[Terminus, file 2]

     After that, Maggie treated him as one of the family. They
had a quick conference about how to spend the weekend and
decided to have some of Jim's old friends over for an informal
spaghetti supper on Saturday. Jim took their bags up to his old
room, and Maggie announced they had reservations at an excellent
vegetarian restaurant in Des Moines. Jim returned some calls, got in
touch with the friends he wanted to invite for the next evening, and
by the time they arrived at the restaurant, they were so hungry that
even Jim attacked the alfalfa sprouts with relish.
       ********************************
     Afterwards, Spock was full and pleasantly tired. They said
goodnight to Maggie and mounted the stairs to Jim's room
together.
     Kirk closed the door and gave him a fierce hug. "Welcome
to the family, Mr. Spock."
     "Indeed, your mother is most welcoming. I had expected
her to be--surprised."
     "She was. But she said it was a pleasant surprise. Mother's
never felt that sexual preference is immutable.  Actually, she used to
say that the reason a mother likes to see her son settle down with a
woman is that it flatters her, the mother--she can identify with her
son's partner and tell herself her son chose a wife just like Mom.
But Mother says she became immune to that temptation long ago ...
"
     "Why?" Spock asked, puzzled.
     "Because the women I was attracted to were usually so
different from her--or so she says," Kirk grinned.
     "She did not know Edith Keeler," Spock said seriously.
     A cloud passed briefly over Kirk's face. "No, and I could
never tell her about it, because it's classified."
     After a small silence Spock continued, "But given your
brother's death would your mother not prefer to have more
grandchildren? I have seen the concern with carrying on the family
line' in so much of your literature ..."
     Kirk shook his head firmly. "You won't find much of that
since the Eugenics Wars, Spock, though I admit it's there in
pre-War literature, certainly. We fought a war over the issue of
whether one person can ever be more important than another
because of the genes he carries, and most of us regard that question
as settled, once and for all. And concern for the fate of one's 
lineage' is just another variant of Eugenism. I know that Mother and
Father certainly felt that way."
     Spock nodded in agreement. He was relieved and happy
that Kirk's mother accepted their relationship. Now they would
have to face the far more serious problems that remained.
     Kirk was offering the bathroom, and Spock accepted the
invitation to take the first shower. "Don't drown," Kirk warned him.
"No sonics here, only water."
     Actually, the abundant warm water was very pleasant, and
Spock emerged feeling refreshed, renewed and with a sense of
well-being. As Jim prepared to take his own shower, Spock looked
around the room as curiously as an archaeologist examining the
evidence of a long-buried civilization. 
     "Put on some music, if you like," Jim told him, gesturing
toward the tape player. Spock rifled through a large collection of
popular music, which appeared mostly to be strenuous, sexually
suggestive dance music, until he came to the classical tapes. He
chose Oryanale's Concerto for Four Violins because it had always
reminded him of Jim: high-soaring strings punctuated by warm,
assertive brass and soft questioning notes from the woodwinds.
     One wall was covered with rows and rows of books and
tapes--everything from poetry and philosophy to hyperlight physics
and topology. A small computer console stood by the desk, flanked
by shelves covered with plaques and the small metal statues Spock
recognized as awards for achievement. He spent a few moments
picking out successively younger and younger pictures of Jim in the
group portraits that  hung on the wall: athletic teams, debating
teams, chess tournament teams, Student Council. "Annual
Mathematics Competition, North American
Division, Earth Secondary Schools Association, First Prize, 2252."
"Atlantic Region Annual Swim Meet, 2253, First Prize, Freeform
Event." "First Prize, Elena Santore All-Terran Essay Contest in
History, 2255." Vulcans did not reward intangible achievements
with tangible objects, but Spock acknowledged the flush of pride he
felt.
     Jim emerged from the bathroom, swathed in a large towel,
and sat down on the bed damply. He looked at Spock with a hint of
embarrassment. "Those things make the place look like a museum.
Mother hung them up while I was away ..."
     "Obviously, you had an active adolescence," Spock mused,
raising an eyebrow. "Indeed, I'm surprised that you still had time,
after all those activities, to entertain the young women at Oak
Manor ..."
     Jim threw a pillow at him. Spock ducked, caught it expertly,
and tossed it back. It took Jim only a second to recover from the
return blow--he was about to throw the pillow again when Spock
pounced on the bed, caught the pillow between their bodies and
pinned Jim's arms down to the mattress.
     "Help! I give up!" Kirk exclaimed in mock terror.
     Spock released him, unable to suppress the impulse that
tugged at the corner of his mouth. Kirk responded, as he always did
to the barest hint of amusement on Spock's face, with a brilliant
smile of his own, a smile that made Spock's heart stop in its tracks.
     Jim lifted himself back up on the bed, his grin slowly fading
to seriousness. "Spock, we've got to talk."
     "I know," Spock agreed, straightening.
     "You heard my conversation with Areel this afternoon."
     "Yes." He looked at Kirk, who looked young and
vulnerable, shrouded in the big white towel, his hair damp and
tousled from the shower. 
     Kirk took a deep breath. He looked down at the bed briefly,
then back up at Spock, his eyes large and candid. "Spock, this is
how things stand. Soon, I can expect Nogura to start pressuring me
to accept a staff position at Headquarters, and you to run a research
station on the Outer Rim. Our only chance of getting back on a
starship together is the Lexington."
     Tension began to rise in Spock's chest. "The problem has
two separate aspects," he offered hesitantly, the words sounding
dull and pedantic to his own ears. "Remaining on a starship and
remaining together."
     "All right," Jim crossed and legs and sat tailor-fashion on
the mattress. "Let's face them one at a time. First, we have to make
it as difficult as possible for Starfleet to separate us."
     Spock shifted uncomfortably. "As Ms. Shaw pointed out,
Starfleet has no obligation to assign us both to the same location."
     Kirk lifted his chin firmly and took a deep breath. "They
would if we were bondmates."
     They stared at each other for a long moment, holding each
other's eyes. Spock knew Kirk was serious. That was the problem.
Even if Spock could make him understand exactly what a Vulcan
bonding involved, he would dismiss the problems. Once Kirk
decided that he wanted something, knowledge of the risks was
more likely to whet his appetite than to deter him.
     For a brief moment, Spock considered melding so he could
show Kirk all the dimensions of the problem, but he rejected the
idea. They had to sort through the issues step by step.
     He had to begin somewhere, so he started with what he
thought was perhaps the central difference between Jim's
assumptions and his own. "Jim, a Vulcan bonding is not something
one enters for an -- instrumental purpose. It is not the equivalent of
a Human contract marriage."
     As soon as the words were spoken and he saw the wounded
look in Kirk's eyes, Spock realized he had mis-stated the issue.  "Do
you think that's all I want, a temporary contract marriage? Spock, I
thought we've been clear with each other that we have a permanent
commitment."  
     Spock nodded and held Kirk's eyes for a long moment that
affirmed that commitment. "I did not mean that. What I mean is
that the bonding is not simply a formality like a Human marriage."
     "Many Humans in life-long marriages would say their
marriages are not just formalities,' either," Kirk said wryly. "To me,
a bonding, or a marriage, would have great meaning--as an outward
symbol of our inner commitment."
     Spock's heart swelled to hear Kirk say those words, even as
he struggled to make Kirk understand. "Jim, a Vulcan bonding
permanently changes the partners."
     From the expression on Kirk's face, Spock deduced he was
responding to the word "permanent." "Mister, I didn't know you
thought this was some casual affair." It was Kirk's  command'
voice. Spock replied with equal firmness.
     "I don't, Jim, but you should know that the bonding involves
some values that are quite foreign to your culture."
     "Such as?" Kirk asked. 
     "For one thing, bondmates are treated legally as a single
entity, a single person. They hold property by entireties, each
having full possession of everything the other owns. It is a system
not unknown in your society, but outmoded on Earth for several
centuries."
     "So what?" Kirk shrugged as though their mutual
indifference to property and possessions was not even worth
mentioning.
     Spock continued to look at him deliberately. "Also, each
partner assumes full liability for the responsibilities, obligations and
civil and criminal wrongs of the other."
     Kirk returned his gaze levelly. "I think we are already used
to doing that, Spock," he replied in a steady voice. Then, lifting his
hands impatiently, "Dammit, Spock, you're throwing up smoke
screens. If you've got any *real* objections to being bonded to me,
let me hear them."
     Spock relaxed slightly, Jim was right; his arguments were
smoke screens. They were not the real reasons for his hesitancy. He
looked at Kirk for a long moment, not certain how to proceed.
     "Jim, a Vulcan bonding is not merely a  symbol.' It involves
a real, material transformation in the partners. The difference
between a marriage and a bonding is the difference between a legal
arrangement and a transformation in the neuro-psychological
makeup of the partners."
     Kirk looked back at him, puzzled. "I think you explained
that when you told me about the bonding link you had with
T'Pring--you said you had your minds  locked together' so you
would both be drawn to the same place at the time of mating. Is
that what you mean?"
     "In part," Spock nodded, drawing in a breath.
     "And you think I wouldn't want our minds  locked together'
that way? Don't be silly! Spock, we've talked about the *pon farr* a
hundred times--you know I'd never let you go through it with
anyone else but me. And I think the idea of our both being drawn
together at the time is--well, let's just say it's the most romantic idea
I've ever heard."
     Jim gave him a lopsided smile, and Spock knew his feelings
were genuine. He, of all people, knew that Jim was a deeply
romantic and emotional being. How to explain how little about the
bonding was merely  romantic'?
     As he struggled to frame his response, Spock could see that
Kirk was making a real effort to curb his impatience.
     "It is true that I described the bonding as a 'locking together'
of two minds," Spock began slowly. "That is actually a loose
metaphor for a specific transformation in the nervous system."
     "What do you mean, a transformation?" Kirk asked,
puzzled.
     "In your psychology, perhaps the closest approximation
would be the phenomenon of the a conditioned reflex," Spock
replied.  
     Kirk's eyes were focused intently on Spock, his brows knit
together in curiosity. "You mean that bondmates learn to respond
to each other sexually the way a dog can be taught to salivate at the
sound of a bell?" Obviously he remembered the old psychology
experiments of Earth's European behaviorists.
     Spock paused without nodding. "The connection is similar,
but much deeper. In fact, it is not simply a conditioned reflex, but
an absolute one like the sensation of hunger or thirst. Vulcan
bondmates look to each other as the exclusive source of relief from
the hunger of *pon farr.*"
     Kirk's face lit up in a broad smile. "Sounds wonderful. It
also sounds like a good reason for posting bondmates together."
     Spock looked down at the bed, his long fingers tracing an
abstract pattern on the coverlet. "That is true."
     "How is it done, Spock?" Kirk's curiosity reasserted itself.
     "A healer, a gifted telepath with extensive training in
neurology, psychic techniques and the structure of the brain,
'reaches into' the minds of the two partners and diverts the neural
transmission paths of their minds."
     Kirk drew in a deep breath in astonishment. "I had no idea.
Have ... Vulcans always known how to do this?"
     Spock looked up and shook his head. "No, but it was
discovered several thousand years ago, when Vulcans left the
hunting and gathering phase of economic development and began to
live in settled communities and make their living from agriculture.
Quite frankly, it was a technique advocated by men who wished to
stabilize their access to women and through them, their children,
who had become an important source of economic power in the
new agricultural society."
     "So Vulcans learned to bond only when patriarchy raised its
ugly head," Kirk grinned. "For a telepathic people, that must have
ranked with the discovery of fire."
     "Indeed," Spock nodded calmly. "It is considered a
historical watershed. At first the telepaths did not understand the
scientific theory of what they were doing, of course. They were
regarded simply as mystics and magicians in their own time. But
they learned how to reach into the subcortical centers of the brain
and direct the transmission of neural impulses so that the male in
*pon farr* would perceive a single, specific partner as the only
means of satisfying the mating drive. Once bonded, the man would
cease to mate with the first available partner. He would
automatically and reflexively return to the bondmate at the first sign
of pon farr."
     Despite his personal stake in the subject, Kirk's eyes were
alive with interest. "This is the most romantic neurology lesson I've
ever heard, Spock. But why can't the connection be formed through
repeated experience, the way a conditioned reflex is formed among
humans and animals?" 
     Spock raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment of Kirk's
logic. "Because the bonding is different from an ordinary reflex--the
bonding takes place at a much deeper level of the mind, one that an
ordinary telepath can reach only with difficulty. Theoretically, it is
possible for two persons to become bonded through repeated
sexual experience combined with the mind-link, but it is extremely
rare. Only a handful of cases have ever been recorded." 
     "Oh," Kirk shrugged the information off as a passing
curiosity--plainly, he was eager to return to the earlier topic.
"Spock, as you've described it, the bonding is basically a guarantee
of sexual exclusivity, at least during the time of mating. Surely, you
don't think that will be a ... problem for me?"
     Kirk's face was open, serious; his eyes begged for
affirmation. "Spock, you've seen ... in my mind ... how I feel ... you
know I haven't wanted anyone else since we've ... been together.
Don't you believe what you see?"
     Spock's heart ached and he wished he could put an end to
Kirk's distress. Instead he said, simply, "It is not that, Jim. It is
something completely different. It is why Vulcan bondmates cannot
serve together in combat." 
     Kirk stared at him in surprise. "What? That can't be right.
What about the *Intrepid*?"
     "That was an all-Vulcan ship," Spock replied. "It is the only
exception allowed."
     "What are you talking about?" Kirk's brows were knit, his
entire body radiating tension and disbelief. "That's ridiculous!
There's nothing like that in the personnel regulations -- I know them
practically by heart."
     Spock stared back at him in dead earnest. "The proscription
is not in the personnel regulations. It is a matter of internal Vulcan
law."
     Seeing disbelief gave way to astonishment on Kirk's face,
Spock went on to explain, "The treaty between Vulcan and the
Federation that authorized Vulcans to serve in Starfleet contains a
clause that allows Vulcans to seek exceptions from Starfleet
personnel regulations based on Vulcan law."
