A/N: Hey guys... Before anyone says anything, yes, I realize it has been over two (three? I don't even know...) weeks since the last update and I am so, so sorry.

I feel terrible doing this but I really think I'm going to have to go on hiatus again. Between work and school, all of the time and energy I would have been spending on this is being sapped and I've been in something of a rut lately and writing has just been very difficult to do in the past several weeks. :( I am still working on the fic and am getting close to the end, but the snail's pace I'm moving at is not very conducive to frequent, consistent updates. I have one more chapter after this one typed up and ready to go and I will try and get that up next Saturday, but after that updates will probably be few and far between if they don't stop completely for probably about two months or so. I feel like a horrible person doing this, but I want to be able to give you guys the best writing I can produce and if I'm just scribbling things down during my lunch breaks just to have something to post, then that certainly isn't my best writing and I wouldn't want to do that to you guys. You have all been amazing readers, I couldn't ask for better, especially as someone relatively new to writing fic, so please understand that I'm not taking this decision lightly, but ultimately my schoolwork and my job are going to have to come first. :( In a perfect world I would be able to spend all my time working on this fic (and another I am planning, but shhh, you didn't hear that from me!), but alas, our world is far from perfect. So, I'm really very sorry, but this fic will be going on hiatus for an indefinite period of time.

Again I'm very sorry and I hope you all understand where I'm coming from. I'm just as unhappy about this turn of events as you might be :(

But luckily, this is a nice long meaty chapter, so hopefully it can tide you over until the next update. :)

(As a side note, I've decided to bump the rating up to an M. Nothing explicitly sexy or violent but there are hints of it now and there is likely going to be some stuff along that line in eventual later chapters, so I figured I might as well change it now.)

Chapter Thirteen

"The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is the beating of war drums." - Arthur Koestler

Jim hated paperwork, he really did. But Spock had deflected his pleas for assistance with a vague "I am preoccupied", and so Jim sat grumpily by himself in his quarters, trudging through a week's worth of cargo approvals and purchase requests. What made things worse was that Spock had been radiating smugness all day, but refused to tell him why he had been so inordinately pleased with himself. Plus he was hungry – all of these things combined made for a very unhappy Jim.

His door chimed and he frowned, suppressing a groan. It wasn't Spock – he could sense the Vulcan several decks up, probably in the Science offices – and while he would welcome any reason to not do this paperwork, he would have much rather that distraction have been Spock.

"Come in, the door's unlocked," he called, and he looked up as the door slid open. A red-shirted Ensign stepped into his quarters, short-cut light brown hair over hesitant brown eyes in a face that looked a few years younger than himself.

"Sir," he said, saluting hastily with a peculiar expression pulling at his features. Jim studied him as he slowly set his PADD aside.

"Ensign... Riley, right? What do you need?" he asked. The Ensign nodded, still standing at attention.

"Yes, sir, Ensign Kevin Riley. I, um, I needed to speak with you, sir."

"At ease, Ensign. What is it?" he asked, wondering what the hell this ensign could possibly need from him. Didn't he have a supervising officer to go to with questions and things? From the back of his mind Spock projected calm, sending with it a message that Jim translated to "let the poor kid talk before you start getting mad at him, goddamn. Chill out!" Except decidedly more Vulcan sounding, but whatever, it was Jim's brain.

"Well, sir," Riley said uncertainly, reclaiming Jim's attention. "I'm... not sure how to say this, but... I don't think you remember me, sir, but we know each other. You... You carried me, once, from the cave through the Omala forest. You saved my life, sir."

Jim's heart stopped.

Breathe, Spock reminded him, and he sucked in a startled breath as he stood slowly, eyes wide. He was pretty sure he looked like a fool with his mouth half-open and eyes bulging, but somehow he didn't care.

"Kevin Riley," he said faintly, walking up to the Ensign. "Kevin. Oh, god. Oh my god." He threw his arms around the smaller man, his eyes prickling with tears, and Riley – no, Kevin – hugged him back just as fiercely. "Holy shit. Holy shit."

