Trees Against The Sky - Chapter Five
Title: Trees Against the Sky
Author: zjofierose
Wordcount: 16k
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Warnings: mentions of past violence, description of a killing.
Beta: the magnificent, the brilliant, the fantastic emmessann
For: a lovely fellow Trekkie who prefers to remain nameless, but who gave a very lovely donation for me in the help_queensland auction. *waves* hi, bb! It took forever, but it’s extra long, so I hope that helps!
Thanks to:medea_fic, as always, for hand-holding, whine-listening, and general awesomeness. Likewise lousy_science, for being her fabulous self. And also much love to ewinfic for giving it a reassuring once-over halfway through that made me feel much better. I <3 you all forever. Also piles of love for arminaa who put out this danged thing. You are amazing.
And a Final Note: this fic was originally the brainchild of the wonderful 13empress. She has kindly allowed me to take it over and write it in my own way, but I am forever grateful to her for the initial idea, and for the generous encouragement. <3
ETA A/N: so, yeah, i totally forgot about actually posting this thing to my LJ. heh. well, hope you enjoy it! original version appeared
in the Universal Constant online zine, which you can read/download here- http://uczine.livejournal.com/
Summary: When Spock is critically injured in a crash on a strange planet, who is going to save him? And what on Vulcan is a strange, abandoned human doing here?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter 5
He’s made it to the river by dawn, sinking himself into the mud at the water’s edge and watching as the sky turns from black to yellow to pale orange. The mud is warm around his knees and feet where he kneels, the sound of the river steady and sure.
He remembers strapping the unconscious form of the alien to the raft, pushing and pushing to work the weighted craft free of the mud, hoping against hope that it would float and steer. He’d never dreamed he’d know the weight of that body with its eyes open, the touch of that heated skin against every inch of him.
He closes his eyes.
He’d remembered everything last night; he’s not sure why. Whether it’s Spock’s presence, or their discussions, or time, or just sheer stupid luck, but it’s all there now, throbbing in the back of his brain with a heavy certainty. Kodos, his mother, Sam, the ship. The soldiers with their guns, the hunger in his belly that grew and grew until he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Climbing into the spaceship alone, starting the ignition sequence even as the men with guns banged on the hatch. He can’t even begin to decide if he’s glad or not; he almost can’t remember what it was like not to know, not to see the lines of bodies when he closes his eyes, not to hear the cries of those remaining in his ears.
He remembers the crash now, remembers falling from the sky, calm, so calm, because it didn’t matter at all what happened to him; the only thing that mattered was that Kodos hadn’t got him. He remembers waking up on Bones’ platform, splinted eight ways from Sunday and being spoon fed broth for a month. He remembers the rattle of Bones’ necklace, the touch of his furred fingers on Jim’s brow.
He remembers Starfleet, and the shuttle, and how he’d always said he’d be a pilot, maybe even a captain, flying through space and saving the day. The very thought gives him the cold shudders now - space is darkness and death, and falling from it is even worse.
And yet…and yet there is Spock. Spock with his brilliant mind, Spock with his gently piercing gaze. Spock, who suffered his own recuperation with a quiet dignity Jim’s never seen anywhere, Spock who has never once given up on his own dream of returning to space, to his people. And he will succeed; Jim knows this now - this planet is a backwater, but not so far off the beaten path that Spock’s beacon will go unnoticed. It will only hurry the inevitable process of his departure. Sooner, rather than later, they will come for him, and then Spock will be gone.
He buries his hands in the mud, leaning forward to press his face into the earth till his eyes are smeared shut with the stickiness, breathing steadily through his mouth.
Spock wants him to come, to leave, to go with him into places unknown. And Jim…Jim just can’t. He can’t, he can’t. He’s got too much here, he’s worked too hard to just let it go. This is his home, more than anywhere he can remember; this is the house he built with his own hands, this is the community that saved him and protected him and nursed him back to health. This is his friend, who cared and cares for him. What is there for him in space? He has no education, no skills. Only a background in terror and a healthy distrust of any being of his own species.
The only thing for him up there would be Spock, and how is that going to work? He’s going to what, schlep around behind him while Spock finishes his training? Sit on a planet somewhere and pine? No, better surely to stay here, in his own place, where he has a purpose and a life, modest though they may be.
It will hurt, though. He’s not fool enough to think it won’t. It’s going to hurt like nothing he’s ever felt before when Spock finally leaves.
