Kirk woke up in his quarters.

He did not know what the date was. These days, he barely cared.

Each new morning, each new mission was starting to feel like the same endless nightmare, repeating over and over and over again.

A new planet. Surveys to perform, away missions to lead. Reports to write. Systems to catalog. The emptiness followed him everywhere. Days blurred together in Kirk's mind, his sense of time completely lost and not a light in the dark to mark it's passage.

On this particular morning, he was on the bridge of the Enterprise. They were carrying out another star charting mission—some remote region of the galaxy which would have held some interest to the person he used to be. Everyone was performing adequately and everything was under control.

Except.

Something was off.

Today, something felt...

Different.

A noise nearby suddenly roused Kirk from his musings.

He hurried to answer the hail, stabbing a button on the arm of his chair.

"Kirk here."

"Captain, it's sickbay," McCoy's voice drifted over the comms. "Jim, you'd better get down here."

And somehow, inexplicably, Kirk knew McCoy was right. He had to get to sickbay.

Immediately.

"Sulu, you have the conn," Kirk announced, then swiftly stood and exited the bridge.

The walk to sickbay seemed to last forever. He drifted through the halls like a ghost, his body slowly fading into the floor and into the bulkheads. But something was waiting for him in sickbay. Something that reached down inside and pulled at him like a magnet, that forced him to remain in existence so long as he could reach the sickbay doors.

And finally, there they were.

"Bones?" Kirk called into the empty room. For a moment, there was only silence. Time itself seemed to hang in the air like fog, thick and heavy with anticipation.

"In here, Jim," McCoy called. Kirk turned and moved toward the sound. He rounded a corner into the other room, and suddenly, there he was.

Spock.

The Vulcan was sitting carefully on a biobed, McCoy standing next to him. Upon seeing the Captain's face, Spock broke out into a wide smile.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Kirk stared at the scene before him, unable to believe his eyes. Softly, gingerly, he padded over to the biobed, his feet moving of their own accord, drifting across the floor as if in a dream. Spock leaned toward him slightly, eyes shining with wonder and affection. Kirk opened his mouth, but his lungs would not work. He took a breath, then tried again.

"Bones.... how....." he finally managed to rasp.

"I received a message from him in his quarters about an hour ago," McCoy began to explain, voice gentle. "He told me what happened in engineering. Said he just suddenly woke up in his quarters. When I brought him to sickbay, everything checked out. He's as healthy as ever. I couldn't believe it, but then I noticed a tiny abnormality in the brain's memory processing center. Something had recently been modified, but now it's back to normal. I compared the scans with myself and the rest of my medical staff. We all have the same abnormality. Something must have happened to us after we left that planet. The only explanation I can think of is that we were all experiencing some kind of elaborate hallucination."

"Then Spock never..." Kirk allowed his gaze to fall on the bed beside him. He locked eyes with Spock. The Vulcan seemed to have composed himself a little. For the first time since he had entered sickbay, Spock finally spoke up.

"As the Doctor explained, I must have fallen unconscious after the events in engineering," he began, his voice calm and achingly familiar.

"It is likely that Asmodeus possessed some level of telepathic ability. The strength required to affect the entire crew would be immense; I suspect the range of his influence was limited. Once we passed beyond that distance, he was no longer able to continue affecting the crew. Therefore, the hallucinations vanished and I regained consciousness in my quarters."

"Then it was all a dream..." Kirk whispered softly, his voice filled with wonder. That must be why he'd felt dizzy in the transporter room after returning from the planet's surface, he thought.

"Whatever happened to us, it's a good thing it wore off when it did. Some of my medical tricorders used to be broken, but now they're miraculously working again. We all must have been made to believe random malfunctions were occurring. Some of the repair teams might have actually been making problems instead of fixing them. Who knows what might have happened next. We could easily have been tricked into destroying the ship ourselves," McCoy added. "I kept telling Scotty that something was wrong with the replicators," he grunted.

"It is fortunate that the ship's critical systems were not more severely damaged," Spock remarked.

"Ever since we left that planet, everything that came out of those machines tasted funny," McCoy pressed, muttering to himself.

"Doctor, you are a sensualist," Spock declared.

"You bet your pointed ears I am," McCoy smirked.

Spock turned toward the Captain, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. Despite all the shock and confusion churning through his brain, Kirk couldn't stop a small grin from spreading across his face. Man it was good to hear them arguing again.

"So help me, I was actually pleased to see him," McCoy joked to Kirk, smiling as he nodded toward the Vulcan. "Smack right in the old heart," the Doctor added, placing his fist against his chest. "Oh, I'm sorry," he corrected himself, raising a finger. "In your case, Spock, it would be about here," he said, thumping his left side.

