Archive of Our Own

 *** Day One ***

The fire crackles in front of me. I draw nearer to the flames, reveling in the blazing heat. The remnants of the little creature I've just eaten lie next to me. My hands are still sticky from the fat that has dripped onto them.

The surrounding darkness is complete but holds no threats. I recognize all the sounds that I hear and I can tell that there are no predators here. I'm safe.

I'm warm. I'm fed. I'm content.

I look up in the dark sky and sudden terror consumes my entire being. Where's the moon? My heart pounds in my chest like an unleashed beast. I take some deep breaths to steady myself and I look up again at the black sky with the stars scattered across.

It's beautiful. I calm down a bit. I truly don't know why I thought there was something missing.

I gather the blanket tightly around my body and try to concentrate.

Why can't I think? My head hurts. It feels like--like I've just started thinking for the first time in how long? Haven't I thought anything at all until now? I try to remember and find that I don't know what I did just before I ate the little beast. I must've hunted it down, but I can't remember.

My god.

The cold lump of fear is back, double force. I start to shiver. I can't remember. Neither how I came here nor who I am.

Breathe. Long, steady breaths. Calm down. In. Out. In. Out.

Good. The panic subsides to a dull ache in my head and a slight pressure in my chest.

There's nothing I can do right now. It's dark and I'm tired. I have to sleep and gather strength. Tomorrow I'll be able to see my surroundings; then I'll recognize where I am and remember why I am here. Won't I?

Fear squeezes my heart again. Calm down, I tell myself. You usually don't panic this easily. I don't?

I lie down, curl into a ball, and close my eyes. But sleep doesn't come for a long time.

 *** Day Two ***

I wake with a start. Wild-eyed I stare around, my ears straining to hear what woke me. Nothing. The morning air is crisp and the wood still quiet around me. It must be very early.

I sit up and look around, this time fully registering what my eyes see. It's a light wood, the trees are tall, but not closely planted.

Soft grass covers the ground. The sun is coming up somewhere behind the trees, and its golden light is shining through the leaves, making them glisten with morning dew.

Beautiful. I hear chirping sounds coming from above. Must be some--birds? Yellow sun my brain says. Class M Planet.

Strange. What's that supposed to mean? Again the steel fist of fear squeezes my heart. Where am I? Who am I?

I stand up. Sitting here will solve nothing. I have to find out where I came from. I search the ground, trying to find my footprints there, to decipher the direction I came from. But I don't find any.

I look down at my feet, which are bare. For a moment I wonder.

What did I expect? My clothes... I do have clothes on. Leather trousers that cover my legs and a tunic of some sort. Nothing else.

For a moment I feel totally estranged from myself. I take a deep breath. Okay. What do I have with me? There's the blanket I slept in. There's a knife. And there's... a sling? More bewilderment settles in. Did I kill that animal with a slingshot? But why is that so strange? It's a most efficient weapon when one uses it correctly.

What did I expect?

What else? Next to the sling lies a dark, nearly black stone, and I know that I used it to start the fire yesterday. That's all.

I pick a stick up from the ground and put the stone and the sling inside the blanket, which I use to make a bundle that I knot around the stick. I put the stick over my shoulder.

Now I'm ready to go. But where? I have no idea from which direction I came. Have I just fallen down from heaven?

There's a flash in my mind, and for an instant I see a grey wall, then it's gone again. I shake my head and blink several times.

What was that? But it's no use to try to remember. It gives me a headache.

Again I take a deep breath. I'll just have to walk on. Sooner or later I'll meet somebody, hopefully someone who knows who I am. Or at least where I am. I don't think that there are many people walking around without a clue who they are.

*** // ***

It's around midday, I assume. I've no real means to measure the time, but it certainly has grown hot. I wipe some sweat out of my eyes. I've walked through the woods since this morning, but met no one. The ground is covered with soft grass and leaves but there are no traces of a used path or road that would indicate humanoid life.

There are little animals rustling in the underbrush, but no bigger species have made themselves known to me. I feel totally alone, which I'm not used to. I don't know who I'm supposed to be with, but...

My head starts to hurt. Right, don't try to remember. First things first. I'm hungry and thirsty, and hot.

In the distance I hear water running. Walking in that direction I find a river that's rippling through the woods. The clear water ripples down a stony channel and its murmuring invites me to take a bath. I shed my clothes and wade in. It's cold, and when I sit down to immerse myself in the water, the chill takes my breath away. I quickly quench my thirst and wash the sweat from my body.

Then I climb out and lie down on my blanket. The sun is baking down on my bare back, drying me in no time. I doze off.

The evening chill wakes me. Shivering a little, I put my clothes back on. Now I'm really hungry. I should... What is that smell?

I put my nose up in the air: Smoke from a fire nearby. And another scent, sweet and rich. Like... bread. Freshly baked bread. My stomach growls furiously and I let my nose lead the way.

When I can see the fire shining through the trees I stop. Better be careful. I don't know how many people are there, and I don't know if they'll be willing to share their meal or will be happy to have company. Carefully, I sneak closer. Ducking behind a bush, I peek through the leaves.

I see a small fire. The delicious smell does indeed come from there.

But the space around the fire is deserted. Where are the owners of that fire?

A steel band closes around my shoulder, and the world goes black.

*** // ***

I come to, my neck and shoulder hurting like hell. I moan softly and rub the pain, then sit up. A wave of dizziness sweeps over me and I flinch. When I steady my gaze, it falls on a man sitting next to me. He's watching me with caution, his whole posture at attention.

I hold my hands up in front of me in the gesture of surrender, trying to show him that I mean no threat. In response his body relaxes somewhat.

"Who are you?"

His voice is deep and calm. But his question upsets me a great deal. I don't know, dammit. I feel my stomach churn and I clench my hands into fists.

"Who are you?" I hiss through clenched teeth.

An eyebrow lifts. "I am the maker of this fire. You are the one who hid behind that bush. Did you intend to cause me harm?"

I look down at my hands and deliberately open the clenched fists.

Then I hold one hand out for him to see my palm, empty and vulnerable.

