"A sacrifice is best refuted by accepting it."

~ Wilhelm Steinitz

"You will stay as you are for the duration of the period."

Kirk glanced up sharply, remembering. He hadn't done anything but hesitate for god's sake.

"Do not speak. Do not move. Do not give me reason to prolong or expand your punishment. I expect this will reinforce positive future behaviour. If it does not - it will be repeated."

Kirk met Spock's challenging eyes evenly. Hot words ghosted across his tongue before rational thought caught up with him. He averted his eyes subserviently, though he couldn't relax his tight fists.

"After this punishment, sir… do you plan on starving me? Are you aware I'm human? Sir." He couldn't help but spit the words.

"I am aware of your species, James, as I am aware of your current level of hunger." Spock's eyes were sharp as he picked up a PADD and turned to it distractedly, his fingers dancing on the glass. "Twenty minutes is not a sufficient amount of time for your body to cease functioning."

Before Kirk could dispute this, he gasped as an explosion of electric impulses traveling through his nervous system jerked his shoulders back and tore at his ability to stand. Spock did not look up from scanning the day's reports. He sat down at the desk and switched on the main console.

Kirk ground his teeth, groaning and fighting for control of his muscles as the pain radiated down his spine. His nails dug into his palms and his heart hammered in his chest.

Unaffected by physical pain, Kirk's hearing was acute and his attention suddenly diverted as his body searched for distraction. Spock, typing; his fingers hitting the glass in quick succession. The noise was dull and faint, but it echoed in the silent room.

The sound of Spock working; he missed that. He missed the ease at which he had been able to just watch Spock, before...

Spasms, light, but exhausting, shook through his body. He breathed in heavy, halting stops and starts in an attempt to suppress them. His heart eventually calmed, smoothing to an even rhythm, but he kept his eyes shut.

He swallowed. His pulse pounded thick and slow in his ears. Was he on the floor? He didn't remember falling. The carpet met his searching fingers and he blinked. He lifted his eyes to Spock, and glared.

For the full twenty minutes, Spock remained, attention averted. Kirk remained, his attention on Spock, despite knowing any attempt to annoy him was futile and even dangerous to his health.

Kirk's fatigued eyes protested but he didn't look away, didn't move for the chance to catch Spock's eye. It was passive aggressive, of course it was, but he needed an outlet, something to channel his anger into. And yet, he couldn't keep it up. This Spock was, in practically every physical way, identical to his Spock. To continue feeling any kind of hatred was so unnatural…

He couldn't help comparing the two. Despite their similarities, their differences were obvious. He couldn't help staring at this Spock and seeing those things – subtle as they were – which marked him as different.

Spock's eyes sternly roamed the page, his eyebrows drawing together as if he was loathe to be responsible for sorting out the transgressions of a miscreant crew. His sharp fingers speared the flat keys as he typed.

His Spock was softer, easier. His eyes rarely drew together; if they did, something was usually terribly wrong – or the mainly human crew of the Enterprise had done something that, for whatever reason, just didn't click with his entirely rational mind. It was sort of cute. Especially when his cheeks would flush green when he realized Kirk had been staring at him. Always surprised. He liked to tease Spock; he would grin seductively, prompting Spock to put his head back down, eyes a little wider, heartbeat fluttering just a bit faster. Kirk knew. He had laid his hand on Spock's side more than a few times, but once - just for that. He had closed his eyes, and a strong, steady vibration sang its way into his bones.

He always loved to brush the back of his palm against that spot, so much lower down than a human's, when they were on duty. So few people knew Vulcan biology, nobody commented. A side-long glance always affirmed that Spock liked it; his lips would quirk up ever slightly at the contact. He treasured the times when they were alone and he could press his ear to Spock's heart, wrapping the Vulcan in his arms and working his way up with slow kisses and deliberate fingers…

The smile playing on Kirk's lips vanished as Spock twitched. He rose when Spock did, a dark cloud falling over him as if a thunderstorm were near. Ready for whatever Spock threw at him, Kirk clenched his jaw.

Spock glanced his way as if assessing some part of him. Kirk sneered. To his surprise, however, Spock moved past him without another look. The bowl on the counter caught Kirk's eye – the one he had seen steaming hours ago, now – just as Spock slipped it into the replicator. The machine sparked, and Spock took the bowl out again. Steam curled from the white rim as if freshly cooked. Spock came over to him and Kirk glared.

"Sit." Spock's eyes betrayed nothing of his intentions. The instinctual fear of dropping his guard made Kirk kneel slowly. He never took his eyes from Spock's.

Spock held the bowl out to him.

