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Chapter Text

“Dammit, Spock,” McCoy muttered, carefully feeling his chest over his uniform. Spock made a barely visible wince when he reached a sore spot. “It’s dislocated.”

The Vulcan was far greener than normal, breathing shallow, clearly in pain.

“Come on, sit up. You’ll need to breathe in deep until it pops back into place.” He carefully helped Spock into a sitting position, kneeling behind him, putting one hand on his back and the other on his ribs.

Spock’s head flopped back onto McCoy’s shoulder. He must’ve been worse off than the doctor had thought. He’d never allow a lapse in control like that otherwise.

“Take a deep breath, deep as you can.” Spock took a shaky inhale, breath hitching as it became too painful. “Come on, you can do this. It’ll feel much better in a minute, just trust me.”

Spock groaned, eyes fluttering as unconsciousness threatened to pull him under. McCoy lightly pressed on his injury, pulling him back with the pain.

“Spock, try again, deep as you can,” McCoy urged. “On my count, ready? One… two… three!”

Spock sucked in a deep breath and a loud pop sounded, making him gasp for air as it suddenly became easier.

“Better now, right?”

“Much. Much better,” Spock nodded, still panting. “Thank you.”

“Told ya.”

McCoy sighed heavily and sat down next to him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting. It wasn’t long before they heard footsteps running on gravel, quickly getting closer.

“Bones!” Jim came came into view from behind a large rock and made his way toward them, holstering his phaser and crouching beside them on the ground. He gave Spock a quick once over. “You okay?”

“Yes, Captain, I am improved. Was the EMP successfully detonated?”

“Yeah. We can finally leave.” Jim flipped his comm open. “Kirk to Enterprise.”

“Keptin!” Chekov’s excited voice filled the air. ”Are you alright?”

“Chekov, yeah, we’re good. Three to beam up.”

Nearby, loud guttural yelling caused all three of them to look up in unison.

“Shit, Jim, sounds like we gotta go,” McCoy said.

“Yeah. Now, Chekov!”

“Aye, Keptin, working on it!”

Spock drew his phaser right as Chekov finally got a lock on them.

* * *

“That was a close one. Your internal injuries could’ve been way worse.” McCoy set his PADD down and glanced at Spock. “I’m gonna recommend you stay overnight in Medbay for observation.”

“I assure you, I am well enough to carry out my duties,” Spock said, moving to get up.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really suggesting it. Sit your ass back down.”

Spock paused, some internal struggle playing itself out, then slowly laid back on the biobed.

“Good Vulcan. Try to get some rest and I’ll check on you in a bit.”

Spock nodded. Was that a tinge of green on the tips of his ears?

McCoy retreated to his office to catch up on reports. He replicated coffee, sat down behind his desk, pulled up his PADD and—

Promptly dropped his head in his hands, pain splitting his skull. He gasped, spots filling his vision. Seconds or hours passed and then he was on the floor, curled into a fetal position, unable to make a sound.

When it was finally over and awareness returned to him, he was still on the floor, in a cold sweat and shaking. He allowed himself a few minutes to regain enough strength, then managed to prop himself up to hit the button on his desk.

“Chapel,” he grunted. “Get in here.”

“On my way, Doctor.”

He heard the door swish open a few moments later and a startled noise.

“Doctor! What happened?” Chapel rushed over to him.

“Dunno. Feel like shit, though.”

She called for more help and turned back to him, concern written on her face. “Spock collapsed, too. I was just about to come get you.”

McCoy’s fuzzy brain processed that for a moment. “What do you mean, he collapsed?”

“He tried to get up and then he grabbed his head and fell over.”

“That bastard,” he grumbled. “Was he trying to leave?”

“Possibly. I couldn’t ask. Here, let’s get you up.”

Two more nurses and another doctor filed into the room, helped him to stand, then leave the office for the nearest biobed, which happened to be next to Spock’s. Spock was clearly unconscious, other nurses doing various tasks around him while M’Benga looked him over.

Thankfully, McCoy’s head was beginning to feel clear enough that the room didn’t appear to be spinning, but he felt exhausted. He let out a sigh of relief as he was laid down on the biobed, his body feeling like he’d just run a marathon.

He turned his head to face M’Benga. “How is he?”

“I don’t know what happened, but he seems stable right now… except for his brain waves,” M’Benga mused, checking a monitor.

“What about them?” He questioned, worry building. Beside him, Chapel administered a hypo in his arm, sweeping all of McCoy’s residual pain away.

“His psi readings were off the charts a few seconds ago, but it looks like they’re leveling out all of a sudden.”

“Doctor, you need to rest. We’ll take care of him. I’ll update you if anything changes,” Chapel promised, another hypo in hand.

McCoy hesitated, then nodded. Spock was in good hands and there wasn’t much he could do to help in his current state, anyway. Chapel gently pressed the hypo into his neck and sleep soon overtook him.

* * *

When he awoke, he was still in Medbay. The artificial lights were turned low to simulate night and the beeping of the monitors had been silenced, only meant to sound during an emergency.

Spock was sitting up in the bed next to him, still as a statue, staring intently at McCoy.

“Feel any better?” McCoy asked quietly as he mirrored the Vulcan in sitting upright, finding himself strangely undisturbed by Spock’s intense gaze.

Spock blinked slowly. “I am adequate, Doctor. And yourself?”

“Been better. Your head’s fine?”

Spock didn’t answer at first and didn’t look away, but McCoy suddenly felt an odd probing in the back of his mind. It wasn’t painful, but something about it felt familiar. On instinct, he grabbed his head, as if it would make the sensation stop.

“What the hell is that? Are you doing that?” McCoy asked incredulously.

“Yes, Doctor. I believe I have just confirmed my theory,” Spock said, tilting his head as he looked at McCoy. The probing in his mind cut off.

“What theory?”

“It seems we may have… unintentionally formed a bond.”

McCoy’s jaw dropped open briefly. He knew just enough about Vulcan voo-doo to recognize the term.

“How?” He demanded.

Spock looked down at his hands.

“Spock. What the fuck? Just answer the damn question.”

“It likely occurred during a period of extended physical contact between us,” he replied robotically.

“But don’t you have to do a mind meld or some shit for a bond to happen?”

“The nature of our bond is only preliminary.”

“Well, then why the fuck did we both collapse?”

“Because the bond desires to be completed.” Spock actually had the good sense to look a little sheepish. “It seemed to be objecting to the distance between us.”

McCoy leveled him with a glare that could send just about any ensign running in terror. “So you’re trying to tell me that because I left the room for two seconds, our brains went haywire?”

“Essentially, yes.” Shockingly, Spock didn’t correct him on the fact that it wasn’t two seconds, but actually five point some-obscure-number.

“And the only reason we even have a bond is because of an ‘extended period of physical contact’?” McCoy used air quotes as he repeated Spock’s words. “The hell does that mean?”

The Vulcan was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “I believe it occurred somewhat recently.”

McCoy gave him a little more time to continue, but he didn’t.

“And? What happened?” He prompted.

Spock closed his eyes for a beat, then opened them and met the doctor’s gaze again, his expression almost painfully impassive. “If you will allow me, I am not yet ready to discuss it.”

McCoy pursed his lips, irritated. “Fine. But you do realize this is going to make it damn near impossible to do our jobs, right? You can’t constantly be in Medbay and I can’t just follow you around everywhere.”

Spock gave him a vaguely affronted look. “It was hardly intentional, Doctor. I would not have chosen to do things this way.”

“Intentional or not, sounds like we’re fucked.”

“Not necessarily. There are mind healers on New Vulcan who could aid us in removing the bond.”

“Great. So all we have to do is explain our fucked up situation to Jim, get him to turn the ship around so we can go the complete opposite direction to New Vulcan, and then get rid of your weird bond thing.”

McCoy could’ve sworn he heard Spock sigh. “Yes.”

“And just what the hell are we going to do in the meantime?”

* * *

As expected, Jim made fun of them mercilessly, but they had no pressing missions and he easily agreed to direct the ship to New Vulcan. Word spread fast among the crew and though no one knew the whole story (not even McCoy), they latched onto it, too. Anytime Spock and McCoy walked through the halls together, or ate in the mess together, or literally did anything together, people noticed and whispered and snickered. Some made catcalls or dumb jokes. McCoy glared at every single one of them and began upping their physicals. They gave him a wider berth after that.

Spock, with Jim’s permission, made a schedule for them. For the first few hours of their shift, McCoy was on the bridge with Spock, catching up on reports and messages and anything else he’d been putting off. The next few hours, Spock would be catching up on his own reports in Medbay with McCoy. For the last few hours, they’d both be in one of the labs, Spock working on whatever weird experiment he had going and McCoy studying a new virus or simulating a vaccine or doing research. He only hoped they didn’t have any emergencies where it’d be necessary for them to separate before they’d gotten rid of the bond.

The most trouble came with sleeping arrangements. McCoy downright refused to sleep on Spock’s couch, but he hardly felt it was right to make the Vulcan sleep on his own couch.

Spock insisted he was fine with sleeping on the couch. McCoy insisted he was being a moron. Jim insisted they just move in together already, then cackled for a full minute. McCoy upped his physicals, too.

“Spock, there’s plenty of empty quarters with more than one bed on the Enterprise. Jim won’t care. Just ask if we can use one temporarily.”

Spock tilted his head thoughtfully. “Very well. It is logical.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Damn right, it’s logical.”

* * *

The thing that struck McCoy the most was how easy it was to fall into a routine with Spock. He was a very considerate roommate, tidy and quiet. He didn’t comment on McCoy’s illogical use of space with his clothes dumped on the floor or PADDs left in random places or constantly unmade bed. He always let McCoy shower first, even when McCoy suggested they take turns. Apparently, the bond didn’t have a problem with one of them being in the bathroom as long as the other one was still close by in the next room.

But Spock still refused to tell McCoy how the hell their bond had even formed in the first place. Anytime he brought it up, Spock’s ears turned faintly green and he’d awkwardly change the topic or just stop talking entirely. McCoy only got more frustrated.

“Spock, if I don’t know how we even got the bond, who’s to say I might not accidentally do whatever it was I did again to cause it?” Maybe some logic thrown his way might help.

“The chances of the incident occurring again are extremely minimal,” Spock dodged.

They were having lunch in their quarters that day due to the fact that McCoy was getting tired of them being stared and giggled at in the mess hall.

“What, did I stand too close to you? Touch your hand once? Make out with you and just completely forgot?” McCoy could admit that last guess was a little out there, but it was worth it to watch Spock’s cheeks rapidly flushing green.

“No.”

McCoy took another bite of his salad and chewed thoughtfully. “Well, it must’ve been something serious cause it’s not like Vulcans just go around accidentally forming bonds with people all the time, right?”

“…They do not.”

“So how does it work, exactly? Can you hear my thoughts and feelings all the time, or what?”

Spock’s posture relaxed slightly at the change in questioning. “I am shielding for both of us to ensure the privacy of our own minds.”

McCoy frowned. “Doesn’t that make you tired?”

“I have noticed a slight decrease in my productivity and efficiency, but I believe I can maintain shielding until we reach New Vulcan.” Spock took a sip of his tea.

“Then teach me to shield, too. It doesn’t make sense for you to be the only one carrying the load.”

McCoy didn’t miss Spock’s fingers tightening briefly around his cup. “That will not be necessary.”

He felt his frown deepen. “Why not?”

“To do so would require me to initiate a meld with you, which, under the circumstances, is… unwise.”

“Just say it, Spock. What’s the big deal?”

Spock raised an eyebrow almost sarcastically. “As I have told you, the bond desires to be completed. If I were to enter your mind, I am uncertain I would be able to restrain it.”

McCoy snorted and shoveled more salad into his mouth. “So you just wouldn’t be able to resist me, huh?”

He would’ve been willing to bet almost anything Spock desperately wished he could just get up and leave. Instead, his face somehow got even more blank as he finished his tea.

