Chapter Text
There is an ancient Vulcan legend, of the warrior bond – t’hy’la it was called. To be t’hy’len was the highest form of bonding, deeper and more profound than a familial or even a marital bond, and was considered to be a great honor. T’hy’len lived together, loved together, fought and died together. A warrior whose t’hy’la had been killed in battle rarely survived him long. Their deeds and their bond were to be celebrated for the ages, their parting a tragedy to fuel epic ballads.
Over the intervening millennia, the significance of the word and, indeed, the warrior bond itself, morphed in a variety of ways, gradually falling out of favor in the time of Surak, but reappearing in later centuries. Today it had variable definitions and, according to its context, meant “brother,” “friend,” or even “lover.”
Spock looked upon Jim Kirk in his hospital bed more than two weeks after the battle with Khan – two weeks after he watched him die – and thought they might be t’hy’len.
After a fashion.
They had fought at each other’s sides. They would – they both knew – lay down their lives for each other. There could be no more profound link between two friends. But he found the realization of this fact difficult to parse with the reality of their relationship to date. All he knew was that in Jim’s presence he felt something his own feelings were inadequate to express, and he did not like that uncertainty.
He also found himself lately with an illogical need to remain at Jim’s side, as if by his mere presence he might prevent him from coming to further harm. He knew this was irrational, and yet -
“You brought a chess set?” Jim asked, struggling to sit up in his bed. It was one day after he regained consciousness, 25.8 hours since he thanked Spock for saving his life. Spock held the set between them as if it were a shield.
“We have not played in some time.”
Jim blinked at him; there was something open in his face, something Spock would name, “gratitude” if he didn’t know better.
Spock set up the game on a nearby antigrav table that he positioned over Jim’s lap, then took a seat.
“You take white,” Jim said, and Spock spun the game 180 degrees. He moved a pawn and watched as Jim reached out a hand to move one of his own. His hand shook, however, and he knocked over his Queen-side rook. “Dammit!” he cursed, and fumbled to right the piece, knocking over three others in the process.
“Is something wrong? Are you in pain? Shall I inform Doctor McCoy?”
Jim’s face colored, though if it was from embarrassment or something else, Spock could not tell. “No, it’s – he already knows. There’s some lingering nerve and muscle damage, but it’s supposed to go away in a few days.”
“Do you require assistance?” Spock reached out to set the fallen pieces back into their places, finishing by moving the pawn Jim had been reaching for into the space he appeared to have intended for it to go.
“I do not, Commander,” Jim said, his voice containing the steely note he affected when he delivered orders on the bridge. Spock rested his hand in his own lap and straightened his spine. “It’s your move,” Jim added, his voice gentler.
They played to a draw, Spock ignoring Jim’s failing hand-coordination. Neither of them had his head in the game at any rate – it was clear each of them had other things on their minds. “Shall we play another?” Spock suggested, and Jim agreed, yawning.
Spock rose. “You need rest. I will return tomorrow for our rematch.”
“You don’t have to go,” Jim said, fumbling to grasp Spock by the wrist. At the touch, Spock perceived a flurry of Jim’s surface thoughts and emotions.
i’m scared Spock
help me not be
They were the words Jim had spoken two weeks ago – a memory – and Spock heard them in his dreams every night. Jim’s fear was replaced by shame and he pulled away. Spock turned his wrist quickly and held him lightly. “You need not –“ he began.
“Spock, I –“
sorry, sorry, sorry
shit you’re a touch telepath
please don’t leave
god, so pathetic
Spock dropped Jim’s hand as he realized he’d transgressed; he did not mean to read his friend, had only meant to reassure, or so he told himself.
“Do not –“ apologize, Spock had been about to say, but to say it would admit he’d read Jim’s thoughts. He caught a look of anxiety on Jim’s face before he looked away, and he stood there, frozen with indecision over whether to stay or leave.
He was saved by Doctor McCoy entering the room, a nurse in his wake. Without looking at either of them, he began waving a tricorder over Jim and frowning at the readout.
“What’s the prognosis?” Jim asked. Spock noticed Jim had settled a neutral expression on his face and marveled at his ability to mask his emotions; he was not sure he’d been very effective at it himself.
“I’m afraid you’ll live,” McCoy answered tersely. “Now get outta here.”
“Wh-what?” Jim asked, incredulous.
“You’re being discharged.”
Jim’s mouth hung open in disbelief as Spock said, “Doctor, surely the Captain requires additional time to recuperate.”
“Which he can do at home.”
“He was in a coma just two days ago.”
“And now he’s not. His vitals are strong, and he’s eating and all seems more or less normal.” He eyed Jim. “You feel normal?”
