The ache in Jim's lungs and legs took a while to set in as he ran on the treadmill, but when it did, it was such a fucking relief. Both it and the pounding rhythms of his body and of the music playing through the gym speakers grounded him, gave him something to focus on that wasn't the panic and numbness screaming in the back of his head. The more he was able to ignore it, the quieter it grew. A fire without fuel.

He closed his eyes to revel in the realness of himself and shut out the distraction of his mirror image running across from him. Because that wasn't him. He was here.

His skin started to feel like his own again, his sense of self settling back into this body, this present. Where he was a captain with friends filling the space of family. Where he got to sail through the stars and make a difference, far, far away from those who used to hurt him.

By the time his muscles were protesting their second hard workout of the day, the noise in his head had become nothing more than a skittish buzz.

Breath coming in heaves, he slapped the control panel so that the pace slowed to a walk for his cool down. Wouldn't do to risk passing out when he was by himself. He'd been lucky that the small Officer's Gym had been empty. It didn't get used that often, but still, few things were worse than having to deal with people at times like this.

A flash of silver caught his eye as he reached for his small towel, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Right. The bracelet. Forcing his breathing to remain steady, he brought his wrist close and ran his fingers along one edge.

His mouth quirked in a small, complicated smile. If he had passed out, this probably would have let Spock know.

Spock.

Fuck.

Shaking away the tangled thoughts that he wasn't yet ready to address, Jim finished reaching for his towel to mop the sweat from his face, then chugged a couple gulps from his water bottle. After another few minutes of cool down, he shut off the treadmill and moved to the mat for his stretches.

The ending rituals of his "meditation" were just as important as the process itself. They gave him a sense of closure, created a barrier between him and slipping back into the pit of his own mind.

Breath calm once more, Jim let his raised leg fall back to the mat beneath him and stared up at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest. The pose reminded him of lying in the corn field of his childhood farm at night, hiding from the tension in the house and gazing at the too-distant stars.

Look at where you are. Look at how far you've come. You're safe now.

He closed his eyes. 'Safe.' Still such a new concept for him. At times, even terrifying. Enough to make him cringe from a kind word.

Enough to make him run from an outstretched hand.

Thoughts of Spock broke through at last. Guilt threatened to swamp Jim, suck at his limbs and drag him back into the mire, but he shook it off. No.

Be kind to yourself, Jim, he heard one of his therapists say. No matter how well you get, your triggers will never disappear completely. It doesn't make you weak, and it's not your fault.

Maybe not. But stars, Spock's eyes before he'd left... They'd been something more than blank — lifeless.

He should have left sooner than he did, before he said things that could not be taken back. The sound of Spock's apology rang in his ears, cut into his chest. Jim hadn't been entirely wrong in his accusations, but they hadn't warranted such a harsh delivery. Or making Spock feel like he'd done something unforgivable.

Self-revelation burst in his head like a popped bubble. Oh.

Oh.

He'd…done that on purpose, hadn't he? Slamming that emotional wall down between them. The similarities with his past hadn't been what triggered him. At least, not at the heart of it.

His fingers felt along the designs of the bracelet as if reading Braille.

It had been this. The whole, aching moment that had passed between them. Too much happiness, too much good all at once. The fear had been hidden beneath it, whispering that it wouldn't — couldn't — last. That something terrible and painful was going to come and snatch it away, make him pay for that undeserved taste of joy. The way it always did.

So instead of letting tragedy find him, he'd reached for it himself the first chance he got. A way to choose his own pain, his own punishment.

Jim heaved a tired breath and rubbed at his face before letting his hands slide back onto his chest. Dammit. And he'd been doing so well lately with keeping his thoughts mostly healthy. Especially considering his captaincy — something he'd wanted since he was a kid, and yet held so many opportunities to fuck up. Getting on regular meds back at the academy had done wonders for his state of mind. But this past week or so...it felt like everything was on some downward slide.

Maybe he should talk to Bones, at least about the possibility of...of...

Hold on.

Jim stilled, frowning as he thought. Not a week or so. More like, half a week. And Spock had said he'd discovered the bond a few days ago, which just about lined up with the worsening of Jim's inner shitstorm. From what Jim knew about Vulcan bonds, though, they weren't supposed to cause harm, at least when they were healthy and between compatible minds.

Was theirs messed up? Was it doing this?

And how was he going to talk to Spock about it? About everything? Navigating a situation like this was pretty new territory for him. Bones was the only one since Jim had been a kid who he'd let close enough for mutual upsets to even matter. And with him, it was usually pretty easy to fix, if it lingered at all. Another reason he'd let Bones in — for all his crotchety demeanor, he wasn't one to let things really bother him or hurt his feelings. If Jim fucked up or his head fucked him up, Bones would point it out, tell him to get it together, and that would be that. Easy.