* * *

McCoy was absolutely going to kill whichever moron had decided it was a great idea to fuck with his virus sample without the proper protective gear. Nearly half the damn ship had to be quarantined because of it. Symptoms included excessive coughing, sneezing, and vivid hallucinations. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve assumed the infected crew all had terrible allergies and taken high doses of LSD.

While the effect it had on humans was well documented, there was no research on what it would do to a Vulcan, much less what it would do to a half-Vulcan. Everyone agreed it was better for the two of them to stay in their quarters until the medical team had deemed it safe. So of course McCoy couldn’t even do his own damn job.

Jim visibly held back a laugh when McCoy informed him, then encouraged that the two of them “have a nice honeymoon,” to which McCoy responded by flipping him off and leaving, dragging Spock with him in a huff.

Being confined to quarters with a person he’d never spent so much time with before was simultaneously very interesting and mind numbingly dull. Within an hour, McCoy had nothing to do. Spock was sitting on the couch, glued to his PADD, absentmindedly reaching for his tea every once in a while. It was almost cute how focused he was, how he nearly missed the cup when he reached for it the third time, how his posture was just a little relaxed, a little less than perfect.

Fuck.

McCoy shook his head and made for the replicator, not even hungry or thirsty.

* * *

Bored, McCoy had fallen asleep lounging on his bed, PADD abandoned next to him. When he woke a few hours later, the chronometer read 15:56. He yawned and stretched, then stood up slowly, a headache forming behind his eyes. He adjusted the lights to 40% and looked for Spock, finding him dozing on the couch.

It was a little strange and fairly uncharacteristic seeing the Vulcan with his head laid back on a cushion, mouth hanging slightly open, legs stretched out haphazardly. He was still in uniform, his own PADD having fallen to the floor. McCoy picked it up and placed it on the coffee table. The back of his mind tingled uncomfortably as McCoy looked at him and all at once, he got the overwhelming feeling something was very wrong.

It would probably appall Spock were he awake, but McCoy carefully set his palm on his forehead anyway. Vulcans naturally ran a little warmer than humans, but this particular Vulcan was burning up. McCoy cursed and retrieved his tricorder to scan him, but it only told him what he already knew: all of Spock’s readings were completely out of whack.

McCoy’s headache started pounding and he lowered the lights further.

He quickly sent the data and a short message to M’Benga informing him of the development and asking for help, then tried for several minutes to wake Spock and get him to drink some water. Shaking him proved only mildly effective, causing him to moan and his eyes to open briefly, but nothing more than that. McCoy groaned in frustration.

The door chimed.

“Come in,” he called, already expecting M’Benga as he entered with Chapel.

“Why’s it so dark in here?” Was M’Benga’s first question, quickly followed by, “What happened? You both look terrible.”

“Thanks,” McCoy said sarcastically. “I found him passed out 20 minutes ago. I dunno if he’s got the same virus everyone else does, but I doubt it. Symptoms don’t match up, although that could just be ‘cause he’s half-Vulcan.”

“Well, I’d agree it’s not the virus. Looking at the data you sent me, the two things seem completely different.” M’Benga leaned over Spock to shine a light in each eye.

McCoy suddenly felt a visceral flood of emotion that wasn’t his own, so strong his legs just about gave out. Noticing, Chapel reached out to steady him.

“Are you alright, Doctor? Maybe you should sit down,” she said worriedly, leading him to sit next to Spock on the couch.

“No, I’m definitely not alright,” McCoy rasped out, the headache feeling ten times worse. M’Benga scanned him with a tricorder and that was the last thing he saw before his vision went dark.

Chapter Text

As a general rule, Spock did not consider himself particularly emotional or all that interested in physical touch, even by Vulcan standards. This had not always been the case in his youth, but as he matured, his self-regulation and control vastly improved.

Doctor McCoy was an entirely different creature. His emotions were so strong, they often bled through Spock’s mental shields as if they weren’t even there. He had no compunction about touching, which seemed to benefit him greatly in his duties, easily finding the source of pain in others and offering them comfort.

Spock tried to see the humanity of him as distasteful. He failed.

He could not deny the pull he felt towards the man, although he spent many months attempting to resolve it through meditation. An illogical approach, Spock came to realize. There was no removing the emotion the doctor brought up in him using conventional means of Vulcans.

Spock began using meditation to instead explore what other options he possessed. The thought of confessing his feelings caused him unexpectedly high levels of anxiety. He reasoned this was due to the possibility of rejection and subsequent likelihood of difficulty continuing to work with one another after such an event. He filed it away as a last resort.

The most appealing option was to simply ignore it and allow the feelings to remain hidden. This proved to be a disastrous method.

* * *

As the weeks went by, Spock found himself becoming more protective of the doctor and seeking his safety, even going so far as to strongly object to McCoy’s presence on away missions. Jim and approximately 96% of the ship’s occupants (Spock estimated) assumed this was because Spock desired to spend as little time with McCoy as possible, when in fact, the truth was precisely the opposite.

Unfortunately, Spock could not prevent McCoy’s presence on every away mission.

“Where’s the fire?” The doctor jogged to catch up to Spock in the hallway and fell into step beside him.

“Pardon?”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I mean, what’s your hurry?”

“Ah, I see. I am on my way to meet the Captain, but was detained by a small issue in one of the science labs.”

“Great, I’ll join you. I need to bother him about picking up some supplies at the next star base.”

Spock sighed internally. The last person he wanted to be present for his appointment with Jim was McCoy. “I am certain he would be amenable to responding to your request via message.”

“The only time I ever message Jim about anything is when I’m drunk.”

“Perhaps you should adjust this policy to include important ship business.”

“Perhaps you should mind your own business.”

They reached the turbo lift and stepped inside together.

“Bridge,” Spock ordered and the hum of the machinery filled the small space. “You are the one who chose to share that information, Doctor. I did not ask.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They fell into silence for the remaining 26.3 seconds. The turbo lift doors opened and Jim swiveled in the Captain’s chair to face them.

“Spock! You ready?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I’d like to come, too, if that’s alright,” McCoy said.

Jim shrugged. “Sure, Bones. If that’s fine with you, Spock.”

With only the smallest possible hesitation before they would notice something was amiss, he conceded, “It is acceptable.”

Jim stood and the three of them moved to his ready room, where the Captain proceeded to perch on the edge of the desk and look between the two of them with curiosity.

“So, who’s first?”

“You go first,” McCoy said. “I’m the one who ambushed your meeting.”

Spock felt a brief stab of trepidation and carefully set it aside. “Very well. I wished to discuss our upcoming away mission.”

Jim crossed his arms and nodded. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Specifically, those who will be joining us.”

Jim ducked his head for a moment and laughed. “Spock, I already told you. I know you think it’s illogical for the both of us to go on every away mission, but—”

“I was referring to Doctor McCoy.”

Dead silence met him. Jim blinked in surprise, but he wasn’t the one who answered next.

“What?”

Spock braced himself and turned to face McCoy. “I was not intending for you to be included in this discussion, but it is illogical to conceal the truth from you. Put bluntly, I believe it is too dangerous for you to accompany the away team on this particular mission.”

McCoy gaped at him for exactly two seconds, then barked a single syllable laugh. “On an intel gathering mission? You must be shitting me.” He clapped Spock on the shoulder and the Vulcan fought hard to keep the blush from his ears as he felt McCoy’s amusement through the touch.

“I do not wish to prevent you from carrying out your duties. However, I feel strongly that we should reassess the parameters of the mission and those who—”

“It’s sweet you’re looking out for Bones, Spock,” Jim interrupted with a grin and Spock got the distinct feeling that bringing such concerns to the Captain was a mistake.

“Oh, he’s not looking out for me. He just needs a break from gazing at my natural beauty,” McCoy said seriously, but Spock recognized it as sarcasm.

“If, in fact, there was such natural beauty to gaze upon, I would feel no desire to distance myself from it,” Spock replied in turn, attempting to match his humor. It had the desired effect, as Jim snickered while McCoy looked affronted.

“Oh, yeah? Well, what about those pointy ears of yours, huh? You call them natural beauty?”

“Okay, okay,” Jim interjected. “Look, Spock, I appreciate your concern for Bones, but we’ve all done our research, we’re going in prepared, and we’ll have plenty of security with us. Plus, I feel confident Bones can look after himself.”

Spock nodded, though he could not bring himself to fully agree that it would be enough, an illogical sentiment. “Yes, Captain.”

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“No, Captain. I will return to my station.”

“Alright. Bones?”

He took his leave as the two of them continued their discussion, unable to shake his doubt.

* * *

Spock ran through the forest at the highest possible speed, the trees a blur around him. His feet pounded the dirt beneath in a steady rhythm as he dodged the large roots, branches whipping past. Every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to go faster, but he was already pushing the limits of his body as far as he could without expending all of his remaining energy.

They had been separated in the beam down, likely the result of an energy field interfering with the transporter signal. Or so Spock assumed. He’d had little time to ponder it.

He schooled his fear and anger into submission, the safety of his crew mates dominating his thoughts. With his mental shields partly down, he was able to sense the presence of multiple beings nearby, one he recognized as McCoy’s mind. He pumped his legs quicker and finally broke through the tree line.

Before him lay a vast space filled with huge stone ruins, some ten feet tall even while toppled over. Jim, McCoy, Chekov, and two security officers were taking shelter behind one such fallen stone. They were exchanging intermittent phaser fire with a group of aliens Spock could not see clearly from such a distance. The remainder of their landing party appeared to be unaccounted for.

“Spock!” Jim called, spotting him.

Spock quickly closed the distance and crouched beside him, eyes immediately drawn to McCoy, who was in the midst of treating someone’s wounds.

McCoy glanced up, meeting his gaze. “What happened to you? You look terrible.”

“I was separated from the rest of the away team. Are you unharmed?”

“I’m fine,” McCoy grunted and returned to his attention to the injured security officer.

“Spock, did you see anyone else on your way?” Jim asked, concern clear in his expression.

“No,” he replied. “I have not felt any other mental presence aside from our own as of yet.”

“Fuck. This was just supposed to be an intel mission!”

“Unfortunately, it seems—”

Spock was cut off by more phaser fire impacting the side of the stone. Chekov and the other security officer, Rodriguez, returned several of their own, but Spock gathered they were not successful.

“Keptin, we don’t hev a clear shot from zis distance!”

“We need to move,” Jim said decisively. “Can he walk?” He nodded to the security officer lying down, a large red spot on his left leg that McCoy had finished wrapping.

“Thankfully, the wound’s just surface level. We should be able to help him walk, but we gotta get back to the ship as soon as possible,” McCoy answered.

Spock felt an unexpected burst of pride watching the doctor’s competence at work. As with everything else he felt for the man, he set it aside and refortified his mental shields.

“Okay. Let’s head back to the trees. Chekov, help Bones carry him. The rest of us will lay down cover fire from behind.”

A chorus of “yes, sirs” followed. Chekov moved to help McCoy and Spock drew his phaser.

* * *

They returned to the forest with no further injuries incurred. Once at a safe distance, Jim commed the Enterprise.

“Captain!” Mr. Scott’s voice filled the air.

“Scotty! Can you get our signal?”

“Aye, sir. I’ve got the five of yours and the other three officers like, two miles away. How did that happen?”

Jim glanced at Spock. “We don’t know yet, but we’re going to find out. Can you beam them up with us?”

“Aye, I think I can.”

“Great. Do it. Kirk out.”

Kirk replaced his comm. McCoy and Chekov were still supporting the security officer, who was beginning to sag between them, while Spock and Rodriguez stood nearby. They waited.

Kirk crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, a clear sign of anxiety.

“What the hell are they doing up there?” McCoy muttered, eyes flicking skyward.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should contact him again.”

Just as Kirk was about to retrieve his communicator once more, the familiar sound of the transporter beam began. They all breathed a sigh of relief and Spock allowed himself the feeling as well.

It didn’t last long. Within seconds, they’d beamed up to the ship.

Everyone, that is, but Spock and Doctor McCoy, who was now exchanging an incredulous look with him.

“What the hell?” McCoy exclaimed, hazel eyes wide. Spock shared the general sentiment, though he chose not to say so.

