Disclaimer: I do not own the Star Trek Franchise or all of its affiliated characters.

This is illogical.

The three words race around in Spock's head, tumbling through his thoughts as he pies prostrate on the ground, pinned by hands and his own fear and confusion. He is a trained Starfleet officer, the Chief Science Officer and First Officer of the USS Enterprise, one of the most respected minds in the Federation.

He is a Vulcan.

This is illogical.

This should not be happening.

And yet, it is, and despite him being able to calculate complex warp equations in his head without assistance while analysing a new alien species and plotting out a series of chess strategies to employ against the Captain in one of their nightly matches, he cannot figure out how to stop this.

He knows that he is bleeding, knows that his pale skin is covered with angry green bruises that tell a story he doesn't want to know. He can feel the painful thrusts of his attacker, hears the grunts as the man slams into his hips and the laughter of these other men who are holding him against the rough concrete, these men who fill his head with agonizing thoughts of dominance and violence and hatred. When he inhales sharply as the angle of penetration shifts slightly, probably by accident, and the thrusting motions graze his prostate gland, he can smell the dirt that lingers on the ground despite the recent rains that have been pouring over the city for the past week, the dirt that now coats his skin like mud. There is a coppery taste in his mouth, and he knows that his lip has been split open, perhaps during the initial skirmish where these men overpowered him or later, when he grabbed at it with his teeth to stop from releasing a cry of pain and panic when he had first been entered.

Their actions are illogical. Spock can find no rational in why they are doing this to him. Perhaps it is because they are xenophobic; perhaps they are merely attempting to assert their male superiority over him. Perhaps they have no reason, perhaps this is simply entertainment. Spock hopes that this is not why he being raped, because he needs a reason, some way to categorize this behaviour and move on from it.

The frenzy of snapping hips reaches its climax, and Spock can feel his abuser stiffening behind him in orgasm. The release of seminal fluids causes the injuries lining his rectal walls to sting, but the sudden sharpness of this pain gives him something to focus on and he slowly pulls himself together. He feels the pressure on his wrists and ankles being relieved and the sound of fading voices as his attackers leave him lying on the ground.

He is alone again.

Gently, he pulls himself up off the pavement, hiding a wince at the stabbing pain. He knows he is hurt, knows that he needs to get back to the Enterprise, and he knows that he should go to Sickbay for medical attention. He knows that he should tell the Captain, Jim, what has happened, that his friend and lover deserves to know.

He knows all this, but he doesn't do it.

Instead, he rearranges himself as best he can, brushing the dirt off of his uniform and straightening his trousers. He knows that, at best, it is a poor facsimile of how he normally presents himself, but he calculates that due to the majority of the Enterprise's crew being planet-side for a brief respite with only a meagre skeleton crew remaining, in addition to his rank as the second most superior officer on the ship, there is a 83.7% probability that he will be protected from too much unwanted attention.

He removes his communicator from his belt. It is somewhat scratched but still functional.

"Commander Spock to Enterprise," he speaks, and notes that his voice is as steady and strong as ever.

"Enterprise here, Commander," the eager voice of a young Communications ensign chirps back at him.

"Requesting beam-up to the First Officer's quarters directly."

There is a pause, and Spock assumes that the ensign is relaying the order to the engineer overseeing transporter use, before he hears the boy's voice again, "Enterprise to Commander Spock. One for beam up."

Spock feels the familiar sensation of dematerialization and the almost instantaneous re-materialization grasp him, and is immediately glad that he requested transport to his quarters rather than to the transporter room as was normal. His knees buckle, and he hits the floor with an undignified thud.

It takes a brief moment to collect himself, a deep inhalation, and then he is up on his feet once more. Moving towards his desk, he opens one of the drawers and withdraws his emergency regenerator, an unnecessary but extremely useful piece of equipment for the First Officer of James Tiberius Kirk's crew.

He is moving without processing his actions, repairing the physical damage that his attackers had left. He knows that he is not healing himself, that this merely hides the evidence of an event he is not ready to share, that he will still see the dark bruises around his slender wrists even when there is only pale and smooth skin to others.

