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Through Blind Men's Eyes

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Title: Through Blind Men's Eyes
Author: [info]ladyblahblah 
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, others
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: You think I own anything?  Have you seen my car?  Nothing is mine but the Noctaens and the plot, but I'm pretty sure no one's gonna fight me on that.
A/N: OMGYG IT'S THE FINAL PART!  (And cotton candy has nothin' on this.  Don't say I didn't warn you about the excess of sugary fluff.)  I just want to take a moment to say thank you so, so much for everyone who's read and commented and encouraged and pestered up through now.   Your attention and your enthusiasm have been so very, very appreciated.  You have no idea.  I hope this last part doesn't disappoint . . . buy hey, I gave you pon farr sex already, so don't say I never did anything for you. XD  I felt bad for using Bones as a convenient punching bag all through this fic, so he finally gets a bit of a moment here.  And . . . I think that's it . . . here we go!  (I have finally finished something that's not a one-off!  Landmark moment!)
Summary: The obligatory Pon Farr story . . . with a bit of a twist.



Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5Part 6Part 7Part 8Part 9




The first thing Kirk was aware of, when he came back to himself, was that his entire body ached.  He was sore in places he hadn’t even known existed, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he could move.  Luckily, he didn’t feel terribly inclined to try.  There were hands moving over him, warm fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin.  No, not warm, hot, and as that realization hit another came swiftly on its heels and he opened his eyes to see—


Spock, pointy ears, green-flushed skin and all.  Which meant . . .

“How?”  Kirk’s voice sounded like gravel, and his heart thudded—in his chest again, damn that felt strange now—as Spock’s fingers tightened briefly on his hip.

“I believe the meld we shared served as the Noctaens implied it would.  When a link was created between us our minds were able to use it to return us to our own bodies.”

Kirk thought that over for a moment.  “You sound like you’re handling things pretty well.  I was pretty much at the fire bad, sex good stage when I was in you.”  The words and their multiple implications made his face flush.  Spock’s hand came up to chase the color across his cheekbone.

“I believe the worst of the fever has passed.  Though I am finding it . . . difficult . . . to stop touching you.”

“So don’t try,” Kirk said, seizing Spock’s wrist in a loose grasp and brushing a feather-light kiss across his fingertips.  “You don’t have to stop.  In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Spock’s eyes were locked on Kirk’s lips, tracing their shape as they curled against his fingers.  “It would be wise for both of us to rest for a time.”

“Yeah.”  Kirk flicked his tongue out and watched Spock’s pupils widen, felt the flare of his desire hot in his own blood, edging out his body’s ache.  “Are we going to take the wise course of action?”

“In the time that I have known you, we rarely have,” Spock breathed out.  He rolled suddenly until his weight was pressing Kirk farther into the mattress.  “I see no reason to deviate from form.”

They came up for air some time later, and this time Spock was insistent Kirk refrain from provoking him at least long enough to get some sort of food and drink.  Since his mouth had completely dried out and his stomach was rumbling constantly in protest, Kirk agreed.  He let Spock program something into the replicator for him while he sat at his desk, drinking his third glass of water and taking stock of his physical state.

“We should probably comm Bones,” he said, prodding at a series of bite marks that ran from his stomach to his hipbone.  Had he done that?  He couldn’t remember.  “He’s probably going apoplectic not knowing whether we’re alive or dead in here.”

“I am sure that Dr. McCoy has been monitoring us using the ship’s life support system,” Spock said without turning around.  “He will be aware of our continued health.”

“Since when has something like that ever stopped him from worrying?” Kirk laughed.  “He’ll feel better if he can see for himself that we’re both still all in one piece.”

“Jim.”  Spock turned, holding a plate piled high with a thick steak, potatoes and a small mountain of steamed vegetables.    He set it in front of Kirk and took a moment, visibly composing himself.  “I must apologize.  I am still rather . . .”  His eyes swept over Kirk’s body, and he set his teeth against a new wave of lust that threatened to swamp him.  “If you are to speak with the doctor, I must insist that you reclothe yourself first.  I do not care for the idea of him seeing you in such a state.”

“‘Such a state’?”  Kirk couldn’t wait a second longer, and began cutting eagerly into his steak.  “Do you mean naked, or covered in your marks?”  He loaded up his fork.  “Or both?” 

Spock made a low sound at the back of his throat and took an aborted step forward.  “This is not a wise time to bait me, Jim.”

