His hands were shaking. Despite his best efforts - and there had been many efforts, many uniform shirts with rumpled hems and damp spots on pants and clenched fists when he figured no one was watching - he couldn't make them stop.

"This is ridiculous," Jim muttered to himself, running trembling fingers through his hair. The crowd had long since cleared; once the ceremony had finished, everyone had vacated the auditorium with surprising speed. Jim had lingered behind, shaking hands and smiling in all the right places, thanking Captain Pike - well, not Captain any more, at least not of Enterprise - once again and wishing him a speedy recovery and trying not to have some kind of panic attack where all of Starfleet's bigwigs could see.

The stone steps he had retreated to had long ago lost the warmth granted by the fierce afternoon sun. His butt had basically gone numb, but Jim couldn't bring himself to care, not when every time he closed his eyes he saw Nero dying, saw Vulcan exploding.

"Dr. McCoy did warn you the healing process would take time." Spock's voice was brisk but not cold, and Jim picked his gaze up from his kneecaps to meet Spock's eyes.

"Yeah," Jim said quietly. "It's just - hard."

"I understand." Spock's hand found his elbow and tugged him upwards. Almost on autopilot, Jim dusted the seat of his pants and straightened his dress uniform, an amused half-smile twisting his lips as Spock further adjusted everything to his presumably Vulcan standards of perfection. "Would you like to take the evening meal together?"

"Sure."

They walked side-by-side in a silence that was essentially more comfortable than any other conversation he'd held all day. Students still milling about whispered behind raised hands and eyes tracked their progress from one side of campus to another. Jim, recognizing that him of merely a week ago would have lounged in the attention of his peers, now wanted simply to be alone with Spock and enjoy the silence.

The restaurant Spock guided him into was a quaint little place with grubby windows and a crowded outside eating area. It served the best vegetarian food he knew of; he had frequented it during his years at the Academy, though always at odd hours as to avoid the other avid vegetarian he knew.

Conversation stopped dead as Jim and Spock opened the door and everyone instinctively turned to the sound of a bell ringing. Jim concealed his wince as a gushing waitress led them to a booth in the back, words spilling out at warp speed.

"-such an honor, you know, the owner wants you to know you'll have every amenity we have to offer, what else could be expected of having the Young Heroes-"

Young Heroes? Is that what they're calling us?

"Thank you," Spock said politely, gesturing for Jim to sit. He did so mechanically; her words felt like burrs digging into his skin and he began running through all the warp field equations he knew just to drown her fawning out. "Water, please. And chamomile tea." She glanced over at Jim, who said nothing, and bounced off to get the drinks.

"Tea, huh?" Jim drawled. "Chamomile. Heavy stuff."

"The tea is not for me, Jim. It is for you."

This time it was Jim raising a questioning brow to Spock's stoic face. "And why is that?"

"You have not gotten more than three hours consecutive sleep since you regained consciousness after our arrival on Earth. You need to sleep, Jim."

"Oh, bite me, Spock," Jim snapped, slamming an open palm onto the table and drawing several started gasps from their fellow customers. "You're not my goddamn mother."

"I could contact Amanda," Spock offered. "Would speaking to her be useful?"

Jim tensed, releasing a hissing breath. The last thing he wanted was anyone else involved in this - this mess he'd suddenly become.

So I'm a competent captain and functional adult but only when we're being attacked by murderous Romulans. Wish I'd known that earlier.

The bubbly waitress was back, along with a thin man in his forties, if Jim had to guess. There was more hand-shaking, more thank-yous, more promises and more gushing. It made his skin crawl, but he smiled and was cheerful and brash and all those other things the old Jim had been, before six billion lives were lost and he'd watched a man kill himself with his own blade. Their drinks were set down - Spock pushed the hot mug and tea bag over to him, which he balefully stared at - and their orders taken.

Truthfully, Jim wasn't all that hungry, but if Spock was going to mama-bird him, he'd better give a go.

"So," Jim tossed out into the silence.

Spock considered his water for a few heart-stopping seconds before fixing his full attention on Jim. Rather than make him uncomfortable, as it had many of Spock's students in the past, Jim seemed to relax by degrees, until he was slouching with his elbows on the table. His fingers occupied themselves with the tea bag, turning it over and over.

