Chapter Text
Lounging on the large double-bed, Jim Kirk looked up from his book when the door buzzer sounded.
“Admiral, this is Spock,” the voice of his first-officer announced. “May I enter?”
With a smile, Kirk laid the book aside on the plant-decorated window ledge behind the head of the bed, and sat up. “Come in,” he offered.
The front wall of the quarters, a thick sheet of one-way translucent smoked plexiglass slid halfway open, and the Vulcan officer stepped into the sitting room/foyer. The wall hummed shut behind him.
“Well, good evening, Spock,” Kirk greeted from the bedroom, smiling through the latticed divider at the robed Vulcan who stood rather stiffly by the small conference table in the outer room. “C’mon in. Care to join me for a little brandy tonight?”
“Thank you, no, Admiral,” Spock declined, entering the large well-appointed bed-chamber. “Admiral, there is an urgent personal matter which I must discuss with you, if this is an appropriate time…”
“Of course.” Kirk indicated a nearby chair. “Please… sit down.”
Spock moved over to the chair, his heavy blue satin robe swaying gently as he walked. He sat down on the edge of the chair, body shifting forward in a relaxed but alert pose.
A slight frown creased Kirk’s brow when his adjutant didn’t speak right away. “Is something wrong, Spock? something I can help you with?”
“Yes, Admiral.” Spock's frown was more serious. “I realize that this is most inopportune timing, but I must remind you that tomorrow is my 56th birthday.”
“That’s right, your birthday!” A surprised smile banished Kirk’s frown of concern. “Well, congratulations, Spock. You’ve finally decided to let us throw you a party, is that it? Well, what flavor ice cream would you like?”
Spock's puzzled seriousness increased. “You misunderstand, Admiral. I have no interest in any type of celebration. This is my 56th year – a seventh year.”
“Oh.” Kirk breathed, and then the smile faded with delayed enlightenment. “Oh. Pon Farr.” Concern increased. “Oh god, Spock. Now?”
“Yes, Admiral. Pon Farr. It will start tomorrow and continue for seven days. As you know, I should be back on Vulcan to complete the rites.”
“But the quarantine…”
“Precisely, Admiral. Because of the quarantine, I am unable to leave. Therefore I must discuss an alternative with you.”
Kirk felt the bottom shift out from under him – if he had needed one more disaster to complicate his existence right now, this would be it. The ship quarantined because a third of the crew had come down with some unknown but savage virus, Enterprise sitting dead in the water anyway for over a month now, right on the edge of Romulan territory because of a breakdown in the engines’ induction system… And now this.
“Oh god, Spock,” he echoed himself. “Oh god. Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
A lift of Vulcan eyebrow indicated the apparent irrelevance of such a question. “What would have been the advantage? Five weeks ago I assumed that I would be able to take leave on Vulcan. Then we were put on quarantine and there was no way to go.”
“Well, we might have had more of a chance to think up an alternative. I’m correct, am I not, that Pon Farr is a life-and-death matter for Vulcans?”
“You are correct, Admiral. But I saw no cause to concern you needlessly. I took the responsibility to research all other possibilities before approaching you.”
Kirk was feeling more and more weary, closer to overload. So many life-and-death disasters weren’t supposed to happen this close together. “There are no Vulcan females aboard this ship, you know,” he reminded.
”I am quite well aware of that, Admiral.”
“… And none can come aboard while we are under quarantine.”
“I am also aware of that.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
Spock leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. The blue satin enveloping his long lean body shimmered in the lamp-light. He measured his words. “The ritual partner need not be a Vulcan; as you are well aware, my mother is human.”
“Of course,” Kirk agreed. “Well, then, are there any women aboard who would be, uh, appropriate?... I’m sure you realize that Christine Chapel has always had more than just a professional interest in you. Perhaps…"
But Spock was shaking his head. “No, Admiral. I am aware of Doctor Chapel’s interest. I respect her very much and I appreciate her respect of me. However, she and I are not, and never shall be, bonded deeply enough to join in Pon Farr together. Because the ritual bonds the partners at the most profound levels of their beings, they must already be bonded as closely as possible on shallower levels. Naturally, for a husband, the partner would be his wife. However, I have no wife. Therefore I must unite with a friend.”
“But who?” Kirk inquired. “You have no deep relationships with any women aboard this ship. Where will you find somebody?”
Spock's dark eyes gazed directly at Kirk. “I do have two very deep bonds of friendship on this vessel: with Doctor McCoy – and with you. Admiral, I am sorry, but I see no other solution that to request of you…”
“Request what?” Sudden suspicion glittered in hazel eyes.