But with Spock… Jim couldn't see it going like that. There was too much between them, too much Jim could lose with a misstep. And too much evidence that he'd hurt Spock terribly, intentionally or not.

At least his suspicion had fizzled out by now. Of course Spock wasn't anything like Kodos; Spock was honest and kind and brave. And Jim could say that for sure because he wasn't the only one who thought so — Pike and Uhura did too, even Bones though he'd never admit it. And Uhura was a communications expert who didn't put up with bullshit. She wouldn't be best friends with some master manipulator asshole.

Alongside his need to reassure himself of that fact lingered guilt for having said need, for doubting someone he cared for. But it wasn't about Spock, he reminded himself, or a lack of trust in him. It was about Jim and his lack of trust in himself. Grounding his judgments in the perspectives of others like that was necessary sometimes, to make the anxious voice in his head shut the fuck up.

(To make sure he wasn't making a mistake.)

After some minutes of what could be considered brooding, he more or less had a game plan for what he'd say to Spock. Sort of. Jim just hoped they could smooth things out between them. Whatever the outcome.

Before he could embark on that particular awkward journey, though, he had one last thing to do. As insurance.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jim sat up and arranged himself into a pose he hadn't used in almost a decade: back straight, legs folded one over the other, hands resting on his knees. A few muscles protested the exaggerated lotus for a moment, before surrendering. Anxiety roiled in his gut at first, but as he continued to think about his focused breathing, it settled, fell away.

Not that it ended up being warranted anyway. Rather than be sucked into a flashback, he was able to focus solely on the clear voice ringing in his head, faded with time though it was.

"Your breathing must be k'rawl — imagine your gut as a bellows. Slow, precise, stoking the flames while neither starving nor gorging them."

In. Out.

"One cannot forge a proper blade with an ill-kept furnace."

In. Out.

"Your mind will be the steel, James Kirk."

-.-.-.-.-

Spock,

Here is the document you requested. Might I inquire as to the circumstances that prompted this? I trust all is well.

As for the colony, we have made adequate progress over the past month in re-establishing the VSA, with construction of its new, permanent facilities nearing completion. There have been no changes in my health, and I remain productive.

We received a most remarkable transmission yesterday, containing a replicator program for Vulcan tea. It was sent anonymously and marked open-source. After thorough testing and investigation, our scientists have integrated it into our replicators, and there has since been a notable boost in efficiency and mental health among the colonists. Please pass on our gratitude to your captain.

It is, as always, good to hear from you, sa-fu.

-Sarek

The words on the screen blurred and ran together as Spock stared at them, unseeing. They provided no comfort or quiet pride on Jim's behalf as they had when he'd first read the message several hours prior. A reply box sat open but empty.

Not for the first time in the past ten minutes, he lifted his hand to the keyboard, hoping words would come. They did not. His thoughts felt too far away, too slow and static like they never were under normal circumstances.

Father, thank you for the —

[Delete]

Father, I am gratified that the colony and yourself are —

[Delete]

Sa-mekh, I have erred and do not know how to —

[Delete]

Growling in frustration, Spock tossed the padd back onto his desk with a clatter and dropped his head into his shaking hands as he hunched forward on his elbows.

He had underestimated the toll that blocking a bond – not simply shielding his own mind – would have on his faculties. His brain felt at once too large and too small for his skull, throbbing in time with his pulse. Just this morning, the bond had been only a stifled presence, a pressing discomfort on the fringes of his awareness. Worse than the day before but quite manageable.

Now it was a spearhead pushing on the base of his skull, a demanding pain that was difficult to mitigate with his compromised controls. The bond seemed to be actively defying the block he'd placed on it, trying to grow against its shackles. Instinct screamed at him to free it, to free himself. But listening to it was not an option. If he was to lose this bond, the pain of that loss would only be worse if it was allowed to establish itself unhindered. And that outcome was looking even more likely now.

His eidetic memory accosted him with images of the panic and betrayal on Jim's face. How he'd pulled away. His back as he fled Spock's quarters. "This is reminding me of a past trauma…"

Nausea slicked the back of Spock's tongue, shortening his breath. He had reminded Jim of one of the people who had hurt him, used him. Was Spock truly so different, then, than those faceless people he'd raged against?

Jim deserves better.

Perhaps it would be for the best if Jim rejected their bond.

They were right. They were right…

Perhaps he truly wasn't suited for any bonds that weren't familial and obligatory.

Couldn't keep her safe…

Swallowing past the thickness in his throat, he shoved at the memories metastasizing behind his eyes until they merely lurked like hungry le-matya along the fringes of his mind. No matter how deserved the self-flagellation, it was not a productive use of his time. When (if) Jim decided to continue their discussion, he would have questions. Which meant Spock needed to be prepared to answer them and for whatever came after.