“Yes?”
“You promise to report to Outpatient Services for PT every day for the next two weeks?”
“Yes!”
“Then you’re cleared to go.”
Spock, incredulous, was dismayed to hear his voice raise an octave as he protested, “Surely Starfleet Medical does not require the bed. I, therefore, am at a loss to understand –“
“Shut it, Spock,” Jim hissed at him.
Spock raised an eyebrow and regarded his captain. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t look a gift discharge in the mouth.”
“Jim, I must protest most strenuously,” Spock began, but something in Jim’s eyes – something desperate – made him stop. “How will you get home?”
“I’ll call a cab.”
“Nonsense, I have a transport just outside.”
“There you go.”
Spock could feel his mouth pressing into a very thin line and it took a concerted effort to make it stop. “This is highly illogical.”
“So noted,” McCoy said. “Now, can we give the man some privacy while he gets dressed? The nurse here will get you some clothes.”
Spock followed McCoy out into the hallway, where he stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. “Doctor, your willingness to discharge the Captain when he is clearly in no shape to be away from medical supervision is highly irregular.”
“Listen, don’t give me any guff, I’m doing it for his own good, OK?”
Spock blinked. “I fail to see –“
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you, because you don’t know him like I do.”
“I –“ Spock closed his mouth; McCoy was right, and it pained him to admit it.
“He’s scared shitless, and keeping him here’s not doin’ his recovery a lick of good. Do you think he’s over what’s happened?”
“I do not.” Jim had literally died, and adding to that, Admiral Marcus’s actions had affected all of them in a most distressing way. It was a hard thing to realize your superior officer was prepared to murder an entire starship’s crew to cover up his intention to start an intergalactic war.
“Well, I don’t want to do this, but if he’s at home, he’ll be more comfortable. Being here is putting him under too much stress.”
“Doctor, if the Captain is emotionally compromised, it must be reported.”
“I won’t do that to him, and neither will you, Commander. Look, he’ll get over it in his own time, I’m sure of it. But keeping him in the hospital is exactly the wrong way to do it. And I won’t clear him for duty until I’m convinced he’s doing all right, if that means anything to you.”
Spock could plainly see the concern for Jim written on McCoy’s face, and knowing he would not wittingly clear Jim for duty before he was ready, he reluctantly chose to comply with the doctor’s recommended course of action. Nevertheless, he needed to be sure of one thing. “You are certain he is physically capable of being on his own?”
“I’m a doctor first, and his friend second. I wouldn’t let him out of here if I didn’t think he would do all right.”
----
“Jesus, this is hard. What the hell was Bones thinking letting me out of the hospital?” Jim looked up at the remaining stairs ahead of them. Just one flight to go and they’d be at his front door.
“I might ask, ‘What were you thinking when you hired rooms in a four-story walk-up,’ but it is clear…” Spock adjusted his grip around Jim’s back and huffed a little breath of air out through his lips, “that you were not thinking!”
“It’s in a historic neighborhood,” Jim protested, grunting as he lifted his left leg to mount one more step.
“I could carry you,” Spock offered, not for the first time.
“You will not!” Jim ordered, and they struggled up the remaining stairs to Jim’s door.
Once inside, Spock helped Jim to his bed and deposited him on it rather more clumsily than he intended, then stood back and straightened out his uniform jacket. “Do you require anything?” he asked, struggling to regain his breath.
“Some water? And my PADD – it’s on the coffee table.”
Spock went to fetch the requested items and then settled himself in the living area on the couch.
“Spock,” Jim called after several moments. “You sticking around?”
Their voices echoed off the empty walls of Jim’s apartment; he had clearly never really moved into the place, as many of his belongings remained in boxes in the office.
“Someone must remain with you to ensure you do not fall and injure yourself.”
“I’m not going to crack my head open or anything.”
“You will forgive me if I do not believe you. You barely made it up a half flight of stairs before you required assistance.”
“Are you going to shout at me all afternoon, Spock, or will you come in here and have a normal conversation?”
Spock refrained from sighing and rose.
“If you’re going to stay, you should hang out with me,” Jim said as soon as he appeared in the doorway to the bedroom.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “What does this entail?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Hanging out? You just – you hang out. Come over here and sit down.”
Spock approached the bed and sat on its edge with his back perfectly straight. “Is this acceptable?” he asked after several moments.
Jim sighed. “You might be more comfortable if you sat over here.” He indicated the vacant other half of the bed.
Spock complied, sitting with his back against the head of the bed, feet hanging over the side to prevent dirtying the duvet with his boots.
