The Sum of its Parts 5
The Sum of its Parts
by JB McDragon
Rating: Eventual R/NC-17, but that's a long way in coming.
Genre: Action/adventure.
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.
Word count: Novella
Summary:
Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole.
The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.
Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), alestar. Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress. I have 90-odd pages done and edited, and probably another 30 to write (*edit: Note how the 'what is done' number gets longer, and yet the 'left to write' number doesn't shrink... *amused*). I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
It had been all too easy to escape the building -- especially considering he was wounded.
Blood slid down Spock's leg as he whipped out the doors and down the cliff side. Rocks and dirt cascaded from under his feet. One arm tried to steady himself, still clinging to the alien weapon, the other holding Jim as the compact body convulsed.
They were being chased. He didn't have time to check that Jim was all right.
Rage snarled through him. He could go back. If he dropped Jim, he could go back up there and stop their pursuers -- wrap his fingers around their throats and--
It wasn't logical. His grip tightened on Jim's shirt. He jumped away from the rock face. For a moment they were in freefall. Then the earth struck again, slamming into Spock's heels. Agony lanced upward, and one leg nearly gave out. He dug in. They skidded. Dirt pelleted out from under him, sliding down beside him, a tiny avalanche.
Shots fired, and missed.
There was a ledge coming up. Spock swung Jim forward, trying to protect the fragile human skull, and jumped as they reached the edge. A canyon opened up around them, and for a moment terror reached into Spock's chest and clutched at his heart. It clouded his mind, blurred his calculations, and he couldn't plan where they were going to land, couldn't take into account his injury--
They hit the ground. Pain slammed up into his bones, his joints. Pain that could have been avoided if he wasn't feeling things. If he was thinking. He fell to one knee, warm blood soaking into his pants.
Jim was still convulsing. Spock clutched him, staring, as if looking at him could make him stop seizing. It couldn't. Spock shoved the sick worry back. They'd done this. They'd done this to both of them--
He shoved the anger back.
He could return. The lives of three men were on his hands, but the woman and one of the people touching him had escaped. He would find them--
Spock lurched down the cliff face, forcing himself to move. It wasn't logical to return.
He needed to stop. Check on Jim. Do -- something.
There was nothing to be done if Jim was seizing. It was more logical to keep moving, put space between them and their pursuers.
He shook with the desire to cause them the same sort of pain they'd caused him. His leg burned. He kept moving onward.
He kept moving downward.
They dropped lower into the canyon, down into rocky earth where no footprints would give them away. With every jump, every scramble into the crevasse, he was more certain they wouldn't be found. The urge to turn around and hunt their tormentors grew. A useless death. Killing himself or killing them would help nothing now. His breath came short and fast. Images of finding them, hurting them, filled his mind. Pain fed them. Every step, every drop of blood sliding down his skin, was food for his rage.
Jim went still. Spock paused, focusing. Jim. They were running because Jim was hurt. They had to get away. He tucked them both out of sight behind an outcrop, then checked that Jim was breathing, that the delicate human airways were clear. Spock's hands shook. He ignored it. His leg throbbed, threatening to give out entirely. He focused. They had to run, because Jim was helpless. Slinging Jim back into a shoulder-carry, Spock continued on.
His long fingers remained tangled in cloth, holding Jim in place. The desire to go back grew once more. The aliens had barely put up a fight. Hardly tried to stop him. He'd wanted a fight. Wanted to hit them and see more blood spill. Even now, he could hear only two men following, and those slowly. His grip tightened. He needed to think clearly. To notice what was happening. To think of something other than going back and killing his enemies. He needed logic.
He wanted to hurt them for what they'd done.
He ran. He had ground to cover.
**
"Jimmy."
He flinched. Anger, frustration, exasperation -- he could take all those. But that sad, disappointed tone his mother got... He couldn't look at her. He glared at the far wall, instead.
She walked around the little room and sat in front of him. With gentle fingers she took his chin and turned his head. "Where did you get these?"
His response was mumbled. "Got in a fight at school."
Her hand dropped away. Somehow, his bruises seemed to ache worse. "You get in a lot of fights at school, your teacher says."
His shoulders jerked.
"I wish..." She didn't finish the sentence. He glared at the far wall. He wished she wouldn't go away. He wished she'd take him and Sam with her. He wished she'd touch him again.
