The Sum of its Parts 6/10-ish
Since I'll be at a wedding tomorrow, you get a long chapter a day early. Woo!
The Sum of its Parts
by JB McDragon
Rating: Eventual R/NC-17
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, though it's now nearly done. 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
Chapter Six
The third time he stumbled in as many minutes, Kirk called his name.
Spock came to a halt, burying the flash of anxiety. Kirk, whatever his lack of memories, was a friend. There was no reason to worry about his touch. They'd touched before. Rarely, true, but they had. His shields had always held, and there was no desire in Jim to cause harm.
While Jim caught up, Spock looked at the face of the canyon, hoping for a path to the top. None presented itself. Jim stopped nearby, sweating lightly even in the cold night air. Which presented another problem: they'd seemingly lost their pursuers, but Jim had broken a sweat doing so. With no shelter, there was a slight chance of his perspiration lowering his body temperature beyond safety limits.
"You're limping."
Spock didn't look over. "I am injured." Pain was a mental thing, but it was also the body's way of protecting itself from further harm. There was no shame in limping if it saved his leg so he might run, later.
"Think they're still behind us?"
Spock turned and looked back the way they'd come, listening before he gave his answer. "I have not heard them for three kilometers, now. I believe we've lost them, at least for the time being."
"Good." Kirk collapsed onto a boulder, wincing and pulling his boots off. "Have a seat. I want to take a look at your leg."
Spock hesitated, weighing options, then finally said, "I believe we should keep moving. There is only one way for us to go in this canyon, and they may call for reinforcements. The walls, however, have been getting gradually lower, and--"
"And we can sit for ten minutes while I look at your leg."
Spock regarded the boulder Kirk had pointed to. Exercise had left his injury nearly numb with pain, and a lead weight sat in the pit of his stomach. As he had eaten nothing to cause intestinal distress, he had to assume the two were related. "Captain--"
"Sit. Down." Kirk pulled out the gun, leaning against his knees with the muzzle pointed lazily in Spock's direction.
Spock's mouth tightened against his will. "There is no point in drawing your weapon. I was simply going to mention that there is little you can do for my injury, but if we get to the top we might be able to find a hospital."
Kirk kept staring at him, gold eyebrows slightly raised.
Spock gingerly moved to the rock Kirk had gestured at and sat, trying not to favor his injured leg.
Kirk put the gun back in its holster and leaned forward, nimble fingers reaching for the knot in the make-shift bandage.
"Captain--" Spock heard himself blurt before Kirk could touch him.
Kirk stopped and looked up, eyebrows raised.
"I cannot be certain that my shields will remain in place--"
Kirk cut across his words, eyebrows drawing in over the bridge of his nose. "You're really freaked out about this, aren't you?"
Spock straightened, drawing his shoulders back. "I do not 'freak out,' as you put it."
"I saw you in that room back there," Kirk challenged. "I'd say that was freaked out."
"Perhaps I lost control for a moment--"
"And you hit me, when I grabbed your wrist."
"If you had let go--" Spock stopped, hearing the emotion in his own words. He was half Vulcan. He would not be subject to whims of emotion. Kirk watched him silently, and somehow that was worse than all the recriminations he could think of. He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm down. It was a matter of logic. Much as he hated to admit it, they'd hurt him. Hurt caused fear in lower animals, and there was no denying that Vulcans had evolved from lesser creatures just like everything else. A fear reaction was natural, and meant only that he needed to apply higher thinking. Logically, he knew that Jim wasn't going to hurt him. Not on purpose, and not any more than was simply physically uncomfortable, and possibly somewhat mentally straining -- only because he had already been weakened. If he thought about things coolly and rationally, it was obvious that Jim was only trying to help.
It was also completely rational to untie the bandage himself, since he'd tied it in the first place. Humans weren't as strong as Vulcans, and the knot had tightened over their hours of walking.
Kirk didn't say a word as Spock untied, and then unwrapped, his bandage. Without touching him, Jim slid down to one knee, closing the distance in the shadowy night.
"There's a lot of blood here, Spock."
Spock stared resolutely at the canyon wall. "Considering how long we've been walking, there isn't an unusual amount. Nothing to be concerned over, certainly."
"Which is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, because you got shot."
"I was only grazed." He tensed as gentle fingers tugged at his pants leg, pulling it first one way and then the other, opening the tear just a bit farther, presumably to see the injury beneath. He kept his eyes riveted on the canyon wall, picking out patterns in the stone. There, that hole could be used as a handhold, and there was another close enough to reach...
"Spock! Your feet!"
"We have been walking over rough terrain, and I have no shoes."
"Why didn't you say something?"