He replaces the regenerator, and moves towards his bed. He is suddenly, inexplicably exhausted. The physical damage may have been dealt with, but he is aware that the mental assault of those thoughts…

He shudders, suddenly aware of his state of undress. He had removed his uniform in order to use the regenerator, placing it in a pile next to the desk. It lies there now, a blemish in the otherwise pristine order of the room, but he cannot find the motivation to move and dispose of the damning evidence.

He slides into the bed, naked between the sheets. Slight tremors shake his slender frame as he attempts to sleep, making his rest fitful and fraught at best.

Illogical.

"How could you?" a loud voice shakes him from his slumber, and he opens his eyes.

Jim Kirk is standing beside his desk, a look of angry hurt on his strong features. In his left hand, Spock's briefs from last night are tightly clenched, and Spock knows immediately what his lover has seen. He opens his mouth to try and explain the traces of seminal fluids, but Jim cuts him off with a mocking laugh.

"You know, of all the things that I predicted for our relationship, you sleeping around was not one of them," Jim is glaring at Spock, and that look hurts more than anything from last night. The blue eyes that had so often entranced Spock hold nothing but contempt and pain, "I can't believe that I trusted you."

Spock is speechless, his thoracic cavity constricting until he can no longer breathe. He is in pain, and he longs to reach out to Jim, to tell him what happened, to apologize even if apologies are illogical, but he can't. His mouth won't form the words that need to be said.

Jim throws him one last contemptuous look, "I never pegged you for a whore, Spock of Vulcan."

Spock is hyperventilating, his lungs struggling to draw in necessary air as his rib cage expands and contracts too quickly, his heart hammering in his side. Jim walks out, throwing the underwear onto the ground, and Spock is alone.

Desperately, he focuses on the movement of his intercostal muscles, trying to regulate his airflow. Gradually his respiration calms down, but the acute pain is still there. Jim's words had stung, the hatred in his gaze a white-hot knife that had ripped Spock apart. He sits in his bed, shivering.

I never pegged you for a whore.

Why hadn't he fought them off? Why had he allowed them to disable him? He was a Vulcan, three times as strong as any human could ever hope to be. Logically he knew that he had not enticed those other men into assaulting him, however that did not excuse him from his other failures.

He has failed Jim as a lover and friend, and now he is alone.

Spock dresses in his standard Starfleet blues, his actions dictated by routine as he numbly disposes of the clothing from the past night.

Even if he has failed Jim as a mate, he will not fail him as his First Officer, and Spock exits his quarters, making his way to the turbolifts that will take him to the bridge where he and the other bridge officers will prepare for their departure from the Starbase in approximately one hour and twelve minutes.

The turbolift is thankfully empty, and Spock makes it to the bridge without incidence. Once at his station however, the negative emotions the Captain is displaying continue to distract Spock. The other officers, he knows, are sending the two of them curious glances, but he ignores them, instead focusing on his responsibilities like a proper Starfleet officer. They leave the port without incident, and commence their next assignment, a routine check-up of several scientific outposts in the outer reaches of this quadrant.

Spock mans his station diligently until his replacement arrives and he breaks for a meal. Although in space there is no real morning or night, it is, according to standard ship-time, midday.

He is late to the mess, having been held up by a young astrophysicist and her questions about some recent scans they had done of a developing ion storm. As he enters the room, he detects an odd atmosphere. Jim is there, sitting with Doctor McCoy at their usual table, and while Spock would normally join them, today, in light his transgression, he knows he is not welcome. Both men are currently glaring at him, and while Jim turns away in disgust, McCoy continues to watch Spock with such hatred in his eyes, that Spock quickly loses any desire he may have felt for nourishment, and despite not having eaten since the previous day, he turns to leave the hall.

Once in the corridor, he breathes slowly, trying to ignore the uncomfortable aching feeling throughout his chest. He makes his way back to the turbolifts, intending to resume his post when a voice calls out to him.

"Hey, you green-blooded bastard, get over here."