"I am uncertain of how to proceed," Spock finally admitted.

"Oh?"

"We have suffered many severe, traumatizing losses," the half Vulcan said quietly, his shoulders slumping just perceptibly enough to catch Jim's focus. "Due to these and our... disagreements of the past, I am uncertain in how to proceed."

The dry language was nothing new; Jim had grown up around Vulcans who would rather chew off their own arm than use any words one could consider even approaching emotional. He was perhaps a little out of practice deciphering the body language - much more telling than the tone or the words at any rate - without a life-or-death situation requiring it, but he'd muddle through. It was his way.

"Fair enough." Jim was only marginally interested as their waitress set plates and plates of food - far more than they'd actually ordered - before them. Jim poked a pile of alfredo listlessly, his stomach tightening into a cramped ball at the thought of ingesting anything.

At least this time, as the awkward silence made a sudden and vengeful reappearance, it was tempered with the murmured sounds of other beings eating and existing. The silence on Delta Vega had been despairingly final, for all that the wind had howled.

"Jim, I am fully aware that I am not - capable of being emotionally supportive," Spock forced out, his knuckles white as he gripped his silverware. "Things did not end favorably between us before our separation, and the high stress situations we found ourselves in did nothing in the way of offering reparations - if that is what you want." His dark eyes bored into Jim's own, and a stray thought pinned Jim in place.

Oh.

"Did you think I was lying?" Jim hissed, suddenly irritated. "Did you somehow think, in all our years apart, that I had the time or inclination to take up Surakian meditation and somehow become proficient enough to conceal my true feelings during a mind meld?"

"Jim, I-"

In a lot of ways, Jim was thankful for being human and not Vulcan. It made his impulsive decisions a hell of a lot easier to live with.

Jim reached across the table, plucked the fork from Spock's suddenly limp grip, and forcibly entwined their fingers, palms flush. Spock's lips parted slightly as the telepathic connection washed Jim's emotions over him like waves on a beach: prickling irritation, the warmth of deep love rooted in their growing years, fierce desire to start anew, cool tender forgiveness and sorry sorry sorry, a yawning chasm of grief and guilt.

Had any Vulcans been in the vicinity, they would have immediately excused themselves from such an improper display. As it was, those who knew the significance of the gesture simply looked away.

"That was not necessary," Spock gasped, wrenching his hand away and tucking them in his lap so Jim wouldn't see them trembling. Jim scrubbed his hands through his hair, blowing his breath out.

"Sorry," he said softly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you at all. Sometimes words just get in the way, you know?"

He offered an apologetic grin that eased some of the tension from their booth, thankfully, and mindlessly dropped the tea bag into the now-cool mug of water. Before it had finished steeping he was sipping at it.

"Very well." Spock turned his head, gazing at the other patrons for a moment, but his attention returned to Jim a scant moment later. "There is another matter we must discuss - one I believe you may have more trouble accepting than anything else."

"You'll make me gray at this rate," Jim said into his tea. Spock did not find it so amusing.

"Without data from your perspective during our years apart, I do not know if my hypothesis is correct," Spock began. The tips of his ears began to darken slightly, and Jim's lips quirked upwards. "At a minimum rate of one incident per year every year since our initial schism, I have experienced a telepathic phenomenon I was able to isolate and examine during your recovery period."

"What."

"I am lead to believe that at some point during our childhood, when we shared a mind-space, we may have inadvertently formed the precursor to a mating bond."

"What."

The careful world that Jim had been steadily rebuilding since awaking in a bed planet-side with Spock on one hand and McCoy on the other began to crack and crumble down around his ears. If he'd had a precursory mating bond since he was a teenager - what feelings of his for Spock were genuine and not the forced product of Vulcan mental grooming?

When will the lies ever stop?

"I - I need some time for that one," Jim managed to get out around a mouth that suddenly tasted of ashes. "I have to go." Ignoring the hurt slapped on Spock's face, he slid out of the booth and made his way outside. Even the cool evening air felt stifling, like a blanket that pressed against his face and into his lungs.