"No. I was just being careful. I didn't know if you'd welcome a visitor."

"Logical."

I snort. "How did you know I was there?"

"I heard you."

My eyes lock onto his ears and I can't suppress a gasp as I notice for the first time that they are pointed. Involuntarily my hands move to my own ears. Unlike his, mine are rounded and somewhat smaller.

He notices my gesture and frowns.

"You are not like me," I say sheepishly.

"Obviously."

That makes me smile. He cocks his head inquiringly and then he asks again, "Who are you?"

I swallow. Telling him means giving a stranger an advantage over me. At least I can't remember knowing him.

He's waiting for an answer, just looking at me without any sign of impatience, solely focused on me.

We stare at each other. He must see the confusion on my face because his stern features soften. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." I take a deep breath. "I can't tell you who I am. I don't know."

The look of consternation on his face is instantly replaced with a blank mask, but not before I've seen it.

"Explain," he demands.

"I'll try. But... could I have something to eat, please? Actually, I came here because your bread, or whatever it is, smells delicious. And I haven't eaten anything since yesterday evening."

My stomach growls loudly, conveniently emphasizing what I've said.

He looks at the fire, then back at me again. "That would be acceptable."

Expectantly I watch him while he carefully takes a flat cake off an equally flat stone that lies on glowing pieces of wood next to the fire. I recognize the technique of baking bread on hot stones, so I seem to have some knowledge available if I need it. He hands me the bread.

"Thank you." I take a bite. "Hm, that's good. What did you use to spice it up?"

"I found some herbs that were edible."

"Delicious," I mumble between bites.

He reaches for another flat cake that is still raw and puts it on the hot stone. His movements are precise and fluid. I take my time regarding him while I eat.

In the growing darkness the flames of the fire make the light dance over his angular features. His hair is black and shiny, short and neat. His eyebrows draw an elegant slant upwards and this together with his ears...

He is definitely different from me. But I feel no threat coming from him. I like the way he looks. Now I can focus my attention fully on eating. When I've finished the first piece he silently hands me the second, still hot.

He watches me while I eat three of his flat cakes, then lean back with a content sigh.

"Thank you. I was really hungry, you know."

"Indeed." He looks positively amused; though his face is still serene, I can tell by the expression in his eyes. He continues making bread until the dough is used up. Then he lays the loaves aside to cool and turns his eyes to me.

I smile. "Now you can ask me anything you want. I may not have any answers for you, though."

He leans forward. "You said you do not know who you are."

I swallow. "Right to the point. You're not into stalling are you?"

He doesn't answer, so I clear my throat and continue.

"Yesterday evening I... god, this is hard. It sounds so ridiculous. I looked up in the sky and noticed there was no moon. And I... panicked. I had a hard time getting a grip on myself. I hadn't noticed before that there's no moon. To be accurate, I hadn't noticed anything before. It was as if I'd just awakened from a dream."

I hesitate. "Maybe I should say nightmare." His gaze is intent though his expression reveals nothing this time. "I don't remember anything before that point. I don't know where I was before. I don't know how I came to that place. I don't know who I am."

"Every time I try to remember, my head starts hurting like hell. I made an inventory of my belongings, and discovered that I had nothing besides the clothes and what's in my bundle. Nothing to give me a clue about my identity. So I decided to try to meet someone who knows me. You don't know who I am, do you?"

"No," he says quietly.

My shoulders slump.

"But I would agree to cooperating with you in getting information about our identity."

My head comes up quickly. "Our identity? What do you mean?"

"I am in the same situation as you are."

I blink once, twice. Then my voice works again. "You don't know who you are either?"

"Affirmative."

"But... but that's impossible. I mean one person with amnesia wandering about those woods is unlikely enough, but two... I mean the odds are..."

"Nine hundred thousand four hundred and three point four to one."

I stare at him. His face is serious. "...point four...?" I repeat weakly.

He nods.

I feel laughter bubble inside and grin. "That's a precise guess if I ever heard one."

"This is no guess, I assure you. We--I..." He stops and confusion is plainly written all over his face. He swallows, opens his mouth then closes it again. "... do not guess," he finishes lamely and I know that he was about to say something else.

I lean forward with anticipation. "Did you remember something?"

He concentrates, I can nearly see his mind work, then he flinches and shakes his head. "No. I cannot access the memory."

"It gives you headaches, too, doesn't it?"

"Pain is irrelevant. It can be controlled," he says, but it sounds mechanical and defeated.

"Don't." I don't say the rest of the sentence, which could be don't look so sad, or don't give up. I don't say either, but I put all my optimism into my next words. "We may not know who we are yet, but we'll find out together. The odds are way too high for this to be a coincidence, if I can trust your calculation."

He inhales deeply, then inclines his head. "Agreed. May I suggest that we get some rest now? We can further work out what to do in the morning."

Not knowing everything he remembers from the point he "woke up" to this very moment seems to require more patience than I've got, but he looks tired and the upcoming protest dies on my lips.

I have slept during the heat of the day, but he somehow looks like he's not gotten not too much rest lately.

So I concur and go to fetch my blanket. It still lies with my other belongings behind the bush where he caught me. When I return, I see that he has put more wood on the fire. He, too, has a blanket that is now draped around his shoulders.

I lie down next to the fire. "Good night." I close my eyes.

 *** Day Three ***

When I wake up in the morning, he's already awake. The fire is burning and he sits next to it closely, wrapped in his blanket.

"Morning," I greet cheerfully. Not to be alone feels good and I'm ready to face the world. Actually I'm eager to do something about our situation.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah. What about you?"

"The resting period was sufficient."

I don't know why but this doesn't convince me. He looks like he's been awake for some time. I notice how he clasps the blanket around himself and realize that he must be cold, despite the fire and the sun already beginning to heat up the air.

"You look like you could use some hot tea."

"I have thought about that. Indeed, I could use some of the herbs I found to make tea. But I do not have a pot."

"Well. That'll be our next concern then."

I reach for the bread that is left over from yesterday and, taking a bite, I ask him,

"Had breakfast already?"

"Affirmative."

