Festival

OUT OF PRINT

First Published in January 2001
Winner of One Gold, Three Silver and One Bronze ASCEM Golden Orgasm, Also winner of two Philon Awards.
217 pages
Ten K/S Stories
Cover by Deeb
Three pieces interior art by: Deeb, Liz, Iracema Marianne Mueller
Poetry by kira-nerys

From The Word Withheld by J.S. Cavalcante

They ate in silence, which was not unusual for Spock and Kirk when they dined together, but was quite odd for McCoy, and after a few minutes, Kirk put his fork down and said, "Okay, you two. At some point you’re going to have to stop treating me as though I might break at any moment. Just relax."

Spock shot up an innocent eyebrow, as though to say, I, Captain?

Kirk chuckled. "Yes, you." He slapped Spock’s shoulder playfully. Then he shot a glance across the table. "And you too, Bones."

McCoy reached across the table to grasp Kirk’s wrist. "He’s probably just thinkin’, as I am, that your chair could be empty tonight. We almost lost you, Jim."

"I know, Bones," Kirk said gently. "But it’s not the first time, and it’s not going to be the last."

Spock cleared his throat. "I was forced to declare you deceased," he said finally. "And to hold a memorial service."

Kirk offered Spock his other hand. Spock hesitated, watching the captain’s eyes, hyper-aware of McCoy’s intense blue gaze on him as well. Kirk smiled at him slightly, with that subtle quirk of his lips that was almost Vulcanly restrained, but that had always spoken volumes to Spock’s heart. Slowly, almost reverently, Spock took the hand.

Kirk’s fingers gripped his tightly. "My friend," he said, very quietly.

Friend. Humans used the term very loosely. But the word that came to Spock’s lips was not one that could be taken lightly. It was not a word that he should voice in front of McCoy. He found himself saying it anyway. "T’hy’la."

"What’s that?" Kirk asked.

Spock took a deep breath, and did not let go Kirk’s hand. "It is . . . a word for friend. A specific one. The term would not apply to an acquaintance or a casual friend. Standard does not have an exact equivalent." He swallowed.

For answer, Kirk squeezed Spock’s hand very hard, then released it and retrieved his fork.

McCoy, releasing Kirk also, examined Spock’s face intently. "That the only meaning it has, or is there more to it?" he asked. But his voice was gentle, rather than challenging.

Spock cleared his throat. "It can be translated with other Standard terms as well. It is difficult to condense a word laden with meaning in Vulcan culture into a single word that belongs to a different culture," he said. "The Universal Translator would probably render it as "friend," but if you spoke the word "friend" in Standard, the translator would not give "t’hy’la."

"I see," Kirk said, though he obviously didn’t.

Spock cleared his throat again. "It could also translate as . . . brother."

"Brother." Kirk smiled. "I like that. Brothers in arms. Comrades. I’ll remember the word, Spock, and thank you."

McCoy looked unconvinced, but he wisely said nothing.

Spock found he was no longer hungry, and he could no longer make even a pretense of eating. He put his fork down, but steepled his fingers in front of him, fixing his gaze on McCoy and daring the doctor to comment.

McCoy only gave him an understanding smile, and smoothly changed the subject, questioning Kirk, with a slightly too-bright voice, about their next assignment.

After dinner, as they left the mess, Kirk laid a casual hand on Spock’s shoulder, something no one else aboard had Spock’s implicit permission to do. "Care for a post-crisis game of chess, Mr. Spock?" Kirk said lightly.

Spock sighed, aware of McCoy’s perceptive gaze on him. Kirk’s touch on his shoulder was like a fire that burned yet left no visible mark. Kirk squeezed gently. "T’hy’la?" he said, pronouncing the word perfectly.

Spock could not stop himself from flinching infinitesimally, but he kept any further expression off his face.

Even so, the slight reaction was not something Kirk would miss. "Forgive me, I said something wrong, didn’t I?"

Spock cleared his throat. "Not at all. It is . . . the term has much meaning to . . . to Vulcans that I have not explained."

Kirk smiled his slow, easy smile. "You want to tell me over chess? If it’s a very complex explanation, maybe you’ll take my attention off the game and get the upper hand."

From Getting To Know by Rae Trail

Kirk dropped his face into his hands. "At least I can trust you not to tell McCoy."

"Yes, you may trust me for that. But will you trust me in another way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Captain... Jim. Stop drinking now. You need a good night's sleep. Let us go through to your cabin, and I will give you a therapeutic massage designed to assist you in sleeping comfortably. If you awake with nightmares, you have my personal permission to come through our adjoining door and wake me to discuss them. I may not be a professional counsellor, but I am your friend, and I would like to assist you."

He couldn't interpret the look on Kirk's face. The captain held his eyes for several breaths, then looked down at his glass. "Spock... Spock. Spock. Do you remember that I said, one of the worst parts was knowing that you were witnessing my total loss of control?"

Spock knit his eyebrows and reviewed their conversation. "Yes. I clearly remember that."