Instead, he pulled out his own communicator, flipped it open with practiced ease, and tried every frequency. None were successful. He heard the whir of a tricorder and a sound of frustration from McCoy.

“Tricorders aren’t working either. Whatever’s blocking the signal for our comms is doing the same for these,” McCoy said.

Immediately, Spock began planning for their survival. Perhaps a different location would facilitate a better chance of connecting with the Enterprise, and as night was due to fall in approximately 3.6 hours (and with it, the activity of highly dangerous nocturnal wildlife), moving seemed the most logical choice.

“I believe we should get to higher ground.”

“Doesn’t seem like we have any better options.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

It was exactly 42 minutes and 37 seconds into their trek up the nearest tree-covered incline that McCoy cried out, clutched his head, and fell to his knees.

At that moment, Spock felt a strong mental presence assaulting his shields, sharp, motivated, and clearly experienced. As the most logical conclusion seemed to be that this was the same problem plaguing the doctor, he sank to meet McCoy on the ground, and without hesitation or further consideration, placed his fingers on McCoy’s psi points.

He did not initiate a full meld, as it was a breach of privacy and McCoy was unable to consent at that time. Spock’s heart constricted painfully as the doctor’s mental agony poured into him, doing his best to absorb it while protecting McCoy’s mind.

With all his attention and strength focused on his task, he was unable to physically remove them from the range of whatever mental disturbance affected them. Spock could only continue shielding McCoy to the best of his ability, estimating his own shields would give out within another five minutes at the current level of attack.

Likely having come to this conclusion itself, the mental presence completely abandoned its efforts against McCoy to throw its full force against Spock as he shielded both of them. He held for one minute, two minutes, then three, straining against the pressure of the sophisticated attack, until it found the tiniest crack as his thoughts briefly drifted to his concern for McCoy.

The battle was lost instantly. It tore through the both of them with savage and reckless abandon, and while it was certainly painful for Spock, he could not imagine the effect it had on the doctor, who was unused to dealing with psionic energy, particularly psi positive beings with hostile intent.

McCoy whimpered and collapsed fully to the ground, too weak to even hold himself up. Spock was paralyzed where he kneeled, the pain like shards of glass ripping through his body and mind.

All at once, it ceased. Spock was forced to take several, long moments to regain the use of his limbs, all the while, staring at the unconscious doctor, lying on his back, breathing barely visible, or perhaps, not breathing at all.

When the mental barrier lifted, Spock practically threw himself at McCoy, running his hands all over the man’s neck, chest, and wrists, trying to feel for signs of life. Fear turned into panic as he checked each pulse point in turn and found no evidence of a heartbeat. Spock attempted for several minutes after that to revive him using the somewhat outdated method of CPR.

He was unsuccessful.

Spock sat back on his heels, breathing hard. The man before him was still.

He had failed McCoy. It had been his duty to protect and care for the doctor and instead, he had failed. The word ran circles in his mind. Failed.

A drop of clear liquid fell onto McCoy’s cheek. Spock realized with a detached kind of surprise that he was weeping. He had not wept since he was a very young child.

No longer caring about the potential illogicality of his actions, Spock’s grief surged through him, overwhelming and all-consuming, and he buried his face in McCoy’s chest, sobbing freely, hands fisting the doctor’s uniform.

He could not even begin to imagine Jim’s reaction, should he ever return to the ship, or the rest of the crew, when they found out their Chief Medical Officer would not be returning with him. He could not picture a life without McCoy in it, his warmth, his care, his courage. He could not see any future at all that was not continuously filled with grief.

Spock did not count the minutes he remained there with the doctor, pouring all of his emotion out over the man’s lifeless body. Eventually, he could no longer cry and assumed it was only because he had become too dehydrated to continue.

He slowly forced himself to sit up again and look around, wiping the drying tears from his eyes and face. It was becoming dusky, the sun dipping below the horizon. The sky was streaked with rosy pinks and vibrant oranges as its light reflected against the sparse clouds. Spock found no beauty in it.

Robotically, he removed his communicator from his pocket and tried once more to contact the ship. A numbness began to spread outward from inside his chest. He wondered distantly if he would even be able to speak, should he reach the Enterprise.

Static came from the comm, broken up intermittently by a sound Spock could not identify. He stared unseeingly at the small device in his hand, uncertain if he even really desired to establish communication again. It was illogical not to face what he inevitably had to, but he could not deny wanting to avoid it.

Spock’s sensitive ears suddenly picked up on a soft inhalation. He dropped the communicator in shock. Something in the back of his mind clicked into place and he felt another presence, familiar, but dim.

“Doctor?” He said faintly. The man’s chest began to rise and fall, though somewhat arrhythmically.

“Doctor!” Spock quickly moved to McCoy’s side, gently feeling for his pulse once more, which fluttered beneath his fingers. If he still had the ability to do so, he would’ve sobbed again, but in relief.

McCoy coughed. Spock wrapped his arm around the doctor’s shoulders and carefully assisted him to a sitting position, which appeared to help. The coughing gradually turned to mild wheezing.

“What happened?” McCoy rasped.

Spock could not suppress the joy he felt inside at hearing the doctor’s voice, but managed not to show it. “We were attacked by a formidable mental force, but I am not entirely certain as to its origin point. How do you feel?”

McCoy rubbed his temples. “My head feels a little weird, I guess. Other than that, just tired and sore.”

“I attempted to prevent any permanent damage to your mind, but your heart stopped for an indeterminate period of time, likely due to the strain of the mental attack.” Spock noticed he had not yet removed his arm from McCoy’s shoulders and reluctantly did so.

“My what stopped?” McCoy’s eyes widened.

“Indeed,” Spock said softly. “Despite my best efforts, I could not restart it, so I am also uncertain as to how it did.”

“Shit. Well, in that case, I feel great.”

Spock felt a twinge of disbelief and confusion from the same place in the back of his mind, which was quite odd considering he himself felt no disbelief at imparting information he already—

A sudden realization struck him and Spock stiffened beside McCoy. The doctor turned to look at him with some concern.

“What’s wrong, Spock? That thing’s not back, is it?”

Spock slowly shook his head. “It is not.”

McCoy’s eyes narrowed. “Then what the hell—”

The fallen communicator chirped. Both of them looked at it, then each other, simultaneously.

* * *

“What happened down there?” Jim leveled Spock with a look he recognized as one the Captain used just before pulling rank. “You look pretty shaken up, Spock.”

As far as Spock was aware, his own expression was neutral. He resisted the urge to frown at Jim’s comment. “We encountered an unknown and hostile force while alone on the planet. We were unable to ascertain its origin or whereabouts—”

“I’m not talking about that, Spock. I already heard the story from Bones. I want to know what happened with you.” Jim punctuated his point by stabbing a finger at the Vulcan’s chest.

“I do not understand,” he said, when in fact, Spock estimated he could guess with 98.76% accuracy what Jim was referring to.

Jim sighed. “What’s going on between you and Bones? He said you were acting weird.”

“Our working relationship is perfectly functional. We were able to collaborate without issue.”

Jim rubbed his hands down his face and groaned. “Oh my God, Spock. It’s like pulling teeth. Do I need to make it an order?”

Spock hesitated. He would, of course, comply with an order, but did not want to force the Captain to that point. Jim was his friend.

“I found the events that took place… disconcerting, to say the least.”

“Well, do you want to talk about anything? You know I’m always willing to listen.”

“I appreciate the offer, Captain, but I think meditation would be most beneficial at this juncture.”

Jim looked at him searchingly, then slowly nodded. “Alright. Let me know if anything changes.”

* * *

2.3 weeks later, Spock found himself on a biobed, ribs aching and mental control wavering. It had taken a considerable amount of energy to maintain shielding both himself and the doctor for such a length of time and his most recent injury had made matters considerably more difficult.

Spock still did not know what to tell McCoy or why he’d kept it secret for so long, though it consumed his thoughts every waking moment.

The aforementioned doctor strode into Medbay, PADD in hand. Spock felt a now-familiar thrill at the sight of him. “That was a close one. Your internal injuries could’ve been way worse.” He set the device down. “I’m gonna recommend you stay overnight in Medbay for observation.”

“I assure you, I am well enough to carry out my duties.” Spock began to rise, concealing a wince as his sore ribs protested.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really suggesting it. Sit your ass back down.”

An odd mix of frustration and desperation bubbled up inside Spock. His nightly meditation sessions had been the only thing aiding him in continuing to shield. As his control had begun weakening significantly and he had yet to face McCoy with the truth, he longed to retreat to the safety and comfort of his quarters.

But the expression on the doctor’s face was determined, daring him to argue. Spock decided to take the chance, illogical though it was, and slowly laid down.

“Good Vulcan. Try to get some rest and I’ll check on you in a bit.”

Taken aback by the doctor’s phrasing, Spock felt the tips of his ears flush green before he could suppress it. He mentally chastised himself as McCoy gave him a strange look upon noticing, then turned and made his way to his office. The Vulcan allowed his head to fall back against the pillow with a soft sigh.

The moment the door swished shut behind McCoy, a sharp pain emanating from the back of his mind made him gasp. Spock’s breathing and heart rate quickened at an alarming rate, causing the biomonitor to beep loudly. Fear filled him and he knew instantly his control was slipping, likely due to the turmoil of his emotional and physical state. Doctor McCoy was about to feel the same and would need his assistance. He sat up again, swung his legs over the bed, and attempted to stand.

The room spun, but the Vulcan managed to remain upright with the help of the biobed. He took one shaky step, then another and—

Searing pain flashed through his entire mind scape, burning everywhere it touched, laying bare the preliminary bond he had been hiding. His vision failed and he collapsed to the floor.

Chapter Text

McCoy could confirm that waking in his shared quarters on the couch next to a Vulcan pretending to be asleep, but (he knew with absolute certainty), was not, in fact, asleep, likely happened to be one of the top five most irritating events of the past several days. The doctor let it slide, because he was generous like that.

Or maybe he did because there were hushed voices in the room and he got the distinct impression over the bond (which was not shielded anymore, apparently) that Spock was listening to the voices and mentally shushing him. McCoy kept his own breathing as even as possible and his eyes closed, not fully sure yet what the Vulcan was up to. His hearing wasn’t as sensitive as Spock’s, so he had no clue what was being said or who was saying it, but it must’ve been important if he was feigning unconsciousness.

As his mind wandered, McCoy suddenly became aware of emotion. A lot of it. Guilt, regret, shame, grief, anger, worry— affection? But it was quickly swept aside by yet more of them. It was like rain, endless pouring rain, and McCoy began to find it so overwhelming he couldn’t even identify his own emotion in the downpour.

A wordless apology floated into his mind, followed by a lessening of the storm. None of it disappeared, but it was far more muted than it had been. McCoy exhaled quietly in relief.

The voices stopped, footsteps came near, and the whir of a tricorder sounded.

“They’re awake,” M’Benga said.

“Alright, you two, cut the crap.”

McCoy opened his eyes to find Jim standing in front of them, arms crossed, looking stern. M’Benga replaced the tricorder with his now-packed medical supplies and nodded to McCoy, then took the bag and left with Chapel, door swishing closed behind them.

“What crap? I was resting,” McCoy said with as much irritation as he could muster in the aftermath of one of the worst headaches of his life.

“You’ve been ‘resting’,” Jim did air quotes, “for four hours. M’Benga can’t find any physical reason for something being wrong, but he thinks it has to do with Spock’s psi levels going crazy. Same goes for you.”

McCoy’s irritation dissolved and he sat up straighter on the couch. “That’s not possible. My levels should be zero. I’m not psi positive.”

“It is likely a result of the bond,” Spock said beside him. “You remain psi negative, yet your connection with a telepathic being is causing your levels to become erratic, the effects of which will not be mitigated unless the bond is either completed or removed. You would not be having this issue if I had been able to continue shielding. I apologize.”

“Well, what happened exactly? Why can’t you shield now?” McCoy asked, turning to face him. Spock’s eyes were still closed, head still lying on the back of the couch, arms limp at his sides. The doctor could feel weariness from him, but clearly he was recovered enough to speak.

