Disclaimer: see Part I.



Ponn Far  (K/S, NC-17)

 Written by Arachnethe2

					PART II.



	"You are insane!" McCoy stopped in the middle of his pacing and
looked sharply at Kirk.

	But the man didn't make any comment, he simply continued to
pack his bag.

	McCoy's rage increased with every second.  Thirty minutes ago
he was a country doctor, working hard every day, in his
practice, somewhere in Georgia.  From time to time he helped out
as a docent at the Xenobiological Institute in Atlanta.  He had
followed this routine for the last four peaceful years.  Until
today, when James Kirk appeared on the screen in his desk and
said: "Hi Bones, I'm sorry but for the next moment you're going
to hate me."  And then he beamed him, yes, he *beamed* him,
directly to San Francisco.  To Starfleet HQ.

	Besides the fact that McCoy hated transporters, this wasn't the
worst of it.  No,*this* was only the beginning of the unexpected
trouble.

	So, he materialised in Kirk's office, but instead of even
trying to explain his... um... action, this brat of an admiral
stood up and gave the doctor the sign to follow him. 

	But even after they went out, the silly bastard said nothing to
McCoy.  Nothing in the floor, nothing in the lift, in the taxi,
even *nothing* at his apartment, when they finally arrived.

	But even this idiotic behaviour and this debilitating silence,
were still *not* the worst thing.  No.  The moment which
deserved to be called by this name came as an answer to McCoy's
question: "Dammit Jim, what do you think you are doing with me?"

	Kirk looked at his friend from the half empty bag: "We are
going to Vulcan," he said softly, "our ship will leave orbit in
one hour." 

	At first McCoy forgot his brilliant sarcasm for the moment, and
then he blurted out: "you are insane!"

	Kirk didn't answer, just continued to throw more things into
his bag.

	"Jim, for god's sake!"  McCoy yelled at him this time.

	Then Kirk looked at the doctor and McCoy almost stepped back
from the expression on that face.

	"I will tell you," he said in a silent voice, "once we are on
board. I promise you, Bones."

	Finally McCoy nodded, being sure that this was all he could get
for now. 

	But it took almost two hours until it was possible for him to
be alone with Kirk in their cabin on board the small ship,
flying somewhere between Earth and Vulcan.  Two hours of an
endless mind torture on the street, in the taxi, on the
spaceport, in the shuttle, on board during the greeting nonsense
the captain had for them both. Two hours to fight against
sorrow, rage and confusion.

	Two hours of waiting.



	Kirk booted the terminal in the captain's borrowed office and
entered Nogura's call number.  Now, it was still early morning
in San  Francisco.  But Kirk knew Nogura was already eating his
breakfast.  Today it would be his worst.

	The familiar face of the old admiral appeared on the screen: 
"Morning James, I know the discussion during the meeting
yesterday was getting a little wild, but you must understand..." 

	But Kirk cut him off, although he had never done that before:
"It's not about the discussion," he said in a quiet tone, "
although I'm afraid that now, we might never finish it."

	He saw the old man take a surprised breath, but with a simple
hand movement he continued: "Right now I'm on the way to Vulcan,
there is something I must do.  You will find my resignation on
my desk.  I repeat, it's not for yesterday, Heihachiro, it has
been coming for a long time.  I wish you the best."

	And before Nogura could respond, Kirk signed off.



	Things in front of our eyes are mostly only that, what we want
to see.  But to be on the top doesn't mean to be happy.  To be
on the top means to remain lonely in the crowd of people.

Admiral Kirk was the star among the HQ staff members.  He was
young, handsome, competent, he was a hero.  And who could play 
better the role of the starfleet shiny shield than him?

	However...

	...one can play this role for some time, but one day he simply
shuts himself down and goes away, leaving it all behind.



	McCoy was just making his mint julep as Kirk stepped in and sat
heavily on his bunk. 

	'He looks really bad,' the doctor thought, watching him. 
Finally he put his drink on the table and went to his friend. 
But as he started to open his mouth, Kirk said:

	"Spock is dying."

	McCoy said nothing at first, for in this moment he had
forgotten all the stuff he had wanted to throw at his friend's
head.  Instead he swallowed for a while to digest this shocking
message, until he found his voice again: "Why... why didn't you
say it before?  I could have spared myself this yelling at you."

	"It's OK Bones, I just wanted to get to a ship as quickly as
possible."

	McCoy sat beside him.

	"Now you have your ship, we are on board...," an encouraging 
gesture, "tell me Jim -- what's happened...?"



	James Kirk and Lori Ciani were the dream couple in San
Francisco high society.  Although married two years ago, they
still looked as if they'd just arrived from their honeymoon. 
Always smiling at each other, always being seen together in
theatres, in restaurants, at parties, exchanging deep looks
between them and ignoring the others in the moments of intimacy
in public places.

	No one had any idea that one of this happy couple was like a
ticking bomb, just ready to explode in an unexpected moment.

	Kirk could remember, exactly, the beginning of the end.  It was
during an official Starfleet soiree.  A big occasion for all the
admiralty, who thought a lot of themselves, to appear at.  It
was all the same: he and Lori came a little late, but just in
time, when everybody thought, 'hey our golden couple is here,
the party can begin.'  It was in the middle of a funny story
somebody was just telling them, and Lori was laughing at it,
that Kirk's eyes turned by accident to one corner, and saw an
old couple standing there.

	His heart seemed to stop at that moment, as he recognised the
Vulcan ambassador and his human wife standing there -- seeming
to be parted from the rest of the room by an invisible wall, 
looking in each other's eyes, their fingers touching.  Like a
thunderbolt, the pain ran down through Kirk's spine, for he knew
that now, just right now, the minds of Sarek and Amanda were
touching.  And only one who had already had this experience
could imagine what it is like.