"Eat."

Kirk's eyes snapped from Spock to the bowl and back, his stomach clenching cruelly at the prospect of food. He forced himself to be cautious – it could be a game. Spock could easily snatch it away without a second thought.

Spock – motionless – only stared coldly back at him, his face void of any smug teasing.

Kirk didn't move; the fear of Spock, of him pulling the bowl away, was too much. Even as his body cried out to him. Even as Spock's irritation grew. But inaction was worse. Inaction was dangerous.

Shakily, Kirk reached out for the bowl, his eyes flicking over the contents. Mixed greens. His mind rushed to the feel of them, the taste of them on his tongue and he had to stop himself from snatching the bowl away too fast. His eyes never left Spock's for more than a second.

Even when he was left holding the warm ceramic, Kirk dared not look away.

Spock twisted his hand and a silver fork appeared suddenly, as if out of nowhere. Kirk's heart rate jumped and he clenched his jaw. He waited for Spock to hand him the blunt end, and took it just as cautiously.

Spock resumed working at his computer.

A desperate, wild side to Kirk made him watch Spock with guarded suspicion. Steam ceased to rise from the food before Kirk finally glanced down and up again. He took the fork and only allowed himself to look away from Spock for the length of time it took to spear a green bean.

After a few minutes however, hunger came like a hurricane and he turned his full attention to the food, savouring the feeling of fullness and warmth. It took Kirk two minutes to finish the bowl.

Kirk wrapped his arms around himself to fight off a sudden chill. It was strange – why did he feel nervous when Spock left him? The only thing separating him in the bedroom from Spock in the main room, was a thin wall. The door wasn't even closed. He could hear Spock doing… something.

His hunger now satisfied, it was difficult to think, to fight, when a heavy drowsiness steadily crept through his veins. He closed his eyes, just for a minute.

What was Spock doing? It wasn't ever… ever good, if Spock left him alone.

Kirk shook his head and took a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled. Fuck, he was tired. He could hear the replicator's hum; most likely Spock recycling the bowl. He slumped. It was infuriating not being able to do anythingbut wait. Dammit. Thought he could just leave him there, the goddamn mother—

"Kneel, on the bed, Kirk."

—fucker.

Kirk's nose flared, but he contained any other outward signs of hostility. If Spock kept this up he would go prematurely gray. Not that he expected to be around that long. His Spock and this one were damn silent sons of bitches. For his Spock he said it fondly. For this one, not so much.

Kirk was just about to stand up – as Spock ordered – when a jolt of energy singed his temples. In surprise at the sudden shock, Kirk whipped to his feet and spun around.

"What is your—"

Spock slapped him.

Kirk's head cut a sharp turn and his cheek bloomed red. It was so unexpected he was stunned into silence, his breathing halted.

He stared at the wall, fighting the chills that ran up his spine and the unhelpful need to retaliate.

When the crushing carbon dioxide buildup in his lungs became too much, he exhaled in a rush. He paused even then, until the need clawed its way up his chest and he sucked in another lungful, forced to breathe. Forced to live. He tried to be silent, but it felt as if the air was scratching at his lungs as nature pushed the cruel rhythm from his body.

With effort, Kirk straightened his posture. It took him several minutes to finally slide his eyes fearfully to Spock, almost as if Spock's gaze alone could burn him. And then, something hit him like a kick to the gut. A kind of gravity had shifted. His body – his movement – was no longer governed by the space around him, or his thoughts directing it what to do. No, no. It was Spock. Spock who, even as he stood several feet away, held him still. But unlike those first few hours in which Spock had forced him into immovability, now it was something more. Something he didn't even understand. He was aware he was waiting for Spock's go-ahead. He was waiting for Spock to give the order.

The moment lasted a split-second. Kirk's eyes were locked on Spock's

Spock – his eyes like flint, betraying nothing – regarded him coolly.

"My orders are not open for discussion. My orders will be obeyed immediately, if not at a set time. It is not your place, James, to question them. If you do not understand, ask, and I will listen to your questions or concerns, and explain. I expect a delay like this will not be repeated in the future."

The silence was tangible.

"On the bed, now."

Kirk flinched, but went. He slunk onto the bed, his back to the headboard. He kept his eyes glued to the floor as he battled his nerves. It was minutes before Kirk saw Spock move out of the corner of his eye.

Spock slipped the silken sash from around his waist. Kirk tensed, but Spock opened a sliding drawer with a push of his finger and let the silk fall in.

Kirk's heart sped as Spock continued to undress in front of him. Down to his black boxers and undershirt, Spock hesitated before taking sleeping pants from a drawer and pulling them on. Spock was still, once again, examining Kirk for his own purposes. He then began, slowly and deliberately, to walk around him.

