the barren, boulder-strewn path, the tall figure
climbing up the slope slipped in the gathering dusk and fell
backward.  The one climbing behind had to catch the taller man in his
arms to save them both, and he was stunned with the impact and the
sensation of dangerous closeness.  As he grasped the other in his
arms, he felt he had to take some unknown step immediately or he
would lose something of great value.  He could feel his cold hands
moving across the other's warm chest, he could feel the heavy webbed
tricorder strap--and he woke up.

---

Through night's darkness the first fingers of pale light began to
creep against the house wall.  They prowled upward and slipped across
the wide, smooth tiles on the room's floor.  They began picking out
the few furnishings in the sparely arranged quarters, touching a
chair here, a shelf there.  Several clay pots on a long table.  A
stem of an orchid-like flower.  An elegant hand, trailing from the
low  bed in a relaxed pose, its olive skin beginning to glow in the
growing light.  Steadily the sun's rays flowed through the room and
upward, picking out a framed lithograph on the wall, its burst of
black lines on the stark white--the shapes of iris-like
leaves--mirroring the burst of light that flooded the space as the
sun rose above the horizon.

Now the golden shimmer revealed long desert-colored bedclothes draped
onto the floor, betraying the struggle one of the occupants had had
to rise.  She was visible on the balcony beyond, the wings of her
long robe soaring and falling erratically in the warm breeze. Despite
the clear waking-tone that had sounded, the other occupant of the
wide bed slept on, unaware of the logical beauty that was his wife,
moving away from the warm comfort of his side.

Her black hair gleamed against the satin of her collar, and the
silver ear cuff shone in the early morning sun against the olive skin
of the delicately pointed ear.  Motionless, she stared out across the
stark, pure landscape beyond, toward peaks bronzed with the rising
glow, apparently  forgetful of the lean figure sleeping quietly behind
her.

The tossed bedclothes almost obscured him, but most of Vulcan would
have recognized the face of Commander Spock, among the first of their
kind to attend Starfleet Academy.  To all intents and purposes he was
a legend.  His publicly and brutally aborted first marriage added to
the dark history his name already evoked:  his family's opposition to
his enlistment was surprisingly well known on this most private of
planets.  But since that ill-fated trip to Vulcan seven years before,
his brilliant Starfleet career had helped erase the murky smudge
against his family's name--the many-layered insult that had been
offered by T'Pring in her rejection of Spock and his people as
logical additions to her own clan.

Some weeks ago, Spock had returned to Vulcan to prepare for his
second marriage, arranged at his request and to honor his parents'
wish that he provide offspring.  Deals and  arrangements had been
made, the ceremony had--this time-- gone off letter-perfect, and
officers from the Enterprise had at last been able to see the full
majestic sweep of a  Vulcan marriage and bonding ceremony.  The
dominating force  of the plaktow had been made clear to participants
and observers alike--the time-of-no-control controlled ruthlessly by
tradition and location--and the Enterprise's senior officers had
found themselves curiously moved, curiously involved in this very
alien moment so critical to their colleague's health, future
happiness, and clan stability.

And so McCoy and Kirk had returned to the Enterprise, and the
Enterprise had moved onward.  {Spock remained on Vulcan for a time,
taking a leave from Starfleet to complete his conjugal duties--and
pleasures.  Kirk and McCoy tried valiantly not to follow Spock with
their minds, to speculate  on how--what--Spock was doing, how his life
as a bridegroom differed from theirs in so many ways.  Better not to
travel down that road, even in thought, even innocently, better not
to consider how Spock was gaining the family they craved and yet had
turned away from, turning back instead to the world  and family that
was Starfleet.

Still, Kirk uneasily made jokes to McCoy about moments when he had
felt as Spock must have--dates when he had wanted to get the woman of
the moment into bed at all costs, his first wrestle with a girl in an
Iowa field at dusk years before, and so on.  On any given day half his
comments were about sex, directly or indirectly.  To McCoy he seemed
preoccupied, almost possessed by the notion of their austere
colleague afire, burning with flames thousands of years old.

McCoy absorbed the stories in reflective silence, knowing that the
fire-hot ego--the instant arousal--was part of what Jim was, what
kept them all alive when only the force of their captain's
personality stood between them and disaster.  At the same time he
could hardly criticize Jim's attitude:  since their return from
Vulcan he found he was fairly  preoccupied himself.  He tried to put
it down to medical interest in this most unusual mating style.  But
he found himself in odd moments thinking again of the drums, the
thundering drums as the bond was made, the drums heralding Spock's
retreat from them, inward, toward the flame he would build with
his--wife.

Well, the upcoming stint ashore most of them were looking forward to
might help to cool their blood a little.  Or so  McCoy hoped.  They
were all gettin' mighty twitchy, he thought, Jim no exception.
Starfleet's bright idea to arm the ship to the teeth with top-secret
experimental weapons for some fantastical goddamn wargames near some
damned rocky planetoid would at least give them all a couple months'
change from fake food, fake liquor, and fake air.  He personally
couldn't wait for the break in routine, and he pitied the ship's
captain and engineer, who were supposed to stay on board and oversee
the top-secret installation.

---

This morning T'Aeril, Spock's wife, stood on the balcony beyond their
marriage bed.  She contemplated the Terran myth of Penelope, which
her husband had related the previous evening as they lay twined
together, the fire that had consumed them gradually dying down.
T'Aeril had been puzzled why Penelope had waited twenty years for
Odysseus, when logically it would have made more sense for her to take
one of the local suitors for her second husband.  T'Aeril  had had
trouble comprehending how a decision not made on the  basis of logic
could be attractive and sensible, a decision made on the basis of an
emotion felt bone-deep, satisfying a vow made decades earlier and
maintained with but slender support in the face of constant hostility
from neighbors and  friends.

Seemingly her husband had encountered a few odd notions on his
travels.  Though some doubted his Vulcan heritage, she had found him
an impeccable observer of traditions and customs, if occasionally
unpredictable.  Her brief acquaintance with Spock had suggested to
her that Terran notions were as insidious and infiltrating as the
kudzu vine that had finally swallowed half of one of their continents
in the 21st century.  At least the Terrans had known the kudzu was
coming; she found Spock able and likely to produce Terran notions at
the least provocation.  Curious.  Not logical.

Yet now, a new difficulty, and one of considerable magnitude.  Pon
farr had at last left them both, and they were preparing to commence
their partnership on the basis of the logic and rationality they both
respected.  Inexplicably, however, T'Aeril was not pregnant, and this
was the mor\ing on which, by custom, she was to tell Spock of the
outcome of their extended mating.  She knew there were circumstances
in which a woman might fail to conceive a child during the many
instances of uninterrupted sexual relations brought on by the blood
fever; the thousands of years of Vulcan social history of course
contained many such examples.  But she had not expected it to happen
to her.  No more did Spock.  And now choices lay before them--logical
choices, of course.

Wrapping th\ gleaming brown robe around herself more closely, she
again listed in her mind the possible methods of creating a family.
1.  Do nothing:  wait the natural period of time and try again. 2.
Act now:  rely upon assisted conception with donated cells for one or
both of them.  3.  Accept childlessness.  4.  Seek a different mate
who might be biologically more compatible.  5.  Seek a foster child.

So far as she knew these were the only paths available;  possibly
Spock would be able to think of more given his greater familiarity
with the biological sciences.  She was uncertain how he would take
the news of her condition.  His family was an old and distinguished
one and had traditionally put much store in heirs of the household,
to s\y nothing of heirs of the body.  Her own family was no less
proud and distinguished, but having acquired somewhat more property
through their connections to the Vulcan Academy of Fine Arts, they
were rather more concerned with notions of inheritance than Spock's
family had been.

T'Aeril came in from the balcon\ and briefly regarded her sleeping
spouse.  Arm flung out in relaxed repose, dark hair tossed in sleep,
face composed in seemly expression.  Spock had been a logical choice,
and she had been gratified to find they were compatible in many ways,
given their rather different backgrounds.  Some in her family had
suggested it was illogical to bond with someone whose work primarily
took him off-world, but her academic specialization in
xenonthropological customs had made Spock an especially suitable
choice.  And indeed, they had had many gratifying conversations on
numer\us topics while the wedding was in preparation and after.  A
satisfyingly logical match, one of which their families and society
had approved.

She continued into the hallway, he\ding for the sunlit kitchen.
Fruit gathered from the wooden bowl on the shelf at the side, two
glasses of steaming tea from the wave-oven, a fistful of rolls from
the bin.  As she returned to the  bedroom Spock began to stir, and he
raised himself on one elbow to look at his spouse.

He stated his accepta\ce of her choice of food, and he swung his long
legs off the low bed.  Spock stretched his lean, dark frame like
something feral.  Standing, he pulled on his own red silk robe--a
wedding gift--over his bare skin and sat down across from T'Aeril at
the small table on the balcony.

Spock took up one of the glasses and appreciatively breathed in the
lightly scented steam.  His wife's choice of tea had been a
particularly good one this morning, and the arrival  of the seasonal
star-globes was also satisfying.  The previous day he had regretted
not having any to offer T'Aeril, when it had been his turn to present
the morning meal to his spouse.

The ginger-spiced scent of the steam contrasted well with the lush
tropical flavor of the fruit, and their colors likewise met well
together:  the delicate spice-gold of the tea, and the lush purples
and reds of the star-globes.  It always seemed to Spock atypical that
this most popular breakfast on Vulcan was a blend of exotic flavors
and tastes--an extremely sensual experience all in all.

---

As if in a mirror, he saw himself shed the shirt and the
responsibilities that went with it.  The chest, the glowing  skin
beneath, so long obscured from sunlight, of necessity made modest on
shipboard.  He ran calm hands along his flanks, removed his boots and
trousers, stood for an ecstatic moment at the edge of the pool.  He
knew he was waiting for someone to arrive from the picnic he could
dimly hear going on in the distance.  He knew it was someone
exciting, unusual--someone he'd never been with before--but he
couldn't resist the lure of the dark pool any longer.  Hands
together overhead, he stretched his elegant form into a graceful arc
and dove in.  As the warm greenish waves closed over him, he woke up.

---

Spock reached a long arm forward for another of the fruits, and
T'Aeril disappeared into the kitchen to get them both  more tea.
Returning, she placed her husband's cup on the table and stood
briefly beside him, apparently studying him.  He returned her gaze,
reflecting that his parents had been right to select her.  She was a
match, a beloved match, his for all time and he hers.  He felt trust,
confidence, and undoubted affection for her.  No doubt she would soon
learn to accommodate his more Terran feelings, as Sarek had learned
to accommodate Amanda.

T'Aeril took a seat across from him and resumed the previous  night's
conversation.

"Penelope.  She is not logical."  T'Aeril gazed at Spock with steady
eyes.

Replied her husband, "No, she is not.  But that is the point.  Even
to her fellow Terrans her conduct was illogical.  Though she lacked
evidence, she still knew her husband was alive, and she intended to
wait indefinitely for his return."

"Did her kinsfolk not show her that her conduct was not in the best
interests of herself and her family?  Did she not consider the
preservation of property important for Odysseus' family, and for her
own?"  T'Aeril sat forward and sliced a purple-red fruit onto a plate
with a sharp knife.

"Her parents were not a consideration, in their society.  Odysseus'
family understood Penelope's delicate position, given that her
suitors were living actually in her household--she was almost a
hostage."

"Your description of the ending--Odysseus' mass slaughter of the
suitors--that however seems much more logical, since they stood in
his way."

Spock took a sip of his tea and sighed.  "It is true that he was
looking out for his own property, but again logic was not the point.
Odysseus was merely following the customs of the times.  Yet Penelope
and their son meant everything to him--he would have done anything to
take his place among  them again.  Indeed, he did so, masquerading as
a beggar, wearing rags and enduring abuse, so that he could resume
his place among his family."

T'Aeril considered his words.  "As you know I have not had reason to
make much study of Terran literature of any period, it being of
little benefit to my work.  Would you suggest it a worthwhile task?"
T'Aeril sometimes found Spock's methods surprising, but perhaps there
was value to be had in studying works solely for creative purposes.

"I have found such studies valuable on numerous occasions.  I must
also confess that I have found them--enjoyable.  Not a customary
goal, I admit, yet it is true."  A half-smile played across his face
as he recalled the ShoreLeave planet.

Once they had understood the simulations being played for them, Kirk
and McCoy had enjoyed conjuring up wild episodes from Earth's
literary history with which to entertain him.  He could recall
Odysseus, and Robin Hood, and one or two characters from Shakespeare.
Sherlock Holmes had charmed him the most, however.

A firm voice called him back to the present, changing the topic.
"Spock," said T'Aeril abruptly.  "Today is the day."

"I am aware."

"I am not pregnant."

"I had surmised as much, given the apparent lack of physical
symptoms."

"Let us review the possibilities and make our choice."

As T'Aeril ran through the tentative list she had earlier drawn up,
Spock continued to sip his tea and munch on a piece of fruit, this
one with a luminous purple-blue cast.  He listened to his wife's
words with something approaching disbelief, and he found his glance
traveling beyond his companion's shoulder, to the stark, dry
landscape of his beloved planet.  Curious how little the landscape
changed, no matter the events in the lives of its inhabitants.

"Are you aware of other options?" said the woman.

"I am not," replied her husband.

"Then what is your preferred course of action?"

"I would like to consult a physician to identify, if possible, the
cause.  Even though we have lost this cycle's  opportunity, perhaps it
is a simple matter."

"I anticipated that possibility.  Yesterday I arranged for a joint
examination at the clinic this afternoon."

"Well thought out.  I commend you, T'Aeril."

---

Spock and T'Aeril sat in the sparsely furnished consulting room,
awaiting the information their physician would bring.  Both had been
put swiftly through a broad battery of tests, examining their blood
chemistry, hormone levels, correct formation of necessary
reproductive organs, correct timing of pon farr for Spock, general
good health for both of them.  All thorough, painless, and
emotion-free as only a Vulcan medical examination could be.

Dr. T'Aqir entered the room carrying a pair of datapadds.  She sat
across from T'Aeril and Spock, and said "Greetings.  I have the
results of your tests; there is good news and bad."

"Specify," replied T'Aeril.

Turning to her, the physician responded, "The good news is that you
are in excellent health and should be able to bear children.  The bad
news 'is that while your husband is otherwise healthy, he has been
rendered sterile, probably by an overdose of radiation."

A delicate pause, as the physician gave a moment for the news to sink
in.

The doctor turned to face T'Aeril's husband.  "Commander Spock, are
you aware of any experience in your work or travels that might have
involved such radiation poisoning?"

Spock reflected for a moment.  "I can think of three occasions when
there was a radiation leak on our ship as a result of battle-damage.
In each case our medical staff administered the anti-radiation
antidote.  We were always tested to make sure that the antidote had
worked, but perhaps there was an error."  His eyes wandered to a far
corner of the room as he searched his memories.  After a moment he
continued, "There is a further possibility.  Some years ago I was
infected with a neural parasite, which our ship's doctor was able to
destroy with exceedingly high levels of UV radiation.  Indeed, they
were so high that at the time we thought I had been blinded.  Nearly
all of those who were treated were Terran, and therefore little
thought was given to the impact of the treatment on non-Terran
physiology."

Spock found he could hear his wife breathing quietly beside him.

The doctor continued:  "From your description, it sounds as though
the deliberate exposure to UV radiation was the problematic
experience.  But in any case, the damage appears to be irreversible.
The delicate structures that would give rise to the necessary cells
and chemicals for procreation have been destroyed, sterilized.  We
have not as yet learned how to regenerate them."

T'Aeril turned to look at her husband as he received this peculiar
news.  He looked unchanged, for all that half of him was reputed to
be subject to human emotions.  If he was able to come through this
experience emotion-free, then perhaps the--taint--had not gone deep .
. .

Dr. T'Aqir continued:  "This second padd contains the information
relevant to the other choices that lie before  you.  There is
information on alternative methods of conception--alternative to the
pon farr and plaktow--and on adding offspring to your family by other
methods than birth.  You will want to read it and consider what steps
you would like to take next."

She concluded, "I regret being the bearer of these tidings.  If only
the ancient traditions of pon farr allowed modern healers to conduct
fertility tests before the onset of the plaktow, it might be possible
to save some couples extensive courses of drugs or a seven-years'
wait before they can remedy a difficulty.  Please discuss the options
between yourselves.  I will of course be available to answer any
questions that may result."

T'Aeril and her husband rose as one, accepting the shining silver
padds and bowing in the direction of the physician.  They walked
toward the door and into their new life.

---

Suddenly the enraged mugatu hurled itself at them, causing the
landing party to leap out of its path in all directions, fear slowing
their perceptions and reactions.  Just then, someone fired a weapon
in a cloud of dark smoke, and the man in front fell wounded.  He
tried to reach him, tried to stem the rapidly throbbing torrent of
green blood.  He reached back on his own landing belt for the small
medkit each member of the party carried, and he woke up.