There was a ledge, if they could just get to it... "I weighed the importance of foot coverings versus bodily coverings, considered the coolness of the night and balanced that with my own ability to continue walking, and judged that it was more important to have clothes than--"
"Than making sure you don't go crippled? You're the most stubborn man I've ever met."
A flurry of motion caught his gaze, and he watched as Kirk shimmied out of the guard's shirt. Muscles tightened and relaxed under golden skin, and goosebumps rose quickly. "Very likely," he agreed.
Kirk froze and peered at him. "Was that a joke?"
"I do not joke."
For a moment, it looked as though Kirk was going to argue. Then he just yanked his shirt off the rest of the way, grasping it in both hands and preparing to tear it into strips.
Having less clothing was exactly what Spock had been trying to avoid. "Jim, we have no idea of where we might find shelter. Ruining what clothing we have--"
Jim looked straight at him and tore. "Think about this logically," he said in a curiously elongated way. "If you can't walk, we can't escape. If you walk leaving bloody footprints, it doesn't matter if we escape, they'll find us. And if you tell me to go on and let you play decoy or some idiot thing like that, I'll have to refuse, and we'll end up arguing. So just keep quiet and--" He reached for Spock's feet.
Spock couldn't quite stop from drawing away. Jim paused, then slowly, his mouth a tight slash against his face, handed Spock the strips of cloth. "Bind your feet. Then we'll figure out what to do next."
Wordlessly, eshewing an argument since Jim had already done the damage, Spock wrapped his feet and re-wrapped his thigh. Jim losing his memories hadn't seemed to affect his inability to reason. Hopefully it hadn't affected his ability to get out of problematic situations, either.
"Okay," Jim said the moment Spock had finished. "I suppose you're going to tell me we should keep walking."
"Actually, Captain, I think I may have found a way out. How are you at climbing?"
Jim looked at him, eyebrows raised.
Spock pointed a single finger at the nearly sheer rock wall.
Jim laughed. It didn't seem to be humorous, but Spock couldn't be sure.
**
Kirk was pretty positive he'd left more skin on the canyon walls than he was currently sporting. The worst part was that when the wind blew -- there'd barely been a breeze in the canyon, but up here the wind was alive and well -- it made him cold and it stung all his lack of flesh.
He was mostly trying not to think about the fact that he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, even though he'd stuffed them beneath his armpits as he walked. He was really trying not to notice how Spock kept stumbling, or how Spock's teeth were clenched to keep from chattering, or the way Spock looked sickly pale in the dawn light.
They were taking turns watching for any sign of habitation. Mostly, it was a lot more rock with occasional scrub brush. Kirk kept his head up while Spock tucked his chin, protecting his face from the cold wind and watching where he put his feet. At least Kirk had boots, even if they were rubbing blisters on his blisters.
"Hey. Spock." The words were bitten off between cold breaths.
"Yes?" Even freezing, he wasn't less than proper. With the bare bones of an amused smile, Kirk looked at him sidelong. His usual grace had been forfeited hours before, his lean, athletic frame hunching in on himself.
Kirk forged on. "If they wanted you to call the ambassador, and me to call the Enterprise, what do you think they were gonna do?" Talking was better than thinking, even if it robbed him further of breath. He paused, trying to find a way through the next batch of rocks that didn't involve scrambling, and finally found a weaving path between two clusters of boulders with only one short climb. He waited on the other side, watching to be sure that Spock made it.
Spock was quiet as he navigated over the stone. He seemed to be moving slower, and his hands shook. Kirk could only hope that the rising sun would bring heat -- and not too much of it. Escape, only to die of exposure. Now that would be ironic.
By the time Spock answered, Kirk had almost forgotten his question. "I do not believe there are enough facts to determine what they might have wanted."
"So theorize. I mean, you're a science officer. That's what scientists do, right? Theor--" His head snapped up, a smile splitting his face. Fresh blood spilled from his lip, and he didn't even care. "Spock! You're a science officer! I remember that!"
Spock looked up briefly, and in his dark eyes there was almost a look of relief. His lips were tinged slightly green. "Do you remember anything else?"
Kirk thought, wracking his mind then trying to clear it, probing at the darkness. "No. Just that." Damn it. Another voice echoed in his mind, another man muttering, "Damn it, Jim..." But it was gone again, and he couldn't even say if it was a friend or an enemy.
They walked on in silence. Kirk's eyes watered against the cold, the corners slowly going raw. His nose ran, the skin becoming red and inflamed. Spock didn't seem to be sniffing. Kirk was jealous.
"Perhaps," Spock said after a long while, "since the rebel faction that had us does not want to align with the Federation, and is in fact opposing the main country currently in power, they were trying to arrange for an international incident."