"Good." I chew and swallow, squirming a bit under his scrutiny. I'd like to divert some of that attention to other things.

"Please, tell me what you remember since you first became aware of your situation. Then maybe we can come up with an idea what to do next."

He nods. "I saw a plant that reminded me of wheat, and considered using it to make bread. That was my first conscious thought. It was... unsettling to become aware that I did not know what I had eaten to that point. I tried to remember but the pain soon was too intense."

He bows his head as if he's ashamed at that.

"I assume I ate edible plants that I found on my way, because that is what I have done since then. There are berries and roots that are edible to be found also."

"There are? How did you know?"

He frowns. "I just knew."

"I see. It was the same with my knowledge about the animals that can be eaten."

He stiffens a bit. "I do not eat animal flesh."

"Oh." After a moment of silence I encourage him to go on with his tale.

"I found stones I could use as a mill, and the powder of the plants together with water and some herbs made the bread you ingested with me. The knife, the firestone and the blanket I had with me. Also a sling just like yours and the clothes I wear." He wears a leather trousers and a tunic like mine, though mine is burgundy and his is dark brown. I look at his feet and notice that he, too, is barefoot.

"Not much to go on." He doesn't answer so I continue, "How long did it take to gather enough wheat and herbs for the bread? How long did it take you to grind the wheat?"

"It took me the whole day yesterday."

"Thought so. How long since you 'came to' then?"

"Two days."

"And you haven't remembered anything since then? About yourself? Or about others, like me?"

He shakes his head and spreads his hands in an apologetic gesture.

Two days for him, one for me. For a moment the panicky feeling is back. What if we never find out who we are? What if...

"I am glad that you are here."

The quiet admission shakes me out of my misery, and spontaneously I put my hand on his arm.

"Me too. I don't like to be alone."

He stares at my hand on his arm and a shudder passes through him.

I grip his arm harder. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

His eyes lift to mine. I see confusion and an odd mixture of revulsion and pleasure. "I can... hear your thoughts," he whispers.

I jerk my hand back as if burned. Feeling the blood rush to my face, I jump up. "How?" I demand.

"When you touched me."

"You can't read my thoughts now?"

"No. I assure you I would never try to read your thoughts without your consent. This would be unethical."

"You wouldn't?"

"No."

Slowly I sit down again, and a look of stark relief crosses his face.

It lasts only a second, but it's enough to make me want to reassure him. "It's okay. I won't run away."

My mind turns to the advantage of this. "Maybe we can use this ability in our favour. Do you think you could deliberately read my mind? Find out who I am?" I hold my breath.

He looks surprised. "You would let me do that?"

"Of course."

And eyebrow rises. "Very well. I will try to obtain the information."

"Now?"

This time both eyebrows rise. Then he inclines his head. "I am willing to try now," he says.

"Good." I feel giddy and excited. Also a bit wary about this mind-reading thing, but maybe I'll learn who I am again. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just hold still. Be assured that I mean you no harm. You might experience fear or revulsion at my intrusion. Try not to fight me."

"Okay."

He kneels in front of me. For a moment he hesitates, as if unsure of what to do now, then he lifts his right hand and I feel his fingers at my cheek. I'm surprised at the heat he's emanating. His fingertips are little hot spots on my skin and his body feels like a radiator in front of me.

I can also smell him. His scent is pleasant, slightly sweet and spicy, like cinnamon. I catch myself inhaling and relax.

He closes his eyes. "My thoughts to your thoughts," he murmurs, "my mind to your mind."

His eyes fly open again and I feel his body go rigid. "You like my scent."

Although he sounds embarrassed, I chuckle. "Oops. Hope you don't mind."

I can't interpret the look he gives me. Then he closes his eyes again and so do I. There he is, I can feel him. Warm and gentle he seems to me, and I find that I'm not repulsed at all by his presence. On the contrary.

I try to open up and welcome him. Under his guidance, I show him the past day, beginning at the point when I had my first conscious thought. He flinches slightly when he encounters the panic attack I had to fight, but then he moves past it, past my conscious memories and--the sudden pain is all-consuming, and I cry out. His hands jerk away from my face, and he convulses on the ground.

I clasp my head with both hands, rocking back and forth, fighting for breath. When the pain finally subsides and I'm able to look up, he is sitting next to me, eyes closed and hands steepled in front of his face, elbows on his knees.

Cautiously I reach out towards him. I want to touch him, but I dare not. I say shakily, "I'm sorry, friend. I didn't want to hurt you."

He opens his eyes. "It was not your fault. There is a barrier in your mind that caused the pain when I approached it. And there is a similar barrier in my own mind."

My brain works furiously. "A barrier? Is this a natural phenomenon when amnesia is concerned?"

"I believe not. Someone deliberately put this into our minds."

"Deliberately? We are being manipulated."

"Affirmative."

"At least we know now that we've not really forgotten everything. If that barrier has been put into our minds, it can be removed again."

"That conclusion could be premature."

I glare at him. Then I realize that he might be right and I jump to my feet.

While our little experiment has taken place, the sun has risen and is now blazing down with full force. Our fire has burned down and is merely smoking.

I am thirsty. Ok, that's next.

"We'll break camp. Let's walk to the river and get something to drink. Then..." I hesitate.

He rises and offers: "I suggest we stay with the river and follow its path. If there are settlements in this area they are most likely to be found near the water."

"Sounds good to me."

Silently we pack our belongings and head for the river. As I did yesterday I shed my clothes and fully immerse myself in the water for a moment. Then I dry myself off with the tunic and decide to go on without it. It's hot enough. My friend has washed his hands, feet and face and quenched his thirst in the meantime. He doesn't seem cold at the moment, but I remember his body heat and wonder about it.

I am about to ask him, but I still don't know what to call him. He can't give me his name. But I can't walk around calling him 'hey you' or 'friend' all the time, can I? If I only could remember my name. But when my head starts pounding and I shove the thought away.

He stands with his bundle over his shoulder. I join him with mine, and we start walking along the riverside together.

We walk all through the day. He shows me which plants are edible and we put most of them into our bundles. Many of the sweet berries we find also end up in the bundles--or straight into our mouths.

