Title: Forget Me Not (7/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: When Jim spends time with his First Officer and CMO, he seems sad. Neither Spock nor McCoy can figure out why.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Or read at AO3

They think they know something I don’t. I can see it in their sidelong glances, in the downturn of Bones’s mouth and the occasional hesitation of Spock’s hands. Do they not realize I know them as well as they know me? That, maybe, I know them better than they know themselves?

But that can’t matter. If I could make them believe me, I would. If I could make them stop before things become worse, I would.

But I have long ago come to the conclusion it is their conscience, the very core of goodness which resides in them, which will not allow them to leave me to my suffering. I love them for that steadfastness, but I also resent them for it.

That truth destroys a little more of me each time I acknowledge it. Will I never be free of this hell?

Personal Log, James T. Kirk

“Captain, may we speak in private?”

The quiet man with his gaze fixed upon a wide screen of distant stars and a lazy nebula shifts at the sound of the First Officer’s voice and steps down from his chair. “If we must, Commander,” he replies without inflection, not looking at any particular person as he crosses the Bridge toward an unoccupied Ready Room. Spock nods to Chekov to oversee the Science station and follows his captain.

Once the two men are alone, Jim folds his arms and asks, words terse, “What is it, Mr. Spock? Is it about our new orders?”

Spock realizes his motivation was not entirely transparent to the captain in the request made on the Bridge. He has no doubt that they will converse about the upcoming mission at some juncture; in this moment, however, it seems to be enough to walk over to Kirk, without the necessity of speech, and reach out. The desire to have a physical connection between them is remarkably strong and unusual in nature. Spock finds he does not care to question it.

Jim steps back at the last possible second, silently rejecting the contact.

Spock returns his hands to their customary position behind his back. “Will you deny me even the solace of a touch, Jim?” he asks plainly of his bond-mate.

Kirk’s throat works with some unknown emotion. “You know I must.” Following a strained silence, the man Spock eyes so keenly lowers his face and asks, “Is it troubling you?”

Between them, there has never been much need to express all that they think in words; it is with an almost natural symbiosis that they understand each other so well. Spock knows what Jim speaks of, and he gives the human nothing less than the truth. “The bond, though impaired, is not in a state which causes me grief. Were it otherwise, there are disciplines I could employ to protect my mind because I am trained to as a Vulcan. But you are not,” he adds in a gentler tone. “Does it cause you discomfort, Jim?”

Kirk lifts a hand towards his head but aborts midway through the motion. “No,” he tells Spock, looking up so their eyes meet and Spock can see he is telling the truth.

Or the truth as he believes it, Spock decides. “You may not be cognizant of any ill effects.”

A brief half-smile, thin and bitter, darkens Kirk’s face. “Allow me to guess what those ill effects may be, Mr. Spock. Physically: loss of appetite, migraines, change in sleeping pattern, delayed reactions. Emotionally I could suffer from depression, restlessness, mood swings… even paranoia. If the bond becomes corrupt and is left unattended, eventually my mind will weaken to the point that it begins to deteriorate. We humans call it insanity,” he concludes with a touch of dryness to his tone. “Not the most pleasant or preferable of outcomes.”

“You speak with such confidence I must assume we have had this discussion in the past.”

“You got it in one.” But something in Jim seems to relent. “You made Bones and I both very aware of the risks inherent in establishing a mental bond. It could be bad for us, Spock, that’s true, but you took on the most risk because one day Bones and I will…” Jim trails off and glances away momentarily before rousing himself to complete his train of thought. “None of us went into this blind.”

Spock inclines his head, grateful for the assurance. “That we desired the union, to be a part of one another in such an intimate way, tells me of our importance to you and of yours to us.” Despite the previous rejection, he is drawn toward Kirk. “Jim… I do not believe I would have agreed to these intolerable circumstances if I did not have hope of its undoing.”

“Am I to spend eternity arguing with you, Spock?”

“It is not my desire to argue.” Spock tentatively catches the edge of Jim’s sleeve and traces it downward. When his fingers touch skin, he watches Jim fight the urge to shiver. He waits until he is brushing the center of the human’s palm before saying, “I must know. Why have you no hope?”

“Spock…”

Pain there but beneath that, helpless want and a crushing despair, almost as jarring in sensation as the way Jim’s voice grated out Spock’s name.

“Jim, when it is logical to admit defeat, you never do. You once told me a captain cannot believe in the no-win scenario if he accepts true responsibility for his crewmen’s lives.”

