A/N: And so we come to the end. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed and/or favorited this piece. I have loved these three since I was a child, and to me, this side of their friendship, which we never got to see on screen, just begged to be explored. I hope in some small way I have done it justice...

Chapter 8

When McCoy emerged from his room later than usual the following morning, Jim and Spock were already gone. Crossing to the window, he spotted the two on the beach, but they weren't sparring as expected. Both were seated, facing the incoming waves, Spock with his knees drawn up to his chest, long arms wrapped around his legs, Kirk Indian style.

At first glance they looked like two little boys discussing the details of some childhood game of strategy. Shoulder to shoulder, heads bent close, they seemed small and forlorn, lost against the backdrop of the broad horizon and the undulating, pulsing water. Upon closer inspection however, he could see their tension, their unease, characterized by Spock's ramrod stiff spine, Jim's excited, impatient demeanor. They glanced at each other sparingly, hesitantly, a head nodded faintly here and there, shoulders shrugged occasionally, Spock virtually still, Jim punctuating his words with telltale human gestures now and then.

Talking. Not casually. A serious conversation.

The doctor watched them, stupefied, for a few minutes. It was progress, and despite what had happened last night, it was more than he'd hoped for or anticipated, frankly. He'd expected distance, self-imposed isolation for a few days, as suggested by their normal modus operandi after a serious emotional discussion. To see them engaged once again in a deep, meaningful dialogue came as quite a surprise. Maybe these two knuckleheads have finally come to grips with what they mean to each other. Finally come to understand the strength they draw from one another. He shook his head, a vague smile on his lips. I suppose they deserve more credit than I give them, he admitted grudgingly. Noticing movement on the beach he saw that Kirk had gotten to his feet. Tearing his eyes from his two friends, he headed for the shower.

***

"Spock, before we start, there's something I need to ask you."

Spock felt his stomach clench, but quickly quelled his uneasiness. "By all means, Jim."

"Please, sit down," Kirk said, indicating the soft sand beneath their feet. Both settled themselves comfortably, a strained silence falling between the two. "I'm not sure how to begin, so I'll just charge right in."

"That is, of course, your nature, Captain." Amusement fluttered behind the dark eyes.

"I can't feel you anymore." Noting Spock's immediate puzzlement he hurriedly strove to clarify the statement. "In my mind, I mean. Except for a few days ago, when we decided to dump McCoy out of the boat, I haven't been able to sense you at all for several weeks." He paused, groping for words to explain something which in recent months had always been a non-verbal, subliminal state, readily accepted by both but discussed by neither. "For some time now there's been a…connection between us. I can feel your presence sometimes in the back of my mind. I don't hear your thoughts exactly, but somehow your meaning is crystal clear nevertheless."

"Do you find it distressing, Jim?" Concern and trepidation had replaced the amusement.

"No, by no means. In fact, I've become accustomed to it; it's strangely reassuring, and to have it suddenly disappear was rather disconcerting." Again a long pause, cries of sea birds and the whisper of the breeze filling the morning calm. "I'm at a loss to understand why." The hazel eyes, swirling with doubt, searched his face. "I'll ask you again – have I done something wrong?"

"No Jim. It is not your fault, but mine. I have closed down the link as much as possible."

"But why? Do you find my thoughts that chaotic?" Kirk was idly tracing patterns in the sand at his feet.

Spock swallowed. Last night, they had promised honesty, but Jim was sure to find this current turn of events an unwanted intrusion into his personal life. He proceeded uncertainly. "In recent weeks, especially since Uriman, where the meld we shared served to strengthen the link, I have become more aware of your thoughts."

"And?"

"During periods of heightened emotional stress your thoughts often became more pronounced. At these times it became nearly impossible for me to limit the mental contact between us. Shutting down the link proved to be the only solution." Haltingly. Eyes following the water's edge as it caressed the shoreline.

Astonishment. Followed shortly by embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Spock. Must've been hell for you."

"Jim, you do not understand. It was not due to the intensity of your emotions, but a conscious attempt to respect your privacy which caused me to close down the link. You chose not to discuss those things that were troubling you with me, so I did not wish to infringe on your desire to deal with these issues on your own terms. You did not seek out my counsel, and therefore I was uncomfortable…eavesdropping…on your most personal thoughts."

Kirk absently picked up a small shell and flung it at the water. "Can you always…hear my most personal thoughts?" he asked uneasily.