I enjoy walking with him a great deal. I like the exercise and the steady pace. I like the sun on my bare skin. He is in front of me most of the time, leading the way, and I am content for the moment.

Our surroundings don't change much as we travel. The riverside is covered with grass and bushes scattered here and there. The river runs through seemingly endless woods. The trees sometimes come close to the water, but most of the time a small path is left between them and the water.

Most of these trees are tall and some are three meters in diameter at the base. They remind me of big oaks. Odd, that I do know about oaks, but don't know my own name. Again I try to remember anything about myself, but soon the pain is too intense and I give up--for now.

The forest itself is not very dense here at the rim, allowing the light from outside to permeate. But I can see it growing dark deeper inside, where the trees are standing closer and the underbrush is thicker. It must be cooler in there too.

I seek the shade now and then, but my companion stays in the sun and I'm certain that my assumption is right that he doesn't like cold.

In the afternoon he suddenly bends down and studies the ground.

When I catch up with him, he shows me a clump of reddish earth he's picked up.

"What's this?"

"Argillaceous earth."

I'm incredulous. "How do you know?"

"I cannot tell you. I just know."

"What do we do with it?"

He cocks his head in that thinking gesture of his. "I suggest we use it to make crockery."

"We'd need an oven to burn it."

"No. We can use a charcoal pile. I can built one. We may need some time to figure out the burning-time though."

I am impressed. We decide to stay at this place and set up camp.

While he's collecting wood to start a fire, I go hunting. I'm hungry and tonight we don't have enough bread. There's only one piece left, and I'll leave that for him. Along with the berries and greens we gathered over the day, it should be enough to fill him. He won't have a warm meal, though.

We really have to make this charcoal pile work. With a pot we will be able to make hot tea and soup for him. I won't be averse to this little comfort either.

I return to a blazing fire. He's wrapped a cucumber-like plant in some large, meaty leaves and is shoving them into a pile of glow that he's separated from the big fire. Some roots, similar to potatoes, are already lying roasted next to it, and once more I'm impressed. He doesn't need a keeper.

I've already skinned the little animal that I killed with the slingshot, sparing him the sight. After piercing it with a branch I hold it in the fire to roast it.

We sit in companionable silence and eat our meal. He offers me some of his greens, but I decline because I can't return the favour.

After the meal, I walk down to the river again to drink some water and wash my hands. When I come back, he leaves to do the same.

Then we crouch next to the fire, drawing the blankets around our shoulders.

"What do you want me to call you?"

If he's surprised by the sudden question, he doesn't show it. "I do not know."

"Would you mind if I make up a name for you?"

"Negative."

"Lemme think then. I'd call you..." My eyes roam over his body, linger on his stern features, the slanted eyebrows, the pointed ears.

Like yesterday I notice the shiny black hair and the slender hands.

He seems so familiar, much more than possible from knowing him only one day. It seems like I've know him for a long time and...

"Spock." My voice sounds strange to my own ears.

His eyes go wide. I have to swallow the lump in my throat. "That's your name," I whisper.

"How do you know?" he asks, his voice rough.

"I... just know."

He stares at me, seems to drink in my looks, as I've just done with him, and I feel myself tremble with anticipation.

"Jim," he says.

We continue to stare at one another until I can't bear it any longer. I have to move. I jump up and start pacing back and forth.

"How is that possible. Why can't I remember my name but I remember yours?"

He steeples his hands in front of his face with his elbows on his legs, and the position is as familiar to me as his name.

"We seem to be able to access information about our surroundings, certain techniques, and so forth."

"Weapon usage, the fact that this is a Class-M planet, and that other planets have moons."

"Yes. That sort of information we can access if needed. The headache only occurs if we try to access information about ourselves."

"Who are we, why we are here, how we came here."

He nods.

I stop to kneel down in front of him. "What else can you remember about me?"

His gaze holds mine and his concentration is palpable. Then he flinches and slowly shakes his head. "Nothing else. I am sorry."

My shoulders slump. "Well," I mumble, "Maybe tomorrow."

I wrap myself in my blanket and curl up next to the fire.

He tends the fire for the night and lies down too. His movements are slow and cautious, and I realize that he considers this a personal failure.

"Spock," I whisper.

"Yes."

"It's not your fault."

He doesn't answer for so long that I believe him already asleep.

Then, finally, "Good night, Jim."

I close my eyes.

 *** Day Four ***

I'm not surprised to see him already awake the next morning. I watch him closely this time, and notice the stiff movements that are so different from the way he moves during the day. Now I'm sure that the cold is getting to him during the night. I still think that he looks tired, and I wonder if he's getting any sleep at all.

I ask him, and he tells me something about meditation and that he obviously needs less sleep than I do. That might be so. But he definitely looks weary, and I promise myself to make sure that he gets some sleep the next night.

After breakfast, which consists of cold meat for me and roasted greens for him, we set to our tasks for the day, collecting wheat and greens for the evening meal and building the charcoal pile.

While Spock goes for the plants, I spend my time from morning to noon collecting wood to create a stack that is now nearly hip high.

Then we gather the argillaceous earth. We mix it with water and then sit on the ground next to each other, trying to form usable crockery. After my forth attempt has dissolved under its own weight, I decide that this is not a talent of mine and I go to grind the wheat instead to do my share of the work. At sunset all wheat is ground, and I'm soaked with sweat.

When I approach Spock, he presents me with two perfect bowls and a pot standing on the ground, already drying out. He looks as neat as he did in the morning.

"Congratulations. They're perfect." I smile cheerfully at him.

"Take a bath with me?"

"I prefer not to immerse myself in cold water," he remarks with dignity and I grin.

"Right. See you."

When I come back to our little camp, he has the fire going and the earthenware next to it. He has mixed my ground wheat with herbs and water and is about to heat a flat stone.

I sit down next to him. "You're quite efficient. It's good to have you around."

"Thank you," he says graciously.

Soon the smell of the bread mixes with the earthen scent of the clay and the smoke from the fire. And I can't help myself--I feel content. This has been a good day without failures. Well, if one doesn't count my attempt at pottery.