“I have been overexerting myself,” Spock replied simply. “I overestimated my abilities.”

A suspicion began to form in McCoy’s mind, Spock no doubt able to sense it. It was well known even in Starfleet that Spock had considerable skill as a telepath. A few days of shielding the two of them from each other surely wouldn’t have wiped him out like this. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Spock said softly. McCoy exchanged a look with Jim, who seemed just as concerned he hadn’t given the exact number in days, hours, and minutes.

“Spock, what’s going on?” Jim asked.

The Vulcan’s eyes opened, but he stared at the ceiling, avoiding their gazes. When he spoke, his tone was resigned. “I have kept certain information from you, Doctor. I believe it is time you know.”

Dread coiled in McCoy’s stomach. “What do you mean? What kind of information?”

“Information pertaining to the forming of our bond.” Spock’s eyes moved to Jim. “Captain, I do not mean to be rude, but would you allow me a moment with Leonard alone?”

McCoy froze. He’d never heard Spock use his first name before.

Jim looked between Spock and McCoy, then nodded. “Alright.”

He left without making any jokes about what their ‘time alone’ would entail.

* * *

McCoy sat forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his forehead. “So you’re telling me that back on M83, when you were saving my life from that psi attack… that’s when you formed the bond with me? And you’ve known about it for weeks and you didn’t think to tell me?” He lifted his head, staring at Spock in a daze. Spock looked utterly broken.

“I am sorry. I did not know how to tell you.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“If you are referring to the bond itself, it was, as I have said before, unintentional. However…” Spock swallowed nervously. “I cannot deny the emotion involved with its formation.”

His brain took a few seconds to process that. “So you accidentally Vulcan married me ‘cause… feelings,” McCoy said flatly.

“As the bond remains only preliminary, I am not certain ‘married’ is entirely the correct—“

“And what kinda feelings are we talking about here, Spock?”

Spock’s posture became even more stiff, if it was possible. “Ones of a…” When he glanced away, McCoy sensed distinct shame from him. “Romantic nature,” he finished quietly.

McCoy looked at him incredulously, feeling a rush of surprise and disbelief, as well as burgeoning amusement. “You’re saying you’ve got a crush on me?”

“In human terms… yes.”

Spock looked so scandalized by what he’d just said that McCoy had to quickly slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh suddenly threatening to escape.

Confusion and mild irritation came across the bond. “Doctor, I hardly think mocking one for one’s emotions is an appropriate response.”

“So I was right,” McCoy ignored him. “If you melded with me, you wouldn’t be able to resist bonding.” He fell back against the couch cushion, completely unable to hold back any longer, and burst into laughter.

Concern, then. “Are you certain you are sufficiently recovered from earlier? Perhaps I should call Doctor M’Benga again.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” McCoy cleared his throat and tried breathing normally, failing for the most part. “It’s just really funny.”

Spock tilted his head. “Explain.”

“Are you kidding? You used to hate me.”

The corners of his mouth turned down just slightly. “I never hated you, Doctor. I merely found your frequent emotional outbursts illogical.”

“Oh, right, ‘cause having a crush on me and then accidentally bonding with me isn’t illogical.”

More irritation. McCoy gave him a look that clearly said, ‘You know I’m right.’ Spock very reluctantly conceded the point. They sat on the couch in silence for another few minutes, the doctor using that time to get his breathing fully back to normal and trying not to snicker again every time the thought of Spock having a crush crossed his mind.

“You are taking this much better than I anticipated,” Spock said abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“I had assumed you would be angry.”

“About which part: that you didn’t tell me how long we’d been bonded or that we only bonded cause you like me?”

Spock raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “All of the above.”

McCoy shrugged. “What’s done is done, I guess. We can only deal with the consequences.”

“That is… surprisingly logical.”

Then it was McCoy’s turn to raise the sarcastic eyebrow.

* * *

New Vulcan was only two days away. The virus running through the ship had subsided for the most part, but Jim decided to take them off duty until they’d removed the bond, so they still spent a lot of time in their quarters. McCoy was going stir crazy.

It seemed like Spock and McCoy had taken several steps backwards with the most recent episode. They could barely be a few feet away from each other before the bond started hurting again and even though they’d already arranged their quarters so they were sleeping in the same room when they’d moved in, it wasn’t enough. They ended up pushing the beds closer, but still with a foot of space between them.

On top of that, Spock’s ability to shield any more than the smallest amount had been shot to hell. They sensed the majority of each other’s thoughts and feelings, even dreams when they slept, and McCoy quickly got to know Spock a whole lot better.

Particularly as it came to how he really felt for McCoy.

The doctor would wake in the morning with messy hair and it was the first thing Spock would notice with intense affection. He’d replicate some coffee and sit on the couch and Spock would internally note how pleasing it was to observe and get to be part of his daily routine. He’d make some benign comment about something completely unimportant and all of Spock’s focus was fixated on it, taking pleasure in even just the sound of his voice.

After every incident, Spock’s extreme embarrassment always followed. McCoy never made fun of him or laughed at him again, but he frequently felt his own cheeks redden with some of the observations Spock couldn’t help making. At one point, Spock caught himself thinking about a time he’d briefly seen McCoy shirtless and McCoy choked on his coffee, spilled it all over himself, and needed to change… which of course meant Spock had to go with him to their room, but he had the good sense to look away during the process.

It was a two-way street, though. Spock felt all of McCoy’s frustration with their situation, saw several very private memories McCoy had sworn he’d never tell anyone (including one where he’d gotten black-out drunk and showed up at his ex-wife’s doorstep a complete mess), knew exactly what McCoy thought of Starfleet High Command’s stubbornness when it came to certain outdated and unnecessary medical policies (these thoughts often came with cursing), and worst of all, he especially noticed the one and only instance the word “cute” ever popped into McCoy’s head when he saw Spock sneeze for the first time.

Spock looked up sharply after the aforementioned sneeze and stared at McCoy with wide eyes. McCoy looked away. They didn’t speak about it again.

All in all, it was a highly educational experience.

* * *

Only fourteen hours away from New Vulcan, McCoy felt the ship lurch alarmingly, fall out of warp, then stop altogether. Outside the small view port in their quarters, the passing stars came to a halt. He glanced at Spock, about to ask what was going on (as if the Vulcan would know), but Spock already had his comm out and was contacting the bridge.

“Spock to bridge. Status report.”

Uhura’s voice answered. “We don’t know the cause yet, but we think the problem might be in Engineering. The Captain’s talking to Scott right now.”

“Understood. Spock out.” He flipped the comm closed and stood for a moment staring at the floor, lost in thought. McCoy only got vague impressions of theories and other pieces of information Spock was in the process of fitting together.

“What? What is it?”

Spock took a moment to respond, then said, “I am sure that you recall 3.2 days ago when we awoke in our quarters after our incident.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I was, at the time, listening to a conversation between the Captain and Doctor M’Benga. The doctor was reporting strange symptoms among a number of the crew, even affecting those who were not diagnosed with the virus.”

McCoy felt sudden indignation and crossed his arms. “And I wasn’t informed? I’m the fucking CMO, dammit! What kind of symptoms?”

Spock’s amusement at McCoy’s reaction was quickly tempered with concern. “Many were complaining of severe headaches, an inability to focus, and a significant decrease in productivity.”

“Hell of a thing not to tell me,” he griped, then frowned. “But it kinda sounds like us.”

“Indeed. Without further evidence, I cannot be certain, but the symptoms may stem from a psi-related problem.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“I believe it is possible—”

The ship lurched violently again and McCoy stumbled and fell to the floor, barely managing to catch himself before landing awkwardly on his left wrist.

“Spock! You okay?” The Vulcan had fallen, too, but on the other side of the couch where McCoy couldn’t see him.

“I am fine, Doctor. Are you?” Spock’s muffled voice answered.

“Yeah, fine. Maybe we should—”

The ship began shuddering, engines starting once more, the stars outside the view port picking up pace again, slowly at first, then spinning faster and faster. McCoy could feel they weren’t moving forward in any direction, which must’ve meant they were rotating in place at very high speeds, something that should’ve been impossible. While the Enterprise was one of the best ships in the ‘fleet at maneuvering, even McCoy knew starships weren’t designed to be doing exactly what they were doing. Spock quickly sent his agreement of the doctor’s assessment.

Everything around McCoy became a blur and all his attempts to stand failed. The sensation of weightlessness came over his body and fear filled him at his utter lack of control. Lights flickered, the engines became deafeningly loud, and it began to feel as though the ship would come apart at the seams any moment.

Everything went black. All noise stopped.

For a moment, McCoy wondered if he’d somehow gone both blind and deaf simultaneously. He noted he still felt weightless, as if he were floating, but none of his other senses seemed to be working.

His mind automatically reached out for Spock’s and found it, instantly feeling comforted with the Vulcan’s familiar presence. Spock sent across an impression of the same circumstances McCoy was in, complete darkness and silence, but no harm or injuries. McCoy tried a wordless question, but only Spock’s confusion returned.

The Vulcan’s mind then wrapped around his like a shield in anticipation of anything coming their way. McCoy sensed his determination not to fail, fear for their safety, anger towards whatever was endangering them and the crew. It surprised him that so many of Spock’s emotions were mirroring his own so effortlessly. Until recently, McCoy never knew how often and deeply Spock felt.

With a loud pop, sight and sound returned all at once. McCoy blinked, looking around. Forest stretched out in every direction. Sunlight filtered through the trees and the air was cool. Something about this place felt so familiar.

“M83,” Spock breathed. McCoy turned to find him standing there with his comm in his hand, looking around with a bemused expression.

“How?” McCoy demanded, but felt the truth all the same. His breathing began to quicken. It couldn’t be possible.

Spock looked down at the comm as if mildly surprised to find he was holding it. “This is the exact moment following our failed beam up nearly three weeks ago.”

McCoy shook his head numbly, desperately hoping it was all an illusion or a shared dream of some kind. “No. No, that can’t be right.”

“I have an eidetic memory, Doctor. I remember exactly.” Spock looked at him with a certainty McCoy wished wasn’t there.

“What do we do?”

“I do not know. However, I do not think it is wise to remain where we are.”

“Well, we can’t just go the same direction as last time,” McCoy snapped. “We’ll run into that thing again.”

“I did not suggest it, Leonard,” Spock replied gently, then pocketed the comm and set off on a different path through the forest than the one they’d taken before.

“Fine.” McCoy took a moment to pull himself together, then followed him.

* * *

“Y’know,” he started after about half an hour of walking in silence, “You didn’t finish telling me your theory earlier about the symptoms and what was going on with the ship.”

Spock ducked under a branch, then held it back for McCoy to pass him. “True. I was going to tell you that I suspected the two were somehow connected.”

“Connected?”

“Yes. If the symptoms are indeed due to a psi-related cause, there is every possibility it would influence not only the crew members, but the functionality of the ship itself. However, in order for that to be the case, the source of the psi energy would need to be extremely powerful, more powerful than anything I have ever encountered or heard of before.”

“Then maybe it has something to do with this planet. Why else would we be magically zapped back to the same place we were mentally attacked?”

“A fair point, Doctor.”

“And who knows, it could all be an elaborate hallucination,” McCoy muttered, forgetting for a moment Spock could hear him.

“That is also conceivable.”

“You sure you didn’t hit your head on a table when you fell earlier? ‘Cause you’re agreeing with me an awful lot.”

“I am merely acknowledging the multitude of possibilities in our current situation,” Spock dodged, but it didn’t hide the surprise he felt at realizing he really had been agreeing with McCoy more than usual. McCoy hid a smirk.

* * *

The dirt beneath their feet became more gravelly soon after that, the trees smaller and further apart, large rocks dotting intermittent clearings. About another half hour and their progress slowed as the mostly level, flat land became a sharp incline and the surrounding environment got more and more mountainous. The trees were replaced with scraggly bushes and the occasional pine (or what looked to be pines, anyway).

McCoy continued to follow Spock, not entirely sure what their plan was other than to find higher ground like they’d tried last time. They often alternated between walking and climbing; McCoy’s feet quickly got sore and hands occasionally bloodied from the sharp edges of the stone, but he resolved not to complain. If they could return to the Enterprise wherever it was, or if they survived at all, it’d be a miracle in his book.

