A/N: So, hello again! I must say, I'm overwhelmed with the reviews and the support that I've received for this fic in my absence! It makes me very happy to see people enjoying reading this as much as I do writing it! I apologise that it's taken me a while to get this part up, but RL went all mental for a while. Oh well, hopefully you all enjoy!

It took Jim nearly seven months before all of his efforts began to crash down around his ears.

To be honest, he was surprised that he'd been able to maintain such an amicable relationship with Spock for so long. Bones was even more surprised than he was that it had lasted more than a week before Jim managed to put his foot in it.

It hadn't been easy, trying to come to terms that he'd gone from intergalatic space stud to the Vulcan equivalent of "settled down and happily married" so quickly, but Jim liked a challenge. His challenge had been simple: try to prevent a near suicidal, hyper emotional half Vulcan from having a breakdown in the furthest corner of the galaxy.

It wasn't like it was the most difficult thing that he'd ever done in his life.

Progress had been slow initially. Jim was just a bit too questioning, Spock just a bit too mistrustful and touchy, for it to be comfortable. The first time Spock had tried to teach Jim very basic levels of shielding, so as to allow them both privacy and so that Jim could humor Spock's worries about potentially compromising the Captaincy, both of them had ended up in Medical with all sorts of crazy fragments floating around their minds and blood pouring from Jim's nose like a tap.

The first time Jim had openly instigated an unexpected touch, Jim had ended up back in Medical with a suspected broken jaw.

Bones had told Jim that if he didn't buck his ideas up, then he was going to make Jim's life a living hell. Jim knew better than to argue back; Bones was a tough Southern bastard, regardless of how unassuming he looked surrounded by guys twice his height, and Jim didn't want his pride to be battered as well.

So, Jim had calmed down a bit. Spock and him avoided contact past the occasional hand on the shoulder or the arm, Jim tried to make sure that he was a little bit more focused whenever Spock was trying to relay some vitally important information regarding some Vulcan hoo-doo technique, and Bones' blood pressure gradually started to drop back down to healthy levels once he realised neither of them were going to frequent Sickbay more often.

It was something.

Fine, so Jim was still incapable of preventing complete bleedthrough of Spock's thoughts and emotions. There was still a disconcertingly high number of times when Spock would look at him with equal parts respect, fear, and resignation in his eyes, the Vulcan not entirely able to forgive himself for what he still viewed nearly seven months later as some horrific crime that he deserved punishment for, but Jim had been working on that.

Well, Selik and Bones had been working on it. Jim had just been there with a smile on his face after every tense discussion, trying to act like he hadn't been eavesdropping, making Spock believe that he was 100% committed to whatever Spock needed.

Okay, so most of the time, he was 100% behind whatever Spock needed from him. That didn't stop those times though, every once in a while when things were stressful and Jim was angry or pissed or generally feeling like the galaxy could go fuck itself, when Jim thought that Spock being latched onto him for eternity was nothing more than some curse, or Alien torture, or karma coming around to remind him of just how questionable a human being he was.

At times like that, he was beyond relieved that he had managed to learn the basics of shielding. At least he could wallow in his own anger and pity without fear of causing a Vulcan sized explosion on his ship.

Yep, for seven months, Jim had just about managed to juggle Spock, the Admiralty, Klingons, Bones, two potential wars, an outbreak of Zlotian Flu and a drunken Chekov, all whilst still being the best, most kickass Captain in the fleet.

He knew he shouldn't have been surprised when his own big mouth managed to throw it out of balance.

In his defence - his own admittedly flawed and lousy defence, he chastised himself as he laid on top of the covers of his bunk, staring at the ceiling - seven months was an unbelievably long time for Jim to be good.

And it was all fucking Admiralty's fault anyway.

Stupid diplomatic negotations.

It had all been shaping out so well the day before too; the most irritatingly exhausting and time consuming missions usually did.

All that Jim technically had needed to do was to sit there whilst the two warring factions from the H'Naut System argued things out amongst themselves. It was an age-old crisis; the traditional elders - the Nautiis - were most certainly not politically correct or accommodating, and when they'd decided to try and bind two old order rival houses together to please their Gods, it had caused a major backlash from the more conservative minority, known as the Nittasi.

Throw in a crackpot government, some empty threats of civil war, and of course Jim knew that the Admiralty would be unable to resist sticking their noses in and seeing what the hell was going on.