Embarrassment flushed Spock's face a greener undertone. “Jim, please… I…”
“Request what, Spock?”
Spock's gaze dropped. “I respectfully request, Admiral, that you assist me in the Pon Farr ritual.”
“Spock, no!” Kirk’s own embarrassment tightened his body upright. The unexpected import of his friend’s announcement flustered him in a rush of adrenalin. A too-specific vision of impropriety spread before his imagination, and he frowned an intense frown of concentration at the Vulcan. “Are you attempting to suggest a… liaison… between us? Spock, that’s not possible!” And then close behind the first vision, flared a second image in Kirk’s mind: the obscene memory of a starship captain forced to his knees before a Klingon commander, brutally coerced to submit to violation… “No, Spock,” he insisted. “That’s not an acceptable solution at all!” The old neuropathy touched off muscle tremors once again – damn, he hadn’t had the neural tics for over six months now, why should they return at this particular time? The old horror replayed behind his eyes in pitiless clarity.
With an abrupt surge of will, he interrupted the grotesque memories and redirected his attention to his Vulcan friend seated next to the bed. A tight breath escaped his nostrils. “There’s got to be another answer, Spock. That one is not allowable… I’m sorry, but I can’t… do… that…”
At the sight of Kirk’s tremors and countenance of remembered nightmare, Spock had stiffened abruptly in embarrassment, suddenly reading Kirk’s mind and recalling Kirk’s tribulations during their Klingon capture. He pushed up from his chair. “Forgive me, Jim,” he quickly apologized. “In my own concerns, I had forgotten your… incident. I beg forgiveness. I shall not trouble you further.”
Kirk raised a protesting hand. “That’s all right, Spock,” he reassured Spock's chagrin, “it’s not your fault… That incident is past history, I shouldn’t still be thinking of it. And of course I realize that you are not speaking of that type of… situation. But even with regards to what you are suggesting, Spock, surely there must be other possibilities open to you.”
“There are none, Admiral.”
“Are you sure? Is it really true that Vulcans die if they are unable to… fulfill their mating need? Is it actually that serious?” Kirk’s gaze followed the Vulcan, as Spock stepped to the large oval window at the head of the bed and stared out at the star-speckled forever-night sky.
The lean severe robed figure stood silent for a few heartbeats. Kirk could still sense his own three-year-old nightmare hovering at the edges of his conscious discipline, nightmare of torture-damaged nerves, violated manhood.
Finally Spock answered him, voice calm and level, “Yes, Admiral, it is that serious. Terrans and Vulcans are very much alike in many ways; however there are a number of striking dissimilarities, and this is one of them. Mating is not simply the brief pleasurable act for Vulcans that it is for humans. Our very life-force is tied up in the performance of the act. We are not given the choice of optional celibacy. When our bodily processes prepare for sexual bonding, we either obey or we die. There is no alternative.”
Kirk’s brow creased. “Well, I don’t see that I can accommodate you, and both of us know damn well that McCoy won’t. So, we will have to find you an alternative, Spock, or we will make one.” And swinging his legs off the bed, Kirk crossed the bedroom in three strides out to the sitting area and over to the desk intercom on the conference table. “Doctor McCoy,” he paged, “report to the captain’s quarters immediately.”
Spock approached him, hands clasped behind his back. “I have already checked into the regulations, sir. There is no procedure which covers a situation such as this. I also notified Starfleet Command, but they had no suggestions. It appears that this type of situation has never arisen before.”
“It must have,” Kirk insisted. “With so many Vulcans assigned to Federation ships, it has to have arisen before.”
Spock could merely acknowledge helpless lack of information by a slight shrug.
The door buzzer hummed.
“Come in, Doctor,” Kirk invited.
Leonard McCoy entered, his curious gaze shifting between the two men already in the room. Evidently he had just come from surgery – he hadn't changed from scrubs, and his usual medicinally clean scent wafted stronger than normal. Grey-brown hair brushed across his weathered forehead lightly spangled with sweat. “Jim, Spock,” he greeted. “What can I do for you?”
Kirk leaned back against the desk, arms and ankles crossed. He didn’t want the doctor to see that the muscle twitching had returned. “We’ve got a problem, Bones. We need your input.”
“Sure, whatever I can help you with.”
“Tomorrow is Spock's 56th birthday.”
McCoy’s face brightened, as he didn’t catch on immediately. “Well, that’s great, Spock. In a few years, you’ll even pass me.”
“Pon Farr, Doctor,” Spock reminded McCoy, ignoring the doctor’s small attempt at humor. “Otherwise I would not have mentioned it.”