He drew back, studying the young man's face with wide, frantic eyes, clutching him by his shoulders. "Oh my god. Look at you, look at you!" Kevin grinned at him, his glistening along with Jim's. "How did you – god, I don't even know where to start. How the hell did you find me?"

"I didn't," he confessed. "It was all Commander Spock, sir. Earlier today he tracked me down in Communications and asked to talk to me. I was afraid I was in trouble or something, but – he said to me, 'Ensign, are you aware that Captain Kirk is the same individual who protected you and a group of ten other children while on Tarsus IV?' and I – well, I about had a heart attack, sir."

"Spock," Jim breathed, biting his lip against a grin. "That sneaky bastard, my god. I can't believe this, you've been here all along..." He squeezed the younger man's shoulders. "You have to tell me all about yourself. Do you still keep in contact with anyone in the group? How did you end up on the Enterprise?"

Riley was eager to oblige, and in an hour Jim had learned that yes, he was still in contact with a few survivors, mostly with an older boy named Thomas Jeong who had been placed in the same orphanage as him after their rescue. He had been taken into foster care when he was thirteen and was shipped around a couple of times before enlisting in Starfleet when he was 18. He had gone in wanting to specialize in Intelligence, only to flunk out of the Intel program a year in – which was why he had only just arrived on the Enterprise three months ago, since having to change his specialization track set him back nearly a year. He had ended up on the Enterprise because even though he had failed out of Intel, he was more than competent in Communications, and an opening on the Enterprise had luckily come up at just the right time. He talked with Thomas twice a week, and apparently Thomas had become a scientist, devoting his life to ensuring something like Tarsus would never happen again. Thomas was working with Shanti Rahman, who was best friends (still) with Leslie Kutchens, who lived in the same area as Benji Brex, and so on. They had all managed to stay in contact somehow – except, of course, their leader, the boy they had only known as Jimmy.

"We have get-togethers once a year, with other survivors. They broadcast it live and everything," Riley explained softly. "We could always speculate what had happened to you, where you were... I still can't believe it's really you, sir. You should go to the reunion next year. Seeing you would be, well, amazing for everyone."

"Oh, don't 'sir' me," Jim replied. "I... Yeah, I'll definitely go. I wish I'd known about it before. I have no idea how I managed to stay in the dark about all of you." He was silent for a long while, a faint smile toying at his lips as he studied Riley, hardly daring to believe this was real, while mentally harassing Spock.

So that's why you've been acting like the cat who ate the canary all day, he accused, overflowing with affection.

I do not understand your illogical statement in the slightest, came the equally loving reply.

I love you so fucking much, you know that, right? You're goddamn amazing.

I am glad you are pleased, t'hy'la.

"How's the Enterprise been treating you?" Jim asked finally, grinning at Riley. "Made any friends yet?"

"Well, a few," he replied, smiling nervously.

"Well, you're about to make a lot more. The command crew has get-togethers every Friday night. We're playing poker this week, and you are officially invited." Riley flushed and stammered,

"Oh, I don't know, I work Beta all week..."

"I'll have your schedule fiddled with. Don't make me make it an order," Jim retorted, grinning. Riley laughed, still with a bit of a nervous expression, but answered,

"Yes, sir!"

True to his word, Jim brought Riley with him to the poker game on Friday. They were the last to arrive – Scotty, Sulu, Chekov and McCoy were gathered around the rounded table in the rec room they had reserved, Uhura mixing herself a drink a few steps away. Everyone greeted him loudly, and peered curiously as Riley, who shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

"Okay, you guys, introduction time," Jim said brightly, throwing an arm around Riley's slim shoulders. "This is Ensign Kevin Riley. As it turns out, we're old friends so I invited him along. Be nice to him!"

Riley hovered uncertainly for a moment before sitting down between Chekov and Scotty, while Jim plopped down next to McCoy, shooting a hesitant smile at the older man. McCoy pursed his lips in a grumpy smile back, which was a good sign (for him, at least).