And of course they'd sent the Enterprise.

Of course.

Jim had spent nearly 32 hours mediating negotations, trying to keep his best diplomacy face on whilst his brain slowly melted from the stress and the lack of sleep. Things had gotten tense, violence and riots had broken out throughout the entire H'Naut System, so Jim had had to send a security force to help maintain order at the summit.

Of course.

He lost three men.

Losing people under his command was bad enough on a good day, let alone during missions that were making him wish Bones could just hypo him into oblivion.

It was even worse when it turned out that the 'misunderstanding' - the legitimate description to come from the Nautiis - could actually be sorted with some additional ceremony or some shit to smooth over all objections, rendering a day and a half of energy and the deaths of three fine security officers as completely and utterly unneccessary.

Just great.

When Jim had eventually switched off communication and slumped back into his chair, only just resisting the urge to scream as he pinched the bridge of his nose, Jim very gradually became aware of the soft prodding that seemed to emanate from the back of his mind.

Flicking his eyes across the bridge, Jim noticed the way that Spock was watching him. The Vulcan's face was tight, his fingers restlessly brushing over the dials and controls on his station as if he wasn't actually paying attention to his work, and there was something dark colouring Spock's expression.

It was that sort of look the Vulcan usually got when he was regarding some difficult puzzle or equation that needed solving down in the Science labs. A look that said it was trying to understand. Jim had become more than use to that particular look being directed upon him in recent months. Sometimes, Jim couldn't work out whether or not he enjoyed such intense focus, especially at times like this.

When their eyes met, Jim could faintly feel that presence skirting the edges of his consciousness again. Normally, during highly tense and draining missions, that constant shadow could be quite relaxing. Now though, it had just served to make him feel angrier than he already was.

Screwing his eyes shut, Jim took a deep breath, using every ounce of his energy to throw a crude but effective shield up, all but slamming the metaphorical door in the Vulcan's metaphorical face. He just needed privacy, a moment alone to think and work out what to do, and he didn't need any interference from a frustratingly logical and rigid Hobgoblin.

It wasn't the best barrier he'd ever created, and Spock could quite easily tear it down in a heartbeat if that was what he wanted, but the message it sent was obvious enough.

The effect had been nearly instantaneous, even if it had been subtle enough for only Jim to notice. Spock had very visibly winced, real tangible pain flashing through his eyes for a brief moment before he took a shuddering breath, sparing one last near distressed glance at Jim before turning back to his station.

Letting out a shaky sigh, Jim had slumped back into his chair, wiping his hand roughly down his face when he felt the start of a major headache coming on. It was a combination of the mission, the guilt and the mental exertion of trying to sustain some kind of barrier from Spock for the time being, and Jim had only been able to put up with it for so long before even he realised he could barely think, let alone try and command a starship.

Trying to ignore the brief tremor in his hands, or the way that his world had skewed dangerously off kilter when he pushed himself to his feet, Jim had tried to force every ounce of authority and evenness into his voice.

"Commander Spock, you have the conn."

Spock's head had instantly whipped around, his eyes wide and unblinking as he gazed over Jim. Spock's face was very slightly ashen, a faint whiteness colouring his cheeks, and Jim could see how the Vulcan's normally steady fingers were shaking too. The cogs were trying to turn inside his brain, and Jim clenched his hands tightly by his side, trying not to let the irritation build.

"Captain Kirk, do you require any assistance?"

Spock's words had sounded as impassive as ever, but Jim had come to know the Vulcan well enough to hear the concern and worry lacing his tone, and that just made him even more annoyed.

"No Commander Spock, what I require is for you to do what I tell you to do and take the Goddamn conn!"

A heavy, suffocating silence had fallen across the entire bridge, every officer within the near vicinity unable to stop themselves from warily watching their Captain. There had been a bit too much venom in Jim's order, but despite the guilt that flared deep in his gut and the ache resonating from behind the shield inside his head, Jim couldn't bring himself to apologise.

Jim and Spock's eyes had locked across the bridge, neither of them willing to budge or stand down even an inch. The previously insistent prodding of Spock's mental presence abated though, simmering down to a coldness that Jim hadn't felt for nearly seven months, and it was only a few moments later that Spock's eyes dropped to the floor.

Spock had looked the picture of rejection and resignation, his shoulders slumped just enough for Jim to see, and despite the cool professionalism that Spock presented, Jim knew instinctively that he might have possibly messed up.