“Doctor,” Spock called down from a few feet above him. “I’ve spotted a small cave that appears to be empty. It may be the best place to take shelter for the night.”

“Alright,” he called back and hauled himself up another rock. When Spock reached the cave, he turned and offered his hand. McCoy took it and, with admittedly far less effort than it would’ve been but for Spock’s help, joined him.

The cave was small, maybe ten feet across and about the same to the back, but it would serve their purposes fine. McCoy sat down heavily against one wall and let his eyes close and heart rate come down. He heard a shuffling sound and felt Spock settling next to him, maybe a little closer than necessary, but McCoy wasn’t about to get on his case, as tired as he felt.

“Should we try your comm again?”

Warm hands took both of his own. “You should have told me you were injured,” Spock chastised, worry flooding their bond.

“The cuts aren’t deep. It’ll be fine.”

“Doctor, you of all people should know they will need attending to, particularly to be disinfected.”

“Spock, I’m fine.” Bone-deep exhaustion was setting in and yes, McCoy was a doctor, and yes, he knew they needed to be cleaned out, but he really couldn’t care less at that moment.

Spock cared. In fact, he cared so much, it was the only thing keeping McCoy awake and he found it irritating.

“Could you turn that down? You’re getting a little loud inside my own damn head.”

“There is a method I could try using to slow any potential effects of the wounds, including infection. It will, however, require a surface level meld,” Spock replied, ignoring McCoy’s irritation.

“I thought you weren’t gonna do that. We wanted to have the bond removed, remember?”

Spock’s regret briefly outshone his worry. McCoy suddenly realized the regret had nothing to do with forming the bond, but that it had to be dissolved at all. His eyes flew open in shock, immediately landing on Spock’s forcibly impassive face.

“You don’t wanna get rid of the bond, do you?” McCoy asked incredulously.

Spock stared at him. After a beat, he simply replied, “No.”

McCoy wrenched his hands away and stood up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I assumed you did not want it. That is the entire reason I suggested we travel to New Vulcan in the first place.” Spock rose to meet his eye line.

“I thought you suggested that because you didn’t want it! Have you wanted to keep it the whole time?”

“…Yes.”

“And you weren’t even gonna tell me? Spock, we have got to talk about your communication skills, ‘cause they’re god-awful. You had no idea what I might’ve been thinking or feeling before you couldn’t shield anymore,” McCoy fumed. “Seriously, why didn’t you just ask?”

Spock tilted his head, brow furrowing. “I admit the thought did not occur to me.”

McCoy groaned, resisting the urge to run his bloodied hands down his face. “I can’t believe it’s falling to me, of all people, to teach you how to be human.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but I feel it necessary to point out that I did not ask for—“

“Spock. You’re missing the point. If you really want to be with someone, the best way to do that isn’t usually to get Vulcan engaged with them, or whatever the hell we are, try to hide it, finally confess to it when that doesn’t work, then try to get rid of it cause you just assumed the other person won’t want the same thing. A normal, functioning person, or Vulcan, should be able to walk up to someone, tell them how they feel, and be willing to face the consequences. Capisce?”

Spock stared intently at him, head still tilted.

“Oh my God, Spock. It’s a simple question. Do you want me or not?” McCoy demanded. “Just come the fuck out and say it.”

Spock’s mouth opened, closed, opened again, and then finally he inhaled and said in a rush, “Yes, Leonard, I want you. Do you want me?”

Then it was McCoy’s turn to be left speechless. For some reason, he hadn’t even thought of his response beforehand and now that it came to it, didn’t know the answer.

Spock slowly stepped closer, earnestness in his expression and nervous energy thrumming across the bond.

“Leonard?” He asked softly.

Well, there was one quick way to find out for sure and it was a stupid idea, but then again, it’d been a stupid day. Spock’s eyes widened as he realized what McCoy was going to do only one second before he did it.

Throwing caution to the wind, McCoy grabbed Spock’s face with both hands and pulled him in roughly for a kiss. It was a little awkward and uncoordinated, as first kisses tend to be, but Spock was more than pliant and McCoy quickly found exactly the right angle. He opened his mouth just slightly and the Vulcan took the invitation with the same eagerness as a man dying of thirst would drink water. McCoy couldn’t deny it was rapidly becoming one of the best kisses he’d ever had and the fact that it was Spock somehow didn’t bother him at all.

Spock pulled away with a gasp, eyes wild and chest heaving. At some point, he’d wrapped his arms around McCoy’s entire body and was holding him tightly against himself as if afraid the doctor would disappear.

Which, as it turned out, was exactly what happened.

McCoy felt the weightlessness, saw the terror in Spock’s eyes, then everything became dark and quiet once again.

Chapter Text

Spock stared at the place Leonard had stood only seconds ago. The place where Leonard had kissed him. The place he’d allowed Spock to hold him. The place he’d disappeared from.

He slowly reached up a hand to touch his own cheek and felt the drying blood from Leonard’s wounds. It set something on fire within him. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew: he was going to find Leonard, utterly destroy what had taken him away, and never allow the doctor to leave his sight again.

The bond pulled taut like a rubber band stretched too far, causing the edges of his vision to darken and his mind to scream with pain. Spock barely registered it, his every thought of Leonard’s safety.

The bond itself could act as his guide. Moving further away from Leonard would cause more pain and moving closer would lessen it. Spock did not care about the wildlife bound to awaken with the fast-approaching evening. He did not care if anything or anyone tried to slow or stop him. He did not care if by the time he found Leonard, he was barely able to walk or speak and died in his arms.

There was only one man who mattered to him more than anything and Spock would not fail him again.

* * *

Jim paced the length of his quarters exactly twenty steps, turned and paced twenty more to the other side, then turned and did it again. He reviewed the facts, helpless frustration making him curl and uncurl his fists repeatedly.

At 15:06, the ship had dropped out of warp. He’d commed Scotty, who’d had no answers, then two minutes later, the ship started spinning for no apparent reason. Jim ordered several emergency measures be taken and none worked. When the ship stopped spinning, he commed Scotty again, who again, had no answers, claiming there was no visible damage that could explain their dropping out of warp and the engines kicking on for no reason, along with navigation going haywire.

Then he commed Bones to check if he and Spock were alright.

No response.

A few minutes later, he tried Spock.

Still no response.

He couldn’t ignore the strong foreboding he felt because of it.

At that point, he’d run from the bridge to their temporary quarters and chimed the door about a dozen times.

No response.

He finally keyed in his emergency code and barged in, only to find it empty.

Jim tore the place apart. He found no clues as to what had happened in the bedroom, closets, fresher, or any other area.

He called security and had them check over everything, but they had no more luck than he did. Chekov tried to find their signals, reconfiguring both the long and short range scanners for anything they could possibly use to locate them, yet nothing came up.

Jim’s two best friends in the universe were missing and no one knew a thing. He was a man of action and there was no action to be taken, other than what protocol dictated. In desperation, he sent a message to Sarek, then began digging through reports Spock and Bones had made in the last several weeks in the hopes that something in them could help.

* * *

Sound and light exploded back into his awareness after what felt like an eternity. McCoy shut his eyes against the sudden onslaught of sensory input and tried to adjust.

“So disappointing,” a high-pitched, feminine voice tittered. A heavy, vaguely familiar force slid into his mind as if it were the easiest thing in the world and began lazily flipping through his memories of the past week with Spock.

“Get the fuck out,” McCoy said automatically, still-sore hands clutching his head.

“Oh, I won’t stay long,” she, it, whatever, said with amusement. “I just thought you two would take to each other more quickly if I helped the process along… although, the Vulcan was clearly smitten. I knew he’d be the easy part.”

“The hell are you talking about?” McCoy managed to slit his eyes open just barely, taking in what appeared to be a white marble floor.

“Isn’t it funny how the supposedly emotion-less Vulcan seems to have so much more understanding of his own emotion than you do? This really has been the most fun little project I’ve had the pleasure of working on in quite some time.”

McCoy opened his eyes further, now able to take in a large room, bright and cold, empty aside from a velvet chaise lounge, its current occupant a woman in a dark red dress. She was objectively beautiful, McCoy noted in a detached way, with long brunette hair, a slim figure, and big, innocent-looking hazel eyes peering out at him from under absurdly long lashes.

He didn’t trust it for a second.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about or who the hell you even are, so why don’t you just put me back the way you found me and we can part ways forever?”

She smiled and it only made McCoy more uneasy. “The state I found you in was hardly acceptable. A divorced man, alone, unable to see what was right in front of him?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to make him give up everything for you,” she promised, straightening to a sitting position, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” McCoy spat, knowing immediately who she was talking about and feeling a wave of protectiveness.

“I’ll barely have to do a thing.”

The presence removed itself from his mind and pain instantly replaced it, making him gasp and fall to his knees.

“What did you do to him?” He gritted out, barely able to speak.

“Nothing yet.”

* * *

Spock made his way through the gathering darkness as quickly as he could, unable to raise his shields very far, but using that to track the bond. With every step, he could feel he was getting closer, the mental tension lessening in small increments.

The anticipation of seeing Leonard again, along with fear for his safety, uncertainty of what he was about to encounter, and a multitude of other emotions whirled inside him, making him quicken his pace, careful not to trip on tree roots or run into low-hanging branches that were getting harder to see by the minute as the sun had nearly finished setting.

Finally, he reached a vast clearing. Sitting there was an extravagant mansion, large and sprawling. Leonard’s consciousness resided within it, Spock could feel, heightening every sense as he prepared to protect his bondmate from whatever lay ahead.

Spock ran to the entrance and tried the handle. It was unlocked. With no further hesitation, he went inside.

* * *

The woman disappeared shortly after in a puff of dramatic smoke, McCoy barely noticing through the haze clouding his mind. He was left alone in the room, on the floor, unable to move or even begin to think what it would take for him to try.

He wondered distantly about Spock, what he might be going through, where he was now. Hours must’ve passed, the light in the room slowly growing dim. He curled himself into a ball on the hard marble, trying to focus on the rhythm of his breathing as a distraction from the pain. It barely worked, but it was still better than nothing.

After an eternity, the latch of a door clicked and suddenly McCoy felt a wave of relief, muscles un-tensing, mind clearing. Quick footsteps echoed in the room and Spock’s face appeared above him, furrowed with concern and still bearing dried blood from McCoy’s hands. The Vulcan’s own simultaneous worry and relief spilled over the bond.

“Leonard!” He knelt down beside McCoy and took the man’s face in his warm hands.

“Took you long enough,” McCoy said weakly, but unable to hide a small smile at the sight of him.

Then Spock was kissing him, gently, with clear restraint, but unbridled affection. McCoy couldn’t help kissing him back, despite being completely unsure where they even stood in their relationship, though it hardly seemed to matter at that moment. He lifted a hand to cup Spock’s cheek and fisted the other in his uniform.

When Spock pulled back, he surprisingly mourned the loss, but didn’t chase him.

“Tell me everything that has occurred,” Spock ordered, using his commander’s voice, and McCoy felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine.

“Pretty sure it’s the same thing that attacked us from before. It looks like a human woman, but I don’t think that’s what it really is.”

Spock’s brows drew together. “Did it attempt to communicate with you?”

“Yeah, it called us a… project and it said it was going to…” McCoy swallowed, feeling an unexpected wave of grief and confusion. “Make you give up everything for me,” he finished in a whisper.

Spock stared down at him, his expression softening, so very human-like it took McCoy aback. He realized that the Vulcan’s hands were still on his face and then Spock was moving, and, with no apparent effort, dragged him from the floor into his lap and clutched him tightly to his own body.

When he spoke, it was in a soft tone, warm breath ghosting McCoy’s ear. “Leonard, I would readily give up far more than everything for you.”

“Spock—”

“Enough,” Spock said gently and kissed him again, moving a hand to hold the nape of his neck firmly. McCoy let himself be taken, allowing himself to enjoy the warmth of Spock’s mouth, his quiet insistence. They stayed like that for several minutes, McCoy relaxing into the safety Spock offered.