Now I only need to make sure Spock gets a good night's sleep.

He sits next to me, legs crossed, blanket wrapped tightly around his body.

"Spock, can I ask you something?"

"You may."

"Did you sleep last night? And the nights before?"

His face closes up and he stares into the fire.

"Spock?" I ask, softly but determined.

He sighs. "No. I am having... difficulties adjusting to the low temperatures during the night."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because there is nothing you can do."

"Of course there is. We can share body heat. Tonight I will see that you are warm enough to get some sleep."

He tenses up. "I am not used to close proximity to another."

"You'd rather freeze to death?"

"My condition is hardly life-threatening."

"Yet."

Silence. I sigh.

"You haven't slept in four nights in a row. Instead you keep the fire going to prevent hypothermia. You haven't eaten enough in four days, if my own intake of food is anything to go by. Now tell me, how long can you go on like that without threatening your life?"

He doesn't answer, and I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Spock, please. You're my only friend here, and you're suffering. Let me help you."

I can feel him give in.

"I accept your gift of self."

"Then let's get some sleep now." I tend the fire for the night, and he lies down on his blanket right next to the flames. I spoon up behind him and cover us with my blanket. My body fits perfectly with his. His body is hot next to mine, so I won't miss the fire. I close my eyes.

 *** Day Five ***

I wake up with my arm draped around Spock's waist and my nose buried in his neck. He's sleeping soundly and I smile. There. I keep still, not wanting to wake him. He needs the rest and, besides, his warmth feels good. The fire has burned down, and I notice the chill of the morning air surrounding us.

The sensation of his body next to mine is quite pleasant. He's slender, almost skinny, but his muscles are wiry and strong. Inhaling his scent, I'm again reminded of cinnamon. I could get used to this.

He stirs and squirms a bit. He bumps slightly against me and goes still. I remove my arm from his waist and clear my throat. "Morning. Feel better?" I ask softly.

"Indeed," he answers quietly.

A wave of tenderness towards him sweeps through me. Then I remember that he's a touch telepath and that he'll probably be embarrassed, so I decide to end the close contact.

"Today I'll start the fire. You stay put a while longer."

Without waiting for an answer, I crawl out and tuck the blanket around him again. With the remaining glow and the wood left over from the evening the fire is easy to revive.

Soon he joins me, wearing the blanket around his shoulders and shivering slightly. He hands me my blanket, which I take thankfully.

We eat the remaining bread in silence. After we're finished I suddenly feel awkward not talking and I ask him, "So, do we burn the earthenware today?"

"Affirmative. I should inform you that I do possess the theoretical knowledge of how to use a charcoal pile. I have, however no practical knowledge, so I can only estimate the appropriate burning time."

"With you, that will be sufficient. Come on, let's get started."

He puts the pot and the two bowls under the pile, then he closes the small hole with wood and starts the fire. The whole day he tends the pile, making sure that it gets neither too hot nor too cold.

He checks the heat, moving around, poking here and there, using a long stick to move the coals away or bring them back onto the pile again.

The pile gives off great heat. I know that this will be good for him, especially since the weather is not very nice today. For the first time since we 'came to', the sky is cloudy and the sun doesn't come through. Luckily it isn't too windy, but nevertheless the day is cool. I'm concerned about that, knowing now how much he needs warmth and that it is vital for him to recover during the heat of the day.

I shove the thoughts aside. Today there is the pile, tomorrow it'll be sunny again. I don't allow myself to worry. I, too, have work to do. I can't help much with the pile, other than gather wood for it, bringing along enough for our small fire.

So I go to collect wheat and greens and hunt down two more of the little animals. I stay away from our camp long enough to take the skins off and clean them with my knife. I have six of the little furs by now. They may be useful for something.

Back at our camp I start grinding the wheat, and when I'm done I make the bread and cook the greens. When the bread is ready, I take one piece and go over to the pile.

"Here. You can eat this now while you're standing. You must be hungry."

He takes the bread and starts eating immediately. I didn't realize this would be so much work. I only hope his estimate of how long this will take will be correct and we won't have to do this a second and third time.

"Will they be ready soon?"

"Affirmative. I will remove the crockery shortly."

I go back to the fire, take the greens out of the heat to keep them from burning, and put more bread to bake on the hot stone. When there is a small stack of warm, fragrant bread, I wander back to the pile. It's nearly dark by now. The charcoal has burned down, and only a small mound is left from the big stack in the morning.

Spock is about to cut the ashes apart. The pot and the two bowls appear, black, shiny and whole.

The look of satisfaction on his face makes me grin. "You did it! They're perfect. I knew you could do it."

I sweep him into a bear hug, my relief at the success and my pride in him so great that I want to shout with joy. He stands very still, allowing me the display of emotion. I let go and grab his arm instead. "Come on, dinner's ready. You sit down and eat now, I'll serve you."

I pull him over to our little fire and make him sit down. I take a warm loaf of bread, slice it open on one side and stuff the hot greens in. Then I give it to him and watch him while he takes the first bite.

He looks at me and says, "Thank you."

His voice is a little rough, and I feel the heat rising in my face. Turning away, I busy myself with taking my meat out of the fire. We eat in companionable silence and very soon after the meal we prepare for sleep. It has been a straining day and we're both tired.

This time we don't talk about our sleeping position. He just lies down next to the fire, and I spoon up behind him as I did yesterday. It feels natural and right to do so as If I'd done this many times before, not only once.

While still awake I marvel a little over this. Then I put my arm around his waist, tuck my nose in his neck, and close my eyes.

 *** Day Six ***

When I wake up, I'm still in this position, feeling cozy, safe and sleepy. Sighing contentedly I snuggle closer, tightening my embrace around him. He stops breathing for an instant and with a pang I realize that he's awake.

But before the situation gets awkward he moves. Carefully, without retreating, he turns around and dark eyes meet mine. His hair is slightly mussed and I think he looks beautiful.

"Good morning," he says, his deep voice low, vibrating through me. I squirm a bit.

"Morning," I mumble, not knowing if I wish him to become aware of my confusing emotions or not. But maybe he's already perceived them anyway. I hope he's not appalled or embarrassed.