Doctor McCoy has left the officer's mess and is striding towards him with anger evident in every tense angle of the man's body. He pushes into the turbolift beside Spock, and then presses the emergency stop button. They are alone.

Without warning, McCoy punches Spock hard in the jaw. Spock had seen the doctor tensing his muscles, had felt the resolve settle in the other man, and could have blocked the attack, but instead does nothing. He absorbs the blow, pain ricocheting in his head as he slams back against the wall.

For a simple country doctor, Leonard McCoy definitely excelled at hand-to-hand combat.

"You cold-blooded, emotionless bastard," and the fury pouring off of the man hurts more his blows ever could, "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Spock says nothing, and this seems to enrage the doctor even further, as he venomously spits in Spock's ears, "If this is what you are truly like, you worthless computer, then you never deserved Jim. Damn, I don't know what logic drove your actions last night, but I swear on my little girl that if you ever hurt Jim like this again, I don't care how proficient an officer you are, I will destroy you."

McCoy's fingers brush against his bare skin when the other man moves to exit the lift, and the overwhelming rush of hatred and spite is almost enough to force Spock to his knees.

He is alone once more, and in the few seconds of silence, he tries to push aside these illogical emotions. He is a Vulcan, and as such, he does not require friendship or love.

He sits back down at his station and does not stop working until later, much later, when Uhura comes to stand next to his console, her posture indicating that she wishes to talk with him.

He follows her into the turbolift, and leads them both back to her quarters. Her room is smaller than his, a reflection of their differences in rank, but it is inviting and a beautiful manifestation of the woman in front of him.

Uhura gestures for him to take a seat, so he does. The expression on her face is unusual, and despite having once been in a relationship with her, he cannot decipher it.

"Do you want to tell me what happened last night?" she asks, without preamble, and Spock experiences an unpleasant sensation akin to having his blood turn to ice.

He knows that this is his chance to tell someone the truth of his rape, but he finds that it is too shameful to be said aloud, so instead he replies, "I have no comment on the matter."

"Come on, Spock," she looks at him with confused concern in her eyes, "I just want to hear your side of the story before I react. Everyone over heard the Captain and McCoy today, I just… why?"

Her eyes beseech him to tell her the truth, but he can't, "As I have said, I have no comment."

Nyota Uhura is an intelligent and compassionate woman, but his response angers her, like so many others, "You have no comment? Spock, what the hell! How could you do this? Kirk may not be my favourite person on this vessel, but he did not deserve that."

She stands up, and gestures to her door, "You better leave Spock, because the man I though was my friend would never have done this."

Spock bows his head and departs without a word. Instead of returning to his quarters for rest, or seeking out sustenance, he elects to attend to some work in the labs.

He hasn't eaten in over six days, nor has he slept in four, and while he has attempted to meditate, every time he closes his eyes, the cold looks from his fellow crewmembers taunted him and he can find no respite.

While he is still treated professionally by most of the other officers, they no longer treat him with the same respect and kindness he had previously enjoyed. He is completely isolated from his peers, an overpowering loneliness he had not felt since the start of this five-year mission threatens to consume him.

He had never been accepted on Vulcan due to his half-human heritage despite his impressive intellect and contributions. Upon joining Starfleet, he had discovered that, as his human genetics made him unfit for Vulcan, his Vulcan characteristics set him apart from his classmates. He had never had friends prior to this mission, never experienced the warmth of someone's affection other than his mother's. He had never before felt the intoxicating sensation of having someone else's love, the irreplaceable safety of a lover's embrace.

Those men had stolen everything that had mattered to him. He has lost his colleagues' respect, has lost their friendship. He has lost Jim.

Spock re-examines some unusual information from their last scans. It is nothing dangerous, but the anomalous energy patterns they have discovered are something the Captain should be informed of.

Spock straightens and turns to deliver this information to Jim, when an unexpected jolt sends him and several other officers tumbling to the ground.

"What was that?" demands Captain Kirk, as Spock rises to his feet again and resumes his post.

"I don't know, sir," replies Sulu, frowning.