His skin felt cold.
His skin felt cold, period. He shivered, then groaned as pain lanced through his mind. It purged the wisps of dream-memories, chasing them off into the void. He lifted his hands, pressing his fists against his empty forehead.
"Captain?"
He jerked, opening his eyes. A man kneeled in front of him, silhouetted by the faintest of lights. Kirk lay on his side on uneven rock, sheltered by --
For a moment his mind searched, gaze slipping around as he tried to put the world together. He'd been in a room, and now -- now--
Now he was outdoors. In a shallow cave, and beyond the mouth of the cave he could see... well, more rock. Not very exciting.
He wasn't in a cell.
"Spock?" His voice was a croak.
"Yes."
Slowly, Jim pushed himself upward. His whole body ached. Air curled frigid tendrils around him. The kneeling man shifted backward, catching himself awkwardly with one hand as he settled away, against the cave wall.
Not the grace Spock normally had, Jim somehow knew. And then he remembered, the quick fight in the room with the steel slab, seeing Spock get shot and keep going, threatening the scientist--
"What happened? You were hurt. Are you--"
Spock drew farther away. "I'm fine. You had another seizure. I... retrieved you, and we escaped. Too easily. I believe they allowed us to leave."
There was something wrong with those words. The pounding in Kirk's head distracted him, kept him from focusing.
"How are you feeling?" Spock asked.
"I don't remember anything, if that's what you're asking. But..." He paused, thinking. "I don't seem to have lost anything, either." Certainly not the memories that the other Spock wasn't Spock. Or the memories of this Spock raging.
Spock didn't rage. Spock was the calmest creature to walk the earth, even calmer than comatose people, Jim thought. He looked at Spock warily.
Spock was looking at him.
Jim took a breath. "You were angry." It was almost a question. He wanted this to be the right man. He liked this man. He trusted this man. Touch-empathy could create that.
"I apologize."
It wasn't the answer he was looking for. He looked away, glancing out at the starlight dusted rocks. "Where are we?"
"The structure was built on a canyon. We're at the bottom, approximately four kilometers from where we started. When you're feeling well, we should put more distance between us and the others."
"You said you thought they let us escape?"
"I do. But I also believe they'd be willing to take us back and get what they want from us another way."
Kirk glanced over. Spock's hands were resting in his lap. His fingers kept curling into fists, then relaxing again. It made the back of Kirk's neck prickle. He looked away. "What do they want from us?"
"They wanted me to ask the ambassador to come here."
"The guy they put me with -- they told me he was Spock -- he wanted me to call the ship." There was a link. Jim had no idea what it was.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Spock's hands curl into fists again.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this wasn't Spock at all. The air breathed ghostly fingers against him, and he shivered.
He turned to look at the flexing hands. The right trouser leg had been torn off from the knee down. That thigh was wrapped with a rough bandage, one side of it nearly black in the shadows. "Is that blood?"
Spock's hands stilled. "Yes."
Kirk shifted, turning to face Spock. "Did you at least get the bits of cloth out of the wound? Christ, Spock, that's a lot of blood." He reached for the knot.
Spock shoved himself away, sliding sideways along the cave wall. "It's fine. Your concern is understandable from a human, but under the circumstances I believe this is the best that can be done."
Kirk froze and looked up. "I'm the captain, right?" There was a barely perceptible nod. "Then I can't make plans unless I know how badly my crew is hurt, and what they're capable of. Let me see." He moved forward again.
Spock backpedaled, crouching in the low confines of the cave. "I can assess the damage to my own body better than anyone but a trained physician. If you suggest plans, I will tell you if I am capable."
Kirk kept moving forward, following Spock outside. There was no breeze, just the frozen view of stars far above. Spock was favoring his wounded leg. "Let me see."
It wasn't that Spock wouldn't let him see, he realized as he followed the Vulcan across the rocky ground. It was that Spock didn't want him to. Which made him feel like a sadist -- and yet, he knew that something in that statement was the key to solving a riddle. He just wasn't sure what the riddle was.
"It's fine. It's been bandaged."
"It's not fine. You're limping."
"That is a natural reaction to an injury. The body attempting to keep further damage from--"
Kirk reached for Spock, catching at his shirt. The response was immediate.