He reached again for the padd, not bothering to control the shaking of his hands, and went to re-open the attachment Sarek had sent him. It was titled "A Treatise on Tel," a text which was widely considered to be the most detailed and thorough compilation on the nature of Vulcan bonds and, as such, was kept within Vulcan servers for reasons of both privacy and security. The text itself was as extensive as one might expect, and though he had studied it as a child in the course of his standard education, he had not, at the time, seen the logic in perusing it cover to cover.

That had been not long after his failed bonding with T'Pring, when she had begun telling the other children how unsettling his mind had been and that it must have been because of his mixed heritage. The qualities of one's mind were the most influential factors of individual evaluation and self-worth in Vulcan culture. T'Pring's gossip had, therefore, turned his unpopularity into true bullying, as his peers incorporated that narrative into their perception of him and used it to justify their xenophobia, becoming more and more demonstrative with it. Spock had lost the few friendly acquaintances he'd had, and had been repeatedly told how he would perish from his Time, since he was not suited to be anyone's mate. He had internalized this, despite his mother's and father's reassurances and their furious meetings with faculty and other parents. Adult intervention had eventually mitigated the abuse he received, but that didn't change the fact that, deep down, Spock agreed with their assessment — at least to an extent. This led him to the ultimate conclusion that knowledge of bonds beyond what was required by his learning pod would serve him no purpose.

Given recent events, perhaps that assumption had been in error. Or, perhaps he had been more correct than he could have known. The thought that it was almost a certainty that the knowledge gained here would serve only a temporary purpose stilled his hand. Flashes of bonds — too many, his clan, his mother — snapping all at once crashed through his wafer-thin composure. He imagined exposing himself to that pain yet again, kneeling before a mind healer, Jim next to him, eager to be rid of it, to be rid of him…

His breaths came and left too quickly, too harshly. Kaiidth, he told himself. What is, is. What will be, will be.

The kaleidoscope brilliance of Jim's mind, out of his reach forever…

Chest aching, eyes burning. Kaiidth kaiidth kaiidth…

After some moments of careful breathing and mental effort, he managed to force such imaginings and the pain they brought to join the lurking memories.

Control. He must maintain control. For Jim.

Another deep breath, and he opened the file and flipped to the table of contents.

Beyond the introduction, the chapters covered the various types of bonds that existed and their history; the customs surrounding them across differing cultures Pre-Reform; the role that they played then and now; their neurobiology and how they impact the body; bond health and healing; the matter of bonding with psi-null individuals; their situation within philosophical discourse; the ethics of bonds; and comparisons with the bonds of other telepathic species. Before meeting with Jim earlier today, he'd only had time to review basic information in regards to telan (friendship bonds) and bond shielding.

In his hopeful foolishness, he'd thought this would be sufficient to calm Jim's fears, with any additional questions being answerable after further research at a later date. But he did not have the energy to add this oversight to his list of regrets. Chances were slim that more preparation would have changed the outcome.

Now, though, he settled in as best he could to delve further into any and all topics that were even remotely relevant to their situation, including the…the breaking of telan.

-.-.-.-

Almost an hour later, the words on the screen ("…see that the relative difference between shield placements impacts…") had blurred to the point that frequent blinking no longer sufficed for maintained legibility. Small lights danced in his vision in time with the throbbing in his head and the waves of nausea in his gut. His skin felt at once too hot and too cold. Groaning, he let the padd drop from half-numb fingers which he used to rub at his eyes, to no avail.

Perhaps another attempt at meditation would be wise.

He pushed himself to standing with trembling limbs, intent on gathering his mat and incense. No sooner had he taken a few steps, however, that his awareness flickered out, then back in to show him a sideways view of his quarters. The cool floor beneath his cheek was a not unpleasant contrast to the too-warm pounding in his head. Its rhythm seemed…off, but Spock had not the energy nor the focus to determine how or why. That was…not right either.

His time sense also failed him, the minutes blurring together in a haze of pain and confusion.

A most pleasant sound, low and familiar, filtered through the silent noise ringing in his ears. The hand that shook his shoulder was also a comfort, and the combination pushed him back into a measure of awareness.

As his vision focused, Jim's face swam into view from above. The feeling of being underwater left him with a snap, his hand reaching up of its own volition.

Misinterpreting its intention, Jim took Spock's forearm in both hands. "Spock! Spock can you hear me? Oh god, what's wrong? What happened?" Panic pinched his features, eyes roving for some injury.