He pulls himself out of the mud with a shuddery sigh and flings himself into the river, diving deep to wash himself clean.
--
He feels better after swimming, though the thought of Spock’s eventual departure weighs on him, heavy and dense in the bottom of his stomach. He pushes it resolutely aside. They’ll have time before then. Whatever has happened between them now, they are clearly friends, and they will have time yet to cement that friendship and to see…to see what else they may be. He forces himself to step quickly over the long grass, heading back to the smudge of trees he can see on the horizon. Maybe when Spock is gone, he can come back to visit. He knows that Starfleet personnel get leave- why couldn’t Spock spend it here, instead of somewhere else? He doubts the Prime Directive applies very much anymore, at least in regard to this particular village. If raising and knowing him for ten years didn’t give them a clue about aliens and space travel, he doesn’t know what will. Not to mention Spock.
Spock.
He can’t tear his thoughts away from him, and he just doesn’t know what to do about it. It’s like he’s a magnet for all things Jim; for his touch, for his sight, for even his thoughts. Spock speaking, Spock building, Spock laughing, Spock sinking his teeth into Jim’s shoulder.
Suddenly he can’t wait to get back.
--
He’s jogging when he sees it land, sees the glint from the metal as it flashes across the sky. It puts off a smoke trail, and any fool can trace the line straight back to the village.
Spock.
Jim begins to run.
--
He makes it back to the tree in record time, feeling like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, because that ship means Spock is leaving, and Jim can’t just let him go.
He flings himself against the base of the tree, panting with exhaustion.
“Spock! SPOCK!”
No answer.
Jim’s stomach sinks to somewhere approximately around his ankles, and his knees threaten to buckle, but there’s no time for this, no time at all. He has to find Spock, has to find him now, because somewhere between seeing that line of vapor in the sky and hearing no answer to his calls, he’s realized that there never was a choice in this at all; he needs Spock, wherever he is, no matter what that means.
He pulls himself away from the tree on shivery legs and turns, running as quickly as he can to the edge of the plain, toward the large, silvery shape sitting in wait.
--
It doesn’t take more than a handful of moments to get there, but he spends every step with his eyes glued to the ship, breathless with fear that it will begin to rise and he will be helpless to stop it.
He can see a gaggle of tall strangers, well-clothed, with their caps of black hair gleaming in the sun. It’s immediately clear which of them is different, which of them is his, and he bee-lines for Spock, fetching up in front of him completely unable to speak. Spock’s face is open, mobile, in the way it wasn’t when he came, in the way the others are not, and he works through surprise and concern before he reaches out and catches Jim as his knees shake loose.
“Jim! What are you doing here?” Spock’s hands are warm and solid on his arms, holding him firmly as he wobbles. “I would not have left without telling you.” His expression darkens, his fingers tightening on Jim’s arms as Jim gets his feet under him enough to stand on his own. “I promise you, I would not have left without saying.”
“Spock…I…” He’s still wheezing, and is suddenly completely overwhelmed by his frustration, his sudden epiphany too fresh, too blinding to be compressed into words, so he grabs one of Spock’s hands and drags it to his temple, ignoring the sudden look of alarm in Spock’s eyes. He presses Spock’s fingers hard, closing his eyes, and feeling the sudden acquiescence as the connection snaps into place.
Don’t leave Spock can’t let you leave want to come with you no matter where take me with you don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave me here alone…
Spock’s eyes are wide and dark, and Jim can hear the rattle of Bones’ approach in the distance, but all he can do is wait with his heart in his throat for the only response that matters.
“Yes, of course. If it’s what you want.” Spock’s grip on his arms hurts, but he leans forward and rests his head against Jim’s, and even though Jim’s cross-eyed with the proximity, he can see that Spock is smiling, smiling.
“’I’m all packed. Let’s head out.”
Jim lifts his forehead from Spock’s and turns, taking in the sight of Bones holding a rucksack, his boots laced all the way up.
“Umm, what?”
Bones’ tail twitches with impatience. “Oh, come on, kid. You didn’t really think I’d let you run off without me, did you?” He rolls his eyes. “I got things I wanna do too, you know? K’rstin is ready to take over from me anyway, I may as well get the hell out of her way.”
Jim looks back at Spock, feeling disbelief written all over his features. Spock simply looks calm.
“If that is your wish, doctor.”
“It damn well is. Pack your shit, kid. Hurry up!” Bones rubs his hands together and casts a dubious eye at the ship.
“Spock. That thing’ll fly, right?”