Anticipation felt like a drug in Kirk's system, only thicker, more potent. His heart, fast and furious and out of control, only sped the poison's rapid consumption of his body. If Spock forced him… he couldn't defend himself if he tried.

Spock, my Spock. Suddenly, almost as if he had always been there, the essence of his Spock surrounded him, secure and unflinching. Kirk felt his heartbeat calm minutely.

The seconds ticked by as Kirk tried to hold onto the comforting presence of his Spock as he heard the immediate Spock quietly positioned himself on the bed.

He jumped, all the same, when Spock's arms slid around him and tightened before he had a chance to consider moving. And then Spock's knees were on either side on him, locking him in.

Kirk actively worked to gather himself. His breathing was out of control. He fought the sense of rising panic. Well, no, his panic was already pretty high. He felt like punching Spock in the nose. He wanted to see green blood gush from the man who dared assert authority over him. He wanted to see Spock writhe in agony.

"Shhhhh," Spock hushed. Cool breath ghosted across his shoulder, but Kirk could only stare straight ahead, his eyes wide and fingers twitching.

"Your pulse is much too high. Control yourself."

Kirk clenched his jaw, his anger spiking at the sheer audacity—

To his surprise, Spock started to massage his shoulders. His hands pinched tight muscle and he ground into the tense curvature of Kirk's back with professional ease.

And slowly, the steady action of Spock's hands began to lull Kirk into an – if only temporary – state of relaxation.

Friction, and his own warm body, heated Spock's hands, and soon Kirk almost forgot where he was. Almost forgot whose hands were on him.

Dizzy and tired, Kirk wasn't able to react fast enough when cool fingers met his temple and he was thrust into his own mind.

He screamed in the silence as all sense of light and touch were snuffed out like candle flame. The darkness was absolute. His mind buzzed as he tried to catch up, to understand what had just happened. It felt like a dream he was aware of. And – Spock. His Spock was there, of course he was. But why… something was off. He wanted Spock, wanted to be with him but something…

Are you…?

He couldn't see into the dark looming mind, this sense of Spock. But something was different. It felt like Spock, and then it didn't.

No.

He was in a mind-meld, he just… couldn't remember with whom. Not his Spock, not him. It was someone else. Kirk withdrew his searching presence around the mind, the foreign mind. It wasn't human, that much he could tell.

You are not Spock.

He couldn't help his mental voice; his thoughts were as clear as if he had verbalized them.

Why are you here? – What do you want? You're… not right.

The mind was silent, filling Kirk with a sense of deep foreboding. Like a tumour, it was cancerous; a bubble of parasitic energy trapped in the center of his thoughts. He couldn't escape it. It would overwhelm him, it…

At the back of his mind, he felt a little of his Spock's energy again... that lingering piece of his bondmate that never really disappeared. Kirk smiled. That was the right Spock, reassuring him, at least, a part of him was still his. Not invaded.

This mind – it wasn't Spock, he was sure of that. But it was something… similar. Darker. How it could be so similar,he wasn't sure.

It was so gradual Kirk was hardly aware of it, but the invading mind started to slowly morph, and expand. The walls between him and it became less pronounced. Kirk stumbled back nervously, quickening his retreat with each passing moment.

Only, he couldn't escape it. The thing kept coming. And coming. And then he could feel him as if they were touching. As if their minds were together, side-by-side.

This was not an unknown entity. This was—

An imposter.

Devil.

Thief – Alien – Intruder! Get out of my head! Kirk shouted with all the energy he could muster, sending his mind into chaos as instinct took over. This was that Spock – the evil Spock. The one who was Spock but not. He had the likeness of Spock but was deeply twisted in a way he couldn't even comprehend—

He was wrong.

Hate – disgust – revulsion – resentment – loathing. All of Jim's built up anger towards Spock exploded in a rush he couldn't have controlled if he tried.

Spock pushed back as he was attacked by Kirk's subconscious.

You think you can just come in here and mess with my mind? Who do you fucking think you are? You can take me away from my ship and tie me down – drug me for all I know – but you do not have the right to do this. Leave me the fuck—

In a blast of excruciating sound and power, Kirk was knocked past thought, past everything. Spock suddenly surrounded him on all sides, pushing his voice down, down, down – he fought for all he was worth, but Spock took hold of his mind, grasped him in the powerful claws of his Vulcan mind. Kirk struggled, but the forceful rush of feelings and thoughts enveloped him, crushed him.

No!

Stop fighting me, Jim.

