Star Trek XI -- "Fo-Danan"
fo-danan: (Vulcan) the act of shielding from harm
Fo-Danan | PG | 1000 words | complete
The research outpost is destroyed. There is nothing to be found but broken machinery and broken bodies, and Spock allows himself the briefest moment to mourn the senseless loss of life. They explore the entire complex, though they find no sign of who has done this, and then Spock calls for beam-out.
He can feel the moment that his transport signal is rerouted, a sideways jerk that sets his teeth on edge. He appears somewhere dark and foreboding, alone, and he spares a moment to hope that the rest of his team is alive and well aboard the Enterprise.
It is Romulans--why is it always Romulans?--but at least they appear to be from the correct century. They beat him--he does not know why, they do not ask any questions--but Spock clamps his mouth shut. He does not bother to fight back, there are always too many. He waits, waits for the inevitable rescue. Waits for Jim, who always comes for him. Jim will come for him. It is certain as the universe itself.
They inject him with something that shatters his mental shields like so much glass, but instead of filling his mind with the chaos of the cosmos, there is only silence. It is worse even than the silence after the death of Vulcan--billions of minds crying out and then gone in an instant, the survivors shocked into stunned silence for long moments before the mourning cry had begun. Spock had become used to the empty place in the back of his mind where his people and his mother had once been, but it is nothing like this.
They tell him things, details of his childhood, the Academy, the Enterprise, things they could only have gleaned from his mind, though he does not know how. One of them lifts him up by his neck, breathing stale air on his face. "It is good to have someone who knows you inside and out, is it not?"
Spock has that someone. His name is Jim Kirk. The Romulan drops him on the floor in disgust.
They leave him alone for days, cold and tired and scared, not even bringing him food or water. Spock curls in on himself, his body and his mind, hiding from the all-encompassing silence. He is dying. He does not fight when hands pull him upright, drag his hands away from his face, and then suddenly he is no longer alone. Jim is here. It should not be possible for him to be in Spock's mind, but he is, alive and warm like a sun in the empty vacuum of space.
"What have they done to him, Bones?" Jim asks, hands not leaving Spock's face. Spock leans into his touch.
There is the beeping of a mediscanner, the hustle of crew, and the Spock is lifted onto an antigrav stretcher, Jim's hand moved to his wrist now. "Some kind of chemical, from what I can figure, but I've got no idea what it's doing. Spock, can you hear me?"
"He's in my head, Bones. Can't you hear it? God, it's so quiet, he's in so much pain."
"You always did have a higher esper rating than was probably good for you. Let's get him on board, have M'Benga take a look at him. This is outside this country doctor's experience."
Spock fades out for a time, and when he returns, they are in medbay, and Geoffrey M'Benga is frowning down at him. He flounders for a moment, but Jim is there, pressing cool fingers to his wrist. "I have no idea," M'Benga is saying. "It's like nothing I've ever seen."
"He's dying," Jim says, voice choked with some emotion Spock cannot identify. "We have to help him."
"New Vulcan is only a few hours away at warp," McCoy says. "Can you get permission to take him there?"
"Who needs permission?" Jim says, and then he is calling the bridge, changing course for New Vulcan, best possible speed. Jim does not leave Spock's side.
It speaks to both his and Spock's importance to the Vulcan survivors that the healer comes to them, halting when she is a few feet from Spock. "His telepathy has been severely damaged," she says. "He is projecting in a way that should not be possible. It is drowning out his familial bonds. He should already be dead."
"Despite his disadvantage," Jim mutters, fingers tightening against Spock's skin. "How do we help him?"
The healer seems to consider. "A marriage bond might return his mind to its natural balance. But it could also drag the other down with him and kill them both. Whatever the outcome, it would need to be someone whose mine complements his perfectly. There may not be time to find a suitable candidate."
"I'll do it," Jim says, and McCoy is protesting, but all Spock can hear is Jim. "Bond him to me."
"It may not be possible to undo the bond after it has been created," the elder warns.
"Do it anyway."
A weathered hand on his face and then a detached clinical presence in his mind. S'chn T'gai Spock, open your mind.
Is it not already open? He hears laughter, Jim's laughter, in his mind.
My apologies. The usual scripts are not appropriate at this time. The healer does something and then there is pain, so much pain, but then it is gone, replaced with the warmth of Jim's mind. He can hear them again--McCoy's gruff concern, M'Benga's fascination, the nurse doing inventory in the storeroom--but before it becomes too much, Jim is there, enveloping him, protecting him. "It will take some time for him to rebuild his shields," the healer says. "Time alone with his new bondmate with hasten the process."
The word bondmate sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine, one that he feels echoed in Jim's mind. There are so many questions, but he sees love, shining brightly in Jim's mind, and he is content.
