A/N: A second chapter in less than a month? What is this witchcraft? What muse has bestowed the gift of inspiration within me? May she remain, or deign to visit me more frequently.

Chapter 24 Touch of Time

Doc nods and grunts as he flips through the results of my latest check-up. "You're progressing very well. Though you aren't eating nearly enough nutritional cubes. Make sure to include a serving at least once a day."

"Affirmative." I imitate his cantankerous scowl.

"I see you are making good use of our Companionship Services," he signs the bottom of a few pages in my medical file.

I pause, unsure how to answer. He looks up at my lack of response.

"What? If you don't like who you were assigned, you can request a new provider. They should've explained that." His voice rises in irritation.

"No, I like Sabine. I'm just wondering how news reached you already." Was I part of a rumor mill already? Uhura said –

"I am your chief medical provider. Of course I know. It's their job to report the use of their healthcare facilities and services and it's my job to stay on top of that." He frowns at me like I've grown two heads.

"I didn't know they were officially affiliated with Medical." I admit.

"'Course they are. Technically they're under Psychology, but that falls under Medical. The Companionship Services Department is a specialized department within the Deep Space Psychology subdivision. But all Astro-Medical staff aboard Federation starships receive basic touch-depravation training regardless of specialization." He takes in my fiddling hands. "Why?"

"I didn't mean to raise any red flags."

"You mean by preemptively taking your wellbeing into your own hands and seeking out the appropriate healthcare services before it became an issue and gave your primary healthcare physician an aneurism?" He scoffs. "More of my patients should take a page out of your book. Act like adults for a change."

I beat Spock to our favorite cafeteria and settle into a table beside a particularly rambunctious fern with foliage so dense it effectively divides this booth from the adjacent one. "Hey, Spock." I greet from our procured booth when he walks in minutes later.

"Good evening." He bends to slide into his side of the booth and his nostrils flare. He pauses for a moment before finishing the motion.

"You okay?" I ask, concerned he may have pulled a muscle. However unlikely that may be.

"Quite." He assures me though he takes longer than usual to get settled before making eye contact. "Have you decided upon your meal selection for tonight?"

"Yeah. I need to eat more veggies so I'm having nutritional cubes and a bowl of vegetarian chili. You?"

"Plomeek soup." A classic choice. Though the version the replicator makes is actually kind of gross in my opinion compared to the one Spock makes.

Spock offers to order both our meals from the replicators and brings them back to our table. Tonight he has a pretty extensive list of questions on Old Earth and I am as happy as ever to comply with my job. Long nights of discussion on any topic the conversation wanders to are a comforting constant. The dull din of conversation around us dims down over the course of the evening as the cafeteria empties out. The contrast of my iced coffee and the warm air is refreshing.

"Echo. May I make an inquiry of a personal nature?"

"Of course, Spock."

"As originally discussed, I have been charged by Starfleet with assisting you to acclimate to your surroundings in addition to learning as much of Old Earth culture as lived through you." The corners of his mouth are set at a grave angle. "It has come to my attention that I may not have been as thorough in certain aspects of overseeing your wellbeing during this adjustment period as I had originally believed."

"What do you mean? You've been great. I don't know what else you could do other than hold my hand the whole way."

He flushes green. "Do you require I hold your hand?" I can see his mind whirring in search of an alternative.

"No, Spock." I laugh. "You've done a great job. Really."

"And yet I have failed to provide you with adequate companionship as well as failing to refer you to where additional companionship could be procured."

"Is this about the Companionship Services?"

"Correct."

I sigh. "Spock, I don't know how you've gotten it into that big, smart brain of yours that you've failed me, but you haven't."

"And yet you found it necessary to resort to other means to receive adequate social care." His eyes are fixed steadily on the glossy tabletop.

"Spock?" I weigh my words carefully. "May I make a personal inquiry as well?"

He nods, his eyes still locked on the table.

"Friendships – at least those with humans – are a fairly new experience to you. Am I correct in this assumption?"

"Affirmative." He has not moved since lowering his gaze. And at the moment, his dignified, lean frame is fragile enough to scatter into a million directions. Like a dandelion dispersing from nothing more than a puff of breath.

"In my experience, every friend requires care tailored uniquely to them. And depending on how that friendship grows, the care required may change. Sometimes what a friend needs is obvious to us and sometimes it isn't. Does that make sense?" He concedes so I continue. "I require a lot of physical contact. Even by human standards. I have been friends with people who do not require nor like much physical contact – like you for example. I've also had friends who enjoy casual physical contact on a fairly regularly bases – much like Uhura. I enjoy physical contact with close friends because it provides me with a sense of belonging and comfort." I pause and wait until he finally meets my eyes.