     Understanding lit up Kirk's face for a moment. "Oh, the
famous reserved clause!" But his eyes clouded again in confusion.
"But that's the provision that allows Vulcan bondmates to insist on
being posted together, and to be granted leave on Vulcan during
the pon farr. You're saying the provision covers other Vulcan rules
as well?"
     "Yes, it does. Its practical effect, in this case, is to exempt
Vulcan bondmates from personnel assignments that would require
them to serve together in combat positions."
     "I've never heard of it," Kirk frowned, still struggling with
disbelief. "But then, I never had occasion to."
     "No," Spock agreed. "The provision would come into play
only if Starfleet had sought to assign a married Vulcan couple to
your ship, and they had invoked Vulcan law and requested the
exemption. Given the small number of Vulcans in Starfleet, it is not
surprising that it simply has never happened."
     "I see." Kirk's face was closed and guarded, but his
expressive eyes revealed his confusion. "And this is binding on you,
not by Starfleet regulation, but by Vulcan law." 
     "Affirmative," Spock nodded tersely, aware how hard this
was for Jim.
     Abruptly, Kirk's shuttered expression broke in pain and
denial. "But *why,* Spock?" His soft, fierce voice told Spock he
could think of a dozen reasons, but wanted to reject all of them.
     "Jim, from what I have told you of the Vulcan bonding, how
do you think that a Vulcan male, dependent on his bondmate for his
very survival, would react if that person were placed in imminent
danger?"
     Kirk pursed his lips together and considered the question
seriously. "Much as any of us would react if someone we loved
deeply were in danger." Something in his voice challenged Spock to
prove that a Vulcan bonding was really so different from the
emotional bonds among Humans.
     "No," Spock shook his head firmly. "Vulcans can resist
emotional drives. So, even, can a highly disciplined Human like
yourself."
     At that, both men allowed themselves a wry smile that
broke the tension for a moment, but only for a moment. 
     "Because the pon farr is life-threatening, the Vulcan male
has a strong, almost biologically-motivated interest in the survival
of the bondmate," Spock continued, trying his best to sound
dispassionate. "He develops a virtually instinctive reflect to protect
his bondmate from harm. If his partner is in danger, he will
experience an almost irresistible urge to rescue her--or him. He is
likely to become incapable of taking any course of action that
conflicts with that goal." 
     "You said *almost* irresistible, Spock," Kirk said hopefully,
trying as he always did to turn logic inside out. "That means it
*can* be resisted."
     There was a moment of taut silence between them as Spock
struggled to find the words that would dispel Kirk's facile optimism. 
     "Jim, incidents are reported on Vulcan in which one partner
has gone to the aid of the other, even at the expense of their own
children."
     Kirk was speechless for a moment. "Oh," he finally
swallowed. 
     "As you can imagine," Spock continued, "we are somewhat
... ashamed of the phenomenon. Nevertheless we have studied it,
documented it. We have even conducted controlled experimental
studies to verify it. The body of research attesting to the
phenomenon is considered quite conclusive. We can even state it as
a statistical probability." 
     Spock refrained from stating the numbers.
     "Does this phenomenon have a name?" Kirk asked
curiously. 
     "It is called the *jarizat inqaz,* the "rescue instinct."
     Kirk's brow furrowed and he spoke carefully, weighing each
word. "The male is ... instinctively driven to rescue the female,
because his life is in danger in the *pon farr.* That would be ... you,
in our case. I wouldn't be subjected to the same instinct, because
the *pon farr* isn't a danger to me."
     "The male is more strongly affected than the female,
certainly," Spock acknowledged quietly. "However, because of the
profound metal link between the bonded partners, the other partner
inevitably is affected. A number of research studies have shown
this--that although the *jarizat inqaz* is weaker among wives than
among husbands, it is nevertheless discernible in both partners."
     "Hmm." Spock could tell from the look on Kirk's face that
he was determined to find a loophole somewhere. "But I'm not a
Vulcan. Isn't it possible I wouldn't be affected at all?"
     "Unknown, but possible. Still, even if you were not, would
that make a difference?"
     "Spock, we've talked about this before, a hundred times. As
a *command* problem, I trust myself to handle the emotional
conflict our relationship creates. As long as I'm the one who is
faced with the actual command decisions--"
     "Jim." Spock interrupted firmly. "You are being too facile.
As your First Officer, I frequently make the same command
decisions as you, and many of them have involved your safety. Even
without the bonding, I already have experienced serious difficulties
in weighing your safety against other factors. As you know."
     Kirk's expression said he'd tried to maneuver his way out of
a tight situation, failed, and was trying to accept the consequences.
His jaw tightened, and he clenched his fists in frustration. "You
mean, in other words, that Vulcan bondmates can serve together
only in routine, non-hazardous assignments in which neither is in a
decision-making role vis a vis the other?"
     "Precisely."
     "And this is binding on you as a Vulcan citizen? No
loopholes, no possible out for your human half?"
     "It is not binding as your Human codes and laws are, by the
power of the state behind it, but by its underlying logic. The
implication of the research studies have been discussed thoroughly
among Vulcan social scientists. The policy implications for Vulcans
serving in Starfleet were debated thoroughly in the Vulcan local
councils as well as the High Council of Vulcan. The result was a
consensus. And, in fact, I do agree that the decision was correct
and that it must apply to me as it does to others."
     Kirk sighed, nodded and looked down at the bed. "I
understand, Spock, although I sure as hell don't like it."
     For a moment they sat in silence. Spock watched Kirk's
expressive face, feeling compassion as his partner thought through
the implications of what he had just told him.
     Finally Kirk looked up at him with something like
amusement in his eyes. "You know, Spock, there is a certain
elegant irony in all this. The only way to guarantee we'll be assigned
together is to bond. But unless we're unbonded, they can never
assign us together on a starship." His mouth curved wryly. "It
reminds me of Finagle's Fifth Law--'you have to be crazy to go into
space. But unless your psych profiles show you are certifiably sane,
the Fleet will never let you off the ground.'"
     The tension eased and Spock responded in kind to this bit of 
Academy lore they shared in common. "Indeed, that is a familiar
paradox. I believe it can be traced back to your Earth's twentieth
century, where it was known at the 'Catch-22.'"
     The shadows left Kirk's face and he smiled openly. "My
ever-encyclopedic Vulcan. Sometimes I think your interests at the
Academy were not as different from those of the other midshipmen
as you've led me to believe."
     Spock responded with an appropriate look of wounded
dignity.
     More seriously, Kirk went on, "All right. The bonding won't
work as assurance that we'll get back on a starship together. But if
Starfleet *does* try to separate us, it would force them, at least, to
give us desk assignment together."
     "You would be extremely unhappy in a desk assignment,"
Spock pointed out.
     Kirk acknowledged the point with a rueful shrug. "It
wouldn't be my first choice, that's true. But if it's a choice between
that and losing *you*--"
     Spock felt a warm urge of joy. *Oh, yes, make that choice,*
he wanted to say aloud. But he had come too far to abandon logic
now.
     "Jim," he pointed out. "That would be the end of the life we
have known together. Our relationship grew out of our work on the
*Enterprise.* And I believe that you would ultimately come to feel
resentment if you were forced to leave the work you love most
because of me."
     Jim's face shifted abruptly, and the sudden look of raw
vulnerability tore at Spock's heart and made him want to withdraw
his words.
     "Don't you think I'd resent it even more if I were forced to
leave *you* for my work?"
     Jim's word lit an irrational glow in Spock's mind. He let his
tense shoulders relax and nodded. They held each other's gaze for a
long moment in silent acknowledgment of their commitment.
     Finally, Spock straightened up on the bed and squared his
shoulders, as if to throw off a burden that suddenly had become
uncomfortable. "Spock, let's hope we never have to face that
problem. We have a decent chance of being assigned to the
*Lexington* together. If we aren't, we can face our options after
that."
     A tiny ray of hope died in Spock's breast--the hope that Jim
might want the bonding for its own sake and not merely for
expediency. He let it die, refusing to let himself feel regret. He had
never had any reason to shelter that hope. He was determined not
to expect of Jim what no Vulcan had any right to expect of a
Human.    But he shut that thought out of his mind when Jim
took his hand, lifted it up from the bed and brought it to his own
temple. Willingly, Spock positioned his hand for the mind-link. As
the meld sprang to life between them, Jim's sincerity and
commitment lit up his mind.
     *Spock, we'll find a way to stay together, I promise.*
     *And I shall do all that is in my power.*
     *Please let me show how much I love you ...*
     A small erotic thrill stirred in Spock's belly. He was
suddenly very much aware of Kirk's bare skin and body, of how the
bath had softened his skin and left it glowing pink and gold. He
placed his free hand on Kirk' thigh and squeezed it gently. The
curling golden hair was fine and silky under his hand, and beneath
the softness, his flesh was firm and hard. He shivered and the
yearning rose in his body, to press against those complex textures
of silk and satin and muscle. And so he answered Jim by showing
him in precise detail exactly what he wanted.
     Jim grinned, and his eyes shone in anticipation.
     Spock broke the meld, and Kirk took his hand as he pulled
his fingers away, then grasped his arms and pushed him gently
down on the bed. When Spock was lying on his back, Kirk rubbed
his shoulders, then leaned down to nuzzle him gently with lips,
tongue and nose in the tender places between linking neck, ears and
chin. Each touch was a love-word in a secret language that had
grown up between them through months of loving and learning
what pleased the other.
     Jim slipped his hands under Spock's neck and kneaded his
scalp with strong fingers, pulled his face close to his own and into a
kiss that was wonderfully deep and infinitely gentle. Spock opened
himself to the kiss, savoring the taste of Jim's mouth, the blunt
pressure of Jim's tongue curving and twisting within him. 
     Every pore of his body was alive, opening to Jim. He arched
his back in the tension of desire as Jim's other hand played with his
nipples, combing through the hair. Each tug of the separating curls
awakened a surge of pleasure. 
     He held his breath as Kirk squeezed and massaged his
thighs, longing for the moment when he would take his swelling
organ in his hand. Spock gasped at his own sensitivity when he was
finally rewarded, when Kirk's strong fingers closed over his cock
and pumped him rhythmically. 
     Jim slid down toward the end of the bed, slipped his hands
under Spock's buttocks and rubbed his cheek against Spock's stiff
cock. "You're beautiful," he whispered. As Spock groaned in an
agony of desire, Kirk applied himself to loving the large organ,
rooting at its base, playing at it with his tongue. Then he took it in
his mouth, and Spock could feel his determination to swallow it
full-length. As impossible as that seemed, Jim nearly did it--taking
him in, sucking, squeezing Spock's cock with the muscles of his
mouth and throat until Spock felt he would
dissolve into the bed with pleasure.
     It was all Spock could do to reach down and try to
disengage them. Another moment and he'd come in Jim's
mouth--and as delightful as that prospect was, he had something
else in mind. Jim looked up, examined the fruits of his own labor
with a carefully appraising eye, and gave him one of his most
winning smiles. "Don't worry, I heard what you said in the
mind-link. Ready?"
     Spock turned over on his stomach and muttered something
inarticulate into the pillow. Jim rose with a single swift movement,
and Spock thrust his hips upward, hungry to make contact.
     "Wait--wait, Spock," Kirk whispered. He got up and fished
in his suitcase for the lubricating device he'd brought along and
quickly returned to the bed. Gently, thoroughly, he began to
massage Spock's buttocks. He pressed some of the slick fluid up
inside Spock and returned to the massage, melting him, relaxing
him until Spock's muscles felt like liquid wax. 
     When Spock's nerve endings could no longer tell where his
own body ended and Jim's began, Jim pressed softly into him, the
tip of his cock cool and firm and wonderful. Spock was eager for
the pressure, the sweet stretching and contracting of the muscles of
his own body, the intimate sensation of Jim alive and throbbing
within him. He sighed hungrily as Jim pushed in, all the way in, and
began to move, long velvety strokes that made him ache with
pleasure.
     Jim moved one hand back and forth on Spock's cock, the
other gently squeezed his testicles, the motion of his hands
matching the rhythm of his thick cock's thrusting inside Spock.
Fluidly, effortlessly, Jim reached up into him, reaching for the core
of tautness somewhere deep inside him, probing, unlocking door
after door until he reached the final threshold of tension. 
     And then he crossed it, and released the damned-up core of
energy there at the center of Spock's being, let it flood out and fill
Spock's body with brightness, until Spock felt himself dissolve into
light, his body melting into the twin pools of semen, the one that
flooded his ass and the one that spread under his belly. 
     Jim lay damp and shaking on his back, awkwardly trying to
share the hair out of his eyes and kiss Spock's shoulder at the same
time. "That was wonderful," he gasped happily when he'd recovered
enough to speak. Ad he rolled off to lie down at Spock's side and
hug him.
     "Mmm," muttered Spock, too contented to speak. All he
had energy for was to hug Jim back and let himself drift off to sleep
on a wave of utter contentment.
         ***************************
     When Spock awoke, he was alone in the bed. The light in
the room was golden and hazy, and faint early-morning Earth
sounds drifted in the open window: the rustle of leaves, the twitter
of birds, the scurrying of a small animal. A far-off bird song made a
descant in the background. He concentrated on the sonorous notes,
trying to find a pattern in them. 
     Suddenly his musical analysis was interrupted by the 'thwap'
of a tennis ball on the side of the house. He sat up in the bed. More
'thwaps' followed in rapid succession.
     Spock peered out the window and groaned. Jim, clad in
shorts and T-shirt, was playing with an automatic serving machine
set on the highest setting. He sank down in the bed again; the mere
sight of Jim chasing the flurry of balls exhausted him, He wondered
how Jim could display so much energy early in the morning,
especially on a weekend they had dedicated to "rest." But then, he
and Jim never had agreed on the meaning of "rest." 
