The Curious Conversion of Captain Kirk

"No, no, Spock... I'm fine... I like it. Keep going!"

A kiss soothes a burning mouth. Hands meet and twist into each other against a sweat-covered bedsheet. Two souls meet through the conduit of their physical realities, communing in sighs, groans, shy murmurs.

Afterwards, Kirk leans against the door frame of his cabin, seeing Spock off. It is nearly dinnertime, and poor Scott must be rescued from the extended bridge duty foisted upon him by Spock's first pon farr. "I can't believe it's taken us this long to do that," Kirk tells him quietly, calmly. "It seems so natural, like... like it was always a part of our lives, just something we hadn't gotten around to doing yet."

"I am not accustomed to expressing myself... aloud... in this manner," Spock replies hesitantly, "but I do hope you realize my great affection for you." The words sound stumbling and cold, but the emotion behind them is earnest.

"I always have," Kirk tells him smoothly. "Spock..." He reaches out to trace the line of Spock's jaw. "You all right?"

Spock nods slowly. A few more words later, he is gone, swallowed up by the hallway and his pressing duties in the science lab. Kirk stands in the doorway watching until he is completely gone. He lifts his fingers to follow the path of Spock's lips on his jaw and neck, lingering over the bite delivered upon the Vulcan's greatest peak of passion.

Then he closes up his room, zips his mind back into its professional persona, and heads for the bridge to relieve Mr. Scott after a long day.

//

Shortly before bedtime, he joins McCoy in the mess hall for a late dinner. On other days, the good doctor would have expressed colorful consternation at the contents of the captain's plate. Today, however, he is willing to permit him this feast--it isn't every day a man comes back from the dead, and besides, he knows what was going on in Jim's quarters after Jim and Spock left Sickbay that afternoon. If Jim's body is telling him it needs a baked potato loaded in bacon and cheese to replenish its energy, let him eat it in peace.

"What's that on your neck, there, Jim?" Potatoes were one thing, but McCoy isn't going to ignore suspicious wounds.

"Old war wound," Jim quips.

"He bite you?" McCoy takes a hefty chunk out of his apple.

Jim nods casually. "Consenting adults, Bones."

"Who am I to disagree," McCoy replies. "I'm not interested in spoiling anybody's fun. Just remember to run some disinfecting soap over that before you go to sleep."

"Was already planning on it."

"Good." McCoy swallows another mouthful of apple, then asks, "So how's Spock adjusting?"

"That's the funny thing, Bones--both of us fell into the rhythm so quickly that it almost seemed like we'd been together--like that--for years. I've never felt like that after a first night with anyone before."

"That's because this is different," Bones comments. "This is permanent."

Jim opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish. "How can you be sure of that? I've never had much success convincing someone to stay with me. Carol--"

"...hated Starfleet. If she'd been as gung-ho about starships as you were, you'd have made the perfect couple," Bones points out.

"Ruth?"

"Couldn't handle you casually checking out other people," Bones counters. "Anyone who wants to settle down with Jim Kirk has to be completely confident in his or her own desirability. And don't bring up Mario, because that was high school."

"I wasn't going to. I know the difference between teenage fantasy and real life." Jim rubs his neck, where he feels the bite-mark itch slightly.

"Spock's willin' to follow you anywhere."

"I--I know. I just need more time to figure out.... all of this." Jim waves his hand in the air.

"Take your time... just don't let him go back into his shell," McCoy warns. "If you don't talk to him soon, he might convince himself you only spent the afternoon with him out of friendship, and Heaven knows what it would take to get him to believe anyone else once he's convinced himself of something."

Jim nods. "True." He resolves to think about it.

The best place for thinking alone on board the ship is the Observation Deck. Here, the starlines blur and dance against the blackdrop of space's curtain, and one could share the beauty with an appetizing companion, or come alone simply to... observe.

A couple, half of whom looks suspiciously like Ensign Chekov, is necking in the corner. Kirk cannot tell who they are aside from the telltale mop of hair, and he doesn't look too closely. He waits for them to break apart and run giggling for the other lift before he approaches the windows to gaze into the universe.

Is Spock really the man for him--forever? He knows the answer well enough. He is just afraid to admit it to himself, because he has never yet uttered a successful proposal...

He doesn't want to scare Spock away.

Outside the window hangs the round, glowing shape of Altair VI's moon, whose name he does not know. For one moment, before he realizes how foolish this idea is, he thinks to himself--"Ah, a full moon." Of course it's full! He feels silly--after decades in space he should know better.

He chalks it up to the late hour and rubs his neck. The bite is itching again. Maybe he should have washed it out already.

A strange, tingling sensation grips his ankles, as if he had just stood after sitting with his legs folded underneath him. His feet do not obey his commands. He tries to bend down to touch them and instantly his hands, too, begin to tingle.

Searing pain erupts from the bite-mark on his neck, and he cries out. Chekov and his girlfriend have left--the room is emp \f1 ty. He is observed only by stars that, brilliant as they are, glow deafly to his torment.