	In this unexpected moment of deja vu, he remembered, painfully,
their son.  For the first time in ... how long?

	"Hey, are you dreaming?"  Lori's voice brought Kirk back to the
present.  Kirk blinked, a little surprised.

	"Perhaps, because you don't let him do it in the night, Lori," 
one in the crowd responded and the rest were shaking in laughter.

	Kirk grinned too, but no one recognised how unnatural his grin
was, this time.



	The villa of the Vulcan embassy was one of the oldest houses in
San Francisco.  Built in the time of California's gold fever, it
had survived the periods of growth and renovation which happened
around it.  Large, impressive in its post empire style, it
remained almost unchanged during the past centuries, perhaps
secretly wondering sometimes about its last owner.

	But Vulcans, always logical and realistic, never spent their
thoughts on this.  Their choice of this villa was simply made
with their exquisite taste and their understanding of the secret
beauty which every old thing will get through its age.  The
building was held in good state through a group of the best
restaurateurs in San Francisco, the furniture inside was unique
and compared fully to the atmosphere of the house and an army of
gardeners cultivated the park around the building every day. 
This villa had become the centre of Vulcan on Earth,
representing the politics and the interests of the planet of its
owners.  Right there within its walls the large staff of Vulcan
diplomats and politicians, with His Excellency Ambassador Sarek
at the top, met the highest representatives of Earth and the
Federation.

	But James T. Kirk had been avoiding this piece of San
Francisco, all the time.

	In the night, after the party, Kirk was lying in bed beside a
sleeping Lori, but his own sleep didn't come.  The night was
beautiful, the sky full of stars.  But those nights he had
feared the most, because they had always had a certain calling
for him: a calling of flying ships, of travellers among the
stars, a calling of their songs about places beyond the horizon.
 Songs which he had forbidden himself to answer, a long time ago.

	But the night was somehow stronger, this time.

	Silently, so as not to awake his wife, Kirk stood up, dressed
himself and went out to the empty streets, without any idea why.
 The sleeping town was strange at this hour, his steps echoed
oddly on  the stones.  But the air coming from the sea smelled
like salt and flowers, tracing slightly his eyelids, his hair,
his face, and  increased the restlessness in him, the urge to
move farther and farther, to surrender fully to the magic of
this night.

	How long did he walk like that?  He didn't know.  But at the
end he stopped right in front of an ancient villa, build in post
empire style, centuries ago.  But even as he recognised the 
building, this time he didn't turn back.  Instead he moved
further, to its gate, captured fully by the magic of this
moment. 

	He stood there just like this, his hand placed on the metallic
ornament, looking through it in the garden.  But his thoughts,
right now, were far away.  He was seeing the ship in his mind,
not his any more, the years, spent at the side of a Vulcan, who
had so unexpectedly left him, without explanation.  He
remembered all the things he wanted at last to say to him, but
never got the chance to do it...

	"Admiral... Admiral Kirk."  A soft voice spoke to him from the
other side of the gate.  A young Vulcan was standing there,
obviously moving so quietly that Kirk didn't hear him.  The
Vulcan bowed his head toward the admiral in a polite greeting: 
"Ambassador Sarek would like to speak with you."  And then he
opened the gate and let the surprised Kirk step in.

	He followed the Vulcan upstairs, then through the dark and
quiet corridors, hearing his noisy steps echoing on the antique
wooden floors under his feet, till they reached the salon, where
he was welcomed by Sarek, surrounded by beautiful gold and white
empire furniture.

	"What am I doing here?" Kirk asked himself the whole time.

	But he bowed back in response and accepted the armchair and the
cup of tea.

	"What is it you want to talk with me about, Ambassador?"

	The Vulcan lifted his eyebrow:  "Really? I thought you wanted
to talk with *me *.  Why did you come then to the embassy?"

	Kirk leaned back in the chair, feeling a little uncomfortable,
and took a sip from his cup.  In the next moment he bitterly
recognised the drink: 

	The sivah'huee tea!

	And another memory went through his head right now: a chess
party during a late evening on the ship, a very overworked
captain having had enough coffee, and his Vulcan first officer 
making tea for him.  He remembered exactly the simple ritual of
pouring water in a pot, whispering a tea mantra and throwing dry
plants into the cups...

	"Admiral..." 

	Oh no, not again.  He shifted a little: "I just remembered,
Spock made this tea for me, when I was too tired to relax."

	"Like this night?"

	Kirk smiled only, but inside he felt his sadness increase.

	"Ambassador...," he went on, but Sarek continued farther.

	His gaze was held somewhere behind Kirk's shoulder: "His
decision to leave Starfleet was the last thing I had ever
expected from him."

	"Really," this time the human lifted his eyebrow, "this
surprises me ambassador, your beliefs about Vulcans in Starfleet
are known to everybody."

	"Yes, but I never expected he would quit and choose... Gol."

	Kirk didn't answer.

	The Vulcan looked at him this time: "All the time I'm asking
myself, why?  Why, after all I have seen on the Enterprise?"

	"What have you seen?"

	"All, admiral... in your faces... in your eyes..."

	This time Kirk put the cup on the table so as not to drop it,
and looked sharply at Sarek. But the old diplomat returned his
look, sure about his words.

	'Was it so obvious?'  He thought.  Perhaps not for everybody. 
But for a skilled diplomat, who can read in the faces of so many
species, it probably was.

	"I'm sorry, Sarek," he said in a small voice, "but he simply
left.  He didn't gave me any chance to tell him, what I wanted
to."

	"You never tried to...?"

	"He was sure in his decision," Kirk answered this time more
aloud,  "I have always thought -- you know your son."

	The ambassador didn't almost smile, but the glint of sadness
was there, in his face. "No, admiral -- I never did."