His anger turning sour, his heart thudding almost painfully fast in his chest, Jim had felt the atmosphere change, but before he had had time to start backpeddling, Spock had cut him off with a quiet whisper.

"Of course Captain."

That unwavering loyalty, that innate desire to please and obey every word from Jim's lips, Jim had felt like he had been punched in the gut. His eyes narrowing as he stared down at the floor, the pressure inside his head making him feel like his brain was going to explode, Jim had given Spock the briefest nod of acknowledgement before turning on his heel and storming towards the turbolift.

He felt a dozen set of eyes on him as he fled, none more obvious than those dark Vulcan eyes that threatened to burn him alive, and that had just made him feel worse.

He'd fully intended to go down to Sickbay, to pester Bones for a load of that Romulan Ale he knew nothing about and some headache hypos - whatever worked better in these kinds of scenarios, he hadn't been fussed - but he had gotten half way there before he had decided better of it.

Bones was still very wary of Jim and Spock together; it wasn't neccessarily because he disapproved or didn't understand, but Jim knew with a certainty that Bones was incredibly protective of Spock and all the Vulcan hoo-doo going on between them. For all that Bones badmouthed and protested, he knew the Doctor considered Spock a friend, and Bones was still pissed at Jim on some base level for how the entire connection between them had started.

Going down there and having to admit that the reason he felt like he had been beaten up by a Klingon in a bar brawl was more because of some petty, self-inflicted need for silence than it was the aftermath of the mission would have been more than enough of a motive for Bones to kick his ass across the galaxy.

Jim loved Bones, he really did, but Goddamn, there was only so much Bones he could handle in one sitting.

Instead, he had retired to his quarters, where he'd been brooding for nearly three hours straight.

Well, not brooding, he thought as he glared holes into his ceiling.

More like engaging in very deep, very angry contemplation that was only serving to give him a worse and worse headache.

Alpha shift had finished nearly 40 minutes ago, and to be honest with himself, Jim knew that the reason he was still doing nothing was because he was expecting Spock to turn up at his door any second. It had become tradition, since they'd started gelling together properly as a cohesive team, for them to both meet in Jim's quarters and play Chess, using the game and the steady flow of conversation between them as a way to discuss the day and work out where they were going from there.

If it also gave Jim the chance to ensure that Spock was still okay, to make sure that he didn't blow off Selik's grave warning to him about what could happen if he did anything to destroy the connection between them, then that would just be for Jim to know.

Somehow, Jim didn't think tonight would be one of those occasions when the Vulcan would grace him with his presence. His mouth running dry, a weirdly muffled haze falling over his head as he let his eyes slip shut for a moment, Jim experimentally brushed over the bond, seeing if he could discern anything from Spock.

A small, pessimistic part that reared from deep within the silvery strand that connected their minds was throbbing, the faintest of whispers bleeding through the defences that Jim had tried to build.

It was cold and dark and it burnt when Jim grazed it, an intoxicatingly terrifying mixture of frenzied self-doubt, distressing heat and a feral shadow that was being buffered up against the increasingly battered shield Jim was struggling to hold. His vision blurring around the edges, Jim gave a yelp when he felt like he was falling, feeling the way that it seemed like the bond was almost trying to pull him headlong into his own mind, and in his moment of panic, Jim threw every ounce of his strength behind his barrier.

It was like a battle, Jim trying to fill in the cracks and Spock - was this even Spock? This was nothing like he had ever felt before - trying to breach his every defence. It went on for what felt like hours, Jim not even aware of the vivid colours flashing behind his eyes, the knot that settled low in his stomach or the way that every muscle in his body seemed to convulse uncontrollably, before it stopped just as abruptly as it started.

Choking on the sharp inhalation of breath, Jim was just about able to prevent himself from hyperventilating, his skin flushed in cold sweat as he shut his eyes, trying to compose himself. The nausea was roiling deep in his stomach, lights spinning in front of his vision as he gradually came back to himself, and it was all Jim could do not to have a panic attack.

He'd never felt quite so helpless, so confused and scared in all of his life, and the knowledge that he had no idea what had caused it put him even more on edge. Running a shaking hand down his face, Jim felt a dampness underneath his fingers, and as he raised them in front of his eyes, he noticed the red tint covering them.