"I am usually mindful of the personal space I afford my friends. Recently, Uhura has brought to my attention my lapse in boundaries. She has correctly detected early signs of touch depravation in my behavior. And although she has assured me she can continue to provide me with the physical contact I require, others may not feel the same. To mitigate this issue, she referred me to the Companionship Services to fill that need."

"Then we have Lt. Uhura to thank for her keen evaluation on such a serious matter." He lowers his head, twisting his cup of tea in his hands. "I apologize if there has been a recent change in my behavior toward you that may have lead you to believe that the current state of our friendship was anything other than agreeable to my person." He realizes he's fidgeting and immediately stops playing with his mug. His face is schooled into its usual expression of cool indifference, but his large brown eyes convey all the important information. "The distance you have been enforcing between us is both unusual and disquieting. I thought perhaps a perceived offence could be the culprit. However, our conversations remained very much the same which would not be the case had I caused offence." He holds my gaze even though I can tell it makes him uncomfortable. "Then earlier this evening you solicited the services of those that provide the type of care that is generally – to my knowledge – obtained from friends."

I pinch my lip between my teeth. "Spock, were you considering the notion that I was replacing our friendship with a Companion?"

He looks away and takes a sip of his tea, keeping the warm mug clasped firmly between his hands. "I recognize that I am the least experienced, and therefore the least desirable amongst your acquaintances. I am also cognizant that several aspects of my Vulcan heritage may act as a deterrent."

"Oh, Spock." My smile hangs painfully off my lips. I tug at the blue sleeve of his shirt until his eyes meet mine again. "I like you for you. All of you. From your most endearing traits to your most frustrating qualities. We could not consider each other friends if we were incompatible. I recognize your need for personal space as I recognize my own need for physical contact. It is not a deterrent and does not count against you."

"I do not recall voicing a complaint against your use of my 'personal space' as you refer to it. I am aware of your respect for my boundaries, both those self-imposed and those outlined by the Vulcan way."

"You're right. I should have confirmed if I was making a nuisance of myself before assuming." I cringe a little at my confession, "I was sort of embarrassed I was committing a cultural faux pas and you were too embarrassed or too nice to point it out."

"I can speak for no other, Vulcan or otherwise. But I find no fault nor cause for revision of our boundaries as we currently stand." Spock's mouth is set in a determined line.

I release a breath I was unaware I had been holding. "I'm glad. But it doesn't change the fact that I do need more physical contact. I enjoy constant contact throughout the day. A brush of shoulders, the bumping of bare feet, the twining of hands. At home – on Old Earth – my little sister and I shared a room our entire lives. I have never slept in a room by myself, or a bed for that matter, on a regular basis. To be honest, that has been one of the most challenging aspects to become accustomed to. It's . . . really disorienting. I don't rest the same. Uhura and I have sleepovers as her schedule allows and it's a big help but not an ideal arrangement. If I can take naps from time to time with someone I feel safe with; I'm not going to turn that down. At the very least until I get used to sleeping alone. It's been months and I'm still struggling. Sabine and I both think it will take at least a few more months before both my mind and body start coming to terms with the change."

"I see. I had not been aware to take that into consideration as part of your acclimation. I apologize."

"Don't worry about it. It's something really specific to me. It hadn't even occurred to any of the doctors who've treated me since I woke up. Sabine's the one who brought it up."

The conversation steers back to the Companion currently working with me. Spock is curious about the department and the services available on our ship. He took the required courses like everyone else, but admits to the foreign concept of being held intimately, however platonic, by a stranger. Although I explain the first few meetings with a Companion are mostly to get to know each other so the interactions feel more natural and less invasive, I can still feel him recoil at the idea.

We are eventually interrupted by the bustle of a small group of ensigns on gamma shift at lunch break. We take our leave and head back to our cabins. Only those working gamma shift and the occasional insomniac wander the halls. The lights in the corridors are dimmed to assist in the illusion of twilight. The space between us is much closer to our norm and when we make a turn down the hall, Spock's elbow brushes against my own. It's ridiculous how contact with him never fails to be thrilling.

"Goodnight, Spock" I yawn from my doorway.

"May rest come easy." He replies.

I lie in bed trying to fight off the shit-eating grin on my face and the elation threatening to burst through my chest. I could float right into space. Confirmation from Spock's own mouth that he doesn't mind us touching sweeps me to cloud nine. He went so far as to bring it up and get the point across. I wrap my knit blanket tighter around me. A funny sense of accomplishment accompanies me as I slip into a rare state of long and deep sleep.

Breakfast with Uhura and Sulu is always a boisterous affair. They are obnoxiously cheery morning people and feed of each other's energy. Sulu is on a spiel about the fantastic improvement Gertrude's made due to the new fertilizer mix he's trying out.

"She blooming beautifully." He enthuses.

I'm happy for him. Really, I am. But after that one time she grabbed me while I was distracted with another of Sulu's specimens and scared the living bejeezus out of me – well let's just say I haven't been able to shake the feeling off my back whenever she's mentioned.