"I am not."

I freeze for a second, then I relax. I can't help the smile that's splitting my face. "Good."

Suddenly I'm bursting with energy and I just can't stay still any longer. I peel myself out of the tangle of limbs and blankets, carefully tucking the latter around him.

I feel the dark eyes follow my movements while I get the fire going again. Then I turn around.

"Spock," I say, tasting his name on my tongue. "Do you think I could try to use the pot already this morning?"

"You may," comes his muffled reply from under the blankets. "The low temperatures during the night should have been sufficient to cool it down."

"Then I go and fetch water to make some hot tea for us, okay?"

"I would appreciate that."

The pot has indeed cooled down, and I take it and wander to the river. I wash my face, then I fill the pot to the rim and go back.

He sits, legs crossed, close to the fire. His dark eyes welcome me back. While I was at the river, he's separated some glowing coals from the fire. I put the pot on top, and together we wait for the water to boil. When it starts to bubble he gives me a handful of herbs and I put them into the water. Again we wait for some time, then I take the bowls and fill them with the hot liquid.

He wraps his long fingers around the bowl and lifts it to his mouth. I can see some of the tension draining out of his body, and I realize that he has been suppressing his reaction to the cold morning air to avoid shivering.

I wish I could do more to help him.

It is good to have a hot drink in the morning even if it's no coffee. Adrenaline rushes through my body at that thought and destroys the dreamy feeling that I've had since I woke up. Coffee. Another memory from what must've been my life before this.

I try to hold onto it, to flesh it out, willing my brain to reveal more about that life. The sudden sharp pain makes me gasp.

He is at my side in an instant.

"Jim. What is wrong?"

"Just--another headache." I look up into Spock's worried eyes and try to smile. "I'm all right. Really."

He sits back, his eyes still on me with that inquiring look on his face. "A memory?"

"Yes. I usually drink coffee in the morning."

A look of distaste crosses his face. "I do not."

I chuckle. "I know. You like the smell, though."

He nods slowly. We stare at each other. I want to remember so badly. Does he? He shakes his head and I think I might have asked him aloud. The pain is back and I wince at its intensity.

He reaches out and touches my forearm. "Jim."

"I'm all right." I take a deep breath. "We'll break camp today. We don't need to stay here any longer."

"Agreed."

We pack our belongings and ensure that no glow remains to start a forest fire. Then we resume our journey along the riverside.

Again it's a cloudy day. The air is humid and cold. Though we still walk through the same kind of wood, it now seems dark and threatening to me. The ground is slippery, and sometimes we slide and stumble on the wet grass.

We keep walking all day with grim determination. In the evening we still aren't out of the woods. And we still haven't met another sentient being.

We camp under a big tree. We haven't collected any food today, so we eat the leftovers from yesterday's work. It's not opulent, but sufficient.

My mood has changed considerably. The lightness and happiness of the morning has vanished. I watch Spock, hands clasped around his bowl, shivering visibly, and for the first time since I 'came to' I feel real desperation.

Charcoal eyes turn to mine and his features soften. "You look troubled."

I sigh. "These woods are endless. And my feet are cold. Spock, let me have a look at your feet."

He hesitates only an instant, then he stretches out his long legs towards me. I take his feet into my lap and examine them. They are as cold as ice, slightly swollen, and they have an odd turquoise colour. I tuck one securely between my legs, covering it with my blanket, then wrap my hands around the other and start rubbing and massaging it. When the skin feels warmer to my touch I change to the other foot.

He sighs softly. "That feels good."

I smile. "The colour worries me a little, though. I'd expected them to be blue but...." A memory flashes through my mind. "Your blood is green." I look up into his eyes. He has a frown on his face.

"That is different from yours, I presume."

"I--don't know."

I go back to massaging his foot. His feet are beautiful, slender and well-shaped like his whole body is. His skin feels soft to my touch and I wonder what he'd feel like spooned up in my arms without hindering clothes. His foot is warm now, and so is the other in my lap, but I don't want to let go.

Again I look up and find that he is watching the movements of my hands with rapt attention. My eyes wander to his hands, which hold the blanket tightly around his shoulders, and I notice that although he's stopped shivering his hands are the same turquoise colour that his feet had been moments ago.

I let go of his foot and skid a little aside to lean against the tree.

I put my blanket around my back, then I hold out my arms.

"Now your hands. Come here, lean your back against me."

This time he doesn't hesitate. He comes into my arms trustfully, and my heartbeat stops for an instant. He crosses his legs and tucks his own blanket around them and over his feet to keep them warm. My legs are drawn up slightly, and he makes sure that my feet are also under the blanket. Then he leans back against me and I feel his warmth. I put my chin on his right shoulder and wrap my arms around him. Now I can easily take his hands into mine, and I begin a slow massage, rubbing the palm and the back of his hand, entwining our fingers. I hold on for a little while, then start all over again.

I lose track of time. The world narrows down to him and me, his weight against my chest, his warmth against my body, the strong, slender hands in mine. I feel his chest rise and fall with his breath, his heartbeat against my right forearm. I can smell his scent.

Unconsciously I rub my cheek against his, and again he sighs softly.

The small sound reverberates through me, and I catch my breath.

"Spock," I whisper in his ear.

The strong hands tighten around mine. When did he start to caress my hands like I have been caressing his?

"Spock," I whisper again, "Will you lie down with me?" I hold my breath.

"Yes," he says, very softly and I'm thankful that he's able to move and initiate the position change. I doubt that I could've let go of him.

But he's moving and so am I. We lie down close to the fire, make a cocoon out of our blankets as we have done for two nights, but this time we lie face to face. Our legs entwine, his arms are around me and I find my hand caressing his face. My fingertips move over his features, the chin, a cheek, the nose, the eyebrows.

His temple.

He shudders. "Jim," he says.

"Can you feel my emotions?" I whisper.

"Yes."

"Can you make me feel yours?"

He swallows. Then his fingertips are on my face, lightly touching my cheek, and there he is as he was on that first day we met.