"Do not touch me." Spock grabbed Kirk's forearm, squeezing so hard Jim thought the bones were grinding together. He yelled, dropping to one knee as Spock applied pressure. That was anger, and this was not Spock.
The hand let go. There was a beat of silence. Then, "I didn't--"
Kirk twisted and bolted back for the cave, diving to the floor and coming up with the alien weapon. He still didn't know how to shoot the damn thing, but he rolled to face the impostor and pointed it anyway.
Spock followed, but he halted when Kirk aimed at him. He looked very pale in the moonlight, his eyes dark smudges against his skin, the bandage around his leg glistening wetly. "Captain--"
"Don't start." Kirk licked his chapped lips, climbing back to his feet while keeping the gun trained. "Who are you really?"
"Commander Spock of the USS--"
"Bullshit! Spock doesn't bruise me when he gets annoyed. Hell, Spock doesn't get annoyed! Who are you really?"
"Sir. I apologize. I was... emotionally compromised." He kept his hands by his sides, perfectly still.
Kirk shifted his grip. "Emotionally compromised? Because I touched your shirt?" The phrase tickled at the back of his mind. Important, somehow.
Spock wouldn't look at him. That was disturbing. "I believed you would touch my leg next."
"Yeah, I would have. To check the damn wound!" The last word echoed back. Kirk winced. If they had someone on their trail, that someone had a big hint where to find them now.
"I do not believe it wise for you to touch me just now." Spock's voice was a quiet murmur.
Kirk couldn't stop the laugh that burst forth. It was too high, almost hysterical. This was Spock. This wasn't Spock. He couldn't remember. Maybe there was no Spock at all. "You'd better start explaining. Real fast."
Silence stretched. Then Spock inclined his head slightly. "I believe someone is coming."
The urge to move was immense. Instead, Kirk stood silently and listened. "I don't hear anything." And yet every bone in his body was screaming at him to believe Spock. He kept the weapon trained.
"Vulcan hearing is superior to human hearing."
"Convenient. Start talking."
"Given your tendency to ask questions, by the time I explain everything our pursuer will be upon us and we will have no time to leave. I would recommend we begin walking."
Kirk struggled, glaring at the impassive Vulcan. "All right. Start walking. And talk. What's a touch-empath?"
Spock turned and began to stride rapidly down the canyon, no limp to his step now. He kept his hands at his sides, easily in view. Kirk walked behind him, peering at the gun.
"A touch-empath is one who feels what another feels upon touching them. But I believe your assumption is that Vulcans are touch-empaths, which is incorrect. That is why you ask?"
"Yeah." He glowered at Spock's back.
"Vulcans are telepaths, an ability that is heightened by touch, though we are trained from childhood to shield against another's thoughts. We can also, however, read emotion."
"Can you change someone's feelings and thoughts?" Kirk watched Spock climb carefully over a pile of rocks, and noted that once more he was babying his injured leg. It was nothing too obvious -- but he moved to the left, letting his good leg take more strain when it would have been easier to go to the right.
"We can passively affect emotions, and control them for a sort time with a great deal of focus."
"Explain." Kirk jammed the weapon in the holster he'd stolen off the guard with the rest of the uniform, freeing his hands to scramble over a rockfall. His joints were starting to ache with the cold. His breath ghosted out in front of him.
"If a Vulcan were to touch an upset human, the Vulcan's greater emotional control could help that human regain control themselves." He hesitated, and Kirk looked at him sharply. There was something else to be said, there. But Spock continued, and Kirk was sure this wasn't what Spock had been thinking about in that pause. "However, in order to make someone feel something they do not wish to feel, we must focus inward. We are left physically defenseless."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" They hit flat ground and Kirk drew the weapon again, peering at it in the moonlight.
"Vulcans do not lie."
Kirk snorted. "Right. Tell me about touch-telepathy. Can you change--"
--dry fingers on his skin, framing his eye and mouth, and memories hit, memories that weren't his, memories that were recent and never had -- never would -- happen. Too late to save a world, chased, thrown back through space and time, captured, stranded on an ice planet, watching his whole world implode--
Rock bit into his knees as he gasped for air, shuddering with cold and pain. He gagged but managed not to vomit. Agony slid behind his eyes. He closed them, scratching the ground as he waited for it to pass. It would pass. It had to pass.