     Abruptly, the sound of tennis balls stopped and he heard the
sound of a door opening. Jim must have gone inside. Minutes later,
he heard the unmistakable sound of Jim, bounding up the staircase,
and then the door opened and Jim was in the bedroom, carrying a
trayful of tea, juice, steaming rolls and butter.
     "Breakfast in bed?" Spock was surprised by the unnecessary
effort. Kirk sat down on the bed and handed him the tray. "How did
you know I had awakened?"
     "Intuition," Kirk grinned fondly, leaning down to ruffle his
hair and kiss the tip of an ear. "As for breakfast in bed, you need to
conserve your energy. Tonight it'll be your turn to do the work." 
     After breakfast, they decided to install Maggie's power
cable. A few carefully-worded calls to Central Power and Light told
Kirk where the chief administrator could be found. When the
administrator realized who Kirk was, he was all apologies for the
fact that the cable hadn't been installed sooner. The installation and
maintenance crew didn't work on weekends, and the administrator's
relief was palpable when Kirk offered to do the installation himself. 
     Jim and Spock went down to the utility company's offices in
Maggie' aircar, picked up the equipment and had it installed by
noon. Maggie kept them company while they worked, admiring
their easy coordination. "That's one thing your father and I never
shared," she told Jim ruefully, "we never worked together--we
couldn't even *understand* each other's work."
     After lunch Maggie decided to go into town to pick up the
provisions for Kirk's spaghetti supper. Jim proposed to Spock that
they visit one of Kirk' old friends who lived within walking distance.
     Jim had gone to secondary school with John Reid, but
John's roots in Iowa were deeper than Jim's, and he shared none of
the restlessness that sent Jim off into space. After finishing his
doctorate, he'd gone to work for the Center for Applied Medical
Electronics, where Maggie worked.
     John was expecting them and came down the sidewalk past
the swings and children's toys that cluttered the deep front lawn to
meet them. He and Jim greeted each other warmly. A very pregnant
woman wearing a loose, filmy dress opened the door and walked
heavily down the steps to join them, and a tiny dynamo with golden
hair dashed from behind her mother's back and flung herself into
Kirk's arms.
     "Jessica?" Kirk grinned up at John.
     "Yup. She'll be three next month. Considering she's never
met you before, that's quite a welcome."
     "Obviously very accomplished socially. And pretty--I see
she takes after her mother." Julie had almost caught up with her
daughter by now, and Kirk reached over and kissed her on the
cheek. "John, Julie, this is Spock, who was my First Officer on the
*Enterprise.*"
     John directed them all to the back porch for tea and
lemonade. Their warmth made Spock feel at ease, but the domestic
surroundings made him vaguely uneasy for some reason he could
not quite define.
     "When's the baby due?" Kirk asked after they'd all sat down.
     "Any minute now," said John. He and Julie exchanged
glances. Julie was smiling happily, but John's mouth curved in a wry
smile. "And when it arrives, *I* have to go back to work."
     "So you're taking parental leave in shifts?" Kirk queried,
sipping his lemonade.
     Julie nodded. "Every six months, we alternate. I can't leave
my job for more than that at a stretch."
     "It's too short," John said ruefully. "I just finished
organizing a playgroup for Jessie and her friends, and now my leave
is over."
     Just then Jessica emerged from the back door with a
wagonful of toys and headed determinedly in Kirk's direction. She
pulled the overloaded wagon up beside him and began to unload it
piece by piece, explaining as she did what each toy was and how
she's acquired it. Kirk was amused at how seriously she took the
project.
     "She's very articulate for her age," he commented.
     "She likes you," John replied. "I can see you still have your
old touch with women." He and Julie exchanged smiles. Kirk,
looking a little embarrassed, occupied himself listening to Jessica's
lecture. Finally, after she'd finished and was deciding whether to
load up the wagon again, he swooped her up and bounced her on
his knee in an old Earth chant that had something to do with horses
and riders. The little girl shrieked with laughter, and John and Julie
looked at them in amusement. 
     "It's time you settled down, Jim," John said, his voice light
but not really joking. Kirk looked uncomfortable, and Spock could
see that he was avoiding John's eyes--and Spock's own.
     They talked about the *Enterprise,* and Jim and John
caught up on news of mutual friends. Spock had a surprisingly
enjoyable conversation with Julie, a hazardous waste engineer,
about hydrogeology.
     Finally Jim stood up to go. John and Julie were coming to
supper that evening, so they'd see each other later. Jim and Spock
said their goodbyes and set off in the direction of the town's small
central square.
     They walked in silence for a few minutes. The visit had left
Spock strangely unsettled. It did not seem appropriate to compare
John and Julie with himself and Jim, yet he felt almost envious of
their marriage, the warmth and security he had felt in their home.
     His parents' marriage had the solidity and stability of a
typical Vulcan bonding, but in spite of his mother's influence, he did
not think his father was capable of the emotional depth of many
Human marriages. His relationship with Jim had emotional depth,
but stability and security could never be part of life on a starship. 
     Spock thought back to those rare, coveted moments they
spent alone on the *Enterprise* and what they meant for him: joy,
comfort, relief--and always, the ever-present shadow of danger and
death hanging over them like a sword of Damocles. It was hard for
him not to feel cheated--although he knew Jim did not feel that
way--when they *could* so easily have both the emotional depth
and the bedrock stability and mental sharing of a Vulcan bonding.
     They walked in silence for a moment longer, neither taking
the first move to break the uncomfortable silence between them.
Suddenly, as they turned a corner, Kirk's face lit up. "Spock, please
come with me to one of my old haunts," he urged as he led Spock
in the direction of a small shop in the middle of the block.
     Kirk's old haunt turned out to be a store called 'Annie's Old
Fashioned Homemade Ice Cream Parlor,' and Kirk opened the door
enthusiastically. "Spock, they have the best ice cream this side of
the Rocky Mountains, and it's all fresh, natural and vegetarian. Let's
go in and cool off."
     Kirk led him to a counter where they stood on an ancient
wooden floor and stared at the vast array of different flavors of ice
cream, and of candies, nuts, mints and sauces intended to serve as
accompaniments. Jim happily chose an impossibly rich dish
composed of buttered almond and rum raisin ice cream with mocha
fudge sauce. He waited in eager anticipation to see whatSpock
would choose, then pretended to look wounded when Spock
ordered a more conservative confection of lemon yoghurt with
berries on top.
     "Spock, I'm sure that will taste delicious, and it's certainly
good for you," Kirk protested as they headed toward a table in the
least crowded part of the store, "but you're making me feel guilty.
Eating a rich dessert is practically *required* at Annie's."
     "Jim, I feel compelled to point out that a dish like that--" he
nodded toward Kirk's fudge-drenched concoction--"provides
approximately the same number of calories as a full meal."
     Kirk favored him with a brilliant smile, and for a moment, as
they sat down with their ice cream dishes at the small round table,
the differences between them were what they always had been, a
source of perpetual fascination and delight. 
     But the moment evaporated, and an awkward silence settled
between them again as Kirk resolutely tackled his ice cream and
Spock sampled the berries politely. Finally, Kirk looked up at him,
squared his shoulders, and broke the silence.
     "Spock, we didn't resolve anything last night, did we?"
     Spock put his spoon down, not altogether surprised by the
abrupt change of subject. "No," he replied slowly.
     Kirk look down and toyed with his dessert, drawing a
pattern in the mixture of ice cream and fudge. "What you told me
last night was--shattering, Spock. I thought the bonding was a
simple way for us to win and force Nogura to let us stay together.
Last night I learned it's hardly that simple."
     The pain in Kirk's eyes made Spock's heart contract in his
side. "Jim, the fault is mine for not telling you earlier about the
*jarizat inqaz*--"
     Kirk hunched over the table and shook his head grimly.
"No, no, Spock. We had just never talked about the bonding
before. It was my fault for being so dense as to think it didn't
matter, that it was just a formality we could get around to when we
felt like it. God, I feel like such a chauvinist!"
     "No, Jim, you are not." Spock placed his hand over Kirk's
on the table and squeezed it gently. Kirk looked up at him, his
mouth quirked in a half-smile of pleasure. Spock knew he loved the
rare occasions when Spock showed affection in public. He turned
his palm up and squeezed Spock's slender hand in his own. 
     "Spock," he said ruefully, as he released Spock's hand, "It
feels as though you and I and Nogura are in one of the oddest
triangles ever created."
     Spock raised his eyebrows quizzically at the strange
metaphor. "How so?"
     Kirk tipped his chair back on two legs, releasing some of his
tight-wound tension. "Until last night I thought it was the two of us
against Nogura. Now it's seems we're at odds with each other, too.
Nogura thinks our relationship should preclude us from serving on
a starship together. You agree with him that our relationship poses
a risk, and that if we were bonded, it would be an absolute barrier."
He attempted a wry smile, but the curve of his lips did not reach his
eyes.
     Spock set his spoon down and grimaced. "It is disconcerting
to be on the same side as Nogura. Yet, you are correct and I do in
essence agree with him."
     They stared at each other for a long moment.
     Finally, Kirk brought his chair forward again with a thud.
"Spock, if we were bondmates, and I took a job at Headquarters,
they'd have to offer you a posting there too. If you wanted it.
Would you?"
     "Why would I not?" Spock asked warily, unsure where the
conversation was leading.
     Kirk looked back at him squarely. "Spock, there are no pure
research jobs at Starfleet Headquarters. You could be a scientific
bureaucrat, perhaps, but you know even better than I do that it's no
place for a research scientist."
     Spock shrugged his shoulders. "I managed to combine
research with administration on the *Enterprise,*" he replied
noncommittally.
     "Bull," Kirk replied testily. "On the *Enterprise,* you were
working on the frontiers of scientific knowledge in your field. You
weren't a bureaucrat."
     "Starfleet headquarters *is* essentially an administrative
center," Spock replied carefully. His face said, *if you were willing
to take a job as an administrator, for me to do the same would be a
small price to pay for our remaining together.*
     Kirk's mind was on his own train of thought, and he did not
read the look on Spock's face. "And what about the social
environment at Headquarters? Do you think you could stand
interacting with people like Nogura and Rao day after day?
Remember, as an Admiral, my time--and my social life--wouldn't be
my own."
     Spock stiffened. It was true, the thought of being part of the
Admirals' world, with their talk of arms superiority and interest
rates, chilled his soul. At times he would like to consign the entire
Starfleet bureaucracy to some other universe entirely. 
     But he had no separate universe that he and Jim could
retreat to. All he had was logic. So again, he tried to attack their
problem logically. "Any choice we make will have disadvantages,"
he began awkwardly, embarrassed at how weak his voice sounded.
     Jim looked up at him intently, waiting for him to go on.
Again, silence hung between them for a beat. 
     Finally, when Spock did not continue, Kirk picked up his
spoon again and toyed with his
ice cream. "Of course," he offered almost casually, if we were
bondmates and you chose to accept
the assignment on the Outer Rim, they'd have to assign me there,
too."
     Spock started. Was Jim serious? Or had he said this as an
afterthought, out of fairness to him? "What would you do at a
research station on the Outer Rim?" he asked gently. Kirk stirred
the ice cream in his dish, now melted down into an undifferentiated
gray puddle. He smiled, a small ironic smile, and Spock could feel
the sadness radiating from him. "I don't know," he said simply.
     There was a long pause as they looked at each other
silently, not knowing what to say next. Finally Kirk pushed his dish
back and let his hands fall to the table, palms up in a gesture of
supplication. 
     "Spock, I wish you'd tell me what you want," he sighed in
frustration. "We've been talking a lot about what *I* want--another
starship command--as though it's a preference we both share. But
maybe it isn't." 
     Spock's shoulders stiffened. This was precisely the issue
he'd been trying to avoid. He did not want to tread those dangerous
waters, not openly, not now when Jim hurt so much from the loss
of the *Enterprise.*
     Distantly, he said, "II have been trying to consider the
alternatives in logical fashion."
     Kirk's body tightened in frustration. He turned his hands
over and gripped the end of the table. "Spock, I feel too strongly to
be logical about this. I want to stay with you and I want to go on
commanding a starship. I want both. I want them with every fiber
of my soul. But if I don't know what *you* want, I can't know
where we stand, can I?"
     Spock flinched. Kirk was right. He nodded, mutely.
     Kirk's eyes softened, and he let the tension in his shoulders
dissolve. "Spock, I know, I know--you're trying to be rational, and
I'm not." He sighed wearily. "Oh, hell, let's go somewhere where
we can talk properly.
         ****************************
     A dilapidated old road--a relic of the days when people used
roads for transportation--skirted the borders of the agrocomplex on
the edge of the town. The two men walked slowly along the
cracked, grass-grown asphalt, over the crest of a hill, and then Jim
led them off the road to a tree-lined copse at the foot of a hill. 
     "We used to play here all the time when we were kids," Jim
told him, flopping down n his back on the grass. "It made a perfect
hideout, 'cause nobody ever bothered us." Spock followed his lead
more gingerly, making sure he was not going to encounter a nettle
or a honeybee before he allowed himself to sit.
     Curiously, he examined the strange vegetation around them:
white filigreed Queen Anne's lace, exotic milkweed pods bursting
with silky down, thistles with their soft, shaggy indigo flowers. A
yellow butterfly drifted by on effortless wings. For once, Jim knew
the variety, he did not.
     Jim reached up and stroked his cheek fondly. "You are ever
the scientist, Spock."
     "The vegetation here is extremely rich," Spock muttered,
studying the drops of white fluid that seeped from a broken
milkweed stem.
     "I'll bet you could spent a lifetime studying it." Jim took his
hand gently and lifted it from the grass to hold it in his own.
     The cool, firm touch struck a deep chord of pleasure within
him, and he looked back at Jim, one eyebrow raised. "At least a
lifetime."
     Jim squeezed his hand. "The hell with Starfleet, the
Admiralty, the *Lexington* and the Outer Rim, then. Let's stay
right here."