For a fraction of a second Kirk paused, thrown off from hearing Spock in his head.

Never, he bit out.

A cool sensation wafted over Jim like chloroform, and before he registered it, his actions slowed. What is that? What's happening? What are you doing to me? Kirk growled, his mind sluggish and unresponsive. He was barely aware of Spock, talking without sound, all over him, slipping in and around – his mind, his memories.

Never is a long time to wait, James. I do not have forever. You will cease. This will be easier if you listen and cooperate. It will all be over and you will have your control back if you simply give yourself to me. Jim. Give yourself to me now.

Spock's powerful mental voice echoed around Kirk like thunder heard from a distance, the implication silent and impending. The beginnings of a storm.

I can't do that…

You can.

You… he… you can't – take him…

Kirk struggled to think clearly. Something about Spock…

A smattering of love and affection illuminated Kirk's mind, dulling Spock for a minute as he groggily remembered everything that his Spock meant. Similar, to this person, but different. Confusion. Yes, no… Spock. Don't leave me. Don't go. Where are you? You said you'd never leave… you abandoned me when you said… promised…

And then Kirk's train of thought twisted and cleared, focused on Spock. Anger sparked as Kirk realized the alien had been listening. He had been the one to take him away from his Spock.

Let me go.

Kirk felt drained, as if his energy had been partially sapped from him. He was more wary and bitter, confused and tired, than anything.

Who is Spock to you? Spock asked quietly, a deadly undertone in his voice.

Kirk hesitated before the numbness pushed an answer out of him.

T'hy'la.

He forced himself not to think about his Spock any longer. Spock was doing that, forcing it out of him.

Fuck you.

Are you bonded, Jim?

No! I don't know anything about—

You are. He is with you, here. He is connected to you.

For the first time, Kirk felt real anger come from Spock. He stayed quiet and cautiously gave Spock a wide berth. He couldn't hear Spock's thoughts, but he felt his emotions as if they were his own. Spock's anger annoyed him – he was angry because of his connection with his Spock. Why? Why was that so important?

Why do you care? Kirk hissed.

Cold instinct – Vulcan instinct – met him. Spock was seething behind his barriers, finally knowing the full truth. He did not respond.

Well, good. Kirk didn't care if Spock could hear him.

Can't take that, Spock? Do you not approve of me having a bond with the alternate you? Thin humour coloured Kirk's tone as he sought to find Spock's weak spot.

To his satisfaction, something more than irritation flared behind Spock's barrier. It only fueled the fire that was Kirk's immediate mind.

You're afraid. What – you don't want Spock to have a bond with me? You hate it. Because… you're jealous. You want me to love you. Am I right, Spock? Kirk snickered. I can't believe this. I can't believe you.

Kirk's laughter faded and he swallowed a seed of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Spock had earned this.

Strangely, Spock had become almost invisible behind the barrier. He was there; Kirk could still feel him. The sensation he had felt before had dwindled to practically nothing, but he was there.

Kirk stayed completely still. His mind was empty as he waited for Spock. Would he explode? Attack him? Why was he hiding? Come on, do your worst.

Instead, Spock came out in a cold rush. He brushed past Kirk and sped down into the dark recesses of his mind. Kirk rushed to catch up, internal alarms frantically ringing in his ears.

Spock, what are you doing?

Spock ignored him.

It did not take long for Spock to find what he was looking for. When Kirk realized what it was they had arrived at, he suddenly felt a suffocating sensation emerge from the dark of his chest.

No.

Spock! Kirk addressed this Spock in frenzied distress. Spock couldn't go near him. He couldn't touch his Spock.

Spock, I'm sorry! I'll listen to you – whatever you want – I never meant any of it just—

Spock paused just outside the fragile bond, his harmful energy already searing the walls – coating those precious memories with the poison of his soul.

Get away from that. Kirk snarled instinctively.

As a mist of indifferent thought, Spock began inserting himself into the bond, pushing it apart as he went – it was really only a barrier around a collection of memories; strong, but not complete. Things were dissolving. The exact colour of Spock's skin. A memory from years ago, treasured though brief. A whispered promise. Gone, before Kirk had a chance to realize it. They were gone. In horror, Kirk watched them go and desperately tried to reach out for them but couldn't. Gone.

A deep ache welled up in his heart. A crushing need burned his mind – stop him.

Stop! Kirk rushed to Spock. Spock, listen! I was serious when I said I would listen to you – I will. I won't fight you anymore. Believe me, please. I promise – I promise. My word. I give you my word.

Spock paused; Kirk could feel his mind working. He opened himself up a little more.