	"Neither did I.  At least, I thought I knew him, but there is
something inside his mind he is hiding from the whole world."

	The tea got cold... 

	...Kirk stood up:

	"At last, we go on and try to live the best way we know.  Good
night, Ambassador."

Then he bowed to Sarek, who still remained sitting on the sofa,
and walked out of the salon.



	But the peace Kirk found at last after Spock's departure, never
returned after that night.

	This mystery night, his somehow surreal talk with Sarek in the
salon of the embassy, broke the barriers in his mind.  Behind
them he had been hiding the pain of all the losses in his life: 
his father, Gary Mitchell, his brother, Elisabeth Keeler, the
Enterprise, Spock...  And suddenly he could not bear it, he
could not bear his current life, his job, his rank, his marriage.

	Three months after his talk with Sarek, Kirk and Ciani
divorced, and although all people  asked why, neither of them
gave any answer.  Kirk left their penthouse and went to an
anonymous living unit on the other end of San Francisco.  All
that he took with him were his books and his uniforms.

	He stopped going to all the parties, to pretend to meet his
former wife or his former friends.  Instead he buried himself in
his work, knowing only his duties, his meetings, his files, his
computer.

	Only sometimes during the nights, when the stars were shining
in the dark sky, he went out to walk through the empty streets,
and sometimes he also went to the old villa and stood there for
a long time.

	But no one opened the gate anymore...



	"Then suddenly, Bones, a Vulcan woman called me, and told me he
will die."

	"But why, because he refused to mate with her?"

	"Yes."

	"But how did she know you?"  McCoy was nervous, and this
feeling was growing more and more.

	"From her meld with him."

	This time McCoy knelt down in front of Kirk, as he had often
done when he wanted to ask his patient an important question,
and forced his friend to look at him: "Then tell me, Jim, what
do you want to do?"

	Kirk looked at the doctor and as he spoke his voice was steady:

	"*I* will do it."

	McCoy took a breath, but somehow he had known that things would
happen in this way.

"And me, what am I doing here?"

	Kirk put his hand on the docto'rs shoulder and McCoy felt its
fine trembling: "I will need you, my friend.  If something goes
wrong, I will need you here."



	In the night, as the storms of Oih've reached the camp of the
Psaikihsu, by Lhahil'shar, two strangers appeared there almost
from nowhere, and passed the sleeping tents, until they came to 
one in which the light inside was still on.

	"Welcome in my tent," T'Ciall said, as both men stepped inside.



	"Did you know we would come here?" Kirk asked, watching T'Ciall
throw some dry plants into the cups.

	"Not exactly.  I have just tried to bring some things to a
movement.  Your coming here was only one of many possibilities."

	McCoy wanted to say something, but Kirk stopped him with a hand
sign and accepted the cup from T'Ciall's hands.

	"How is he?"  He asked, and T'Ciall understood who was meant by
it.

	"Short time, after my call, he entered the plak-tow.  For two
point five days the ceremony room has been closed.  No one will
enter until he dies."

	McCoy gasped and Kirk looked in his cup, his fingers tightly 
pressed to its walls, the skin on the fine bones getting white. 
"How do you know then if he is...if he is not alive anymore?"

	"The ceremony room", she went on, "will be open always after
three  days. No one ever survived so long."

	McCoy jumped up:" This is...!"

	"Bones!"  Kirk interrupted him, "sit down!"  But McCoy remained
on his feet.  "Sit down, Bones."  This time he said it more
loudly, evidently at the end of his own nerves.

	"Jim -- they simply left him there..."

	But Kirk put down the cup and went to the doctor:  "That's what
we are here for," and his voice was sharp like a knife.  "To
prevent it."   He gestured with his hand toward T'Ciall: "That's
also why she called me."

	He turned his head to the Psaikihha, who was still sitting on
her pillow, her eyes slightly wide, seeing such behaviour for
the first time.

	Kirk let go of McCoy and knelt next to the woman: "T'Ciall," he
went on, trying to calm himself, "for a long time Spock was my
best friend, and I would die for him if necessary, right here,
right now.  But to let him die ...," he took a deep breath and
shook his head, "if he dies and I did not even try to prevent
it, I would never be able to bear myself anymore."

	T'Ciall looked in his eyes, her face motionless: "If a Vulcan
decides to die, it's the duty of the others to respect his
decision."  Kirk wanted to say something, but she shook her head
and continued: "But my clan has been living in the desert since
-- we simply know it has always been so.  To die in Tsusuv is
easy, too easy.  This is the reason why we leave always some
water  behind, in hope the dying one will change his mind."

	For some short moment no one responded...

	Then Kirk said in a small yet steady voice: "T'Ciall, please,
bring us to him."



	In the Tsusuv desert the winds of Oih've increased their speed,
carrying a large mass of red sand toward Lhahil'shar.



	The steps of both humans echoed oddly on the stone floors of
the convent building.  It seemed to Kirk as if the whole
universe was formed only of this dark, empty corridor, the
Vulcan carrying a lamp in her hand and him and McCoy following
behind her.

	During the endless journey from the convent gate to the
ceremony room, he remembered another night, another Vulcan and
another building, yet the mystery atmosphere of this surreal
moment he was captured by was the same.

	And as they reached the heavy door of the ceremony room, Kirk
was certain that if he entered its threshold, his life, however
it all would end, would not be the same any more.



	The room was empty, except for the ceremony mat in the corner,
and some candles that had burned out a long time ago.  Kirk
could barely recognise the shape of a Vulcan, half sitting, half
lying there in the darkness, his wrists bound with ritual chains
to the wall behind him.

"Stay here," he said to McCoy and T'Ciall, "I will tell you,
when you should leave."