Slowly, it eased off. He took a shaking breath and opened his eyes. Blood dripped on the rock between his hands. He spat, tasting copper, and more made spatter designs. He'd bitten through his lip, trying not to scream.
"Jim." The single word was hushed.
He looked up slowly. Spock crouched a few feet away, hands out as if prepared to grab him but unwilling to do so unless it was necessary. It would have been the perfect time to attack, and yet Spock hadn't. In fact, Spock looked worried. It was disturbing.
Kirk stared hard at Spock, something clicking into place in his head. This was Spock. This had to be Spock. And yet... something was frighteningly wrong. "I remember," he said slowly, "a hand on my face." He grabbed for the memory, afraid it would vanish.
A bevy of expressions fled across Spock's face. Spock looked up, over Jim's shoulder, staring hard down the canyon. That, Kirk realized, was rage. It froze something in his stomach to see it on Spock's face. "Not them," he clarified quickly. "It was --" Memory flickered. He frowned. "You."
Spock looked at him again.
"Only you were old." His eyes narrowed. "Is Spock a common name among Vulcans?"
"It is not uncommon," Spock said. "But I believe that you are speaking of Ambassador Spock. A version of me, from the future."
Kirk stared at him. "Uh huh." And yet, it didn't feel implausible. No more than this Spock felt like an impostor. "You -- he -- put images in my head? That's touch-telepathy?"
Confusion reigned on Spock's face, and then suddenly all expression was gone. "We should continue walking." Spock stood and began to stride away once more, movement hampered by his injury.
It hadn't been hampered before. He could be faking a limp. He could be upset and not thinking. He was certainly omitting key factors -- and Kirk didn't want to shoot him. But Kirk needed answers, and Spock was hiding them.
Eyes narrowed with frustration, Kirk grabbed up his gun and started after. He caught up in three easy steps, then reached out and grabbed Spock's wrist.
Spock spun, trying to yank away. Kirk was dragged off his feet, slammed into a hard chest. They fell in a tangle of limbs, but he managed not to let go.
"Stop it, damn you," Spock snarled, and finally wrenched himself free by smashing a hand on Kirk's throat, shoving him backward.
Jim coughed and gagged, trying to draw breath. Spock scrambled away, shoving himself up against a spill of rocks. He looked pale, shaken, dark eyes wide. Flecks of dried blood rimmed his fingernails, more smears here and there looking black in the moonlight.
"What is your problem?" Jim snarled. "Tell me what's going on with you!" Because this was Spock, he was certain of it, and he was certain there was something profoundly wrong -- he just didn't know how he knew.
Spock opened his mouth. His throat worked. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and said in a voice just shy of steady, "I apologize for my outburst. I did not--"
"The truth, Spock!" Kirk reached for him, expecting to be struck again. Spock kicked once and scrambled away, leg nearly giving out.
The words poured forth. "I am a touch-telepath. Vulcans control our emotions through logic, but they didn't, and you don't. They touched me and I -- I need space to -- to redevelop my shields--"
Kirk watched this man he did and didn't know, feeling a little queasy. "You're telling me that..." But what Spock was saying didn't need to be re-stated. Kirk wasn't sure he understood it all, but he got the gist of it. "At some point, I'm going to check your leg."
Tight-lipped, Spock nodded. "Understood. I just need some time to control it. Without being touched."
Kirk studied Spock. It was like watching a play, seeing the curtain fall over Spock's face. He could see the defenses come together, and now aware of all the chinks in Spock's armor, he could see the holes. The emotion that shouldn't have been there. That was what was wrong. "We're gonna talk about this. Later," he said quietly.
One of Spock's eyebrows twitched. "If we leave, then perhaps that later will not be as captives."
Kirk snorted and pushed to his feet. "Yeah. That'd be nice. Do you know how to fire this thing?" He waved the gun around.
"I do. And as you do not, perhaps it should remain in my care."
He'd known? And remained at a distance, anyway. Kirk hesitated, then tucked the gun back in his stolen holster. "I don't think so. You could still be manipulating my emotions."
One pointed eyebrow lifted fractionally. It made Kirk feel better, as long as he ignored the way Spock's hands still trembled.
"You could. You might be the impostor, here." Kirk didn't think so. But if this was a touch-empath... but if he was one of theirs, surely they wouldn't have been torturing him. It all made Kirk's head hurt. Kirk would keep his one advantage, at least for the time being.