"Jim?" Though awake and aware once more, his thoughts remained sluggish. Gathering himself, he pushed against the floor, and Jim aided him in sitting up. Spock never once took his eyes off Jim's face, could not. "You are here." He frowned. That had been meant to be some sort of question, he was sure.

"Spock," he jerked the arm he still held once, a bid for attention, "answer me. What happened? Should I get Bones?" The panic had disappeared, buried beneath a captain's calm urgency.

One blink. Two blinks. Spock must have fainted, that was it — a phenomena he'd never experienced before. Clearly, he'd misjudged the severity of the bond-blocking's impact on his health. But the literature… The literature had not referenced such dire consequences as a possibility. Perhaps his heritage was playing a factor?

"I… No. His aid is not required." His shame from before crashed back over him as his head began to clear, and he finally wrenched his gaze away from Jim to fix on a point behind him, swallowing. As the hurt party, Jim should not have to be obligated to care for him, especially when Spock's condition was his own fault.

Spock attempted to pull his arm back, but Jim refused to relinquish it, eyes narrowed. "Then whose is?"

Caught out, Spock did not answer, his mouth tight. The hand Jim was being so careful not to touch twitched with poorly repressed instinct. Contact. He needed contact. Such an urge held little familiarity for him, but here it was, biting and electric in his fingertips, his palms. The bond hungered for completion, one stripped wire reaching for its match, and Jim was so close, mere centimeters between their hands, if he just slipped his arm down…

A heavy sigh broke his trance before he could act on the impulse, and he blinked muzzily at Jim, who maneuvered to help Spock up further.

"Come on, let's get you on the couch, at least."

It was by no means the first time they had done this, and even as weak and sluggish as Spock was, he had little trouble remembering how to shift his weight and when to make it easier on Jim. The arm around his back and the warmth of Jim against his side as they moved were guilty comforts.

"You're not on the verge of dying, are you? At least tell me that much." An echo of Jim's usual flippancy overlaid much more genuine concern, as if to hide it. As if he thought showing too much emotion would be met with reproach or dismissal.

It reminded Spock far too keenly of the early days of their partnership, when they'd still been feeling each other out and correcting misconceptions. Was Jim's demeanor simply due to Spock's earlier refusal to answer, or had they truly regressed in their relationship to such an extent due to Spock's actions?

Spock looked down at his stumbling feet. "I am not. My condition is improving in increments."

Beyond humming in doubtful acceptance, Jim remained quiet until they'd reached the sitting area without toppling each other.

"Easy does it." Jim's voice strained from the effort of supporting so much of Spock's not insignificant weight, and he stumbled a little as they both worked to lower Spock onto one side of the couch. The dizziness and weakness was fading, so Spock only swayed a little, slumped, as Jim released him.

He stared at where his hands hung limp between his thighs while the cushion next to him jostled from Jim's weight. The similarity of their positioning to that of earlier unsettled him. He doubted that this interaction would mimic the joy and warmth they'd shared before Spock's revelation. His hands tried to clench with the memory of the hug, the welcome shock of it. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel it again, that euphoric contentment, the tickle of Jim's hair against his face. If only…

He didn't realize how long they'd been sitting in silence until Jim broke it.

"About earlier…"

Spock stiffened, his back straightening to closer to his usual posture.

"I apologize —"

"I'm sorry —"

They blinked at each other, the ghost of a smile twitching at Jim's mouth.

Spock, though, furrowed his brow in a harsh frown. "Do not apologize, Jim. You were within your right to be upset with me, as I acted —"

A raised hand stopped him. Jim held his gaze unwaveringly, his eyes clear and sharp. Gone was any trace of the haunted distance that had been there before Jim left his quarters.

"Yes, I did. That's not what I'm apologizing for. What I regret is the effect my trauma response had on you. You seem to be under the impression that you did something horrible and unforgivable, and that's not true at all."

Thrown, Spock stared at him, searching for some sign that Jim was only absolving him because he felt he had no choice, what with the nature of their working relationship. Or because he was so often too kind.

"…I… Jim, I do not see how that can be the case. You said yourself that I had reminded you of a previous abuser with my actions. Even if it did not nearly rival what you have suffered in the past, the fact remains that I acted duplicitously for my own selfish gain." He looked away, unable to hold Jim's gaze under the weight of his shame and guilt.

Jim took in a deliberate breath, and released it, letting the silence rest for a few moments.

"Dammit… I'm not. I'm not used to…this." A hand through his hair. "Just…bear with me though, okay? And try to listen, you stubborn bastard," he added, voice unexpectedly fond.

Spock glanced at him, dubious, but inclined his head.