"Then I must tell you that... your offer is very generous. I am tempted almost beyond my capacity to resist, but for the wrong reasons. I don't think that you giving me a massage, therapeutic intentions aside, is going to help me relax."

Spock's mind flashed through all the possible meanings of that statement, and he caught his breath involuntarily at the one most likely intended. "Are you saying that my touch would have the opposite effect than to relax you?"

"Yes. I am saying that." Kirk swallowed everything in his glass, then reached out and poured himself another large whiskey. "I will not, however, try to force my Human wants and needs on you. Never again. But you deserve an honest answer to your generous offer. I like you more than a little, Spock; in fact I care very deeply about you. More than that, I think you are the sexiest person on this ship, Spock, one of the sexiest people I have ever met, and I doubt I could stand having you touch me in such an intimate way without trying to take advantage of you. Besides, you'd know that immediately, wouldn't you. If you touched me in an intimate way. What I felt."

Spock nodded, stunned. "I would know. Yes."

"So I might as well confess it. I won't lie to you about why I'm turning down your offer. I would never try to push you into a relationship, Spock. But watching you, working with you for the last couple of years, I find myself wishing there was someone like you that I could settle into a lifetime with. You're so smart, and beautiful, and capable, and so fucking brilliant." Kirk stared bleakly into his glass, then took another gulp. "I love watching the way you think. I can't imagine why I never realized how different it is from the way I think. I always just thought you were better at it than me. Smarter."

"There is nothing wrong with the way you think." Spock responded automatically. "You cannot, biologically, multi-task in the way my Vulcan heritage and training allows. However, you are exceptional at multi-dimensional thinking, something which totally eludes me," Spock went on, most of his brain trying to process the extraordinary statement his commanding officer had just made. "A moment, please. I require a moment to think about this. This field of thought is totally non-linear and I am unused to processing emotional input in this way."

"Please, don't feel any pressure or..." Kirk subsided into silence for a minute, then sighed. "I must tell you though, I haven't lost my libido where you're concerned. I understand that this is probably an unwelcome confession. I'll go now, and perhaps we can talk about this again sometime. I hope that we can remain friends, that this won't..." He blushed crimson. "And please don't worry. Elaan... you've put her in perspective for me. She thought it was alright to do what she did. She has no idea the damage she caused." He drained his glass and stood up. "Thank you for your undivided attention, Spock."

Spock rose automatically. "You are most welcome, sir. And... thank you for your honesty. I shall reflect upon what you have told me."

"That's all I can ask." Kirk moved as if to take Spock's hand, then dropped his arm.

"Good night."

"Good night."

Spock stood in the half darkness for a long time, his mind racing, before he realized that all of this needed to be taken to meditation and he hadn't the time for several hours. Pressing his fatigue and his raging emotions aside, he returned to his terminal and ordered it on.

From The Siren's Call by Hafital

They put us in the same cell, a small room of four gray walls and one window. It was probably not the wisest move on their part, but at the time they were half certain I was a ghost and therefore not real and couldn't possibly pose a threat. Thank the gods for small favors and confused Romulans. I knew they wouldn't stay confused for long.

We just stared at each other at first, words suddenly not coming easily. I kept my hands busy, exploring my new surroundings and testing the solid door of our cell. I was afraid to touch him. I was still freezing, it not being much warmer inside the cell then outside and I was trying to hide my shivering with movement.

He was changed. Not greatly, not so much that I couldn’t see my Spock underneath the heavy Romulan robes, the added creases and lines on his face, the light dusting of gray at his temples. It looked good on him, I decided. As with everything, he aged gracefully.

"How?" His voice was low, lower then I remembered.

I smiled. "How, indeed." I closed my eyes briefly. "I don't know if I have answers for you, my friend. I don't know if I believe or understand any of it myself."

He nodded, looking down at his hands. "I received a message seven years ago from a Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

The expression on my face must have told him all he needed to know. My voice cracked slightly as I spoke, "That must have been a shock."

He raised his eyebrow at me and it was all I could do not to start grinning like a fool at the sight. How I have missed him.

"A shock? Yes, a shock. That is a very accurate description. Certainly it was unexpected."

"You thought I was dead, how could it not be a shock? Believe me, I know what that feels like."

He looked at me then, his eyes unreadable and dark. "I could no longer feel you, Jim. I had no way of knowing you were not dead."

I heard it there, the slight taint of guilt shading his voice, and I realized he blamed himself for what happened. "There was nothing you could have done, Spock."

"No? Perhaps," and he closed his eyes. Of course, knowing that there was nothing he could have done would not change how he felt. I understood that, all too well. I suppressed another shiver.

"So, Spock... By the way, what is your title these days? I'm assuming it hasn't remained Captain."

"Correct. I am currently an Ambassador in the Vulcan Diplomatic Corps."

"Ambassador?" I couldn't help the incredulous tone in my voice. I looked blankly at him for a moment as I watched what I was certain was an amused look emerge from his eyes. "Ambassador," I rolled the word out slowly, matching it up to my image of Spock and decided it fit. For the most part.