“Sorry.”  Kirk swallowed heavily, a slippery ball of need forming in his stomach at the dangerous undertones in Spock’s voice.  “I’ll finish eating and put on some clothes, and then we’ll check in.  Just long enough to keep him from bursting in here to check on us, how does that sound?”

Spock took a deep breath through his nose and nodded sharply.  “Satisfactory.”

Kirk tore into his food with relish.  It felt as though he hadn’t eaten in days.  Actually, once he thought of it, he realized that he wasn’t entirely sure how long they had even been in this room together.  Time had seemed to liquefy and run at some point, and for all he knew the two of them could indeed have spent days inside of each other.  He was fairly sure that wasn’t the case, if only because they hadn’t had to deal with McCoy’s panicked interference, but the fact that he didn’t know for sure was somewhat unsettling.

He opted to slip the Vulcan robe back on, slightly tattered though it had become, rather than going to the trouble of donning a uniform.  It was comfortable, airy and light even in the sweltering heat of his quarters.  The possessive thrill that sparked in Spock’s eyes upon seeing him in it was just a delightful bonus.

To Kirk’s complete lack of surprise, McCoy answered the hail to his office almost immediately.  “Hey, Bones,” Kirk said with a grin, trying to fend of the guilt that wanted to rise at the sight of his friend’s haggard face.  “Man, you look like hell.”

“Jim?” McCoy croaked out, his eyes going so wide that Kirk was briefly afraid that they might simply fall right out of his head.  “You’re . . .?”

“Alive?” Kirk guessed.  “Me?  Right on both counts.”  He felt Spock move to stand behind him.  “We just wanted to let you know that there’s no need to send in the cavalry.”

“I was about to, if I hadn’t heard from you in another hour.”  McCoy ran a hand over his face and glared, but his color was beginning to return.  “You’ve been scaring the ever-holy hell out of me, you know.  I want the both of you in here for a comprehensive examination, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Understood, Doctor,” Spock said before Kirk could respond.  “We will report to Sickbay as soon as my fever has fully run its course.”

“As soon as—you mean to tell me it’s still going on?”  McCoy stared.  “You’ve been in there practically twenty-four hours!”

“Indeed.  Pon farr lasts, on average, three point oh five seven Earth Standard days.”  He reached forward as though to cut off the communication, but McCoy’s voice stopped him.

“Hold it right there, you . . . all right.”  He rubbed a hand over his brow.  “Okay, fine, you have your little hedonistic Vulcan honeymoon, but you’re both in my Sickbay the second it’s over.  I mean it.  You don’t so much as sneeze before you head down here.”  He grabbed a PADD and started scribbling something on it.  “I’m putting together a kit,” he muttered.  “Painkillers, muscle relaxants.  Don’t worry,” he said with a wry look, “all screened for acceptance by the Jim Kirk Immune System.  I’m gonna leave it in your—in Spock’s quarters.  Use it.  I’ll know if you haven’t.”

“All right, Bones.”  Heat was building at the back of Kirk’s mind again, and he was more than ready to end the call.  “Will do.”

“Try not to take any more stupid risks, either,” McCoy snapped.

“We won’t.”

“And get plenty of fluids.”

Kirk had to grin at that.  “Way ahead of you, Bones,” he leered, and snapped off the screen.  “Well,” he said, sitting back with a sigh, “I think that went—HEY!”

Spock carried his squirming captain back to the bed and threw him onto it, knocking the breath from his lungs in a sudden rush.  A moment later he was there, doing his best to divest them both of their clothing without breaking their mouths apart.

“I did not like,” he growled against Kirk’s jaw, “the way he spoke to you.”

“Like I was a crazy person?” Kirk panted, trying to shove Spock’s pants off of his hips.

“As though you were his to look after.”  Spock was having better luck with Kirk’s clothes, and his hands were already sweeping over bare skin.  “You are mine.”

The only response that Kirk could manage for a moment was an eager whimper.  “So tell me,” he gasped when Spock paused to bat Kirk’s hands away and shed his own clothes, “this possessive, jealous thing you’ve got going on right now.  Is that strictly a pon farr thing?”

“I am usually able to control these urges.  However, I am finding that at the moment,” he said, leaning down to indulge in a hot, breathless kiss, “I do not care to try.”

“Well.”  Kirk arched up and wrapped his legs around Spock’s waist.  “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy it while it lasts, then.”

Quite a while later Kirk was flying high on the hypos Bones had delivered and the slow, rhythmic strokes of Spock’s hands over his back.  It seemed that he could actually feel the cuts and bruises mending as the ointment soaked into his skin.  Kirk couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so quietly content; he didn’t know that he ever had.  Spock’s fever was abating, settled to a low, simmering warmth now.  It felt comforting.  Reassuring.