\f0 Paralyzed, he watches his reflection in the glass as transformations rock his body. Flooding from the bite-mark, a greenish hue spreads through his skin like an oil spill in the ocean. His hands grasp and claw futilely at the air in vain before snapping irreversibly into the Vulcan ta'al. His fluffy blond-brown hair lays limp and flat, shinier than he has ever seen it, and the horrible itching on his chest tells him that the hair he works so painstakingly to wax away has instantly grown back with a vengeance. His ears grow pointed, as do his eyebrows.

Then, all at once, the pain stops and his vision clears. It is complete. He looks in the mirror at the being he has become, the full moon shining in the background, and utters one word in response--

"Illogical."

His mind races to put his thoughts in order. What an untidy mind he inhabits! It must be dusted, sorted, and categorized right away. While sections of his brain occupy themselves to that task, other portions inventory his life

What? Unbonded?

He studies his memories to determine why this might be. There is a Vulcan man called Spock, also unbonded, and they are very special to each other--very special indeed. Their minds are attuned, and their bodies appeal to each other. Even their career plans fit neatly together. It is a logical match. So why has it not been formalized? This is not right. This is dangerous, and also a completely illogical waste of resources, his Vulcan instinct tells him.

He leaves the Observation Deck and heads immediately for Spock's lab.

Spock is looking at one-celled extraterrestrials under the microscope when the transformed Jim bursts into the room with a manly stride. "Spock, I will speak with you!"

Spock looks up from his cell cultures with shock at Jim's tone, and is even more astonished to discover the changes in his captain and friend. Standing before him is Jim--as a Vulcan! His hair hangs floppily around his newly pointed ears, longer than usual due to the straightening. He looks like Graham Chapman during season four of Monty Python. "Captain--?"

"Spock, why have we not bonded?" Jim demands.

"I had not--you have never--Jim, why are you suddenly Vulcan?"

"I do not know. I offer no explanation for my transformation. I have no doubt that as my best scientist, you will be able to discover its cause," Jim says. "What I do offer you is my pledge as bondmate. Will you accept this logical decision?"

Spock stands and steps forward, gazing at him. "Yes, Jim, I will." He pauses. "Are you quite rational?"

"Do you question my logic?" Jim asks. "We enjoy each other's company. We participate in the same professional and leisure activities. We have much to teach each other from our diverse life experiences, and we find each other attractive in an intimate way. I have already trusted you with my life in a military context. I now offer it to you in its entirety. Please trust me with yours."

"Jim, my life is yours whether or not you had asked for it," Spock blurts out, almost shocking himself with the ease he reveals it. "As a scientist, however, I merely question the permanence of your proposal. You are.... not yourself."

"My thoughts are the same," Jim insists. "My motivations, the same." He takes a step closer to Spock. "The human mind questions itself constantly, clouded beneath illogical fears and unrelated memories. Now, as a Vulcan, I could see no impediment to my proposal, but I assure you that I was considering it before my transformation."

"You would bond with me?"

"As hydrogen bonds with fluorine."

Spock breathes deeply, his eyes shining. "My Jim!" Then, right there in the science lab, they kiss.

It doesn't take Spock long to concoct a mixture in his test tube that will cure Jim of his condition. It is strangely-colored, and bubbling. "What is it?" Jim asks.

"The main ingredient is a relative of wolfsbane indigenous to my planet," says Spock. "We call it Vulcans'-bane."

"Ah," Jim says, and drinks. As he falls dizzily into Spock's arms, the Vulcan features begin to melt away. Before long, he looks like himself again, the Enterprise's Human captain.

"Jim?" Spock tries, timidly.

"I'm here," Jim reassures him. "I'm all right."

"Do you remember your experiences as a Vulcan?"

"It felt like my mind was being run by a computer," says Jim, running a hand over the restored waves of his hair. "A very strong computer. I could think about so many things at once!"

"Yes," Spock urges, "but--anything else?"

Jim turns his face to Spock's. "I--I asked you to bond with me. And you said yes."

"I did." Spock's stony visage does not betray the fear he feels.... would Jim rescind his offer?

"Spock, I'm so happy!" Sunlight shines out from Jim's ebullient face. He grabs both of Spock's hands. "I just couldn't figure things out for myself. A Vulcan's mind cut through all of my baggage so easily. I may begin to envy you, Mr. Spock..."

"Please, do not. We live on reason, but our theories can be wrong if based on incorrect data," Spock says softly. "Before you came to me tonight, I was close to deciding you had accepted my pon farr out of platonic affection alone. I resolved never to mention it to you again."

"Really!" Jim exclaims. "And--my--human manners would have prevented me from showing you the truth, out of concern for your privacy."

"Foolishness is then, indeed, universal between both our species."

"A fool and his honey," Jim says, taking Spock into his arms, "are soon 'parted and never parted.'"

Aroooo!

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