An hour into drinking and a very casual few rounds, everyone seemed to decide poker was much less fun than gossiping (socializing, Uhura insisted) and the cards were abandoned.

I wish you were here, Jim thought to Spock as Scotty and Chekov argued something physics-related and Uhura asked Riley how he liked working in Communications. It's not really the "command crew" without you.

Your gatherings are seldom exclusively the command crew, came the bemused reply. I do not see how my presence is important.

Because I miss you and wish you were here with me? he ventured. Spock did not reply to that. Please just come, you're not doing anything important. It'll be fun!

The prospect of "fun" does nothing to persuade me, the Vulcan quipped. He paused, then added, you, however, do. I will be there shortly.

You're the best, he laughed, and warmth flooded his mind.

Spock stepped inside a few minutes later and Jim pretended to be surprised along with everyone else who grinned at him. The Vulcan simply nodded in greeting at the group and sat down between Jim and Uhura, and everyone carried on as they had before.

Spock watched, quietly content, as the group conversed around him. Jim's fingers played with his own beneath the table as the captain engaged in a merry argument with Sulu over which of the two would win in a fight.

In the midst of the debate, McCoy stood, went to the replicator, then went back and set a chocolate milkshake in front of Spock, who looked up at him with his eyebrows in danger of disappearing beneath his dark, immaculate bangs.

"Doctor?" he said questioningly, eying the milkshake with an air of extreme apprehension.

"Look," McCoy said gruffly, his voice low enough to prevent bringing attention to themselves. "I'm trying to be nice to you – for Jim's sake. It's a peace offering. I know alcohol does nothing for you so I figured some chocolate would be a better choice." Spock opened his mouth to protest, but McCoy continued, "It's rude to turn down a drink from someone, Spock. Just drink the damn thing. It'll make Jim feel better if we're playing nice." Spock repressed the urge to sigh and slowly took hold of the glass.

"Thank you, doctor," he said dryly, and took a sip. McCoy gave another grumpy half-smile and went back to his seat.

"Is that a chocolate milkshake?" Jim exclaimed obliviously moments later. "Let me have a sip!"

As it turned out, Spock was something of a sleepy drunk and not long after the milkshake was gone (as Jim had helped him, making quick work of it), he was slumped drowsily against Jim's shoulder. The clueless captain had a small freakout before McCoy explained the affects chocolate had on Vulcans to him, and then everyone in the room attempted (unsuccessfully) to stifle their laughter when Spock sleepily cuddled closer to Jim, who wasn't sure whether to think the whole situation was uncomfortably awkward or totally awesome. He was, however, leaning towards the latter, especially when the inebriated Vulcan began idly stroking his hands, sending hazy thrills of pleasure searing through the bond. Things didn't last long after that.

"Okay, I think we're gonna bail," Jim said sheepishly after about twenty minutes of attempting to appear interested in the conversation. "I'll see if I can get him to sober up, but either way I think it's Spock's bedtime. C'mon, get up." He hauled Spock to his feet and the Vulcan mumbled half-heartedly in protest, stumbling along before giving up and leaning against Jim (who, in spite of his protests, definitely did not mind).

He waved his goodbyes to the remaining party and had gotten halfway to the door when Spock looked at Jim and said, rather loudly,

"I wanna fuck." The room fell silent and Jim groaned, his face reddening, then laughed.

"I was trying to keep you from embarrassing yourself," he sighed, running a hand over his face. "Come on, let's get you out of here, you shitty drunk." A few chuckles ushered them out of the room, and when the door slid closed behind them Sulu turned to face the group and announced smugly,

"They are so fucking."

Thankfully neither Spock nor Jim were working Alpha shift in the morning, because they woke up nakedly entangled with each other in Jim's bed, which would have been awesome if it weren't for the fact that Spock had the Vulcan equivalent of a hangover.

"You are one hell of a lightweight," Jim chuckled wryly from his desk as Spock sprawled miserably across his bed.