	Then he took the lamp from T'Ciall's hand and knelt down
opposite Spock.  The Vulcan was horribly thin, shaking in fever,
which consumed him mercilessly.  His ceremony robe, soaked in
sweat, smelled of blood from the wounds on his wrists.  The
always tidy Vulcan Starfleet officer, who held himself always in
control, had disappeared.  This Vulcan here, on the edge of his
death, was a far cry from him.

	Kirk touched Spock's shoulder, then moved his hand farther to
his neck, his thumb slightly caressing the jaw bone.  And during
the whole time he begged him, in his mind, to open his eyes for
god's  sake.  Spock's face was flushed, his mouth half open, the
lashes spiky with dampness, yet in Kirk's eyes he was unbearably
beautiful.  Then he couldn't stand it any more: he swayed
forward and kissed slightly those closed eyelids.

	The delicate lashes moved under the feathery touch of his lips.
The eyes opened.

	There was madness in Spock's eyes, desire, flames consuming his
whole soul and ... love. And Kirk, looking in those loving eyes,
was sure, that even if he should burn down to ashes at the end
of this night, right now, he would be not able to stop himself.

	And then he kissed Spock's lips hungrily, being welcomed by the
Vulcan's mouth, his tongue, the heat, the wetness inside.  And
Kirk's soul melted in this moment of perfect beauty, and the
intensity of this sensation was so great, he could bear it only
for a little while. 

	He let go of the Vulcan, but not of his focus.  Then he reached
behind Spock's body and released the chains.  And knowing what
would follow in the next moment, he moved a bit back.

	At first nothing happened.  Spock still remained in the same
position, motionless, his gaze still on Kirk...

	"Go," the human said to the doctor and the Psaikihha, his look
never leaving Spock's.

...and then, without warning the Vulcan jumped forward with an
astonishing speed, right on Kirk's body, pinning the human
brutally, mercilessly, at the bottom.

	"Come," T'Ciall took McCoy's hand and dragged them both out of
the room, the heavy door closing behind.

	"...but we can't leave him alone, there with him!"  The doctor
gasped out.

	"Kirk knows what is he doing."  The woman stood just between
McCoy and the door to the room.  "Come, we must leave the
corridor.  They deserve the privacy, not being heard."

	But McCoy didn't make any effort to follow her.

	"T'Ciall, we can't leave right now.  Kirk needs me.  If he
can't bear the mating, there must be someone, who will get him
out of there."

	"Doctor, the rule of the privacy..."

	"You don't understand!"  McCoy shook his head," Kirk is there
inside with a mad Vulcan, who is much stronger than him, and I,
as a  doctor, am responsible for them both.  I must stay here
for help.  We both must stay here for help!"

	T'Ciall fought in her mind between Vulcan rules and the
doctor's logic.  Finally she bowed her head in acknowledgement.

	And then they sat down on the floor, listening to the noisy
sounds behind the door.  To the concert of passionate
lovemaking, to all the sobs, gasps, moans and cries.  There were
garments being torn apart, bodies falling down.  Voices, which
becoming rough through the desire, were crying out each other's
names, faster, louder, until this all exploded in a crescendo of
their orgasms, and then turned into the silence of the
aftermath... 

	...and then this all began again.



	Outside the convent building the sand storm reached the camp of
the Psaik'ihev clan, lifting their tents, scattering their
things, turning the whole world into chaos. And as the morning
came, nothing was the same in the camp...

	...and not even in T'Pau's mind, as she appeared with a group
of the priests to open the ceremony room, and found McCoy and
T'Ciall, sleeping in front of the door.



	There was light in his mind, a whisper of dreams which were not
his, a soft chaos of thoughts, different, confusing, full of
emotions...

	Spock woke up to the room bathed in sun, wondering at first,
'why is the world around me not dim green any more?'  He sat up,
his muscles stiff, aching.  He looked around in disbelief, his
mind fully clear now, despite this somehow not Vulcan presence
within him.

	He saw the mat, the candles, pieces of clothes torn apart and
spread around the room, a naked human body beside him...

	...and he understood. 

	He didn't know how long he stared at the exhausted form of
Kirk, sleeping on the stone floor.  How long he watched his
bruised back, his legs and arms full of blue spots, the bites on
the neck.  How long it took for Spock, until he recognised his
own nakedness, the delicate wounds on his own body, unmistakable
marks of returned passion.

	The gentle echo of Kirk's dreams in his mind... like soft,
shiny tendrils of light, touching Spock's soul in places, where
no one had touched him before, a sensation which made him almost
cry.

	Almost...

	Then the urge to control and suppress, for many years the main
part of him, returned, merciless, and he, obeying always its
order, dragged this shiny presence out of his mind, building the
walls of defence, raising his shields.  And when he was sure of
his composure, he touched the human on his arm and shook him
slightly.

	Kirk awoke to the painful sensation of damaged ribs and the
thought that nothing he had ever experienced before could be
compared with last night.  Feeling those warm fingers on his 
arm, he opened his eyes and smiled at Spock.

	"How are you, admiral?"

	Admiral?  Kirk's smile faded a little.  "Hey Spock, it's me."

	"Can you stand up?"  Again this question, spoken aloud in a dry
tone of polite, emotionless concern.

	Yet Kirk, although puzzled, let Spock help him to get to his
feet.  Unsteady at first, he tried to stand by himself.  Yes. 
He even managed to take some steps.  But his muscles, his whole
body, ached with every movement.  Especially his ribcage.  He
remembered those frantic hugs hours ego, the hot arms much
stronger than his own, which had held him so tightly.

	He tried to pick up some of his clothes, or rather, the pieces
of fabric which was his shirt just yesterday, when the pain went
through his body like a knife, and he swayed forward.

But Spock caught him, held him gently, yet tight enough to
prevent him falling again.