“Bravo, bravo,” an unmistakably male and sarcastic voice suddenly interrupted, slow clap echoing.

Spock and McCoy broke the kiss abruptly, both scanning the room for its source. McCoy’s eyes landed on a man in a Starfleet Admiral’s uniform, standing several feet away, eyebrow raised.

“So they finally kiss. Or wait, is this the second time? Or the third? I can hardly keep up anymore.”

McCoy disentangled himself from Spock, who stood to meet the man’s gaze with an expression of cold fury. He rose to Spock’s side, giving his best withering glare. The man seemed unmoved.

“I’m Q, thanks for asking. Do they teach any manners at Starfleet, or are you all this rude during first contact?”

“What the hell kinda name is Q?”

“I’m part of the Q Continuum, obviously. All-powerful beings. Staggering intellect. Effortless beauty. Immortality. Anything ringing a bell?”

“No,” Spock answered icily. “Are you the being who attacked us three—“

“Yes, yes,” Q said impatiently, waving a hand in the air. “That was me. I made myself telepathic, just for the fun of it. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before, but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”

“Were you that woman I saw earlier?” McCoy asked suspiciously.

“Of course! I was testing a theory.” Q tapped a finger against his lips in mock thoughtfulness. “Would Doctor McCoy notice an attractive female obviously trying to get his attention, or was he already so in love with the Vulcan he would hardly care?”

“I’m not in love with—”

“Oh, but you are! Don’t be shy. In fact, why don’t you confess to him right now? Who knows, you might not get another chance,” Q said ominously.

“Return us to the Enterprise immediately,” Spock said with an authority McCoy was impressed he felt.

“Now, where’s the fun in that? If the good doctor is so unwilling to admit his raging, passionate love for the calm, collected Vulcan, perhaps said Vulcan will just have to earn it,” Q announced with a flourish.

“Why are you doing this? Why don’t you just leave us alone?” McCoy asked, not bothering to hide his contempt.

“Because, my dear physician, I have been bored as of late. I was hoping a near death experience would wake you up to your feelings, but I got something so much better—a Vulcan bond!” Q crowed triumphantly. “Unfortunately, you two were taking far too long and now I must intervene even more directly if I’m to have any hope of being further entertained.”

“Well, joke’s on you. The bond’s preliminary.”

“It hardly matters. If your Vulcan survives, it won’t be so impermanent after all.”

“Wait, what?” Came out of McCoy’s mouth at the same time Q snapped his fingers and their surroundings transformed.

* * *

Why hadn’t he seen it before? The way Spock’s eyes sometimes lingered on him a little longer than they’d needed to, the way Spock stuck closer to him than anyone else on away missions, all his attempts to keep McCoy from joining said away missions in the first place.

But, even more importantly, why hadn’t he seen his own growing affection for the Vulcan, his concern for his safety, how he’d begun to find himself less irritated than usual every time Spock opened his mouth? The thought of anything happening to him was almost unbearable.

And now, McCoy found himself seated next to Q in what appeared to be a grand throne room, pillars arching high above them, gold covering every surface, the throne itself on a raised platform. A long set of stairs led to the shiny floor below, gold statues of large and imposing lions sitting on opposite ends of every stair.

Spock no longer stood next to him, but was kneeling at the foot of the stairs. He blinked, looking around, but didn’t stand. McCoy guessed he wasn’t able to and the answering agreement from Spock through their bond confirmed it.

Q was wearing some ridiculously ostentatious outfit McCoy didn’t even bother trying to figure out, clearly very relaxed on his gaudy throne. He chuckled. “How the mighty are laid low,” he observed, inciting irritation from both Spock and McCoy.

With another snap of his fingers, a lion appeared out of thin air on the other side of the hall, several times the size of a normal one. When it roared (a sound that filled the room and made McCoy’s ears hurt), it bared what looked to be at least six inch fangs, or so McCoy guessed from that distance. It began to pace back and forth, its paws making heavy thuds every time it stepped. Spock suddenly looked very small and McCoy was consumed with fear and the horrifying thought that he was about to watch him die.

On the lowest stair, a short sword and a small dagger presented themselves.

“The object is to kill the lion and save your lover’s life… or be killed yourself. I, of course, will be entertained either way. Begin!” Q clapped his hands.

Spock lunged for both weapons at the same time the lion came charging for him. It moved much faster than should’ve been possible, crossing the huge throne room in three bounds. Spock barely had time to roll out of the way before the creature skidded to a halt in front of the stairs and turned to face him again with a vicious snarl.

Through the bond, McCoy could feel Spock analyzing its movements, considering how best to use any weaknesses the lion had against it, if he could distract or confuse it.

The lion leapt forward and pawed at him, Spock ducking behind a nearby pillar, then emerging from the other side with a well-timed slash of the short sword to its flank. His aim proved true, making a small red line in its fur, and the lion growled.

Forcing himself to look away for a moment, McCoy turned to Q. “Look, is there anything I can do to convince you to stop this?” He asked earnestly, hoping Q could be reasoned with.

Eyes still fixed on Spock and the lion, chin resting on a hand, he said, “Nothing whatsoever, my dear doctor.”

“Please. I’ll do anything.”

This caught Q’s attention just enough to glance at him, curiosity on his face. “Would you declare your love for him in front of the crew of the Enterprise?”

Panic seized him briefly at the thought of something so painfully public and obvious, being put on display for the amusement of Q, and to the humiliation of both Spock and McCoy. But it was worth it if it would save the Vulcan’s life and he made up his mind easily.

“If I do, will you let us go unharmed, put us back on the Enterprise, and promise to leave us alone forever?”

“Hmm,” Q mused, rubbing his chin in thought. “Well, I’m not so sure about that last part, since you’ve all been so fun to play with. But I could certainly do the first things…” His eyes flashed dangerously. “Should you keep your end of the deal.”

“Alright, yes, please, just get him out of there.”

McCoy looked back at the scene below, Spock still managing to stay just out of reach, though he was clearly getting tired and slower. The lion’s hide now had several cuts, but it was only becoming angrier, roaring louder, and making it closer to Spock each time it swiped or jumped for him.

“I want a full love confession,” Q said seriously, drawing his attention back. “Not just an ‘I love you’ and a pathetic smooch. Something real.”

“Fine, I’ll do it. Just help him already!” McCoy said desperately, glancing back to see the lion finally get close enough to hook a wickedly sharp claw into Spock’s leg, causing him to fall, and drag him towards itself.

Spock cried out in pain, dropping the weapons on the floor with a clatter. Q sighed with disappointment and snapped his fingers.

This time, McCoy was prepared for the weightlessness and inevitable dark and silence that followed.

* * *

Sarek’s response to Jim’s message came more quickly than he’d expected, what with the Ambassador’s heavy workload dealing with the settling of New Vulcan.

Captain,
I thank you for your update concerning my son’s unexpected and unknown change of location. I am currently 20.4 hours from New Vulcan and closer to the Enterprise by 6.2 hours. I will redirect my ship to meet with yours and further discuss the situation.

- Ambassador Sarek

Jim typed out a quick acknowledgment and sent it, then buried his head in his hands with a long groan. He’d pored over Spock and Bones’ reports from the last month for hours already and felt no closer to an answer. The only thing that had caught his eye were their slightly differing accounts of what happened on M83 from three weeks earlier.

Near the end of Spock’s report, he spent a few sentences describing a psi attack they’d experienced, source unknown, then Bones’ brief cardiac event, and nothing more. Bones’ report described only the heart issue and hadn’t even mentioned there being any psi attack. Jim must’ve missed it the first time he’d read them in his worry for his friend’s health, which, predictably, hadn’t been well received (“Jim, for the love of God, I’m fine. Quit hovering.”)

A chirp from his communicator made him lift his head and stare at it in a daze for at least ten seconds before it chirped again. He managed to snap back into reality just enough to reach for it and flip it open.

“Captain here,” he said hoarsely, then cleared his throat.

“Captain, you migh’ want ta get down ta the mess hall,” Scotty’s voice answered. “Commander Spock and Doctor McCoy apparently just appeared out of thin air and by the sound of it, they ran into trouble.”

Jim stared dumbly at his communicator again.

“Captain?”

Through his stunned disbelief, he just barely managed to get out, “Sorry, Scotty, could you repeat that?”

“The commander and Doctor McCoy are in the mess hall and it sounds like one of ‘ems been hurt. If it’s true, I think you should get down there.”

“On my way.” Jim flipped it closed, stood, and sprinted out the door of his ready room.

* * *

Sight and sound returned and the mess hall of the Enterprise took shape around them. Chattering voices and the clinking of cutlery slowly came to a stop as people noticed the sudden appearance of the ship’s CMO and its clearly hurt first officer. They stared, dumbstruck. Thankfully, this was the exact kind of situation, strange as it was, that McCoy excelled in.

“Well, don’t just sit there! Someone call for medical!” He barked, then knelt beside Spock on the floor.

He heard shocked whispering, chairs scraping across the floor as people stood, and a few pairs of boots hitting the floor as they ran for help. McCoy put it all out of his mind and focused on Spock.

Green blood was quickly seeping through the long tear in his pants and as McCoy gently shifted his leg to allow for a better view of the wound, he just barely held himself back from making a small noise of dismay. The gash was long and deep on his left leg, stretching from nearly the top of the thigh to about midway on his calf. In a few places, McCoy spotted the white of bone. If Spock could walk normally after an injury of this magnitude or if he could even survive, it would be a miracle.

The cold weight of dread settled itself in McCoy’s stomach.

“Doctor, how can we help?” He looked up to see a young female ensign staring down at Spock with wide eyes.

McCoy shook his head numbly, looking back to him. “Just get medical.”

He placed his hands on the worst of the wound, a large area on his thigh and pressed down hard. Spock let out a groan, eyes falling closed, hands becoming white-knuckled as he curled them into fists. McCoy could feel his agony through the bond and his heart clenched painfully. It took nearly all his focus to keep pressing down with his full weight, attempting to slow the bleeding.

From just above them, someone hissed sympathetically. “My, my, that looks bad.”

“Q,” McCoy growled. “I can’t confess my love for him if he dies before I get the opportunity. And you said you’d return us unharmed.”

“Well, I assumed you meant I wasn’t to cause either of you injury. I didn’t harm him! Seeing as this is the beast’s fault, you really should have been more specific.”

“Fix him, dammit!” McCoy yelled, hands beginning to slip in the blood pooling on Spock’s leg and arms shaking from the exertion.

A door swished open, then closed.

“Bones!” A new voice called. Within seconds, Jim was at his side on the floor, helping him apply more pressure to the wound without hesitation. “Who the hell is that?”

“I am Q, an immortal, all-knowing, all-powerful being.”

“All-knowing, all-powerful, my ass,” McCoy grumbled, readjusting his position. Even with Jim’s help, Spock was in danger of bleeding out within the next minute or so and medical still hadn’t arrived.

“How rude! And I was just thinking I might help you after all.”

“If you can help, do it,” Jim ordered, tone steady and commanding, but eyes betraying his fear.

Q heaved a put-upon sigh. “Oh, fine, very well. It’s less fun if the good doctor doesn’t get to confess. But I’ll only heal him totally if he makes good on his promise.” He snapped his fingers.

“What promise?” Jim questioned, but neither Q nor McCoy answered.

When he felt something change beneath his trembling hands just ever so slightly, McCoy slowly, carefully lifted them, still covered in green, away from Spock’s thigh. Jim did the same. Spock’s breathing was shallow, his face twisted in pain. It seemed his wound had cauterized, blood no longer streaming down his leg into puddles on the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Spock?” McCoy intensely disliked the slight tremor in his voice as he uttered the lone syllable.

Spock’s dark eyes fluttered open and found his. “Leonard.”

McCoy couldn’t let himself breathe the sigh of relief he wanted to, not yet. He sent as much comfort as he could across their link and braced himself for the consequences of the words he was about to say.

Chapter Text

Fixing his gaze on the Vulcan below, he took a stuttering breath. “Look, Spock, I need you to know something. I… I feel things for you, too.”