     Spock's heart thudded ridiculously, so hard he had to turn
his face away, afraid his expression would betray him. "It is warmer
here than in San Francisco," he said irrelevantly.
     Jim nodded, "Almost as warm as Vulcan. But you'd have to
hibernate in the winter."
     "Actually, I would prefer to stay awake," Spock answered
drily.
     Kirk pulled himself up by Spock's hand and leaned toward
him. "What would you do without your computers? I doubt there's
enough power in all of Riverside to run the equipment you're used
to having at your beck and call."
     Spock hook his head ruefully. "My computers. And your
command."
     He had not meant to sound bitter, but Kirk's eyes clouded
over, and he was silent for several moments. Finally, he looked
directly at Spock and said, "I need you too, you know."
     Spock nodded, looking down at his hand, still holding
Kirk's. "I know."
     "You're probably going to tell me now that both needs are
equally illogical."
     The words pricked a schoolboy memory somewhere deep in
the recesses of Spock's mind, and a corner of his mouth curved
infinitesimally.
     "Why're you smiling?" Kirk asked, puzzled. Spock looked at
him quizzically. Only Jim would read that gesture as a smile.
     "You reminded me of a well-known problem in Vulcan
logic, the Paradoxes of T'Nira," he replied, his mouth still curving.
     "Oh? And who was she?"
     "A philosopher of the fourth century after Surak. She noted
that the concept of 'need' generates a series of logical paradoxes."
     "Explain," asked Jim, his curiosity piqued.
     "In your language," Spock began, crossing his legs beneath
him, "The word 'need' is ambiguous--it can refer to that which is
subjectively desired--what a person wishes to have--or that which is
objectively necessary, like food and drink. Some Earth languages
attempt to assign these different meanings to two different words,
but inevitably the associations of one will color the meaning of the
other."
     Kirk leaned back on an elbow and toyed with a piece of
grass, surveying Spock. "Yes, I suppose that is paradoxical."
     "Several paradoxes exist, actually--a whole series of them.
The First Paradox is that while we cannot equate what is
objectively necessary with that which any single person subjectively
desires, nevertheless it would be illogical to equate that which is
necessary with something that *no one* desires."
     "In other words, what is logical is *illogical* if no one
wants it."
     Spock raised an eyebrow at Kirk's rephrasing of the
argument, but he continued without further comment.
     "The Second Paradox is that the necessity of the part, and
the necessity of the whole, each presuppose the other."
     "A vicious circle? The chicken and the egg?" Kirk propped
his head on his hand, his eyes following Spock intently.
     Spock leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his
knees. He steepled his fingers, trying to be precise. "Not exactly. It
is a problem of logical rather than of temporal priority. What is
logical is so only with respect to a particular purpose; but purpose
is always the intention of an individual mind. "Purpose" cannot exist
in general, in the abstract, without individual intention. The paradox
is that we cannot know what is 'necessary' for the whole unless we
know what each *part* of the whole intends. And yet, without a
knowledge of the whole, it is impossible for the individual to form a
logical purpose."
     Kirk smiled and stretched his bare legs. "I can think of a
way out of the vicious circle, Spock. That is, to recognize that
logical necessity may very well be a product of a lot of illogical 
desires."
     "Perhaps," Spock shrugged. "But that would be absurd."
     "Would it?" Kirk asked lightly, a little sadly.
     There was a long pause. Kirk looked up at the sky as
though collecting his thoughts. Suddenly he sat up straight, turned
forcefully to Spock and cut through Spock's abstractions to their
actual, if unspoken subject.
     "Spock ... you've always given me logical, hard-headed
recommendations whenever I've had a tough decision to make.
Now I need to know what logic says we should do. Should we ...
become bondmates--or not?"
     Spock straightened and sat rigidly. "What I have been trying
to say, Jim, is that I do not think a logical answer to that question
exists. Or rather--that what is logical for me may not be  logical for
you."
     "What do you mean?" Kirk asked, puzzled, gazing intently
at  Spock's face.
     Spock had to look away from him then, up through the
trees at an astonishingly three-dimensional tower of clouds
suspended majestically over them in the deep inverted bowl of Iowa
sky. "For one thing," he answered roughly, "Vulcans do not bond
for--expediency."
     He had to say it, whatever Kirk's reaction. But Kirk merely
nodded and looked down at the grass for a long moment. "I never
thought they did," he said with deceptive mildness, his face  hidden.
     There was a longer pause as Spock tried to subdue the ache
in his throat and it was apparent that Kirk was struggling with his
own strong feelings and inhibitions. 
     Finally, Kirk spoke again. "Spock, you *want* the bonding,
don't  you?"
     Spock looked away and nodded, simply, not wanting to
look at him.
     "You'd choose it, wouldn't you, even though it would mean
never serving with me again, never working together on a
starship--"
     Again, Spock nodded, his mouth curved wryly,
acknowledging the strangeness of speaking so candidly about his
own irrational needs--or desires; it no longer mattered what one
called them.
     Kirk fingered a spray of Queen Anne's lace, wondering what
to say next. Finally he clutched at the plant and tore it out by the
roots. "You probably think I'm incredibly selfish and arrogant to
want to have it both ways."
     Spock shook his head a little sadly. "No. Your needs are no
more nor less rational than mine. Besides, how could I expect you
to desire the bonding? Your culture has no experience of it. You
cannot know what it is, much less make a reasoned decision for or
against it."
     Kirk threw the tattered plant down, hard. "I've thought
about it. I've tried to imagine it. I can understand a little of what it
must be like, from knowing you ...."
     "Perhaps." Spock's voice sounded enigmatic to his own
ears, perhaps more so than he had intended. Kirk looked at him
earnestly, as though he feared that Spock did not take him
seriously.
     "Spock, I do want that closeness with you. I want that
commitment. But ..." he hesitated and gestured helplessly.
     "But you cannot be a starship captain forever," Spock
supplied for him. Kirk's eyes widened slightly, then flickered
acknowledgment. He looked down at the grass as Spock continued.
"It is quite understandable that you should wish to take advantage
of the time you have left in active duty."
     Kirk shrugged. "It's true."
     Spock went on, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "If we
succeed in receiving another starship assignment together, we
could, if you would like, consider the bonding later, after we are no
longer able to serve in line positions."
     He wasn't sure whether the thought owed more to Vulcan
logic or Human compromise, but Kirk only sighed and looked at
him morosely.
     "Bonding when you'll be taking care of me in old age,
Spock, that's no bargain."
     Spock shook his head firmly. "I am merely trying to be
practical."
     Kirk nodded fiercely. "You are. You are. But it wouldn't be
fair to you. Oh, dammit, Spock. You're right. I can only command a
ship *now.* If I don't get another command this time around, I'll
never have anther chance."
     "*Carpe diem,*" muttered Spock.
     "Something like that."
     Spock looked at him, all the old anguish of unsatisfied
desire welling up in his breast again, the yearning he thought he'd
laid to rest when he and Jim had first made love. It was a desire that
required the union of the flesh, but flesh alone could not satisfy it.
Looking at Jim, his eyes captured what his body and even his mind
could not: his vitality, his completeness. Like some Earth-god of
field and forest he seemed to blend with, to rise out of the grass, the
trees and sky around them, with his tawny hair, his eyes turning
chameleon-like to green under the deep blue sky.
     Other scenes, not of Earth, leaped out of his memory: of
Jim on the *Enterprise,* superbly in tune with his ship, leaving the
stamp of his leadership everywhere. Confident in his command
chair. Running down the corridors in a crisis, every nerve taut and
controlled. The quick-blazing anger at what he could *not* control.
The moments of relief and laughter, of hard play after harder work.
And the times of horror and despair and grief ... Spock had known
him more fully than he had ever dreamed or hoped, but no touch of
his could grasp, no embrace contain, that wholehearted pouring out
of energy, of life.
     Yet knowing that, he still reached out to him, grasped his
muscular arms and gently, gradually, tilted him back until he lay on
the grass. Jim returned his gaze silently, anticipation  lightening his
green-gold eyes, but he said nothing. 
     That nameless yearning made Spock lean down to seek
Kirk's mouth, and it opened willingly. The grass and weeds pricked
his bare legs as he lay down beside him, folded his arms around the
broad shoulders. Jim hugged him back tightly, and Spock probed
his mouth, the contrast of lush, rough-smooth textures against his
own sensitive tongue leaving him nearly breathless. 
     But the kiss did not yield the communion he sought.
Impetuously, he tugged at Kirk's tight shirt and pulled it up until
he'd exposed the nipple. He bent to suck the pink-gold flesh, 
intoxicated by the scent and taste of it. Relentlessly, still hampered
by the shirt, his hands and mouth explored as much as he could,
until Jim finally unfastened the resisting garment himself  and flung
it over his head in a single swift movement. 
     Spock pressed their bodies together, excited by the feel of
Kirk's chest, now beginning to rise and fall more rapidly. He moved
so that he was lying on top of Kirk, and thrust his now-swollen
genitals against his groin. It was not enough. He reached between
their bodies for the opening of Kirk's shorts and pulled at the fabric
with tentative fingers, torn between desire and discretion. He
wanted to thrust his hand under the waistband, to touch the smooth
naked flesh, to feel it swell under his caress. Still more, he wanted
to free it from the confining garment.
     His eyes questioned Kirk, but Kirk caught his hand and held
it where it was. "Don't stop," he whispered, "We've plenty of
privacy here." As Spock fumbled awkwardly with the clasp, Kirk
thrust his body impatiently against him. Finally Spock found the
opening, and Jim's cock burst free, springy now in arousal. Spock
squeezed it, claiming Kirk's mouth again, filling it with his tongue
as he longed to fill his body.
     Jim was trying to remove Spock's clothes, and Spock
paused a moment to cooperate, kicking off his shorts, throwing off
his shirt and shorts. A tug at Jim's open short and briefs removed
the last barriers between them, and with a sigh Spock sank down
and molded their bodies together, matched them, limb for limb,
wrapped his long legs around Jim's shorter, sturdier ones, trapped
his swelling cock tight against his belly and pressed his own stiff
organ against it. Jim groaned, threw his head back, and dug his
fingers into Spock's shoulders.
     "Meld us ..." he gasped through lips swollen with desire.
     "Not yet," Spock whispered fiercely. "The meld will be
deeper if I initiate it at a higher peak of sexual energy."
     Jim could do no more than shake his head helplessly,
squeezing his shoulders, waiting for Spock to act.
     With an effort, Spock lifted himself from Kirk's chest and
moved down to his loins. Kirk's cock was huge and hard in arousal.
Spock grasped his thighs and pushed them apart to make room for
his head, then bent and took Kirk in his mouth. 
     A great shudder ran through Kirk's body and as he gasped
with pleasure, Spock felt his orgasm gathering, powerfully. He
lifted his head, his hands still pressing against Kirk's thighs. "Jim,
please try to hold back," he implored hoarsely.
     Kirk swallowed and clenched his teeth. "I'll try," he gasped
ruefully, "but you're not making it any easier."
     Bending again to Kirk's body, Spock, massaged the soft
inner flesh of the muscular thighs with one hand and grasped the
thick ornate cock in the other. He tongued the velvety head
carefully, skillfully, circling it, pressing against the tip, testing its
resilience, thrusting the tip of his tongue into the tiny opening. 
     A part of him could go on loving Jim like this forever. But
then the single drop of semen welled up and he sucked it greedily,
wanting to swallow more, to devour all of Kirk.
     He seized Jim's thighs in both hands and pulled him up,
lifted him so that he was almost perpendicular to the ground,
wanting the deepest possible joining. The heat of arousal beat hard
in his veins as he tongued the opening, positioned his cock,
watched Jim stiffen and then will himself to relax and accept the
pain of entry. He went into him slowly, too slowly, for Jim was
awkwardly  trying to push up against him to hasten his penetration,
to push in deeper.
     He thrust in as far as he could and Jim sighed, his tight flesh
contracting around Spock in a deep tremor of desire. Grasping
Kirk's cock, Spock moved within him, fitting their bodies
together--and because it was still not close enough, he bent his head
down ad took Jim's cock in his mouth, completing the circuit.
     He opened the meld then, when their bodies were joined as
deeply as separate flesh could join. The mind-link was so strong and
required so much of his energy that for a moment he thought he
could not sustain it, but Jim's mind pulled him in like a magnet. 
     Willing, accepting, Spock opened to Jim everything he'd
ever known or thought, all he'd ever been. And he felt himself
drawn into Jim's mind, down through all the levels of consciousness
and beyond, through subconscious layers of forgotten memories,
drives and instincts--down to the very bedrock of Jim's sheer primal
energy, to the level of the collective unconscious itself.
     When the orgasm came, it was as though he had ceased to
be himself and had become Jim--or rather, as though they had both
merged with everything in nature around them, had expanded to
become one with the clouds soaring overhead and the dense earth
beneath, the earth that hummed with the sounds of a thousand life
forms. 
     It was the deepest meld they had ever had, that Spock had
ever had with anyone. 
     Afterwards, they lay together silently on the grass, as still as
the shimmering mid-afternoon sunlight that surrounded them.
Spock nestled his head in the hollow of Kirk's shoulder, and Kirk
stroked his hair peacefully. Finally Kirk spoke. "That was ...
awesome."
     Spock held him in silent agreement.
     "Would it always be like that, if we were bonded, Spock?"
     Spock raised his face from Kirk's shoulder and looked down
at him. "It is said that the bonding changes the quality of sexual
relations," he said quietly. "The word for sex between a bonded
couple, *na'rif al-kull,* means literally,
'when-one-knows-the-whole.'"
     Kirk sighed deeply. "Well, I hope we'll have a chance to test
that someday. If it turns out to be anything like what we just
experienced, the words would be very accurate."
     Someday. Spock laid his head back down on Kirk's
shoulder, heavily. They had reached a decision that afternoon, they
had made a choice, however *sub silentio.* They would not
become bondmates, not until Jim could never again command a
starship.