"Well Ambassador, would you mind telling me exactly what you're doing in a Romulan prison." I folded my arms, as much for warmth as to hide the shaking of my hands.

"I am being held captive."

"I can see that. Why?"

"It is a long story."

"It doesn't appear that I'll be going anywhere anytime soon," I looked expectantly at him. "Let's start with why you're on Romulus to begin with and then go from there."

"You do not know?"

I shook my head. "Where I was hasn't exactly been big on keeping me abreast of the latest trends and major events, Spock. When I left I just...left. I had no idea where I was going, or when for that matter. I just knew it was to you."

It was such a familiar thing, watching Spock's thought processes through his facial expressions. He digested that bit of information and then fell silent.

"You should not have done that."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh Spock?"

"Yes."

"So you would have preferred I just let them kill you? I don't think so."

"By your own admission you could not have known I was in danger."

"Yes, well. Except for that." He lifted his eyebrow again. I did smile this time, thinking some things never change.

From The Island by Menolly

"There are no spare cabins for another two days Spock, so I thought rather than wait on the Enterprise we'd take out a ship and sail over to the resort." Kirk was unaccountably nervous around his friend. Spock had maintained a morose silence since they'd met at the transporter room and made their way down to Tialar and the docks. Now they stood surveying a sparkling sea and an array of boats in all shapes and sizes. Jim had made all the arrangements and had picked out a small yacht that he would sail to the island resort where they were to stay for a week It was only a two day sail but he was looking forward to it, he sailed every chance he could get.

"That would be acceptable."

"Acceptable. Great." Kirk groaned to himself. This was promising to be a long week.

Maybe he should have told Bones to go ahead and call Spock in for counseling. Yeah, and maybe he could have picked up the pieces when they'd gotten through killing each other. Somehow he'd get Spock to open up about what was worrying him. For now he'd just let him stew. Two days out at sea might be good for him.

"Come on then, let's get going."

As Spock stowed their two small bags into the yacht's cabin, Kirk quickly got them under way and within an hour they were out of sight of land. Spock verified that he wasn't needed and then sat down on the deck and stared out at the sea. Kirk watched him from the bridge. This lassitude was so unlike his friend. Normally, Spock could be found with an array of instrumentation pointed at the sea and with his alert intense gaze focused on the surface of the ocean, trying to fathom its mysteries. Now, he just seemed to be staring at the ocean. He thought about the mission on the Romulan ship. Spock hadn't told him much about his interaction with the Romulan Commander but it had been obvious to Kirk that the woman had been attracted to Spock. Kirk had often wondered whether Spock could be attracted to someone without the influence of spores, virus or other outside agent. Well, he was suddenly sure that he had the answer to that. All this brooding around, Spock was suffering from a broken heart. And his captain was responsible. Kirk had used seduction as a method of conquering adversaries many times, shrugging of any doubts. Now he'd forced Spock into doing the same, and his friend just wasn't able to cope.

Kirk jerked his gaze away from Spock. He had sometimes fantasized that, given time, their friendship might develop into something stronger. He had never mentioned it to Spock, not wanting to put pressure on his friend, who he knew would do almost anything his captain wanted. Any move in that direction would have to come from Spock. Now, he thought bleakly, he might have damaged even their friendship. With a sigh he turned his thoughts away from that depressing notion and back to the task at hand. The breeze was picking up, as he turned the boat the wind caught the sails and sped them across the choppy ocean. Resolutely, he turned his thoughts to their holiday ahead. The resort they were headed for was nice and private, but also well equipped with restaurants, gyms and various sporting activities. Just what they both needed after the last few stressful missions. Maybe he could get Spock to open up to him, and do what he could to help the Vulcan heal. At least nothing could go wrong on Tialar.

**** ****

Spock went under the water for the third time as Jim struggled over to him. Taking a deep breath Jim deflated his life jacket and dived underneath the wild waves. With sheer will power, he pulled the Vulcan back to the surface and thrust him towards the life raft.

"Spock!" He bellowed over the roar of the wind and the lashing rain, but there was no response and the Vulcan's eyes were closed. Kirk pushed him into the raft and then dragged himself in as well. They were still getting soaked, but at least they were safe from drowning for the time being. Jim made his way to Spock and felt for a pulse; it was there, weak and thready. Slowly the eyes opened, clouded and confused. Then Spock helplessly vomited, bringing up quantities of sea water. When he was finished, Jim dragged him away from the mess and into his arms. Blood was trickling down Spock's head from the large gash over one eye. As the yacht had capsized, he'd been struck and his life jacket slashed open. Both men were soaked through to the skin, and Spock shivered uncontrollably as the cold wind froze his clothes to him. As he became more aware, Spock stiffened and tried to pull away from the captain's grasp.

"Stop it, Spock! You're hurt and you're freezing. Let me try and help you."