In some perverse way, the sight of his own blood - nosebleed, he realised belatedly - was enough to ground him, and as he tried to relax back into the pillow beneath him, he focused his attentions on the throngs of dulled pain coming from the bond.

He winced under the pressure, the silvery thread stretched and misshapen, and as he slowly explored it further, the shadowy fear and powerlessness that seemed to reflect back at him made him shudder.

There was definitely something 'Spock' there, but it was nothing like he had ever experienced before. It was hungry, frustrated, angry, all emotions that Jim couldn't associate with the normally peaceful and calm Vulcan, and it worried him.

Trying to go back over the last few days and missions in his head, Jim knew that there had been something he was overlooking. There had been something... off about the Vulcan. It wasn't something he could specifically put his finger on, but he had felt it all the same. There was a sharpness in his eyes, a clinginess and desire for approval that seemed to follow Spock's every action and word.

And Spock's hands kept shaking.

Jim tried to think; as far as he knew, there wasn't anything significant date wise happening within the next few days or weeks, no anniversary or cultural thing. This was almost out of the blue, and it was... disconcerting to think that he could potentially be drawn into whatever the hell was going on in Spock's head just because they shared an inconvenient link.

To be perfectly honest - and somewhat ego-centric - Jim was worried for himself too as the blood kept oozing from his nose and the pounding migraine made him feel woozy, but he wasn't going to admit that.

As his breathing levelled out again, his entire body trembling, Jim realised that this was something more than he could deal with by himself. He was practically incapacitated, physically unable to get his body to co-operate with him as disturbingly graphic fragments and thoughts seemed to randomly penetrate his mind; he needed help.

Even despite the gnawing at the silvery thread and the clenching in his chest that kept reminding him of how Spock could quite possibly be just as compromised - if not more so - by whatever the hell had just happened, a gut feeling of equal parts intuition and unfounded fear stopped him from contacting the Vulcan.

"Open private communication with Sickbay, Dr McCoy."

His voice was raspy, like he'd gargled with glass, and he became vaguely aware of the fact that he had been screaming.

"Jim, everything okay?"

The gruff tone, laced with a concern that barely anyone else was able to draw out of the Southerner, was enough to put Jim at ease, even as the shadow behind his shield briefly flared in possessive anger at the sound of Bones' voice.

Swallowing down the sharp lump that filled his throat, Jim let out a shuddery breath; as he was coming down, he started to feel empty, and for some unimaginable reason, it made Jim want to burst into tears.

"Jim, answer me, or I'm coming down there."

Completely unable to keep the waver and the panic out of his voice, Jim blinked back the moisture budding in his eyes.

"Bones, something's wrong with me."

Less than five minutes later, Bones was there.

Jim hadn't been able to move an inch, his body feeling like it was weighted down with lead as the cold sweat on his skin broke and gave way to a weird dry heat that made him shudder. The sound of Bones frantically tapping in his medical override code was enough to make Jim feel tense, realising that there was nothing he'd be able to do to worm his way out of things like usual.

"Jim, what the hell did you do this time?"

His head lulling to the side, Jim came eye to eye with Bones as the Doctor knelt down on the floor by his bed. He looked fuzzy, almost misty around the edges, and when Bones reached out his fingers to rest them against Jim's throat, Jim was suddenly overcome by an intense feeling of wrongness.

Bones' hands felt wrong, his voice sounded wrong, Jim's skin feeling like it was crawling from Bones' presence, and the ferocious buzz behind his weakened shield was roaring in distress and anger.

Jim flinched Bones' hand away hard, his eyes blown with panic and confusion.

"There's something going on... In... In my head," Jim stuttered out quickly, hysteria starting to settle in despite his best efforts to remain calm. "I think it's Spock, it's all hot and it hurts and it... it..."

Bones' hands very briefly framed his cheeks, almost as if Bones knew of Jim's sudden aversion to his touch

"Breathe Jimmy, deep breaths, come on."

Jim hadn't even been aware that his breathing had sped right up again, every muscle in his body convulsing as it tried desperately to regain control of itself, and it made him feel violently nauseous as he tried to get his breaths in sync with Bones'.

In the haze that had fallen over him, Jim didn't even realise that Bones was scanning him over, simultaneously shooting multiple hypos into his arm.

"God Jim, something's definitely going on here. Adrenaline through the roof, brainwave patterns all over the place, increased temperature and testosterone levels. They'd be perfect fucking readings if you were Vulcan Jim. I don't know what on earth's happening, but you need to be down in Sickbay now - preferably yesterday."