I'm not lying. I don't have…

If that's what it took to keep his Spock with him… he wouldn't—

He wouldn't fight. It wasn't worth it.

And then, a weight on Kirk lifted – a weight he hadn't even been aware of. It was almost… relieving.

Spock hovered just outside his mind, watching, before he slowly started to inspect Kirk. He breached the barrier between them, as if there had never been one in the first place. Kirk didn't try to stop him.

Kirk thought clearly, though guardedly. He pushed his Spock back in his mind, hoping Spock would forget about him. And even if Spock could hear his hesitation about allowing him access to those memories, he wasn't angry about it. Kirk didn't challenge that acceptance; he couldn't help feeling defensive about his Spock. This Spock couldn't force him to feel a certain way. But if this Spock was willing to negotiate a cease fire – his bond with Spock in exchange for his obedience – he didn't have much choice.

You speak the truth.

Kirk silently assented, barely able to vocalize it, even in the freedom of his mind. Even there, he wasn't so free after all.

I do not doubt you, James. However, I did not enter your mind with the sole purpose of eradicating your bond with my counterpart.

Kirk flinched.

I will create a link between us—

What? Kirk mentally stumbled.

Spock's silence was a warning, and Kirk squashed his words. He altered his thoughts and buried the rebellion in the back of his mind. A bond? That was crazy. And wrong. And traitorous – but...

I'm sorry. I…

I understand your aversion to the idea, but you must believe me when I say I will not overwhelm you. You will only feel my presence if I have need of you, and you will be aware, any time I wish to access your thoughts. You will not oppose me when I enter your mind, and anything I wish to know you will divulge without question or hesitation. Is this clear?

Kirk didn't respond immediately, the immense confusion spinning his mind. He was about to promise this person his complete obedience. It didn't make sense, but it did. His Spock was on the line. His memories, his bond, his reason for living, all were about to be held hostage. To save them, all he had to say was—

Yes.

Yes.

Kirk held a wave of helpless agony at bay, keeping it from Spock as best he could.

In response, Spock closed in on him, gently, but firmly, wrapping his thoughts around him. Constricting and expanding in successive beats, not going through him, but around him so tightly it became fuzzy who was who.

And Kirk could feel Spock, not his thoughts, but a vague sense of his mood – so intense behind the cold wall of control – more and more until Kirk knew it was permanent. It was close to what had existed between him and his Spock; a bright and powerful feeling of the other.

It did not dissipate when Spock began to fade, it only dulled. It was there, just hidden. Like a thought forgotten. If he or Spock used it... well, Spock would know if he used it, but he had no idea if Spock told the truth, if he would sense it if the Vulcan spied on his thoughts. Not that he had a say in the matter. Spock could be lying through his teeth and it wouldn't change anything.

And then Kirk was alone.

But, not completely alone.

The world was coming back, he was aware of his limbs and gravity and blood that pounded against his temples. But – wait – everything was fading, falling into darkness again. He didn't want that but couldn't fight it… didn't… want to fight it.

As the cool embrace of sleep took him, Kirk's thoughts flickered to something out of place. Something watching him, in the back of his mind.

Coldly satisfied and somehow—

faintly…

curious.

Kirk pulled at the sheets and curled up on himself as Spock ended the meld and sent the human into an induced sleep.

"Spock. Don't – let me – not—" Kirk mumbled, trailing off as his body slackened. His eyes flickered gently.

Spock watched him for several minutes, monitoring Kirk's frantic mind as it was forced to settle.

Thoughtfully, Spock ran a hand through Kirk's damp, golden hair. The human shifted fitfully under him and Spock found himself wishing he could calm Kirk instead of creating a battle within him, even if it was to ensure the necessary rest.

Most of the time, Spock strove to be certain. Logic dictated one course, or the other. This was one time he was blatantly bending logic. In favour of protection. Certainty was only possible when you lived in a certain environment. He did not. He could not be sure Kirk would have been able to survive if he had allowed him freedom. And he had not anticipated his… attraction, to Kirk. To his physical form, yes, for being identical to his mate's, but there was a similarity in spirit, a willfulness there he felt needed him. To tame it. To answer it's call, to match it in some way.

The life-force that was Jim Kirk. He hadn't been able to resist… and he couldn't change that now. He would not willingly hand Kirk over to Decker. He would find another way.

Kirk stirred, and Spock let his hand fall so as not to wake him.

Spock left in a hurry, plans already taking shape within his mind. Decker was a problem that needed to be dealt with. He cursed himself for the late realization. He would not willingly jeopardize Kirk's life.

He just hoped he was not too late.