**
by JB McDragon
Rating: Eventual R/NC-17, but that's a long way in coming.
Genre: Action/adventure.
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.
Word count: Novella
Summary:
Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole.
The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.
Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), alestar. Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress. I have 90-odd pages done and edited, and probably another 30 to write (*edit: Note how the 'what is done' number gets longer, and yet the 'left to write' number doesn't shrink... *amused*). I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
It had been all too easy to escape the building -- especially considering he was wounded.
Blood slid down Spock's leg as he whipped out the doors and down the cliff side. Rocks and dirt cascaded from under his feet. One arm tried to steady himself, still clinging to the alien weapon, the other holding Jim as the compact body convulsed.
They were being chased. He didn't have time to check that Jim was all right.
Rage snarled through him. He could go back. If he dropped Jim, he could go back up there and stop their pursuers -- wrap his fingers around their throats and--
It wasn't logical. His grip tightened on Jim's shirt. He jumped away from the rock face. For a moment they were in freefall. Then the earth struck again, slamming into Spock's heels. Agony lanced upward, and one leg nearly gave out. He dug in. They skidded. Dirt pelleted out from under him, sliding down beside him, a tiny avalanche.
Shots fired, and missed.
There was a ledge coming up. Spock swung Jim forward, trying to protect the fragile human skull, and jumped as they reached the edge. A canyon opened up around them, and for a moment terror reached into Spock's chest and clutched at his heart. It clouded his mind, blurred his calculations, and he couldn't plan where they were going to land, couldn't take into account his injury--
They hit the ground. Pain slammed up into his bones, his joints. Pain that could have been avoided if he wasn't feeling things. If he was thinking. He fell to one knee, warm blood soaking into his pants.
Jim was still convulsing. Spock clutched him, staring, as if looking at him could make him stop seizing. It couldn't. Spock shoved the sick worry back. They'd done this. They'd done this to both of them--
He shoved the anger back.
He could return. The lives of three men were on his hands, but the woman and one of the people touching him had escaped. He would find them--
Spock lurched down the cliff face, forcing himself to move. It wasn't logical to return.
He needed to stop. Check on Jim. Do -- something.
There was nothing to be done if Jim was seizing. It was more logical to keep moving, put space between them and their pursuers.
He shook with the desire to cause them the same sort of pain they'd caused him. His leg burned. He kept moving onward.
He kept moving downward.
They dropped lower into the canyon, down into rocky earth where no footprints would give them away. With every jump, every scramble into the crevasse, he was more certain they wouldn't be found. The urge to turn around and hunt their tormentors grew. A useless death. Killing himself or killing them would help nothing now. His breath came short and fast. Images of finding them, hurting them, filled his mind. Pain fed them. Every step, every drop of blood sliding down his skin, was food for his rage.
Jim went still. Spock paused, focusing. Jim. They were running because Jim was hurt. They had to get away. He tucked them both out of sight behind an outcrop, then checked that Jim was breathing, that the delicate human airways were clear. Spock's hands shook. He ignored it. His leg throbbed, threatening to give out entirely. He focused. They had to run, because Jim was helpless. Slinging Jim back into a shoulder-carry, Spock continued on.
His long fingers remained tangled in cloth, holding Jim in place. The desire to go back grew once more. The aliens had barely put up a fight. Hardly tried to stop him. He'd wanted a fight. Wanted to hit them and see more blood spill. Even now, he could hear only two men following, and those slowly. His grip tightened. He needed to think clearly. To notice what was happening. To think of something other than going back and killing his enemies. He needed logic.
He wanted to hurt them for what they'd done.
He ran. He had ground to cover.
**
"Jimmy."
He flinched. Anger, frustration, exasperation -- he could take all those. But that sad, disappointed tone his mother got... He couldn't look at her. He glared at the far wall, instead.
She walked around the little room and sat in front of him. With gentle fingers she took his chin and turned his head. "Where did you get these?"
His response was mumbled. "Got in a fight at school."
Her hand dropped away. Somehow, his bruises seemed to ache worse. "You get in a lot of fights at school, your teacher says."
His shoulders jerked.
"I wish..." She didn't finish the sentence. He glared at the far wall. He wished she wouldn't go away. He wished she'd take him and Sam with her. He wished she'd touch him again.
His skin felt cold.