---

Amanda stood on the balcony and looked at the desolate yet glowing
landscape she loved, as much as she loved her husband and son.  Not a
logical choice, her marriage, even Sarek granted that, but a choice
that was hers to make, freely, with an open heart.  Her parents had
struggled to understand her desire to bond with an alien.  They
carefully pointed out her prospective mate was from a planet that
cultivated the practice of not exhibiting emotion, an alien different
in language, values, dress, calendar, food, literature, philosophy,
climate, and lifespan.  Just for starters.  As her father had
helpfully noted.  She had not been able to answer all his arguments--
Amanda\had simply said, "But I must."  She had wanted both her
parents to understand that emotional compulsion was a kind of logical
necessity, but she was very much afraid that neither of them had
understood it.

Sarek.  Now he was a different matter:  he knew better than any human
that feelings and sensations could create their own logical
requirements, their own dark imperative.  Thousands of years of pon
farr had made the same fact abundantly clear to the whole planet,
though the experience was not commonly put in that light.

Amanda's mother had tried to understand her daughter's choice, yet
she could feel little but grief that her beloved child was electing
to live light-years away on a dry, alien planet where she would never
be fully accepted, would always be obviously *other* before she even
spoke.

Her daughter's complex decision meant there would be fewer chances to
visit, fewer chances to see their wonderful grandchildren grow, fewer
chances to help shape the values  of their grandchildren, as was their
duty and joy as grandparents.  Maybe blood was not so thick after
all, her mother had sadly concluded.

Amanda turned from the calm scene outside to face her son, who was
swiftly pacing the tightly woven floormat behind her.  She took a
breath to draw her strength together:  she had seldom seen Spock look
like this.

On seeing his mother return to the room, Spock took his favorite seat
below the skylight.  His mother followed, picking up a glass of
bon-juice that Sarek had set out, and taking a sip of the pale green
liquid.  A friend passing by the house had called Sarek away for a
few moments, but Amanda hoped he would return quickly. The look on
Spock's face did not bode well.

"What is it you wanted to tell us, Spock?" said his mother, as gently
as she could.

Spock looked at her, hurt and anguish in his eyes, and his mother
quailed at the glance.

"T'Aeril and I have decided to separate."

Amanda sat back hard, as if he had struck her.  She put her glass
down on the stone table with a sharp report.

"Spock, no!"  Just in time Amanda caught back the rest of what she
was going to say, -not again, not to you again my beloved son.-
"Spock, is this not . . . somewhat abrupt?"

He made a harsh noise in his throat.

"Indeed.  She has demanded the right of severance."

"On what grounds?"  Amanda clenched a fold of her silver day-robe in
her hands, seeking something substantial to hold.

"On the grounds that I will not be able to provide her with
children."

Amanda stared at her son, thunderstruck.  No children?  No
grandchildren?  "There must be some mistake.  Surely--"

Curtly he broke in on her, "There is no mistake.  We have been
extensively tested at the Academy's endocrinology clinic.  I was
irradiated thoroughly after a difficult landing party some years
back, and apparently that has caused permanent physical damage.  In
all other respects I am healthy.  In all other respects."  He again
made the harsh noise.

Amanda's mind churned.  No grandchildren.  No one to play tiny games
with.  No one to follow in Sarek's footsteps, Spock's, her own. . .

Beginning to rise, she said, "I must call your father.  He must hear
this also."

Spock leapt to his feet. "Please, mother, this is hard enough to
speak of without involving Sarek just yet.  It is quite difficult
enough to admit to my mother that I am not-- complete, without having
to tell my father at the same time."

Amanda unhappily acquiesced and sat down.

"T'Aeril and I have talked over the problem at some length.  She
feels it is unnatural--illogical was the word she used-- to produce
offspring except by the process of so-called  natural impregnation.
It emerged that she was already concerned that the combination of the
seven-year intervals for . . . pon farr . . . plus my extended travel
might pose a problem for the normal formation of a family, but she
logically reasoned that Starfleet would accommodate the special needs
of Vulcan families, as they have done for many others."

Proudly, bitterly Spock raised his head, looked straight forward.
"But she is not willing to endure the drug regimens for artificial
conception, nor willing to add children to the family in alternative
ways.  She briefly considered these methods, but she has concluded
they are artificial, and therefore not logical."

Spock stood up and resumed his feline pacing.  Down the room to the
insulated window-wall.  Up the room across the mat, the slate floor,
the second mat, turning at the ceiling-high bookcases. Back down the
room again, passing in front of his mother, passing in front of the
holo-images of their ancestors, human and Vulcan, looking down from
above the filigree screen of the solar cooler.

"And she says it is illogical to add children to one's family that
are not biologically one's own:  she feels the point of children is
the logical fulfillment of the parents' biological functions, and the
logical continuation of the Vulcan race.  Neither of those categories
requires or admits of foster or adopted children."

Amanda watched her son with a kind of sick horror.  What  pain must he
be feeling, as a result of her human genes?  Why had none of them
thought of this possible side-effect of foreign travel?  Why had
no-one insisted on better and more thorough medical care, on a ship
staffed mostly by non- Vulcans?  How could Starfleet let this happen?
Why had they not taken steps to secure the possibility of offspring
before Spock had left Vulcan?  Cryogenic techniques, frozen sperm,
frozen embryos, a life frozen in its tracks.  A chance now gone
forever . . . Children, gone.  Grandchildren,  gone.  In the wink of a
dark Vulcan eye, in a blinding flash of radiation.

If only she could take on his pain and spare him.  If only she could
somehow have children for him, if she could just spare her beloved
child this anguish, this denial, this loss of choice, of wife, of
future, in one blow.  She wanted to fold him in her arms and not let
go, to provide the kind of simple comfort any Earth mother would be
able to offer her sick or wounded child.

Abruptly she rose and crossed to Spock's side.  Casting Vulcan
convention to the winds, she put first one arm around  him, then
another, and felt him fold inward and lower his head to her shoulder.
It had been years, decades, since he had allowed this intimate caress
from his mother, but to Amanda it felt like yesterday.  At the same
time, that he even permitted it told her volumes about the agony he
was experiencing.  What must it take to make Spock bend his head  . .
.   He was as stubborn, as rock-faced, as his father.  Yet she loved
them both; she would do anything to keep them happy.  If only there
were something to do, here.  Perhaps, perhaps, there weren't always
possibilities.

A low shussss of robes in the doorway told them that Sarek had
returned.  He had been pleased to see their visitor, who had had good
news to convey about the outcome of negotiations on a disputed mining
planet.  Months of work had come right, and if Sarek had been other
than a Vulcan he would have been looking to break out a bottle of
Romulan ale.

He came into the room on long, graceful strides and stopped abruptly
as he took in the postures of Amanda and Spock.  With a hand half
raised, he said, "What is it? What has happened, my wife?"

Spock jerked away from his mother's embrace as suddenly as his father
had stopped walking, and he gave an almost  pleading look at Amanda.
Then he stood and drew himself up to his full height.  Point blank, he
said, "T'Aeril and I are seeking severance, on the grounds of
infertility.  I am  unable to father children, and she logically
prefers a fully functional mate."

Sarek took an involuntary half-step backward, then sat blindly on the
rock ledge supporting the solar cooler.  "What?" he said again,
inarticulately.  "You are what, my son?  It is not possible."  He
closed his eyes, ran his hands into the sleeves of his robe and
hugged his chest.  "Not twice, not two failed marriages, in one
family.  In our family.  There must surely be an alternative solution.
Let  us consider . . ."

"Father."  Spock replied in level tones, as if he were giving a
command.  "Not every event is subject to diplomatic  negotiation.
Sometimes facts are facts.  T'Aeril is fully entitled to seek a more
satisfactory mate, a more *complete* mate, as well you know."

Sarek passed a lean hand across his face as if his sight were
failing.  He looked unevenly from his son to his wife and back again,
at a loss for words.  Amanda began to rise and move toward him, when
suddenly Sarek spoke in a grating, forceful tone.

"This is what comes of pursuing new ideas over old, of not taking
logical countenance of one's elders' advice.  When first we spoke of
your plans, I indicated to you that a career in Starfleet was neither
wise nor acceptable.  Also that a career in the diplomatic service
was equally adventuresome, while allowing for the off-world travel
that you so desired."

Spock turned to face Sarek with a swift motion, nearly knocking awry
a bronze statue of a thin, elongated figure that stood at his elbow.

Relentlessly his father continued, "The more logical course would
have been to stay on our planet and pursue scientific studies at the
Academy, as we had agreed.  You would now be degreed, married, and
with offspring."

At Sarek's words a ribbon of images passed through Spock's mind, of
all that he would have lost had he stayed on Vulcan.  His human
friends, especially McCoy and Kirk, Mr. Scott's wonderful skill with
the warp engines, experiences  visiting far-flung planets with their
unique flora and fauna, learning to play chess against nonlogical
opponents, teaching Lieutenant Uhura to play a Vulcan harp.  Give up
all that?

After all this time Sarek still did not understand the value, the
point of Starfleet and the Federation.  Perhaps he never would.  But
then, no one had to worry about explaining it to the grandchildren,
now. . .

Spock crossed the room, away from his parents, and took up a small
paperweight that Uhura had once given Amanda.  It lay satisfyingly
cool against his hot palm, heavy and solid.  Blue lines alternated
with white lines, rising from an invisible source to a point not yet
reached, a point that actually lay outside the paperweight.  Each
pair of lines in the clear glass was a double-helix when seen from
the side, yet when seen end-on, each was a simple thread of color
rising in an easy S-curve.  Optical illusion?  Trick of master
glassblowers?  Neither Uhura nor Amanda could say;  both accepted it
for what it was and admired it.  Sarek and  Spock had found it a
difficult object to contemplate--it was  so fixed, and yet so
unresolved.  Unresolvable.  Blue and white, the colors of the planet
Earth, Uhura's planet,  Chekov's, Sulu's--the contradictory,
delightful planet of his friends.  His human friends, who with their
helpful ultraviolet rays had innocently cost him the right to have
children.

He pressed the cool glass to his throbbing head, seeking a moment in
which to regain control after Sarek's astonishing assault.  Amanda
had hardly spoken since her husband's  return--she seemed to be
struggling to absorb the shocking  information Spock had offered, and
Sarek's equally shocking response.

Spock turned and lifted his head, setting down the  paperweight as he
moved.

"Father.  Much of what you say no doubt is impeccably logical.
Perhaps I should have followed your advice and not enlisted.  But
that choice is now past, and it is illogical to dwell on the past."

"You dare to tell me what is and is not logical?" said Sarek in
steely tones.

"I do not wish to discuss logic at all.  I merely determined that, as
y parents, the two of you had the right, indeed the obligation, to
know the likely reproductive future of your offspring.  And as I have
just said to Mother, there is no reproductive future for T'Aeril and
myself.  She therefore is seeking severance, as is her right."

Sarek rose from his perch and began pacing, as his son had done
earlier.  Amanda thought to herself that if the circumstances had
been less tragic, their unconscious emulation of each other would be
funny, or endearing.

Spock watched his father express himself in movement.  Clenching and
unclenching his fists, Spock waited for Sarek  to speak.  He must,
somehow, explain this second failure to Sarek's satisfaction.
Failed, again.  Two attempts, two failures.  Still no marriage, still
no children, still no Vulcan future.

Amanda's husband stalked down the room and stopped, framed in the
doorway of the window wall.  He looked out at the dry crags and gulfs
that he knew so well, that made up the planet on whose behalf he
traveled, struggled, argued.  Such a fine heritage, such a fine
philosophy.  Surak had said  nothing about keeping one's philosophy in
the face of terminal adversity, however.  Modern life was
complicated.

At length he turned to face Spock.

"And what are your plans, then?"  Just the simple question.  No "my
son" at the end.  Yet more rejection. . . .

"T'Aeril and I will apply for severance before the correct
authorities.  She has obtained the necessary files, and is making
appropriate division of our household goods."

Amanda broke in, "But where will you stay?  Will you return to the
Enterprise?"

Spock replied, "I would prefer . . . to stay on Vulcan for a time.  I
had tentatively planned to return to the Enterprise  when my leave was
up in a few months, when the ship again passes by Vulcan."

So saying, he cocked an eyebrow at his father, waiting to hear
whether he would offer any counter-argument or suggestion.  Hearing
silence, Spock nodded in the direction of his mother and headed for
the door.

---

As he turned the knob, he felt the warm smooth wood of the jamb with
his  other hand.  He was not quite certain what lay beyond the door,
but he could feel in his inmost center that it was of supreme
importance.  He could sense each of his fingers distinctly, almost
erotically, could feel the easy sliding of the metal parts in the
lock assembly, could almost see  through the metal plate to where the
key turned willingly against the socket.  He put his weight against
the unyielding wood, feeling a compelling urge to enter the room, to
sense the heavy door swing back smoothly on the closely machined
hinges.  The door began to glide inward, allowing light to fall into
the room and just pick out the corner of a piece of furniture.  In
the soft light he could see a bare arm rising to a strong shoulder
and powerful neck, and he woke up.

---

Amanda watched her son walk away.  Half in sorrow, half in admiration
she observed the dignified set of his shoulders.   -He may act
Vulcan,- she thought, -but he's more human than he knows.  Maybe
human philosophy and company will offer some comfort.-

She followed after him, leaving Sarek standing blankly in the main
room, speechless, wrapping himself in the cold solace of Vulcan
logic.  Amanda caught up with Spock as he stepped outside, and she
took his elbow with her hand.  He seemed surprised to see her, but he
did not move away from  her touch.  Together the two began to walk,
Amanda trying not to look at his face, Spock trying not to see
anything.

After a time, he said, "The conversation was as complex as any I have
had."

"With Sarek?"  She spoke in surprised tones--it had not been much of
a conversation.

"No, with T'Aeril."

"How so?"

"I had never thought to base family decisions . . . so  completely on
logic.  Perhaps serving in Starfleet is weakening my ability to
reason."

Amanda brushed delicately against a bush notorious for its twisted,
arthritic-looking branches.

"Weakening, maybe, or perhaps giving it more strength and
flexibility, my dear?"

"Perhaps."

"Spock, there must have been more to the conversation than what you
just told us.  Can you tell me about it?  Surely T'Aeril knows that
you yourself were genetically engineered?  She never mentioned that as
an objection when we were negotiating with her family."

Spock stepped across a small gully in the path and helped Amanda
follow him.

---

He rose from the table, and his dinner companion did the same.  With
some light banter, the two carried their wine glasses over to the
couch.  While refilling the other's glass with the liquid rubies of
the Falernian wine, he maneuvered so that he could sit within an
easy arm's range of the other.  He drew the other closer, marveling at
the strength concealed by the soft  velour, the controlled power of
the other, but power that was never used against him.  He eased an arm
around behind, positioned his hand to slide underneath the welcoming
cloth, across that compelling, velvety skin--and he woke up.

---

Walking almost blindly, Spock described to Amanda the conversation on
the terrace the day after he had returned with T'Aeril from the
medical examination.

When he had set up the solar collector overhead, Spock ran a large
tub of cool water in which he and his new wife could soak as they
talked.  They silently shed their clothes and took up positions at
either end, neither meeting the eyes of the other.

Finally Spock said, "My job seems to have exacted a high price."

T'Aeril replied as if on cue, "It was an accident.  It was not
deliberate.  And we are not even certain that the Deneva parasites
were the relevant incident."

"The irony of the situation is considerable.  At the time we were
concerned to preserve my vision, for the present; it emerges it is
the future that has been lost."

"Your language is colored with human tones, my husband."

"Humans offer us much wisdom, admittedly of a highly colored sort.
And perhaps, where children are concerned, they are wiser . . ."

"Spock.  This is a logical situation, with logical choices."

"Perhaps.  But the logical choices are born of an illogical
situation, where a choice that was ours to make has been  removed."

"I too regret that the situation has removed a natural bond between
us, and taken away a choice we would have kept for  ourselves.  But
choices remain nevertheless."

Spock ducked his head backward, let the warm wavelets close briefly
over his head.  He found this a strangely comforting position,
somehow giving himself over to the warm liquid that now bathed them
both.  He surfaced again and tossed the hair from his eyes.  T'Aeril
was studying him with some perplexity, thinking again to herself that
he was perhaps not quite so predictable as other Vulcans of her
acquaintance.  The choices before them seemed perfectly clear to her,
but apparently not to him?  She was not certain.

Spock studied the form of his wife with the practiced eye of a
logician.  Average weight for height, well-formed limbs, tidily cut
hair, healthy physique, strong muscles.  He suspected that a
connoisseur such as Leonard McCoy or James  Kirk would see more, but
he gazed at his new spouse with appreciation born of logic and
friendship, rather than lust and desire.  Fortunately they were
through that phase. Or not so fortunately.