"I do not become purposely inebriated on a regular basis as you seem to do," he mumbled weakly in reply, eyes closed. "And I have never had a... 'hangover' before. It is an experience I do not wish to repeat. Ever." Jim bit his lip to stifle his chuckles, and sent sympathy and comfort through the bond.

"So what's it like, a Vulcan hangover?" he asked. "Headache with light sensitivity? Or noise sensitivity?"

"I am experiencing a headache," Spock answered. "However, I do not feel discomfort from light or noise. Rather..." He shifted amongst the blankets and groaned, dull pain filtering through the bond that he quickly masked. "Rather, I seem to be painfully sensitive to touch. My tactile senses have been affected other than aural or optical."

"Are you sure you're not just sore from riding me like a goddamn horse last night?" Jim asked with a smirk.

"...I do not recall – oh." He sat up abruptly, worry bursting through the back of Jim's mind. "I – Did I hurt you at all?"

"What? No," Jim replied, frowning. "Spock, you seriously need to stop thinking I'm gonna break if you start showing an ounce of aggression." Silently Spock settled carefully back onto the bed, tension draining from him in visible relief.

I apologize, he said faintly through the bond. I... Did I do anything unseemly last night?

You nearly jumped me in the hallway after we left the party, after you announced to everyone that you were horny, Jim thought back, grinning in spite of the mortification that colored Spock's face. Other than that, no. Nothing public at least.

"I think I like you drunk," Jim continued mischievously. "Think of all the kinky things I'd get you to do that you'd never try sober."

"Jim, please," Spock sighed, closing his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," he replied, standing up. "I'm gonna get you a glass of water and then you're gonna sleep this off."

"I will endeavor to do so." Jim grinned and paused by the bed as he walked across the room, then leaned down to place a gentle, feather-light kiss on Spock's forehead.

"I'll try and get you drunk more often just so I can dote on you the morning after," he chuckled quietly, and Spock's lips quirked in a tiny not-smile.

Nothing ever worked out the way it was supposed to. He should have known, but somehow Jim was always a bit surprised when things finally hit the fan. He should have seen it coming – but he didn't.

They had been patrolling near Orion space for three weeks and things had been quiet so far. The only Orion ships they had encountered were standard trade barges with all the proper permission and paperwork to be in Federation space, nothing suspicious. All of the planets and colonies they had checked up on so far reported nothing out of the ordinary, no problems with their neighbors. The tentative peace between the Federation and the Orion Syndicate seemed to be holding up as well as could be expected.

He should have seen it coming.

"Captain, sensors indicate an Orion ship approaching," Spock said, his voice interrupting a once-quiet bridge.

"Do we have visual?" he asked.

"No. We are not in close enough proximity," Spock replied, eyes fixated on his screens as his hands darted about the console. Kirk leaned back in his chair, lips pursed, then said briskly,

"Hail them, Lieutenant Uhura. Chekov, Sulu, bring us up alongside them. Mr. Spock, bring them up on the viewscreen as soon as we have visual." Smatterings of "aye, sir" resounded through the bridge, and Kirk drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair twice before Spock gently projected be calm to him and his fingers stilled immediately.

"Visual on screen now," Spock announced as the spacescape on the viewscreen glimmered away and was replaced with an image of an Orion ship floating in space – and Kirk frowned.

"That doesn't look like any of the Federation-approved Orion ships," he said, studying the image.

"Indeed. It is not among such ships. The design is unfamiliar to me," Spock confirmed, and the beginnings of uneasiness began to seep through their bond as Uhura interjected,

"Sir, they're responding to our hail."

"Spock, divert the visual feed to the navigational console – keep an eye on them, Sulu. Uhura, put them on the screen." The viewscreen flickered again and the image of the foreign ship was replaced with the harsh visage of an Orion male, his head shaved and green skin glistening against a background of a small bridge made up of brown and golden shades. The Orion's gaze swept quickly across the bridge of the Enterprise before he said,

"Greetings. Who hails us?"