Jim’s face is pinched, pale; a sheen of sweat gathers at his temples as if he battles some internal foe.

Spock presses gently, “Then why should Leonard and I be the individuals you willingly allow to be taken from you?”

He expects the anger; he expects the sudden, unforgiving grip Jim has on his wrist. But Spock does not anticipate the flash of suspicion and betrayal, or for Jim to say, “Stop it, Spock—stop manipulating me! I am not a puppet to be controlled!”

Then Kirk flings the Vulcan’s hand from him as if it has committed a truly treacherous deed. “Don’t you dare try that again, mister,” he grinds out from between clenched teeth.

Nothing can accurately describe Spock’s reaction except horror.

Kirk backs away. Spock follows him, knowing instinctively he must dispel the terrible accusation or lose his captain’s trust.

“Jim, I did not—” would not, could not, “—influence your thoughts.”

“Why should I believe you when you’ve done it before?” The human’s laughter is cold, full of anger. “How stupid am I, so utterly stupid, to let you do this to me again!”

Spock would deny it, wants to deny it, but cannot. He has no memory of what he has done, nor that they have been in a similar position before, despite that the chance of him taking such an abhorrent action seems infinitesimal. “I did not sway you,” he insists instead. “I touched you to understand what it is that you felt but I had no intention of forcing a change of mind upon you. You must believe me.”

At first Jim looks like he would argue back but slowly his expression changes, becomes weary, nearly wan. “I… don’t know what I believe anymore, Spock, let alone who I believe. Do you trust your thoughts? You shouldn’t. You are a plaything for some master other than yourself. We all are.”

This could be the effect of their damaged bond, or it could be the opinion of a mentally sound but desperate man. Spock cannot tell which.

Jim drags a hand across his face. “If you really want to know why I don’t hope, I’ll tell you: I dare not. For all my pride, my arrogance, and my foolish dreaming, I am a weak man. It takes courage to hope after so long. You have no idea how hard I tried to do that very thing,” Jim finishes too quietly.

There is nothing Spock can say, no words that apply to such a confession.

Jim misinterprets his silence. “What else do you want me to say, Spock? I know I’ve changed. I know I am not the man you once loved.”

Spock is struck by the sincerity of the belief; the subtle panic in Kirk’s voice is almost physically painful to hear. When Jim turns to escape him, he does not allow it, taking hold of the human’s elbow and gradually drawing him forward until they are close enough to lean their bodies together, though they do not.

“You are incorrect, Jim. My feelings for you remain unchanged. It matters not that I have no memories to support my claim. Even if time continues on where we cannot, I will always be drawn to you. As I believe,” he concludes, “you shall always be drawn to me. That is our destiny.” The words have a ring of truth to them and a familiarity he cannot quite reconcile.

Jim closes his eyes. Spock waits. When the man is willing to look at Spock again, his gaze is pained but hard. Spock recognizes this particular brand of resolve, and it disturbs him.

Yet Jim is not harsh with him, just matter-of-fact. “Destiny is no friend of ours, Spock.” The Vulcan would have spoken then but Jim interrupts him. “Make no mistake, I have listened to everything you had to say, and—” For a moment his bond-mate looks regretful. “—though I may seem unkind to you, I want you to know that I miss you too. I miss you both very much. But I won’t hope again. Don’t ask it of me, please.”

Spock retreats into silence while he determines the best way to break this resolve of Kirk’s. He cannot choose to accept it, that much he knows. It is not simply a matter of his own feelings at risk but Leonard’s as well.

And Jim’s, whether or not the human acknowledges the truth of his feelings. The bond would not have lasted as it has if the emotions which bound them together no longer existed. It would have, in fact, already deteriorated and, without proper removal, harmed them all. The fact remains that the strength of the bond is evidence they are not as estranged as Jim believes them to be. The bond is Spock’s hope.

But Jim will not listen if he tells him this. He cannot persuade his bond-mate through emotional recourse to allow them to seek a solution; perhaps the use of emotion is his mistake, given that it is better suited to McCoy’s dominion rather than his own. Spock is a being of logic, and logic he must wield to his advantage.

In the interim, while he thinks, the Vulcan’s hold upon Jim is gently removed; if Kirk’s fingers linger against the back of Spock’s hand for some seconds before finally letting go, neither of them mentions it.

“I will not demand that which you are unwilling to give,” Spock assures the man before him. “I only ask that you consider the intentions of the creatures which forced us into this predicament. Their purpose was to inflict harm.”

“And they’ve done so,” Kirk replies with bitterness.