“There, isn’t that nice?” Jim asked.
“It is no different than when I sat over there.” A further minute passed. “Does this fulfill your definition of ‘hanging out’?” Spock asked.
“Yes. It’s what friends do. We’re friends, right?”
Spock looked at Jim, their eyes locking.
Jim’s eyes on his were unreadable, their color as vibrant as ever Spock recalled them being. Again, his memory returned to that horrible moment in Engineering, when he watched that intense color fade as Jim died mere inches from him while he was powerless to prevent it.
”I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die. Why I went back for you.”
“Because you are my friend.”
He closed his eyes.
“Something’s wrong,” Jim observed.
“It is nothing.”
“Spock, by now, I can tell when something’s bothering you. Spill, and that’s an order.”
Spock chose his words carefully, talking around his true thoughts as deftly as he could. “It has been extremely difficult for me to recover my emotional stability since the events of two weeks ago.”
Watching you die has gutted me, is what you might say, Jim he thought, but did not say.
“No amount of meditation or reflection has aided me in my attempts to recover the equilibrium I had enjoyed before. It is discomfiting.”
“’These are the times that try men’s souls,’” Jim quoted Thomas Paine.
“Please elaborate.”
“We were all of us betrayed by a man who had sworn not only to uphold the values of the Federation and of Starfleet, but by one who was supposed to always have our backs. It’s hard to come back to reality with your principles intact, much less any sense of innocence or idealism.”
“I do not think I had much innocence to lose.”
“Then I think you’re lying to yourself. I think you had a great deal of faith in Starfleet – as did I, as did every man and woman aboard the Enterprise – and that faith has been all but destroyed. It shakes a person up, makes him question everything.”
“Such a reaction is not very logical.”
“These are illogical times, Spock.” Jim licked his lips and lay back against the pillows piled beneath his back. “But you’ll get over it. I’ll help if you want.” He smiled slightly, the expression chasing the seriousness of their conversation out of the room.
Spock turned his face away from him, unconsciously mirroring Jim’s position on the bed with his head resting back against the headboard. This loss of idealism to which Jim referred was the very least of the matters troubling him, but he was loath to admit it to the very person upon whom those troubles rested. Spock had hoped that spending time in Jim’s company, seeing him awake and alive and healed would put a stop to, or at least lessen the intensity of, his illogical fear that his friend would die again.
----
“No!”
Spock opened his eyes to a darkened room. Jim had dropped off to sleep as they talked earlier, and Spock had returned to the living room to attempt to ease his own mind through meditation. As usual lately, it provided little relief from his troubling thoughts, and the low, desperate moan coming from the bedroom roused him almost the second it was uttered. He rushed to Jim’s bedside to find him asleep, as he’d left him, but his face was contorted, reflecting some inner emotional turmoil.
“Spock!” he said, and by the light filtering through the bedroom windows from the street outside, Spock could see the tears streaming down his friend’s face. He sat down beside Jim and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Jim.”
Jim opened his eyes with a startled intake of breath, his eyes finding Spock’s in an instant. “It’s you,” he said after a moment.
“It is.”
“You didn’t leave.”
“I told you I would remain to assist you should you require it in your recuperation. I still believe Doctor McCoy was in error when –“
“No, I mean you didn’t leave me when I died,” Jim interrupted.
“I – no, I did not.”
“You stayed,” Jim said, “you stayed with me.”
“I could no sooner have left than shed one of my arms, Jim.”
Jim took a shuddering breath and it was in that moment that Spock realized he was sweating and trembling. “You are shaking – are you fevered?” Spock rested the back of his hand against Jim’s forehead.
here with me
stay
don’t go
pleasepleaseplease
Jim’s emotions – fear, desperation, anguish – assaulted him, and it was all Spock could do not to flinch away, to maintain the brief contact required to ascertain if he had an elevated temperature or not.
“I keep reliving it in my dreams,” Jim confessed.
Spock didn’t need to ask what he meant. “Are not dreams a way for sentient beings to process what has happened to them? This is perhaps your subconscious doing the work it must to make you well.”
“Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.” He turned onto his side, facing Spock, and wrapped his arms around himself, his shivering not abating.
At a loss as to what to do, Spock placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder and patted him clumsily; his mother had done the same for him when he was a child, and he recalled it had soothed him.
“Spock?” Jim asked at length.
“Yes?”
“Is that all the work you’ve done on your b-bedside manner?”
“It is insufficient.” Spock was slightly dismayed.
“Think you could maybe just, stay here? Like before, in the bed?” Jim asked, his voice muffled, since he’d tucked his face against the bedding.