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise, representing the Federation," he replied steadily, unabashedly meeting the Orion's stony gaze. "Your ship is not on the approved list of Orion ships allowed to be in this sector of space. I'm going to have to ask to see your identification." The Orion simply nodded and shouted an order Kirk did not understand – he did not speak any Orion languages, but Uhura did as well as Spock and neither of them found the leader's command to be worrying, so he did not worry either.

"I was not aware my ship is not among the Federation-approved models," the Orion commander continued. "I received a permit to travel in Federation space without trouble."

"That's very unusual," Kirk replied dryly, obviously taking the man's claims with a grain of salt. He glanced over at Uhura, who nodded once to signal that they were receiving the ship's authorization documents, and on the other side of the bridge Spock leaned forward to study his screens.

Several things happened at once. Alarm burst through the bond in the back of Kirk's head just as Uhura exclaimed, "Captain, these documents are fake" and before Spock could finish his sentence of, "Seven unauthorized beings have been beamed aboard deck two", Kirk had leaned forward in his chair, activating ship-wide intercom as he commanded,

"Red alert, all decks on lockdown. Intruders on deck two, this is not a drill. Put our shields up, get a lock with photon torpedoes."

"Sir, they've cut off our visual feed," Uhura exclaimed as the screen went blank, just before Chekov snapped,

"They've locked weapons on us!"

"Shields at full strength; Sulu, get us the hell out of here."

"Three of the seven intruders have been apprehended," Spock said, then the ship rocked violently and Kirk scrabbled to get a firm grip on the armrests of his chair before he could be thrown from it.

"A direct hit," Sulu growled. "They went right for our engines, sir." Kirk swore loudly and fumbled his communications controls.

"Scotty, how are the engines?" he demanded.

"Those Orions knew what they were doin', Cap'n, our warp drive's been shot," came the crackly reply. "I cannae say how bad it is yet, but it's not a pretty sight down here, sir."

"Do what you can," Kirk snapped back, shutting off the communicator. "Fire photon torpedoes on my mark."

"Shields are failing," Spock said, and, forcing down his increasing panic, Kirk commanded,

"Mark." The ship rumbled and the Orion ship on the viewscreen rocked with the impact. "One more on my mark – "

Panic exploded through Kirk's mind as Spock announced with strained calm,

"They are beaming individuals onto the bridge."

Until then Kirk had been wondering why the hell they were being attacked – Orion and the Federation were attempting to make peace, after all, and this certainly was not peace. But as the whine of the transporter filled the bridge, everything suddenly clicked into place.

The only reason a non-approved Orion ship would be in Federation space was that the ship was a slaving vessel. The only reason a slaving vessel would attack a Federation starship was because the Enterprise had something – someone – they wanted. And the only someone worth risking an attack on the Federation flagship was Spock.

Since Vulcans had become an endangered species, the price of a Vulcan on the slave market had gone through the metaphorical roof – that was common knowledge, so the New Vulcan colony was heavily guarded against even standard Orion trade barges. And Spock, who was a hybrid and so even more exotic, more valuable, who was strong and beautiful – how much more would Spock be worth on the Orion black market?

Kirk had no intention of finding out.

"Spock!" he shouted as the Orions began to materialize, and he lunged towards the Vulcan as he felt understanding seep through the bond. He fumbled with his phaser and kicked Spock's chair into the nearest half-materialized Orion, hoping it would disrupt the beam enough to buy them a few more seconds to figure out how the hell they were going to handle this.

Kirk heard Spock draw his phaser behind him as the six Orions finally solidified – the one who had materialized into the chair roared in pain, feet and ankles fused into the plastiglass, and he toppled uselessly to the ground.

To your right, Spock thought at him, and Kirk fired to his right as Spock's phaser whined in his left ear. Three of the six Orions were down, and the bridge crew swarmed against the remaining three, phaser fire roaring through Kirk's ears, and the console nearest to them burst in a shower of sparks and they leaped away, Kirk clutching at Spock's arm without realizing what he was doing.