A huff came from somewhere nearby, then Q’s voice, “You’re off to an excellent start. Really, A for effort.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I’m building up to it. If you want me to do this, then don’t interrupt.”

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” Beside him, Jim glanced at the doctor with clear worry and confusion.

“Jim, just let me get through this. Please. I’ll tell you in a minute.”

Jim hesitated, reading McCoy’s expression intently, then nodded. “Alright. I trust you. But when this is over—”

“I know.”

McCoy returned his attention to Spock who, surprisingly, had his eyes wide open now and trained on him. Just under the pain flowing across the bond, a slow trickle of understanding appeared and Spock’s breathing quickened with it.

“Leonard,” he said again, arms shaking as he tried to sit up. “Leonard, no.”

McCoy groaned his frustration and firmly pressed him back down by the shoulders, smearing green blood on his blue uniform. “Would everyone shut up for two seconds?”

“No, you cannot do this,” Spock panted, struggling more weakly. “I will not allow you to lie on my behalf.”

“Spock, I swear to God—”

“No,” Spock insisted, his face earnest and vulnerable. “Please do not lie to me. Please.”

McCoy scowled.

The stress from the past weeks, the fear he’d felt for Spock’s safety, and the frustration of his own helplessness compounded all at once into a thing he couldn’t control. McCoy felt something inside him snap.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not lying about shit. I love you, you idiot, and if you can’t even see that with this stupid fucking bond we have, then I don’t know how else to tell you!”

Spock’s eyes widened.

“Well, that’s more like it. Don’t stop now,” Q encouraged, albeit sarcastically.

McCoy ignored him. “Spock, I didn’t even get mad when you told me we’d been bonded longer than I thought and you hid it from me. Hell, I barely get irritated anymore when you constantly correct me on everything! I’d throw myself in front of a fucking sehlat for you! If that’s not love, then what the hell is it?”

Spock shook his head minutely. “I-I do not—”

“I don’t care who knows or who makes fun of us for it anymore.” McCoy’s tone became softer, warmer. “I love you, Spock. I really do. I don’t want to get rid of the bond. I want you in my head. I want to be with you.” His hands tightened their grip on Spock’s shoulders. “Really. I mean it.”

Spock stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, before slowly closing it. His hands twitched at his sides. Sensing what he wanted, McCoy shifted to slip an arm under his back and help him slowly to a sitting position. Spock immediately brought his head to rest on McCoy’s shoulder, his arms wrapping around the doctor’s torso, and McCoy brought his other arm around the Vulcan to hold him closer to his chest.

They sat like that for a long minute, wrapped up in each other, Spock’s breath warming his neck, McCoy taking comfort in the Vulcan’s heart beating strongly between them. He’d almost forgotten anyone else was even there until Jim cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uh, guys? What the hell?”

McCoy’s head snapped up and he felt his cheeks flush red as he found everyone who hadn’t left the mess hall staring in shock at them. Jim’s expression was probably the most disbelieving of them all, eyebrows raised, while Q just stood there, back in his Admiral’s outfit and looking inordinately pleased with himself. He snapped his fingers and suddenly the doors swished open on the other side of the room, Chapel and M’Benga rushing in with a team of nurses.

The scene devolved into chaos once again. McCoy reluctantly let go of Spock so they could put him on a stretcher, then numbly followed them to Medbay, along with Jim, who kept glancing at him every minute or so.

* * *

Q was already waiting for them, lounging on a biobed. As the team rushed Spock into surgery, McCoy marched up to him and glared.

“I held up my end of the deal. You said you’d fix him. Do it.”

Q folded his arms behind his head and stretched his legs out lazily. “Oh, but my dear doctor, you forget.”

“Forget what?” McCoy barked.

“That I said I was going to make him give up everything for you. Let’s see how well he does in surgery and then we’ll reevaluate his worthiness, shall we?” He said breezily.

White hot rage came close to boiling over inside him. Just barely tamping it down, McCoy said in a deceptively calm tone, “You said you’d heal him, Q. So heal him.”

A hand wrapped around his forearm, gently tugging him away. He tried to shake it off, but it persisted. “Bones, let’s just talk in your office for a minute.”

McCoy stood there, fists clenching and unclenching, before slowly backing away.

“Don’t worry, I’ll still be here!” Q cheerily called after him.

Once in his office with Jim, McCoy collapsed into the desk chair, his previous anger draining in favor of exhaustion. His hands throbbed where the cuts from earlier hadn’t been cleaned out yet, the bond between them stretching taut yet again. Already, he could feel Spock’s pain had eased and he was no longer conscious as they started the process of surgery.

“Hey,” Jim said softly, getting his attention. He’d sat in the other chair and was looking over McCoy with concern. “Is now a good time or do you want to wait?”

“Now’s fine.”

“…Alright.” Jim’s tone was less-than-convinced, but he continued anyway. “I read your first report on M83 again when we were trying to find you two.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

Jim hesitated, then said, “Why didn’t you mention that psi attack that Spock put in his report?”

McCoy’s brain took its time catching up before he realized what Jim was talking about. “Oh, that. I didn’t say anything about it ‘cause I assumed Spock wouldn’t, either. Frankly, I’m surprised he did.”

Jim’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“He just seemed so shaken after it happened, almost embarrassed…” McCoy trailed off and shook his head. “I know why he did now, but at the time, I just figured he wanted to forget about it.”

“That’s when the bond formed, isn’t it?” Jim guessed, understanding dawning in his eyes.

“Right. And apparently that thing that attacked us on the planet was Q. It’s been him the whole time.”

Jim nodded and leaned back. “So what happened when you guys disappeared from the ship?”

He listened patiently for the next half hour as McCoy went through every detail he could remember after the Enterprise had fallen out of warp, excluding only some of the more personal stuff with Spock, which he didn’t think Jim would care to hear anyway. Only a few times did his friend interject with a question, but by the end he was perfectly silent.

McCoy didn’t push him for an immediate response, just tried not to fidget with his sore hands. After a minute or two of thinking, Jim sighed and scrubbed one of his own down his face.

“Well… this is gonna be one hell of a report, isn’t it?”

McCoy chuckled mirthlessly.

* * *

Shortly before leaving to find Q, Jim noticed his discomfort and called a nurse to clean out his wounds and use the regen on McCoy’s hands. He barely acknowledged the uncomfortable sensation, all his thoughts returning to Spock.

McCoy could feel the activity of Spock’s mind ebb and flow as time passed him by, at one point becoming so dangerously still, he had to restrain himself from barging into the operating theater and taking over the surgery himself. He knew he would only distract them and his hands would be no good for a day or two, anyway. He couldn’t help but stare at the newly regenerated skin of his palms as he waited, tracing each line in them over and over again.

Eventually, heavy eyelids got the best of him.

* * *

“Captain, Ambassador Sarek is requesting permission to beam aboard.”

Belatedly, Jim realized he hadn’t contacted the Ambassador about Spock being found, or rather, put back on the Enterprise. Considering the Vulcan’s current touch-and-go state, however, maybe it was for the best that he update Sarek face to face.

“Granted. I’ll meet him in the transporter room.” Jim pocketed his comm and left his ready room.

His attempt to find Q after his conversation with Bones was unsuccessful, so Jim’s only current solution for that particular problem was just to hope he wasn’t up to any trouble. Spock had gotten out of surgery not long after Bones fell asleep in his office, but considering all his friend would be able to do was worry and wait, Jim decided to let him keep sleeping. Since then, he’d been catching up on reports, checking in with Scotty and M’Benga regularly, and twiddling his thumbs on the bridge, doing plenty of his own worrying and waiting.

It didn’t take him long to reach the transporter room, the doors swishing open, then closed behind him. He gave the technician on duty a quick nod to initiate the transporter sequence and the familiar hum of the machinery sounded. Ambassador Sarek materialized on the pad and raised the ta’al in greeting, Jim mimicking it.

“Live long and prosper,” Sarek intoned.

“Peace and long life,” Jim responded. “Welcome aboard, Ambassador.”

Getting right to the point, Sarek said, “I sense the presence of my son’s mind on the Enterprise once more. May I inquire as to what has occurred?”

“Of course. If you’ll come with me, we’ll move to my ready room.”

Sarek gave a short nod, stepped off the pad, then suddenly stopped dead. His eyes stared unseeing past Jim, blank and faraway.

The captain frowned. “Ambassador? Are you well?”

Sarek’s hand suddenly shot up to his temple and he bowed his head slightly.

“Sir?” Jim pushed, becoming concerned.

“My son…”

Jim remembered only one other time he had ever seen Spock’s dad show any hint of emotion. It had been in this very same room, seconds after his wife and Spock’s mother died before their eyes. Now, that same grief swept over the Vulcan’s features and he swayed on his feet. Jim moved closer, not wanting to violate the man’s personal space, but close enough to catch him.

“My son… he has died,” Sarek whispered.

“What?”

* * *

Spock drifted. Leonard’s words came in and out of his awareness, providing brief anchors before they slipped away into open space.

“I love you, you idiot, and if you can’t even see that with this stupid fucking bond we have, then I don’t know how else to tell you!”

The look on his face swam back into memory, anger as a mask for fear, which further hid the deeper emotion of love. The Vulcan had not seen it before, but he felt it now. He clung to it.

“I’d throw myself in front of a fucking sehlat for you! If that’s not love, then what the hell is it”

Spock did not know when this emotional change had occurred in Leonard. He wondered if it really mattered, if he would not be better off simply appreciating it, showing his gratitude with every opportunity he found.

“I love you, Spock. I really do. I don’t want to get rid of the bond. I want you in my head. I want to be with you.”

He felt the phantom touch of Leonard’s fingers digging into his shoulders, his grip tightening. With every fiber of his being, Spock felt the same. He did not want to remove the bond. He wanted to stay by Leonard’s side for the remainder of his life. He wanted the man for his own and to give himself completely to him in return.

Distantly, a biobed monitor flatlined. Spock did not make the connection between the new sound and the sensation of his own mind slipping away from reality until it was too late for him to do anything other than accept it.

Kaiidth.

Spock had felt Leonard’s love and that was enough.

He surrendered to the darkness pulling him in as all sensation, thought, and emotion ceased to exist.

* * *

McCoy awoke to a searing pain in the back of his mind, spreading outward to his whole body. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Every muscle seized, every nerve ending was set on fire, and all thought purged as his entire existence became only that pain.

That, and the implicit knowledge that Spock was dead and their bond was broken. There was no one on the other side, no familiar mind to reach out to, no emotions other than his own. Half of his own self had been brutally torn away from him.

It must’ve been what hell felt like.

* * *

Jim got the comm only seconds after Sarek declared his son had died. He stared at the device in his hand disbelievingly.

Spock had been his friend and first officer for years. He’d saved his life countless times. He was as reliable as the steady, ever-present humming of the warp core that ran through the ship.

But him being gone, truly dead, felt completely unreal, impossible.

“I wish to see him.” Sarek’s quiet voice shook Jim out of his thoughts just enough to remember he was both a captain and an adult, and needed to act like it.

“Of course,” he replied numbly, pocketing the comm. “Follow me.”

The two left the transporter room and Jim led them to the turbo lift. He didn’t hear his own voice call out the deck and wasn’t sure if he ordered the right one, but they were moving and that was good enough. To his left, Sarek stared straight ahead, his face a stony mask. Having been around Spock for long enough to know, Jim was certain the man was internally reeling, wrecked to the point he may not have been able to show emotion even if he wanted to.

“I’m so sorry,” Jim ventured, just barely managing to keep his voice steady.

Sarek made no response, as expected.

Jim’s thoughts strayed to Bones. If he was still passed out, then he didn’t know yet. If he was awake, they were about to walk in on something tragic. Either way, Jim resolved to be there for him in any way he could.

* * *

As a rule, Spock did not believe in the concept of any kind of afterlife, nor any kind of divine, all-powerful, all-knowing being to meet one there. When one’s katra perished, so did they. That was the end.