"All right. So…yes, what you did was selfish and mildly underhanded. You should have told me sooner. And you shouldn't have accompanied giving such a wonderful gift with a request in return, regardless of you not intending it to be a conditional sort of thing. We are both agreed that that wasn't okay and pretty dumb. But…hey, guess what? People fuck up sometimes. I know I have. Hell, I can't say for sure that I wouldn't done the same thing in your shoes. Or worse."

Spock opened his mouth to protest, but Jim just shushed him.

"Uh uh, none of that. You're listening, remember? Good. So yeah, I get it, okay? You were scared, and probably compromised by the stress of blocking the bond or whatever, and you made a mistake. And then owned up to it. To a concerning degree, honestly. Which means you know why it was wrong and won't do it again. So I forgive you." He smiled, gentle and warm.

As Spock processed his words and drank in that warmth, the tension slowly eased from his body. He badly wanted to believe that Jim spoke the truth, that he had not caused Jim irreversible hurt, but doubt still lingered in his expression.

Jim saw it and huffed a breath, smile turning wry. After a moment's hesitation, he laid a light hand on Spock's shoulder. "You don't always have to be perfect, Spock. I admire how hard you try at everything, how much you care, but I'm not gonna stop…being your friend just because you're as fallible as the rest of us."

Frayed as his controls were, Spock could not stop his throat from tightening with excess emotion, which he had to look down to hide. He felt more exposed in that moment than he could ever recall being. Something in him trembled, a plucked note. Without realizing, he leaned further into the touch of Jim's hand, seeking the grounding comfort of it.

You don't always have to be perfect…

The words stuck in his head, playing in a loop that constricted his chest with every iteration. His eyes felt too warm.

Clearing his throat, he made a valiant effort to regain some semblance of emotional equilibrium so that he could respond.

"I…I greatly appreciate that, Jim. And your forgiveness, though I still worry that I do not fully deserve it. You were in so much pain before you left, and I was the cause, and…"

The hand on his shoulder gave a gentle squeeze, and Jim sighed before releasing him. "It wasn't because of you. Trauma is… It's like…like an autoimmune disease, in a way? Always overreacting and attacking your own mind because of anything and everything that might be a threat. Even stuff that's actually trying to help you. It overrides your brain and warps everything to the point where you're not even sure what's because of the trauma and what isn't. And yeah, people being dishonest or trying to coerce me can potentially set it off, but that hardly ever happens anymore, and isn't what happened this time, either."

Confusion and concern served as a distraction which helped Spock wrangle his upset into something more manageable, and he tilted his head curiously. "Then what did?" He blinked. "Of course, you are not obligated to tell me, if it would make you uncomfortable to speak of. I merely wish to understand, so that, if I am able, I might keep such from happening again."

Looking down, Jim swallowed and fiddled with his bracelet, which gladdened Spock to see him still wearing. He wondered if it had alerted Jim to his state of unconsciousness, prompting him to come when he did.

"It's…" Jim shook his head. "It's not something you can prevent, Spock. Really. It wasn't even because of something bad. But I'll deal with it, all right? So don't worry about it."

Spock stared at the side of his face, puzzling over what could be going on inside Jim's mind. "Then…your stress response was caused by something…good? I do not understand."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Par for the course, really, when it comes to my head." Jim flashed a self-deprecating smile, which Spock found distasteful.

His eyes narrowed. "I'm sure that in light of your experiences, it is quite a reasonable response, at least to some extent. Even if I cannot prevent it, I would still offer you whatever support I am able, and will gladly listen to what you wish to share." Sudden potential insight prompted him to continue. "I would not make such an offer merely out of kindness or pity, Jim. You are my dearest friend. And even if you…" His throat caught before he was able to swallow past it. "Even if you decide to dissolve our bond, the fact remains that my mind would not reach out for yours if I had no desire to know it, as much as you will allow. Bonds do not spring from nothing."

The silence stretched long and heavy between them, while Spock waited, silently willing Jim to confide in him.

"…But don't they also go both ways?"

Spock blinked. "Yes, of course they do." That should be obvious.

Though only Jim's profile was visible, a clear hardness had settled in the lines of his mouth and jaw. "Then why is it, Spock, that I am expected to bare so much of myself, while you show me nothing in return? Surely, if you actually wanted this bond with me, beyond the extra stability it grants you, you wouldn't be so damn reluctant to share yourself back." By the end, his words were laced with venom. Or perhaps bitterness.

Shocked, Spock stared as he processed this revelation, thinking back to past conversations. Had he truly not…

But Jim wasn't done. "Hell, I know basically jack shit about your childhood, and most of what I know about your likes and dislikes is from observation. And it…well, it fucking sucks, feeling like you don't want me to know you."

The last sentence hung in the air, filling it with a ghostly echo.

While Spock continued to stare and Jim continued to look down at his hands, Spock's memories were confirming Jim's claims. He'd rarely, if ever, volunteered anything. And it didn't take much self-analysis to figure out why.