“That is highly irregular.”
“It’ll be better if you’re here,” Jim replied through chattering teeth.
Spock regarded the distress that was written in Jim’s every tensed muscle and trembling limb and could not help but be moved. He went around to the other side of the bed and kicked off his boots, then stripped off his uniform jacket and shirt, placed them carefully on the back of a nearby chair, and laid himself atop the covers as he had been before. Jim, meanwhile, had turned over to face him and squirmed closer, his arms still hugging himself tightly as he nudged up against Spock’s side.
“You’re really warm,” Jim murmured.
“Vulcans’ basal body temperature is several degrees above that of human norm, so there is no doubt you will find me… palliative.”
“It’s nice.”
Spock recalled tales of t’hy’len past who comforted each other through great hardships, injuries, and illnesses.
“Maybe it’d be better if you got under the covers – retain all that Vulcan body heat.”
Spock searched Jim’s face for any sign of insincerity but could discern none. He pushed the covers back and slid his legs beneath them, lying down on his side with his head on one of the pillows. Jim got closer and he was, indeed, palpably cooler than Spock’s own body. Remembering once again the soothing gestures his mother would employ, he rubbed a hand up and down Jim’s upper arm to warm him. Humming, Jim wriggled closer, his front now flush against Spock’s, and before he knew it, had pulled Spock’s arm around himself, resting his head just beneath Spock’s chin. Spock resisted the instinct to freeze up.
“There, that’s good, that’s perfect.”
“Do you think you might sleep again?” Spock asked stiffly.
Jim nodded.
“That is good, for McCoy impressed upon me the need for you to rest sufficiently.”
“He’s an old worry-wart.”
“He has your best interests in mind.”
“That’s what he says.”
“He saved you.”
“He does that all the time.”
You do not die all the time, Spock did not say as he shored up his mental shields and tightened his arms around Jim, ignoring the fact that it felt very right.
----
“No, no, no.” Jim was dreaming again.
“Jim,” Spock said, instantly awake. His body tensed against as Spock became aware of the overwhelming sense of fear pouring off of Jim along every inch of skin where their bodies touched. He fought to contain his reaction and to raise his mental shields against the onslaught.
“All alone,” Jim whimpered in his sleep, reacting to a nightmare they were both experiencing.
“You are not. I am here.”
empty
yawning, screaming emptiness
nothing
there was nothing there
quiet, so quiet
nothing there
Jim’s emotions were like a tsunami within Spock’s mind, swamping his shields and making them crumble. He gasped as he struggled to raise them again and failed. The only thing to do would be to disengage physically, but that would be difficult since in his dream-induced terror, Jim had latched on to Spock’s body like a limpet.
don’t want to go
please
Spock!
These last words were uttered aloud, but by Spock himself, Jim’s anguish filling him so completely it supplanted his own controls, his own thoughts and feelings. He knew he must put a stop to it. He alone must take action or risk permanent damage to his own mind. He wracked his brain for an answer, even as the emotions Jim experienced in his nightmare filled him to overflowing.
pleasepleaseplease
I don’t want to die
A meld – a meld would work, but Spock would not do that to a non-consenting mind, to do so would break the most basic laws of Vulcan.
“Spock!” they both thought, cried out, felt.
Perhaps it was some vestige of Jim’s incursion into his mind, perhaps it was something he subconsciously wanted, but Spock did the only thing he could think of and kissed Jim.
The fear plateaued as awareness returned and Jim’s eyes opened wide. He pulled away from Spock, a shocked gasp on his lips. His emotions did not retreat from Spock’s mind, but with his consciousness, so too a kind of control exerted itself, and Spock could shield once again. He still felt Jim’s turmoil, but it no longer threatened to overwhelm him.
And then Jim kissed him back.
Through their contact, Spock could feel Jim’s terror subsiding quickly. Within the space of a thought, it morphed into something else entirely as Spock returned the kiss; there was a sense of comfort being taken, and of relief.
needthisneedyouplease
Almost out of instinct, Spock felt his own left hand coming up to caress Jim’s face. Jim made a small, desperate mewling sound as he opened his mouth to allow Spock’s tongue access.
pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease
Spock could tell that Jim was not so much begging for his attentions as he was in need of them, and Spock knew it was his role as Jim’s t’hy’la to give them to him. Soon, Jim’s hands were fumbling at the closure of Spock’s uniform pants – he’d forgotten he’d worn them into the bed – but whatever vestiges of the nerve damage Jim had referred to earlier in the day must have remained, for he made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat. Spock obligingly undid his own pants, gasping as Jim shoved his hand inside to bring his half-hard member out into the close air beneath the covers. Jim bit Spock’s bottom lip and, when Spock hissed, ran the flat of his tongue over it to soothe. Spock groaned as Jim began to stroke him to full hardness, reaching down and around to cup Jim’s still-clothed buttocks and pull their groins closer.