Sulu steers my attention back to the conversation. "So I heard you're still sparring with Spock at the gym."

"Yup. I think my butt's forming a callus because I land on it so often."

He laughs good-naturedly and assures me that's part of the long process of improvement as far as close-quarter combat is concerned. "You'll keep getting better until you can kick butt yourself. Although with Spock as the master, it's not really possible for the pupil to surpass him in this case. Physically, Vulcans' have us beat."

"Intellectually too, on most days." Kirk mutters somewhat bitterly under his breath as he sits down next to Sulu. That brings an awkward end to our previous discussion and it veers back to the very neutral topic that is Gertrude. I'm glad Spock decided against joining us for breakfast today.

As tumultuous and violent as space can be, it is equally calm and serene. When we're not fighting for our lives, we experience great stretches of time in a vacuum of absolute silence. The view beyond the observation deck is breathtaking. I stare out at the silver twinkling of hot, gaseous giants that would dwarf us many times over at close proximity. I have heard these stretches of time described as deeply unnerving from experienced to novice crewmembers.

Kirk sits beside me, eyes glazed and deep in thought. Things between him and Spock have been a little rough around the edges since the whole mutiny thing. In typical human fashion, despite understanding and agreeing with Spock's actions – to an extent – Kirk still feels the sting of betrayal over the Talos IV episode. He won't admit it out loud. He rarely commits blunders like the one from this morning. He's cordial and even friendly with Spock, but the spark is missing. It pains me to see such a steady and happy friendship strained under the weight of such a complicated situation. Mostly I think Kirk just needs time. Luckily, Spock has patience and determination in abundance.

Kirk and I play chess beneath the light of the stars with nothing but the gentle glow of the virtual chessboard for illumination. Jim is just as formidable as Spock in his strategic prowess though their approach are worlds apart. It feels almost sacrilegious partaking in an activity with Kirk that is a fixture in his relationship with Spock. Like he's written Spock out and plugged me in. But I know that's not true. Jim needs to get his mind off things and focus on something as benign and familiar as playing a chess match. And since I'm not technically part of the crew, Jim can let his strong-captain cape slip off for a while. It's a side of him only Leonard and Spock have been privy to. He kicks back the last finger of his whisky before calling it a night at the end of our match.

I don't dally in the halls and make a beeline back to my cabin. Spock's been waiting for my return. He steps out of his cabin expectantly as I arrive at my door and follows me in, a thermos in his hand. He sits on the rug in mediation-style and I sprawl out in front of him, my head near his crossed legs looking up at his face.

"He was better today." I report to Kirk's decidedly not-anxious friend. "He only had half a tumbler." There were a couple of days at the beginning that we worried Leonard might need to intervene with Jim's consumption of alcohol. Kirk kept his indulgence under wraps since he'd done it only at night with either Doc or me present. Bones begrudgingly admitted that Jim was being somewhat responsible in having one of us present in those moments; the three of us worried nonetheless. But Jim was coming out of his slump now. We could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Doc had wavered between warm and fuzzies at the confirmation that Spock has a heart, and barley restrained fury at his reckless plan.

Spock pours a cup of coffee he's prepared from the thermos. I thank him and prop myself on an elbow to take the offered drink. It's the perfect ratio of cream and coffee and elicits a hum of satisfaction from me. I lie back down and stare up at the ceiling, my hand running across the soft woven material of the rug and basking in the warmth radiating off of Spock.

"Do you ascertain that the situation is still salvageable?"

"You hurt him, Spock. These things take time."

"That was not my intention." His voice is steady but his eyes hold back deep sorrow.

"I know." I give his knee a gentle squeeze. "He knows that too. But he needs time."

Spock picks up one of my far-flung tresses and moves to lay it next to me. He halts, then tentatively brings it back to his lap, winding the lock around his finger and releasing it. He repeats this motion several times before realizing I'm watching him. His eyes blow wide. "Is this intrusive?"

"Not in the slightest." Sorrow mixed with curiosity and tinged with heat stare back at me. It's thrilling, this intimacy. To lie and gaze back at unveiled eyes. To bare one's soul to another without uttering a word. To search for a connection, for validation of one's existence and place in another's world. I thrum under the intense energy we create. A live wire awaiting a conduit. All the while I am intensely aware of the physical connection tethering me to him being wound and unwound from his index finger.

I can hear the silence. It is pregnant with questions buzzing beneath the surface, and yet neither of us is willing to break the spell that has fallen over the room. Not willing to rush what is steadily forming, what has been forming slowly in the periphery of our daily lives. We remain embedded within the silken tapestry of silence navigating our souls by sight alone.

Hours after Spock excuses himself for the night I remain curled up around the spot he vacated, tracing figures in the rug.