"I apologize, Jim," he said, voice quiet like it would lessen his vulnerability. "That was not my intention. It merely did not occur to me that you would wish to know such things."

At last, Jim looked at him, incredulous. "You thought I wouldn't want to know about my best friend?"

"I… No, that is not..." Frustration pulled his features tight. "Jim, before Nyota, I had never had a friend." He glanced down, resisting the urge to fidget in trepidation. This was not something he discussed easily, for he had no desire to appear self-pitying. "Certainly not one who asked personal queries. And she did not either, thinking to respect my privacy, for which I was grateful at the time. Expectation for such sharing is simply not one I have faced before, outside immediate family members. It was not an assumption about you specifically, merely about others in general in regards to myself. You did not ask, so I did not think to tell."

Now Jim was the one staring, mouth slack. "You… Are you serious?" His face seemed to be torn between outrage and sorrow, his hands gesturing broadly. "What the fuck? Never? But…but you're awesome, who the hell wouldn't want to be friends with you?"

Oh. Jim was angry on his behalf. Pleased yet discomfited, Spock looked away and shrugged, a human gesture he rarely employed. "It is of no consequence, Jim. I was found to be…strange, by the majority of my peers, and it is not unusual for children to be judgmental and isolatory."

"Well that's no fucking excuse." He ran an aggravated hand through his hair. "God, I'm so sorry, Spock. You didn't deserve to be treated like that, no matter how 'strange' you may have been." He crossed his arms, glaring at nothing. "I wish I'd known you then. I may have been a little shit, but I would have definitely been your friend."

Spock, hard-pressed to not smile, ducked his head, his mouth betraying him at the corners. "And I would have been glad of it, particularly as I, too, might have been described as a 'little shit.'"

The anger evaporated from Jim's face as he barked a startled laugh. "You know, I can actually see that. Once a rebel, always a rebel, eh, Spock?"

"As you say, Captain."

His laughter continued another moment before winding down to just a fond smile. "Thank you. For sharing that with me. I hate that you had to deal with that as a kid, but it makes sense that it made you so tight-lipped. I'll start asking when I want to know something like that from now on, so you know for sure."

Spock inclined his head, eyes brimming with unveiled emotion. "Itaren." Thank you. "And I will endeavor to volunteer the same when it seems relevant."

Now Jim grinned, bright and happy as Spock had not expected to see again that night. "Awesome. Look at us, communicating and everything. Nyota would be proud. Bones too, probably."

Something in Spock's chest tightened, almost defensively, at hearing others mentioned in such a moment. Much like he had been reluctant to speak of his and Jim's interactions with Nyota. Strange. He dismissed the irrational feeling however and quirked a brow. "Indeed. The doctor is quite fond of emotional speech, regardless of context."

Jim snorted, still smiling, and they lapsed into thoughtful quiet, one that wasn't quite comfortable but certainly more bearable than before. Spock allowed himself to revel in the relative peace, in his relief that the rift between them had narrowed, coming closer to being healed. Perhaps, as in the erroneous metaphor about broken bones, this too would heal stronger than before. Even the blocked bond no longer felt so piercing in his head, and he now suspected that the pain from earlier had been partially due to their lack of harmony.

As if the thought had been communicated despite Jim's psi-null status, Jim cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "So, about this bond…"

Peace fleeing him, cold seized Spock's chest in a vice, and he struggled to swallow. Struggled to breathe in a room suddenly lacking in enough air. He'd known this was coming, had prepared himself for it, and yet nothing could have dulled the edge of his fear in that moment. He scrambled to organize the information he'd gathered, to brace himself for yet another difficult conversation in a string of many. He was not so foolish as to believe that Jim's forgiveness would translate to acceptance of the bond.

Jim looked down, fiddling again with his bracelet. Spock nearly trembled with how quickly his mind attempted to calculate the probabilities of every possible thing Jim could say, every outcome. Most of them bleak. How would Spock handle it? What would happen to their relationship afterward? A thousand futures stretching out and branching into a thousand-fold more in his mind's eye. The last time he had felt such gravity within a singular moment, he had been about to face the VSA Admissions Committee. Perhaps not even then. Certainly, it had not held such emotional weight as this one.

"It's hurting you, isn't it? It's what's been affecting you lately. Why I found you on the floor earlier."

Yes, a very probable response, given Jim's character. Forcing himself not to contemplate the less pleasant potentialities that could follow from this beginning ("…best to get rid of it then…"), Spock inclined his head in the shallowest of nods.