He ran.

Even though every single punch hurt like a bitch and he was actually bleeding from the skin loss on his knuckles, Jim refused to let up. He'd been going at the bag for over an hour, now, and with every jab and cross he regretted his actions, cursing his weakness.

Why can't I be strong when I need to be, not just when I have to?

Another jab-cross combination went awry as his fists slipped on the rough canvas and Jim went tumbling to the side, face comically set in an expression of mild surprise. He landed in a grumbling heap on the practice mat.

"Graceful, captain," came a dry voice from the entrance. Jim, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion he'd pushed away for the last several hours, rolled onto his back to see none other than Uhura standing above him, dressed in black leggings and a black standard issue Starfleet fitness tank top. He considered her for a moment before smiling and saucily winking.

"Oh, please," she scoffed, letting her gym bag drop and kneeling down next to him. She rustled around in the black bag and came out with gauze and tape, which she handed to Jim as he sat up. "Everyone on the bridge crew knows you're in love with Spock. Don't be disrespectful."

He was almost thankful he'd started bandaging his hands because the words caused the expression of pain to flit across his features, not the sting of bandage on an open wound.

"I can look," he said defensively, but it was a lame excuse and he sighed. "Sorry," he muttered grudgingly.

"So what're you doing at the gym at-" she glanced at her timepiece "-0427? Little early, don't you think?"

"Says you."

"You may not know, but I'm an early riser." She fixed him with her best glare. "Now. Why are you here, why do you look like you haven't slept in a week, and why are you in your dress underclothes?"

Jim glanced down at his tank and dress pants, patched and stained with sweat, grime, and more than likely blood.

"Coping," he finally settled for. "Traumatized, right? I should get a sign: Warning, do not approach, behavior erratic and possibly mentally damaged."

"This is about Spock."

"Damn you, woman, are you telepathic? That shit's supposed to be in your file."

"Oh please," she dismissed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she settled into a cross-legged position that he unconsciously mirrored. "You're an idiot and a dumbass. It's not rocket science, Kirk."

She sat there, staring at him.

"He'd talk about you occasionally, you know," she said conversationally. "What it was like having a brother. I only ever had sisters, so we traded stories. Only from when you were really young. I don't think he ever talked about you as a kid when you were older than sixteen. Took me a while to figure out why, too."

"And why would that be?" Jim was curious despite himself. He'd never really talked to Uhura, aside from that one time in a bar and trading barbs aboard the Enterprise.

"Vulcans compartmentalize - it helps with their emotional management. He only ever talked about you younger than that because those memories are firmly in the 'brother' box." She tilted her head at him, smiling. "He's loved you for a good long while, now."

"Of course he has," Jim growled sullenly. Thoughts he'd managed to avoid for the bulk of the night came whirring along, that much stronger for all that Uhura was trying to be kind and encouraging. So much guilt for so many things - but he was Jim Kirk, and the universe hated him. He lost his family as a child only to be adopted by the one species least able to care for a traumatized human boy. He grew up well enough only to turn his back on them as soon as Spock made a decision he disagreed with. He did the exact same thing as Spock in joining Starfleet and was promptly lambasted and outcast because of his very personality. He pulled every under-handed and illegal trick in the book to get through the entire Narada incident and he couldn't even save Vulcan.

And he may have accidentally been brainwashed into loving his best friend.

"And here I thought we were making progress," Uhura deadpanned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Alright, talk. What happened?"

Jim thought about resisting and telling her to leave him be. He thought about pulling rank and just leaving.

He then noticed the murderous gleam in her eye and remembered that she loved Spock, too. She simply didn't have the benefit of being on the receiving end.

Oh shit.

"He, ah, told me something a little sensitive and I panicked," Jim mumbled. "Now I'm not sure if what I'm feeling is - genuine, I guess."

"You," she said after a moment, "are an idiot."

"Hey!"

"You probably didn't even stop for a second to actually think about this, did you?" she said, propping her chin up on one fist and rolling her eyes. "You just bolted. And now you're here. Great job, captain."

"Well, this was fun," Jim said, more than a little hurt by her blunt words, but as soon as he made to stand, she grabbed his wrist and forced him back down.