Sudden serious revelation washed over McCoy’s face, as it had Kirk’s earlier. A long sigh escaped his lips. “Please, Spock, this is a bad time for a joke. Damn bad time. there’s no way with the quarantine that we can get you back to Vulcan. And in any matter, we couldn’t get you there by tomorrow anyway. What are you going to do?”
“That’s why I called you,” Kirk announced. “If you have any suggestions, Bones, we’d like to hear them – and as soon as possible, please.”
McCoy’s pale blue gaze studied the two men standing before him as he considered the situation thoughtfully. He sure in hell didn’t need another emergency on top of the rising epidemic on the ship. Four more crewmen had been stricken that day, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than an hour’s sleep at a stretch. Another major disaster he could really do without.
Kirk gestured with a suggestion. “Perhaps if Spock does not test positive to the virus, Starfleet will allow him to break quarantine… after all, regulations do state that nothing shall interfere with any Vulcan crewmember’s time of Pon Farr.”
“Unfortunately,” Spock interjected, “quarantine overrides that regulation. Besides, the suggestion is irrelevant anyway. I did test positive as a carrier of the virus, Admiral. Nor, as Doctor McCoy pointed out, could I reach Vulcan by tomorrow even if I were allowed to leave right now in a shuttlecraft.”
McCoy found himself a chair. “Well, have either of you come up with any possibilities?”
“Bones… is there any kind of… drug or vaccine that you could give to Spock that would… delay this process until we can get out of here?”
“No.” Spock responded before McCoy could speak. “Any attempt to regulate the process would kill me, like trying to contain a chain-reaction explosion.”
“He’s right, Jim. I’m not a specialist in Vulcan medicine or sociology, but as I understand Pon Farr, it really is something like a chain-reaction explosion. Although Vulcans maintain that they have no emotion, they do, as we both very well know. Oh, it’s not like ours exactly – but it’s there. But rather than expressing and releasing feelings and passions daily, constantly, as we do, they bury them. Something about their physiology absorbs these emotions and stores them – like a capacitor – until at the end of every seven-year cycle, the capacitor overloads, and all this pent-up energy must come out, and seven-years’ worth of passion is released in seven days. It’s triggered by an endocrine signal, similar to the way the human pituitary gland controls our time-clocks. To interfere would cause something akin to a misfire, so the misdirected energy would still be expressed, but in a very harmful, probably fatal, manner.” The doctor glanced from Kirk to the Vulcan officer listening. “Did I explain that all properly, Spock?”
“A poor analogy, but as well as a non-Vulcan could,” Spock allowed.
“This… release of energy,” Kirk mentioned uneasily, “includes sexual appetites… passions…”
McCoy shrugged. “Of course. Sexual emotions are the most powerful feelings there are. The release not only includes sexual energy but is actually dominated by it.”
“I beg to differ with you, Doctor,” Spock interrupted, moving over closer to the medic’s chair. “While it is true that physical intercourse is a very powerful channeling of our energy during Pon Farr, it is not the most powerful. Mental and spiritual energies – the depths of which, you as humans do not fathom – are generated and shared in a mutual communion with one’s partner, so profound and mystical that the two become conjoined as a single unit: one body, one mind, one soul. It is so much more, Doctor McCoy, that a simple case of over-active hormones. Pon Farr is the greatest expression of ourselves in the very depths of our beings – an emotional depth which you so-called ‘emotional’ humans have rarely even sensed in yourselves. Only perhaps your saints and your mystics have come anywhere near to experiencing the plumbless depths where our true selves actually abide.”
“Gentlemen.” Opening a nearby cupboard, Kirk found a half-full bottle of brandy, and poured three glasses. “This is all very interesting medically and philosophically. But it’s not answering our primary question which is: how can Spock properly perform this ritual while being stranded here on the Enterprise without another Vulcan available? We need to know before tomorrow. Any suggestions are most welcome at this time.”
McCoy took the proffered drink. “Well, of course, it’s no secret that Chapel would like to…”
“That is out of the question.” Spock glanced up at Kirk. “As I mentioned previously to the admiral, Doctor Chapel and I share mutual admiration and respect. But that is not enough for mate-bonding. Pon Farr can only be undertaken by two people who already share a deep sense of commitment.”
“Yes, but Spock, how many people aboard this ship do you have such deep feelings for?”
“There are two Doctor, with whom I could conceivably initiate the rites.”
“And who might those two be?”
“Guess.” Kirk caught McCoy’s eye. He tried to control the involuntary tremors in his hands. “Us. Us, Bones. You and I.”
“What?” Blank confusion registered on the older man’s face, followed quickly by startled realization. “Us? Oh, now, wait a minute, Spock. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“I know precisely what you think it means, Doctor McCoy.”
