Little Worlds
Wrote this a little while back, but it's recent enough that I don't mind posting it.
Title: Little Worlds
By poprock_pixie
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Character/Pairing: Kirk/Spock pre-slash, implied Uhura/Spock
Rating: PG-13
(inspired by this picture: Reboot Kirk and Spock)
Summary: They have a moment in the middle of a crisis.
There's a gentleness in spite of the invasion. Even in the midst of battle, time seems to slow between them. He swears that before he's caught up in the meld, McCoy's cursing at them. "Not now, Bones..." He barely speaks before Spock brings their minds together.
Suddenly they're in a completely different place, just the two of them. It's absurdly pastel, lots of blues and greens. He's about to make a comment about how distinctly un-masculine Spock's mind is, before considering that they might be in his mind. 'I do not think in pastel.' He reassures himself.
He sees Spock standing in front of him, a wry grin on his face. Jim is taken aback by it. Yet the half-Vulcan offers an explanation, "We are in a place that is neither mine nor yours, it is ours." He adds with a sigh, "If the color bothers you we may endeavor to change it later, for now..."
"You knew what I was thinking?" Before Spock can give him that condescending stare, Jim remembers, "Right. Mind meld. Duh."
"Indeed." Spock is amused again and Jim realizes that in this place, between their minds, nothing is hidden. Not even emotions that the Vulcan professes not to have.
Jim thinks he may take advantage of this later (and feels Spock's apprehension at the thought), but for now there are more pressing matters. "The codes."
"You need only look to find them." Spock encourages his friend to explore their open connection.
"Right." Kirk takes a deep breath, ignoring the desire to scope his memories, instead finding the codes much more quickly then Spock seems comfortable with, but the sense of urgency moves them past niceties and back to the world outside their minds. He does not even have time to pause and take note that Spock's discomfort has nothing to do with being polite.
"About damn time!" McCoy roars, as the Vulcan falls to the ground.
Kirk moves to the enemy's transporter, quickly unlocking the controls, as Spock is incapacitated. They're lucky the Vulcan managed to get the codes before he was blasted with the primitive firearm. Jim looks back to find McCoy dragging Spock to the pad and energizes them directly to Enterprise's sickbay. He barely makes it to the transporter before the aliens break through the door; the next thing he sees is McCoy and Chapel lifting Spock onto the hospital bed.
He bolts for the bridge, orders Chekov to fire on those slimy alien bastards and prompts Sulu to get them the hell out of there. Once they're free he dismisses Uhura, almost unconsciously, knowing she'll want to be by Spock's side. She's too concerned to appreciate the gesture, almost running off the bridge in her haste. Jim can't find it in himself to blame her.
After all, she can't know what he does, she can't feel that tendril of a connection left between their minds. The one that says to stop worrying because that world of dreamy pastels and emotional Vulcans still exists, and it remains for them to explore. There's also a voice, as real as his own inside his head; it whispers that they will be fine.
Title: Little Worlds
By poprock_pixie
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Character/Pairing: Kirk/Spock pre-slash, implied Uhura/Spock
Rating: PG-13
(inspired by this picture: Reboot Kirk and Spock)
Summary: They have a moment in the middle of a crisis.
There's a gentleness in spite of the invasion. Even in the midst of battle, time seems to slow between them. He swears that before he's caught up in the meld, McCoy's cursing at them. "Not now, Bones..." He barely speaks before Spock brings their minds together.
Suddenly they're in a completely different place, just the two of them. It's absurdly pastel, lots of blues and greens. He's about to make a comment about how distinctly un-masculine Spock's mind is, before considering that they might be in his mind. 'I do not think in pastel.' He reassures himself.
He sees Spock standing in front of him, a wry grin on his face. Jim is taken aback by it. Yet the half-Vulcan offers an explanation, "We are in a place that is neither mine nor yours, it is ours." He adds with a sigh, "If the color bothers you we may endeavor to change it later, for now..."
"You knew what I was thinking?" Before Spock can give him that condescending stare, Jim remembers, "Right. Mind meld. Duh."
"Indeed." Spock is amused again and Jim realizes that in this place, between their minds, nothing is hidden. Not even emotions that the Vulcan professes not to have.
Jim thinks he may take advantage of this later (and feels Spock's apprehension at the thought), but for now there are more pressing matters. "The codes."
"You need only look to find them." Spock encourages his friend to explore their open connection.
"Right." Kirk takes a deep breath, ignoring the desire to scope his memories, instead finding the codes much more quickly then Spock seems comfortable with, but the sense of urgency moves them past niceties and back to the world outside their minds. He does not even have time to pause and take note that Spock's discomfort has nothing to do with being polite.
"About damn time!" McCoy roars, as the Vulcan falls to the ground.
Kirk moves to the enemy's transporter, quickly unlocking the controls, as Spock is incapacitated. They're lucky the Vulcan managed to get the codes before he was blasted with the primitive firearm. Jim looks back to find McCoy dragging Spock to the pad and energizes them directly to Enterprise's sickbay. He barely makes it to the transporter before the aliens break through the door; the next thing he sees is McCoy and Chapel lifting Spock onto the hospital bed.
He bolts for the bridge, orders Chekov to fire on those slimy alien bastards and prompts Sulu to get them the hell out of there. Once they're free he dismisses Uhura, almost unconsciously, knowing she'll want to be by Spock's side. She's too concerned to appreciate the gesture, almost running off the bridge in her haste. Jim can't find it in himself to blame her.
After all, she can't know what he does, she can't feel that tendril of a connection left between their minds. The one that says to stop worrying because that world of dreamy pastels and emotional Vulcans still exists, and it remains for them to explore. There's also a voice, as real as his own inside his head; it whispers that they will be fine.