At last he spoke.  "What is your preference?" said Spock.

"Specify," said T'Aeril.

"Do you wish to pursue alternative methods of achieving pregnancy, or
do you wish to acquire offspring through some other method?"

T'Aeril regarded him with a cocked eyebrow.

"I do not wish to pursue the drug regimens, either to induce
ovulation for me, or to induce pon farr for you.  These actions are
against the natural habits of our bodies, and therefore not logical."

Her husband began to interrupt.  "But T'Aeril . . ."

"Spock, perhaps I am not making myself clear.  I do not wish to
engage in practices that are not a normal part of pon farr and the
plaktow.  Vulcan families are formed on the basis of logic.  If we
surrender that, if we devise families through nonlogical, unnatural
methods, what are we?  How are we better than the animals around us,
who acknowledge no life of the mind, who deposit eggs in each others'
nests, who desert their offspring if they acquire the wrong scent?"

Startled by her choice, he replied, "Then that severely limits our
options.  Remaining choices would be foster children, and
childlessness. Foster children would at least be the products of pon
farr--others', if not our own."

"I concur that our options are limited.  Logic makes it so."

Spock was shocked to find himself shocked.  Apparently it showed on
his face, for T'Aeril continued in the same vein.

"My husband, it is most logical to accept our situation.  As  a couple
we are apparently destined to be childless.  So be it."

Spock looked at her more closely.  Was logic the sum of the
conversation?  Was it the only consideration--was no thought given to
the child or children who would now not exist?

"T'Aeril.  Perhaps some further reflection--"

"Spock, further reflection will not offer more choices:  the choices
before us now are those that logically exist.  Has your time offworld
weakened your logic?  We are biologically not suited to have
children."

-I am not biologically suited to beget them,- he thought.

"Therefore we should accept the logic of the situation and move on."

"Move on?" he said, not understanding.

"Indeed," replied his spouse.  "As you just pointed out, the logical
choices are to accept our inability to produce children in the normal
way, and either move forward on that understanding, or acquire a
foster child, or separate.  I am inclined to the last:  the purpose
of marriage is to create children who will continue a race.  We are
unable to do so.  Therefore it would be most sensible to seek a
different mate, one who is capable of begetting children.  I do not
know what you would prefer to do.  Perhaps you will wish to return to
the Enterprise?  Surely there is good work you could accomplish
there."

Spock could not believe he was hearing his wife--who just a few
nights ago had had her fingernails buried in his thighs as she
wrapped her mouth around him--emasculate him by suggesting he abandon
all pretense at married life, that he continue his scientific work as
a kind of honorary eunuch to Starfleet.  He found himself taken aback
by her reasoning.  Surely she could see that children were valuable
in and of themselves?  Not as a demographic fact, nor as a familial
possession, but as a celebration of individuality, regardless of how
they came to join a family?

Perhaps the Vulcan blood in him did run thin.  Perhaps he  had spent
too much time listening to the heretical arguments of the ship's
physician.  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.  But  what to do now?

He reached a hand over and added a little water to the pool.  Looking
up, he noticed that the power of the sun was causing a condensation
of vapor on the solar collector, and he noted with the back of his
mind that the runoff from the dish was dripping satisfactorily into
the cactus planters at the sides of the terrace.

At last he spoke.  "Are offspring not a good on their own terms?  Are
there not reasons beyond the strictly logical why offspring might be
added to a family?"

T'Aeril began to reply, but suddenly he could not bring  himself to
discuss the subject further.  Too much pain on  his part, too little
understanding on hers.  The sane, sensible rules of Surak were to be
observed, of course.

Abruptly Spock rose from the pool, the water pouring off him.
Silently he stepped out and grasped his robe.  He swung it on and
half-bowed in the direction of his wife, palms together, and entered
the house.

She watched him go in half-puzzlement.  It seemed to her that they
were reaching the most logical solution, and yet-- Spock had looked
almost angry as he walked away.  Perhaps his Earth-blood was strong
after all.

Mentally she began to plan the next stages.  It was inconvenient to
disassemble a household so recently  constructed, but clearly it was
the sensible thing to do.   They would need to partition their
possessions, arrange for  alternate housing for one of them, she would
need to speak with her parents about securing an alternative mate,
preferably one whose cycle of pon farr was approaching.  However, all
matters could be easily arranged with thought and planning.  Yes,
Surak's methods really were the best.

---

In  silence Amanda listened to Spock finish his account.  T'Aeril's
reasoning was not uncommon, Amanda knew; many on Vulcan, both male
and female, felt that way.  It was a possible, if extreme, extension
of Surak's guidelines about social policy and conduct.  It had never
occurred to either of Spock's parents to investigate T'Aeril's views
on the question:  they had never considered the possibility that the
issue might be relevant to them or to their son.  Indeed, they had
assumed her acceptance of their son, a man of mixed heritage, was a
sign that she had flexible views concerning genetics and family
history.  Events, however, had made it clear there was a point beyond
which T'Aeril was unwilling to go.

While Spock had talked they had made the circuit of the small patch
of land to the east of the house, and they were returning through the
low gate at the foot of the garden.   After their somewhat dusty walk,
Spock reached down to draw a cup of clear water from the tiny spring
that helped irrigate their property . . .

---

   and allowed the water to gush lavishly over his hands.  It was dumb
luck he'd been assigned to clean the stream banks along the communal
garden plot:  he had always enjoyed the experience of running water but
so seldom experienced it on shipboard or off.  He studied the stones
before him, nudged one with a toe so that the pattering water made a more
melodious sound.  Not many opportunities for sheer physical pleasure, here
in the  monastery grounds or on board, so he'd seized what he could.
Perhaps that was also forbidden, but Sulu-roshi hadn't explicitly said so.
He'd take the chance.

After that last dream he'd had this morning--about having dinner
together, finally being able to touch that enticing  body--he was
looking for any elements of normalcy he could find in the day.  A
very strange dream, another to add to a long list.  He sighed to
himself, resigned to the feelings he knew the dreams were speaking
about.  Probably they were more intense because his sleep had been so
interrupted by all the meditation periods.  Not that he'd ever get to
talk about the dreams with--no, better not even to think about it.
It was better for everyone if he bore the pain alone.

Finally the monastery bell began to sound.  He and his monk
companions finished their work quickly and quietly grouped  together.
They walked down through the fields toward the cluster of buildings,
and stored their various tools.

Briskly they rinsed off the worst of the dust, removed their sandals
and placed them in rows, then filed into the assembly hall and sat on
round black cushions filled with buckwheat hulls.  Today the roshi
was speaking again of the Path's four noble truths.  Beginner's mind,
he encouraged them to pursue, the mind of the beginner who knows
nothing, expects nothing.  Life is suffering.  All life is suffering.
And that suffering is based on craving.  But remove the craving, and
remove the suffering.  How to remove the craving?  A simple path of
eight steps.  Or not so simple.

Is simple what you know? or what you think you know?  If you act upon
what you know, and the results are not what you expected, is it that
you didn't know what you thought you knew?  What is knowing, and who
is it that does the knowing? When you die, what becomes of the things
you know?

He felt his head begin to spin.  So many questions, so few answers.
It seemed as though the whole point was to avoid answering questions,
to decide that you knew nothing.  He began to wonder who, if he
didn't exist, was wearing his clothes and eating his food. Was there,
or was there not, a rhinoceros in the room with him?  This was the
kind of question McCoy could deal with--straightforward, rational--
but not him:  action was his thing, racing in where angels feared to
tread.  Maybe this whole idea had been half-baked, an attempt to run
away from what he couldn't face.  He'd never run before in his life,
but then he'd never faced anything quite as bad as this.  How to live
a life without its main joy, its proper center and focus.  Yes,
there's a question, he thought to himself.  Much more relevant that
what the faces of my parents were before I was born . . .

At last the talk was over, and they rose as a group and headed for
the zendo.

---

In the meditation hall the slender figure seated himself, sat tall
and straight, kneeling on the square black pad in front of the
firepot.  His hands were joined palm to palm at chest height, his
eyes half-shut against the fire's glow.  Spine straight, feet tucked
correctly and economically under the low pine bench that bore his
weight during meditation.

Despite the stillness of his body, his mind was a turmoil of thought.
Every motion, every sensation was a reminder that his children would
never exist.  They would never feel the warmth of the air around
them.  They would never feel the air moving in and out of their
lungs, the rough fiber of the mat beneath.  The taste of a favorite
food.  The comfort of a warm blanket.  Every thought, every breath,
every blink of an eyelid--all experiences his children would never
have, no matter what he did, or said, or felt.  Every minute he was
awake, awareness of sensation and experience of existence smote him.
He would look out a window and think -my children will never see
sunlight.-  He would hand a plate to Sarek and think -my children
will never know their father.-

At moments he thought the well of grief would swallow him.  Other
times, he felt the calm Vulcan logic he had struggled so to master as
a backbone of steel, a framework on which he could hang his tattered
spirit, and at least get through that minute, that day.  One day at a
time.  Just this minute.  Then the next one.  Each in a line, each
hard.

Once in a while, a moment that was easier than the one before.  He
knew that at some point, some unknown point in the future, he would
be able to master this grief, this huge dark ugly monster that sat on
his shoulder.  Someday, he would see a satisfying equation, an
interesting new animal, and he would not immediately think of the
child who would never know such discoveries.  Someday his life would
be his own again.

Amanda stood in the doorway and regarded her son's still form with
affection and concern.  For nearly two months now he had dwelt here
with his parents, saying little, eating less, and spending many long
hours kneeling on the straw  mats.  At least he had told her the
reasoning behind T'Aeril's unexpected decision.  She found her former
daughter-in-law's logic impeccable, if brutal, and Sarek apparently
felt the same way, even if she could not really get him to discuss
the matter.  Perhaps when they had all had a bit more time to come to
terms with this most unexpected series of events.

She moved to touch the bell and get Spock's attention.  She stepped
into the room to grasp the wooden baton that lay beside the brass
bell.  The slender rod rose . . .

---

   and fell.  The polished oaken stick made a resounding noise as it
 flattened its long length across the shoulders of the slumping figure.
Immediately the meditator sat up straighter, eyes and consciousness now
focused once more.  His honorable duty to the meditator done, the monk
wielding the kyosaku moved onward, looking for any others lagging in
their concentration.

The human kneeling at the end of the row also sat up straighter,
desiring to avoid the pain that his colleague had just experienced.
-Wish I could stop thinking,- he  thought. -must concentrate on
nothing.-

After a moment he resumed shikan-taza.  He again counted breaths,
striving always to reach the magic number of six without suffering
from the ever-present demon of distraction.  -Soon it'll be dinner,
maybe more broth and rice.  Must stop thinking about food.  Must stop
thinking.  Must stop.-

The kyosaku approached the man wrestling with his monkey- mind, its
wielder sensing from long experience the lack of concentration
betrayed by the set of shoulders and angle of head.  He began his
backswing, aiming for the broad part of the shoulders where the
muscles could best take the blow and transmit the force to the nerve
ends.  The stick rose. . .

---

   and fell  against the weeds creeping up against the house foundation.
It seemed a great shame to attack one of the few plants that grew easily
in the Vulcan soil, but it grew so fast that it would soon invade the
house's very fabric if not kept in check.

Spock straightened and wiped a trace of sweat from his forehead.  He
took a perverse pleasure in this activity:  he was grateful for the
opportunity to assist his parents, who increasingly found Vulcan heat
a challenge.  At the same time he appreciated the irony of his being
put in charge of plant-killing--seemingly he was not suited for any
life- bringing activities at all.  He was finding that the only
activities that brought any relief were weeding and meditating, a
curious pair at best.

While he was sitting in meditation, he was able to shut out most of
the noise, aside from the recurrent dreams he had begun to have.
Curious dreams, almost a mechanical  projection in his mind, as though
he were watching the dreams of someone else.  There had been the odd
dream about observing someone turn a doorknob and enter a room upon
he didn't know whom; then the dream about having dinner with a
senior officer on the Enterprise, but again he couldn't tell who it
was.  The officer had had superior quarters, he could recall, and an
admirable store of liquor.  Captain Kirk  naturally had the best
suite, while Dr. McCoy's liquor cabinet was widely admired, but it
was surely improbable he was dreaming about either of these men, both
his long-term colleagues.

Then just this morning the dream of the ship's pilot, of Sulu at the
family zendo he had mentioned from time to time, studying with his
brother Tetsuo, the abbot.  He knew that severance from a bond-mate
brought with it peculiar consequences because of the need to break
the mental link, but he had not been able to find much information on
the rare experience, and no information at all on the dreams.  Most
curious.

When he was not meditating, he was working hard in the  garden and
grounds, sweat pouring off his hot, glowing skin. Amanda would watch
him from a distance, from time to time  bringing him water or some
juice.  She noted that periodically he seemed to be lost in thought,
staring blankly at the sere landscape, leaning on his wooden hoe and
rubbing the top of one ear.

Another time she found him asleep on the bench at the foot of their
property, basking in the hot sun like a green salamander, leaf-basket
propped against the leg of the marble seat.  She rested next to him
for a bit, pleased he was finding a little release from his troubles.
Soon he began to groan gently, whispering a name but clenching and
opening one hand.  She thought the name sounded familiar but she
couldn't quite make out what it was.  Unexpectedly his mother felt
she was eavesdropping on something intensely personal.  She left as
quietly as she could, shaking her head to rid it of the image of her
son writhing gently, gripped by his dream.

One day Spock came in as she was preparing the evening meal.  Without
saying a word he took up a knife and began slicing the watermelon she
had set out.  The sharp knife slid through the green rind and crimson
flesh, drawing after it a gush of red fluid that made Amanda shudder
a bit.  Her son, as ruthlessly efficient as ever.  To make
conversation, she said, "I'm glad that variety worked successfully
here.  I must admit I do miss the color-contrast of the dark seeds in
the standard Terran kind."

Her son answered, "Yes, the selection of variety was quite logical:
the species adapted quite well to Vulcan."

Amanda sighed at his purely scientific reaction.  Perhaps it  was to
be expected that at least for now he would think only in logical
terms.  What a loss he had experienced--they had all experienced--and
in a plane that was almost purely emotional.  Such events left
Vulcans singularly ill- equipped, she thought; Surak had never
considered the possibilities of situations that were chiefly or
exclusively emotional in content, and he had left his people unable
to cope, she thought with annoyance.

She lifted the glass plate that Spock had filled with the melon, and
took it in to the table.  Sarek had returned from his morning's work,
and the three sat down to their shared meal.

Spock pulled his chair up to the table. . .

---

 . . . and grasped the stack of bowls in a coarse black cloth behind him.
"Time for oryoki," he thought.  The meditator placed the package
before him and unwrapped the surrounding fabric, making a kind of
tablecloth.  A monk was coming down the row, ladling rice and some of
the day's vegetarian soup into each person's wooden bowls. As the
food reached each  person, a swift process of consumption began.  With
startling economy of motion the diners consumed their food, using
nimble chopsticks to snatch every leaf of vegetable, every grain of
rice except the few put aside as an offering to Buddha.

The newcomer regarded his soup with a sigh.  Lightly flavored broth,
chunks of tofu, a little rice, something that appeared to have been
green or leafy at one time.  At least it was almost hot.  _What I
wouldn't give for a cup of coffee, he thought, or a good roll with
jam._  He knew this was about abstinence, about denying the body's
needs until it forgot, about denying the mind's habits until it
retrained itself to freedom and obedience, acceptance and denial.
Nonetheless it was hard work, and work done on next to no calories.
Difficult.

The meal done, the bowls were wiped and restacked, clothed again in
their rough coverings, and set aside.  The closing sutra was recited,
and then the group rose as one on cramped  limbs.  The newest member
of the group stood up with physical relief and mental resignation,
feeling little satisfaction in the work he had completed in this
retreat.  Somehow he was not getting anywhere, no matter how long he
counted his breaths and no matter how much he spoke with the
monastery's abbot.

Perhaps at this evening's meeting Sulu-roshi would indicate he was
making progress.  The two of them had had quite a number of
interviews now, and yet Tetsuo had not suggested that he had managed
any improvement at all.  If matters had still not changed, then
perhaps it was time to . . .

---

 . . . take a  short nap.  He had been meditating for hours, trying to
erase the strange images that were crowding in, trying to  concentrate
on the task before him.  His eyes were getting heavy, and the room, which
was radiating the last of the sun's warmth, felt like a welcoming cocoon.
He stretched sideways across the straw mats, his tiredness making him
oblivious to their odd ridgy texture.