"As I mentioned before, I am blocking it, to inhibit its development until a conclusion is reached as to what should be done about it. Particularly strong bonds can resist such restraints, but I believe lack of meditation and adequate rest has exacerbated the issue." He chose to omit how unprecedented his visceral reaction had been, as well as the effect of their upset. He did not wish Jim to feel guilty.

Jim nodded, as though unsurprised. "And what would happen if you stopped?"

Spock took a moment to weigh his words carefully, not wishing to inject any influence into them, intentional or not. "The stronger a bond is, the more difficult breaking it becomes for the parties involved. Without a block in place, it would strengthen unimpeded due to proximity and time spent together, much in the same way that it formed."

Beyond a considering glance, Jim, again, did not address his mention of breaking the bond, which was both a relief and cause for anxiety. Perhaps he had not yet made up his mind about it.

"Right. So a friendship bond… a telan. What does that mean, exactly? What does it do when it isn't being blocked? I think you said before that it can make your, um, touch telepathy easier?"

"That is one effect, yes. It offers an unobstructed pathway between our psyches. With proper shields in place by either party, this pathway remains completely closed. Unshielded, I believe that, given our affinity, we would be able to vaguely sense the other's proximity and well-being, though I can not say for certain. Clear thoughts would not be able to pass between us without skin contact, even purposefully."

Jim nodded slowly. "So you wouldn't be able to just, you know, look inside my head unless we were touching."

A mix of horror, disgust, and offense made Spock rear back a little. Only awareness of their cultural differences kept him from being short in his reply, though his tone was audibly stern in his need to be understood. "Jim. I would be unable to do such a thing either way. In Vulcan culture, using telepathy on another without their express permission is, in most circumstances, tantamount to rape."

At last, Jim looked up at him, mouth slack with mirrored horror. "Oh god. Fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you… I mean, I know you'd never…"

Swallowing, Spock released a breath and held up a gentling hand, offense disappearing in an instant. "You come from a psi-null culture and could not know the implications. It was a reasonable concern to address given the circumstances."

An embarrassed flush lingered on Jim's face even as he nodded and glanced away again. "Right. Good." He cleared his throat. "Ok, so the shield thing. How exactly does that differ from blocking?"

"Blocking a bond goes far beyond simple mental shields, which merely surround an individual's mind. One is usually only placed by healers while a member of the bond recovers from severe illness or injury, or mental damage. Shields are used by all as a matter of day-to-day privacy."

Jim frowned. "But…you're not a healer."

"I am not. However, my telepathic abilities are quite a bit higher than the Vulcan average, and such knowledge was included in the study of bonds as part of my standard education."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "If you've never done it before, how can you be sure you did it correctly?"

Though Spock's initial reaction was one of insult, he reined it in. Mostly. "It is a simple procedure, little different from the creation of normal shields, at least in its mechanics if not its required mental fortitude."

"Well if healers do it all the time, and you did it right, then why has it been hurting you like this? You were barely conscious when I found you. That can't be normal, lack of meditation or not."

Spock hesitated, brow furrowing in discomfit. "I…am not certain. Perhaps the fact that it is my own bond makes it less manageable than doing it for others."

Jim looked him over, not seeming to be satisfied with this answer. "Hmm. Well, at least you seem to be okay now."

Heat in his ears proved that was not entirely the case. "On the surface, yes. My controls are still not optimal." His gaze slipped to a point just beyond Jim. "I have noticed that proximity to you eases the symptoms considerably."

A noticeable pause had him glancing at Jim just in time to catch an odd expression leaving his face. "…Oh."

Blinking, Spock tilted his head at him, but the moment left as quickly as it came. Jim leaned back into the couch, arms crossed in his more relaxed way of sitting. It eased some of Spock's own tension, despite the anxiety still buzzing in the back of his head.

"So you're sure it's just the block causing all this? And that there's…you know, nothing, um, wrong with it? With the bond, that is."

Spock studied Jim's face. Despite all his predictions, this conversation was not going quite as he had expected. And yet, he could not surprised, either, given Jim's propensity for the unpredictable. "I cannot imagine why there would be. When I first became aware of it during meditation, it appeared quite healthy."

Again, Jim nodded to himself. Yet no reply was forthcoming, and the silence stretched across the passing seconds as he stared into the middle distance, seeming lost in thought.

Almost a minute had passed before Spock's building anxiety became too much for his patience. "Jim?"

Jim flinched, blinking, as though he had been meditating. "Oh. Uh… Sorry, it's just…a lot to process, I guess. I mean, I never really expected…" A wry smile. "Well, that anyone would actually want a direct line into my head. I don't know if you noticed, but it's kind of a mess in here." More distasteful self-deprecation. And…

Stomach dropping, Spock looked down, hands clenching in the robes that covered his lap. "I must disagree. From what glimpses I have seen, it is…" …beautiful… "…exceptionally vibrant and dynamic, which anyone who knows you would be able to surmise. If it is your intention to convince me that I should not desire the bond in the first place, your efforts will prove fruitless. And unnecessary." He had to take a steadying breath, knowing that if he was not careful, his voice would break from the excess emotions pushing against his sternum. He could not bring himself to look at Jim. "If you do not wish to keep it, you need only say, and I will respect your wishes without resentment."