"Shit," he hissed as he brandished his phaser, trying to figure out where the hell the best place to aim was – the bridge wasn't exactly meant to be the location of a firefight. He could only hope that whatever controls had been damaged were not integral ones.

"Get off the bridge!" he exclaimed, pushing Spock towards the turbolift. "Get somewhere safe, now!"

"Jim – " he began to protest, but the words died in his mouth as Kirk pushed him again, a stream of worry and panic bursting through the bond – please please just do it I'd die if they got you please Spock please – and Spock leaped over a fallen Orion to dash for the turbolift doors as the whine of a transporter started up again.

"Uhura, go with him!" Kirk shouted, and the lieutenant complied without a word, running to join Spock in the turbolift. The doors slid closed as another seven Orions appeared on the bridge, and Spock and Uhura were carried away. For now Spock was safe, so Kirk turned his attention to the (very bad) situation at hand.

There were seven Orions on the bridge that they had to fight off now, and their forces consisted of Kirk himself, Chekov, Sulu, two yeomen uselessly shielding themselves with PADDs in the far corner, three tactical officers who had no remarkable close-combat skills to speak of, and a man from Security who had been on the bridge at the time of the attack. Their warp drive was apparently not working and he couldn't get ahold of Scotty until the bridge was calm enough for him to access the intercom on his chair without being shot down. The odds were not good, Kirk supposed, but he could deal with that.

He and Chekov fired at the same Orion, who crumpled to the floor. The young Russian exclaimed, "Keptin!" and Kirk had just enough time to whirl around and duck before another Orion fired at him. The security officer – Jones or Brown or something equally bland and forgettable – took down the offending Orion with two blasts of phaser fire and jumped towards the captain.

"Stay behind me, captain," he insisted, all but herding a protesting Kirk up against the nearest console before turning to face the fray, his broad shoulders and chest shielding Kirk from the firefight. Kirk swore angrily and attempted to aim his phaser around the larger man, but to no avail. A shout from across the bridge told him that Sulu had probably busted out his sword again (why the hell he couldn't just use a phaser like a normal, sane person was beyond him), and after a shrill scream from one of the yeomen in the corner and an earsplitting burst of phaser fire, the bridge fell unsettlingly silent. Kirk shoved his way past the hulking Security officer and all but jumped to his chair, where he smashed down on the intercom and exclaimed,

"Engineering, Scotty – get us out of here, now!" For a moment there was no reply, then finally the speaker crackled,

"I'm tryin' to do just that, Cap'n, but our warp drive is barely functioning – "

"I don't care, Scotty, we have to get into deeper Federation space!"

"Cap'n, if we use the warp drive now it could cause a warp core breach, we don't know the extent of the damage – "

"If we don't get out of here we're all dead anyway! Just do it!" he roared, hand clenching hard around his phaser. There was a pause and Chekov and Sulu stumbled back to their posts, Chekov supplying,

"Sir, our shields are nearly gone."

"Alright, alright," Scotty's voice came again, his tone strained. "I can get us maybe ten seconds of warp three safely, but I cannae guarantee how the ship'll be holdin' up after that, it could blow half the systems with a burst like that."

"Mr. Scott. Do it. Now," Kirk growled, and Sulu's hands flew over the controls as Scotty replied in an almost anguished voice,

"Aye, sir."

There was a tense pause – Chekov exclaimed, "Sir, they're locking weapons on us again!" – Kirk shouted, "Now, Scotty, now!" – the ship gave a horrific groan and for a moment Kirk was sure they were all about to die – and then the familiar hum of warp reverberated through the near-empty bridge, and Kirk all but collapsed into his chair, his legs feeling suddenly weak and gelatinous. They were in warp for only a few seconds longer before the ship again groaned and lurched, and he winced at the noise, then the ship fell out of warp and they were floating – safely, he hoped – in Federation space. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his intercom once more.

"How's it looking down there, Scotty?" he asked. The engineer answered after a brief moment, his voice thick and trembling as if he were on the verge of tears.