Spock closed his eyes, and images of the Enterprise began to appear.
He found himself walking out of his quarters on  board and turning
down the hallway.  Ahead of him he could see a young child,
beckoning.  As he drew closer he saw it was a young girl, a young
Terran girl with oddly green skin.  She looked almost like a sister
to him--or a daughter.  She was leading him toward the crew's lounge,
where the chessboard always stood, waiting for players.  The captain
had always been willing to play with him when their schedules
allowed--the captain had been one of the few in the crew who would
take that challenge.  As he walked into the lounge the young girl
reached for his hand, squeezed it, and pointed to the chessboard and
the seat his opponent usually took.  She gradually faded from view,
but he could still feel the pressure of her small hand.  The pieces
were set up but the board was even larger than he remembered, and
the pieces seemed to be moving of their own accord.  They were 50
centimeters high, now a meter, now almost as big as he was.  He was
looking for his partner, they were due to play a game, but he seemed
to be alone in the room with the enormous chess pieces.  He was
standing level with the main board, looking into the faces of the
king and queen, who were holding hands and laughing at him.  No,
wait, just the king was; the queen appeared to be crying.  The king
turned to speak to the bishop next to him, and the bishop cast off
his mitre and turned into a monk.  Wearing a red robe, with some sort
of bib around his neck that he couldn't make out-- the flat white ring
holding it together on the left glinted in the sunlight that suddenly
filled the room.  The monk was holding out a hoe to him, asking him to
do something with a stream bed, but he couldn't quite hear what it
was.  He could see the work party in the distance, tending the shrubs
of the beautiful garden and working their way down the banks of the
stream that he could hear chuckling along.  He accepted the hoe and
began wielding it, chopping weeds, nudging rocks on the bank, trying
to create order.  He dropped to his knees to work the smooth pebbles
with his fingers; he knew there was a perfect combination of pebbles
to make the right sound in the water but he could not find it no
matter how he tinkered.  The water grew warmer and warmer in his
hands, and suddenly he heard a seagull overhead.  The running water
had turned to waves, to a warm seashore with tiny shells glittering
in the sun.  He felt a sense of calm come over him, a sense of
belonging.  He stood to walk along the sand, feeling there was
someone he was supposed to meet farther on.  He came around a bend on
the  shore, and there was a familiar figure lying on a broad  blanket,
enticing, entrancing, calling to him with every fiber in his body.
He began to run, to meet and join his companion, and at the sound of
the seagull overhead James Kirk woke up.

Spock's eyes snapped open with the sound of the seagull's cry still
ringing in his ears, his whole body awash with the sense of longing,
desire, bone-deep physical need. -Jim,- he whispered to himself.
-Jim.-  He lay like a man paralyzed.  Images from the many dreams
he'd had flooded his head, as if a dam had broken.  Images of Jim
plowing a field on his family's farm, stripping off his cotton
workshirt to reveal a glistening torso underneath.  Jim offering him
an intimate toast at a crowded staff dinner, as if there were no one
else in the room.  Jim calling him to the captain's quarters late one
night to look at some battle schematics, and asking him to sit next
to him on the bed.

-Jim.  It's *you.*- Spock pulled himself to his feet and looked
blindly around the room.  At last so much made clear.  Why things had
felt--stiff, with T'Aeril.  Forced.  Why he felt so drawn to things
Terran, why the sense of loss when he had set out from the Enterprise
for a wedding he thought he wanted.  So much clear, and so little.

The more he thought, the more transparent it became.  He could recall
numerous moments on the Enterprise when his feelings would've been
plain for anyone to see, if they'd been looking.  Feelings.  He'd
better admit he had them, whether it was logical or not.  The need to
have Jim stand with him at his first wedding, and his joy discovering
that he hadn't killed Jim in the fight.  His anxiety about Jim
making a good impression when his parents first visited the
Enterprise.  The time when the Tholians' actions had dictated that
the Enterprise leave the area, and he'd been unable to leave Jim
behind.  The time he'd taken Jim to Vulcan on shoreleave, and he'd
found Jim having breakfast with Amanda, who was studying him
intently.

So.  He was in love, in need.  Desiring of one of the most desirable
men in Starfleet, and his own captain to boot.  What now?  What
*possible* path was there ahead?

---

Distantly a small bird sang, and a warm wind rustled through the
grasses beyond the window.  In the bright sunlight  before the window
a slender man sat before a low wooden  table, his shaven head glowing
above the collar of the dark robes he wore.  Gracefully the brush in
his hand stroked  black ink onto creamy paper.  A thin stick of
incense smoked softly in the warm sunlight, spreading its heavy scent
through the room.

An almost visible peacefulness lay through the scene--no passions, no
effort, just a centered sense of the moment.

Behind the man a transport beam began to glimmer, and the sense of
peace was dispersed.  A tall figure began to form.  Spock quickly
took his bearings, and he breathed in the heady smell of Earth,
augmented by the incense and the musky scent of the tatami mat he was
now standing on.

Easily the man in the robes turned and said, "Welcome, Commander
Spock.  I am pleased to see you.  It has been quite some time."

"Tetsuo-san, it was necessary that I come," said Spock in his clear,
articulated English.

"How can I help you?" replied the other, laying down his  brush.

"I am . . . looking for something.  Someone."  Spock shifted
awkwardly from one foot to the other.

"You are perhaps looking for . . . peace?" asked Sulu's brother,
after a gentle pause.  "We could help you seek it."

In a burst of words Spock said, "These facilities appear gratifyingly
similar to those I know so well on Vulcan.  On another occasion, it
would be satisfying to spend a period of study and reflection here.
However, at this time . . . I  am . . . concerned with the welfare of
my ship's captain.  Apparently he is a resident."

The abbot inclined his head almost imperceptibly.  Almost without a
pause the visitor continued, "Starfleet records show he asked for
personal leave, but Dr. McCoy refuses to give me the details--" Spock
waved off Sulu- roshi's attempt to interrupt.  "Only after I applied
considerable pressure was Dr. McCoy willing to tell me he was here."

For a moment the monk studied his brother's colleague, thinking how
much the man understood, and how little.  He  frowned a bit.  What was
this sudden rush to see Captain  Kirk?  The abbot hadn't been quite
sure at first what had brought Kirk to the temple.  With little
ceremony the captain had arrived in his brother Hikaru's company.
The younger Sulu  explained to the elder that they'd been sent ashore
for an indefinite period, no further explanation given.  Tetsuo was
used to his brother's need to give less than the full story for
security reasons, but he did wonder how Captain Kirk came to be at
liberty, and why he had chosen *this* spot--it seemed a curious
choice of locale for a starship captain.  Kirk himself had merely
given a half-grin and shrugged, saying he thought he'd spend the
period studying at the Sulu family temple.

Personally Tetsuo had suspected James Kirk's motives--in his limited
experience Starfleet officers usually had more than one reason for
any action--but he had seen no point in worrying about it.  From
each, according to his or her gifts.

After Kirk had been there a few days, Tetsuo-san began to get a sense
of what was driving the man, but Kirk himself seemed only partly
aware of its depth, and so Tetsuo had held his peace.  James T. Kirk
had not volunteered anything at first, indeed he had hardly spoken at
all.  He had attempted to follow the monastery's rules as best he was
able, participating in the meditation sessions, the manual labor, the
eccentric schedule.  A fairly typical state of affairs for a guest at
the temple.

One evening after meditation Tetsuo-san had thought he saw tears on
Kirk's face, as he looked toward the North Star.  He had finally
challenged Kirk in dokusan, in their daily interview, and had learned
in broken phrases of the primal force that was driving James Kirk.

At last the monk spoke to the restless one before him:  "So far as I
know, your colleague came here at his own request.  He has been
studying quietly, observing our few rules, joining in our life of
simple labor, contemplation, reading.  It is my impression that
something is troubling him, but that it is a private matter.  It is
important to respect his wishes.  If he has not contacted you or
others from your ship during this time, perhaps it would be best to
let him make his own way, without interruption."

Spock took a step back under the weighted look of his shipmate's
elder brother.  He gracefully sank to the floor, onto a cushion
before Sulu-roshi's low table. He bridged his fingers together and
rested them on the table's edge.  Evenly Spock said, "Tetsuo-san, I
must see him.  I must.  I have to see him again, to speak with him.
On Vulcan, I had to leave  . . . I learned from the physicians . . . I
kept on dreaming  . . . I--I need to be with him."

The abbot watched as Spock ground his eyes shut, clenched his long
fingers into trembling fists.  He raised an eyebrow in Spock's
direction.  After a pause he softly said to the tortured Vulcan,
"Perhaps you ought to see him when you have  . . . a clearer mind?"

Spock rested his head on the table and took several deep breaths.  He
sat up and appeared to take hold of himself.  "You may recall I am of
mixed heritage.  There are moments when one tradition overbalances
the other, when a set of choices that is sensible to one side is
rejected by the  other.  I cannot completely explain it, either to
myself or to you--but I *must* speak with Captain Kirk.  Today.  Now if
possible.  Can you assist me?  Can you help me--us?"

The other adjusted his brush deliberately and turned to look out
toward the singing birds.  A moment, then two, passed, and still the
smoke rose in lazy spirals from the glowing eye of the incense.

Without turning, he responded, "Your friend spends much of his time
in the meditation hall, the zendo.  He has preferred to be alone.  I
think perhaps he has found the Zen techniques a challenge."

Spock rose in one fluid movement and towered over the Terran, still
seated.  His movement stirred the stream of smoke vigorously, and it
suddenly vanished.  "Behind you," said Sulu-roshi.  "The zendo is
through the door on the left and down the hall.  You may tell James he
is released from  further duties today."

"Thank you," answered Spock.  His Vulcan bow was a fair imitation of
the Zen gassho.  Then he spun on his heel and headed for the door.
The other's dark eyes thoughtfully  watched his retreating back.  To
himself he reflected, -I  hope I have done the right thing.  The red
thread is strong on those whom it binds.-

He turned again toward the window and his paper, calmly picking up
where he had left off, chanting softly to himself as he worked.

---

Spock moved awkwardly forward, the thick fabric of the robes the
younger monk had told him to put on clotting uncomfortably about his
legs and nearly tripping him.  They were much heavier than those he
was used to, reflecting the difference between what Starfleet
quaintly called a temperate planet and Vulcan's true desert
ecosystem.  He tried to walk quietly, the less to disturb the silent,
straight figure sitting on the wide ledge near the other end of the
long hall.

He paused briefly and regarded the still figure ahead of him in the
calm, gentle light of the zendo.  The quiet,  motionless form of his
captain called up some dim disturbing memory of Kirk lying inert at
his feet, but Spock pushed it firmly away and strode forward.

As he approached, he saw that Kirk was kneeling on a flat black pad
with some kind of roundish pillow jammed between his thighs.  The
young monk had requested that Spock wait until the end of his
sitting, but after having traveled so far to see Jim, Spock couldn't
wait any longer.  He was grateful the room was otherwise empty.

"Captain," said Spock softly when he was within range.

James Kirk's eyes slid upward from the floor to a point in front of
him, and his golden head turned toward Spock.  As he realized who had
spoken, his already pale skin grew even lighter in the soft gloom,
and his hands crumpled into balls.  He began to rise, couldn't, and
sat back on his haunches while the feeling came back to his legs and
feet.  Steadily he regarded the tall figure in front of him--for a
Vulcan, Spock seemed a surprising jangle of nerves, hands moving
restlessly in the full sleeves, shifting from one foot to another as
he never did at his station on the bridge.

"Hello, Spock," he said in a low, relaxed voice.  "What's  new?"

"Captain Kirk," said his First Officer, "Jim.  What is wrong?  Why are
you are here?  Why are you on personal leave?"

Gradually Jim smiled at his questioner.  Smoothly he folded his hands
before his face, bowed his head, and then stood.  He unfolded his
cramped limbs and took a step off the mat, turned, reshaped the mat
and cushion with his hands, and moved to stack them on the low shelf
behind where he had been sitting.

Kirk lightly jumped down to Spock's level, his robes swinging
emphatically around him.  He tucked his hands into the ends of his
sleeves.  He seemed as beautifully remote as ever, as comfortable in
these clothes as in his uniform, as much himself as always, and yet
burning with some unanswered question.  The stillness with which Kirk
had been sitting made Spock think the fire that made him a starship
captain had been quenched, but on closer look it was clear he had
merely been channeling and containing it.  The power was twice as
great, a gift of the boundaries that were now controlling it.

Spock repeated his question:  "Why are you here?  Sulu-roshi did not
want me to disturb you.  Is something wrong?"

Kirk turned in the direction of the altar, where a serene Buddha
gazed out at the room from beneath lowered eyelids.  Incense spirals
rose around him lazily.  He bowed toward the Buddha as if they were
old friends, then he turned back to his visitor.

"I have about half an hour until the period of manual labor begins,"
said the starship captain.

"Is that why Tetsuo-san told me to tell you that you are released
from responsibilities today?" replied Spock.

"He told you that?"  Kirk considered his visitor at length.
"Interesting. Usually we're not excused unless. . ."  He completed
the thought silently in his mind -unless there's illness or personal
crisis.-

Kirk gestured toward the door Spock had just passed through.  "That
way," he said, "let's walk outside."  He slipped his sandals on over
his split-toed socks and paced away; Spock found he had to lengthen
his stride to catch up.  Kirk was doing nothing but walking, yet he
gave Spock the impression of stretching and kneading all his muscles
as he moved, for  all the world like a young lion.  As they reached
the sunlit hallway Kirk began to speak, quietly at first but gaining
volume as they walked.

---

"What brings you to this corner of the woods?" he began.  "Weren't
you on your honeymoon?"

Spock had forgotten how direct humans could be.  He struggled for a
moment to find the right words.

"Yes, that was the intention.  My wife and I. . . . When T'Aeril . .
. Pon farr has passed," he choked out.  "My parents worked diligently
to secure me the proper mate," he finished weakly.

"And so why aren't you there?  Is there some kind of problem with the
ship?  or with your family?"

"There is not a problem with the Enterprise."

"Come on, Spock, let's have it.  What's up?  What brings you here, of
all places?"

"I have asked you the same thing," replied the taller one.  "When I
bid you goodbye after the wedding, you and Dr. McCoy were departing
to oversee weapons installation at the starbase.  What are you doing
here?"

Laughing a little, Jim said, "OK, Spock, have it your way.  I came
here for R&R.  Sulu had always been singing the praises of a good
reflective retreat, and I thought a course of Zen techniques might be
useful in some of our offworld relations.  You gotta admit, their
methods are awfully close to those of a number of planets we've
visited."

After a pause he continued, "Close to yours, for instance," but he
kept looking straight ahead.

Spock felt something tighten in his chest at the other's tone of
voice.  Trying to master the feeling, he said, "Would Starfleet's
databanks not serve as well?  Why did you need to experience this
personally?"

"Well, there's a funny thing.  McCoy's always telling me I'm too
restless, too ego-involved.  And lately, after your  wedding, well, it
seemed the best plan.  Sulu was coming here for few days to see his
brother, and I thought I'd come along.  I thought a stint here would
help me think more-- clearly."

"More clearly about what?"

"More clearly about--some choices that were facing me."

"What were the choices?"

Kirk turned a secret knowing smile upon his First Officer.  "Spock,
you're sounding the same way you did when you first served under me.
A hundred questions, all impatient even if they are logical.  Take it
easy."

Spock considered that strategy and rejected it.  He pressed on: "Why
did you take yourself off duty?"

Kirk whipped his head around in surprise and regarded his First
Officer with raised eyebrows.  "Ah, what makes you think I did that?
D'you talk with McCoy?"  Too late he tried to bite back the words.

"I did indeed.  He grudgingly told me that you took yourself off duty
for personal reasons, but he would not tell me why.  And you still
have not answered my question."

"When did you become so impatient?  And twitchy, for that  matter.
*Is* everything ok at home?  You're a wreck.  And *you* haven't told
me why *you're* here."

Spock colored a delicate green and fell silent.  Jim eyed him with
one brow raised, but said nothing and kept walking.

For several minutes they hiked without speaking, Kirk with his back
officer-straight, head high, seeming not to see the ground.  Spock
followed along more slowly, still encumbered by the heavy robes and
by the unfamiliar path.

Spock realized they were gradually leaving the monastery gardens
behind them and were climbing toward what looked like a ruined
mansion.  But no, it was only one end that was weathered and fallen
in.  The end toward the valley looked sound, jutting out on strong
supports, with light smoke rising from the chimney.

Sensing his question, Kirk said, "This used to be the home of the
family that supported the monastery.  Most of it was ruined in the big
San Francisco quake a century ago, but it has been partly rebuilt,
and it houses transients like me who participate in the monastery's
life but aren't a normal part of it.  It's less disruptive to the
concentration of the others if I sleep here at night and do some
small household tasks here--chopping wood, things like that."