	There was something here, in Kirk's mind, that was
automatically focused toward another presence, but somehow
returned back unanswered.

	"Spock, what is it?"

	The Vulcan didn't respond, only let go of him, looked down.

	Kirk hadn't expected such behaviour from Spock, better say he
hadn't even thought about the next morning.  Not yesterday.  But
this silence, this distance...  No, that was even more worse
than he could have imagined.

	"Spock, say something for god's sake."

	"Why?"  Was the only word the Vulcan could say.

	"Why?"  An gasp of disbelief, "you were dying.  Can't you
remember?"

	"Your sacrifice was illogical, admiral.  The person who let you
in, whomever he or she was, has gone against Vulcan rules."

	"I don't care a damn about Vulcan rules!"  Kirk got angry, his
rage growing with every spoken word.  Much faster than he was
used to, but at this moment he refused to think any further
about it.  "But this was not a sacrifice of me, Spock."

	...the door behind the Vulcan opened.  Some persons were
standing there, looking in...

	"I wanted it." Kirk went on, "I wanted to do it... as much as
you did."

	Did he know how beautiful he was?  Spock looked at Kirk's face,
fully unguarded now, those bruised lips, those eyes growing wide
and vulnerable, and he felt his control start to slip away.  But
he held to it even more tightly.  His head held high, his voice
cold, he said:

	"There wasn't any other choice for me."

	At those words Kirk understood.

	"There wasn't any choice for you?"  He cried out, and Spock
could hear the unshed tears behind Kirk's words.  "There wasn't
any choice for me!  You never gave me any.  You simply left,
without saying why, without letting me ask you to stay."

	Spock opened his mouth but Kirk cut him off.

	"Spare your logical words for the monks in the Gol," he
continued.  "As one of my people would say: it was nice being
with you, Spock.  I'll see you in seven years."

	And then, ignoring the fact that he was fully naked, he went to
the door, passed the group of stunned priests standing there,
and stalked out.

	Spock turned after him and in this moment he recognised too,
that they were not alone in the ceremony room.  He met the eyes
of T'Pau, which were frowning in deep disagreement. 

	Yes she saw all, heard all.

	He wanted to apologise for Kirk's behaviour, and his own as
well, to her. 

	But the old woman cut him off in an icy tone: "Later."



	McCoy examined Kirk's body, healing his wounds, cuts and
bruises, fixing his damaged ribs.  And his sorrow grew worse,
for Kirk said nothing during the whole examination.  He remained
still, lying on the bed, not making any comments about the
doctor, showing no signs of impatience, as he would have in
earlier days.

	His own work finished, the doctor helped his friend into a
white robe, which the convent priests brought to the room, and
covered him with the blanket.

	"Jim, do you want to eat or drink something?" he asked, softly.
But Kirk only shook his head.  "Then should I stay here, or do
you wish to be alone for a while.?"

	"Let me alone for a while, Bones.  I'll call you, when I'm
ready to talk."

	And McCoy obeyed his friend's wish.  He went out, and outside,
in the hall, he met T'Pau and T'Ciall waiting there.

	"Nothing serious," he said to both women.  "Only some bruises
and so..., even the ribs were not so bad as I thought at first.
But emotionally...," there he shook his head in sorrow.

T'Ciall did not understand although the translator in her hand
had done its work.  "What do you mean with the last word?"

	"I wanted to say, that his soul is wounded too.  I can heal a
physical wound easily, with a protoplaser, but to heal the soul
of someone who has fallen in love and got hurt by it, will take 
a long time."

	She nodded, then she turned to T'Pau: "While you talk with
Spock, I will return to my people."  And then back to McCoy:
"Doctor, it would be an honour for me, if you would be a  guest
in my tent."

	McCoy hesitated.

	"Accept T'Ciall's proposal, McCoy."  T'Pau said.  "As you have 
said, you have done all you could and for the rest, perhaps I
can do something." 

	She sighed then: "I owe it to Kirk, anyway," and she made a bow
toward them.

	The man and the woman bowed to her in response and then
together they left the convent.



	T'Pau was an old woman and for twenty point six three years
now, the oldest in her family.  But she still never met one
among her people, who was destined for a t'hy'la.  Even her
grandmother, who  had died at the age of 267 years when she,
T'Pau was only seven years old,  had met no one like that,
during all of her long life.

	This was a rare thing among Vulcans, yet respected and held for
almost a holy one.  A friendship beyond any price, a love which,
being enflamed once, remains burning for ever.

	Life was not easy today on Vulcan, but in the past full of wars
it had been a hell.  But even the oldest legends told stories
about men and women, of friendship which, grown deeper than the
usual concept, become special through the mating, through the
shared bond between them.

	And T'Pau had been sure, that she too, like her grandmother,
would tell to the children of her clan: "Yes, they exist but I
have never seen them for myself."

	But there, right now in front of her eyes, stood one of them, a
member of her family, even special in his own existence, who had
chosen a non Vulcan as his bondmate.

	Yes, he had chosen him.  Despite the words spoken between them
this morning.  His body, in the heat of pon farr, although
Spock's mind denied it still, knew better. 

	'And he knows it', she thought angrily, looking at Spock, 'and
still he fights against it, resolutely and without mercy he
refuses the unmistakable part of him.'  And she was sure, she
must do something for them both, for the bond she had sensed so
clearly between them, for Kirk, who had left all behind, stepped
out already onto the path.  But alone he could never stand it.

	"I want to apologise to you T'Pau," said the Vulcan standing in
front of her.

	"Apologise?  For what, Spock?  For the emotional behaviour of a
human, who by the rules of his species, is only right to be
angry at you?"

	Spock lifted his eyebrow. "I don't understand."

	" 'Never provoke willingly the emotions of a human.'  Your
mother told me this one day, when I asked her how to behave in
the presence of her people."