Spock scans the latest data from the scans, "Captain, appears that there is an unidentified vessel that has been using the variances in energy waves to conceal its presence from our scanners."

"Lieutenant Uhura, commence hailing on all frequencies," the Captain does not acknowledge Spock, something the half-Vulcan has become accustomed to in these past days, "Chekov, status of shields."

"Shields at ninety-three percent, Captain," the young Russian reports from his position at the helm.

"Captain," calls Uhura, "they are not responding to any of my hails."

"Keep trying Lieutenant," he orders, "Ensign Chekov, arm phasers, but wait for my command to fire. Do we know what their intentions are?"

"The vessel is not a registered Federation vessel, nor is it congruent with standard Klingon or Romulan starships," Spock reports, "Advanced weapon capabilities."

The foreign ship takes that opportunity to display its weaponry, as the Enterprise rocks under another hit.

"Shields at sewenty-four percent," Chekov informs the crew.

"Sir, Engineering reports some damage to the port side. Warp capability is mildly compromised," Uhura calls out from her station.

"Chekov, fire phasers!" Kirk shouts, as another volley of fire rocks the vessel.

The Ensign quickly obeys his orders, "Enemy shields at thirty-two percent."

"Fire again, aim to disable, not to destroy."

The Enterprise takes another hit. Spock's console sparks slightly, one burning Spock's right index finger. His head is spinning, but he maintains his focus on his read-outs.

The ship shakes violently, as another hit reduces their shielding capacity once more.

As the fight between their two vessels continues, Spock fights to maintain his sense of equilibrium. His head is pounding and there is a persistent ringing in his ears. He feels the brush of phantom thoughts, leaving poisonous trails in his mind. He is being immobilized by invisible hands…

"Fire again, Chekov!" there is a brief pause while everyone waits to see what happens next, before the Ensign happily reports, "Enemy wessel is disabled, sir."

"Excellent, Uhura– "

The ship explodes. There is no sound, but the shock waves of the destruction causes the Enterprise to pitch dramatically, once again throwing several officers to the ground, Spock among them.

While the other crewmembers quickly pick themselves up off the ground, Spock remains there, unmoving. His eyes flutter shut, and he is gone.

When he awakens, it is to the bright lights of Sickbay. He is lying on one of the many biobeds. A door to his right opens, and Doctor McCoy walks into the room. He draws the privacy curtain around Spock's bed, and Spock barely hides a wince. He has neither the desire nor the energy to engage in an argument with the Doctor at this time, yet it seems inevitable.

"So," and Spock is surprised to hear that the Doctor's voice is gentle, expecting the same angry tone he had used on Spock nearly a week prior, "how are you feeling?"

Spock looks at the man warily, put off his guard by this unanticipated change in character, "I am sufficiently rested to return to my post and duties, Doctor. If I may be released, I would like to report to the bridge."

Spock moves to sit up, but a hand holding him down blocks his progress. He flashes back to that moment on the ground, those vile hands holding him down and not letting him free, the ripping and pulling of flesh.

Before he can control his reaction, he flinches away from the touch, violently, and the Doctor immediately withdraws his hand.

Spock does not like the knowing look on his face, the pity he can see so clearly in his eyes.

"I know what happened Spock," and just like that, his secret is out in the open. It doesn't make him feel any better, and he quickly averts his gaze. The faintest hint of shivers shake his haggard frame.

McCoy continues to talk, "I have treated you for starvation, chronic sleep deprivation, and some of the…" he searched for the appropriate word, "residual injuries. You are physically fine, though I'd recommend that you stay off-duty for at least another shift and rest, because that crazy little idea of not sleeping or eating did a lot more damage than would seem logical."

There is an awkward pause, before McCoy finally says, "I am so sorry, Spock. If I had known…I would never…"

The apology hangs in the air between them, before Spock nods slightly.

"You need to talk to Jim. He's been worried as hell, what with you collapsing. He deserves to know the truth."

Spock knows that he is right, but he can't help but shy from the memory of that icy blue hatred. The idea of facing it again is painful.