"Forgive me; that was an inaccurate depiction of events. Typically, I only sense your consciousness. There is no transfer of clearly expressed or formulated thoughts and ideas per se; only an indistinct awareness of your state of mind, a fundamental understanding of your immediate wishes, although the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks is a new development," Spock informed him softly.

"Can we get things back to the way they were?"

Not 'Will you please get the hell out of my head.' as he had expected. Relief flooded the Vulcan. "I can instruct you on the proper management of the link. Now that you have been made aware of this…area of difficulty, with sufficient training you should be able to control it on your own."

A new idea occurred to Kirk. "How did this link come about, Spock? Is it a result of the melds we've shared?"

"They have contributed to strengthening it, but it is more likely to have come about due to the fact that our minds are inherently compatible."

"Is this common?"

"Instances of a spontaneous link between friends are rare, but not unprecedented."

"Is it permanent?"

A pause, the uncertainty returning briefly. "Not at this stage. It is still in its infancy – easily severed if that is what you wish."

A sharp, reproachful glance from the hazel eyes in response to that question.

"Are they frowned upon?"

"It would be illogical to 'frown upon' something that is part of our heritage, Jim. It springs directly from Vulcan telepathic abilities – an innate part of our biology we cannot control, no more than we can stop Pon Farr."

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. "I meant more because I'm not Vulcan."

A soft sigh escaped Spock's lips. "I am unaware of any other interspecies link," he answered truthfully.

Kirk paused, eyeing him warily before continuing. "Since they are rare, and since no other interspecies link that you know of exists, does this account for some of the…emotional distance…between us lately?"

Spock dropped his eyes at that, his cheeks burning. For this particular human, reading him came as easily, as naturally as moving through solid rock did for a Horta. "It has proven to be problematical on occasion," he answered at last.

"So, in other words, embracing this link, which is a direct result of our friendship, has made things difficult for you." A beat. "I've made things difficult for you." Blunt. Direct. And the anguish in his captain's tone made Spock cringe.

"No Jim, you have not. This did not result from anything you have done." Except to offer me your friendship, freely, without reservation, he added silently. Unfortunately it seems I am woefully unsuited to reciprocate what you have offered me, but this friendship and the bond which has ensued from it mean more to me than you can possibly imagine. Unable to verbalize what he was feeling, Spock met his captain's troubled gaze, allowing his eyes to sum up his feelings on the matter.

"Do you want this link between us to be severed?" his captain asked softly. The usually strong, self-assured voice quavered slightly.

"No!" Forceful. Adamant.

"Then to be quite honest, I really don't understand what the problem is." Kirk's tone was disappointed, but his gaze held no reproach.

"In my culture, we are taught to forego the feelings which accompany such a connection between individuals. Such feelings are permitted only between close family members."

"What about within this bond between friends? Surely that is permitted."

"That is also accepted, but not as readily."

"What about IDIC? For a race that preaches diversity and claims to embrace varied cultural beliefs Vulcans can be rather uncompromising on some things." His respect for Spock was warring with his frustration at the Vulcan's rigid society.

"It does seem rather contradictory, does it not?" The corners of Spock's mouth turned up ever so slightly.

"Seems to me, you need to decide how important this acceptance is, and what matters the most to you." Again, Spock could detect no condemnation, just a statement of the facts as his captain saw them.

And yet, Kirk's words had the power to bring him up short. With the precision of a skilled surgeon Jim had cut unerringly to the heart of the problem. And as usual, the wants and needs of the two halves of his psyche were diametrically opposed. Spock found himself unable to answer. Once again, Jim gently coaxed him to examine the issue from all sides. In some ways, Jim knew him better than Spock knew himself.

"What do you want, Spock?"

"I do not know," he answered immediately, honestly.

"Okay, then let's take this one step at a time. What does your Vulcan half want?"

He considered carefully before answering. "To be wholly Vulcan; to not be judged simply by my hybrid nature."

"And what does your human half want?"

This answer was by far much more difficult. Kirk waited patiently for Spock's response. "Expression," he said at last.

"And what do you, as Spock, want?"

"To be who and what I am." It was a sudden, visceral response, crashing over him like the surf pounding against the shore.

Kirk smiled, nodding in affirmation. "Then go with that; do what you want, not what others want for you. You're thirty-seven years old and for whatever reason, you have not been able to successfully merge these two sides of your personality. Maybe it's due to the pressures your society has put on you, or more likely, the pressures you've put on yourself."

Spock blinked at that.

"Work on getting your Vulcan and human halves to coexist harmoniously instead of constantly being at war with each other. Hell, your parents have been together for forty years, so it's possible, right?" He grinned, but it quickly faded; either Spock didn't get the joke or he wasn't amused in the least.

