Spock emerges from his meditative trance with a jolt.

It is the middle of the night - as much as night and day can be simulated on a starship. He knows for a fact that Jim also has this shift off and should be sleeping. But he doubts that he is actually asleep and this is much too important to wait. Jim has been forced to wait too long already.

Spock's supposition is quickly proved correct. Jim is still in his uniform, and he has even come to the door to meet Spock there instead of calling from his desk. Spock wonders how long it has been since the admiral has slept.

"What is it?" Jim demands, clearly expecting some disaster. His warm hazel eyes are colored with concern as he searches Spock for some trace of injury.

"I remember," Spock says, looking Jim firmly in the eye.

Jim reaches out and grabs both of Spock's arms as though to confirm that he is truly present. "Everything?" he insists.

Spock nods. "Accounting for typical memory loss caused by the passage of time, it appears that my memory is intact. I feel as though I am myself once more." He gives Jim a small, almost imperceptible smile, but he knows his bondmate will understand.

Jim stares at Spock as though he cannot believe his eyes and then slowly his face breaks into a wide grin. His relief is palpable - he is shaking. He releases Spock's arms and waves Spock into his quarters, a hand on his shoulder. He is plainly disinclined to let Spock go, even for an instant, and Spock does not object.

Once the door is closed behind them, Jim turns to face Spock again. He returns his hands to Spock's arms and looks him in the eye. Jim's smile seems to glow with joy even though he is still shaking and his eyes shine with tears.

Spock wants nothing more than to meld and bring his bondmate the peace he has been denied for so long - to surround him in soothing calm and to be surrounded himself by the warmth in Jim's bright smile. But he must be patient, just as Jim has done for him. They will have plenty of time for their minds to be one once more.

Jim's eyes begin to wander, taking in Spock in his entirety, as though to memorize his every feature. Finally, his gaze fixes back on Spock's eyes.

Why, Mr. Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles. The memory leaps to the front of Spock's mind unbidden. The process of returning to himself has dredged up many old memories, good and bad, but most prized among them are his days on the Enterprise. Jim's bright hazel eyes are the same - just as expressive as ever - even though he is older and has been changed by everything that has occured in the intervening time just as Spock has. In that moment, their future is just as bright as it was all those years ago on the bridge.

"What do you want?" Jim asks, interrupting Spock's reveries. His expression is suddenly sobered.

Spock cannot help but smile - as much as a Vulcan can smile - with fondness he cannot believe he had forgotten. His bondmate is being so cautious, so careful not to make any assumptions. It would be unlike him if not for everything that had occured.

Spock quirks an eyebrow at him, unable to resist a chance to tease, "What do you think it is that I want?" His expression, subtle as it may be, ruins any enigmatic effect, but that is for the best.

Jim grins, and his face lights up with humor. Still, he hesitates when he says, "I was hoping that you might be inclined to resume our former relations, however-"

Spock cuts him off there - as endearing as it is to hear his bondmate affect an almost Vulcan manner of speaking, no doubt the result of years of exposure - "Yes, I would be most amenable to resuming our former relations, as you say."

Jim's eyes seem to shine. "Good," he says, but he does not make to move. Instead, they stand there, Jim's eyes locked on Spock's, his hands still firmly clasping Spock's forearms.

So, Spock takes the lead. He raises one hand and extends two fingers toward his bondmate.

Jim's eyes widen at the once familiar gesture. He slowly lets go of one of Spock's arms and moves his hand down, so the tips of their fingers meet. They just barely brush against each other, but Spock is almost overwhelmed by Jim's emotions. He is astounded Jim has handled it all with such composure and sends as much reassurance as he can back through the brief contact.

Only when the link between their minds is broken does Spock have the presence of mind to realize that beneath the outpour of emotion, Jim is exhausted. His nervous energy has vanished, giving way to shaky relief. Again Spock wonders how long it has been since Jim last slept.

He will not leave his bondmate alone under the circumstances, so Spock says, "It is late. I felt your exhaustion. Allow me to help you sleep."

Jim grins. "Only if you want to," he tacks on belatedly.

Spock nods. "It is the only logical course of action."

"Of course," Jim says with an indulgent smile.

It has been a long time since they have shared the same space, much too long. It is a testament to Jim's exhaustion that he makes no attempt to move or even to ease the sudden tension.

Eventually, it is Spock, who, upon remembering Jim's headache from the broken bond, instructs the computer, "Lights fifty percent."

The lights dim and Jim lets out a sigh of relief.

Next, Spock says, "I was not aware I would be spending the night. I must retrieve my belongings and then I will return."

Jim is not happy with the prospect, but he permits Spock to depart.

Spock returns to find Jim already in his nightclothes. He forgot how little humans typically wear to bed, especially when sharing quarters with a Vulcan who requires a high temperature and gives off heat besides. It is perfectly logical that Jim is wearing almost nothing, but Spock still finds himself staring at his bondmate, of whom he has seen so little since his return, evaluating and admiring his bare chest and legs.

Spock feels a green blush creeping into his cheeks as he notices Jim looking back at him, bemused and unabashed.

And then he realizes that it's his turn to change into his nightclothes, and the blush deepens. Jim shows no indication of looking away, and why should he? There is no logic to embarrassment, especially not in front of one's bondmate. But as Spock peels off his uniform, he sees something other than logic in Jim's gaze. It is flattering, but Jim plainly needs sleep more than anything else, so Spock quickly finishes changing and lets his bondmate lead the way to bed.

Jim lies down first, as it is his bed and these are his quarters, and then Spock maneuvers around him so that they are lying side by side, Spock on his back and Jim facing him on his side, their bodies barely an inch apart, but somehow not quite touching on the narrow bed. It cannot but be intentional. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock can see Jim watching him, wondering what he will do. There is that almost painful uncertainty that Jim has endured since Spock's return. And for Spock, it has just been so long, he has gotten so used to being careful.

If that is what Jim needs, then Spock will be reckless. He reaches out an arm to bridge the distance, to bring Jim closer to him. As his hand brushes Jim's chest, again he feels a burst of powerful emotion, of uncertainty and relief and exhaustion. This time he lingers on Jim's bare skin projecting warmth and comfort.

He feels Jim's nerves begin to dissipate, and the link between their minds, shallow as it is, begins to soothe the pain of their broken bond. Jim inches closer to him so that he is leaning against Spock's chest, enveloping Spock in his warmth. Jim is pressed against him, his chest to Spock's side, so that their hearts seem to be beating together, even as Spock's beats much faster and Jim's much slower.

It is not long before Spock feels Jim fall asleep, and the soothing rhythm of Jim's mind soon lulls Spock to sleep as well.