Feedback is better than chocolate.
Fo-Danan | PG | 1000 words | complete
The research outpost is destroyed. There is nothing to be found but broken machinery and broken bodies, and Spock allows himself the briefest moment to mourn the senseless loss of life. They explore the entire complex, though they find no sign of who has done this, and then Spock calls for beam-out.
He can feel the moment that his transport signal is rerouted, a sideways jerk that sets his teeth on edge. He appears somewhere dark and foreboding, alone, and he spares a moment to hope that the rest of his team is alive and well aboard the Enterprise.
It is Romulans--why is it always Romulans?--but at least they appear to be from the correct century. They beat him--he does not know why, they do not ask any questions--but Spock clamps his mouth shut. He does not bother to fight back, there are always too many. He waits, waits for the inevitable rescue. Waits for Jim, who always comes for him. Jim will come for him. It is certain as the universe itself.
They inject him with something that shatters his mental shields like so much glass, but instead of filling his mind with the chaos of the cosmos, there is only silence. It is worse even than the silence after the death of Vulcan--billions of minds crying out and then gone in an instant, the survivors shocked into stunned silence for long moments before the mourning cry had begun. Spock had become used to the empty place in the back of his mind where his people and his mother had once been, but it is nothing like this.
They tell him things, details of his childhood, the Academy, the Enterprise, things they could only have gleaned from his mind, though he does not know how. One of them lifts him up by his neck, breathing stale air on his face. "It is good to have someone who knows you inside and out, is it not?"
Spock has that someone. His name is Jim Kirk. The Romulan drops him on the floor in disgust.
They leave him alone for days, cold and tired and scared, not even bringing him food or water. Spock curls in on himself, his body and his mind, hiding from the all-encompassing silence. He is dying. He does not fight when hands pull him upright, drag his hands away from his face, and then suddenly he is no longer alone. Jim is here. It should not be possible for him to be in Spock's mind, but he is, alive and warm like a sun in the empty vacuum of space.
"What have they done to him, Bones?" Jim asks, hands not leaving Spock's face. Spock leans into his touch.
There is the beeping of a mediscanner, the hustle of crew, and the Spock is lifted onto an antigrav stretcher, Jim's hand moved to his wrist now. "Some kind of chemical, from what I can figure, but I've got no idea what it's doing. Spock, can you hear me?"
"He's in my head, Bones. Can't you hear it? God, it's so quiet, he's in so much pain."
"You always did have a higher esper rating than was probably good for you. Let's get him on board, have M'Benga take a look at him. This is outside this country doctor's experience."
Spock fades out for a time, and when he returns, they are in medbay, and Geoffrey M'Benga is frowning down at him. He flounders for a moment, but Jim is there, pressing cool fingers to his wrist. "I have no idea," M'Benga is saying. "It's like nothing I've ever seen."
"He's dying," Jim says, voice choked with some emotion Spock cannot identify. "We have to help him."
"New Vulcan is only a few hours away at warp," McCoy says. "Can you get permission to take him there?"
"Who needs permission?" Jim says, and then he is calling the bridge, changing course for New Vulcan, best possible speed. Jim does not leave Spock's side.
It speaks to both his and Spock's importance to the Vulcan survivors that the healer comes to them, halting when she is a few feet from Spock. "His telepathy has been severely damaged," she says. "He is projecting in a way that should not be possible. It is drowning out his familial bonds. He should already be dead."
"Despite his disadvantage," Jim mutters, fingers tightening against Spock's skin. "How do we help him?"
The healer seems to consider. "A marriage bond might return his mind to its natural balance. But it could also drag the other down with him and kill them both. Whatever the outcome, it would need to be someone whose mine complements his perfectly. There may not be time to find a suitable candidate."
"I'll do it," Jim says, and McCoy is protesting, but all Spock can hear is Jim. "Bond him to me."
"It may not be possible to undo the bond after it has been created," the elder warns.
"Do it anyway."
A weathered hand on his face and then a detached clinical presence in his mind. S'chn T'gai Spock, open your mind.
Is it not already open? He hears laughter, Jim's laughter, in his mind.
My apologies. The usual scripts are not appropriate at this time. The healer does something and then there is pain, so much pain, but then it is gone, replaced with the warmth of Jim's mind. He can hear them again--McCoy's gruff concern, M'Benga's fascination, the nurse doing inventory in the storeroom--but before it becomes too much, Jim is there, enveloping him, protecting him. "It will take some time for him to rebuild his shields," the healer says. "Time alone with his new bondmate with hasten the process."
The word bondmate sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine, one that he feels echoed in Jim's mind. There are so many questions, but he sees love, shining brightly in Jim's mind, and he is content.
Feedback is better than chocolate.