"The fact that my internal arrangement differs from yours, Doctor, pleases me no end," Spock announced, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

McCoy raised his eyebrows while Kirk grinned, attempting to conceal his laughter.

Now that he had allowed himself to believe what he was seeing, Kirk couldn't stop the wave of happiness building within him. He had been battered, bruised and broken for so long now, he had almost forgotten what it was like to live without the pain. He locked eyes with Spock and an understanding seemed to pass between them. His soul seemed to be reaching out, slipping further and further away into those deep, brown pools.

The exchange did not go unnoticed by Doctor McCoy. He fought off an affectionate smile, raising one knowing eyebrow—a trick he had learned from a dear friend. Now that he knew what these two meant to each other, he really had to watch himself, before it put him in a good mood or something.

"There's just one thing, Mr. Spock," McCoy began. "You can't tell me that when you first saw Jim, you weren't on the verge of giving us an emotional scene that would have brought the house down," he declared.

"Merely my quite logical relief that one of Starfleet's most proficient captains had not been injured in this ordeal," Spock explained.

"Yes, Mr. Spock. I understand," Kirk replied with a knowing grin.

"Thank you, Captain," Spock nodded gratefully.

"Of course, Mr. Spock, your reaction was quite logical," McCoy agreed in mock seriousness.

"Thank you, Doctor," Spock replied.

"In a pig's eye," Bones added firmly.

Kirk and Spock quickly turned to look at him, then at each other, and then back to McCoy.

The Doctor bounced on his heels twice, gave a satisfactory nod, then turned and left sickbay, hands clasped behind his back. Kirk and Spock silently watched him go.

"Most curious," Spock commented once McCoy had left the room. "Though he exhibited signs of anger, I believe Doctor McCoy was smiling just now."

Kirk grinned affectionately at the Vulcan, eyes softening as he moved his hand over the one Spock had subtly placed at his side on the bed.

"How are you, Spock?" Kirk asked quietly, moving his fingers over the Vulcan's in an attempt to reach his thoughts. His mind had been strangely silent upon seeing his first officer again and it had begun to concern him.

"I can't... I can't feel you like I used to," Kirk added worriedly.

"I apologize, Jim. If you are agreeable, I believe I will have to re-initiate the bond," Spock replied.

If he was agreeable? At that moment, there was nothing else in the entire universe that Kirk wanted more.

"Do it," he whispered.

Spock leaned forward slightly, then reached up and placed his fingers on the side of Kirk's face.

For a moment, nothing happened.

All of a sudden, his mind was flooded by an overwhelming rush of warmth, sparks of light and sound bursting behind his eyelids as he gasped, a trembling wave sweeping through them both. There were no words, just a torrent of love and reassurance, a beam that chased away the ache and the loneliness because it was bright and sweet and filled with devotion and so unquestionably real—and for every wave of affection that enveloped him, Kirk's tattered soul healed little by little. No more pain, the warmth told him without speaking. No more pain.

The warmth was a comfort that wrapped Kirk's mind in soft ribbons, his essence embracing Spock's own as their bond reawakened and entwined around them both. As it rushed to recreate the bridge between them—to fill the gaping chasm of emptiness, a universe of bitter ash and longing—Kirk melted completely into Spock's arms, into Spock's mind as it opened little by little—and was relieved to discover he still had a home in both places.

Kirk's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, heart hammering so rapidly it nearly escaped him and finally, Kirk just let himself go.

The universe of ash suddenly erupted into flames.

And the world righted itself.

Pieces that had been missing finally fell into place.

Jim.

Spock's mental voice was back, and Kirk cherished it wholeheartedly, entranced with the way it sounded and how it lingered, coiling around him in waves and settling with a familiar twinge against his heart.

Jim, the voice said again.

Spock's fingers slowly drifted down from Kirk's face, his touch feather-light and oh-so-gentle, until they finally came to rest against the Captain's shoulder. The bond had restored the pieces of themselves in one another; through Spock's lips, Kirk could breath, through Spock's eyes, he could see, and through Spock's fingers, he could feel.

The Vulcan closed the distance between them and placed the softest of kisses against the Captain's forehead. His lips lingered upon the skin, and Kirk could feel the wave of love—brushing over his frayed nerves like fire and outshining everything except the two of them. Kirk leaned into the touch, opening his own heart in response. For a long moment, the world was just that, and nothing else.

As Spock's lips finally left his bond-mate's forehead, he drew back, lashes parting until he was met with the sight of Kirk's unblinking hazel eyes, glassy and filled with tears.