God! he heard or felt Jim say, the desperation the man felt now centered on their sexualized activity instead of the terror at being alone forever. Spock, for his part, was satisfied to have helped his friend to this point and, if he told the truth, he himself had a need for this. Jim’s death had affected him more profoundly than he would admit to anyone, perhaps even himself, and to offer this small comfort – to help him to feel less fear, less loneliness – to get over this trauma made it worth it.
Spock ran his hand along the waistband of the drawstring pants the hospital had sent Jim home in and managed to push them down to his knees in three movements. Jim fumbled to pull Spock closer, but soon gave it up, his arms trembling. “I can’t. I still can’t do anything,” he whined.
“Let me,” Spock whispered, turning them so Jim was on his back. He shoved his own pants off of his legs and levered himself over Jim with his own, strong arms. Jim spread his legs and Spock lowered himself between them, their twin erections bobbing against each other as Spock eased his body atop Jim’s. As he looked down, he saw the expression on Jim’s face was clear and open, lips slightly kiss-swollen and parted, blue eyes as bright as ever, and he longed with a yearning he would not name to make sure that face and those eyes would never again know the fear and doubt he’d been sensing in him all day. As Spock dipped his head down to take Jim’s lower lip between his again, he poured as much of that sentiment as he could into the gesture. And even though there was no way Jim could know he was doing it, not without a meld, the message evidently got across.
yes
Spock rotated his head to the side to get a better angle for the kiss, then reached down with his hand to line up their erections, using the copious amounts of pre-ejaculate they had both produced to lubricate the way. He began a languid thrusting against Jim, who responded by lifting trembling arms up to rest his hands on Spock’s shoulders, straining his own head up to deepen the kiss they shared.
Soon, Spock began to escalate his movements, thrusting with more force against Jim, who moaned into their kiss, the exhale into Spock’s mouth a delicious counterpoint. Spock wanted to swallow it down, as if doing so would preserve some part of Jim within himself. After many more minutes of this, Spock felt the telltale tightening in his scrotum that signaled he was close to climax; Jim, apparently, was close too, for he pulled his head away and rested it against his pillow, eyes closed and breath held. Spock lowered his head until he was resting his forehead against the pillow beside Jim and, with one final thrust, felt his seed spill out, warm over his hand and against Jim’s belly. Jim’s own orgasm followed close behind, and when Spock raised his head to watch his face, he was biting his bottom lip so hard he thought it might bleed; Spock illogically wished to see that.
Spock lowered himself to the side, and Jim turned his head to catch his lips in one, final kiss.
needed that
“Indeed.”
----
Spock woke in the morning to find himself alone in the bed; he could hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom, and eventually sat up, scanning the room for his clothes. Before he could get out of the bed, the bathroom door opened, and Jim came out, a towel around his hips.
“You appear to have gotten your strength back,” Spock noted.
Jim smiled. “I still feel a bit shaky, but last night was very –“ he paused, at a loss for words.
“Restorative?” Spock suggested.
“Yes,” Jim agreed. “Never let it be said that a good night’s –“
“Sleep,” Spock supplied.
“…won’t do a man some real good,” Jim finished with a smile that rapidly faded.
They looked into each other’s eyes for a minute, then began to speak at once.
“Spock, about last night –“
“Jim, we need to discuss –“
“You go first.”
“I insist that you do. Captain.”
Jim paused when Spock referred to him by his rank, but plowed on after a moment. “Thank you, Spock, for what you did for me last night. You reminded me I was alive, that I could live. I don’t know if you will truly realize what you’ve done for me. I will be forever grateful.”
Spock did not feel reminding Jim that he knew precisely what it had done for him would serve much of a purpose. “I would offer similar sentiments.”
“But I’m still your commanding officer, and you are still in a relationship with Nyota, and –“
“You need not speak of it further, Jim, for I believe we are of one mind on this. While wholly satisfying and exactly what we each required in the moment, it cannot be repeated.”
Jim looked relieved, and though his feelings on the matter were exactly as he’d stated, Spock couldn’t help a small and illogical stab of disappointment that he ruthlessly suppressed.
Kaiidth, he thought. What is is. In days long past, t’hy’len had spouses and families separate from the warrior bond. It did nothing to lessen their importance to each other, and it would not here.
They were t’hy’len, it was what would be.