         ***************************
     They lay together in the grass until the lengthening shadows
signaled that  the afternoon was growing late. Kirk sat up with a
sigh of regret. "We'd  better go home and get ready for the party."
They dressed and retraced their steps back to town, hand in hand,
unwilling to let go of each other.
     Back in Kirk' home, Jim went straight to the kitchen where
Maggie had left the groceries and was soon cooking up the
spaghetti sauces by hand, claiming this method was "more
authentic" than using the electronic equipment. Spock and Maggie
offered to help, but Jim refused all offers and insisted that they relax
and keep him company in the kitchen instead. So the two of them
sat together at the kitchen table while Jim hovered over the stove.
     They still had much catching up to do. They talked for the
rest of the afternoon about the *Enterprise* and the five-year
mission, and Maggie alternated tales about Jim's childhood with
questions about Vulcan and Spock.
     The evening passed comfortably and companionably. The
aroma of the food stimulated even Spock's well-controlled appetite:
a heady sauce of fresh tomatoes, roasted garlic and long hot
peppers; another redolent with wild mushrooms and wine; still
another made of fresh herbs with the pungent tang of licorice and a
cheese with the fragrance of a sun-warmed Italian meadow. The
softness in Spock's belly was a pleasant aftereffect of the sex he and
Jim had had together, a reminder of something profoundly deep and
shared, almost as though an invisible umbilicus were attached to his
body, connecting him to Jim. The memory of that uncommon
intimacy stayed at the back of his mind, fertile and sustaining, as
though by it he had tapped into some new source of life-giving
energy.
     Later, Jim's friends came in groups of twos and threes, and
Jim relaxed thoroughly in their company. He drew Spock easily into
the group, making him feel completely included. And when he felt
Jim's hand tighten over his own, resting on the arm of a chair, or
when Jim unself-consciously put an arm around his waist as they
talked with the others, Spock felt utterly certain that, bonding or
no, they belonged together in the very nature of things, so
 naturally that no force in the galaxy could separate them for long.
     Later that night, before they went to sleep, they talked
strategy. Spock had a great deal of leave accumulated, and no
pressing duties at Headquarters once the debriefing was finished.
His parents were pressing him to return to Vulcan for a long visit.
He planned to spend the time he needed with a Vulcan healer who
could help him learn to cope with the emotional stress their
relationship had begun to create for him during the last six months
on the *Enterprise.* If  he left now, while the Outer Rim mission
was being staffed, he could neatly avoid having to commit himself
to the job.
     "Spock, hundred of scientists are competing for the job,"
Jim told him as they lay next to each other in Jim's room, talking in
the darkness to the soft shushing of the trees outside in the humid,
starlit Iowa night. "It's a real plum. And the Department of Solar
Research has locked horns with Starfleet over which agency gets to
make the appointment. It's become a turf issue, and you're Nogura's
choice."
     "Quite logically," Spock murmured into Jim's shoulder, "in
view of my qualifications and, of course, the fact that I am the only
Vulcan available for the job."
     Jim rolled him over, ruffled his hair and gave him a gentle
swat on the behind. "It's a good thing hey don't assign jobs on the
basis of your singular Vulcan modesty, mister," he said sternly, but
Spock could see his fond smile in the dark. "Anyway, the fact that
Starfleet is pushing you for the job automatically makes you
somewhat suspect to DSR. Probably the decision will be a
compromise made by committee. And if you happen to be
incommunicado in the middle of some Vulcan desert while they're
making the decision--well, it will be that much easier for them to
settle on someone else."
     Spock gave a sigh of mock resignation. "I suppose there is a
certain logic in your reasoning," he agreed, "although the process
by which Humans compromise their irrational differences is
generally just as illogical as the differences themselves. It would be
so much more logical--and efficient--simply to choose the best
person for the job."
     "Well, for once, you can be grateful for our illogic."
     ***********************************
     A week later, as they lay together again, this time in Kirk's
quarters at the starbase, Spock's neatly packed bags rested by the
door, ready to depart for Vulcan. Because it was their last evening
together, and because Spock's ship would leave in the middle of the
night, they indulged in the uncommon luxury of making love right
after dinner. The cool mist of early evening made Spock's skin
tingle as they walked back to the officers' complex from the
restaurant where they'd gone to dine. Unabashedly, Spock reached
for Jim just as soon as the door of Jim's apartment closed behind
them. Jim was easily aroused, as he always was when Spock took
the initiative with him, and they tumbled happily into bed. For
awhile Spock thought of savoring the simple sexual pleasure of a
purely human mating, but even as he bent to Jim's body, savoring
the taste of the warm, plump sac and the smooth stippled shaft,
swelling under his touch like ripe fruit, the need to join minds
overcame him after all.
     Later, Spock's inner time sense woke him, although he had
set an alarm for midnight just in case. Actually, they had not
intended to fall asleep at all, but the meld had been intense and
exhausting.
     He had opened himself utterly to Jim, had shown him the
paralyzing fear, the crushing sense of desolation that crippled him
whenever Jim was in danger, and the searing shame he felt
afterwards and letting those emotions immobilize him. At first, he
was unsure whether he ought to show all that to Jim, but the meld
took over and he could not have hidden it, even if he had tried.
     He felt a wave of shock from Jim's mind--shock, denial and
resistance. *Spock, how could I have done this to you!*
     *--YOU have not. The fault is mine, not yours.*
     Jim struggled to accept that Spock, his logical, superbly
controlled Vulcan, had really been shaken to the roots by loving
him, that he had experienced the instability and emotional chaos
Spock had shown him. Spock was not surprised that Jim had such
difficulty accepting it. Although Jim was a deeply emotional being,
his emotions were not chaotic; emotion fueled his discipline, but
rarely did it distort it.
     *After such knowledge, what forgiveness?* Sadly, Spock
leaned over Jim in the soft light they had never bothered to turn off,
so quickly had they fallen asleep in each other's arms. He half
expected to see disappointment, even disillusionment, in his
expressive face. But Jim was merely sleeping peacefully, a smile
curving his sensitive mouth and softening the curve of his strong
jaw.
     Deftly, Spock disengaged himself and padded to the
shower. When he emerged two and a half minutes later, Jim was
sitting on the side of the bed, wide-awake already thanks to his
well-honed command reflexes. The lamplight gleamed on his broad
back. He turned his head to look at Spock. "Just a moment, Spock,
and I'll be ready."
     "It is not necessary to accompany me," Spock pointed out.
     "Don't be silly," Kirk murmured, shaking his head as he got
up from the bed and followed Spock to the bathroom. "Of course
I'm going with you."
     Spock protested mildly at this illogical expenditure of effort,
but he was pleased that Kirk wanted to get out of a warm bed and
walk with him to the transporter building.
     Jim carried one bag, Spock the other. The tip of Spock's
nose tingled in the cool, moist San Francisco night air, banishing
any lingering drowsiness. Fog had drifted in from the bay, muffling
their footsteps as they walked silently toward the debarking point,
shrouding the tall, austere buildings of the base complex. 
     Here and there an occasional light gleamed in the residential
towers in an erratic pattern. Spock lifted his eyes to a high, arched
window flooded with yellow light and wondered why the occupants
of that apartment were up at this hour. Perhaps they were talking or
simply too hungry for each other's company to go to bed ... as he
and Jim had been so often. 
     On a starship, that was a hunger one seldom could indulge.
But if they were living here, on the base, in ground posts ... his
disciplined mind readily conjured up a vision of the life they might
share here, at Headquarters, if they were bonded ... Jim in the
Admiralty, and he ... he knew he would have his pick of science
staff positions. Perhaps a post would be created especially for him,
to let Starfleet use his gifts to its best advantage and comply with
the Federation's treaty obligations to Vulcan at the same time. Their
lives would be full. They would have important, meaningful work.
And there would be time ... time and room for each other. Time to
share that the *Enterprise* never had allowed them. Time to
explore each other, to delight in their differences. Room for Jim's
exuberance and his own sobriety ....
     The yellow-lit arched window loomed behind them as they
neared the transporter building, an ironic symbol of the security
they had agreed to turn their backs on. The lights and sounds of the
transporter building assaulted their senses.
     They were early, but neither felt like spending the time in
small talk. They set Spock's bags down in the waiting room, but
neither made any move to sit down. They looked at each other
silently, and Spock read the look in Kirk's eyes and knew that he
was still shaken by what he had seen in the meld that night. They
did not need to speak. It was almost as though they were still in
 each other's minds, although of course the link had been broken
hours ago.
     It was time to walk to the transporter gate now, and they
picked the bags up again and turned in the direction of the beam-up
point for the liner to Vulcan. A handful of other passengers milled
past them once they neared the gate, but they held back by silent,
mutual asset, letting everyone else board first. Finally Kirk dropped
the bag he was carrying and put both hands on Spock's shoulders,
gripping him tightly. "Please come back as soon as you humanly ....
and Vulcanly ... are able," he said, trying to smile but managing
only a lopsided approximation. Spock grasped his wrist, returned
the grip as tightly as he dared, and nodded.
     "And Spock ..." Kirk added awkwardly, holding him by the
arm as the last of the other passengers boarded the platform to
beam up, "Spock, when you come back ... please, let's ..." his voice
faltered for a beat, then steadied again, "... even if its not the
bonding, I'd still like to there to be some kind of formal tie between
us ..." He tried to smile, to cover his awkwardness with forced
humor. "I'd like to be able to introduce you as something besides
'my First Officer.'"
     Spock managed a half-smile. His "Affirmative" was laconic
but conveyed some of the warmth he felt. The transporter operator,
anxious to finish his chores for the shift, was looking at them
pointedly. Spock was about to pick up his other bag, but Jim
forestalled him with a fierce hug. They clung together for a long
moment, neither able to let go, communicating love and passion and
anguish in a taut embrace. Spock had to force himself to break the
grip and turn to the transporter.
     And then he mounted the platform and dissolved into light,
bound for Vulcan, Earth  suddenly as distant as a rudely-awakened
sleeper's dream.
           ***********************
     Igor Krasnovski glanced at his chronometer and made a
mental note that his appointment with James Kirk would begin in
three minutes. He suspected that Kirk was already in the anteroom
outside his office and had been for at least ten minutes. But
Krasnovski's aide knew that his superior officer liked to run his
appointment calendar by the clock and would not have bothered to
signal him that Kirk had arrived early.
     He did not expect the young captain to react with surprise
when he made the brief, formal announcement he had called him in
to hear. By having asked Kirk to meet with him rather than with
Commanding Admiral Nogura, he had already given away the
news. 
     He knew, of course, that Nogura already had met privately
with Kirk and told him that the position of Chief of Starfleet
Operations was his, if he wanted it, with the rank of Rear Admiral,
Kirk had politely but firmly refused and requested that he be
assigned another starship command. 
          Krasnovski had never told Nogura that although he was one
of the Commanding Admiral's staunchest allies, he did not think he
could have supported Nogura if the issue had come to a vote. He'd
evaluated Kirk's performance himself, and on every criteria his
department recognized, Kirk stood head and shoulders above the
other officers of his rank in Starfleet. No doubt about it, he was
simply the finest starship commander the fleet had ever known.
     Kirk had steadily worn down the Commanding Admiral's
opposition to his request by the sheer force of the support he
enjoyed among the other members of the General Staff. Finally,
Nogura recognized that he would be overruled by a strong majority
of the Staff if he continued to pressure Krasnovski to deny Kirk
command of the *Lexington* and surrendered to the inevitable.
     Krasnovski pressed the button that would summon Kirk into
his inner office. Kirk entered his office like a sun lighting up a rainy
day. Although he'd seen a good deal of the former starship captain
since the *Enterprise* docked, he was still jolted by the force of the
younger man's personality." Please, sit," Krasnovski hemmed,
feeling slightly overpowered.  
     Kirk's body scarcely seemed to touch the chair. He leaned
forward, taut with anticipation.
     "Ah, Captain, good to see you. As you've probably guessed,
I've called you in to talk about your next assignment."
     Kirk nodded courteously, but he did not smile. His eyes
bored into Krasnovski's intently. 
     Krasnovski averted his eyes for a brief moment, unable to
meet the younger man's intensity. After a beat, he looked at Kirk
again, squarely this time.
     "Jim, I'm pleased to offer you command of the starship
*Lexington.*"
     Kirk's eyes widened, the corners of his mouth turned up,
and his body relaxed perceptibly.
     In spite of himself, Krasnovski felt a surge of warmth
toward the younger man and his straightforward, obvious passion
for his job.   
     "The assignment carries the rank of Commodore. The ship's
primary mission will be space exploration and you will be expected
to serve a five-year tour of duty."
     Kirk was openly smiling now, a delighted grin that
transformed his face from merely handsome to--the only word
Krasnovski could think of was "radiant." 
     He said only "Thank you, Admiral," but his voice was
vibrant, musical.
     Krasnovski had planned to spend the next few minutes on
small talk, and was rather taken aback when Kirk added, "I've just
sent you a list of the officers I'm requesting for the senior positions.
I've checked with all of them and they are available. The message
should be on your screen now."
     Krasnovski was nonplussed. A staff officer for his entire
career, he harbored a secret admiration for line officers like Kirk
and their ability to shift gears in a split second. 
     Sure enough, when he looked at his viewer the message
corner contained a blinking message from Kirk. He must have set it
to arrive just after their interview began. He enlarged the message
and scanned it briefly--most of the names were familiar from Kirk's
command team on the *Enterprise.* He wasn't surprised to see
Spock's name at the top of the list.
     He'd heard the rumors that coursed through the starbase
that the dashing young captain and his sober Vulcan first officer
were lovers, and he supposed they were true since he'd never heard
Kirk's friends deny them. Until Spock had left to visit Vulcan about
a week earlier, the two men had been inseparable. They went
everywhere together, and as far as anyone could tell, neither of
them frequented the standard after-hours Starfleet officers' haunts.