	"My mother is a wise woman."

	"Yes she is.  But I could not say the same about her son."

	Spock looked up, desperately trying to make his gaze less
sharp.  But T'Pau had seen it. "Even today," she went on, "I was
sure that I would find only your dead body in the ceremony
room...   But I found a t'hy'la beside you."  She stepped a
little closer to him: "Spock, when you told me your Time was
coming again, when you asked me to find a new mate for you, you
knew that you would fail.  Didn't you?"

	Spock stiffened a little: "No, I didn't."  He bit his underlip:
"I hoped I wouldn't fail."

	"Which almost cost your life.  But even now, after all, you
still refuse to acknowledge the fact that not only did he want
it, you wanted it, too."

	Spock turned away, but T'Pau continued mercilessly: "T'Ciall
has seen the truth about you and Kirk, in the flame of your
fever.  She was the one who called him here."

	Spock stirred. "It was not her right.  My decision to die was
clear."

	"T'Ciall is a Psaikihha."  T'Pau continued in her arguments,
"you know that her people have always left water next to a dying
one, in hope that he would change his mind."

	He remained still, with his back to her.  But she didn't care
this time.  She walked around him, till she stood face to face
with him, and forced him to look at her: "Spock, why?  Kirk came
here from Earth, he left his friends, his work, even his rank to
get here, not knowing what would happen next, if he would be
able to save your life and survive without damage..."

No response from this stubborn mind...

	"...I want to help you both.  But I cannot if I don't know
how..."

	No reaction.  Spock simply stood in front of her, looking down
at his feet, saying nothing. And then she knew, she had lost the
battle.   She turned to leave...

	"...not enough."

	...wait, was he saying something?  She stopped in the middle of
her movement...

	"I would never refuse Kirk." 	And then he added, in a small
voice: "Even if it means to be not enough for the others..."

	"Not enough what, Spock?"

	"Not Vulcan enough."

	T'Pau looked at him in disbelief.  Never, since she knew that
Sarek and Amanda would have a son, had she doubted that this
special child could become something different.  Despite the
fact that Sarek decided to rise him as a Vulcan, and his human
wife agreed with him.

	And suddenly there was a movement in Spock's body: he lifted
his head a little higher, his shoulders got a little more
straight, his eyes focused directly at T'Pau, daring her.  'That
is not from his father', she thought.  For she remembered, she
had seen this movement before, being made by a more delicate
throat, by shoulders much smaller than Spock's.  She remembered 
exactly this look, which the blue eyes of Amanda Grayson gave to
the other family members, challenging them.

	And right now her son stood in front of T'Pau, in a posture
eerily reminiscent of his mother, announcing to her and to the
whole world, that he surrendered to his human half.  She sighed,
feeling suddenly tired.   He was so difficult... 

	...or are only the things around him difficult?



	She made a half step toward Spock and took his forearm.  And
from one moment to another she was in his mind.  No she didn't
step in, or even announce she would do it.   Her presence simply
appeared inside of him.  Powerful, logical, becoming stronger
through years of experience.  More skilled than his own.

	*show me *, she urged him, with her thoughts.

	...and he showed her his childhood, being lonely in the crowd
of his school mates, who had only cruel words for a half blood...

	*show me *

	...misunderstandings with his father, who guided him
mercilessly  toward perfection, never told his son if he had
done something right or not...

	*show me *

	...his best friend dying under his hands, T'Pring's cold words,
saying clearly her judgement, never caring about the
consequences he would have to bear thereafter...

	...travels among the stars, humans, who accepted him as he
was...friends he was ready to die for..  truth about himself, he
had tried to suppress through his life in Gol.

	...pain... unshed tears...

	...loneliness, he could not bear any more...

	...fear...

	They were both now in the place where the bond had been formed
the night before.  She watched the fine mental line disappearing
into barriers within Spock's mind.

	*is this, what thee fear?* she asked.  Nothing in response, but
T'Pau's mind knew the answer anyway. 

	With sharp mental tendrils she penetrated the wall.  A ray of
light came through.

	*is this the mind of a human?*  She asked again.

	*i don't know if of all of them are like this, t'pau, but it's
kirk's mind...*

	And suddenly she found the right words she had so desperately
searched for the whole time:

	*don't thee see, vulcan?*

	...flash...

	... and they were both back in the room again...

	"Don't you see?"  She repeated, aloud this time.  "James Kirk
is your human half."  She loosened his forearm... her gaze never
left him.  "Let's go, Spock.  Let the light come in your mind
which belongs to you."

	And the Vulcan obeyed.  He opened the door between his and
Kirk's mind, let the shields crash down, let the shiny
brightness flow inside of himself.  And the intensity of it was
so great, he almost couldn't bear it. He couldn't prevent the
quiet sob escaping him, the tears in his eyes...

	...and T'Pau had seen it all, and she understood...

	"I will call your parents, and tell them about your successful
bonding."

	Spock bowed his head in respect:

	"I thank you, t'kahr T'Pau."

	"Not at all, Spockkam."



	He was beautiful, just lying there, sleeping.

	Spock knelt beside the bed.  He watched the long lashes, the
tousled hair, the traces of tears drying on his cheeks.

	"Jim," he whispered softly and bent down to kiss him.  The 
mouth under his lips moaned slightly, the eyes flew open, and
Kirk entwined his hands around Spock's neck, responding to the
kiss, unsteady at first, then more hungrily.

	"Why did you do that to me?" finally he asked the Vulcan, his
arms around him, their foreheads touching.  "Why did you hurt me
at first and then come back, to kiss me like that?"  He closed
his eyes, more tears flowing down his face.  But he held on to
him desperately, unable to let go of him.

	"Because I was wrong, Jim.  Forgive me..."