“Affirmative. In particular, they have harmed you, Captain.”

Jim frowns and studies Spock’s bland expression. “I’m the one who offered to pay the price for our freedom, Spock.”

“I am aware of your sacrifice. But how does this constitute freedom? Our minds are continually erased—reset, if you will allow the terminology—and this includes all parties aboard the Enterprise with the exception of yourself. “

“That’s only because you and Bones keep—”

Anger flares, bright and hot, in Spock but he does not allow it to run rampant; instead he studies it in a detached manner as he would a specimen in his science laboratory, then sets the emotion aside. Nonetheless, the residue of the anger lends his voice a cutting edge. “Captain.”

Jim does not physically recoil but Spock notices that he has gained the sharper side of the man’s attention.

“You are hindered by your need to place blame.” Kirk pales but Spock forges ahead, wishing for Jim to understand him. “It appears you blame yourself. I also understand that, given certain events which you are forced to relive, you blame Doctor McCoy and myself. It is that kind of anger which can narrow one’s focus until one loses a grasp of the situation as a whole.”

A muscle in Kirk’s jaw jumps. “Are you accusing me of short-sightedness, Commander?”

Spock dismisses the provoking remark. “One basic fact exists: we must remember in order to forget. I believe you have determined by now what can trigger the loss of memory. Therefore I ask you instead: what initiates the cycle? How long is the period between when we forget and when we begin to question what we know? Are there other events which, by nature or by design, facilitate the process?”

Jim begins to shake his head. “That’s irrelevant. Something will always make you wonder. Didn’t you call it our destiny? That’s the cruelest part about this, Spock.”

Jim is not alone in his frustration. The Vulcan cannot comprehend how the human so easily delineates the crux of the problem yet seems unaware of it. “No part of this problem is irrelevant, Captain.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Then you have given me an illogical answer before.”

Humor flashes through Kirk’s eyes, there and gone.

Despite a feeling of relief, Spock does not let his thoughts linger upon it. “I propose that the question of our relationship must be raised, either by myself or Doctor McCoy. Once it is raised, it must be pursued. Otherwise the cycle of events ceases to exist and, with it, your suffering.”

“But time isn’t repeating itself, Spock.”

“Precisely, Captain. Events are repeating themselves unconstrained by time.” He pauses, allowing Jim time to absorb what he is implying. “The doctor mentioned a sensation you humans often experience. It is called déjà-vu.”

Jim crosses his arms, a sign that he is disturbed. “Déjà-vu isn’t real.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Why would you name something which does not exist?”

Jim rubs a hand against his forehead. “Spock… This is an argument for Bones, not me.”

“I am merely inquiring why it cannot be real, Captain. It appears we have encountered beings who thrive on the concept. They can create circumstances wherein you and I enact some version of a series of unpleasant events. I am prevented from recalling each version but you are not. Therefore you are suffering ‘déjà-vu’, not I.”

Jim makes a pained noise, lifting his free hand to his head as well. “Spock. You’re giving me a headache.”

He relents because Jim is in pain, speaking with calculated softness, “Turn around.”

The human blinks at him.

“Jim, if you would, face the opposite direction.”

After Jim cautiously does so, Spock raises and presses his fingertips to Kirk’s temples from behind.

Jim jumps slightly. “Don’t!”

He ignores that and applies pressure at the proper points.

“Oh,” Kirk says moments later, some of the tension filtering out of his stance. “Oh, okay.” His voice drops to a murmur. “Bones usually does this.”

Spock thinks McCoy is the one who taught him this pressure-point technique, given Jim’s penchant for migraines. He cannot specifically recall when he learned it, however, so he says nothing. Once Spock has gauged Jim’s pain level through his touch-telepathy and is satisfied its decrease is significant, he releases the man and moves toward the room’s exit. As he had hoped, Jim calls for him.

In front of the door, Spock turns. “Yes, Captain?”

“Why did you bring them up, those questions?”

So he has not lost Jim’s trust after all. “You wished for our freedom, Jim, but it is apparent they have not given us the kind of freedom we desired. This cycle of events must not be allowed to continue.”

“We can’t win, Spock.”

“That is correct. You are not in a position to win this game,” the Vulcan agrees with a gentleness belying the levity of his tone. “Leonard and I must win in your stead.”

Seeing the strong emotions play across Jim’s face, he shifts his stance to allow his bond-mate privacy.

“I know,” the human whispers. “I’ve become useless.”

Spock focuses on the closed door, his displeasure detracting from his patience. “No, sir, you are not. “

“I can’t help without making it worse.”