They started up a narrow staircase that rose steeply, and suddenly
Kirk turned and bowed his head.  "See?  They didn't make me shave my
head either--thank heaven for small mercies."  Spock didn't stop in
time and collided with Kirk's backside.  He recoiled and nearly fell
backward down the stairs.  He grunted something he hoped was
comprehensible, and they continued upward.  James Kirk's face,
invisible to the Vulcan, bore a quizzical expression, but still he
said nothing.

They passed under a handsomely carved arch and through a sliding
rice-paper door into a low-ceilinged room with not much furniture.  A
futon lay to the right, with a fireplace on one side and a second
sliding door on the other--this one of glass rather than heavy paper.
A few books were stacked next to the bed, and what looked like a
string of small wooden beads lay on top of them.  A couple of
comfortable chairs stood on the other side of the room, near an old
table.  Through the interior doorway ahead Spock could see a wooden
bathtub smoking gently in the cooling air, a small fire burning
underneath the tub's stone supports.

Next to the futon there was a wide chest apparently for clothes, and
on top--a pair of holopics.  One of Jim's  brother Sam Spock
recognized from the Enterprise--but what  was the other?  He couldn't
make it out well, but it appeared to be a Starfleet officer in
uniform, lieutenant grade.  Beside the pics was a pair of small tops,
made of a glossy brown-varnished wood.

Spock followed behind his captain, copied his example of leaving
footwear at the door.  When both were inside, Kirk removed his heavy
dark outer robe and hung it on a peg.  "We wear these just for
meditation and formal occasions," he explained.  Over the light inner
robes he had on, he now pulled a kimono, red and black patterned,
with an enormous dragon on the back.  He helped Spock remove his own
outer robe and take another kimono, this one blue and white, with an
elegant white tiger on the back.  He chuckled a little at the blue
kimono repeating the color of the blue Starfleet tunic Spock had on
under the borrowed meditation robe.

Kirk waved Spock to a square cushion similar to the one he had risen
from in the meditation hall, and he dropped  another onto the woven
straw tatami for himself.  He briefly stopped to stir up the fire; he
commented almost under his breath that the spring air would make the
room chilly if the fire was not tended.

Spock felt tense, anticipatory, on edge, as if the pages of one of
Jim's books were being turned too fast for him to read.

"Would you like something to eat?  or drink?  I'm no kind of cook,
and we of course don't have replicators here, but I could probably
make some kind of arrangement."

"Thank you, no, I do not require food at this time."

Kirk sat down facing him, on the opposite side of the small
fireplace.  For a time they simply looked at each other, uneasily,
feeling that something had come between them without knowing what it
was.

Finally Jim said, "So you still didn't say what brings you here,
Spock.  *Is* there trouble of some sort?"

"Trouble?  No. . . .  Dr. McCoy would not tell me why you had removed
yourself from duty.  Are you unwell?"

"I'm surprised he let you think I was sick.  Most of us were given
leave during the weapons installation, that's all, and as I said I
thought I'd follow Hikaru's suggestion."

-Hikaru,- thought Spock to himself.  -That is new.- "And yet Dr.
McCoy's private database shows you took yourself off duty."

"God, I'd forgotten all about that database.  You know, for someone
who claims he hates computers, he certainly has put them to his own
uses very comfortably.  But you know, Spock, I can't remember the
last time you broke Starfleet rules about clandestine computer use."
Jim smiled at his companion but his look was not returned.

"How I obtained the information isn't important . . ."

Jim interrupted:  "Spock, are you telling me that the end justifies
the means?  You, of all people?"

"In certain circumstances, yes, that is the most logical approach."

"Spock, Spock, I'd say you're due for a stint with Sulu- roshi
yourself.  You got here just in time."

James Kirk rose to his feet and said, "We'd better get you equipped
for the exercise, if you're going to have a stay at Hogoji.  The robe
is a pretty good fit, but look, you've got to sit differently on the
cushions, and the line of your back and neck is all wrong.  If you
slouch like that, you'll wreck your back and achieve nothing."

He began to drag the Vulcan and his cushion over closer to the fire,
in a very unceremonious landing-party-emergency kind of grip.  Spock
yielded a little to the grasp, but still found himself rolling around
on the floor in an  undignified manner.  Jim chuckled at his
discomfiture, as if at a favorite nephew.  He helped his First
Officer  straighten himself out, and then he guided him into proper
meditation form on the unfamiliar cushions, zafu and zabuton, he
called them.  Spock felt a starburst of sensation wherever Jim
touched him, but he found the other's mind curiously closed.
-Another new development,- he thought.

Unaware, the human continued, "Tetsuo thinks we should meditate
regularly on shipboard, but I think this is a little too exotic for
life on a starship, don't you agree?  If his brother were less a
friend . . . "  Jim casually  broke off his sentence.

-If Hikaru weren't Jim's friend . . .-  With light dawning, Spock
nodded half-hearted assent.

"But Hikaru's offered to show me ways in which I could incorporate
aspects of the philosophy into daily life.  You know, for relaxation,
stress control, things like that."

Dumbly, Spock began to see his chance had slipped away.  Too much
time wasted on Vulcan.  Too much inaction.  Another relationship
blasted. -Damn that Surak,- Spock unexpectedly thought, then jumped a
little to feel real rage shoot through him.  He bowed his head,
reaching to master the all-too-human sensations coursing through him.

Just at that moment Jim put a hand on his silk-covered shoulder to
guide his posture a little, and Spock awkwardly struggled sideways,
away from his touch.

Jim retreated a little, looked at Spock, surprised.  Seeming to make
his mind up, he tidily folded himself onto the square black zabuton
right next to Spock's.  He sat regarding the glowing yellow fire,
where Spock's gaze was also directed.

Spock tried again.  "Captain.  Jim.  Why *are* you here?"  He stuffed
his trembling hands into the sleeves of his kimono, hoping James Kirk
had not seen the effect his nearness had.

At last the human replied.  "Funny I should be telling this to you,
the most controlled person in the galaxy. -- There  was something I
wanted . . . something I wanted but couldn't have.  I tried, but . .
. The Vulcan meditation techniques you'd taught me long ago had all
failed.  I was out of options.  I couldn't . . . "

Almost absently Spock said, "You were using meditation techniques for
that?  I am not surprised they did not work-- that was never their
purpose. . . . Was Starfleet not able to help somehow?  Their programs
of counseling, of personal accommodation--"

The fire crackled brightly and shot up a raft of sparks.

Jim continued, "Then the dreams began.  Took me quite a while even to
realize I was having them, and then even longer to figure out what
they seemed to be saying.  When I did, at that point, I couldn't go
on, the way things were.  I came here."

Spock listened in surprise, not able to believe it was his captain, a
man who showed no weakness, talking to him like this.

"Jim--what did the dreams concern?"  Spock looked at him intently.

"Look, Spock, let's cut the fencing.  It wasn't some *thing* that I
wanted, it was some *one*, and Starfleet was the problem rather than
the solution."

He dropped his tone even lower and gazed quietly at his old comrade.
"How could I tell them the problem was--is--that I am in love with
one of my bridge officers?"  A tiny pause.

Spock's fear was confirmed.  In tactless dismay, he replied,  "In
love?  You?  . . . with an officer?"  Kirk's gestural reflections of
Sulu now made sense, his choice of this peculiar location, with a
regimen so unlike him.

"May I be the first to congratulate you," the Vulcan said, recovering
his native aplomb as best he could.  "Of course, it is a sensible
choice--you both call San Francisco home, you both obviously have
interests in common . . ."

And as gracefully as he could manage, Spock rose from his cushion,
intending to leave, to leave this place before a look at his face
gave away all that he was feeling.  It was no surprise James Kirk had
picked another, a full human more like him in temperament,
emotionally available, geographically available.  His Vulcan
honeymoon had obviously come with a high price in more than one
category.

But when he had taken just a few paces across the room, James Kirk
addressed him in what Chekov had always called his Command Woice.

"Spock.  Wait.  Why *are* you here?  What's wrong?"

Spock stopped in his tracks and stood looking out over the valley
through the big glass door.  Here was the moment he'd been waiting
for, the moment that half of him had contrived, against the better
judgment of his Vulcan instincts.

"My marriage is at an end," he said woodenly.  "We discovered that I
am unable to beget children.  T'Aeril therefore has divorced me.
Marriage in her view is only for  those who can continue our race, who
can create children.  So I . . . "

"Spock," said James Kirk interrupting him, rising from his cushion
and coming up behind his subordinate.  "Spock.  Excuse my bluntness,
but that's a shortsighted view, Vulcan tradition or not.  Marriage is
for all sorts of reasons.  Sometimes for kids.  Sometimes not. I'm no
authority on the institution, as we all know, but she's selling you
short."

Not turning, Spock continued, "She had reason to do so.  I am less
than she agreed to, less than she thought she was offered.  The
honorable course of action was to let her go."

Jim started to put his hands on Spock's shoulders but reconsidered.
"Do you love her?  Sorry, that's a bad question.  Did you want to
continue the marriage?  Look, come sit down.  Don't leave just yet.
It's ridiculous to stand here like we're on bridge duty, and you need
to talk about this."

Closing his eyes in acquiescence, Spock allowed Kirk to direct him
back to their seats.  Spock resumed his intent study of the fire and
began to speak. "I undertook the marriage in part to honor familial
obligations.  And in part to satisfy myself that I am truly Vulcan,
that I could fulfill my role in ancestral rites."

"And instead, she made you think you're a failure all over again. . .
."  Jim again reached to touch him, again remembered in time it might
not be a good plan.  He dropped his hand on his own knee.

"Look, Spock, did you talk this over with Amanda and Sarek?"

"Of course.  It was my duty to do so."

"Aha, duty.  And let me take a guess--Sarek wasn't very pleased, was
he?"

"Not precisely, no.  But Amanda has been accepting, all things
considered."

"Are they sorry about the grandchildren?"  Spock didn't reply, and
Kirk said gently, "Maybe I shouldn't ask you these things."

With an uneven voice the Vulcan responded, "They are logical
questions.  Indeed, my parents are regretful.  It is logical,
however, to accept life's circumstances."

"But Amanda's human, and so're you--at least in part--even if you
deny it. . . .  Well, that's a piece of news and no mistake.  But . .
. did you come all this way to tell me your marriage is over?"

"I . . . yes.  I did."  Spock rose to go.  "If I may, allow me to
congratulate you and Lieutenant Sulu."

"Sulu?" said the captain in surprise.  "Oh yes, you were saying
something about how we both have connections to San Francisco. . . .
Oh, I see what you're getting at."  His voice dropped an octave, fell
into an intimate whisper.  "Spock, Spock.  It wasn't *Sulu* I
couldn't have."

Arrested in mid-step, Spock drew himself up short.  He did not have
the strength to turn around, to look at those seductive hazel eyes
directly.  Starkly he said, "Then who?"  He could hardly bear to
listen to the reply.  Perhaps Christine Chapel, though she wasn't
officially a bridge officer.  Or Uhura, perhaps, after all.

"You," said Kirk in a voice meant to capture.  "I couldn't have you."

Spock felt a buzzing in his ears.  His rapid pulse became almost a
hum, and he wheeled to study the face of his captain, so familiar and
yet unreachable.

His eyes traced the other's eyebrows, gold-dusted brown, the full
lips, the cream-colored skin that burned so easily.  As if seeing him
for the first time, allowed for the first time to dwell, he thought
to himself -Lovely.  He's lovely, and I never noticed it.  Never
admitted it.-

Thoughts faded away.

Kirk took a step, reached out to touch Spock's elbow but met his hand
instead.  Kirk's two fingers traced the back of Spock's hand, felt
the strong pulse at the base of his  thumb, circled his wrist and
began to pull him closer.

"I couldn't have *you*, Spock.  I saw you married, McCoy and I handed
you over to that unappreciative woman.  God, what a waste of a
beautiful body--pon farr with a person who values you only for your
mind."

Spock tensed with disbelief at the words he was hearing, at the very
personal embrace his captain was offering.

Jim sensed him stiffening all over and released him.  He studied his
First Officer, noted his unaccustomed color and his awkward demeanor.

"Forgive me, Spock.  I had no right. . . .  I told you there'd been a
lot of dreams . . . dreams about you.  I'm sorry.  I can't help it:
I never looked for this, never thought, well, never mind what I
thought.  Look . . ."

Spock tried to stem the flow of words.  "Captain.  Jim.   Please . .
."  He raised a hand toward the other.

"I know.  I had no right to bring this up at a time like  this.  I
didn't realize how bad things were for you on Vulcan.  It's just,
well, I'd been thinking of you for days, thinking about you coming
here, of you visiting, coming to see me . . ."

"Jim.  Please stop."  Spock began to reach toward his commanding
officer but at the same time James Kirk spun on his heel in a swirl
of red cloth and padded toward the fireplace.

"Spock.  I know you'll be thinking about family concerns, about
personal issues.  I shouldn't burden you at a time like this.  I just
. . . I just wanted you to know--Spock, marriage doesn't have a hell
of a lot to do with simply producing offspring.  I mean, marriage is
more than *just* reproducing.  Marriage is really about people
comforting each other, providing care and love against the outside
world--about individual preference, not about society's rules.
Didn't you see that between your parents?  I'd have thought Amanda
and Sarek were about the best possible example of love against the
odds.  Think what your mother gave up, and your father . . ."

With an ironic eye, Spock studied Jim's back while he lectured the
fireplace on his understanding of marriage.  The red silk dragon
twitched and writhed as the Vulcan watched.  "Yes, I am aware of my
mother's sacrifice.  Better than you can imagine.  But you don't
understand. . . ."

Jim spun around again, this time to face his First Officer. "Look,
Spock, I'm not much for beating around the bush.  After we left you
on Vulcan, we followed orders and took the ship into spacedock--there
were no problems.  Then I began to have those dreams.  Lots of them.
Increasingly . . .  sensual, increasingly--ah--disturbing."  He
paused.   "Increasingly about you."

Spock regarded his old friend silently, arms folded, one eyebrow
raised.  The torrent continued: "And after a while I couldn't stand
it any more.  I couldn't think straight, I couldn't think of anything
but you, and I knew you were  already spoken for."

The Vulcan made a noise but Jim continued hurriedly:  "So I took
myself off duty--I left poor Scotty coping with the weaponry
installation--and I came here.  With Tetsuo's help I've come to terms
with what I was feeling.  I thought I  might be able to learn to manage
my interior life a little better, and I think I have--well, maybe
somewhat.  With a little understanding from you, I think we can get
through this."

At last Kirk stopped talking and Spock could get his attention.  He
moved close, very close, to the human and murmured, "How much
understanding do you want?"  As he spoke he dropped his voice ever
lower, until it was pitched at a most intimate level.

James Kirk felt a filament of surprise, of hope, touch his  heart.  He
lifted his face to the taller man's, studied the look on his
impassive face.  Slowly, so slowly he reached out a hand to caress
the other's jaw.  Spock turned his head into Jim's palm, nuzzling the
swell at the base of the thumb.  He said nothing, but at last turned
glittering eyes upon his captain, offering up whatever he was, hoping
it was enough.

Long Vulcan fingers followed the sash wrapped around Kirk's waist and
drew the human close.  Their mouths met, gently at first, as if it
were the first kiss either had felt in his  life.  Tentatively Spock
outlined the cooler lips of his commander with his tongue, ran his
hands gently up Jim's arms to his shoulders.  Such broad shoulders,
thought Spock; such solid muscles.  A very Terran body.  So long seen
only in glimpses.  Now here with me, at long last . . .

Kirk's mouth grew harder against Spock's, and Spock felt his mouth
open to accept Kirk's inquisitive tongue.  A strong Earth-born hand
slid up into his hair and caressed the back of his head, softly
twisting the smooth, shining hair around trembling fingers.

Without warning Kirk stopped and stepped back, leaving a breathless
Spock looking surprised.  "See," said his  captain.  "I told you.  I
couldn't go on alone, wanting you yet having to deny it, every day.
I had hoped Sulu's brother could help me find a way that would heal
the damage, enable me to keep serving without compromising the ship,
myself, you.  But now--do I still need Tetsuo's help?  You tell me."

Spock felt emotions rise within him--curious emotions, curiously
strong emotions.  Kirk, apparently in love with him.  Kirk, whose
life he had saved a dozen times, to whom he owed his own life many
times over.  James Kirk, who seldom offered any information more
personal than that contained in a chess game.  Could it be?  Someone
who would balance logic with love, no? --and give it in return, a
persistent voice whispered to him.

Could he touch that blond hair?  Could he feel those strong hips
within the bright silk, feel them against his own, those shoulders
and arms powerful enough to carry two of him, that tongue, those
lips, cool to the touch, at least at first . . .

As if reading his thoughts Kirk put a hand on Spock's shoulder, and
drew him toward the futon.

"For now we don't need to think," he said gently.  "The monastery
gives us a little space to work out what we feel.  Come on, Spock,
it's logical to make use of what's offered to you. . . ."