His skin felt cold, period. He shivered, then groaned as pain lanced through his mind. It purged the wisps of dream-memories, chasing them off into the void. He lifted his hands, pressing his fists against his empty forehead.
"Captain?"
He jerked, opening his eyes. A man kneeled in front of him, silhouetted by the faintest of lights. Kirk lay on his side on uneven rock, sheltered by --
For a moment his mind searched, gaze slipping around as he tried to put the world together. He'd been in a room, and now -- now--
Now he was outdoors. In a shallow cave, and beyond the mouth of the cave he could see... well, more rock. Not very exciting.
He wasn't in a cell.
"Spock?" His voice was a croak.
"Yes."
Slowly, Jim pushed himself upward. His whole body ached. Air curled frigid tendrils around him. The kneeling man shifted backward, catching himself awkwardly with one hand as he settled away, against the cave wall.
Not the grace Spock normally had, Jim somehow knew. And then he remembered, the quick fight in the room with the steel slab, seeing Spock get shot and keep going, threatening the scientist--
"What happened? You were hurt. Are you--"
Spock drew farther away. "I'm fine. You had another seizure. I... retrieved you, and we escaped. Too easily. I believe they allowed us to leave."
There was something wrong with those words. The pounding in Kirk's head distracted him, kept him from focusing.
"How are you feeling?" Spock asked.
"I don't remember anything, if that's what you're asking. But..." He paused, thinking. "I don't seem to have lost anything, either." Certainly not the memories that the other Spock wasn't Spock. Or the memories of this Spock raging.
Spock didn't rage. Spock was the calmest creature to walk the earth, even calmer than comatose people, Jim thought. He looked at Spock warily.
Spock was looking at him.
Jim took a breath. "You were angry." It was almost a question. He wanted this to be the right man. He liked this man. He trusted this man. Touch-empathy could create that.
"I apologize."
It wasn't the answer he was looking for. He looked away, glancing out at the starlight dusted rocks. "Where are we?"
"The structure was built on a canyon. We're at the bottom, approximately four kilometers from where we started. When you're feeling well, we should put more distance between us and the others."
"You said you thought they let us escape?"
"I do. But I also believe they'd be willing to take us back and get what they want from us another way."
Kirk glanced over. Spock's hands were resting in his lap. His fingers kept curling into fists, then relaxing again. It made the back of Kirk's neck prickle. He looked away. "What do they want from us?"
"They wanted me to ask the ambassador to come here."
"The guy they put me with -- they told me he was Spock -- he wanted me to call the ship." There was a link. Jim had no idea what it was.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Spock's hands curl into fists again.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this wasn't Spock at all. The air breathed ghostly fingers against him, and he shivered.
He turned to look at the flexing hands. The right trouser leg had been torn off from the knee down. That thigh was wrapped with a rough bandage, one side of it nearly black in the shadows. "Is that blood?"
Spock's hands stilled. "Yes."
Kirk shifted, turning to face Spock. "Did you at least get the bits of cloth out of the wound? Christ, Spock, that's a lot of blood." He reached for the knot.
Spock shoved himself away, sliding sideways along the cave wall. "It's fine. Your concern is understandable from a human, but under the circumstances I believe this is the best that can be done."
Kirk froze and looked up. "I'm the captain, right?" There was a barely perceptible nod. "Then I can't make plans unless I know how badly my crew is hurt, and what they're capable of. Let me see." He moved forward again.
Spock backpedaled, crouching in the low confines of the cave. "I can assess the damage to my own body better than anyone but a trained physician. If you suggest plans, I will tell you if I am capable."
Kirk kept moving forward, following Spock outside. There was no breeze, just the frozen view of stars far above. Spock was favoring his wounded leg. "Let me see."
It wasn't that Spock wouldn't let him see, he realized as he followed the Vulcan across the rocky ground. It was that Spock didn't want him to. Which made him feel like a sadist -- and yet, he knew that something in that statement was the key to solving a riddle. He just wasn't sure what the riddle was.
"It's fine. It's been bandaged."
"It's not fine. You're limping."
"That is a natural reaction to an injury. The body attempting to keep further damage from--"
Kirk reached for Spock, catching at his shirt. The response was immediate.