Spock said nothing in reply but stopped struggling, sagging back against Kirk. Kirk found a tarpaulin in the bottom of the raft and dragged it over them both. They huddled under it for the next hour as the little craft was tossed up and down on the waves but miraculously held together and did not tip them out into the ocean.

From That of Which We Do Not Speak by kira-nerys

Tonight would be his first meeting with Spock in over five years, and Jim Kirk felt as though he might do something terribly foolish. He had not seen the Vulcan since the second five-year mission was launched, and he was more worried about this meeting than he'd been about any life-threatening mission. He suddenly wished he hadn't come up with the idea to dine alone together like this, but when he had invited Spock, his former first officer had warmed to the idea with as much dignified enthusiasm as his Vulcan heritage would allow.

Jim cast a glance at the chronometer on the oven. His hands were trembling so violently that he had to set the pot he was holding down on the stove. He swallowed. This was ridiculous! He had to calm himself because Spock would show up in a few minutes. He knew the Vulcan. Spock wouldn't be late.

He wasn't quite finished preparing the meal, but that felt like something of a relief. Maybe it would give him some time to get used to having Spock around again? He sighed. There had been a time when he wouldn't have given a second thought to a simple dinner with Spock. They'd once been so comfortable around each other. When had that changed? And why?

The answer came to him easily. The change happened after V'ger, when Spock had grabbed his hand in Sickbay and said: "This simple feeling is beyond V'ger's comprehension." Kirk had then realized that he had to tell Spock his true feelings, or part ways. He couldn't bear to keep the truth hidden any longer, not when Spock had finally come back to him.

I've got to put this behind me, get it over with, Jim thought and leaned over the sink, his knuckles turning white as he grasped the edge. I just have to, or I have to let go.

Shortly after V'ger, he had left for the Enterprise's second five-year mission. Spock had declined the offered position as his first officer. They hadn't talked about V'ger or anything that had happened then. He never got the chance--the Vulcan had taken the choice away from him by deciding to stay behind. He truly wanted to know why Spock had made that choice, but he was still afraid to ask. Therein lay the reason for his tension. He was afraid of the answer. However--knowing the reason didn't take away his fears.

The door chimed, and Jim sighed, straightening his back, and moved toward it. Waiting wasn't his forte, and now he would finally face Spock for the first time in years. There would be no more time for hesitation or fears.

"Come in!"

Jim couldn't stop the warmth that spread through him as his friend entered. The Vulcan was as tall and correct as always, but what a welcome sight. Just having Spock there filled hollows inside Jim that he had forgotten were there. Looking at Spock for the first time in so many years was ... he didn't have words to say how good that felt. It was as though a piece of him that was missing had finally been put back into place. That realization scared Jim to death. He thought he'd been able to put his need, and that dependence behind him. Just setting eyes on his friend again told him how wrong he had been.

"Spock," he said softly.

"Jim." Spock's rich voice added to the subtle satisfaction shining from the dark eyes. Jim had to fight to keep the smile in place. It was evident that he wasn't the only one who had missed their friendship. He swallowed hard. Spock reached out with his hand.

Fighting the tremors running through him, Jim took it. Even though he understood Vulcan customs, he couldn't help it. He just wanted to touch Spock. No, he realized, that was wrong. He needed to touch Spock--to shake his hand, to feel that his friend was truly there, for real.

With an almost imperceptible quirk of his lips, Spock took Jim's outstretched hand between both of his. Jim reveled in Vulcan warmth for a brief moment, then found himself clasped tightly to the slender Vulcan. Instinctively, he stiffened. It was a shock to feel Spock so close to him and the jolt of fear that flooded him was equally unexpected.

Why was Spock hugging him? During their many years of friendship, that had happened only a few times. It had usually occurred when Jim had been seriously injured. He forced himself to relax into Spock's arms. This was a friendly hug and he couldn't let Spock sense his unease or the intense need that took even him by surprise. Jim felt the strong arms go around his back in a tight embrace, and he returned it, clapping Spock's back in a brotherly gesture, fighting to keep the moment casual.

From The Same Mistake by Islaofhope

Kirk pushed the data solid across his desk. The one that contained the apology--actually, a confession and an apology--from his best friend. At least, he'd thought that Spock was his best friend. He hadn't known what Spock had done to him when they served together on the Enterprise. He had played and replayed the message a dozen times since he'd received it a week ago. But he still didn't really understand it.

McCoy had been solicitous when Kirk had told him that Spock was resigning his commission to go to Gol. He had felt some sadness, but he respected Spock's choice to embrace his Vulcan heritage instead of joining him at Starfleet Headquarters. McCoy had hovered worriedly around Kirk, asking him why he didn't go after Spock. It was only one of the things that Kirk and McCoy had argued about before Bones resigned, too.

"Jim."

He looked up at Lori standing in the doorway to his office, her arms crossed, her expression controlled. Her dress uniform emphasized her cool beauty. Not a hair out of place. She was always in control of herself. In meetings. At Starfleet parties. When they had made love. And when they had argued.