“So, Spock.”  Kirk’s words came out half-slurred, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little at the sound.  He was just so damned relaxed.  He stretched languidly as Spock’s hands moved down to his waist.  “What aren’t you telling me?”

Spock’s touch stuttered for a moment before it resumed its languid strokes.  “Many things, I would presume.  I must ask you to specify.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Kirk chided, but didn’t try to move out from under Spock’s hands.  “I thought at first that it was just the aftermath of the switch, but it’s not, is it?  I’m still getting an echo of how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking.  Like right now.  You’re really nervous all of a sudden.”  He groaned when Spock dug his fingers in on either side of his spine, working out the lingering tension there.  “You know what’s going on.  I can feel it.  Did something go wrong?”

“Not . . . as such,” Spock said hesitantly.  He leaned closer, and a moment later Kirk felt warm lips skating over the back of his neck.

“Mmm.  That’s not fair,” he protested.  “I’m trying to have a . . . a serious conversation here.”

Spock’s hand moved lower, and soon a single slick finger was pressing inside of the Human beneath him.  “This might not be the best time for this discussion.”

“Humor me,” Kirk breathed out.  “But don’t stop doing that.  Why can I feel you . . . in my, um . . .”  Spock added a second finger, his movements still unbearably slow and gentle.  “In my head,” Kirk finally managed to finish.  “It’s because of what happened that first time we melded, isn’t it?”

Spock pulled his hand away, and Kirk’s dismay was short-lived before he felt Spock pressing inside, thick and heavy and oh, so hot.  “You were inexperienced in the process of joining two minds.”  He began to move, slow deep thrusts that had Kirk’s thoughts splintering.  “And I could not exert enough control to help you.”

“Show me,” Kirk heard himself beg.  He reached down and peeled one of Spock’s hands away from where it was gripping his hip, brought it up to his face.  “Please.”

Yes,” Spock gasped, and then his fingers were moving into place, and Kirk shivered at the now-familiar feeling of Spock’s mind sliding into his.

For long moments there is simply joy, the comfort of returning to this, this place this feeling so goodperfectright.  His mind their mind onetogetherwarmhome.  Whole again after being fragmented, never want to leave, stay like this always and forever.

Then gentle pressure, guiding, leading towards the Spockpart, deep down past memories and knowledge, faces facts figures words.  Into the core, where the sense of him is strongest, almost Spock instead of us

Rubble here, like a city that’s been carpet bombed, almost everything destroyed.  A few remain, so very few.  And there, in the very center, like a circle of ash, emptiness where it’s most vital to be whole.

A sense of calm logic, cool beauty and cooler dismissal.  Gone now.  Irretrievable.


But there, in the midst of the rubbleashemptiness, something bright and new.  Like green leaves and sunlight and bright fresh new life.  Tender and young and fragile, but growing still, growing stronger, and it resonates with Spock and Kirk and us and it’s beautiful.

I did this?




Kirk took an unsteady breath and let his sense of himself filter back as Spock’s fingers lifted away.  The sheets beneath him were wet with his release; his body was languid, boneless.  Spock’s breath was warm on the back of his neck, his body heavy where it lay over him.  Kirk felt him tremble once, and then that weight rolled away, leaving Spock sprawled on the bed next to him.  With the last of his strength Kirk managed to turn his head to see that Spock had one arm draped across his eyes, blocking out the world.

“It is over,” he breathed out.  “It is done.”

Kirk could feel the truth of that.  The fire had died out, the constant sense of lust and need given way to satiation and exhaustion.

“Well.”  His voice was rough and slow, and Spock lowered his arm to look at him.  “I guess we have some decisions to make.”

But entirely too much had happened to be sorted in one discussion when they were both on the edge of collapse, and they both knew it.  Instead they slept, and though they did manage to talk briefly before reporting to Sickbay as ordered, very little had actually been settled by the time Kirk was seated on an exam table, casting a wary eye at the hypo McCoy was brandishing.

“Man up,” the doctor said with a good-natured sneer.  “It’s just a little prick; I’m sure you’ve been dealing with worse the past few days.”

“Yeah, well, the day one of your hypos makes me come so hard I pass out I’ll officially stop complaining.”  Kirk winced as he rubbed at his neck, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the pained look on McCoy’s face.

“Now that’s just plain more information than I need,” he complained.

“Says the man who just had his finger up my ass.”