And I feel. Wonder, tenderness, an overwhelming sense of belonging, love. I can't tell which feelings are mine and which are his. I only know that we share them. They are so intense that I start to shiver.

"Jim," he whispers again and I open my eyes. I don't know when I closed them, I didn't realize. His face is only inches from mine, I can feel his breath on my lips, and I lean forward and kiss him.

His lips are warm and soft and trembling slightly beneath mine. I start to caress his mouth with my lips, slowly, thoroughly. My hand tangles in his hair. It's soft and silky and so are his lips. I lick over them and he makes a small sound. His lips open to allow me entrance, and I kiss him, stroke the insides of his mouth, his teeth and then I meet his tongue. He kisses me back. He tastes so good, he's so warm and I don't want to stop kissing him.

He marvels at the coolness and sweetness of my mouth, and I can feel him and hear him. He wants to taste my skin yes, oh yes. I start licking his throat, nibbling his earlobe, and I feel him doing the same. He tastes like copper and cinnamon, his skin is soft and warm and dry, and I just can't get enough. The twin sensations of our mutual exploration are nearly too much for me.

His mouth is sucking my throat and I hear his thoughts--/salty, moist, cool, musk, hmmmm/--and I think I'm going right out of my head.

Only now I become aware of my rock hard erection sliding against his, and I'm so close. He leans over me, pinning me to the ground, and he's kissing me, god, don't stop, oh god, his hand is at my groin, his fingers wrap around my hardness and I convulse against him.

not yet, his mind says and somehow he extends his control and I can't come god, please, and he turns and then his mouth is on me, hot and tight, and I cry out spock. you taste so good, his mind is humming with pleasure and I need to taste him too, please, yes, and I squirm and there is his shaft, silk on steal, dark green in the low light from the fire and utterly beautiful.

so are you so good And I swallow him as deep as I can /god, so sweet/ and he releases his control over me and I come violently, and so does he, filling my mouth and I swallow and swallow.

Somehow he gathers the strength to turn again. His arms close around me and he holds me tight until we both stop shivering.

We don't need to talk. We've shared it all, we still do and I snuggle closer, satisfied and very tired. I sigh contently and close my eyes.

 *** Day Seven ***

A loud thunderbolt reverberates through the air, and I bolt upright. It's early in the morning, not the pitch dark of the night anymore but not yet the light of day. In the dawn I see the last glow of the fire flicker and die. A sharp wind is blowing, tugging at the blankets and messing up Spock's hair.

While we stare around the first raindrops are falling, and before we can really react rain is pouring down. We're soaked in seconds. I grab my few belongings and jump to my feet.

"Come on!" I shout through the howling wind, "We've got to find shelter!"

We run deeper into the woods and finally find a tree with branches hanging to the ground, like a small tent. We scramble inside and crouch together at the trunk. The leaves hold most of the rain out and shield us from the wind.

We hug each other for a little warmth, but it doesn't help much.

Our clothes are soaked, and so are the blankets. We don't have anything dry to start a fire with.

Spock's already shivering violently and I'm trembling, too. I rub his back and his arms and hold him close. His cheek is against mine, and I hear his teeth chatter.

It is a long day. It doesn't stop raining. The wind howls outside and I feel Spock going still in my arms. My lips are stiff and my body feels numb. I'm so tired and so damned helpless. He'll die and I can't do anything to prevent it. Most likely I'll die too. I should be desperate, but he's so calm and accepting, and we're still in close rapport. I hug him tightly once more and bury my face in his neck.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Do not," he breathes in my ear, "it is not your fault."

"I know. But.... I just found you."

"And I you."

"Spock...."

It's too much. I want to tell him everything and I just can't find the words. But it's not necessary--I feel his mind brush against mine, and I know it all and so does he. I close my eyes.

When a humming sound closes on us and sparkling lights take us away, I think that maybe we'll wake up in heaven.

*** // ***

"'We'll monitor them all the time', he said. 'They won't be in danger,' he said. My ass! That was damned close, and I really hope it was worth it."

The grumpy voice wakes me. I open my eyes. I'm in sickbay and Bones is doing his usual grumbling after a rescue. I smile. Well, this time it really wasn't my fault.

Then awareness hits me.

I am James Kirk, captain of the Enterprise. Spock and I have been on a planet in the Oka'Nai'En System to pass the S'Am'Pae test.

I remember the orders from Admiral Komack. "Their political leaders have to pass the S'Am'Pae to prove their strength and integrity. The Oka'Nai want two members of Starfleet to be tested before they become members of the Federation. We've chosen you and your first officer. You're not only the command team of our flagship but also representatives of the two most powerful races in the Federation. They've agreed."

I remember the uneasy feeling I had when I learned that the Oka'Nai are telepathic and that they would block our memories of self, standard procedure for their test. "To remove the conditioning created by your upbringing and education."

I remember that we nearly died down on that planet.

When I try to rise from the bed, a hand on my arm stops me.

"Where do you think you're going?" McCoy asks with a scowl.

"Bones. Where's Spock?"

"Over there. In a healing trance."

I look over to where he has separated a bed with a curtain and a force field. Most likely the temperature inside is Vulcan standard to guarantee Spock's well-being.

Again I try to leave the bed, and again McCoy's hand tightens on my biceps.

"Jim. He'll be all right. You need to stay put and get some rest."

Hesitantly I comply. I lie back and feel a hypo hiss against my neck. There are other memories I have to contemplate. But maybe not right now. I close my eyes.

I dream of a river and big trees. I dream of a flickering fire and a hot body in my arms. I dream of charcoal eyes and cinnamon.

 *** Day Eight ***

It's been a busy day. The Oka'Nai speaker has been on board to inform us that we have passed the S'Am'Pae. He stood tall and straight when he told us his people would be proud to become members of the Federation.

Spock stood at my side, tall and straight himself, his face an unreadable Vulcan mask. I had difficulty concentrating on the Oka'Nai.

Then there were the reports to Komack and the Federation council and of course we had to leave orbit to proceed to Starbase Six for needed supplies and a short R and R.