No, they hadn't really argued. They had merely stopped talking to each other. Except for occasional sarcastic comments. After he checked out emotionally on the relationship before the first year was over, the second year had been painful for both of them. They had stopped making love long ago.

Even before the message had come from Spock, Kirk was already depressed, mostly over the triviality of his job. He had begun to question everything that he knew about himself. Had the message made it worse or had it begun to explain his confusion?

He stood up, resting his hands on the desk, and attempted to smile. "Lori. What can I do for you?"

She smiled back, faintly. "I wanted to let you know that I just moved the last of my clothes out of the apartment." She walked forward and held out her hand. "Jim, it was fun."

He stared at her blankly. It had been fun at first. They had attended countless parties and sat up for hours "dissecting" their friends and acquaintances after. One of the joys of intimacy.

"But I think we're doing the right thing by breaking it off before anyone got hurt," Lori said.

Before anyone got hurt? He should be glad that Lori wasn't hurt by the break-up. It had been a mutual decision not to renew their marriage contract. But it seemed wrong somehow that she felt nothing about the end of their marriage.

That was unfair. He didn't feel anything either. Just overwhelming relief that he could go home to an empty apartment at the end of a shitty day, and he didn't need to explain himself to anyone. Not any more.

He walked around his desk and took her outstretched hand. Held it in both of his. "Lori, if you ever need anything, let me know."

"Thanks, Jim." Her smile became real; she brought his right hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "I had always heard that about you. That you're a loyal friend." She was right. He was much better at being a friend than at being a husband.

"I'm sorry, Lori," Kirk said. But she was already gone. He should have said it sooner. It wasn't her fault that he was unable to respond emotionally to her. Hell, he couldn't respond emotionally to anyone any more. Maybe *he* should be the one taking the Kolinahr training.

Now that was a stupid thought. He sank down in his chair and picked up the data solid. He didn't have to play it again to remember what it said:

Admiral, I wronged thee.

I owed you an explanation before I left Terra, but I was a fool and a coward. After I take my vows as a Kolinahr initiate in one Terran month, I will never again contact you. I communicate with you now to confess my guilt and ask for your forgiveness. I must do this to cleanse myself before I accept the total logic of Kolinahr.

I wanted you as my own. And I used my mental powers to awaken the same desire in you. It was not logical. To take you as my own would have required total honesty between us. But I feared to tell you the truth.

I touched your mind without your consent and took your memories. When Flint used chemical means to inspire you to love Rayna, I took that memory from you. I wished for you to love me instead.

I wanted you to give me freely what I had taken by force. Perhaps you could have forgiven me if only I had confessed that I loved you.

I wronged thee, Admiral.

You gave me your friendship, but I wanted more. Perhaps if I had asked you honestly for what I wanted, matters would be different between us. As it is, I know you, and I trust that you will forgive me. But we will never see each other again.

Live long and prosper,

Spock cha Kolinahru

He dropped the data solid and turned to the messages displayed on his computer. The first was a reminder that he'd agreed to attend a reception at the Vulcan Embassy. Kirk had always enjoyed his contact with the Vulcan ambassador. Until this message from Spock. But he had too much pride to admit that he was afraid of Vulcan mental powers now.

From Losing Myself in You by Francesca

Anyway, I came back from the mission after meeting Flint feeling careworn and oddly saddened. I fell asleep on my desk after making my log, and woke up suddenly with the feeling that something was out of place or something was wrong. I had a crick in my neck, but as I glanced around my dimly lit quarters could see nothing unusual.

There was a tentative tap on the door to the alcove I shared with Spock, and I realized that must have been what woke me. He had always been reticent about walking straight into my quarters, but I had finally persuaded him that it was illogical to go all the way around to the corridor door when we had our own private entrance. So he used the side door, but oddly guiltily, as if it wasn't strictly proper.

"Come on in, Spock," I called. "I'm not asleep anymore." I let a trace of amusement in my voice to let him know I was teasing; it was probably best for my neck that he woke me, anyway.

He stepped in hesitantly, even more so than usual. The door softly shut behind him, but Spock made no move to enter my quarters any further, and stood looking for all the world like a recalcitrant cadet ready to receive a dressing down.

I frowned. "Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

He was silent, and I peered forward, trying to see his eyes, shadowed and hidden in the dim lighting. "Spock?"

He took a step closer, then stopped again. "Captain," he said formally. "I wish to… make a confession."

Huh? My stomach began to roil. "Are you okay?" I asked again. "Is this about the ship?"

He swallowed. I could have known he was nervous even without that telltale clue -- believe me, I've gotten quite adept at reading Spock's most minimal body language over the years -- but the fact that he was out of control enough to give such an obvious cue (for him) gave me pause. I softened my tone. "Whatever it is, you can tell me, Spock."