It took the rest of Spock's exhausted controls to remain still and unexpressive in the short moments that followed. At this point, he was fervently wishing for a quick end to this ordeal. Glad though he was to be back in Jim's good graces, he was in dire need of rest and meditation if he was to be functional for the mission tomorrow. At least, it was something to focus on that wasn't the horrible ache in his side or the tightness in his throat.

"Spock, I…" Jim heaved a sigh. "Look, it's not that I don't want it. It sounds awesome, and it's you so… I just don't want to give you a concrete answer when I'm still not sure. So how about this. You stop blocking it, first of all, 'cuz that's clearly not sustainable. And we'll just…let it be for a while. You won't be suffering unnecessarily, and I get a chance to see what it's like. Then we can go from there. All right?"

Shock kept Spock frozen a moment longer as he processed what Jim was proposing, saying. He might…allow them to keep the bond?

He turned to Jim, wide-eyed. "You… Truly? You are certain?"

Jim met his gaze steadily, a hint of a smile around his mouth. "Of course. I trust you, Spock."

The offhand way he said it tightened Spock's throat. It was not a new phrase between them, but there were different types of trust, some harder earned than others. And in this context, after today's ordeal, it struck him with affecting precision.

His voice reflected this, lacking its usual smoothness. "Thank you, Jim."

He referred to Jim's trust as well as the chance he'd been given. Unspent tension released him slowly, leaving his muscles weak with it. However, his relief was incomplete and bittersweet. If Jim decided at a later date to dissolve their bond, when it was fully matured… His heart gave a painful squeeze.

But it would do no good to contemplate such things. For now, Jim was not saying no, and Spock would latch onto that fact with both hands. The concept of a self-fulfilling prophecy was not unknown to him.

"So? You gonna take it off or what?" Jim raised his brows expectantly.

Spock blinked at him, uncomprehending. "Pardon?"

"The block. C'mon, it's getting really late, and we both need to get some good sleep for the mission tomorrow. Especially you. So chop chop." His good-natured smirk, however, did not completely conceal some lingering nervousness around his eyes and in his drumming fingers.

Heart rate picking up at the prospect of actually being rid of his pain and stress, Spock swallowed and nodded. Once he'd made himself as comfortable as he could for still sitting on the couch, he took a slow, even breath and slipped into a light meditation.

The angry pulsing from the blocked bond pulled him in without any effort on his part. Removing it required little more than a hard shove, his instincts guiding him more than his knowledge on the matter at this point. It fell away and dissolved without protest, leaving hardly a trace that it had ever been there at all. Truly, it seemed almost...anticlimactic given the turmoil that its existence had caused.

Instant relief washed over him in a cool wave, the bond stretching and settling as if it, too, felt relieved to be free. Only a dull ache remained, which was already fading.

Further tension Spock did not know he'd even been holding onto left him the moment he opened his eyes, and he leaned back into the couch for its support. His limbs had never felt so heavy.

Jim was blinking at him. "Woah. I think…I actually felt that. Like there'd been a little balloon in my head, and it popped... You okay?"

Drowning in sudden exhaustion, Spock nodded, prodding at the freed bond like a sore tooth. The difference was already stark. Everything felt lighter, and there, at the edge of his awareness beyond the bond, was the warm buzz of Jim's consciousness. It was difficult not to smile in response to the sense of rightness it evoked.

He rolled his head to the side to look at Jim, expression sobering and his voice almost slurring despite his best efforts. "And you, Jim? Are you experiencing any discomfort?"

Jim's closed eyes snapped open, and he smiled, the nervousness gone. "Nope, I'm fine. Great, actually. My head feels clearer than it has in days."

Spock frowned. "I am sorry. I did not realize the effects had bled over to such a degree."

"How could you have? I was barely aware of it myself. So no more apologies tonight, okay? I think we've both had our fill." Jim stood and looked down at him, hands on his hips. "And you look like you're about to fall asleep. C'mon, let's get you to bed."

After only a small protest, Spock allowed Jim to help him stand and navigate the way to his sleeping alcove. Later, he would remember only flashes of stumbling along, Jim's arm around his waist, and then of lying on the bed, still in his robes, while something ghosted over his hair. The sound of Jim murmuring something he could not catch, as well as more peace than he had experienced in years, accompanied him into sleep.