The late afternoon sun was dimmed to almost nothing, shining through
the shoji, and the light of the fireplace cast a warm glow over their
skin.  Each holding himself in close check, they lay down tentatively
on the bed.  Without saying anything, Kirk reached over and worked at
the knot in Spock's sash.

"Wait, Jim," interrupted the Vulcan.  Jim stopped immediately, unsure
still, thinking Spock had changed his mind.  The Vulcan pushed
himself up on one elbow.  "I must tell you, I must ask . . .  These
dreams.  Did they include  one of someone opening a door, into a room
where a person was waiting on a bed?  And was there one where you
were trying to play chess, and then you found yourself walking along
the seashore to meet someone?"

Kirk widened his green eyes.  "Those were two of the most intense.
There were a lot of others, too. How did you know?"

"I had them also, or some of them.  After I had started meditating,
after T'Aeril . . . after T'Aeril asked for severance.  The one on
the shore--I woke from that one and knew I wanted you . . . I found
that you were . . . already part of me, in a way that no one else
was.  I had to come.  I found I cared much more about that than about
T'Aeril and life on Vulcan."

He slid a hand down the V of golden skin that was already showing at
the throat of Jim's light robes, and began to run it along Kirk's
waist.  Jim captured his hands and leaned him backward, helping him
stretch out on the warm cotton.   Spock groaned aloud, murmuring the
other's name.  With insistent fingers Jim succeeded in undoing the
Vulcan's knotted sash and slowly swept the bright silk aside,
revealing the soft Starfleet tunic he'd dreamed of removing.  Beneath
that, he knew, lay the broad, sculpted shoulders, the shadows playing
around collarbone and biceps.  Kirk helped the Vulcan remove his
tunic and t-shirt, finally beginning to reveal the body he had so
long dreamed of, yet never had a hope of touching.

He stretched out next to Spock, running an appreciative hand across
his limbs.  After a moment Spock opened his eyes, and focused them on
the framed holopics standing on the clothes chest behind Kirk's head.
Now he could see that the image paired with that of Jim Kirk's
brother was--himself, Spock in his formal Starfleet portrait.  Kirk
must have quietly downloaded the picture from the personnel records
before he left the ship.

Following Spock's gaze, Jim gave a weak half-smile and shrugged, as
if to say "I surrendered."  Then he reached  over to the clothes chest
and palmed one of the tops that lay in front of the holopics, and
held it up for Spock to see.  Small, brown, mostly unremarkable.  "I
picked these up in a toy store down the road.  I thought they were
wonderful examples of design and engineering, considering they're
only bamboo.  They balance really well."  He grinned at Spock.  "And
I can think of other uses for them, too."

Kirk drew the point down Spock's torso from neck to stomach, and
watched as Spock writhed at the touch.  Deftly he began turning it
gently back and forth between thumb and forefinger, now on a muscle,
now on the base of his neck, always a new location with no notice.
Spock realized the cumulative effect was one of supreme relaxation,
caused by the stimulus and removal of stimulus.  Very deliberate.
Very erotic.  Very Jim.

Enough to drive any woman mad, thought Spock blindly to himself, or
nearly any man.  Why did I never admit this to myself?  He's a man .
. .

He felt a fire growing within, a desire to caress his friend,
his--lover, to awaken the same glow in Kirk that he had felt with
T'Aeril.

Spock felt Kirk lean forward and just barely lick his chest.  A
thread of fire, of anticipation, ran through him.  Jim saw the fire
catch the edge of the paper in Spock's heart, and he thought -Ah,
Tetsuo, the red thread of passion.  You knew  more than we did, when
you sent him to me. . . .-

He let his tongue cruise down the Vulcan's chest, stopping to touch
both nipples, each scar from that nearly fatal landing party, each
mark left on him in a career of planet-side adventures.  James Kirk's
hands kneaded his shoulders, lifting him, caressing now his ears, now
his jaw, a finger now running around his lips and then tracing an
angled eyebrow.

Kirk was beginning to slide a hand under the waistband of Spock's
trousers, heading for undreamed-of bliss below, when Spock abruptly
sat up and pulled the edges of his robe together around him.

"Jim, I cannot . . . I must go . . . This is not right."

Jim felt a cold hand squeeze his heart tightly.  "Not right?  How do
you mean?"  He started to reach for the one he loved but Spock moved
away.

"This is unnatural, illogical.  We are both male.  At the very least
we are of different species.  There can be no proper marriage between
us, no family, no life together as a pair.  I must . . . it does not
matter what I want.  Or what you want.  I am sorry.  I should not
have come."

Spock pulled himself together with shaking hands, grabbed his
clothing, and headed for the door in long strides.

Just in time Jim got to the door and put an arm across it, barring
the other's way.  Trying to sound in control he said, "Look, Spock,
wait, calm down.  We don't have to do this--to do anything--if you
don't want.  I shouldn't have rushed you, I mean, I'm sorry I did
things--hell, I can keep my hands off you.  Tetsuo's showed me that.
Please have a seat.  Let me make you some tea.  You've come all this
way-- that's not too much to ask."

---

Spock hesitated and Jim leapt upon the hesitation.  He gestured
toward one of the chairs at a safe distance from the bed, and he
dashed for the teapot, which was keeping warm on the hearth, and the
cups.

While the Vulcan sat in silence, the human worked feverishly to
prepare tea and arrange it on a tray.  He dared not think of the past
moments, Spock's words, it was all going by too fast, and probably
for ever.

After a short time Jim parked the tray in front of Spock and said,
"What's the problem?  The real problem?"  He poured the tea silently.
Spock raised an eyebrow at the cup he was offered:  it looked very
much like part of an antique tea  set, long used in Zen monasteries
for their tea ceremonies.

Not wanting to look at his commanding officer, he turned the cup in
his hands and said, "Ah.  A very old cup, I believe.  The grainy
finish was produced through unusual methods of glazing, when the cups
were removed from the kiln early in the firing and then completed by
having organic material burned on top."

"Spock.  Could we have the ceramics lesson later?  What's going on?"

Spock looked up at the wall beyond and spoke without blinking.  "Jim.
You do not understand.  I am not a complete person.  I am sterile.  I
will never have children.  I am a failure to my parents, to my race,
to my planet, to myself.  I found I could . . . care for you more
than for my wife, which is wrong.  I should prefer her--should *have*
preferred her--more than others.  I believed that she esteemed me, as
any Vulcan wife would her husband, but my human half felt entitled to
a more . . . emotional . . .  commitment.  I . . . want you, I prefer
you, but I should have preferred her, or at least another female of
my species."

He took a deep breath and continued.  "I could come to live with that
. . . unusual preference, but I do not know how to surrender the
right to have offspring.  It is my duty as a Vulcan, as a son.  If I
cannot beget children, the logical alternative is to live a celibate
life."

Jim felt puzzled by his companion's words.  "I never thought the
moment would come, Spock, when my logic is sharper than  yours.  What
can be more logical than two people who love each other, seeking to
comfort and support each other?"

"What is logical about marriage is the begetting and nurturing of
offspring, to continue a species."

"God, where'd you get that notion?  That view's antiquated by
centuries--it used to be called the 'breeder' argument.  There are
plenty of animal species that mate for life and raise offspring--you
could call that a marriage of sorts.  But humans, Vulcans, reasoning
creatures--we're capable of so much more.  What does gender, or
fertility, matter, when  the main event is love and comfort?
Come on, Spock, use your substantial wits. 'Let me not to the
marriage of true minds admit impediment.'  That's about what, 700
years old or so, and as true today as when Shakespeare wrote it."

"You don't understand.  I am not a man, a complete male being.  I
cannot father children.  I cannot sustain a marriage."

"I don't know what else to say, Spock."  Kirk studied his beloved,
trying to figure out what he was feeling, and how on earth to do
something about it.  He'd never seen Spock so doubtful, so confused.
He could hardly understand the logic behind Spock's argument, if
indeed there was any logic.  That in itself was disturbing.

A greenish hand turned the old cup on the table, and turned it, and
turned it.

After a long pause Kirk spoke again.  "Well.  The situation is more
complex than I thought.  I'm sorry I . . . rushed  you."  His tone of
voice changed abruptly, became brisk and  efficient; the Command Voice
had returned.  "Perhaps you'd care to stay at the monastery for a day
or two as a guest?   Sulu-roshi was right about the value of the
meditation techniques, by the way, and for someone with your
background on Gol, it should be a snap."  He rose, still speaking,
and collected a few odds and ends around the room. -If I keep
moving,- he thought, -I might just get us through this.-

"Here are some spares they've got up here, extra equipment  you might
find useful.  You'll want to keep that heavy robe for the zazen
sessions in the zendo.  Here's another pair of cushions, and a mala
for keeping track of where you are in the recitations.  It's kind of
like a rosary.  It's really  Tibetan, not Japanese, but it's still
quite useful especially for newcomers.  Tetsuo said he thought it
wasn't a problem to cross traditions like that, for outsiders.
They'll have a spare sutra book for you down in the zendo."

Spock watched while James Kirk heaped up the peculiar ritual
implements--it was a far cry from his spare, elegant captain's
quarters on the Enterprise.

Kirk caught his friend's quizzical look and smiled.  "Yeah, I know,
this isn't what you'd call typical for James T. Kirk.  But you can
approach Zen as a philosophy rather than a religion, and all this
stuff is just a way of helping you concentrate.  The long-term people
here, the monks and lay students, they're the ones who really are
keen on ritual, of course.  Tetsuo just set me up with the basics,
while he was helping me begin to cope."

Spock studied his friend, moving with officer's efficiency  around the
room, as if nothing of the previous hours had passed between them.
Kirk's mention of what it was he was trying to cope with brought them
back to the present and to their shared awkwardness.  What must Kirk
be feeling, to be pursuing this kind of alien ritual?  Spock tried
not to think about it--his divided feelings and reactions were
proving hard to control.

Jim continued, "Probably you'll want to soak in the tub before the
next session of sitting.  It'll loosen up your muscles before you try
to tax them with an hour or two of motionlessness."  Jim tossed a
towel to him and tipped his head in the direction of the steaming
tub.  He left the pile of miscellaneous equipment near the door to
the next room and moved toward the shoji he had closed not long
before.  "I'll be out here, I think, finishing my tea.  Shout if you
need anything."

So saying Jim Kirk took up a position on the balcony, purposefully
looking out into the valley instead of in the direction that drew him
like a magnet--toward his First  Officer, stripping off the rest of
his clothes most elegantly, and stepping into the welcoming tub.
Command training came in handy at the oddest moments, he reflected.

A soft noise escaped Spock as the water rose around him and he felt
the heat moving into his muscles in waves.  He leaned his head back
against the tub's edge and listened to the sound of Jim pacing on the
balcony.

After a short time he turned his head in Jim's direction and said in
a carrying voice, "It is not necessary that you wait out there.
Please come in."  Jim stuck his head through the doorway and cupped a
hand around one ear.  "I said," repeated the Vulcan, "that the open
door creates a cold draft.  Waiting inside would be acceptable."

Jim cracked a half-smile and went to recline on the bed.  He palmed
the glossy top, which they had left in the middle of the bed, and
rubbed it softly against his lips when he thought Spock was not
looking.  Was he never again to touch Spock like that?  So
close--finally discovering what he felt himself, then Spock turning
up here all of a sudden--then flop, the whole thing shuts down.  He
had to try again:  there was hardly anything to lose at this point,
he told himself sardonically.  After a bit he casually said, "Were
the drug regimens quite difficult, then?  They're rumored to be pretty
tough."

Spock started a bit, at the subject being reintroduced so abruptly.
He replied in staccato words:  "We did not use the drugs.  T'Aeril
felt they were illogical."

Jim said in surprise, "Let me get this right.  She just decided flat,
that was it, no further attempts of any kind?  No medical work?"

In a dead voice Spock said, "No."

Hope began to grow wings in his chest.  In his best debriefing manner,
James Kirk asked, "Would you just check that I've got this right?
You felt you should get married in order to have children, to belong
more completely to your home planet.  Then you found you couldn't have
kids by, ah, customary Vulcan means.  And T'Aeril refused to consider
any alternatives, so you divorced.  Now you feel you couldn't bond
with another Vulcan woman because--ah--you prefer--me.  Yet you feel
you shouldn't prefer me because I'm a man, and it isn't logical to
prefer a man because two males can't have offspring, can't create a
family."

"Correct."

Carefully, ever so carefully, James Kirk chose his next words.
"Didn't you consider recombinant DNA, then?"

Silence fell, a palpable silence.  Then the sound of water curling,
flowing, pouring down as Spock rose to face Kirk across the long
room.  Spock held Kirk's eyes for a long minute.  Then he spoke and
each word was like a rock  falling, a weight off his besieged heart.
"Recombinant DNA.  Used for genetic repair.  And cross-species
fertilization.  And same-gender. . . ."

Jim nodded his head once.  Swallowed once.  Spock beckoned to him
with one hand.  Jim leapt to his feet, crossed the  room in two
bounds.  Spock crushed him to his chest, pulled him into the tub
robes and all.  Jim found the wet clothing was much like a
straightjacket, but the strength of his First Officer's arms around
his own made the issue moot.  Spock pressed up against him at full
length, feeling the warmth of the water and the muscular form of the
human.  He thrust one long leg up against the web of cloth binding
Jim's legs and wrapped the other around his waist, pinning Jim firmly
against him.  Spock ran his hands over the other's body as far as he
could reach, savoring the shape and feel of him even through layers
of wet cloth.  He put his hands on either side of Kirk's head and
studied his face.  He kissed his captain, hard.  And again.  He felt
as if he were at a banquet after weeks of fasting, as if it were the
first rain of the fall season, after days and days of baking summer
heat.

"Jim, ah Jim," he said, whispering in the ear of his captain, as they
writhed together and the water sloshed around them.  "For all our
discussions, and logical judgments, and adhering to the laws of
Surak, it never occurred to me--that there was another way, a way for
two men. . . ."

"Hang on a second, Spock, let me get out of these clothes for
starters.  Now you know that that method doesn't always work--there
can still be problems in the chromosomes, we'd still need a carrier,
we're not exactly out of the woods.  But look, in any case surely we
could adopt a child, if we felt that was the right thing to do for
the child's sake, and for . . . ours."

"T'Aeril had convinced me that adoption was not a logical solution.
Now I am considerably less sure--so much has changed.  You offer
possibilities I hadn't considered."  He began to tip his head toward
his commanding officer, who was sprawled enticingly across his chest.

"Well, on the Enterprise you're forever saying there are always
possibilities," Jim responded.  "But we really should get out of this
tub.  The monks never built it for underwater wrestling, and I don't
want to have to explain to Tetsuo how we made it collapse.  Besides,
I can think of more comfortable places."  He winked an eye at his
companion.

Spock helped the much-encumbered Kirk out of the bath, and Kirk shed
the dripping layers of robes.  The cloth was pouring such buckets of
water on the floor that in the end he just tossed the robes back into
the bath.

Meanwhile Spock was drying himself with the spare towel.  Tentatively
he reached over and began wiping the drops off Kirk's back.  Both now
completely nude, they stopped for a moment in half-surprise, looking
at each other, studying the differences, the similarities, a few
scars each had received when a dermal regenerator wasn't handy.
Brothers in arms, in more ways than one.  Jim began to run an arm
around Spock's bare waist and steer him toward the bed, then
stopped.

"This ok?  You ok with . . . this?"  He sounded uncharacteristically
tentative.

Spock turned to embrace him, skin on skin.  He put hands on both
sides of his captain's head, looked him in the eyes, and said "Yes."

Kirk thought, -I hope so.-

They both turned toward the bed and as they passed the fireplace Jim
heaved in an extra log from the pile.  Spock gracefully slipped under
the leaf-patterned coverlet and twitched back a corner as Jim
approached.

Jim found that he was trembling all over--and completely lacking in
sexual excitement.  -Great,- he thought to  himself.  -He's finally in
my bed and I can't get it up.-

Spock welcomed him nonetheless, and helped him pillow his head on a
lean Vulcan arm.  "Jim," he murmured in the other's ear.  "I believe
this activity, this life, will be difficult for a while.  I came
halfway across the quadrant just to find you.  The dreams I had--we
had--showed me how much I need you, when I was not aware of it.  But
it will take some time to heal from what I have gone through.  I--I
never thought I would form a bond in quite this way.  Yet the thought
. . . the thought of your child, of . . . our  child . . . I do not
know how to say what that means to me.   But I want this."

Jim smiled quietly to himself.  It wasn't the first time he'd heard
his First Officer wrestling with the contradictions between love and
logic, even though Spock called the love part something else.  But
this time he was allowed to help.  He was allowed to touch that
wonderful dark hair, like this, to draw a finger along that strongly
marked collarbone, like this.  To run a hand down to that warm, warm
stomach, near where such interesting things were happening.  And yes,
he could feel his own erection rising at last--his earlier anxiety
clearly was fading.