“There’s a world of difference between a medical examination and a three-day sex marathon, and don’t pretend you don’t know it.”  McCoy started another scan.  Kirk had lost track of how many he’d run sometime after they’d reached double digits.

“We didn’t just have sex, you know.”

“Really?”  Kirk wondered if McCoy knew that he had picked up Spock’s habit of raising his eyebrow like that.  “What, you two paused in the middle of a biological mating imperative to have a deep philosophical discussion?”

“No.”  Kirk leaned back on his hands while his friend examined the computer’s readouts.  “We did sort of get married, though.”

Later in like, Kirk was sure, he would regret not saving that piece of information until McCoy was in the middle of a drink; he’d always wanted to inspire a genuine spit-take, and if the bug-eyed stare he was receiving was any indication, that would’ve been a prime opportunity.

“You . . . I’m sorry, Jim, my ears must be going.  It sounds like you just said you got married.”

“Sorry we didn’t invite you,” Kirk grinned.  “It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.”

“How the hell did you—”

“We bonded.  Sort of . . . accidentally.”  He hopped down from the table and started to pace around the room.  “So now we have to decide what we’re going to do about it.  It can be broken, apparently; it’s new enough that Spock thinks it would still be possible.  We’d have to go back to New Vulcan for that, get help from a Healer.”

McCoy regarded him quietly for a moment.  “Is that what you’re going to do?” he asked at last.  “Unbond, or whatever?”

“I don’t know.”  Kirk picked up a scanner, set it down again.  “I know what I want.  And I’m pretty damn sure I know what Spock wants.  But there are other things to consider.”

“Like what?” McCoy demanded, throwing his hands into the air.  “Like the fact that you love each other enough to do something as damn fool stupid as die for each other?  Like the fact that if it weren’t for that you’d probably both be dead right now?”

Kirk glared at him.  “Like Starfleet.  There are regulations against this sort of thing, you know.  Can you think of a single ship that has a pair of married officers in the same chain of command?  Hell, it’s why he and Uhura broke it off; it’s breaking about six different regs just to date someone who reports to you!  Not to mention . . .”

“Not to mention what?”

“I know he loves me now,” Kirk said quietly, not looking at his friend.  “I’ve felt it, and it’s real.  But I don’t know if he would’ve.  Without pon farr, without all this mess . . . I need to know he wants this even when it’s not necessary.”

“Uh huh.”  McCoy crossed his arms.  “And what’s he thinking about this little train of thought?”

“I don’t know.  I had him block us off from each other.  Give both of us some time to ourselves, time to think.”

“Well, that’s mighty noble of you, Jim,” McCoy drawled.  “But you know what I think?  I think you’re a coward, and a goddamned fool.”

Kirk’s gaze snapped up.  “Watch it,” he said coolly.  “I’m still your commanding officer.”

“Yeah, you are.”  McCoy stepped closer, edging into Kirk’s space.  “And you probably wouldn’t be, if not for all that shit with Nero.  Does that make you any less of a captain?  Does it make your dedication to your ship, to your crew, any less?”

Kirk set his jaw.  “It’s not the same thing.”

“No, you’re right, it’s not.  Because you were brave enough to take this chance.  You had the guts to jump into this job without a fraction of the training and experience that most people have by the time they take the center seat.  But when it comes to anything to do with your heart you’re scared shitless.  Always have been.  Why the hell else didn’t you just tell Spock how you felt as soon as you knew?  Hell, Jim, I don’t know what’s holding you back; I’m not a mind reader.  But you know someone who is, and god help us all, he loves you anyway.”

“And what if it’s not enough?” Kirk shouted, surprising them both.  He sagged against the wall, defeated.  “I never told him because . . . Bones, his race is nearly extinct.  Do you really think he should be wasting himself on me?  Ignoring his people, the obligations he has to them?  I love him, Bones, I love him so much, but . . . what if it’s just not enough?  What if I’m not enough?”

McCoy sighed and slung an arm around his friend.  “Jim.  You are ten pounds of issues in a five-pound sack.  And I’m giving you a clean bill of health, so go talk to your Vulcan before I infect you with something nasty.  Go on,” he said with a little shove, “quit cluttering up my Sickbay.  I have real sick people to treat.”

Well-versed in the benefits of a strategic retreat, Kirk left, muttering about Southern optimism and hopeless romantics. 