"I don't know you very well," she began, staring up at him under thick black lashes. "I don't like you all that much, either. You're stubborn, pig-headed, and impulsive. You inherited all of Vulcan snobbiness, if not their decorum. But Spock loves you anyways."

"You flatter me," Jim mumbled sarcastically, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

"Is he capable of forcing you into feeling how you do?" Uhura finally asked, point-blank. "Even on accident?"

Jim fell back into thought, considering everything he knew. Spock said that a precursory mating bond had formed sometime during their teenage years - his best bet would have been during the excursion into Spock's mind during the fragmentation. Since then, it seemed to lay dormant...

...until we separated. The only time he ever heard his Voice was just before making a rash decision or when he was brooding over said rash decision afterwards. But despite the harsh words the Voice always had to offer, it never changed his course of action, nor did it seem to have any unduly influence besides being annoying as hell.

And Spock was polite and courteous to a fault. If he'd found out about this at any point before the present, he would have alerted someone - Amanda, probably - to contact him and try to assess and remove it. Mating bonds between Vulcans were sacred things; Spock valued his culture too much to maintain a mating bond with someone like Jim after their fight.

"It is real," Jim murmured wonderingly. He stared down at his bandage-wrapped hands, not seeing the flesh-colored synthetic material slowly darkening to rusty red along the sides, but instead the infinite possibilities and paths lying at his feet. How he could work with Spock, love him, love himself, heal from the gaping wound the past few days had wreaked upon them both.

"Thank you!" Jim said, grinning, bouncing to his feet. Uhura didn't try and pull him down this time, just tilted her head and watched him run for the exit.

"My captain's an idiot," she said fondly, switching her legs into a butterfly stretch and beginning to mentally organize the rest of her day.

Meditation eluded him. Calm serenity eluded him.

Spock was inordinately grateful his private quarters hadn't been touched during his - absence. It meant he didn't need to room with his mother and father, and subsequently meant he didn't need to face Sarek after excusing himself to (unsuccessfully) meditate his emotions away.

Even locked in private quarters couldn't keep Spock from Jim when he wanted to be there, though.

From behind his door there was a loud popping noise, followed by the automatic opening feature kicking on, stopping almost immediately, and leaving just enough of a gap that Jim Kirk began to shove his way through. With much groaning and scraping and cursing, Jim toppled forward, landing on the rug in a heap.

"Captain," Spock said automatically as his mind blanked on anything better and less stupid-sounding to say.

"Spock!" Jim gathered his limbs into their proper places and dived at Spock, taking them both to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Spock immediately began to disentangle himself and tried to push Jim away, but Jim retaliated by wrapping Spock in some kind of body hold and pressing their cheeks together.

Spock stilled. Hope that he had tried all night to crush and push away began to flare painfully inside him.

"I'm sorry for running," Jim whispered. His hands scratched, Spock noticed distantly, and his dress uniform was gone, but he seemed to burn with warmth and energy.

"I apologize for not presenting the situation in a less disturbing way," Spock replied, but Jim just laughed.

"I've been running since I was a kid, in one way or another," Jim said, rolling the pair over so Spock was lying flat on his back and Jim was straddling him. Spock noticed immediately and flushed, the dark green almost black in the low lighting of the room. "It's time to stop."

And then Jim's lips pressed against his and their hands entwined, and all the world faded away.

Jim's emotions swept through him, lightning in a desert storm, spices in his favorite dish-

sorry sorry sorry love you sorry don't go sorry love sorry patience forgiveness anxiety grief love sorry

-and Spock finally managed to buck Jim off and put much-needed distance between them. Jim looked as though someone had struck him (or made love to him, whispered another part of his mind) and he slowly stood, panting and staring at him with those electric blue eyes.

"Will you forgive me?" Jim said into the silence. "For hating you, for running, for being scared? For everything?"

"I forgave you many years ago," Spock said quietly. "Will you forgive me in turn?"

"Yes." Jim took a hesitant step forward but forced himself into stillness. His face paled slightly and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I want you to remove the bond, Spock," he finally said.