After a moment he replied, "Spock, I want this too.  We've both come
to this the hard way--after doubt and pain and a lot of unhappiness,
but I think we can be good for each other.  Let's just take this as
it goes--it'll be ok."

Kirk again lightly fingered a strand of the other's shining hair.  He
gave in to a long-standing desire and buried his face in it,
absorbing its silken sensation, the light pine smell it seemed to
carry.  Pine?  or maybe--he couldn't quite place it.  He breathed in
deeply, taking in its essence.  He caressed Spock's head with his
fingers, running locks of hair through his hands again and again.

He kissed Spock's temple, below which that fine intelligence
throbbed.  Spock turned his head a little on the pillow, exposing his
neck.  Kirk grazed there briefly, noting a skin texture slightly
smoother than his own--fewer sweat glands, for an arid planet? he
wondered.  A body so similar to his own, and yet with constant little
reminders they were different from each other.

Those ears, for instance.  A public statement of his Vulcan blood,
like that irresistible hair.  Ears with such finely tuned hearing.
Those elegant points, the slightly more prominent ridges beneath.
Kirk ran a finger along the outer curve of the ear, then followed
with his tongue.  He traced the lobe, then the cross-wise ridge, and
he felt Spock moving a little beneath him, his hips pulling upward.
Kirk breathed out ever so delicately near Spock's ear, let him hear
the sound of his tongue licking, tracing, curving with the curve of
Spock's flesh.  Spock was now shifting uneasily, as the sounds of his
lover's actions stirred his blood.

And still Kirk did not stop:  he licked, and tasted, and breathed his
own more ragged breaths gently where Spock would hear every tone,
every whisper.  As quietly as he could manage, he spoke right in
Spock's ear:  "I love you."

Spock turned his head to reply, and spotted the small string of beads
on top of the books next to them.  His eyes widened, and he stretched
an arm under and behind Kirk to reach them.  He looped them around
his free hand and ran them over his cheek, then Jim's.  He inhaled
deeply, once, twice, and gestured for Jim to do the same.  Kirk
looked at him quizzically.

"What is this?" said Spock.

"Excuse me?" said Jim.  "Oh, it's another mala, like the one in the
pile of spare meditation supplies.  This one's made of  some kind of
wood, though.  Spock, is this really the time for a crash course in
Buddhist ritual?"

Spock produced a languorous half-smile:  "This is . . .  sandalwood, is
it not?"

Kirk, puzzled, said, "I suppose so--I'm not really sure.  Tetsuo gave
it to me; it does have a nice scent, doesn't it?"

Spock carefully, almost reverently returned the beads and their
bright red tassel to their spot on top of the books.  Then he pulled
Kirk against him hard and said in his deepest voice, lingering over
every syllable:  "Sandalwood.  We import it . . . on Vulcan.  We use
it . . . occasionally . .  . as an aphrodisiac.  Its scent . . . ah,
Jim . . ."

Spock rolled Kirk emphatically over on his back and began to plant
kisses randomly, while his hands feverishly explored every angle and
curve of the human's body.  Kirk found his intensity almost
frightening--he had never seen *this* Spock before, that much was
certain--and yet--what care, what loving he was demonstrating at the
same time passion was sweeping away much of his control.  With eyes
closed Spock lay at full length on the human, savoring the sensation
of bare skin.  He grasped his captain's hips in his hands and slid
his thumbs back and forth across the human's hipbones.  He licked and
nuzzled his way across Jim's neck under the jawline.  He kissed Jim's
cheek softly, ever so softly, then his eyes, forehead, and returned
to the human's mouth.

Kirk could hear the pounding of Spock's heart, could feel his skin
temperature rising even higher than its normal torrid range.  He
could feel his lover rigid against his own stomach and rejoiced to
know he felt the same way to Spock.  He could see a greenish flush
becoming visible all over him, growing along with that stiffness, and
Spock wincing as the intensity of sensation surged and pulled at him
like a riptide.

Spock slid his hands down and down, to pull his captain's legs up
around his own hips.  Spock ground his pelvis against Kirk's, rubbed
the soft inside of the other's thighs with the backs of his hands.
Kirk trembled in advanced  exual excitement to think what Spock might
want--need--to do next.

But Kirk thought to himself no, not yet, there's more I want us to
feel together--we've waited so long for this.  Kirk slid out from
under Spock and gestured for him to lie on his back.  He sat up next
to Spock and pulled aside the  bedcovers.  He grasped Spock's forearm
and with a long, lingering kiss explored the bend of the elbow where
the  greenish vein stood out.  Smoothly, delicately, he began a line
of minute kisses from elbow heading toward wrist, now stopping just
to touch his tongue to a freckle, now to bite gently.  Spock at first
watched in surprise, his heart and groin thudding with the effects of
the sandalwood, until the sensations from Jim's soft lips became too
intense and his eyes shut.

Kirk's tongue and lips traveled downward as slowly as he could
manage, heading for Spock's wrist, then his palm.  He traced the
horizontal lines where the other's wrist joined his hand, then he
nuzzled the hollow of Spock's palm.  He licked the hollow carefully,
thoroughly, and nipped at the bulge of muscle at the base of Spock's
thumb.  Then he breathed out ever so gently, causing the currents of
evaporation to strike Spock's nerves all at once. Spock writhed at
the sensation, murmuring something Jim couldn't quite hear but which
sounded like "More."

Jim ran his tongue the length of Spock's fingers, one by one,
lingering over the pads at the fingertips where the clusters of
nerves lay.  Then Kirk smoothly swung himself down to lie between his
First Officer's spread legs, thinking only -At last.- Kirk felt the
controlled strength in those misleadingly slender thighs and long
legs.  He fingered the remaining layers of bedclothes aside to reveal
Spock's pulsing erection, nearly under his own chin, and he cracked a
big smile.

He looked up at Spock with the grin plain to see.

"What?" said the other.

"First Officer, get it?"  An eyebrow shot up.  "Come on, Spock, the
oldest joke in the fleet.  But in this case it's true, you *are* my
first officer.  Never had an officer before you."

"Nor before you," replied the Vulcan, breathing hard.  "I have never
. . . had . . . a captain before."

Kirk offered another smile, the one Spock had seen him use to such
effect on females of various species.  Now that its heat was turned
on him, he understood why it was so potent.

Swiftly Jim captured Spock's erection in his mouth, and he heard
Spock hiss his name out loud.

For a moment he just held Spock quietly between tongue and teeth,
thinking that they were both probably close to the limit of what they
could stand.  Softly, delicately, he ran his tongue down lengthwise,
while using his lips to maintain steady suction.  He tried licking
the spot just behind the head, and in front of the two ridges that he
felt growing as he worked.

-They're real, then,- he thought to himself. -They're real.  The
pressure of those ridges, inside, up inside, pushing, pushing . . .-

At this thought he nearly came himself, remembering just in time that
Spock in this somewhat divided state of mind might never again let
him do this, that he should stretch out the pleasure as long as his
many years of experience would let him.

He eased off and lifted his head a little, stopping to study the
other's body, wanting to memorize every sensation, every sight.  He
rested his head on Spock's thigh, ran his thumb up and down the
object of his immediate desire, held it in the V between his thumb
and forefinger, and then slowly stroked his hand up and down in that
position.  Jim felt  Spock writhe a little at that touch, and he heard
him make a low guttural noise in his throat.

Again he leaned over to take his lover into his throat, to feel the
inhumanly fast pulse of the other deep inside his mouth.  Lingeringly
he drew his head back, let every cell in his body sense the heat and
power of the other, let his soul honor the beauty and strength of his
lover's body.

He dropped his head again for another lick.  He drew back as slowly
as he could manage, closing his eyes to savor the  sensation, to allow
him to concentrate on smell, and taste, and feel.

For some minutes he worked contentedly, with a sense of coming home,
of belonging.  He'd never imagined what joy this experience could
bring, to himself and to his beloved;  he'd always just hoped that the
women he'd been with would be so inclined, and he had never asked
himself what they  might be getting from it.  He would have to
reconsider that point of view, in some detail.  After suitable
research . . .

The sensation of heat, rigid heat, filling his mouth and warming his
tongue--nothing like that in the galaxy.  The flushed green skin, hard
against his tongue yet soft in texture--he felt the desire to hold
Spock inside him, just like this, forever.  Such closeness.  Such
arousing contact.  So stimulating to hear Spock groan, and call his
name, and writhe beneath this marvelous caress so satisfying to them
both.

At length he moved up to sit astride his lover.  He took a look at
Spock's face.  Eyes closed, Spock was as usual something of a cypher.
"Spock," said Jim softly.  "Spock.  You ok?  I'm not exactly a pro at
delivering this, you know."

Spock's eyes flicked open and he studied the human.  "I have no
complaints.  Whatever you like," he responded half under his breath.

Kirk surprised Spock by replying, "No, wait, this isn't just about
me.  What do *you* want?"

"I have but a marginal frame of reference for this activity."

"Honest to god, Spock, use your imagination.  We have a lot of time
on our hands.  What do you think would feel good?  What would you
like to do?"

Heaving himself up and rolling Jim over backward, Spock said in a
growl, "This."  In turn he licked his way down the human's body,
nibbling, caressing with his tongue, heading inexorably down,
reaching his goal, making Jim writhe in turn.

With an ease born of Vulcan strength, Spock gracefully lifted Jim's
legs and swung them over his shoulders in a V.  As if he were
wrestling for his life, he held the other's thighs tightly, one in
the crook of each elbow.  He leaned his own head down to graze, to
nip, at last to draw him deeply into the amazing off-world heat of
his mouth and throat.  Jim felt as if part of him had entered a
sauna:  he was very aware of the stripes of heat Spock's arms were
making around his legs, to say nothing of the riot of sensation his
mouth, tongue, throat, teeth were creating in an amazingly intimate
way.

At last, when Spock judged that Jim could not twist and turn in that
way much longer without interesting consequences, he lifted his head
and said simply, "Now?"

James Kirk nodded in assent, returned an agonized "Now."

Spock rolled Jim backward a bit more and drew his legs farther apart.
He began to press forward but stopped immediately, when he felt firm
resistance and saw a flash of  pain cross Jim's face.  "You . . . I am
not . . . I am not certain about this," the Vulcan finally uttered.

Jim opened his eyes and looked at Spock.  "You know, we're both out
of practice with this style of sex, if we ever were *in* practice.
We're going to need some oil or something.  Damn.  Monasteries don't
exactly come equipped for this activity."

In one smooth movement he lifted his legs off Spock's shoulders and
rolled off the slope of the other's thighs.  He heaved himself out of
bed and headed for the tub alcove.  Noises of rummaging among cooking
gear, then Kirk emerged with a small bottle in one hand and Spock's
kimono in the other, announcing, "Aha! sesame oil! Just the thing for
stir-fries."

Jim hopped back into bed and tugged a pillow underneath himself to
tilt his hips toward Spock.  He drew his legs apart again in a slow
tease and said, "Where were we?"  He held the bottle up for approval.
"Next time, sandalwood oil, don't you think?"

Spock raised one eyebrow, then nodded his head briefly, thinking to
himself that he might find scope to show James Kirk a Vulcan
tradition or two.

Kirk reached for Spock's palm, poured a little liquid in it, and
said, "I think you need to rub that on."

The Vulcan began to do as he was instructed, marveling at the
persistence and imagination of Earth's creatures.  He sat back on his
heels and began to smooth the oil over himself, noting that that
sensation was agreeable, even if it was his own hands.  Looking up he
found Jim's eyes on him, half closed, studying every move of his
fingers, every gesture.  He rocked back so Jim could see him more
easily, and he repeated the anointing:  fingers gently rubbing down,
then up, across and behind one ridge, now the other, now the
underside, just sliding out of sight.

Jim Kirk's breath began to be audibly labored, and Spock slowed down
and took his time, to prolong the other's pleasure.  More oil in his
palm, hands rubbed slowly together, ever so slowly.  Fingers working
against fingers, fingers running across one palm, now the other.  Now
trailing them down his own chest, lightly smoothing the fur as they
traveled.  And down again, picking up where they'd left off.  Along
the shaft, around the head, always where Jim could see him work.
Fingers circling the tip, tracing the groove between the two ridges,
the vein that pulsed on the underside.  Spock's eyes never left
Jim's, not wanting to miss a moment of his reaction to his lover
preparing himself carefully for their shared pleasure.

The human was now groaning in earnest, brought almost to the point of
no return by the floor show his First Officer was putting on.  What
style, what flair.  Where had he learned to tease like that?  Where
had he learned to stimulate another by stimulating himself?  What
other interesting things did life on Vulcan teach?

Finally Spock worked his hands around to a spot where Jim could not
see them, and with no warning began to oil Jim as well.  The human
thrust his head backward and bit his lip, as the warm hands caressed
him, and stroked him, made him smooth and damp, prepared him for--and
Spock's hands left him.  Opening his eyes in surprise, Jim could have
sworn he saw a smile flit across the other's face.  Certainly he saw
an inquisitive eyebrow shoot up, but neither said anything.

Both of them now in better shape, Spock gently arranged Jim's legs
and pressed forward again.  As he entered his commanding officer, he
drew a breath deep into his chest, awed by the sensation of human
heat, of oneness, of brutal overwhelming arousal.  Not pon farr, but
an acceptable sensation nevertheless.  To enter Jim Kirk, to be
inside Jim, *inside Jim* . . .

Watching through slitted eyes, he was moved to see the human
regarding him steadily as they merged.  "It'd be sick to say  'Open,
sesame,' I suppose, wouldn't it?" said Kirk with an  inscrutable
smile.

"Humor," whispered Spock, barely in control.  "It is a difficult
concept."

"Come on, then, Spock," said Jim losing his smile.  "Bring us home."
At his lover's urging, Spock found he needed to thrust forward, and
forward, and forward, working against the large muscles of the
other's legs, struggling to get ever closer to this one man among
men, ever closer, evermore inside, never to leave him, never to turn
away again.

The flame they built together thrust them upward just as the fire in
the fireplace settled with a soft whooosh.  A torrent of sensation
carried them higher, a burst of excitement, a stimulation almost
greater than they could stand.  Kirk felt himself soaring aloft on a
bed of heat, the sparks of sensation around him like stars in a
starfield.  Spock watched him go with affection and relief, watched
Jim arch his back in passion as a surge of liquid coated his own
hands, resting on Jim's flat stomach.  The visible evidence of his
lover's passion pulled Spock into the flame and left him shouting
Jim's name, as he sprawled over the welcoming body of his beloved.

---

Through the glass door darkness at last reached across the pair, now
lit only by the gradually sinking fire.  Spock studied the flames,
his head pillowed comfortably on Jim's stomach.  His spirit and body
at last at rest, his scientist's mind was surprised by the similarity
between the astonishing sensation he had just felt, and helped Jim to
feel, and the fiery surge of the flames whenever they shot up a sheaf
of sparks.  That hot gush of flame, the burning sensation, the
feeling of being consumed.  Strange.   Intimate and shared, yet deeply
individual.  And who knew what Jim felt.  His mind was still closed,
Spock did not want to ask why.  Perhaps it was just the Zen
techniques Jim had been working on.  Perhaps something he'd lost
himself, while severing himself from T'Aeril.  Perhaps he should
think about it later.

That image of the fire's gush, that hot leaping, the burning of fuel.
*There* was something worth thinking about.  Soon.   Again.  And with
Jim, always with Jim.  He turned his head and regarded the other's
flushed but peaceful face.  -May it  be always thus for him,- thought
Spock.  -And for me.-

He stretched a long arm across the dozing starship captain to the
clothes chest and palmed one of the tops.  Without disturbing Jim,
Spock took the spindle of the top between two long fingers and began
to draw very light lines on the torso of the other.  Jim awoke with a
start at the touch, then relaxed when he saw what Spock was up to.

"Mmmm.  More?" he quizzed.

"Indeed," came the reply.

"I think we'd better have a *bath* first," Kirk said with a grin at
his companion.  "We're fairly sticky.  I don't quite remember getting
that way, do you?"

"It is true my memory is not functioning at full capacity at the
moment."

Jim crawled out of bed and drew Spock after him with a hand.  The
cooling air of the room struck their bodies and caused them to make a
little haste toward the warm tub.

They hopped into the welcoming water and relaxed on either side,
settling their legs comfortably around each other. Jim did his best
to wad up his soaking-wet robes, still floating lazily in the tub,
and use them as a pad.

"I'm not used to having an extra person in here," said Kirk.  "The
tub's smaller than I remember."

"One point five seven meters in diameter," replied the  Vulcan.

"That wasn't a request for a report, you know, just an observation."