Chapter Six
Author: zjofierose
Wordcount: 16k
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Warnings: mentions of past violence, description of a killing.
Beta: the magnificent, the brilliant, the fantastic emmessann
For: a lovely fellow Trekkie who prefers to remain nameless, but who gave a very lovely donation for me in the help_queensland auction. *waves* hi, bb! It took forever, but it’s extra long, so I hope that helps!
Thanks to:medea_fic, as always, for hand-holding, whine-listening, and general awesomeness. Likewise lousy_science, for being her fabulous self. And also much love to ewinfic for giving it a reassuring once-over halfway through that made me feel much better. I <3 you all forever. Also piles of love for arminaa who put out this danged thing. You are amazing.
And a Final Note: this fic was originally the brainchild of the wonderful 13empress. She has kindly allowed me to take it over and write it in my own way, but I am forever grateful to her for the initial idea, and for the generous encouragement. <3
ETA A/N: so, yeah, i totally forgot about actually posting this thing to my LJ. heh. well, hope you enjoy it! original version appeared
in the Universal Constant online zine, which you can read/download here- http://uczine.livejournal.com/
Summary: When Spock is critically injured in a crash on a strange planet, who is going to save him? And what on Vulcan is a strange, abandoned human doing here?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter 5
He’s made it to the river by dawn, sinking himself into the mud at the water’s edge and watching as the sky turns from black to yellow to pale orange. The mud is warm around his knees and feet where he kneels, the sound of the river steady and sure.
He remembers strapping the unconscious form of the alien to the raft, pushing and pushing to work the weighted craft free of the mud, hoping against hope that it would float and steer. He’d never dreamed he’d know the weight of that body with its eyes open, the touch of that heated skin against every inch of him.
He closes his eyes.
He’d remembered everything last night; he’s not sure why. Whether it’s Spock’s presence, or their discussions, or time, or just sheer stupid luck, but it’s all there now, throbbing in the back of his brain with a heavy certainty. Kodos, his mother, Sam, the ship. The soldiers with their guns, the hunger in his belly that grew and grew until he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Climbing into the spaceship alone, starting the ignition sequence even as the men with guns banged on the hatch. He can’t even begin to decide if he’s glad or not; he almost can’t remember what it was like not to know, not to see the lines of bodies when he closes his eyes, not to hear the cries of those remaining in his ears.
He remembers the crash now, remembers falling from the sky, calm, so calm, because it didn’t matter at all what happened to him; the only thing that mattered was that Kodos hadn’t got him. He remembers waking up on Bones’ platform, splinted eight ways from Sunday and being spoon fed broth for a month. He remembers the rattle of Bones’ necklace, the touch of his furred fingers on Jim’s brow.
He remembers Starfleet, and the shuttle, and how he’d always said he’d be a pilot, maybe even a captain, flying through space and saving the day. The very thought gives him the cold shudders now - space is darkness and death, and falling from it is even worse.
And yet…and yet there is Spock. Spock with his brilliant mind, Spock with his gently piercing gaze. Spock, who suffered his own recuperation with a quiet dignity Jim’s never seen anywhere, Spock who has never once given up on his own dream of returning to space, to his people. And he will succeed; Jim knows this now - this planet is a backwater, but not so far off the beaten path that Spock’s beacon will go unnoticed. It will only hurry the inevitable process of his departure. Sooner, rather than later, they will come for him, and then Spock will be gone.
He buries his hands in the mud, leaning forward to press his face into the earth till his eyes are smeared shut with the stickiness, breathing steadily through his mouth.
Spock wants him to come, to leave, to go with him into places unknown. And Jim…Jim just can’t. He can’t, he can’t. He’s got too much here, he’s worked too hard to just let it go. This is his home, more than anywhere he can remember; this is the house he built with his own hands, this is the community that saved him and protected him and nursed him back to health. This is his friend, who cared and cares for him. What is there for him in space? He has no education, no skills. Only a background in terror and a healthy distrust of any being of his own species.
The only thing for him up there would be Spock, and how is that going to work? He’s going to what, schlep around behind him while Spock finishes his training? Sit on a planet somewhere and pine? No, better surely to stay here, in his own place, where he has a purpose and a life, modest though they may be.
It will hurt, though. He’s not fool enough to think it won’t. It’s going to hurt like nothing he’s ever felt before when Spock finally leaves.
He pulls himself out of the mud with a shuddery sigh and flings himself into the river, diving deep to wash himself clean.