“Well, just as I explained to the captain the Vulcan significance of Pon Farr, let me enlighten you now regarding the Earth concept of homosexuality.”
“You needn’t bother, Doctor. I am fully aware what it means to a so-called ‘normal’ human male. You are missing my point, that the communion of Pon Farr extends far beyond the shallow concepts of gender, race, and age. At the levels which Pon Farr reaches, the individual is neither male nor female, neither young nor old… but rather Pure Being, expanding into Absolute Infinity… a merging, if you will, with Totality.”
“What about the kids?” McCoy interjected a little sharply. “Since this ‘mystical experience’ of yours is also synchronized to the seven-year Vulcan fertility cycle, it seems a shame to waste the opportunity by sharing it with another ‘Pure Being’ who, on less profound levels, just happens to be another male just like yourself. You know – survival of the species and all those minor details. Isn’t that logical, Mister Spock?”
“Undeniably so, Doctor McCoy. Which is why Pon Farr is properly meant to be undertaken only by husband and wife. However, I have no wife, nor am I able to return to Vulcan where a suitable alternative might be arranged. Therefore, the only possible solution for me this time is to undertake the ceremony with a very close friend… But please do not worry yourself, Doctor – I did not intend to ask you, as I had already surmised your opinion on the subject. The admiral only requested your presence here now because he thought you might have some ideas that we had not yet considered.”
“The admiral…” McCoy’s gaze flickered to Kirk, then back to the Vulcan. Accusation flared in his face and voice. “You just said that Jim and I are the only ones you could perform this rite with. So, if you aren’t going to ask me, that means you intend to involve him. Mister Spock, may I remind you that you are speaking of compromising your superior officer, the commander of this vessel?”
“And… as commander of this vessel,” Jim Kirk entered the heating conversation to quietly remind his Chief Surgeon, “it is my duty to attend to the welfare of each member of my crew – human or Vulcan.” He frowned at the doctor. “Bones,” he urged gently, quietly, “you know this means life or death for Spock – literally. There’s no other choice… you know that.”
“Jim, do you know what you’re saying?” McCoy looked taken aback a step or two. He stared intently at Kirk, and Kirk knew that the physician-gaze was seeing more than Kirk wanted it to see. The doctor chose his words carefully. “Jim, you know I care about Spock as much as you do. I don’t want anything to happen to him, and I realize we’re talking about his life or death. But I don’t want anything to happen to you either. You can’t… do that with him. And I’m not just talking about social impropriety. There’s a real danger of psychological trauma in something like this… detrimental emotional bonding that can hurt you both, not only because you’re both males, but also because you two are the commanding officers of this ship. This is going to affect your personal lives, and it’s also going to affect the performance of this vessel. It’s a very hazardous situation.”
“It’s already hazardous – Spock's life is at stake!”
Pale eyes flashed. “I said I know that, Jim! But you called me here to ask my opinion, so I’m giving it. Dammit, I don’t want either of you to get hurt. Please think about it very seriously before you make any final decision.”
Kirk reached for his friend’s shoulders. “Bones. What other choice do Spock and I have, than us… doing this together? If you have any other suggestions, please, by all means, enlighten us.”
The intense gaze continued to study him. The doctor wasn’t missing anything of Kirk’s unspoken words. But then he shrugged surrender. “No, I don’t have any other suggestions. It just… shouldn’t come to this.”
Kirk’s grip tightened gently. “Please, Bones. Try to understand. I’m sure that Spock doesn’t wish to be involved in this embarrassment any more than I do. But it’s a last resort for a desperate situation. I’ll admit, I never considered that something like this would be a part of my job duties when I accepted command. But now that the… emergency… has arisen, it falls to me to deal with it to the best of my ability. Because I am the captain. Please understand, Bones. I’ll need your support more than ever this coming week… we both will.”
McCoy’s gaze passed from one man to the other, then he lifted resigned shoulders, gave a quick nod. “I… accept your decision, Admiral.” And then penetrating stare locked purposefully onto Kirk. “… And should you not be able to carry through with it at any time, Jim, I will, if Spock wants me to…”
“Thank you, Bones, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“All right.” McCoy rose from his chair and started for door, then hesitated to look back at his two friends. “You know where to find me if you need me… if either of you need me.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock acknowledged.
And then, when McCoy had left, Kirk strolled back to the bed and sat on the edge while Spock stood close. Kirk looked up at the tall Vulcan officer hovering over him, that same frown ghosting the human’s face, lips tugged at the corners, a slight shake of the head. “Spock…”
“Jim. I do not make this request lightly.”