Perfect readings if he was Vulcan? Jim blanched. Was he turning into a Vulcan? Was the bond changing his body? Was Spock doing something to him as revenge?

Was Spock even aware of what was happening?

God, what if Spock was as screwed up as he was?

"Bones, you need to check on Spock."

Bones looked scandalised.

"For God's sake Jim, you're just about going into meltdown and you're more concerned about that Green blooded Hobgoblin?!"

"Bones," Jim gasped out sounding more frantic now, his heart racing and his stomach knotting, and the frown on Bones' face deepened. "Whatever's happening, it's coming from the bond, I... I think from Spock's end. Maybe he knows what's going on, he might need help."

Jim's entire body felt like it was being twisted, his vision suddenly going red and shadowy around the edges when the throbbing energy and power behind the barrier finally managed to break through.

It went everywhere.

No part of Jim's mind was left untouched as fire and heat and hunger tore away at him, his blood burning with need and pain as he was ravished by whatever was invading him. He was thrashing on the bed, Bones pinning him down and shouting down his comm for some help, but Jim could barely see it through the constant stream of thoughts and emotions pouring into him.

Jimjimminemineminecontrolminejimdestroyhavetakewan tminejimmineneedminenowmine...

It sounded like it was Spock's voice amplified in his mind, but it was distorted. It was feral and wild, uncontrolled and ragged, but there was an audible hurt; a disgust even. It only made his skin crawl more, his knuckles turning white from the death grip he had on the mattress beneath him.

It was reaching feverpitch, the heat turning white and slicing into every corner of his soul almost like he was approaching some kind of climax. Blood was dripping down his face, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Jim felt like his heart had turned to ice in his chest when the sudden roaring flames were abruptly doused once more.

Every ounce of strength and energy leeching itself from his body, Jim vaguely became aware of Bones shaking his shoulders, shouting something about staying awake, but Jim couldn't make himself listen.

All he could see, all he could hear inside his mind was the shadow of a broken Vulcan, howling out and pleading for forgiveness for something it could no longer control.

Jim passed out to the whispery sound of Spock repeating his name like a chant, his tone coated in lust and agony.

~x~

When Jim was able to crack his eyes open again, he was faced with annoyingly blank white walls and the faint sound of somebody fiddling with some papers.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jim abruptly became aware of the quietness in his head. The previous shadow and burning fire had disappeared completely, the pain and heat replaced by the instinctive knowledge that something had been lurking there.

The serene peace was almost artificial; it reminded Jim of how Spock's end of the bond went the Vulcan was meditating, but it seemed too forced for it to be real.

Spock.

Had Bones gone and retrieved Spock as well? Was Spock even aware of what the hell had been going on inside Jim's head? Was this all over, and was it just some perverse little break before more hellfire and brimstone attacked his mind?

Giving out a sigh, Jim opened his eyes a little bit further, unable to supress the wince at just how blindingly bright the Sickbay lights were against his overly sensitive vision. It was like he was suffering the hangover to end all hangovers, and he slumped back down against the pillow with a groan.

"Lights," he whispered, his voice raspy and cracked. When nothing happened, Jim almost whined. "Lights."

"Oh no Jimmy boy, don't you come around here and start messing around with the controls, not at least until I know that you're not going to go all Vulcan on me again."

Forcing himself to gaze down the end of the bed, Jim's eyes met Bones'. There must have been something written all over his face, because Bones' just indicated towards the monitors and bracelets he was hooked up to.

"You've been out about four hours Jim, hormones and brainwaves keep spiking at random intervals, but we think we've managed to stabilise it for the moment. Seriously though, it's like your body just decided to turn Vulcan for a little while, never seen anything like it."

Jim just snorted roughly, too sore and aching in his grogginess to try and make some quip. There was a low knot twisting his gut horrifically tight, a scratchiness that rubbed against his thighs and when Jim glanced down the covers, the faint tenting of the material was enough to make him flush red.

"Oh that," Bones drawled, equal parts amusement and concern in his voice as he comically leered at Jim. "Not sure if that's a side effect of the stuff we've hooked you on, or some more weird Vulcan mumbo jumbo mind nonsense, but I've seen more than that in the last fours hours, trust me. I haven't seen someone so permanently horny since I was treating teenagers back in Georgia."