He wondered mildly why Kirk hadn't gone to Vulcan with
Spock--he certainly had plenty of leave time coming--but Kirk's
active politicking for command of the *Lexington* was answer
enough.
     Kirk was waiting expectantly, tension bracing his muscular
body. Plainly, he expected a response on the spot. Krasnovski
considered simply telling Kirk that he might as well take his request
directly to Nogura, since even if he, Krasnovski, approved it, it
would certainly be countermanded by the Commanding Admiral. 
     Perhaps it was only his pride that stopped him from doing
that, from acting as though it were anything more than a routine
request that he would process through normal channels.
     "Admiral, do you have any questions about the list?" Kirk
asked politely.
     Krasnovski  pretended to look over the list carefully.
"Ah--no," he hemmed.
     "When may I expect a response?" Kirk's tone was more
pointed this time.
     Krasnovski said awkwardly that he would  accord his
request the usual deference and would get back to him shortly. But
as Kirk left the office, only slightly more relaxed than he was when
he came in, Krasnovski sighed to himself, knowing this was going
to mean another battle with Nogura. 
           ************************
     Spock lay on the healer's couch, feeling vaguely
apprehensive. He was not sure why he felt such anxiety; he had
known T'Lau since childhood, and he trusted her completely. 
     His family had not even been curious when he made an
appointment with her almost the moment he got back. No doubt
they expected that, having lived among Humans for so long, he
would have health needs that only a Vulcan practitioner could
attend to.
     T'Lau was a woman of middle age, a healer of the classical
school. She did not rely only on external symptoms to divine the
onset of disease, but had developed the skill of engaging the
autonomic nervous system in direct mental contact, of "sensing"
telepathically any signs of incipient physical distress long before
symptoms were manifest.
     Spock knew that T'Lau would sense his relationship with
Jim in his mind, but that did not bother him, although he had not yet
told his family, even his mother. It would be no more embarrassing
to T'Lau than an infection or an inflammation would be to any
healer, bound by her vow of discretion. After she had completed the
standard examination, he intended to ask her to refer him to a
specialist in emotional pathology.
     T'Lau approached the couch, looking cool and detached and
clinical. She did not speak to him. She had been meditating to ready
herself for direct contact with the sub-cortical centers of his brain.
It was a unique art, one that required its own peculiar preparation.
     Spock lay back, letting his body go limp and his mind
wander as she placed her hands deliberately on his temples. He felt
nothing in his conscious mind, did not even feel her mind trying to
contact his. All he could sense were odd muscular twinges, his
heart racing rapidly, his breath coming fast for a moment. 
     Finally, T'Lau broke the meld and went back to her desk.
She took a moment to recover and then wrote out some notes
without speaking to him. Spock sat on the couch and waited. At
last she finished writing, looked over the notes with a quick glance,
and closed her notebook. She walked over to the couch and looked
at him.
     "You are in fine health, Spock," she said. "All
systems--digestive, respiratory, circulatory--" she waved her hand
to cover the rest--are functioning quite efficiently. You are
approximately at the mid-point of your cycle, hormonal levels
normal. All body functions are at par, and you have no health
problems that should concern you."
     He acknowledged the information without thanking her, in
the Vulcan manner. The subject he had come prepared to speak
with her about was on the tip of his tongue. But she forestalled him
with a query of her own. "Spock. I was never told that you were
bonded."
     He straightened in sudden shock. He knew she would see
Jim in his thoughts. It was an unorthodox relationship by Vulcan
standards. But he had not expected her to misunderstand it. He was
surprised that a healer of her telepathic ability and scientific
precision had been this inaccurate. Was she simply too provincial to
understand an intimate relationship with a person to
whom one is not bonded?
     He groped for a way to tell her politely of her error. "T'Lau,
I am not bonded. I do have a ... a lover--" he used the narrowly
sexual term rather than the poetic *t'hy'la*--a Human whom I
served with, but he and I are not bondmates. As you know, I have
been living among Humans for some two solar decades and--" he
raised his chin pointedly, "I do attempt to practice IDIC."
     T'Lau looked at him levelly. "If I had meant 'lover,' Spock, I
would have said 'lover.' I spoke of your bondmate."
     "Please explain, T'Lau," Spock said stiffly, fearing he was
about to be treated to a lecture on Vulcan morality and the dangers
of the *pon farr* to an unbonded male.
     "When I was examining you," she said simply, "I perceived
the bonding in your mind." And briefly, but with the utmost clarity,
she described Jim to him.
     Spock's heart raced. "We have never been bonded, T'Lau.
We have been--lovers--for 0.613 solar years, but we have never
been before a *lakhaylar*--" the telepathic specialist with the skill
of joining minds in the marriage bond--"and I do not understand
how you could have seen such a thing in mind."
     She reached up deftly and put her hand on his temple. He
felt a brief flicker in his mind as she satisfied herself that he was
indeed telling the truth. Her face was deeply puzzled as her hand
left his face.
     "Very well, Spock, it is true, you have never been before a
*lakhaylar,* but you are bonded nevertheless. I know of only one
other possibility: the *khaylas,* the 'natural bond.' If no *lakhaylar*
has bonded you, it can only have happened spontaneously."
     The words shot through him like an electric shock, and he
put his own hand to his temple involuntarily, as though he could
verify the news by examining his own mind more deeply. "That is--"
he wanted to say, 'impossible,' but an instinctive Vulcan precision
prevented it--"extremely improbable."
     She nodded. "Indeed. The odds are ..."
     "He is not even a telepath," Spock interrupted, his anxiety
rising, realizing as he said it that it sounded as though he were
trying to talk her out of the diagnosis. "He is Human, I am
half-Human--I do not see how--"
     T'Lau shrugged. "You have melded, have you not?"
     "Yes, but ..."
     "In principle, a *khaylas* can be formed between any two
persons with an extremely high level of mental compatibility. In
practice, of course, it is so rare that we have had little opportunity
to study it, much less be able to predict or explain when and to
whom it might occur."
     "Then you cannot tell me how it happened?" Spock asked
anxiously.
     "No, I know only that it exists."
     Never in a thousand turns of his planet's tri-star had Spock
expected this. It was said that a natural bonding occurred 'once in a
generation,' and Spock had never known personally or heard of any
living person to whom this had happened. His mind raced as he
tried to consider the practical consequences.
     T'Lau was looking at him thoughtfully. She was, he was
sure, thinking of the scientific implications as well as the personal
ones for Spock. "This is a rare event, Spock, and both you and all
Vulcan will benefit if our profession is enabled to study it."
     He felt helpless, knowing she was right but resisting the idea
that his relationship with Jim should be dissected. T'Lau sensed his
embarrassment and added, compassion in her voice, "I shall not
allow your privacy and your dignity to be invaded, Spock. But,
with your permission, of course, I would like to record some
further observations. If you are willing, I and some of
my colleagues who are specialists in this field will try to determine
the etiology of this event. Whatever understanding we gain will be
of great value to our science."
     *Of course.* And*--the unbidden thought rose to the
surface of his furiously churning thoughts--*he would have to make
a decision, would need their knowledge to decide what to do, what
to tell Jim.* 
     They made an appointment with a group of T'Lau's
colleagues, and Spock went home, his emotions in disarray.
           ***********************
     Admiral Heihachiro Nogura was absorbed in editing a
report to the Federation Council, and he declined to look up from
his desk when he heard the voice of his aide, murmuring
instructions to the person he had just ushered into the room. He
knew who it was and why he had come. And he preferred to keep
his visitor waiting for a few moments. 
     When Nogura finally raised his eyes, he projected the air of
a man who had little time for matters that were the responsibility of
his subordinates. He knew from Igor Krasnovski why Kirk had
requested this meeting with him, and of course he could have
refused to have this conversation at all. But Kirk was unbearably
persistent, and Nogura had decided that it was easier to have this
conversation than continually to have to come up with new reasons
not to meet him or than to try to put him off forever.
     "At ease," he said tersely, and although Kirk did not stand at
attention, he did not relax or take the chair Nogura proffered. The
younger man's eyes were guarded; his face had the deceptive calm
and smoothness of a master poker player. He did not make small
talk or wait for an opening.  "As I'm sure Admiral Krasnovski has
told you, Admiral," Kirk began, "I gave him the list of officers I've
asked to be posted to the *Lexington* over a week ago. All my
requests have been processed except the post of First Officer-First
Science Officer. I've asked Admiral Krasnovski several times in the
last few days for a response, and he finally suggested that I might
have better luck at your level."
     Nogura frowned at this reminder of what he considered a
character flaw in Krasnovski, his willingness to reveal under
pressure that the Commanding Admiral's decisions were not
necessarily the same as his own. But nothing would be gained by
avoidance, so he nodded brusquely, "You've come to the right
place, but I don't think luck is what you'll get here. I've refused to
approve Commander Spock's assignment to a position I think he's
greatly overqualified for."
     "Two positions," Kirk corrected him calmly, his face as
impassive as Nogura's own, "that, in combination, Commander
Spock is uniquely qualified to hold. Your own analysis of the Five
Year Mission showed that his ability to combine both posts
contributed enormously to the effectiveness of the *Enterprise*
command team."
     Nogura was not about to debate the merits of his decision
with a subordinate. "Captain, I assume you've discussed all this with
Admiral Krasnovski. I also assume you understand that
Commander Spock is an extremely valuable resource to Starfleet
and that we cannot allow personal preference to dictate his
assignment."
     Something unknowable passed across Kirk's steady gaze.
When he replied, his tone was impeccably correct but Nogura felt
the steel in the soft voice. "My relationship with Commander Spock
is no secret," he said quietly. "But I expect my request to be treated
on its merits, not on the basis of stereotypes about Vulcans."
     So. Kirk had lobbed the ball into his court, asking him, in
effect, to admit or deny that his decision had been based on their
relationship. 
     Nogura hated to play someone else's game. "Why do you
bring it up?" he asked in a stiff, frosty voice that, he hoped, would
make plain to Kirk that he had no intention of stooping to the level
of discussing his private life.
     Kirk stood his ground coolly. "Just in case you had any
misconceptions about us, Admiral." His hands were behind his back
now, his posture more military. "Spock and I know the rules and
the treaty terms. We are not bonded. You can verify that by
checking the legal records."
     Nogura had checked, of course, and he could read in Kirk's
clear, relentless gaze that Kirk knew that he had. Kirk's drive and
energy practically leaped across the desk at him, and he had the
sense of being hounded into a corner. Looking into Kirk's clear
eyes, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was transparent to
the younger man, that Kirk knew the grounds for his refusal and
would not let go until he had acknowledged it.
     He wasn't going to be forced into either an admission or a
denial. With the instinctive tactical skill he was famous for, he
decided on a different tack. He paused, leaned back in his desk
chair and pretended to think for a moment.
     When he spoke, his voice was sympathetic and avuncular.
"Jim, do you remember how many Vulcans we had in Starfleet
when you graduated from the Academy?"
     If Kirk was surprised, he didn't let it show. He pursed his
lips slightly and shrugged. "Two dozen."
     "Close enough," Nogura murmured, holding a stylus
between the fingers of two hands. "And now, it's ..." He looked at
the ceiling, as though the figure were written there instead of in the
computer on his desktop and his eidetic memory, "Two thousand,
four hundred and sixty-two. Even after the loss of the *Intrepid.*
Still mostly in ground positions, a few on all-Vulcan ships, but the
numbers are growing."
     Kirk waited, not patiently, for him to get to the point. 
     Nogura swivelled his chair down and looked squarely at
Kirk. "Do you know how many of those 2,462 persons are not
bonded, Jim?"
     Despite Kirk's carefully controlled expression, Nogura could
tell he was surprised by the question. The starship captain made a
small impatient gesture and replied, "I don't know, but I'd guess less
than ten."
     "One," Nogura corrected him, tucking his chin down as if to
lecture the younger man.
     Kirk was silent, unmoving, but Nogura could feel that he
was taken aback.
     "We know much more about Vulcans than we did fifteen or
twenty years ago, Jim, when you were a student at the Academy.
And we go to great lengths to accommodate Vulcan psychology
and physiology. We assign bondmates in proximity to each other in
ground postings, even though we don't do that for any other
species. We exempt bonded Vulcans from deep space duty because
of the *jarizat-inqaz* and the *pon farr.*"
     Nogura waited for a reaction, but Kirk merely looked at him
in stony silence. He continued, conversationally, "Our
xenopsychologists--did you know Lori Ciani is a xenopsychologist,
Jim?--tell us that the bonding serves a deep psychic need for
Vulcans, a need that is much more fundamental for Vulcans than
the Human need for the institution of marriage. I suppose they must
be right; it would certainly explain why so few Vulcans are
unbonded."
     Despite Kirk's formidable self-control, Nogura caught a tiny
flicker crossing his face, and he knew he'd used the right tactic.
     "If this is a conversation about my personal affairs,
Admiral"--Nogura could feel the effort it took Kirk to keep the
anger out of his voice--"I didn't come here to discuss them with
you. I *am* interested in the reasons why you've decided that
Spock and I can't be posted together."
     "I know you didn't, Jim," Nogura deliberately made his tone
cordial and benign,  sensing that this approach was getting under
Kirk's skin and make him reveal more. "Yet, as you know, if you
were bonded, you'd have the *right* to be posted together,
although it would have to be in a ground position. Most Starfleet
couples in your situation would take a 50% cut in pay to qualify for
the privileges we extend automatically to Vulcans."
     This time Kirk flinched visibly, and Nogura saw he had hit
home. The younger man did not answer.
     "Jim," Nogura spread his hands on his desk in a gesture of
sympathy he did not feel, "I know we don't see eye to eye on this. I
could give you a dozen reasons why it makes sense to assign
Commander Spock somewhere other than your ship. You could
give me a dozen in return, none of them motivated by personal
interests, I am sure. But I've made my decision. Admiral Krasnovski
supports it. I'm sorry, but you'll simply have to live with it."