Clearing his throat he continued, "But remember, it won't happen overnight, and it can't be forced upon you by me or anyone else. It has to come from within you." He took a deep breath, his gaze intent upon the Vulcan. "But that's not to say you have to do it alone. I'll be here for you if you need me, Spock. All you have to do is ask, to trust me. And I promise, I'll never betray that trust. I'm your friend; let me help."

Spock bowed his head at that, feelings he had spent a lifetime hiding, repressing, denying, surging to the fore. "Jim. I am overwhelmed at the moment. I am unsure how to handle the emotions currently pressing me."

"Then don't handle them. Explore them, allow yourself to feel them. Even Vulcans feel, Spock. But you need to decide how you let them influence you; no one else can make that choice for you – not other Vulcans, not your parents, not McCoy or even me – and once you do decide, you need to accept that decision. It's a learning curve, Spock – one of many you've dealt with in your life, but perhaps the most important – and most challenging one. Whether or not you choose to share the outcome of that decision with anyone else is up to you and you alone. But it's a decision you yourself must be comfortable with. In the end, that's all that matters."

After a few moments of quiet reflection, Spock met his captain's eyes squarely. "Thank you, Jim. I shall consider it."

With that, Kirk got to his feet, brushing Spock's shoulder with a gentle hand before making his way back to the bungalow, leaving the Vulcan alone with his thoughts.

***

Making his second appearance of the morning, McCoy cautiously made his way into the great room where he found Spock seated at the dining room table, quietly strumming his Vulcan lyre. That's the first time he's pulled that thing out since we've been here, McCoy reflected to himself. Unless he's playing for an audience, he tends to go to that when he's trying to work something out. I just hope he's working toward the right answer…

He could hear pots and pans rattling in the kitchen, Kirk busying himself with what smelled like breakfast. "Do you want cinnamon in your oatmeal, Spock?" Jim asked as McCoy rounded the corner into the kitchen.

"Yes, Jim that would be agreeable."

"Oh hi Bones. I'm just making some fried ham and eggs. Want some?" he asked, slightly chagrined.

McCoy dropped his eyes to the large hunk of meat, swimming in butter, sizzling away in the pan. He traded a glance with Kirk, letting his disapproval show. "Sure Jim, anything to save you from eating all that yourself." Kirk colored slightly. "I do hope you're planning to burn that off somehow today?" McCoy asked, pursing his lips, his eyes lingering on the captain's midsection. "Wouldn't want to have to put you on a diet the second we get back," he teased.

Kirk's gaze returned to the task at hand, expertly flipping the smoked chunk of pork. "I'd like to remind you that it was you and Spock, not me, who bought this," he said, indicating his breakfast, "and far be it for me to waste food," his look was sly, mischievous, "but as a matter-of-fact, I thought we'd take the flitter and go hiking on Ashera Island today – that is, if your ankle is up to it?" McCoy nodded in affirmation.

"I've done some research, and we can explore the Ruins of Nidi City," Kirk continued. "It's estimated to be over eight thousand years old, complete with native mosaics, artwork and temples. Should be a 'fascinating' venture," he remarked, casting a glance in the Vulcan's direction.

At that, Spock's head snapped to them, and McCoy was sure he actually saw the Vulcan's ears twitch. "A wise selection, Captain. The architecture and artistic creations of the craftsmen of Nidi City represent the pinnacle of the Essirian civilization and culture." Without missing a beat he carefully laid the lyre on the table, turning his full attention to the two of them. "Constructed as the primary residence of the Purtanari, their equivalent of a divine ruler, the Frinteralo dynasty ruled for thirty-three generations from this location before—"

Spock continued with his discourse, but McCoy had stopped paying attention.

"Way to go, Jim," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Once you get him started, it'll take nothing short of a matter-antimatter explosion to make him stop." McCoy rolled his eyes skyward, a heaven-help-me look following shortly thereafter.

"What Bones?" Kirk said, no longer focused on the task at hand, watching Spock fondly, completely unaware his breakfast was beginning to burn.

"You two are just too much sometimes, you know that?" No response. "Here, gimme that and go sit down," he said brusquely, snatching the spatula from Kirk's hand and beginning to load the contents of the pan onto two plates. He smiled to himself as the captain retreated to the dining room, slipping into a seat across from the Vulcan. Spock hadn't even paused to take a breath yet. Yep, things were definitely getting back to normal.