"Our warp drive's been completely shot. We've barely got impulse power, sir." Scotty sucked in a trembling breath and Kirk wasn't sure if he should be amused or worried at his obvious despair. "We're completely helpless, sir. We've got enough power to keep life support and communications running, but I cannae say how long that power will last. It's – it's not looking good down here, sir." Kirk closed his eyes and took in a steadying breath.

"Okay," he said carefully. "Keep life support and communications on priority. Can we get us moving on impulse too?"

"I... Well, I wouldn't recommend it."

"Alright. No impulse then. Kirk out." He glanced around the room. "Yeoman Stein," he said, recognizing the tall brunette woman. "Take over the communications console for now. You know how to send out a standard SOS, right?"

"I – yes, sir," she stammered, visibly composing herself. "Right away, sir." He turned away as she seated herself at the communications console – and then suddenly Kirk was painfully aware of the bond humming with worry and he gasped without thinking, "Spock."

He all but jumped out of the chair, shouting to no one, "Take the conn!" before all but running to the turbolift.

"Captain!" came more than one protest, but the doors slid shut and he ordered, "Deck five." He could feel Spock, could feel that he was in the rec room on deck five, and through the bond he projected desperately wait for me, I'm coming, I'm coming for you.

Within moments he was hustling through the halls of deck five, phaser drawn – but it seemed all the intruders had been neutralized, or Spock had made a very lucky guess and there had been none on this deck. It was completely empty and when Kirk arrived at the door to the rec room he called out,

"Spock, Spock!"

The door slid open and Spock stood there and Jim could have cried – he was okay, he was safe, he knew it from the bond but seeing it for himself made it somehow truer – and with a barely-stifled cry he grabbed the Vulcan in a crushing embrace.

"I was so scared," he breathed, hands clutching at the blue fabric of his tunic. "I was so scared they would get you – oh god Spock if they got you..."

"They did not," Spock replied softly, holding the smaller man closer to him. "I am safe, Jim. I am safe."

"I know," he said, barely above a whisper with his eyes squeezed shut. "I know."

"Captain," came an uncertain, feminine voice, and suddenly Jim remembered Uhura. Slowly he pulled away from the Vulcan and turned to face her, saying briskly,

"Excellent job, Lieutenant." She managed a wry smile at that and replied,

"What's our status, sir?" He winced, remembering the pitiable state the ship was in.

"Not good," he answered. "We've got barely enough power to keep life support and communications online, but Scotty says he's not sure how long that'll last. We're sending out a standard SOS right now."

"Who's at communications?"

"Some yeoman who happened to be on the bridge," he replied, biting his lower lip. "Can you return to your post?" She shot him an incredulous look as she stepped into the doorway.

"Do you even need to ask?" she replied, managing a small smile. "Right away, sir." She all but marched out into the hall, leaving the two men to themselves.

"Jim," Spock said, and Jim turned back to him. "I must go to Engineering. I will be able to assist Mr. Scott in repairs."

"No," Jim replied quickly, frowning. "I'm not letting you down there. It's not safe. We could be risking a warp core breach right now for all I know, you're not going down there." Spock raised an eyebrow and protested,

"If there were a warp core breach, it would make little difference if I were in Engineering or elsewhere. We would all perish. If there is something I can do to help ensure the safety of the ship, I am obligated to do so."

"No," came the curt, unrelenting answer. "Don't make me make it an order, Mr. Spock."

Irritation – anger, even – flooded the bond but Jim answered it with his own deluge of obstinate stubbornness, and finally Spock lowered his head very – very – slightly in acquiescence and Jim breathed again.

"I'm only worried about you," he said in a low voice. "You know that."

"I know," he replied, a hint of irritation still lingering in the back of Jim's mind like an aftertaste, and the Human frowned.

"Come here," he said, and Spock stepped forward and Jim kissed him. "Stop making me mad at you. I was just fearing for your life not too long ago."

"I am aware of this," Spock replied stonily, then softly added, "The sentiment is mutual." His hands found Jim's, and for a brief moment the captain could forget that they might all be moments from death – still – and he was glad.