     Kirk recognized that the conversation was at an end, and
nodded shortly. "I see, sir. Thank you for your time." He drew
himself up to attention, turned on his heel and strode out of the
room. 
     Nogura knew this was not going to be the end of the matter.
But he had learned something useful in the last few moments. Kirk
had taken his remarks about the bonding as a reproach. Plainly,
those two had not worked out all the issues in their relationship.
Nogura was more certain than ever that his decision was correct.
         ***************************
     As Spock waited out the days until he could meet with the
specialists, he found himself in an inner turmoil so profound that
none of the disciplines in his arsenal could quell it completely. He
was able to hide it from his parents, who were pleased that he was
in good physical health and did not inquire further about the results
of his visit to T'Lau. He spent a good deal of time alone, trying to
force his shaken nerves to relax so that he could think logically.
     *Alternatives,* he told himself severely, as he meditated in
his bed chamber. *There are always alternatives. I shall decide
logically how to confront this problem.*
     *Alternative One. To return to Earth, tell Jim of the
existence of the bond. To base my decision on his reaction.* 
     *Scenario A: He will accept it. He will tell me that he is
pleased, that he feels joy that this has happened (he was the one
who first suggested that we bond, was he not?) .... We shall be
posted together automatically, though not on a starship.*
     Spock resisted the temptation to fantasize how pleasant this
alternative would be. This was no time for dreaming. *Continue
with the scenario. Eventually, Jim would long for another field
command. But he would not apply for one because I could not
accompany him. Eventually, he would become bitter and frustrated.
I would be the cause of his frustration.*
     *Alternative One, Scenario B. A compromise of sorts. Jim
would return to space without me; we would see each other on
leaves ... Jim would have his starship, I would have the bonding.*
Spock shook his head as if to clear it of a drug, astonished at his
own capacity for far-fetched imagination. *No Vulcan would do
that, could do it. The pon farr ... impossible.*
     *Alternative Two. To break the bond*--Spock did not
know if  a natural bond had ever been broken, but theoretically any
bond could be, using proven techniques--*return to Earth, resume
our lives as before. Again, two possible scenarios arise. Alternative
Two, Scenario A. If we remain lovers, will not the bond form again,
as before? Scenario B: Suppose we forestall that possibility, by
ceasing to be lovers ... could either of us bear that? To serve
together as Captain and First Officer, as friends, but no more?*
     He shook his head grimly. The only alternative that made
sense to him was to break the bond before he told Jim what had
happened, and to give him a choice. To let him choose between
loving him with the bond, or not loving him at all. It was easy to
convince himself that Jim would be generous, that he would accept
the inevitability of what had happened, that he would welcome the
bond and rejoice in it ... but honesty told him that he could not
impose this on Jim. He simply was not ready for the bonding.
     Spock arose from the meditative position and lay down on
the bed, the bed of his childhood, and rested his aching head on a
cushion. Jim had already made his decision, that afternoon in the
fields of Iowa. Spock would not present him with a fait accompli. 
He must free him.    
          **************************
     From the look on Lori Ciani's face as she entered his office
for their regular briefing before the meeting of the General Staff,
Nogura could see that she did not have good news to report. "Sir,
the item that Admiral Mendez placed on the agenda regarding
Commander Spock--"
     Nogura sighed harshly. "You're going to tell me you've
already counted the votes."
     She nodded unhappily. "It doesn't look good, sir. Mendez will
carry the General Staff by all but one, if not unanimously. Even
Krasnovski is wavering." 
     Nogura scowled and resisted the temptation to clench his
hands. "You've talked to everyone?" He was asking, of course, if
she had plied the other Admirals with Nogura's own arguments--the
empathetic Ciani was extremely good at that.
     Again, she nodded, looking downright miserable by now.
Nogura knew how much his aide de camp hated to fail. "Kirk has
strong support, as you know--Mendez and Sengumba and Abd
al-Hamid think he walks on water; the rest of the Staff merely
thinks he's the best starship commander in history. And that he and
Spock are the best team in Starfleet. And--" she paused and looked
down at her hands for a moment as though gathering the nerve to
say what she needed to say next--"there's something else, sir."
     Nogura looked at her impatiently, waiting for her to finish.
     "They're convinced you're ... punishing the two of them for
being ... involved with each other," she went on hesitantly, saying
the euphemism with difficulty. "As you can imagine, that's not a
popular position. Anyone who's ever had a romantic relationship
with someone he served with can empathize with Kirk's situation."
     Nogura threw up his hands in exasperation.
"Sentimentality," he said shortly.
     Ciani shrugged and frowned. "Perhaps it's not only that, sir.
Mendez has reminded the others of the track record of other
couples who've served together in line positions. Robert April and
his wife, for example. Several of the Admirals are asking if you
want to treat Kirk and Spock differently because Spock is a
Vulcan."
     At that, Nogura knew he had lost. And sure enough, when
the members of the General Staff assembled for their regular
meeting at 1000 hours, he could sense from their body language
that the vote would go overwhelmingly against him. He did not
press it to a vote but allowed Mendez's recommendation to carry
without discussion.
       *******************************
     At last the day of the appointment arrived, and Spock met
again with T'Lau and a large group of eminent Vulcan physicians
and academicians. So many persons were going to examine his
mind that T'Lau had helped him enter a light trance before the
session began so that he would not feel the strain as deeply. He was
not really conscious of what had happened until he awoke
later, after they had gone, and was alone with T'Lau in her office.
     "What did you learn?" he asked her anxiously.
     She shook her head in regret. "We were unable to trace the
bonding to any specific event in your memory. That does not mean
that there was no specific incident that precipitated the
bonding--merely that it is so closely associated with the linkages
and neural connections in the sub-cortical levels of the brain that it
is impossible to locate it in time and space."
     Spock mentioned the idea that had refused to let go of him
during the last several days--the time he and Jim had made love in
the field in Iowa, the joining that had been so extraordinarily deep
and close, deeper and closer than any other. Could that have
precipitated the bonding? She agreed this was possible. The higher
the level of sexual energy, the deeper the meld, and the greater the
portion of the brain that is actively involved in the meld. 
     If he wished to break the bond, T'Lau advised him--and
although she kept her face impassive, Spock could tell she was
stunned at the idea that he would want to break a bond so rare and
precious and celebrated in Vulcan legend and literature--it would be
useful to begin with the memory of an event such as that, and trace
it back into the depths of his own mind to the area of the brain that
responds to the stimulus of *pon farr* by a link to the bondmate. 
     It would require a great deal of discipline, T'Lau told him,
as well as the assistance of specially trained telepaths. She
recommended that he enter the neuro-psychiatric center several
hundred kilometers from Shikahr, in the desert, where the staff
could direct and monitor his own meditative mental effort, the
effort that would be necessary if he wished to break the bond.
         ****************************
     Spock returned from his appointment with the specialists to
a joyous taped message from Jim. Jim's energy and elation
practically leaped off the screen as he told Spock the news. "Spock,
I have command of the *Lexington.* You've been approved as my
First Officer and First Science Officer. Nogura was dead set against
it and ordered Krasnovski not to make the appointment--but the
rest of the General Staff overruled him."
     Spock's heart sank as he listened to Jim's cheerful account
of the politics of the decision--any shred of hope Spock had
harbored evaporated in the light of Jim's blazing happiness. The
tape continued with small talk, a description of the university
lecture tour Jim had  agreed to as a consolation prize for Nogura,
and his plea that Spock return as soon as he could. "I miss you so
much," he said simply, the longing in his voice palpable.
        ******************************
     Spock told his parents that he wished to spend time at the
center--he estimated the equivalent of four standard weeks--to
'compensate' for the effect of living for so long among Humans. His
father seemed unperturbed, but the news was plainly unsettling to
his mother. Late at night, he overheard his parents talking together
in his father's study, his mother expressing her
distress that he was still trying to suppress his Human heritage, his
father trying unsuccessfully to assure her that her son's need for a
period of intense meditation and discipline was a normal Vulcan
reaction.
     Spock ached to tell his mother that it was not rejection of
Human emotion that dictated his decision, but its opposite--but he
could not bring himself to confide in her. He found he had a strange
fear of her reaction, for he knew it would probably be quite similar
to Jim's own. Although Humans tended to be believers in eternal
love, it was also true that involuntary unions--like forced sex--were
anathema to them. No, what had happened to him was something
only another Vulcan could understand.
     So he sent a tape to Jim, telling him that he would be at the
center for about four  weeks and that he would contact him when
he returned. "I love you," he said impulsively as he ended the
message--that Human phrase he had never said to anyone but Jim.
         ****************************
     Kirk had not seen Leonard McCoy in six weeks,  and he had
missed him enormously. After the debriefings ended, Bones had left
on a long visit to his daughter on Alpha Eridani, and for much of
that time Kirk had been away, too. After his political struggle with
Nogura had ended in triumph with his securing command of the
*Lexington,* Kirk had gone off on a speaking tour of colleges and
universities. He figured he owed it to Starfleet to talk up its good
deeds now that Starfleet had given him what he wanted most:
another five years in command of a starship; another five years
exploring the far corners of space.
     Kirk's step quickened as he walked to the restaurant where
he and McCoy were meeting for dinner. He had sorely missed
Bones' insight and solid common sense. His ship's surgeon was his
confidante, and he badly needed a listening ear.
     He'd had a lot of time to think in the last six weeks, as
summer had stretched into fall--a rich, brilliant fall of burgundy and
flame. The changing season had kindled an odd mixture of
melancholy and anticipation in his mind, and he missed Spock so
much it was almost a palpable ache. He had tried to keep busy and
bury himself in work but it wasn't enough to keep the longing at
bay.  
     Still, he'd had plenty to do. The*Lexington* was still in dry
dock and would be for another few weeks, but planning her next
mission consumed hours of meetings and study and the ubiquitous
Starfleet politics. Those chores, and heading follow-up and  public
information on the *Enterprise's* mission filled his days, nights and
weekends.
     Off-duty, he'd confined his social life mostly to old friends
who understood his sense of incompleteness without Spock. Last
weekend he had gone camping in the mountains up north in British
Columbia with group of friends and spent most of the time wishing
Spock were there. He longed to see the lush autumn splendor
through Spock's well-ordered mind, to banish the advancing
season's chill from his lean body with love.
     Despite his loneliness, Kirk felt a sense of anticipation--for
the new phase in their lives that would begin when Spock returned.
In the two weeks they had spent at Headquarters before Spock had
left for Vulcan, he felt they had affirmed a commitment that had
never been explicit enough for him in the six month they had been
lovers on the *Enterprise.* They had acknowledged that they both
wanted a relationship that would endure not just for the duration of
a voyage but for the rest of their lives. He'd never doubted Spock's
love for him, but there had always been that fear in the back of his
mind that logic, and Vulcan, would one day take Spock away from
him ... in spite of the uncertainties ahead, he felt a sense of relief
and joy that they had agreed to stay together.
     The exhilaration of the closeness they had achieved in those
two weeks on Earth had stayed with him, animating him, giving him
purpose. He looked forward to a future in which that closeness
would deepen even more as they explored each other's minds and
souls in love-making and the mind meld.
     Perhaps he was being naively Human, Kirk thought, but he
even felt confident that with his own love for Spock and the
emotional rapport they shared, he could give him as much security
and intimacy as a Vulcan bonding. He was damned well going to
try his best.
     He didn't fear the emotional discipline Spock sought to
strengthen on Vulcan. In his own way, Kirk was highly disciplined
himself, and he respected and understood Spock's need for firmer
controls. He was still a little stunned, though, by the emotion, the
intense fear, that Spock had shown him in his mind the night he left
for Vulcan. He had not realized how deeply Spock's control had
been upset by the stress he felt when Kirk was in danger.
     Then as the weeks wore on, Kirk had begun to question the
solution they had agreed upon before Spock left. Was it fair to
Spock to force him to postpone a true Vulcan bonding, to bear the
burden of acquiring additional control just to accommodate his own
self-centered need to command a starship? 
       Yes, he needed his ship, had felt a great aching hole where the
*Enterprise* used to be since they'd debarked. Could Spock be
everything to him, make his life feel worthwhile even in a job he
hated?  Could Spock become the true center of his world,
displacing his career and his ship? Could he accepted being
unfulfilled in his work as the price of giving Spock the one thing he
needed most?  
     Why had they agreed on a resolution that gave Kirk
everything he wanted, but forced Spock to take second-best? Yes,
he could justify it logically. They didn't make the rules for Starfleet
or Vulcan; they only had to live by them. They were the best team
in Starfleet, and being lovers had only made them better, regardless
of what Nogura thought. He could think of no reason why they
shouldn't repeat an arrangement that had worked so well in the
past--except what it was doing to Spock.
     Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the questions had begun to
wear away at his own stubborn resistance to considering any job for
himself but that of starship commander. He had even begun to
question whether his decision to push for another starship command
had been right. Surely Spock's well-being was entitled to more
weight than he had given it.
     As he took his seat in a snug booth across the table from
McCoy, he felt desperately eager for the doctor's advice. Over
drinks, he poured out the story of his discovery of the *jarizat
inqaz,* his discussions with Spock about the bond, the
machinations he had had to endure to secure another command
with Spock as his First Officer. With some chagrin he told McCoy
about the meeting he had had with Nogura, before he had asked
Jose Mendez to take the issue of Spock's assignment to the entire
General Staff.  
     "I felt awful when Nogura--Nogura!--reminded me how
important the bonding is to Vulcans, that Spock is the only Vulcan
in Starfleet who *isn't* bonded, and that we'd have our pick of
ground assignments together if we were bondmates," he said
ruefully.
     McCoy listened thoughtfully, with his usual empathy.
     "I'm afraid I've made the wrong decision," Kirk finally
blurted out to his friend, "denying Spock the bonding. Asking
Spock to go on serving with me. He's not used to dealing  with
strong, contradictory emotions. I wonder if it's right to keep
subjecting him to the strain."