“I know.” Kirk looked down, reached a quivering hand up to rub his brow, as he admitted, “This is extremely difficult for me, Spock.”
“I understand. It is difficult for me too. This is not… a truly acceptable method for engaging in the rite, but in this situation, I see no other option. However, I shall withdraw my request if you so desire.”
“And do what – die?”
“Admiral, I am… sorry if I have disturbed you… I have no desire to cause you distress.”
A helpless shrug of shoulders. “You know, Spock, I would be willing to give my life for you at a moment’s notice if necessary…”
“I know that, Jim. And I for you.”
“… so I don’t know why I’m hesitating over this…”
“You consider the conjoining of two males to be socially… unacceptable.”
“… to put it mildly…” Kirk agreed.
Spock strolled slowly around the bed to the other side. His face, lined and weathered by maturity, creased with deepening seriousness. “Doctor McCoy does not seem to understand the gravity of the matter to Vulcan society and culture.”
“How could he? Vulcans are noticeably reticent regarding their religious rituals, particularly the Pon Farr. I don’t understand it myself.”
“Pon Farr is an extremely private experience for the participants. It is not discussed openly with outsiders.”
“Do you mind discussing it with me and McCoy?”
“No, Jim. These are unusual circumstances.”
Kirk looked down over his shoulder toward the Vulcan across the bed. “Bones meant no disrespect. Homosexuality is not something that most humans discuss openly… it is considered a taboo subject for the majority of the human race…”
“It is even more serious than that for the Vulcan race,” Spock noted. “As the doctor himself mentioned briefly, Pon Farr is very intimately connected with the survival of our species. Because Vulcans engage in sexual relations for only one week every seven years, it is of the greatest urgency that conception result if at all possible. If not, the Vulcan race will gradually become extinct, our culture will be lost. To… waste seed… by spilling it with another male is almost unthinkable to a Vulcan. It puts our entire species at risk.”
Kirk shifted position on the bed to meet Spock’s gaze directly. “Then this present situation is probably even more distasteful to you than to me.”
Spock did not reply; eyelids lowered momentarily.
“Tell me, Spock. You say that celibacy is not an option for Vulcans. And yet there must be some unmarried Vulcans – like you. What do… bachelors, widowers… do to fulfill Pon Farr?”
A sudden frown tightened Spock's face as though the question cause some private inner pain. Pulling up a nearby chair, he sat near the head of the bed. “The vast majority of Vulcans are paired. I am a part of a very small minority. When a Vulcan has no mate, he must go to the temple for Pon Farr, and there he may be joined by a priestess who synchronizes with his fertility cycle. If there are none who coincide, then either a priest or priestess may engage in the ritual, and the seed is preserved and stored, to be used in the event of a genocidal emergency.”
“Spock,” Kirk offered, “if it would make you feel better, we could ask Doctor McCoy to… assist, and preserve your seed for you to take back to Vulcan after the quarantine is lifted.”
But Spock shook his head. “Thank you, no, Jim. This situation is already extremely awkward. I do not wish to make it more so.”
“Yes… of course,” Kirk agreed. Again he looked up into Spock’s dark quiet eyes. “But now, you are certain… you do want to go through this… with me…”
“Yes, Admiral, if I may request that of you. However, I have no wish to distress you…”
Spock's intense serious gaze did not waver from Kirk’s eyes. Kirk watched his old friend. How much they had been through together in the past twenty-eight years, from young adulthood to mature middle-age, from endless dreary years in uneventful inter-galactic travel to moments of adrenalin-pumping battle. They had even literally gone through hell together – Klingon hell. The love Kirk felt for the man sitting a few feet away was closer than brother-love, closer perhaps than even ego-love. But to join in a homosexual experience…?
Thoughtfully Kirk nodded, ignoring the frantic hum of warning alarms in his head. Command sometimes meant acting on the mandatory now, and assessing the unavoidable damage later. At least in this case, this was one command decision which didn’t hazard the ship or the crew.
“All right,” he finally acceded, “very well, Spock, we’ll do… what you request.”
Spock's gaze dropped slightly in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Jim. I shall attempt to make this as innoxious for you as possible.”
“And thank you, Spock… Of course, you’ll have to guide me through it all… I know nothing of what is… necessary for the enactment of your ritual.”
“Of course. I would not expect you to.”
“When do you wish to begin?”
“If it is acceptable to you, I would appreciate your presence in my quarters at 20:00 hours tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be there, Spock.”
Then rising from his chair, Spock moved toward the door. “Then I shall take my leave of you now, Admiral. Sleep well, Jim. I trust that tomorrow will be otherwise uneventful.”
* * * * *
to be continued…