At that he raised his head a bit, but his eyes were still shadowed. "I have committed a grievous wrong against one who did not deserve it." I couldn't see his eyes, but his posture -- back straight, head poised as if to receive a blow, and braced for it as if such a strike was no more than he deserved -- well, that posture sent a spike of fear up my spine.

I crossed the rest of the space between us and grabbed his biceps with both hands. I just wanted to give him the reassurance of my touch -- whatever he had done, he genuinely believed it was horrible -- but he flinched back as if my hands burnt him. I raised them then, palms up. "Sit down. Tell me about it."

I could never in a million years believe that Spock had done something deliberately hurtful. Sure, he had made mistakes before; we all have. But if there is one word that describes Spock, it is *integrity* -- integrity to his principles, to his inner voice. The man has been pressured by other people his whole life to be something he is not -- by his parents, by Starfleet, even by many of us here on the Enterprise. The same integrity that makes him unwilling and unable to be anything but himself, in spite of that pressure, is what makes me trust him more than any other being. If he *had* done some horrible thing, I was sure it was unintentional.

But convincing him of that would take some doing.

Begin at the beginning. "What did you do?" I asked when Spock had maneuvered himself so he was sitting on the chair in front of my desk. I myself was perched on the edge, near enough that I could touch him, but far enough that he didn't get too nervous.

The lights were still dim.

Spock's voice, when it came, was low and rough. "You are the one affected," he informed me. His eyes were on the floor.

I guess I should have started to feel mad, or anxious, or *something* at this point, but all I could feel was concern for Spock, who was obviously beating himself up far worse than I ever could. "Spock," I said quietly. "Please, look at me."

He did, and our eyes held. I could see pain in his black depths, and anxiety, and deep, deep shame. I wanted nothing more than to erase those things. The lateness of the hour and the bizarreness of the day must have been catching up with me, for everything suddenly felt surreal. There was no *way* Spock could hurt me intentionally; I knew that as certainly as I knew my name. Yet he plainly believed that he had.

"Tell me," I said, putting all my faith in him into my words, willing him not to look away.

I'll give Spock credit, when he decides to do something difficult, he doesn't shy away from doing it. His words, as always, were precise, blunt, and utterly truthful. "I have removed a memory from your mind without your permission."

Oh. Well.

From The Last Straw by Liz Ellington

Thinking of Vulcans made him wonder what Spock had been doing these last few days. He and Spock had been spending increasing amounts of off-duty time together, everything from chess games to sparring in the gym to just tossing ideas back and forth. He still didn't think he had a handle on the Vulcan psyche but it was interesting to see familiar concepts from Spock's point of view. Made him think about his beliefs, if nothing else. And there had been a tantalizingly intimate quality to their encounters lately, the conversational shorthand that develops between old friends, a decreasing personal space with each other. He was a little surprised that Spock seemed to be as comfortable with it as he was, but they had been close now, after all, for almost five years. He glanced around a bit guiltily, realizing he hadn't seen Spock at all, other than on the bridge, since Leyland had come on board. No sign of him here tonight either.

He spotted McCoy leaning back precariously in a chair in one corner, his eye on an argument going on nearby. McCoy glanced up as he approached, with a surprised smile.

"Hi! Where's your friend?"

"My friend?"

Our passenger. Leyland. You've hardly been out of each other's sight since he came on board."

"That's not true," Kirk said uncomfortably. "He's the highest ranking officer on the ship right now--I'm supposed to be polite to him."

"People are talking," McCoy told him. "Just be aware of that."

"Huh?" Kirk asked, feeling stupid. "Talking about what? You're not making any sense."

"The word is that you've dumped Spock and you're taking up with Leyland."

"The--what?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you ought to be aware of what's been fueling the gossip mill the last few days."

"Let's talk," Kirk told him. "Now. Not here."

He turned on his heel and walked away, not waiting to see whether McCoy was following him.

McCoy caught up with him at the lift. "Look, Jim, that was probably a little crude. I apologize."

"What exactly are you apologizing for?" Kirk demanded. "Your suggestion that I would& 'dump' one friend in favor of another, or your unwarranted assumption that there's anything more than friendship here, with either of them?"

The lift doors opened and they stepped inside. "Deck three."

McCoy was looking at him with a bit of puzzlement. "Jim, are you saying you don't have any sort of relationship with Spock? Other than friends?"

"Are you saying everyone thinks we do?" Kirk asked incredulously.

McCoy said uncertainly, "It's pretty common knowledge. I don't think anyone has a problem with it."

The doors opened at their deck and Kirk strode off down the corridor to his quarters, staying ahead of McCoy so the shell-shocked look on his face couldn't be seen. The crew thought he and Spock were lovers? He wondered whether anyone had had the nerve to mention it to Spock, and what the Vulcan's reaction could possibly have been.

McCoy followed him into his cabin in obvious reluctance. "Look, Jim, maybe I jumped to conclusions there. I apologize, like I said."

Kirk wasn't about to let him off that easily. "I want to know right now what this 'common knowledge' is that you're talking about."

"That you and Spock have a Vulcan--relationship. A bond."