But this belief did not explain the blinding white light that greeted him as shuddering breaths wracked his body. His mind whirling through the possibilities, he found only two that could account for the irregularity: either his beliefs were incorrect or he was not truly dead.

He blinked several times in an attempt to adjust as he slowly sat up, then rose to his feet, noting there was no longer any pain in his left leg and the wound seemed to have vanished.

“Well, technically, you are in the process of dying, but we’re outside of time, so it doesn’t really count,” drawled a familiar and highly unwelcome voice. Q stepped into his field of vision wearing white robes with a noticeable golden glow surrounding him.

Spock put a considerable amount of effort into not frowning at the sight of him. “Where have you taken me?”

“I suppose you could think of it like a waiting room,” Q said conversationally, glancing around the endless white space they stood in. “Where things go to die. Or perhaps to be revived.”

“Where is Doctor McCoy?” Spock demanded, feeling a sharp surge of anger towards Q and protectiveness for his bondmate.

“His office. He’s quite distraught, so if you’d like to hurry this up, I’ll allow it. I’m secretly rather fond of the grouchy types.”

“Explain.” Spock heard the slight crack in his own voice as he uttered the word and it only served to anger him even further. “To what are you referring that should be ‘hurried up?’”

Q gave him an over-exaggerated look of befuddlement, titling his head to the side, eyes flicking to the floor. “To what am I referring?” He murmured to himself, as if trying to recall. “What was it exactly?”

Spock stepped closer, hands curling into fists. “Q. Return me to the Enterprise and cease this game immediately.”

Q flashed him an expression of hurt innocence, placing a hand over his chest, presumably where his heart would lie. “ Game? Do you really think so little of me, Commander?”

“Indeed. Based on our previous interactions, it is clear you are a childish and self-centered being, content to use the lives of others as playthings for your imagination and as a means of passing the time,” he said bluntly.

“How unfortunate. But just as well, since I finally remembered what I was going to say.” Q snapped his fingers and two chairs appeared at opposite ends of a small table bearing glasses and what appeared to be an alcoholic drink. He took a seat and poured himself one, his gaze never leaving Spock.

Upon reviewing what few options he had, Spock reluctantly sat across from him.

“Would you prefer hot chocolate? I hear it has much the same effect on a Vulcan as alcohol has on a human.”

“Negative,” Spock answered coolly.

“Very well.” Q took a sip of his drink, then set it down and traced the subtle grooves in the glass, considering the Vulcan before him with interest. “The good doctor is psi null,” he observed without preamble.

“I am aware.”

“Painfully aware, I would imagine.” Surprisingly, no trace of any malice or sarcasm colored his tone.

When Spock didn’t reply, he continued. “You know as well as I that he isn’t likely to survive a broken bond as a psi null being. At best, it will decimate his mind. At worst, it will completely destroy both his mind and his body.”

Spock clasped his hands together on his lap in an effort to keep them from shaking. “I am aware of this also.”

Q appeared completely serious now, all the bravado and pretense from earlier dropped. He set his glass aside and leaned forward, meeting the Vulcan’s gaze intently.

“How about a little exchange then? Your life… for his.”

Spock stilled. The two stared at each other completely unmoving for exactly seventeen seconds.

When no further information was offered and all attempts to better read him proved fruitless, Spock settled on a response. “I have no guarantee you will hold to your end of the arrangement, should we form one.”

Q’s expression didn’t change. “What do you have to lose, Commander? You’re already practically dead. Permanently giving up your life is a trifling thing compared to the doctor’s health and well-being, is it not? And it’s hardly a difficult task for me, of course.”

Spock had no rebuttal for him. The choice to give up his own life for Leonard’s was an easy one and required no further thought. The reason for his hesitation lay only in whether Q would choose to deliver on his promise.

“I believe it’s called a leap of faith, Commander,” Q guessed his thoughts, quirking an eyebrow and observing Spock’s reluctance with obvious amusement. “Allow yourself to take one, for once.”

* * *

Spock looked as though he could’ve been asleep. If it weren’t for the lack of air filling his lungs and the silent bio-monitor above him, Jim would’ve assumed he was.

M’Benga had no explanation for Spock’s death, looking just as lost and confused as Jim felt. Spock had done well in surgery, his vitals had been fine, and with a Vulcan healing trance, he might’ve even managed to walk again. Jim did his best to reassure the doctor it wasn’t his fault, theories of Q somehow interfering whirling through his head, but none spoken aloud.

Biting his tongue hard as a distraction from the wave of grief he felt, Jim took his leave so Sarek could have a moment alone with his son and made his way to Bones’ office.

The man still seemed unconscious. Jim took a moment to observe him before doing anything, looking for the steady rise and fall of—but it was hardly there, he realized. Bones was barely breathing at all.

Panic filled him at the thought. He couldn’t lose McCoy, too.

“Bones!” Jim rushed to his side, quickly feeling for a pulse. He was relieved to find it there, though very faint. “Doctor M’Benga!”

“Oh, don’t bother.”

Jim glanced up to see Q leaning against the wall, arms folded, a bored look on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” Q said, then yawned loudly. “Although, I suppose I did make a few promises to your friends.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“For the sake of time, let’s just say they’ve both done some bargaining for the sake of the other. Now it’s my turn to bargain.”

Jim narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth through his next words. “My first officer is dead, Bones is dying as we speak, my crew’s minds are being screwed with, the Enterprise isn’t working, and it’s all because of you. Why should I listen to anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“I have only one very simple request.” Q stepped closer, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Warily, Jim moved his hand to the phaser at his hip. Welcome

“If it’s within reason, I might consider it, but I’m really not interested in doing shit for you,” Jim warned.

“Certainly, but this should be an easy choice. In exchange for saving your friends’ lives, restoring the Enterprise’s function, and removing the psi influence over your crew, I want your express permission that I can return to the Enterprise anytime I wish, to do anything I wish… within reason, of course.” Q’s smile widened.

Jim looked back to Bones, slumped over his desk, totally still. Tentatively, the captain felt for his pulse again, both on his neck and his wrist. The flutter of his heart was barely there and fading by the second.

“What’s your definition of ‘within reason?’” Jim questioned. “And if you can do whatever you want, why even ask for permission?”

“Recently, the Q continuum has been far more stringent as it comes to my freedoms.” Q frowned, more like a pout than anything else. “If I’m to have any fun, I’m forced to ask permission! The whole business is quite ridiculous. But as far as ‘within reason’ goes…” He then raised a dubious eyebrow. “I shall leave it up to your good judgment, mon capitan.”

“And if I agree, you’ll save them? Heal them completely? Do all that other stuff you said?” Jim asked doubtfully, his hand resting on Bones’ shoulder.

The man’s warmth bled through his uniform. The thought of him gradually becoming cold as he lay there dying suddenly made Jim feel as though he couldn’t swallow. He squeezed his shoulder just briefly, reassurance Bones was still there.

“Of course I will. All you have to say is ‘yes.’” Q spread his arms wide, an open invitation for Jim’s response.

Jim considered it. He looked between Bones, unconscious, and Q, smug and full of himself. Then he thought of Spock, dead in the other room, his father mourning him. There was nothing anyone could do to bring either of them back, it seemed. And yet, Q was clearly dangerous and did as he pleased, even if there was some continuum to curb his behavior.

But what other choice did Jim have? He loved Spock and Bones. He loved the Enterprise. He cared about each of his crew. He’d do anything for them.

“Alright,” he acquiesced. “But if you come back, you can’t hurt anyone, like you did with my crew or Bones and Spock. You can’t make anyone do anything against their will. And you can’t screw with the Enterprise ever again. Do I make myself clear?” Jim said firmly, allowing his authority to color his tone.

Q brightened immediately. “Wonderful!”

Then he snapped his fingers and disappeared in a flash of light.

* * *

Awareness was slow to return. His hands fisted the soft material beneath him. Sheets? Was he in a bed?

A distant voice was calling his name. He couldn’t quite focus on it.

The palm of a warm hand stroked his hair, then brushed his cheek and down to his neck, curling gently around the nape.

“Leonard?” The voice was clearer now. McCoy thought he might recognize it. Through the touch, a familiar mind brushed against his own

He groaned and started trying to open his eyes, failing the first few times. The hand resumed stroking his neck and migrated back to his cheek.

“Leonard?” The voice said again. It had to be someone he knew, McCoy thought. That voice was too familiar not to be.

“Mm?”

“Leonard.”

McCoy’s eyes finally flew open to the sight of the ceiling above, overwhelmed by a flood of memory.

It was someone he knew. Someone he loved. Someone who’d been dead.

“Spock?” He asked quietly, hardly daring to hope.

“Yes.” Carefully turning his head to the right, he found the Vulcan lying next to him, still stroking his cheek softly with his thumb. “Are you alright?”

McCoy wasted no time in practically throwing himself into the Vulcan’s waiting arms, burrowing deep into his neck. Something like a laugh, then a purr rumbled from Spock’s chest and his arms wrapped tightly around McCoy, trapping him there.

As if he’d even want to leave him.

“What the hell happened? I felt you die.” McCoy’s voice shook with emotion and he clung to Spock, trying to reassure himself it was real, that he was alive.

“I do not know. The last thing I recall was an encounter with Q.”

“What? What’d he do to you?” McCoy demanded, shifting to meet Spock’s gaze, which was infuriatingly calm. “I’ll fucking kill him if he hurt you, Spock.”

“Leonard.” Spock’s voice was firm, his hold around McCoy becoming even more insistent. “I believe he saved both our lives.”

“Well, even if he did, he’s still a bastard.”

The corners of Spock’s mouth lifted just barely. “There is very little evidence to the contrary.”

His brown eyes were filled with warmth as they looked at McCoy and the rest of the Vulcan was just as warm everywhere they touched (seriously, were Vulcans fucking space heaters or what?), but beyond that, McCoy couldn’t tell what Spock was thinking. He stared at him for a long moment, trying to read his expression and finding very little else to go off of.

“What about our bond? I can’t feel you anymore,” he finally admitted, hating the words as he spoke them.

“It was dissolved,” Spock replied quietly. “It can be formed again and would not have to be preliminary this time. But only if you wish to.”

McCoy snorted. “Right, ‘cause I just went through all this shit with you only to change my mind about bonding.”

Spock blinked slowly, his expression becoming even more unreadable. He leaned forward to kiss McCoy on the forehead, then dropped his mouth down to McCoy’s ear.

“I know you will not change your mind,” he whispered. “I merely wanted to give you the illusion of choice.”

McCoy couldn’t help chuckling.

* * *

“Did you cry?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, Jim. Be honest.”

“Bones.”

“I mean, I get it if you didn’t get weepy over Spock. But me? I’m the best friend a guy could ever have.”

“Is this revenge for when I was making fun of you two?”

“Absolutely. And quit dodging the question.”

Jim sighed dramatically. “I did not cry. I was being professional.”

“So that means you were planning on crying later?”

“Alright, that’s it. You’re fired. Get off the bridge and out of my sight. I’ll pick up a new CMO at the next starbase.”

McCoy laughed. Spock’s amusement mirrored his own through the new bond, the Vulcan glancing at him with a slightly upturned eyebrow from his post at the science station.

“Good luck finding another CMO willing to work with you, Starfleet’s number one walking disaster.”

“Seriously? That’s the best you can come up with?” Jim leveled him with a sarcastic look. “ Everyone’s dying to work with me.”

“Yeah, literally.”

Muffled giggling came from various people on the bridge who were clearly trying to hide it. Spock pushed a feeling of mild exasperation towards him. McCoy grinned.

“You two are gonna be insufferable with this bond thing now, aren’t you?” Jim muttered.

“Yep. Now Spock and I can have conversations about you, in front of you, and you’ll never know.”

“Great. Really looking forward to that.”

“So am I.”

After a moment, the captain’s expression softened and he gave McCoy a small smile. “I’m actually really happy for you both, Bones. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, I do, Jim.” McCoy reached out a hand to briefly squeeze his shoulder. “I do.”

“Good.“

Spock sent his affection across their link and McCoy returned it easily, relaxing against the captain’s chair as he watched the stars go by with contentment.