“On the contrary. I believe there is one thing you might do to aid us which will pose no risk.”

“Ask.”

In that moment, Jim sounds like… Jim. Gratitude sweeps through Spock.

“We must know what has transpired, of our past attempts. Without such knowledge, we will have lost the game before the first move is made. Please outline each occurrence and include any observations that may help us understand what happens, such as our change in interaction or behavior and those events which may have caused them.”

“All right, Spock, I’ll do it. You have my word.”

Spock thanks him, unable to look back because he can no longer tolerate the defeat in his captain’s voice, and retreats to the Bridge. Jim does not follow him.

A shadow falls across the threshold of the CSO’s office. “Did you get it?”

The Vulcan places a data padd to the side before turning his attention to his visitor. “Greetings. You may enter, Doctor McCoy.”

Leonard casts a dubious eye over his surroundings as he comes into the room. “Not sure I’ve been in here before.”

“Perhaps you simply cannot recall that you have.”

Leonard hmphs and seats himself in a chair across from Spock’s desk. “Is that supposed to be funny? ‘Cause personally I’d say you have poor taste in jokes.”

“I made a reasonable observation.”

“Right,” Leonard agrees. He does not sound as if he believes Spock. Suddenly eager, the doctor leans forward. “Well?”

Spock picks up the padd he was previously holding and hands it to Leonard. “The captain provided the list.”

“I can’t believe he did it without making a fuss! You pulled it off, Spock. Congratulations!”

Given the particulars of his long conversation with Jim, congratulations do not seem appropriate. Spock decides there is no need to inform Leonard of this. He watches instead as the doctor activates the screen of the padd.

Within seconds, the human’s expression turns troubled and his gaze seeks Spock’s. “Am I gonna hate what’s on here?”

Spock steeples his finger. “I doubt you will find the contents pleasing, Doctor. However, there is a certain… fascinating quality to the pattern of the data.” In truth, Spock hopes they can discuss those patterns in short order.

“Only you, Spock,” McCoy mutters in an undertone, “only you.”

The Vulcan chooses not to interpret that meaning.

With a sigh, the doctor begins to read the list, making an absent noise of acknowledgement as Spock informs him, “The captain confirmed the accuracy of the data. He has been recording the daily activities of the ship in his personal log for some time, it seems.”

“Can we get a copy of those entries?” Leonard asks, squinting at the words on the padd. Spock wonders if the human’s eyesight is irritated or requires an examination for anomalies. That would be prudent to mention to the Head Nurse. He will send her a missive once Leonard leaves. It amuses him to think of the possible repercussions of ‘meddling where he’s not supposed to’; the doctor will not like that Spock recommended him for an eye exam and will have his revenge, however illogical that seems. The revenge shall mainly consist of boisterous complaints and threats, the kind that in Leonard’s opinion unnerve Spock—which is not an opinion Spock shares.

The Vulcan tucks his amusement away in order to address the question asked. “I made the request. The captain was not receptive to it.” Jim had turned pale at the suggestion. He fears, Spock surmises, what they might learn of his private thoughts. Spock finds he cannot hold the man at fault for that.

Leonard unknowingly echoes the sentiment. “Guess I wouldn’t want anyone poking their nose into my personal diary, either. It’s probably for the best—what in tarnation! I don’t remember any of this!“

Ah, thinks Spock. So it commences.

The doctor’s spine straightens in an uncanny imitation of Spock’s posture as a fire sparks in his blue eyes. “And what the heck does it mean: probable broken bones from fight with Gorn? WHEN’D HE GET IN A FIGHT WITH A GORN?”

“You will note, in that incident, he claims his injuries healed rapidly and with little medical aid in the aftermath of the altercation.”

Brows bunched together, Leonard shoots him an unpleasant look. “I think I’d remember if he recently got broken in half by a giant lizard, Spock!” Then McCoy becomes distracted again as he continues to peruse the list and sputters in outrage. “There’s no way we let Jim be tortured by Vians! Who are Vians!”

“Read on, Doctor,” Spock prompts.

Muttering, the doctor does so, finally—and somewhat shakily, Spock notes—replacing the padd on the desk when he is done. Then Leonard slumps in his chair and gives a heartfelt curse. “Damn it.“

Spock waits for the doctor to gather his thoughts.

“So the choriomeningitis wasn’t a fluke.”

“It appears not.”

“He gets sick or shot or stabbed o-or…” The doctor’s speech falters.