***

Spock moved away to make a 3D holographic recording of a massive stone obelisk emblazoned with Trianian pictoform writing, and McCoy seized the moment to observe the captain. Something had definitely shifted in Kirk. His eyes followed Spock's every move, but weren't marked with the excessive worry and concern he'd observed over the past few weeks. Kirk was more self-assured, confident, comfortable in his First's presence, watching Spock with the indulgence of a proud parent, or more accurately, the quiet admiration of a younger brother.

McCoy decided to take advantage of Kirk's good humor and quietly approached the captain. Hell, now was as good a time as any. "Well I must say, this vacation has been good for you, Captain – Mr. Spock, too. You both seem to have reaped the benefits of some time away from the pressures of the ship." He hesitated, asking in a whisper he hoped was beyond the scope of Vulcan hearing, "I'm guessing you had that little talk with Spock?"

Startled out of his reverie, Kirk turned to McCoy, hurriedly arranging his face into a neutral expression. He could plainly see the captain's internal struggle – reveal what he knew or preserve their privacy.

"Again Jim, I'm not asking for details. Just how he's – how the two of you – are doing in general," McCoy added, his gaze soft, encouraging.

Kirk pondered the question for a few moments before remarking, "As much as I hate to admit it, you were right Bones. It did take some doing, but in the end, he opened up to me, and made me realize I need to be more forthright with him, too." The captain paused before adding, "I think we've been able to resolve a few things – for the better, I hope." He offered no further explanation, and McCoy didn't press for any additional information – everything he needed to know was contained in that simple non-answer.

They followed Spock around for the next several hours as the Vulcan attempted to absorb all the intellectual stimulation Nidi City had to offer. Jim seemed to be enjoying himself, asking Spock for specific details about this or that, but McCoy was getting just plain hot and tired, his stomach starting to protest loudly as he realized they'd missed lunch.

Brushing the dust from his sleeves, he sidled up to the captain who was looking over Spock's shoulder at a colorful bas relief depicting an ancient Trianian fishing village. "Jim, I hate to be a spoil sport…" Kirk turned, favoring him with a look that said 'since when?', but he forged on nevertheless, "but I'm starting to get hungry. You two gonna be done here anytime soon?"

Kirk looked to Spock, and once again it was as if McCoy was on the outside looking in. And to his delight, that invisible barrier he'd noticed recently seemed to have disappeared completely. For once, seeing their silent communication gave him a sense of relief, not unease.

"I thought maybe we'd eat out tonight – my treat." McCoy offered graciously.

"Oh? Did you have somewhere in mind, Doctor?" Kirk turned his attention to his CMO once again.

"Well, there's this little place on the coast of Rinba, not far from the Alkonost Market actually – the guy who sold me the Romulan Ale is the one who told me about it – that's supposed to have outstanding native cuisine. Might be worth checking it out. Who knows when, or if, we'll ever get back here."

"What do you think, Spock?" Kirk asked, glancing expectantly at his First.

"If the shopkeeper's taste in the culinary arts is at all a reflection of his taste in alcoholic beverages, it should prove to be a most fascinating experience."

"Then it's all settled; let's go," McCoy said, turning abruptly and heading for the flitter.

***

"Well now, will you look at that." McCoy's grin was upbeat, boyish. "I haven't seen one of those in thirty years." He stopped before a 21st century old Earth style pinball machine, hidden away in a corner of the restaurant. "My uncle Elmer used to have one like this in his basement – a bona fide antique – and my cousins and I used to play it for hours when we were kids." He eyed the contraption with more than a bit of nostalgia. "Now this is my idea of recreation. C'mon Jim, how 'bout a game?"

"Not me, Bones." He turned to his First Officer, who had remained silent during this exchange, an eyebrow creeping into his hairline. "Care to give it a try, Mr. Spock?"

"Captain I am unfamiliar with this type of entertainment."

"C'mon, Spock, you beat the pants off me at everything else," McCoy interjected. "Tonight's tab for the three of us says I can wipe up the floor with you."

"I fail to see how using me to remove soil from the floor will enable you to best me, but the machine does look intriguing. Perhaps one game."

"You're on! I'll even let you have a practice run before we get to the challenge," he offered magnanimously.

"Thank you, no. That will not be necessary Doctor. I shall be able to learn the basic principles of play by observing you."

"Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't give you a fighting chance." McCoy was positively gloating as he dropped in the credits necessary for two games. "I'll even go first; that'll give you the final turn, and a last chance to catch me – if you can."