The slight grimace that crossed Bones' face made Jim want to smile, more for the fact that he enjoyed bugging the Southerner out over any genuine desire, but it didn't even get a chance to manifest before Jim frowned.

"Did you go check on Spock?"

Bones rolled his eyes, a definite protest looking like it was bubbling away, but he managed to push it away with a deep sigh.

"Tried Jim, green blooded bastard's locked everyone out. Overrode my override and everything. Can't check on someone who obviously doesn't want to be checked for anything."

A shadow fell over Bones' face, and Jim knew that Bones was thinking the exact same thing he suddenly was. It was completely unlike Spock to shut himself away like that, uncharacteristic to the extreme, and when combined with the entire incident in Jim's quarters...

"Something's wrong with him Bones, I can feel it."

Bones shrugged.

"Probably, but I can't do anything Jim unless he wants me to. God knows I wouldn't have any clue where to start. I'm a Doctor, not a miracle worker."

"Come on Bones, can't you pull rank or something? There must be something you can do!"

Bones wiped a heavy hand down his face, almost as if he was trying to explain something to a child who just couldn't understand what he was saying.

"Spock. Has locked. Me out," Bones ground out. "And for God's sake Jim, I have no idea what we could be dealing with! If it is linked to the bond or some Vulcan shit, and it's doing this to you, then who knows what sort of condition Spock could be in!"

Jim threw his hands up in the air, becoming acutely aware of the faint throbbing heat that was beginning to break through the haze of drugs and sleep.

"Well isn't that more of a reason to go and check and do something?!"

Jim was almost convinced that the whine that involuntarily threaded its way into his voice was the only reason that Bones didn't knock him down a peg or two; as it was, Bones was staring at him with equal parts anger and sympathy.

"Jim," Bones breathed out. "Look at the bridge incident, look at the clusterfuck that followed Gelbeshka. If we go storming in without knowing what we're doing, we could make things worse, and that's the last thing we need."

Jim could hear from the tone of Bones' voice that Bones was just as frustrated and worried about the situation as he was, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on the actual conversation.

That cold sweat was beginning to break again, his vision tinting red around the edges as Bones faded from focus, and when that steady ebb of agonising burning buffered up hard against the weak barrier Jim had maintained purely on instinct, Jim could do nothing but lay there, paralysed in panic and the unseeing grip of whatever was happening to him.

"Bon-"

Jim just about managed to slur before he broke off into a scream, the pain and fire more intense than before as his entire being was all-consumed by the distressingly familiar chant of Spock rasping his name like a desperate prayer.

It was frantic, an almost frenzied tempo that overtook his body like a drumbeat. As the glowing pressure behind the bond brightened further and further, Jim was almost powerless to resist the alluring strength that was threatening to pull him under.

There were hands touching him, holding him down, whispering his name as they stabbed him with something, but Jim could no longer feel it.

He was floating, the vivid redness of sand and rock and blistering heat stripping him down to nothing. There was a shadowy figure standing just out of his grasp, fingertips away, drawing him to it.

He needed to feel it, he craved it like it was his lifeblood, and to have it so close but so far away was enough to make him want to weep.

He could feel himself falling to his knees.

The shadowy figure turned.

It was Spock.

"I'm sorry T'hy'la." The voice was raw, edged with uncontrollable guilt and even stronger pain. "But you are not yet ready. Soon, but not yet."

Ready? Ready for what? Jim yelled, but nothing came out.

Spock turned away, his hands violently shaking behind his back as he faded from sight, swept away by the dusty red sand.

The moment snapped, and Jim felt himself falling, falling back through the haze until he could hear the beeps and drones of the Sickbay monitors once more. Letting out a hysterical gasp, Jim panicked.

"Ready, not ready, I'm not ready..."

"Ready for what Jim?"

Bones' hand was wrapped around his shoulder, the other injecting a steady stream of hypos into Jim's arm as he worked on trying to calm Jim down. The sound of the emergency comm going off in Bones' office was blending in with the monotony of noises, but Jim knew with a painful certainty who was going to be on the other end of that line.

"Spock."

When the heat and pain reached feverpitch once more, the drugs and sedatives only making the world spin faster, Jim passed out, Spock's name on his lips.

It was less than five minutes later when Bones was running down the empty corridors, flanked by security.

It was less than five minutes later when Bones realised just how painfully right Jim was.

Nobody alive could be ready for this.