Halfway through Gamma shift the corridors were more or less deserted, and he didn’t meet a single other soul on the way to his quarters.  His yeoman had been in to clean, and things were as neat and tidy as ever, the sheets on the bed drawn up tight, all hospital corners and straight lines.  He was still getting reacquainted with his Human senses, and it seemed strange that he couldn’t smell her, couldn’t tell where she might have lingered or what shampoo she had used that morning.  He could smell Spock, though, his scent still lingering as though it had worked its way into the walls.  It was comforting and electrifying all at once, twin forces that were pulling him in opposite directions.

Damn Bones for calling him on his bullshit, anyway; Kirk fucking hated it when he did that.

Kirk didn’t register the door chime until the third time it rang.  Even when he had, however, he simply stared at it, unable to understand what it meant until he heard the voice.

“Jim?”  A pause.  “Captain?  Are you well?”

Kirk swallowed the sudden knot in his throat and nodded, realized how stupid that was and squeezed his eyes shut.  “Yeah,” he called out, his voice barely audible.  “Come in.”

The doors slid open and Spock stepped inside, as neat and immaculate as ever, and as the doors closed behind him Kirk's heart simply turned over.

“Okay, look,” he said before Spock could speak.  “I know we said that we were going to take some time to think this over.  I know there are a million reasons this isn’t a good idea.”

“I do not believe that the number—”

“Hyperbole, Spock, just go with it.  The point is that we said all of that, and it may be valid, but when everything’s said and done, none of it matters.  Not to me.  It’s been, what, two hours since you blocked off our bond?  And I don’t feel like a whole person.  I don’t think I can anymore without you.  Maybe they’ll take the ship away, and maybe I ought to just let you go so you can have dozens of Vulcan babies, but I’m a selfish bastard and you’re . . . you’re worth more than a ship.  More than anything.  So I thought you should know that before—”

Kirk broke off, his words stumbling to a halt as Spock reached out to take his hand and a flood of lovewarmthrelief washed through him.  Their fingers locked together and Kirk tried to remember how to breathe properly.

“Do you recall what Chancellor Laaen told me when I declined his offer?”  Spock asked as he stepped closer, and Kirk closed his eyes to relish the heat from Spock’s body.

“That, ah . . . you knew what your greatest fear was, but not why.”  Kirk opened his eyes again.  “You were afraid of pon farr, I know that much now.  Can’t say I really blame you.”

“I did fear it.  But I need not any longer, because of you.”  His fingers were running softly over Kirk’s, nearly hypnotic in the patterns they were tracing.  “I was . . . less than honest with you earlier.  The Noctaens did form a link between our minds, but they were only able to do so because the foundation for such a connection had already been laid.  Because our minds were already attuned to each other.”  His eyes dropped to their joined hands.  “Unless I had taken a new bondmate I would have been drawn to you during my Time, and I had already calculated a ninety-two point seven three percent chance that you would not return my . . .”

“Your feelings?” Kirk guessed with a crooked smile that only grew as he watched a faint green flush spread over Spock’s cheeks.  “We both have genius-level IQs, you know.  So how the hell are we so stupid?”

Spock cleared his throat.  “‘We are all fools in love.’  Is there not an old Earth quote to that effect?”

“You’ve got me there.  So.”  Kirk tightened his grip on Spock’s hand.  “There are still all those problems.”

“Though it seems crass to capitalize on the destruction of Vulcan,” Spock said slowly, “I would venture to say that Starfleet might be reluctant to reprimand the sole member of an endangered species currently enlisted in its ranks.  I also believe that my counterpart would be willing to lend us his support should we request it.”

“Okay,” Kirk nodded.  “That all sounds reasonable.  But as far as that whole ‘endangered species’ thing goes—”

“I need not take a Vulcan bondmate in order to contribute to the genetic pool,” Spock assured him.  “I will contact my father and make the necessary arrangements to send a viable sample.”

“‘Viable sample’, huh?”  Kirk couldn’t have stopped his wicked grin if he’d had weights attached to his mouth.  “Can I watch?”  Spock sent a gentle mental chiding across their bond, and Kirk laughed.  “You’re sure your father will be all right with this?” he asked, growing serious again.  “With us?”

“I am,” Spock said, and Kirk could indeed feel his bone-deep certainty.  “The bond we share is one that most believe it to mythical in nature, or at the very least long-since extinct, but it still garners a great deal of respect.”

T’hy’la,” Kirk said softly, delighting in the mental thrill that ran through Spock when he said the word.  “You know, I still don’t know what that means.”

“Yes, Jim.  You do,” Spock said, locking their gazes together.

“Yeah,” Kirk smiled as he stared back into Spock’s eyes, felt the comforting touch of his bondmate’s thoughts in his.  “I guess I really do.”