McCoy expertly launched his ball into play, and after several minutes, had amassed quite a few points. At last the ball drained down one of the side lanes and he stepped away from the archaic game cabinet, bowing Spock to the fore.

After a moment of careful study and a few experimental flicks of the flippers, Spock drew back the plunger, sending his ball up the side ramp and into the main body of the machine. It only rattled around the field for about thirty seconds however, before draining down one of the side channels.

"This is gonna be a cakewalk," McCoy said with a self-satisfied smirk as he assumed his position at the front of the machine. His turn lasted considerably longer than Spock's, the doctor adding a good number of points to his already hefty score. Finally, the steel ball rolled down the center and he moved aside, allowing Spock access.

"Looks like I've finally found something I can whoop his ass at," the doctor whispered conspiratorially to Kirk.

Unfortunately, Spock didn't fare much better on his second ball, losing it rapidly down the center lane. McCoy launched his final ball and had soon racked up an impressive score before it finally disappeared down the right side. "This is it, Spock – last ball. Last chance you have to beat my score."

Spock took his position in front of the apparatus again, a look of supreme concentration creasing his brow. He drew back the plunger, shooting the silver orb into the field of play. Suddenly, the machine came alive in an earsplitting maelstrom of light and sound, points accumulating rapidly, Spock winning extra ball after extra ball. Several long minutes later, McCoy's mouth fell open in complete, unmitigated disbelief. It was as if someone else was now playing, Spock expertly trapping the ball on the flippers, aiming carefully in order to hit all the proper targets in their proper sequence, making miraculous saves, his turn stretching interminably as far as McCoy was concerned. Not only did he manage to catch the doctor, but doubled the physician's score before finally having the last ball disappear from sight.

"I am unsure, Doctor – did my attempt capture the essence of the game of pinball?" he asked, turning to McCoy, his face completely blank and expressionless. The Enterprise's CMO could only stare mutely, scowling, his gaze shifting between the Vulcan's face and the glowing orange numbers registered on the scoreboard.

Kirk's smile was delighted. "Why Spock, I had no idea you were so good at pinball."

"Are you sure you haven't played before? I think I've just been snookered," McCoy lamented, more than a little disgruntled.

"Gentlemen, it is a relatively uncomplicated form of recreation. One need only calculate the speed, distance, force and trajectory necessary to attain proper ball placement thus ensuring the maximum acquisition of available points. I used the first two balls experimentally in order to learn the specific parameters of the field of play. Thereafter, it was only necessary to apply the rudimentary principles of physics in order to achieve certain success."

"Jeez, Spock. Only you could take the fun out of something as simple as pinball," McCoy commented gruffly. "Let's go eat. Hopefully the food will be better than the entertainment," he grumbled, heading for an empty table.

Kirk hung back with Spock. "You know, you could have taken it easy on him," he admonished in hushed tones, but his eyes were positively alight with mischief.

"Jim, I did 'take it easy' on him," Spock replied in all seriousness.

Kirk couldn't help but laugh.

***

They spent their last few days enjoying the natural wonders Triani Prime had to offer during the day, Kirk and Spock relaxing on the porch at night. McCoy always joined them for a little while, and then came up with an excuse as to why he had to leave, granting them the private time together necessary to strengthen and reinforce their friendship; fully convinced they were discussing those things with each other they found themselves unable to share with the doctor for whatever reason.

The change he noticed in the two was profound. The distance that had marked their relationship for the past few weeks had all but disappeared. They were on the road to recovery. Healing. Another successful mission, McCoy congratulated himself as he lay in bed their last night. My work here is done.

***

The captain and First Officer had been sitting on the deck in companionable silence for some time now, enjoying the peaceful serenity of their final night on Triani Prime. The sounds of the night enveloped them: insects, singing in a symphony of whistles and clicks; the night breeze as it gently caressed the long, wispy grasses atop the dunes; the surf, more agitated, angry tonight, pummeling the shoreline. Kirk turned to Spock and opened his mouth to speak, shocked to discover the Vulcan had dozed off in his chair. That nature preserve must have been too much for him, Kirk mused affectionately. He was like a kid in a candy store, examining all the various species of native reptiles. I've never seem him so excited. He got silently to his feet, stepping inside briefly. He returned with a warm blanket in hand, which he proceeded to drape over the sleeping form, bending close to a delicately shaped ear. "I'm glad you're my friend, Spock," he whispered softly. "It is the most extraordinary gift anyone in the galaxy has seen fit to give me, including my own life."

Jim stepped away, heading for his own room. In the dim light, Spock's lips curved up ever so slightly…

FINIS