"A Vulcan sexual relationship."

McCoy shrugged, squirming a little. "Yeah. I guess that's what it would be."

"How in god's name did something like that get started? And can you imagine what Spock must be thinking if he's heard any hint of it? Goddammit, Bones, I don't need that kind of talk making the rounds. This is a starship, not a fucking junior high school. We're all supposed to be professionals in our fields, not a bunch of adolescents playing games!"

From But Never Parted by Dreadnought

"Mr. Spock. Report to my quarters at your convenience." He spoke into the desk comm.

The crewmember in question sat alone in the computer core, programming an update to the battlestations drill code. He acknowledged the call and put the curiosity aside, having learned from experience that "at your convenience" did not mean immediately and that Kirk truly did not wish to interrupt him. He settled back into the updating, his face highlighted in the blue glow of the terminals.

Moments after shift-end Kirk's door chimed. Hands behind his back, Spock entered the room.

Kirk stood behind his desk before the monitor, one hand poised over the controls. Spock's back stiffened unconsciously as he noted the unfamiliar posture of defeat in his friend's frame.

"What is it, Jim?" He asked as he came around the desk. Rare concern tainted his voice.

Kirk met his gaze and tried to smile in greeting before looking down again. "I received a message from Wright. He wants to reassign you."

A brow lifted. "Did he say why?"

The human frowned. "He implies that he is being pressured to enforce the non-fraternization rule." Speaking of non-fraternization made Kirk sharply aware of how close to him Spock stood at this moment, close enough to feel the excessive radiant body heat.

"Pressured by whom?"

"By the First Earth movement."

Spock crossed his arms. "I was not aware that Starfleet was now in a position to be influenced by religious movements."

"They aren't directly. But regular appropriations are up for renewal and the movement has gained enough momentum to pressure Earth Parliament into making concessions to them in return for support."

"And we have been singled out in this, somehow?"

Kirk paced around to the other side of the desk. "Wright said the Firsters found us an 'intolerable symbol' of everything they believe is wrong on modern Earth. That we had three strikes against us." At a curious look he continued, "One: that I'm some kind of good-old country boy and you're an alien. Two: that we are both male. And Three...well just...you."

Spock considered that a moment. "Indeed." They were silent a moment. "May I see the message?"

"Sure. It's in the slot." Kirk replied, sitting in his own visitor's chair. Kirk watched the angular face as it held neutral while reading the message.

Spock switched the viewer off. "Interesting. This is an unofficial message."

"I'm holding out some hope for that. Wright wants to meet with me when we dock at Starbase Five." He paused. "I'm not giving you up without a fight."

A strange ambivalence descended over the Vulcan as he stood looking down across the desk at his Captain. Concern for Kirk's well-being tugged against the prospect of rest from the heavy psychic fatigue from constantly resisting a bond with him.

Kirk looked sharply at him and stood up. Standing before the other, managing to project himself taller, he said in an unreadable voice, "Unless you want to leave." Uncertainty and hurt clouded his hazel eyes.

Spock met his gaze with a Vulcan calm. "I prefer to be at your side, Jim." It was the truth, Spock decided.

Backing down, Kirk said, "Sorry. I know you can't express...I shouldn't take my anger out on you."

Spock drew close and pulled the muscular human against him. The object of this attention squeezed his eyes shut against the surge of pain the thought of losing it caused. Long fingers lifted his chin for a balming kiss.

"We have a meeting in ten minutes." Kirk said at the first pause.

Spock was studying him in detail. "Perhaps afterward."

Human hands gripped the banded leanness of Spock's back a long moment before releasing him.

From The World Turned Upside Down by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

Spock’s alabaster arms rested over the sheet, straight at his sides, disturbingly like a corpse’s. White on white: pure, undefiled skin over the sickbay antiseptic covering.

For almost two days on the planet below Kirk had done what he’d had to do to help resolve the impossible situation on Nobel, in which Starfleet shouldn’t be involved at all, in his opinion. He hadn’t joined the ’fleet to fight police actions that interfered in a planet’s sovereignty, but he did know how to follow orders. His opinions he kept to himself. Instead he’d fought, he’d coordinated, he’d negotiated, he’d eventually led a group that stormed a small house on the outskirts of town, where they’d recovered four of the five Cabinet ministers who’d been held hostage by the rebels. The rescue hadn’t ended the conflict, far from it, and the skirmishes continued even if a rudimentary government was back in position. There’d been no place for weakness or emotion or sentiment in any of his actions, and so he’d allowed none of it to exist.

But now, in his own ship’s sickbay, he could permit all parts of himself to be. He stared down at his friend’s pale, still face, and for a moment he wasn’t strong at all, he was just a man with a secret, helpless love that gnawed him from the inside. It hurt. Damn, it hurt. Spock.