"It's not your fault, you know," Doctor McCoy is saying, "whatever he told you, or whatever you think. Rape is rape."

The privacy curtain is pulled back, and Jim enters the enclosed space, a dumbfounded look on his face, and Spock knows that he has heard McCoy's last few words.

The silence is deafening, and Spock wishes that he were alone again. His heart is pounding in his chest. McCoy looks between the two of them, and gracefully backs out, leaving the two men in solitude.

"What did I just hear?" Jim asks, his voice quiet, confused.

"Doctor McCoy was referring to an incident that transpired approximately six days twenty-two hours and fifty-four minutes ago," Spock knows that this emotionless, robotic voice is not going to endear him to Jim, but he is just so tired.

He hardly cares anymore.

"What do you…" a horrified look comes over Jim's face, "Oh, no, no. Spock, that shore leave, after you left the restaurant…"

"Six men accosted me while I was returning to the dormitory," Spock's voice is so quiet Jim has to lean towards him to hear it clearly, "I was unsuccessful in preventing the assault."

"And then I blamed you for…" Jim looks even worse then he did that day in Spock's bedroom, "I called you a whore. Oh, god, Spock…"

"I apologize for failing you," and here Spock's voice finally wavers, for the first time since he had been held down and torn apart, "I should have been more diligent."

He can't look Jim in the eye, can't see that painful blue, because he doesn't believe he will survive the agony of seeing just how much he has lost.

"Spock," Jim's voice cracks, but Spock still can't look up, "you didn't fail me. I am so sorry, I should have known…"

A hand is gently placed over his own, and Spock feels the rush of Jim's emotions and thoughts.

The love and remorse and protectiveness pour over him. It is like a balm, and slowly he feels the fractured pieces of what was once his life pulling back together.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Jim is not accusing, not angry any more, and Spock basks in the renewed wave of love.

"It was my shame to bear," the words fall from his lips before he can stop them.

Jim sighs, and gently moves his hand up to cup the half-Vulcan's cheek, "I don't know what you must be going through right now," a bittersweet smile plays across the strong features that Spock so admires, "And don't spew any bullshit about how Vulcans are immune to whatever, but you need to understand that we are in this, whatever it is, together. And that means that we talk when something has hurt us."

Spock winces, afraid that his silence may have cost them their relationship, but Jim assuages that fear with another soothing wave of love.

It is enough for now that they simply recuperate in silence, Jim's gentle affection helping to heal those invisible wounds.

They both know that it is not going to get better immediately. Jim is worried about how Spock didn't feel safe in immediately coming to him for support, and Spock can still feel the scars that may never fully disappear from his memory.

Sometimes he can't sleep, and he lays in their bed, feeling Jim's breath on his neck, the movement of his chest against his back, and the reassuring weight of two strong arms holding him close. On those nights Spock listens to the steady thrum of the ship and feels the wash of Jim's dreams, and reminds himself that he is Vulcan, and that it is illogical to still feel this way.

Nyota apologizes tearfully once she hears the story, and the other officer's make their remorse known through small gestures. Chekov invites him to play a game of chess in the officer's lounge one day after shift ("Chess was inwented in Russia, Mr. Spock"), while Sulu kindly offers to teach Spock advanced fencing techniques. He spends an enjoyable evening with Scotty, reviewing the Engineer's newest theory for a minor modification that would enhance their warp capabilities. Even McCoy seems to be less surly with him, and though the insults don't stop, they are delivered in a kinder tone that indicates the Doctor means no offense or harm.

The first time they try to have sex is four months after the rape. Jim is slow and gentle with him, never pushing too fast even though Spock can feel the lust and desire coursing through the other man. But the moment Jim pins his wrists above his head, even though the action is not menacing or dominating in the slightest, Spock freezes. Jim recognizes the shift almost as soon as it happens, and quickly releases his lover, holding him tightly as shivers course through his slender frame, any lust extinguished by the concern the golden-haired man feels for his pale lover. And Spock wishes that he could forget it, that he could be a better mate and provide release to this compassionate and kind man, but he can't yet.