“Kidnapped,” Spock supplies. Twice Kirk was taken hostage, by Klingons and Orion pirates respectively. In both instances, he notated that Spock and McCoy managed to save him from imminent death.

“…kidnapped,” Leonard repeats sourly, “in order to make us realize how much we care about him. My god, it’s like we’re stuck in a cheap romance novel!”

Interesting. Spock would like to know what else constitutes a ‘cheap romance novel’. Sadly, he must restrict his curiosity to the higher priority topics of discussion. “Did you read the other half of the list?”

“Are you kidding? It’s just as bad! Exactly how many people in this galaxy know we’re married?” Leonard shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I feel like I’m walking around with a sign on my back that says ‘I’m the idiot who forgets his own wedding anniversary. Please remind me!'”

Again, Spock’s curiosity is piqued.

Leonard eyes him as though he can tell what the Vulcan is thinking. “You’re being awful quiet all of a sudden, Spock.”

“I was calculating the likelihood we have informed more than a small group of individuals of our intimate relationship with Captain James T. Kirk.”

Leonard’s mouth purses. “I suppose I’d tell my daughter and her husband.”

“Similarly, it is common courtesy for a Vulcan who acquires a mate to inform those who are part of his ancestral clan.”

“‘Cause it takes you off the eligible bachelors list?” The human flashes him a grin. “Why, I bet that put a bee in a couple of Vulcans’ bonnets!” Then Leonard flushes. “Oh lord, whadaya think Sarek had to say about us?”

“I cannot imagine,” Spock answers, tone hesitant. The thought is somewhat troubling.

“Well, we must of survived the fallout,” Leonard assures him. “Obviously he didn’t get Jim booted out of his captaincy and me relegated to an outpost at the backend of space.”

“My father respects you both.”

“Because of the Babel Conference,” the doctor says slowly, as though he is puzzling out the memory.

“You saved his life.”

Color comes into McCoy’s face. “I just did my job. And don’t forget you took a big risk with your health in order to save him!” After a pause, the doctor shrugs. “I say we give Jim the credit. I mean, he did prevent an intergalactic war.”

“The captain collapsed after ignoring his need for recovery from surgery. I believe this disqualifies him for an award based upon laudable behavior.”

Leonard’s shoulders shake with his amusement. “If that was the case, then he’d never get commended, Spock!”

“Indeed.”

The banter between them relieves some of the tension in the room until Leonard shifts and the good humor fades from his eyes. “But you know that just means these bastards, whoever they are, have more material to pull from.”

“They do not seem interested in permanently damaging him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Leonard says, voice taking on an unusually dark tone. “It’s not right to play with somebody like that. They’re treating us like we’re a bunch of pawns on a chess board—and Jim’s gettin’ closer to his breaking point with every move.” Leonard looks unhappy. “Damn and blast… I can think of only one way to fight them, Spock, that isn’t on that list.”

As could Spock. “I also see no other course of action open to us.”

“I just hate that we have do it,” his bond-mate murmurs. “It feels like we’re giving in instead of fighting back.”

Though he cannot comfort Jim, he can and will offer comfort to Leonard. Spock rises from his chair and circles the desk. Leonard lets Spock to pull him to his feet.

The human presses in close and lowers his forehead to Spock’s shoulder, sighing softly. “How long?” he asks.

“As long as we must.” It will be difficult, painful, for them both to act against their nature.

Questions, those he cannot answer, plague Spock then: Will Jim be relieved when they begin to ignore him, pretending as though they have no interest in pursuing a reunion with their third bond-mate? Will the bond withstand the enforced estrangement? How will the beings responsible react to the sudden lack of what Spock can only assume is a form of entertainment for them?

What bothers him most (and, he realizes suddenly, he is grateful Leonard had not noticed the discrepancy in the chronology of the list) is the number of days between this current cycle of events and the last, which given the correlation of the data should be no more than one week.

Yet it is a month’s worth of time not accounted for on the list. Why is that time missing? What happened in that month? Was it insignificant? Could it be that Jim himself does not remember as they do not? He suspects a key to their strategy lies in those missing weeks.

Only, in a place within himself where he cannot give it voice, Spock fears they are still repeating their actions—and the outcome could end badly, then be erased altogether, once again looping them back to the beginning of a state of utter obliviousness.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Forget Me Not (10/10) – from April 1, 2013
• Forget Me Not (9/10) – from April 1, 2013
• Forget Me Not (8/10) – from March 18, 2013
• Forget Me Not (6/?) – from March 6, 2013
• Forget Me Not (5/?) – from March 1, 2013