	Both men held each other tightly for a while.

	"Please, tell me, what changed your mind?"

	Spock sighed and loosened the embrace.  But he remained
kneeling beside Kirk, looking up at him.

	What should he tell his friend?  All his doubts about himself? 
About being convinced by a Vulcan, that he is at last enough,
that he has been so, all the time?  No -- not yet.  It was still
too  soon to tell, what he was hiding the whole of his life.  He
took Kirk's hand in his own: "I'm sorry, Jim, but I can't tell
you, yet.  But I will.  One day, I promise you, I will tell you
all."

	Kirk only nodded, slightly squeezing those fine boned fingers
in response.

	"I want", Spock went on, looking down at the beloved face, "to
tell you only one thing: I was wrong, all the time I was wrong
about me, about us. ... I'm a fool."

	Kirk smiled at him: "Yes, you are, but I love you anyway."

	And then he swayed forward, falling into Spock's arms, and the
Vulcan caught him. Together they sank to the floor, Spock lying
down, Kirk covering him with his own body, his eyes so near.

	"Spock..." he said the name.  Just to speak it aloud.

	"Jim... t'hy'la."



	McCoy and T'Ciall walked through the sandy streets of
Lhahil'shar.

"Doctor", said the young woman, "you humans have many illogical
sayings in your language."  She looked at McCoy, her eyes still
somehow puzzled, her eyebrow lifting: "for example: 'to fall in 
love.'"

	In another day, in an another place, with another Vulcan, McCoy
would have made a sarcastic comment about Vulcan logic versus
human emotions, but not today.  Perhaps because he felt suddenly
tired, he decided to be patient with the Psaikihha for now.

	"It is meant this way," he tried to explain, "that to come to
someone and to say to him: 'I love you', is as difficult as to
jump down an abyss.  It's a risk we fear more than any other,
because in the moment of falling one doesn't possess any
defences.  And if the other doesn't catch us, we will crash down
to the bottom   Helpless to prevent it, the mind is unguarded,
and the pain thereafter is great.  In the end, we do survive --
but it is hard."

	T'Ciall cocked her head: "So much for a human to bear at once?"

	"Yes, that's what we humans are.  And when the time comes, we
do it again."

	T'Ciall's look was focused somewhere to the building on the end
of the street, remembering the dead father of her son.

	"Times have changed on Vulcan, centuries ego," she
responded,"but my clan still remains faithful to the traditions
and rules of the desert.  There were many in the past, who were
coming to us, telling to my people, we should leave the way of
our ancestors.   For to live in the desert, where one can die so
easy, should be against the rules of respect for all life.  But
we have always refused their arguments and never left our way.

	"Every year, when we leave the town and return to Tsusuv, we
never know what will happen the next year, if we will meet again
in another year or not.  But as you have said: that's what we
Psaikihsu are."

	"You are a wise woman, T'Ciall."

	"You honour me, doctor."

	McCoy smiled.

	The street changed into a sandy road, which they walked on to
the camp.   But when they arrived there, they found only chaos.



	"I want to see you."

	"I'm here, Jim."

	"No, I want to *see* you..."  Kirk tugged impatiently at
Spock's robe.  "Where is the fastening, dammit?!"

	Spock gathered the human in his arms, stood up and dropped a
surprised Kirk on the bed. Then he lifted his hands to a place
somewhere on his right shoulder, loosened something, and then
the robe slid down to his feet.

	"So...?"  He asked, a little amused, but Kirk did not respond,
just kept staring at the lean body in front of him.

	"Jim."

	Kirk stirred, then gestured with his hand: "Come here and lay
down," he said, gently.

	Spock obeyed.

	*you are beautiful* said the human fingers on his skin, as Kirk
traced Spock's shoulders. He drew his palms down the slender yet
strong arms, taking Spock's hands in his.  *beautiful *

	He remembered those fine boned fingers, typing data into the
computer, fixing damaged machines, playing the ka'athyra,
caressing the black fur of a cat.  How he had wished to hold
them, to kiss them...  He did it, at first on the right hand,
then on the left.

	The long fingers moved and touched Kirk's temple, slipping down
to the jaw bone in one long feathery touch.  Spock sat up and
kissed  Kirk's mouth, opening his robe, pulling it down,
revealing the shoulders, then the chest, the arms...let it slide
down off bed.

	"No, Jim," he said aloud, looking at this perfect body in front
of him, "you are beautiful." And then he kissed him again.

	Kirk laid his palms on Spock's chest and forced him, gently, to
lay down, and then he started to kiss his throat, the furry
chest, to bite the dark nipples, the left one at first and then
the right.  He moved his mouth farther down Spock's belly, past
his round  navel, after he licked at it for a while.  He took
the fine olive skin on Spock's hipbones between his teeth,
squeezing it  slightly, feeling the Vulcan's penis grow, under
his touch.

	He interrupted for a moment and lifted his head, to see Spock's
face.  He saw his skin,  green flushed through the pleasure, his
eyes closed, his mouth open, quiet sobs escaping him.

"Spock, look at me..."

	...the black eyes flickered open, full of light, and unguarded
in naked worship...

	"I will show you, how beautiful you are," Kirk whispered. 
"Turn over."

	And the Vulcan did... 

	And then he felt again those sensuous lips, this time somewhere
between his shoulder blades, moving down the back of his spine,
leaving wet traces behind, gently biting the skin on the small
of  his back, slipping farther down to...

	"Oh..."

	...he moaned aloud as he felt the wet tongue touching him in
his most secret place.  And again, and again...

	He felt his erection grow even farther, becoming hard under
Kirk's gentle torture.  He had never realised how much he had
yearned to be loved like this, until now.