     McCoy mulled this over in the short silence as their dinner
arrived. "He's a Vulcan," the doctor said at last, "with all kinds of
mental and emotional controls that you and I can barely imagine.
Why is it so hard for him and not for you?"
     Kirk sighed and tore a small piece of bread from the loaf in
front of him. "I'm not sure I can explain it, Bones. I know that being
Spock's lover has made me a better commander. More centered,
more balanced emotionally. Happier, of course. I draw on all of that
when ... when I have difficult decisions to make. But Spock doesn't
make the decisions--he merely has to live with them. I think it's a
hell of a lot easier for me to act, even if it means sending one or
both of us into danger, than it is for him to wait passively."  
     McCoy picked at his food thoughtfully, then set his fork
down. When he spoke, Kirk felt compassion and sadness in his
voice. "Jim, you may be right, but changing jobs for someone else's
benefit can be awfully risky."
     Kirk was startled. "What do you mean?"
     McCoy looked at Kirk levelly. "Making a sacrifice for the
person you love may seem noble and romantic at the time, but
there's almost no way to avoid resenting it later."
     "I could never resent Spock!" Kirk insisted, a little too
strenuously. He knew even as McCoy said the words that his friend
was right.
     McCoy pressed his advantage. "Jim, hear me out," he
persisted. "When I was married, my wife interrupted her career so
that I could finish my internship and residency. She stayed home
with Joanna, pretty much raised her single-handed for the first few
years. I convinced myself that the universe needed me to work
eighteen hours a day learning to be a doctor, and that it was
unfortunate, but necessary, that her plans take second place. Oh, of
course, she agreed in the beginning that it was only the logical thing
to do. But eventually, she began to resent it--resent it so much there
was no way we could salvage the marriage, in the end."
     Kirk flinched inside, protesting to himself that the
comparison wasn't fair, but Bones' words had hit their mark. He
kept his voice steady as he replied. "I'm not a martyr, Bones. I've
come close to getting married at least three or four times before
this. I never considered giving up my job or turning down a
command before."
     "And that's why your women always broke it off, Jim,"
McCoy retorted, "for their own emotional survival. But now, you're
beginning to think of doing something you never would have done
for anyone else, because Spock means more to you than anyone
else, perhaps even more than your career. And all I am saying to
you is that you need to consider your own emotional survival as
well."
     Kirk felt his stomach turn over in despair. Subconsciously,
he knew he had come to Bones for support in making the most
difficult decision he had ever had to make--giving up a starship
command. And Bones was not helping. He looked at McCoy
helplessly. "I care about Spock's emotional survival, too," he said
softly.
     "Of course you do." The sadness in his voice mirrored
Kirk's own emotions. "Just don't make a hasty decision you'll regret
later. You'd be miserable in a ground post."
     Unsatisfied curiosity tugged at Kirk's mind. "You admitted,
Bones, that your marriage fell apart because you gave priority to
your career. Are you saying that if you had it to do over, you'd put
your wife first?"
     "No," McCoy shook his head grimly. "That's the tough part
of all this, Jim. When Nancy and I were first married, I needed to
become the best surgeon I could be just as much as I needed air to
breathe. Working those long days and nights was something I had
to do, just the way you need to command a starship."
     "Bones, you make it sound like something mystical," Kirk
said with a crooked smile that he did not feel. He knew enough
about his friend--and himself--to know that the comparison was apt.
      "I know your psych profiles by heart," McCoy went on,
"Hell, I know them better than my own. What they say about you is
that starship command is a perfect match for your psychological
needs."
     Kirk shook his head miserably. "I need Spock, too."
     "But you have him, and he has you. I can't believe that
Spock would want you to give up what you do best--and better
than anyone else in Starfleet--because of him. I think the
compromise you reached is a sensible one. You placed your
respective needs on the table and negotiated. That's a hell of a lot
more than most couples do. You haven't decided not to bond,
you've only postponed it. It was Spock's choice as well as yours--I
think you should respect it. He thought it was the logical thing to
do, didn't he?"
     Kirk smiled in spite of himself. A wave of love and yearning
for Spock welled up in him, so strong he could hardly bear to pick
up his fork and finish the meal.
         ***************************
     Kirk had planned to go back to his office after he and
McCoy parted at the door of the restaurant, but he changed his
mind and turned in the direction of his apartment instead. Today
was the day the mail shuttle arrived from Vulcan, and today he
might get a tape from Spock. It had been four weeks since Spock
had left for the neuro-psychiatric institute in the desert. Spock had
told him that he would be spending those four weeks in meditation
and total psychic concentration. Today was the first mail since
those four weeks had ended.
     Anticipation quickened his step. The prickle of intuition told
him a tape would be waiting for him. A tape telling him that Spock
had finished his strenuous therapy in the desert, that he had righted
his emotional imbalance, that he was sound and Vulcan and in
control again ....
     McCoy's words still rang in his mind, and he knew his friend
had not been wrong. But just as surely, he knew there was more
than one solution to the dilemma he faced with Spock. Somehow,
in the course of that conversation with McCoy, a different kind of
resolve had emerged from the discord of Kirk's own complex
feelings.
     To put Spock first. As he had never done with another
human being, not ever, not since he had received that fateful
acceptance letter from Starfleet Academy. To honor Spock's needs
as truly as he would his own.
     As the lights of his apartment building loomed ahead of him
in the dusk, the anguish he had felt at the restaurant with McCoy
lifted, and he felt light-headed with joy.
     He would tell Spock the offer of the Admiralty position was
still open, and they would discuss it, calmly and rationally, and
make a decision. With choice comes freedom, and they had a
choice. They could choose to serve on a starship again; and, just as
freely, they could choose not to. He could give up his starship
command without playing the martyr. And he was going to make
damn sure that Spock didn't give up anything important for *him.*     
     Confidently, he entered the apartment building and called
the lift.
     By the time the elevator neared the twenty-second floor, his
confidence had evaporated, to be replaced by a heart-pounding case
of the jitters. *Oh, please, let there be a tape. Let me hear from
him.*
     He berated himself for feeling like a giddy schoolboy. But
he wanted so much to see Spock's austere features on the screen
again, to hear his slow, measured voice. *I'm setting myself up for
one hell of a disappointment if there's nothing there. It might be too
early. Maybe he hasn't come back yet. Maybe it's taking longer than
he thought. He may have been too optimistic.* Kirk reminded
himself that Spock had said four weeks, and Spock was never
imprecise. *Still, he may not be ready yet, may still be fasting and
meditating and whatever else he went there to do, and I'll just have
to be patient a little longer.*
     By the time the elevator reached his floor, he'd convinced
himself not to expect anything. He looked away as his hand reached
into the small compartment outside his apartment and felt for the
tapes from worlds beyond sub-space range that the mail service had
deposited there.
     But when he turned to look, he saw a tiny disk with the
familiar Vulcan marking, and a wave of relief and joy broke over
him, sweeping away his anxiety. He forced his hand to be steady as
he palmed open the door, rushed over to the viewer and broke open
the case.
     *Easy ... easy ...* he told himself. *Don't rush. He has
something important to say ... wait. Wait 'til you calm down.* To
still the furious pounding of his heart, he forced himself to set the
tape down by the viewer and go get a drink of water. *Relax! You
and Spock have some important decisions to make, and you're
going to start making them now. Sit down like an adult and listen to
what he has to say.*
     Kirk brought his glass over to the viewer, picking up a
blank disk from the dispenser as he sat down so that he could
respond to Spock after he'd watched his message. He was calmer
than he had been in the elevator, but his hand still trembled a little
as he put the tape in the machine and switched it on, holding his
breath.
     Spock's familiar image flashed on the screen almost
immediately, and Kirk felt a lurch in his stomach. *How thin he is,
oh, what he must have gone through in the desert ... a wave of
tenderness and compassion swept over him. When we're together
again, I'll be damned if I ever let him go through anything like that
again ...*
     So he was not prepared, when Spock's gaunt image spoke,
for what Spock had to say.
     Kirk felt as though he were hearing Spock's voice in some
distant part of his mind, as though he were drunk or underwater or
watching an operation on himself while under anesthesia. He heard
Spock speaking words that made perfect sense to one part of his
brain, and left the rest of his mind in a state of shock.
     The words Spock was saying were very clear indeed. He
just couldn't connect them with Spock. He couldn't believe that
*Spock* was saying them.
     Then it hit home, in a sudden heartsick rush of insight, and
he understood that Spock was only telling him what he deserved to
hear. He had no right to be astonished at all.
     And then that glimmer of self-revelation was wiped out by a
sudden hot surge of fury, and Kirk rose to his feet, knocking the
glass over as he did, hearing it clatter to the floor, not caring where
the water spilled. He lurched toward the viewer, fists clenched, as
though he were threatening to disembowel the machine and rip the
bitter message out of it.
     "No!" He shouted at the unseeing image on the screen.
"Spock--no!"
     The tape ended then, and the cry tore from his throat like a
strangled sob. "NO!"
        ******************************
     Like most Vulcans he was adept at fasting, but he had never
gone this long without food before, and his body was so weak that
it was all he could do to lift it off the cot and into a meditative
position. He sat in the simple, round-domed hut, grateful for the
natural insulation its mud-brick walls provided against the heat.
     The clarity of mind that comes with fasting and rigorous
mental exercise had long since arrived and was in danger of slipping
away, and if he did not finish his task soon, it would be too late. He
would have to break his fast or die. Yes, some men had died here in
this silent desert retreat, refusing to yield to their bodies' needs until
they had found the answer they sought. His own hold on life was
too strong for that, but his fear of failure had become desperate.
     As the day grew hotter he grew drowsier and drowsier,
unable to keep himself from drifting into an uneasy, uncomfortable
sleep. His throat was very dry, and his body felt small and shriveled,
desiccated, as though all the life energy had been wrung out of it
during these last six weeks. He felt as still and lifeless as the sere
desert air.
     *Thoroughly small and dry/Smaller and drier than the will*
... the fragment of English verse drifted into his mind, and he
wondered why an image of the Terran concept of submission to the
will of God had risen in his mind when the discipline he strove for
was the far more demanding submission to logic.
     At mid-day he began to feel giddy. He was repeating the
exercise he had conducted, over and over, tracing his bonding link
with Jim back into the depths of his mind and, with the help of the
healers, breaking down the autonomic reflexes piece by piece. He
had broken some of the connections, but many, far too many,
remained.
     The weakness of his body was affecting his ability to
concentrate. Yet if he broke his fast, so much of his autonomic
nervous system would be occupied in the digestive and other
functions triggered by the ingestion of food that tracing the link into
the subconscious levels of the mind would be almost impossible.
     He closed his mind again and let himself sink into a
meditative alpha state. He tried to focus on the mind-meld in the
field in Iowa, the starting point of many of his meditations, because
it had been so profound.
     But instead, he found himself remembering an incident that
had happened 2.78
months earlier, when they were still on the *Enterprise,* an incident
in the Beta Carinae system ... he was more than remembering it, he
was reliving it, almost.
     A sun going nova, Romulan battle cruisers on their flank,
Jim alone in a crippled scout craft on the other side of the star, far
out of transporter range, helplessly buffeted by the nova's rapidly
shifting gravitational field ......
     Aware that he was losing consciousness and control, Spock
fought the dream. But each time he slipped out of consciousness he
began again to feel the raw terror he had felt then--and the painful
memory was like an electric jolt that jarred him back to
consciousness. But he slipped back again ....
     The Romulans blocked their way to port. The only way to
get to Jim was straight ahead, through the penumbra of the nova
itself. The heat seared his face, sweat beaded his forehead. He could
only imagine how his Human shipmates felt. The bridge crew
turned to him, reciting the unsurprising readings. Hull temperature
rising rapidly, shields disintegrating.
     They stared in horror as he ordered them ahead, straight
into the star. "We'll be burned to a crisp," someone muttered, he did
not know who, his mind was a red haze, he couldn't tell where the
sounds were coming from.
     Demented, he drove them on, far too near the sun, the only
fragment of thought in his mind how to reduce the distance
between them and Jim's shuttlecraft. Their only hope was to shoot
through the heat so rapidly that the ship did not have time to burn
up. To do that, they'd need all their engines' power, with none left
to maintain what was left of the shields, nor any for the emergency
cooling system that was now on full power.
     As Humans said, out of the frying pan, into the fire.
     "Cut warp power to the shields and cooling units," he
ordered Engineering. "Direct full power to the engines. Maximum
possible warp. Add impulse power to boosters. We must have at
least Warp 10 to get through the penumbra."
     Scott was aghast. "The engines are overheatin' already, Mr.
Spock, and if they don't break up from the strain of making Warp
10, without any shields or coolant, they'll surely blow up from the
heat! We're going ta lose the ship for sure if we continue!"
     The rest of the bridge crew looked at him expectantly,
sweat running down their faces. He could tell from their eyes that
they thought him mad. If it had not been for their loyalty to him,
and to Jim ... but in the suffocating heat, an even hotter fury drove
him on, to get through the nova and rescue Jim.
     "Follow my orders, Mr. Scott. Give every ounce of power
you've got to the engines." He ordered medical units to the bridge,
ordered all hands into the
interior parts of the ship, as far from the hull as they could get. The
bridge crew, exposed at the top of the hull's bubble, would have to
rely on the more primitive expedient of cold packs to keep their
body temperatures low enough to avoid collapse. He ordered the
transporter room to prepare to lock onto Jim's crippled scout ship,
had Chekov drop everything else to plot its coordinates.
     The ship gave a long, ominous shudder. The temperature
rose sharply and then, in a split second, they were through, and
Chekov, wiping the perspiration from his eyes with a towel, was
telling him, "Coordinates located, sair ..." and without even waiting
for Spock's order, feeding them into the transporter room. And then
Kirk was there, looking flushed and rattled and about to collapse
from heat stroke himself, but splendid and whole ....
     Spock wondered afterwards what demon had possessed him
then. Now, reliving that hellish scene again, he knew. Wide awake
now, he sat up on his cot. He had