Naked shock made Spock still, but the anger that boiled up in him immediately after gave him a predator's grace as he stalked over to Jim. "If you wish our relationship be terminated, why go through the pretense of physical affection?" he hissed harshly.

"I don't want us to terminate our relationship," Jim parroted, his own eyes narrowing. The faint scent of blood tickled in Spock's nose but he ignored it. "I want us to start fresh. No bonds, no old grudges, none of that bullshit. If you need to take a swing at me for that, go ahead." Spock was tempted, just for a second, but shoved the impulse aside.

"In our culture, breaking a mating bond is not seen as and end to old disagreements," Spock said, crossing his arms and staring down at Jim, who refused to break and maintained the eye contact without so much as a flinch. "It is a desire to end an association. Completely."

"I always hated Vulcan rules," Jim muttered. "It's not that I don't ever want one - we're a little young for that, to be honest - just... not this one. Not now."

"They exist autonomous of your like or dislike for them," Spock replied without any ire behind the words, but he could see the human appeal in breaking the precursory bond. Spock knew Jim's thoughts and behavioral patterns, and if the bond remained, he would eventually begin to second-guess himself until he felt he was obligated to remain as a way to honor the Vulcan traditions.

"Very well."

Jim grinned, and Spock decided that even if this was entirely unconventional, they would make it work, just as they always did.

Several months later

"So our mission... is to just... wander around in space until we die or Command gets bored?"

"Damn, Bones, how do you really feel?" Jim glanced away from the viewscreen to behold Dr. McCoy muttering angrily under his breath as he paced back and forth along the bridge. Spock, standing at a science station not five meters away, gave Jim an eloquently harassed look before returning to his studies.

"For five years. Five! Why not just tell us to go off into the distance, never to return? Save them a helluva lot a trouble, I think. Five years in uncharted space. We're dead."

"Bones. You're scaring the ensigns." It was true; the two ensigns currently on the bridge did look sweatier and paler than they had an hour ago when their shifts began.

McCoy grumbled a bit but obediently shut his mouth. He turned towards the front of the ship, where one could see all of space glimmering enticingly before them. Or, as the good doctor was probably thinking, a million and one new ways to die where no one would find them.

"Commander?" Jim called.

"All departments report ready. Mr. Scott says that the engines are in peak condition and is awaiting orders." Spock looked cool and confident in the harsh bridge lighting, and Jim had to fight to keep the goofy smile that wanted to pop up from ruining his captainly image. He settled for a happy grin directed at everyone in general.

"Very well. Set in our coordinates, warp three. Punch it!"

As the gentle vibrations under their feet sped up to a low purr, Jim gestured to Spock and made for the nearest turbolift. McCoy gave his captain a dirty look, to which Jim winked and gave a cheeky little wave. Spock didn't miss either gesture and turned to Jim as the doors shut behind him.

"It is not wise to antagonize your primary caregiver," Spock admonished.

"He needs it," Jim said, waving the concerns away. "We're spending five years exploring parts of space we've only ever seen through still images and long-range scans. He's going to have to loosen up eventually."

"I will remind you of these words as soon as you begin complaining about how the doctor is treating you," Spock warned, but Jim only laughed.

"Think you can beat me at some 3-D chess? I gotta warn you, I was a champ. I used to hustle Starfleet cadets when they dropped by my bar."

"If you wish to play with stakes, t'hy'la, I will respect your decision. It is only fair I warn you that I attained grandmastery during my teaching years."

"Ah, shit."

A/N: And there it is. Done and done and done. Sorry for the talk-y chapter, but they just needed to get everything out in the open and move on from there. And of course a drop-in by the awesome kickass Uhura, coming to knock in skulls.

Last words to Jim.

I don't know if it'll happen, but it would basically make my life if this fic could get 1k reviews. We're close. I even took less than a year getting this sucker out, so that's got to count for something, right?

Anyways. This has been a long, hard, painful journey. There have been good times and bad. There have been kind reviews and encouraging words and there have been cruel messages and anger directed at me for various reasons. But here we are, at the end of the road, and I just want to say thank you to everyone: readers, reviewers, subscribers, and everyone in between. You guys are awesome. Keep it up.

Best,

~MIMM