I had no time to meet Spock for lunch today. In fact I've hardly seen him all day. Then I met him for dinner in the mess hall. He sat stiffly opposite me at the table, focused on his meal. But he just pushed the salad from one side of the plate to the other, and very few pieces actually vanished in his mouth.

I know that he remembers. I could see it when he first woke up in sickbay and his eyes met mine. Then McCoy came up from behind him, and I could see the Vulcan mask slam down. We couldn't talk then. And we haven't had time to talk in the long hours since.

But I need to talk to him. I've asked him to come to my quarters and I'm now waiting for him, leaning against my desk. I don't want to sit behind it, don't want it to look like this is a formal visit. Then the door chimes. I take a deep breath.

"Come."

He steps inside, just enough to let the door slide shut behind him.

"Captain."

He stands with his hands clasped behind his back, the posture so Spockian that I nearly smile. But I can see the tension in the lean body. His face is unreadable, his eyes, which normally convey his feelings, are blank.

He remembers. I remember. And he knows that I do, but he doesn't know how I will react, now that we're back aboard ship. But I know.

"Spock, what happened down there..."

"You saved my life. I am grateful for that."

Spock has never interrupted me before, and for a moment I'm stunned. He uses my silence to go on.

"We were ordered to pass the S'Am'Pae. We did what had to be done in the line of duty."

It is his way to give me an easy way out. I know, he's done that before. But this time I don't want it.

"In the line of duty," I repeat. I start pacing in front of him.

"Spock, for nearly nine years, since I first took command over the Enterprise, I've known nothing but duty. Five years ago I let them take her away from me in the line of duty. I let you go. Then they needed me when V'ger threatened Earth, and I got her back. Miraculously you came along, too, doing your duty. Here we are, together again, on our second five year mission, doing our duty as Starfleet officers."

"Whatever I feel or want has to be considered in the line of duty, how it will affect the crew, the ship, the lives of other people. What about my life, Spock? My sense of duty has never allowed me to ask this question, and after all, it's the life I wanted.

"If it wasn't for you, it would've been a lonely life though. But you were always there at my side, my best friend--and so much more."

I stop in front of him. I have his full attention, the dark eyes following my every movement.

"Down there, Spock, I had some hours of freedom. They blocked my memories and took duty away from me. For once I was free to make my own choice, without interference. I chose you."

He swallows. I put a hand on his shoulder and feel the slender body tremble at the touch.

"Without my memories and with my life taken away from me I chose you. Now, with my memories intact and my life as it should be, I choose you again. Still. Always. I want you back. I don't want to live alone anymore."

My hand has moved to his face and with my fingertips I touch his cheek. I stroke over his temple. He shudders.

"Can you feel my emotions?" I whisper.

"Yes."

Now his hand is on my face, mirroring my actions. Hot fingers settle on my cheek. I have a feeling of deja vu as he repeats the action he did twice down on the planet--and so many times in the line of duty, aboard ship and elsewhere. But this time it is solely for us. There is nothing and no one but him and me.

And again we share. My yearning for him kindles Vulcan passion and our sudden need is strong and overwhelming. His mouth is on me, devouring me, and still I need more. I find myself tugging at his clothes, struggling to get them off of him without breaking the kiss need to touch you, dammit yes and he lets go and I feel abandoned. But his mind is caressing me I am here and his hands are on me and I'm naked in no time.

Strong arms simply lift me and carry me over to the bed. hey! let me and I stare up at him while he quickly strips. I marvel at his body, the strong lean legs, the flat belly, the muscular chest, the long hard cock, oh and I need to touch him come here, now yes and he is in my arms.

I rub my face against his chest, nuzzling the soft fur, biting and licking his nipples, and he moans. I repeat the action, can't get enough, I need to taste him, smell him, and I nuzzle my way down to the beautiful cock waiting for me so good and I take him into my mouth and he's bucking against me jim! and it's not enough I need to be filled, need his body inside me yes and I turn and he is on top of me. I lift my legs and place them around his shoulders and I feel a finger probing carefully. please, now and again I feel him take control over my body to loosen my muscles and I feel his cock at my opening and I shudder now! and easily he slides in, all the way and I'm full, he's big, and he's there. I reach up and grab his forearms and my eyes meet his.

A feeling of security is pouring out of him in waves, tenderness and love and I can't hold it all, it's too much, I break eye contact and fall back on the bed.

He's retreating a little and my eyes widen no! hush and he starts to move ohgod, yes his cock's hitting my prostate /so good, spock, more/ Now he bends down and his mouth closes around my cock and he's sucking me in rhythm with his pumping and god, ohgod I thrash uncontrollably on the bed, my hands gripping his hair, and I feel the heat building up and spilling over and I cry out and come and that sends him over the edge, too.

He collapses on top of me and for a long while we lie there holding each other, waiting for our breathing and our wildly beating hearts to return to normal.

Slowly the sweat cools on our bodies and my legs begin to hurt. Then he starts to shiver, and I lightly push against him. He moves, lying down next to me, and I pull the sheets up to cover us both and put my arms around him.

 *** Day Nine ***

I wake up with a warm body curled up in my arms. It feels so good, and I press a little closer, inhaling the warm, spicy smell that is uniquely his.

He stirs and turns. His dark eyes meet mine and I smile.

"You are so beautiful," I whisper.

"So are you," he says quietly.

My emotions threaten to overwhelm me. I want to tell him so much, explain, reassure, promise, make him understand what this means to me, what he means to me.

"Spock..."

He raises a finger and puts it on my lips. "I know," he says, we share.

And we do. My eyes widen and he smiles, that precious smile of his that doesn't really show on his face but nevertheless makes his whole face shine.

t'hy'la

Friend. Brother. Beloved. I understand. Happiness bubbles inside me and I laugh. I love you

and I you

I lean forward and kiss him. will you marry me?

An eyebrow rises. we are already married

we are?

we are bonded.

Of course. The emotional turmoil inside me calms down and leaves a deep sense of contentment. I sigh and snuggle back into his arms.

The hours of freedom have been extended. I now have a lifetime together with the one I've chosen. The one who has chosen me.

Whatever the future will hold for us, we'll face it together.

And that's all I need to know.