	There were a pillow under his stomach; he didn't even remember
the soft urge to lift up his hips a little.  There were the
hands of  his human between his thighs, moving them further
apart. Then those palms were on his waist, holding him there,
and a question was spoken in a quiet voice: 	"Spock...?"

	"Yes," he responded, wanting it, badly.

	And Kirk slipped gently into his body, and it let him.  How hot
the Vulcan was inside, how tight!  Kirk stopped, he just stayed
there like that at first, holding this slender body, his own 
forehead pressed against Spock's back.  Savouring the
bittersweet sensation of being joined with him, at last...

	And then Spock felt him move... 

	and again... 

	...and faster.

	There were fingers around his penis, stroking it.  There were
kisses on his neck, sobs and moans -- he couldn't tell who they
came from.  He touched the bond in his mind, and felt the golden
wave of brightness flowing into his soul, blinding him, taking
him over the edge.  And he fell into the sea of light, bathing
in it...

	It was a long journey back, to reality.  He was still lying on
his stomach, the weight of Kirk on his back.  He turned his head
aside, but at first, he couldn't say anything.

	The human lifted his head.

	"I love you," an exhausted whisper came, finally, from the
Vulcan.

	"Spock...?"

	"Yes Jim -- I love you."



	The whole day McCoy helped to rebuild the tents, to search the
sand for lost things, to calm down the herds of hlavats, to
transport water and food from Lhahil'shar to the camp, to divide
it in rations and bring them to the people.  And finally, when
the healer of the Psaikihsu got hurt by an frantic animal, he
adjusted his protoplaser to Vulcan norms and continued the work
of his colleague.

	At the end of the day he was sitting in T'Ciall's tent, sipping
his tea and thanking god for his decision to go to Starfleet
many years ego, to get all the xenobiological experiences he had
used today. 

	The curtains of the tent lifted up and some grave Psaikihsu
stepped in, bowed to T'Ciall and McCoy.  And the doctor, already
used to it, bowed back in response, almost automatically.

	"Doctor," stated an old Psaikihha, "we want to honour your
presence in our camp.  Please accept our invitation to
mnani'khut."

	McCoy looked at T'Ciall.  "Mnani'khut is an old tradition in my
clan," she explained. "It's a story telling.  Every time a guest
comes to us from a place out of Tsusuv, he is asked by my clan
to tell stories of his people.  This has always helped us to
understand each other."

	"I don't know if I'm a good story teller, T'Ciall."

	"That's not what matters.  It is the story that counts.  And
besides," there was the characteristic Vulcan not-quite-smile in
her eyes, "I imagined something different, as you have explained
some things to me this morning."

	McCoy sighed, giving up, put the empty cup down and went out of
the tent.

	There were a large group of Psaikihsu sitting on pillows in a
circle, with the camp fire in the middle.  One pillow remained
empty for the doctor.  The human sat down and looked around,
feeling somehow uneasy, being the middle of the focus of so many
Vulcans.  He recognised T'Pau, also here among the desert people.

	The night sky was full of stars, and T'Khut, hidden below the
horizon this time, lent the dark sky some of her red shine. 
McCoy breathed the dry, hot air, which smelled of sand  and
spice, and then he remembered other nights, hot and damp, full
of the heavy scent of flowers and the water of Mississippi.  He
remembered the evenings, spent on the terrace of the house of
his  aunt, listening to stories, which were old like the world
itself...

	"In times," he went on, "when the world was still young, just
made by the hands of gods, there weren't still any humans here. 
Instead there were some creatures with two heads, four legs,
four arms and one soul.  How long they lived there, nobody
knows, but however this was, it lasted until the day when one of
those creatures offended the gods.  And their rage was so great,
that they decided to punish them all. 

	"Using the flash, they parted those beings in two halves.  And
from one moment to another there were humans born to the world. 
With one head, two legs, two arms... and only one half of the 
soul.

	"Since this day, we are all searching for the other part, which
we have been parted from. Searching for the other halves of
ourselves.  Because we know exactly, alone as we are now, we
can't live for long.  So we try to find, although we sometimes
fail.  But  anyway... after all, we start to search farther. 

	"For only then, joined with the other half of our soul, we are
sure, we have become one again.

	"This is our way, the way of the humans."

	"Indeed," T'Pau said.



	T'Ciall met both Kirk and Spock, on the terrace of the convent
building.  A priest arrived in her tent this morning and asked
her to come with him.

	The time of Oih've had passed by, and finally ended with the
big sand storm, which turned so unpleasant for the clan.  But
anyway the time was coming to take the tents down, to pack all
possessions, and to return back to Tsusuv for the rest of the
year.

	She greeted both men, and spoke out the traditional bonding
congratulation.

The human smiled, a little flushed in his face, which was still
fully unguarded, filled with the emotions increased through the
bond.

	"I want to thank you, T'Ciall," Spock said seriously, his
behaviour fully in control again despite the light in his eyes,
which wasn't there before.

	"What do you want to thank me for, Spock?"

	"For leaving water beside me."

	"I have only done, what a Psaikihha would always do." T'Ciall
answered.

	And as she left, she saw, with the corner of her eye, the
Vulcan stretching out two fingers, and the human touching them
with his own.



	Finally all were ready to leave, the tents were put on the
cars, the hlavats held together in a large herd.  The place
where the camp had been before was oddly empty, now.  But no one
mentioned  it.

	For the last time T'Ciall turned to the convent building, and
sent an old mental signal of the desert people toward it.  She
got the  answer immediately.  An echo of a logical Vulcan mind,
wrapped in the warm brightness of human emotions.

	Then she looked in the direction where Tsusuv welcomed her...

	The large group of cars, animals and people started to move...

	And the Psaik'ihev clan returned to the desert.



End of the whole
story.
-----------------------------------------------------------


 G'Kar to Drazi: "A rodenberry is something you eat?" (konezny)