"Do not touch me." Spock grabbed Kirk's forearm, squeezing so hard Jim thought the bones were grinding together. He yelled, dropping to one knee as Spock applied pressure. That was anger, and this was not Spock.
The hand let go. There was a beat of silence. Then, "I didn't--"
Kirk twisted and bolted back for the cave, diving to the floor and coming up with the alien weapon. He still didn't know how to shoot the damn thing, but he rolled to face the impostor and pointed it anyway.
Spock followed, but he halted when Kirk aimed at him. He looked very pale in the moonlight, his eyes dark smudges against his skin, the bandage around his leg glistening wetly. "Captain--"
"Don't start." Kirk licked his chapped lips, climbing back to his feet while keeping the gun trained. "Who are you really?"
"Commander Spock of the USS--"
"Bullshit! Spock doesn't bruise me when he gets annoyed. Hell, Spock doesn't get annoyed! Who are you really?"
"Sir. I apologize. I was... emotionally compromised." He kept his hands by his sides, perfectly still.
Kirk shifted his grip. "Emotionally compromised? Because I touched your shirt?" The phrase tickled at the back of his mind. Important, somehow.
Spock wouldn't look at him. That was disturbing. "I believed you would touch my leg next."
"Yeah, I would have. To check the damn wound!" The last word echoed back. Kirk winced. If they had someone on their trail, that someone had a big hint where to find them now.
"I do not believe it wise for you to touch me just now." Spock's voice was a quiet murmur.
Kirk couldn't stop the laugh that burst forth. It was too high, almost hysterical. This was Spock. This wasn't Spock. He couldn't remember. Maybe there was no Spock at all. "You'd better start explaining. Real fast."
Silence stretched. Then Spock inclined his head slightly. "I believe someone is coming."
The urge to move was immense. Instead, Kirk stood silently and listened. "I don't hear anything." And yet every bone in his body was screaming at him to believe Spock. He kept the weapon trained.
"Vulcan hearing is superior to human hearing."
"Convenient. Start talking."
"Given your tendency to ask questions, by the time I explain everything our pursuer will be upon us and we will have no time to leave. I would recommend we begin walking."
Kirk struggled, glaring at the impassive Vulcan. "All right. Start walking. And talk. What's a touch-empath?"
Spock turned and began to stride rapidly down the canyon, no limp to his step now. He kept his hands at his sides, easily in view. Kirk walked behind him, peering at the gun.
"A touch-empath is one who feels what another feels upon touching them. But I believe your assumption is that Vulcans are touch-empaths, which is incorrect. That is why you ask?"
"Yeah." He glowered at Spock's back.
"Vulcans are telepaths, an ability that is heightened by touch, though we are trained from childhood to shield against another's thoughts. We can also, however, read emotion."
"Can you change someone's feelings and thoughts?" Kirk watched Spock climb carefully over a pile of rocks, and noted that once more he was babying his injured leg. It was nothing too obvious -- but he moved to the left, letting his good leg take more strain when it would have been easier to go to the right.
"We can passively affect emotions, and control them for a sort time with a great deal of focus."
"Explain." Kirk jammed the weapon in the holster he'd stolen off the guard with the rest of the uniform, freeing his hands to scramble over a rockfall. His joints were starting to ache with the cold. His breath ghosted out in front of him.
"If a Vulcan were to touch an upset human, the Vulcan's greater emotional control could help that human regain control themselves." He hesitated, and Kirk looked at him sharply. There was something else to be said, there. But Spock continued, and Kirk was sure this wasn't what Spock had been thinking about in that pause. "However, in order to make someone feel something they do not wish to feel, we must focus inward. We are left physically defenseless."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" They hit flat ground and Kirk drew the weapon again, peering at it in the moonlight.
"Vulcans do not lie."
Kirk snorted. "Right. Tell me about touch-telepathy. Can you change--"
--dry fingers on his skin, framing his eye and mouth, and memories hit, memories that weren't his, memories that were recent and never had -- never would -- happen. Too late to save a world, chased, thrown back through space and time, captured, stranded on an ice planet, watching his whole world implode--
Rock bit into his knees as he gasped for air, shuddering with cold and pain. He gagged but managed not to vomit. Agony slid behind his eyes. He closed them, scratching the ground as he waited for it to pass. It would pass. It had to pass.