--
He feels better after swimming, though the thought of Spock’s eventual departure weighs on him, heavy and dense in the bottom of his stomach. He pushes it resolutely aside. They’ll have time before then. Whatever has happened between them now, they are clearly friends, and they will have time yet to cement that friendship and to see…to see what else they may be. He forces himself to step quickly over the long grass, heading back to the smudge of trees he can see on the horizon. Maybe when Spock is gone, he can come back to visit. He knows that Starfleet personnel get leave- why couldn’t Spock spend it here, instead of somewhere else? He doubts the Prime Directive applies very much anymore, at least in regard to this particular village. If raising and knowing him for ten years didn’t give them a clue about aliens and space travel, he doesn’t know what will. Not to mention Spock.
Spock.
He can’t tear his thoughts away from him, and he just doesn’t know what to do about it. It’s like he’s a magnet for all things Jim; for his touch, for his sight, for even his thoughts. Spock speaking, Spock building, Spock laughing, Spock sinking his teeth into Jim’s shoulder.
Suddenly he can’t wait to get back.
--
He’s jogging when he sees it land, sees the glint from the metal as it flashes across the sky. It puts off a smoke trail, and any fool can trace the line straight back to the village.
Spock.
Jim begins to run.
--
He makes it back to the tree in record time, feeling like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, because that ship means Spock is leaving, and Jim can’t just let him go.
He flings himself against the base of the tree, panting with exhaustion.
“Spock! SPOCK!”
No answer.
Jim’s stomach sinks to somewhere approximately around his ankles, and his knees threaten to buckle, but there’s no time for this, no time at all. He has to find Spock, has to find him now, because somewhere between seeing that line of vapor in the sky and hearing no answer to his calls, he’s realized that there never was a choice in this at all; he needs Spock, wherever he is, no matter what that means.
He pulls himself away from the tree on shivery legs and turns, running as quickly as he can to the edge of the plain, toward the large, silvery shape sitting in wait.
--
It doesn’t take more than a handful of moments to get there, but he spends every step with his eyes glued to the ship, breathless with fear that it will begin to rise and he will be helpless to stop it.
He can see a gaggle of tall strangers, well-clothed, with their caps of black hair gleaming in the sun. It’s immediately clear which of them is different, which of them is his, and he bee-lines for Spock, fetching up in front of him completely unable to speak. Spock’s face is open, mobile, in the way it wasn’t when he came, in the way the others are not, and he works through surprise and concern before he reaches out and catches Jim as his knees shake loose.
“Jim! What are you doing here?” Spock’s hands are warm and solid on his arms, holding him firmly as he wobbles. “I would not have left without telling you.” His expression darkens, his fingers tightening on Jim’s arms as Jim gets his feet under him enough to stand on his own. “I promise you, I would not have left without saying.”
“Spock…I…” He’s still wheezing, and is suddenly completely overwhelmed by his frustration, his sudden epiphany too fresh, too blinding to be compressed into words, so he grabs one of Spock’s hands and drags it to his temple, ignoring the sudden look of alarm in Spock’s eyes. He presses Spock’s fingers hard, closing his eyes, and feeling the sudden acquiescence as the connection snaps into place.
Don’t leave Spock can’t let you leave want to come with you no matter where take me with you don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave me here alone…
Spock’s eyes are wide and dark, and Jim can hear the rattle of Bones’ approach in the distance, but all he can do is wait with his heart in his throat for the only response that matters.
“Yes, of course. If it’s what you want.” Spock’s grip on his arms hurts, but he leans forward and rests his head against Jim’s, and even though Jim’s cross-eyed with the proximity, he can see that Spock is smiling, smiling.
“’I’m all packed. Let’s head out.”
Jim lifts his forehead from Spock’s and turns, taking in the sight of Bones holding a rucksack, his boots laced all the way up.
“Umm, what?”
Bones’ tail twitches with impatience. “Oh, come on, kid. You didn’t really think I’d let you run off without me, did you?” He rolls his eyes. “I got things I wanna do too, you know? K’rstin is ready to take over from me anyway, I may as well get the hell out of her way.”
Jim looks back at Spock, feeling disbelief written all over his features. Spock simply looks calm.
“If that is your wish, doctor.”
“It damn well is. Pack your shit, kid. Hurry up!” Bones rubs his hands together and casts a dubious eye at the ship.
“Spock. That thing’ll fly, right?”
Chapter Six