In the end, it takes ten months for Spock to feel completely comfortable with penetrative intercourse. In this time Jim has been supportive and protective, and while Spock occasionally feels annoyed at the other man's reluctance to leave his side, he understands the motivation behind these actions.

They are now embarking on the fourth year of this particular mission, and Spock stands alone on the observation deck, while his crewmembers celebrate their luck at surviving yet another year in space. He knows that their continued existence is not a chance of luck, but a manifestation of probabilities and odds. Over the past three years, they have lost too many brave and dedicated officers in the line of duty, and Spock knows that it is illogical to assume that one day he will not be one of them. Given the nature of his duties as First Officer and the propensity of their illustrious Captain for getting himself into unpleasant and somewhat dangerous situations, he estimates that he is more likely to be killed than any other bridge officer.

The doors slide open and the gentle tapping sound of someone approaching breaks the silence. Spock knows instinctively who it is, and while three months ago he may have tensed and turned to face the newcomer, now he simply waits for the soft touch of his lover.

Spock counts it as an indication of his progress.

As predicted, a gentle hand caresses his own, Jim moving to stand beside him and look out of the large window.

"Hey," it's a simple greeting, and one Spock knows he does not need to return. He merely shifts slightly so that the two of them are pressed together, side by side.

There is silence for another few minutes, the vast curiosities of space occupying their minds, before Jim speaks up again, "I never thought I'd actually live to see this."

Once, Spock would have replied with a comment on the probability of Jim being alive to witness this exact starscape, but he knows that this is not what Jim is actually addressing, so instead he looks at him, "I am afraid I do not understand, Jim."

Jim exhales heavily, but it is not a melancholic or weary sigh, more an affirmation of the moment, "You know, being the Captain of Starfleet's flagship, hell, even being a Captain is crazy enough," he snorts lightly, "I never thought I'd find a home, even if it is one that is constantly in motion and maybe dangerous…"

There is another pregnant pause, and Spock knows that Jim is not finished talking, so he stays quiet.

"I never thought I would fall in love," Jim's voice is so quiet, so full of emotion that Spock cannot express but that intoxicate him nonetheless, "but I did. I am in love with you, and it's insane really, but I can't imagine living my life without you being a big part of it. That week," and they both know what he is talking about without him having to describe it, "that week was the worst of my life, and I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for treating you the way I did," he doesn't allow Spock to interrupt him, "But I realized that what I want, more than anything else in the world, is to love you and cherish you, the way you deserve. I want to wake up with you in my arms every morning, and to argue with you about stupid little things, and to make love to you every night," a cheeky grin lights up his face, "maybe more often then that, actually. And I want to do this every day until either one of us dies, and sometimes I think that life is too short so I need to make the most out of every moment and…"

Spock is completely confused, and his sense of bewilderment increases when Jim suddenly pulls him into a tight hug, and he can feel the other man shaking.

A rush of cool breath tickles his pointed ear as Jim whispers, "Spock, will you marry me?"

Spock knows that there are Starfleet regulations about relationships this high in the command chain, knows that this is not the most logical course of action, but he does not care about that right not, because Jim's breath is cool against his skin, the weight of his arms so soothing, and he loves this man more than he had ever though possible.

"Yes."

Jim does not laugh, or shout aloud, even if he is happy enough to do so. Instead, Spock can feel a tender dampness against his shoulder, and Jim's voice is dark and rich with pure emotion, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Spock should tell him that there is no need to thank him, but he cannot find his voice any longer, he merely holds the human just as tightly.

That night, as Jim pushes gently into Spock's willing body, filling the two of them with such love and adoration, Spock focuses on the connection between their bare skin, the places between their bodies that sing. His concentration is not as strong as it would be normally, what with the delicious stretch and heat, and the distracting explosions of pleasure as Jim brushes against his prostate gland with every thrust, but he still tries. And when they both climax together, their shared orgasms acting as a positive feedback loop and stimulating both, he feels one word singing in their shared consciousness.

T'hy'la.