Slowly, it eased off. He took a shaking breath and opened his eyes. Blood dripped on the rock between his hands. He spat, tasting copper, and more made spatter designs. He'd bitten through his lip, trying not to scream.
"Jim." The single word was hushed.
He looked up slowly. Spock crouched a few feet away, hands out as if prepared to grab him but unwilling to do so unless it was necessary. It would have been the perfect time to attack, and yet Spock hadn't. In fact, Spock looked worried. It was disturbing.
Kirk stared hard at Spock, something clicking into place in his head. This was Spock. This had to be Spock. And yet... something was frighteningly wrong. "I remember," he said slowly, "a hand on my face." He grabbed for the memory, afraid it would vanish.
A bevy of expressions fled across Spock's face. Spock looked up, over Jim's shoulder, staring hard down the canyon. That, Kirk realized, was rage. It froze something in his stomach to see it on Spock's face. "Not them," he clarified quickly. "It was --" Memory flickered. He frowned. "You."
Spock looked at him again.
"Only you were old." His eyes narrowed. "Is Spock a common name among Vulcans?"
"It is not uncommon," Spock said. "But I believe that you are speaking of Ambassador Spock. A version of me, from the future."
Kirk stared at him. "Uh huh." And yet, it didn't feel implausible. No more than this Spock felt like an impostor. "You -- he -- put images in my head? That's touch-telepathy?"
Confusion reigned on Spock's face, and then suddenly all expression was gone. "We should continue walking." Spock stood and began to stride away once more, movement hampered by his injury.
It hadn't been hampered before. He could be faking a limp. He could be upset and not thinking. He was certainly omitting key factors -- and Kirk didn't want to shoot him. But Kirk needed answers, and Spock was hiding them.
Eyes narrowed with frustration, Kirk grabbed up his gun and started after. He caught up in three easy steps, then reached out and grabbed Spock's wrist.
Spock spun, trying to yank away. Kirk was dragged off his feet, slammed into a hard chest. They fell in a tangle of limbs, but he managed not to let go.
"Stop it, damn you," Spock snarled, and finally wrenched himself free by smashing a hand on Kirk's throat, shoving him backward.
Jim coughed and gagged, trying to draw breath. Spock scrambled away, shoving himself up against a spill of rocks. He looked pale, shaken, dark eyes wide. Flecks of dried blood rimmed his fingernails, more smears here and there looking black in the moonlight.
"What is your problem?" Jim snarled. "Tell me what's going on with you!" Because this was Spock, he was certain of it, and he was certain there was something profoundly wrong -- he just didn't know how he knew.
Spock opened his mouth. His throat worked. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and said in a voice just shy of steady, "I apologize for my outburst. I did not--"
"The truth, Spock!" Kirk reached for him, expecting to be struck again. Spock kicked once and scrambled away, leg nearly giving out.
The words poured forth. "I am a touch-telepath. Vulcans control our emotions through logic, but they didn't, and you don't. They touched me and I -- I need space to -- to redevelop my shields--"
Kirk watched this man he did and didn't know, feeling a little queasy. "You're telling me that..." But what Spock was saying didn't need to be re-stated. Kirk wasn't sure he understood it all, but he got the gist of it. "At some point, I'm going to check your leg."
Tight-lipped, Spock nodded. "Understood. I just need some time to control it. Without being touched."
Kirk studied Spock. It was like watching a play, seeing the curtain fall over Spock's face. He could see the defenses come together, and now aware of all the chinks in Spock's armor, he could see the holes. The emotion that shouldn't have been there. That was what was wrong. "We're gonna talk about this. Later," he said quietly.
One of Spock's eyebrows twitched. "If we leave, then perhaps that later will not be as captives."
Kirk snorted and pushed to his feet. "Yeah. That'd be nice. Do you know how to fire this thing?" He waved the gun around.
"I do. And as you do not, perhaps it should remain in my care."
He'd known? And remained at a distance, anyway. Kirk hesitated, then tucked the gun back in his stolen holster. "I don't think so. You could still be manipulating my emotions."
One pointed eyebrow lifted fractionally. It made Kirk feel better, as long as he ignored the way Spock's hands still trembled.
"You could. You might be the impostor, here." Kirk didn't think so. But if this was a touch-empath... but if he was one of theirs, surely they wouldn't have been torturing him. It all made Kirk's head hurt. Kirk would keep his one advantage, at least for the time being.
**