Spock's expression immediately softened, staring back with a look that only further reaffirmed that their bond had truly come back to life.

Despite all that had happened and all that he had guilted himself for, Spock still loved him, still accepted him, still wanted him. And though he felt undeserving of it, Kirk wanted Spock too—more than anything. He had just begun to accept that his life would forever be a lonely one, filled with all the unspoken words, the sharp sting of guilt and regret, the never-ending pain of what once was and what might have been. But not anymore.

Kirk's mouth opened slightly and he involuntarily blinked, two droplets pushed out of each eye, falling silently to the ground below.

Jim, Spock repeated, releasing Kirk's shoulder and bringing his palm up to his bond-mate's face.

They continued staring at each other—silently speaking with their eyes—until Kirk finally pulled Spock into him. His face fell into the Vulcan's hair and he choked out a sob. It wasn't until this very moment—when they clung to one another and everything came together again—that he understood once more what it was like to truly feel and belong and love. He pulled Spock tightly to him, nuzzling his shoulder, and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

I'm sorry, Kirk told him. I am so, so sorry.

It is alright, Jim, the Vulcan whispered through their link, his voice soothing and gentle and certain. I am here.

Spock focused all of his efforts on the man in his arms, sending pulsing thoughts of his bone-deep devotion with the strength and clarity of a man who loved his captain with the wholeness of his heart and the entirety of his soul. And perhaps, Kirk thought, this feeling was enough. Perhaps it was time to let go of the guilt, the sorrow, the darkness, the pain—for how could they hope to withstand the brilliant light and warmth that his bond-mate had so completely surrounded him with?

To think that I believed myself capable of spending a lifetime without you...

The thought alone was enough to make Kirk crush his beloved even harder into his chest—so close that neither of them could distinguish their own bodies from one another.

Kirk pulled back slightly, then finally surged up to kiss Spock the human way, all too eager, his happiness and want spilling over the bond. They reveled in the feeling of being in each other's arms, of soft lips and gentle skin, the out-pouring of emotions—a sensation like sparks at every point where they touched.

Their lips met and parted, again and again. Kirk wrapped his arms around the Vulcan's neck and shoulders, Spock's own hands settling against Kirk's waist, pulling him even closer. They kissed until they couldn't kiss any more, until they were both trembling and heaving for air with Spock's cheek pressed against Kirk's temple.

"I missed you," Kirk breathed against his ear.

"So much," he murmured into the Vulcan's skin, placing soft, gentle kisses along his neck.

And I, you, T'hy'la.

Kirk smiled into Spock's shoulder, letting himself relax in their shared intimacy—in a place that belonged just to them, just for this moment. Kirk breathed in, and then out again, focusing purely on his bond-mate and what he felt for him.

Love.

But so much deeper than that.

In a way that cannot be put into words.

He felt Spock in his very soul.

Constant and real and there.

A comfort that he had spent far too long without.

That he could never imagine being without again.

He loved Spock so much. So much, it was ridiculous. His love was utterly plain to see. Kirk knew it—had always known it. Since day one, he had been head-over-heels in love, his heart positively brimming with euphoria because after years, years of loving Spock, he had finally realized just how deep his affection ran.

Spock focused on that feeling for a moment—the bright, shining light that came from Kirk. He centered himself in it, letting his thoughts be consumed by their shared warmth and the feeling of his Captain here with him. And Spock decided he had finally found the words to encompass the bond that they shared.

"Jim, you are my T'hy'la. I know this, now," Spock told him, choosing to speak the words aloud to affirm their importance.

"I have been, and always shall be, yours."

"Oh, Spock," Kirk breathed in reply, his smile brighter and more beautiful than the Vulcan sun itself.

"I love you, too."

Kirk held tight to his bond-mate, and did not let go.

Silence fell, complete and absolute stillness—yet so different from the unrelenting void in which they had lived for so long. Theirs was perfect, because life pulsed through the calmness. Their life, and the life of the universe around them. Peaceful. Everlasting.

Beautiful.

And that was how Doctor McCoy found them a few hours later—huddled up close on the biobed, Spock's head resting on the Captain's shoulder and Kirk's cheek pressed into soft, black hair. They were asleep.

McCoy grabbed a blanket to cover them with, and for the life of him, he couldn't help the fond, indulgent smile that spread across his face.

"What a pair of saps."

Had he known that it would end this way?

Had he known this was their destiny, right from the very beginning?

The answer was that there was no logical answer—that when it came to loving and being loved in return, there was no infallible set of rules, no mathematical equation to explain what the heart wanted most.

For theirs was a story written in stars, and some things are simply meant to be.