"Social niceties are not extensively taught on Vulcan," responded the
other.  Kirk grinned at the understatement but doubted his companion
had seen it as such.

"But you know, Spock, you raise an interesting question.  Several,
actually.  What're we going to do from here?  We're in the same
command line.  Starfleet's not wild about that, as you know.  And for
that matter, what did your family say?   Did you tell Sarek you were
coming to find me? for *this*?" Kirk gestured expansively, taking in
their nakedness, Spock's clothing tossed on the floor, the bottle of
oil standing within sight.

Spock leaned his head back against the wood and closed his eyes.

"I did not tell my parents very much when I left," he replied.  "The
realization that I needed to find you was fairly sudden, and I spoke
only briefly with Amanda and  Sarek.  I was not sure what to tell them
about you, in any case--I did not know what I would find when I got
here."

"You know, I'd love to know their reactions--can you tell me what
they said?  What did they think about this--about me?"

"My mother reminded me of what she had said to you many years ago,
that I was 'fortunate to have such a friend.' She said she had been
quite favorably impressed the first time she met you during the
ambassadorial mission, that you seemed devoted to me and I to you.
Her only concern was that it 'took me so long to figure this out'."

"I don't get it.  Wasn't she one of the main arrangers of your
marriage?"

"Indeed.  She indicated that she had thought the marriage was my
preference, that it was my attempt to fit myself more firmly into
Vulcan society.  I believe she may have been correct in that
judgment.  She indicated she had been watching me closely for some
days, and she had concluded I was--in love with you.  She apologized
for putting it in human terms."

"And Sarek?"

Spock was silent.  Kirk could see some sensation move across his face
but could not tell what it was.  At last Spock  said, "Sarek's
comment was, 'If this seems to you the most logical course of action,
so be it'."

"That's Sarek all right, right down to the ground."  He stirred the
water with a gleaming hand.  "And *is* this the most logical course
of action, Spock?"

"My time on Vulcan, contemplating the loss of my children  and the
destruction of my marriage, taught me that perhaps logic is not the
best way to consider each situation."

"Did you tell *Sarek* you thought logic wasn't necessarily the best
way? I can't imagine he took *that* well.  I thought that particular
heresy was eliminated on Vulcan about 2,000 years ago."

Spock lifted his head and gave Jim a straight look.  Raising an
eyebrow he replied, "What I said to Sarek was, 'If James Kirk raised
a hand to slay me, I know he would do it with good reason, and I
would willingly bow my head for the stroke'."

Kirk considered this response in astonishment.  Finally he smiled a
little weakly and said, "Well, I hadn't planned on any killing *just*
today, but I'll keep it in mind."  -Wow,  these Vulcans; a different
breed all the way down, no doubt about it,- he thought.
-Emotion-free?  Hah.-

"Jim--James--it is an important point.  I am telling you that I
surrender my life to you, as a man, as your subordinate."

Mildly the other said, "Yes, I realize that.  And I owe you my life
many times over also.  But Spock--this isn't about who has power over
whom, it's about affection and love.  This is about being my mate, not
about taking orders from me."

The Vulcan regarded the human silently.  Clearly there were important
differences in their views of this situation.  Probably also
differences in their expectations; certainly differences in their
stamina.  He had been shy to discover how much more experienced Kirk
was than he--nothing had been  said--indeed, Jim had worked hard to
put him at his ease, Spock was aware.  But the difference had been
made clear to him in the very ease with which Jim approached the
situation.  He had had no inkling how inventive his captain could be
as a lover, how focused on the pleasure of his bedmate, and himself.

Finally he replied, "Nonetheless, Starfleet will be a consideration.
The reactions of the crew, of Starfleet Command. . . ."
Absentmindedly he ran his right hand along the smooth wood beneath
him and encountered Jim's foot.  He cupped Jim's heel in one hand,
and felt his fingers divide into the Vulcan greeting along the sides
of the other's  Achilles tendon.  He thought comfortably how much this
was like them--their lives, their jobs, their bodies brought
together and kept apart by their planets of origin.

Slowly Spock stroked his fingers along the hollows of Jim's ankle.
He circled his fingers around, from ankle bone to ankle bone, watched
the other one smile.  "Talk later?" whispered Jim, reclining more
fully against the tub.

The other gave no answer but continued his delicate massage.  He ran
a finger down the other's instep, then traced the high arch with a
fingertip, the back of his hand, the underside of his wrist, again
cupping the other's heel.  Jim  began to make soft noises, and he
closed his eyes.

The Vulcan decided he wanted to see those eyes open again.  Easily he
lifted the other's foot to his mouth and sucked gently on each toe in
turn, kissing the end of each as he  finished.  By now Jim was
groaning in earnest, and the waves in the tub were getting
dangerously high.  Spock released Jim's foot and rose on his knees in
the middle of the tub.  He pulled Jim up against him, and they
wrapped wet arms around each other, holding on for dear life. Spock
laid a kiss on Jim's mouth.  With no warning he bit Jim's tongue,
and when the green eyes snapped open he said, "The customary greeting
at the start of pon farr."  Jim produced a lopsided  smile, nursing
his tongue.  "No wonder you all dread it," he replied.

"We do not dread it:  we respect it, and we acknowledge its power
over us by admitting pain, by sharing it with each other."

Jim began to look a little apprehensive; he'd heard stories about
broken bones on Klingon wedding nights and he devoutly hoped Vulcan
had no such jolly festivities.  Spock's technique had seemed safe
enough so far.

Spock ran his wet hands up and down his commanding officer's back and
whispered in his ear, "Drying off again would be the logical thing to
do."

Kirk nodded his head jaggedly and they hopped out of the steaming
water as quickly as they had entered.  With rough incomplete motions
they dried off.  Dried each other off.  Let the towels drop.  Looked
at each other.

Jim took Spock's elbow and again steered him toward the bed through
the darkened room.  Again he stopped to tend the fire, but this time
the firelight showed both of them that  he was not anxious about
coming events:  his erection glowed a reddish orange in the
firelight, and Spock turned him sideways the better to admire the
unusual color, so strangely un-green.

He sank to his knees in front of the human and took his captain into
his mouth.  -Curiously smooth,- he reflected. - How do they manage.
Difficult to understand.-  Steadily he moved his head forward and
back, reveling in the cooler skin, the smoothness, the color he could
see in his mind's eye.  This was Jim, Jim who was allowing him to do
this, to make this shared link at last, to join them in this age-old
way.  Finally he sat back on his heels, hands on Jim's hips, turning
him gently to and fro, studying, memorizing, taking the delightful
images into his heart.

The captain ran his fingers through the delicious dark hair, so
seldom in disarray, and now in damp tendrils from the  bath.  He
cupped hands around the elegant curves of his lover's ears, traced
the soft skin behind.  Too soon the cool air of the room chilled them
and they moved toward the bed, in one fluid motion, of one mind.

Jim lit the small lamp near the bed's head and then helped Spock
recline comfortably.  He took infinite care in arranging a pillow
beneath the other's head, in smoothing the sheet beneath him, in
positioning them both so that the firelight gave the best glow across
their bodies, now trembling with anticipation.  Jim found the bottle
and oiled  himself, thoroughly and languorously, putting on a show for
Spock as Spock had done for him.  Kirk then caressed and prepared the
watcher in the same way.  He winked a green eye at the Vulcan and
said, "You never know how this might end up."

Jim smiled at Spock and said, "Roll over."  Spock complied, and Jim
helped him make a support under his stomach with the remaining
pillows.  Jim ran his hands up and down the  other's backside and
breathed deeply.  He set himself to calm his mind, tried to convey
the same calm in his gestures and caresses.  With his knees he nudged
Spock, and stared downward as he framed himself between Spock's legs.
Something in him broke at the view, at the prospect of being so close
to the one he could finally admit he loved.  Many women had shared
this moment with him--he had always held this moment of conquest
close to himself like a prize, a trophy to be kept in his heart.  And
now, here was a Vulcan, his Vulcan, offering himself as best he
could, working in the only ways he could find to conquer his demons
and join himself to the human he wanted.

Jim felt moved to the core, and he hoped Spock was able to feel the
same.  Not too clear what Spock was feeling at the moment, in more
ways than one.  Best to go ahead and try to find out.  He leaned out
of the bed and grabbed the silk sash from Spock's robe.  He wound it
rapidly around one hand and began to caress Spock with it in a
relaxed way.  Up one arm and across his shoulders, down the other,
letting the soft silken fabric caress and warm his skin as it
traveled.  Then he unwrapped it and stretched it across the broad
width of Spock's back--he let it float back and forth lightly, as if
he were drying off the glowing Vulcan skin.

A thought hit him.  He leaned forward and whispered, "Do you trust
me?"  Spock murmured assent.

James Kirk said, "Spock, I'd like to bind your wrists with the sash
from your kimono.  That ok with you?"  Spock nodded, a little
puzzled.  "If you want me to stop at any time, you say 'Jim, quit,'
ok?"

Spock again nodded his head, wondering a bit at his captain's
interest in experimentation. -Perhaps an aspect of being a starship
captain, wanting 'to boldly go,'- he reflected silently.

Deliberately, teasingly, Kirk wound the silk around the other's
strong wrists and tied a half-hitch.  Then he moved forward, easing
himself against Spock's backside.  One hand  placed on each hip,
nearly closed eyes studying the color  contrast between the reddish
hands and green skin.  Pressure, tension, effort, thrusting, then--he
was through.  Into an unimaginable garden of warmth, welcoming heat,
bliss  pure and simple.  A soft moan from his lover.  He rocked  back
and forth, in and out, moving his hands along the other's hips to
help him share the stroke, the pressure, the  joy.  A minute or two
more before it was too much.  He thrust forward, pulled back, moving
easily, finding it not too different from a more familiar motion.

His knees slipped a little underneath him, and he edged sideways to
gain purchase.  Spock rocked his pelvis hard at the unexpected
sensation, and Jim, taking the hint, rotated himself to match Spock's
motions.  A primal moan erupted  from the Vulcan and the muscles
bunched and tensed over his whole body.  The silk around his wrists
snapped as if it were paper, and both men jumped in surprise.  Jim
stopped thrusting, held the shredded fabric where Spock could see
it, and laughed.  "So much for that plan," he said, a little awed at
the strength his lover had been keeping in check.  "Captain's
personal log, Stardate, unknown.  Note for future:  when restraining
Commander Spock, make sure to use cold-rolled steel."

Suddenly the smile left Kirk's face and he said, "I want to  watch
you, I want to see your face.  Turn over?"

Spock complied, touched by the request.  Again he opened himself to
the human, again he felt that most intimate of caresses.  Amazing.
As personal, as invasive as a mind meld, yet different.  Oh so
different.

He felt Jim pressing against him.  And pressing.  Pushing.  Bearing
down as if his soul depended upon it, driving against him with every
fiber of his being.  He heard  himself, heard Jim breathing harder and
harder, he felt the human's heart begin at last to reach a rate like
his own.

Spock felt them sliding off the bed with the power of Kirk's thrusts,
felt the smooth, worn tatami beneath him, an unexpected support from
the natural world.  Cool to the touch yet warm, encouraging,
inviting.  An oxymoron in a room full of oxymorons.

Jim with wide eyes gazed at his Spock, his first officer, his one and
only.  He could feel the final plunge rising in him, guessed it was
rising in Spock also from his groans.  He sought and pressed Spock's
hands, hard, and began to tip  his head back as the rising tide took
him.  His last sight was a green wave washing over Spock, a flush
coloring him darker than usual.  Just as Spock felt he could stand it
no more, must be burnt up or die, he felt Jim's mind alive within
his:  *Spock--I'm yours--*  With that most intimate and stimulating
touch he followed Jim over the edge,  thinking -T'hy'la. . .-  Then he
was clenching hard around Jim, and a gush of Vulcan fire was
quenching them both.

---

A soft whirrrr of wings past the window caused them both to jump, to
struggle awkwardly in the darkness.  While they had rested the fire
had dwindled to glowing bits and pieces, and the cold had crept over
them lying unprotected on the straw  mats.  Jim clasped Spock's
shoulders and said, "You should  stay warm.  Ambient temperature's
probably 50 degrees below Vulcan norm."  Spock acquiesced and moved
back onto the bed, grabbing a towel as he went.  He watched his
captain stand and stoke the fire, piling the logs up high for the
remainder of the night.  He took the opportunity to mop himself up a
bit, and accommodated Jim the same way when he moved closer.

"Vulcan tidiness, god, I'd forgotten," said the human.  "You people
are built for Zen:  tidy, organized, inward-looking.  Your kind of
thing head to toe."

Spock cracked a half-smile.  "We do train extensively in the  mental
disciplines," he remarked, "and tidiness is a virtue on a planet so
lacking in water."

Jim smiled in return.  "And you've got a logical explanation for
everything.  How I've missed that--missed you, during my stay here.
Did I say welcome?  Welcome."

They lay together in silence for a long time, watching the fire sink,
listening to the sounds of night around them.  At last Spock
commented, "I could feel your mind."

Jim twisted his head to turn a quizzical eye on him.  "Couldn't you
before?  I always thought you could take a stroll through whenever
you felt like it."

"Not precisely.  But I had noticed since my arrival here that you
were--closed off."

"Hmn, I'm surprised.  Maybe a side-effect of all the meditation
Tetsuo's had me doing?  It's pretty internalized stuff."

Spock considered the response and admitted that might be true.  He
didn't say so, but he found it no longer mattered, provided that Jim
would let him in.  Clearly to the human the physical act, the act of
entering, was of primary importance.  Enough time for him later to
learn that a more integrated intimacy--both mental and physical--was
the key  on Vulcan.  Though Jim's imaginative activities were
certainly causing him to consider alternatives . . .

He turned his head toward his lover and asked, "May I join my mind to
yours?"

Jim smiled, responded, "I thought you'd never ask."

Spock said, "As I was leaving, Sarek said to my mother, 'He should
stay here--he ought to be among his own people.'  Amanda's reply was,
`Perhaps he will be.  We are always quick to dismiss his human side'.
It is a point of view worth considering.  In the meantime, I would
like to show you--help you see--the way Vulcans join.  If I were in .
. .  pon farr . . . the bond would be stronger.  I regret that we
missed that opportunity."

Jim simply said, "Whatever you want.  I'm yours."

As if he had been doing it all his life, Spock laid his fingers
comfortably against James Kirk's head.  The Vulcan  mind called to the
human one, began to move toward it, began to sweep them together into
one molten glow.

The soft hooting of an owl caused Spock to look up, startled, from
bearing down on Jim's mind.  Outside, a snowy owl sat high in a pine
tree, looking downward and flapping its wings.  Jim turned and could
just make out, at the base of the tree, a shaggy wolf standing
quietly.  The wolf turned his head, apparently drawn by the dim glow
of the oil lamp next to the two men, and sat down on his haunches,
yawning.  Comfortably he flopped down onto his paws, apparently
prepared to sleep right where he was.  He tucked his fluffy tail
against his flank for warmth, and wriggled into the bank of
pine-needles that had grown up at the tree's foot.  His grey-streaked
fur made him somewhat hard to see in the dark undergrowth, unless one
knew what to look for.

Quietly Jim spoke in Spock's ear.  "Look, lover.  Look at the animals.
See, the natural world does approve of us.  I told you it did."
Spock twisted his head and followed Kirk's glance outside, toward the
tree.  He turned back to the  human, hovering in him and over him and
through him, wanting to give him nothing but love, affection,
physical pleasure.  He felt a barrier between their minds yield, and
he felt Jim Kirk's mind accept the full world they could make
together.

Jim gasped at the alteration in his perceptions as the other's mind
sank inward, and he raised his hands toward Spock's head and matched
the pressure points.  He gazed at Spock, at the man he'd loved for
years, without knowing it.  "You, I want you," he murmured.  "Always
will."

Never one for words, Spock nodded assent, began to build Jim  a
platform in his mind on which he could rest.  The two worked
together, each trying to bring to the other even a small part of the
pleasure he was feeling.  Sensations grew, and turned inward, and inward,
and Jim found Spock had built  him a pyre, a bonfire of passion and
illumination.  Every part of him seemed receptive and alive, and
their earlier joinings felt as nothing compared to the erotic power
and depth and sensual gratification that Spock was providing.

The two joined their minds and bodies in a climax of perception and
sensation, a torrential waterfall of desire sweeping them away.

Hearing their mingled cries, the wolf outside howled gently, and the
owl rose gracefully from its perch, taking a last joyful flight
before resting in its chosen tree for the day.  Dawn came, light
flooding through the soft mist that lay in patches.  The two men,
satisfied, beloved, fulfilled, at last slept in each other's arms,
while the wolf sank its chin on its neat white paws.  It blinked its
amber eyes once, twice, and settled in as if to keep watch, to keep
safe two who had found each other across a galaxy of stars, of pain,
of experience.

Morning had broken.

---

The End