He hovered at the very top of a tidal wave of feeling—helplessness, despair, anger—and he knew that with very little effort he could slide down that wave, tumble in it, succumb to it, drown in it. He choked, imagining what it might be like, facing the moment when—but no. He wouldn’t face it. No. No

With an effort, he straightened, and while gripping the bedrail, he could control again.

Kirk reached over the cold metal railing and carefully rested his hand on the slightly curled fingers. Spock’s hand was warm to the touch, the outline of bone hard against soft skin. He’d known that’s how it would feel, if their hands ever touched for any other reason but duty.

"Any change?" he asked softly, his eyes roaming the masculine face: the whisper of short eyelashes, the arch of brow, the slightly parted lips he had never kissed and never would.

"Nothing good."

He glanced up at his CMO but kept his hand on Spock’s. "Tell me."

McCoy sighed wearily. "Like I said in the report I sent down to you, the fracture is repaired; we took a bone graft from his hip for the replacement, did some recombinant juggling, and it worked just fine. I stopped the bleeding as best I could, cleaned up the mess that had blown into his…well, I cleaned it all up."

"That sounds good."

"I thought it was! I thought there was a good chance that he’d go spontaneously into the healing trance, that res’sanin thing he’s done before, that he’d be up and giving me the eyebrow in a day or two. With you or me, with surgery like that, it’d be a few weeks at least before we’re up and about, but with Vulcans, and the control they have over their bodies and minds, it’s possible he could have healed even all that damage in almost no time."

"But?"

McCoy moved up to the other side of the bed and looked down at the motionless figure between them. Frustrated, he said, "There must be more damage than is obvious. I don’t know what’s keeping him from the res’sanin, it’s a natural reflex for them to initiate the trance when there’s trauma this extensive. Something must have been fundamentally damaged."

Kirk swallowed hard, the tidal wave was threatening again. "Damaged? As in brain damage? Spock?"

The physician ran a restless hand through his hair. "I don’t know! Yes, I think it’s possible. Maybe—likely."

"Irreversible? If he regained consciousness, would…." Kirk couldn’t even finish the sentence, didn’t know how to find the words.

McCoy’s shoulders slumped. "I just don’t know enough to say. There’ve been four spontaneous hemorrhages in just the past twelve hours. I don’t know where they’re coming from, I don’t know why they’re occurring, and each one has been worse than the one before. The edema’s getting critical. There’s just so much the VCS can do," he glanced down at an instrument on one of the tables, "and then it’s got to be more open surgery. And with the hemorrhaging, that will likely kill him."

"I thought just beaming would kill him," Kirk said quietly. "And you, too. So we’ve beaten the odds once already. You’re a good surgeon, Bones, and nobody knows—"

But McCoy was shaking his head. "Not this time. I just don’t know enough about the Vulcan brain. I can’t fix what I don’t even understand."

"No doctor knows Spock the way you do," Kirk began, but McCoy cut him off again.

"I might be an expert on his damned hybrid physiology, but his brain is almost purely Vulcan. It would be like expecting Scotty to operate on him."

"But…." With an effort Kirk bit down on the emotion coloring his voice. "What do you propose to do?"

McCoy worried his lower lip. "Stasis is out of the question. Vulcans don’t do well in it, period. I was thinking an emergency medical shuttle, get a Starfleet healer here and then transport them both to a starbase with a Vulcan staff, but his condition is so unstable, I’m not sure we’ve got the time. But it’s our only option."

"Bones," Kirk objected, "Nobel is at the far end of Federation space. Do you know how long it will take an EMS to get here?"

"Yeah, I had your bridge crew check for me just an hour ago, after the last hemorrhage. Four and a half days from ’base Twenty-eight."

"Does he have that long?"

"I don’t know. But we’ve got to try."

Kirk lifted his hand from Spock’s, gripped the rail with tight fingers, looked straight into his CMO’s craggy face. He tried not to sound accusing. "That’s not a good option."

Adamantly, McCoy shook his head. "There’s nothing else we can do. I don’t have the knowledge to operate, but if Spock can just hold on, a healer might be able to diagnose what’s wrong and then do something about it."

"If he can hold on. A healer might be able to help him. Not good enough, McCoy." Kirk was conscious of his temper flaring, knew he was taking out his emotions on the physician who was trying desperately to save Spock’s life, but he couldn’t stop his words or tone.

"Come up with something better!" McCoy punched the air with one clenched fist.

"You’re the doctor, I don’t know the options!"

"I’ve just given them to you. Unless you can materialize a healer out of thin air, we’ve got to put that call in to Twenty-eight."

Kirk stared at McCoy, noted the deep lines etched under the physician’s eyes, the pallor that almost matched his patient’s. If time really had run out for Spock, it wouldn’t be McCoy’s fault.

Kirk nodded once. "All right. I’ll do it."

"Do it? Do what?"

"I’ll find another healer. In the meantime, you put in the call for the EMS." He turned to go.

"Jim," McCoy spoke behind his back. "This is the hind end of space. You’re not going to find anyone closer."

Kirk pivoted, backed through the door. "I’ve got to try, don’t I?"