"Oh?" Kirk checked that Spock had taken over watching their path, then tucked his face down to protect it.
"They were able to take information from you about the Enterprise and the Federation, perhaps enough to know that the ambassador is a man of great importance. Certainly enough to know that he would not rendezvous for a written letter, but would expect one of us to call him visually. In addition, the Enterprise has voice recognition scanners. It is possible that they needed us, and that is why we are still alive." Spock's voice seemed brittle, thin. His breathing came in quick little bursts when he spoke, as if he forgot to take deeper inhalations of the cold air.
"Huh." Kirk curled his hands into fists under his arms, trying to keep from shivering. "So they make you call the ambassador and me call the Enterprise... how would that create an international incident?"
"Perhaps if they killed him."
Kirk nodded wryly. "That would be an incident, yeah. But they could kill him now. Bomb the city..." He trailed off, staring at the ground as it passed. Dirt, rocks, nasty little plants. He licked the sluggishly moving blood off his lip. "But then they'd be blamed. It's not really an international incident. They'd just have the Federation after them too, then."
"Hmm."
"So..." Kirk frowned. "What planet are we on, again?"
"The planet Casari."
"Right. So the main Casarians would need to either think the Enterprise killed the ambassador, and therefore want to split with them, or the Enterprise would need to think the Casarians killed the ambassador and not let them in. And you and I were, what? Pawns? That's annoying."
"A game of chess is often won or lost depending on what one does with one's pawns."
"Pawns are expendable," Kirk muttered. "I'm not."
"Everyone is expendable, under the right circumstances."
"There you go, being defeatist again."
"Simply realistic."
It was easy to fall into this sort of banter. Idly, Kirk wondered how often they'd done it before. No memory rose to give him an easy answer.
"Jim."
He stopped behind Spock and looked up. His heart leaped. There was a house. Old, half falling apart, the windows boarded up, but it was there. "Isn't it weird that most aliens seem pretty much human?" he asked, starting forward with renewed energy.
"I believe you mean they seem 'pretty much' Vulcan."
Kirk looked sharply over, his grin returning. "Spock, was that a joke?"
"I do not joke." But Kirk was sure he saw a glimmer in those large, coal colored eyes.
"Come on, pointy ears. Race you there." As he started off, he thought he heard Spock say, "And I do not race," but he couldn't be sure. Either way, he got to the house long before Spock did, and had even found a way in through a loose board over a broken window by the time Spock caught up.
Kirk wriggled between the wooden slats, cursing as he fell forward and had to catch himself ignobly with his hands, his legs still half hooked in the wood. He yanked his feet free, losing a boot in the process, then sat and pulled the other off. His blisters thanked him.
"Hang on," he yelled, suddenly hot in the absence of the wind. "I'll get the door open." Not that Spock couldn't climb through, too, but Kirk figured it was better not to use that injured leg, if at all possible.
The house was small. It didn't take much time to locate the door through the dust and cobwebs, though it took a little more time to pry it open. It had been nailed closed. By the time Spock came stumbling inside, the sun was fully up, and it wasn't much warmer than it had been before.
"Sit," Kirk said, gesturing to the floor -- there wasn't much else. "I'm gonna see if I can't start a fire..." It was almost alarming that Spock sat without an argument, curling up into a corner as if the shelter would keep body heat in. He had his shirt, still, but one pant leg had gone to make bandages, and his feet were bare. The pajama-like outfit they'd put him in was made of thin material; at least Kirk had something a little bit warmer, even if he'd sacrificed his shirt.
Kirk went through the house, looking for anything flammable. He found some furniture in the back room, along with a mattress so infested with bugs he wouldn't dare try sleeping on it. It could happily, however, be burned.
There were tins of food in a small basement, along with bottles of some form of liquid. On earth he'd have said wine, but here -- it was anyone's guess. There was other food, too, but most of that had rotted away -- he had a sneezing fit when he nudged a bag of mystery food with his foot, and spores rose off it. He found blankets, and metal instruments that were clearly supposed to be knives.
Eventually, Kirk dragged his loot to where Spock was huddled up, dropping it all down. "There's a mattress back there, too, but it's disgusting. I thought we could burn it."
"No fire," Spock said on a shuddering breath.
"What?"
"They'll see the smoke."
Kirk looked back toward the bedroom, dismayed. But Spock was right, and he'd been a fool to think otherwise. Glumly, he pulled the heaviest blanket free and tossed it over Spock, then sat down to try and open one of the bottles of liquid. "Any brilliant ideas on how we're going to summon the ship?" he asked, glowering when the bottle remained stubbornly sealed.
"I suggest we get to the nearest city, once we've provisioned ourselves."
Kirk grunted. Losing patience, he stood up and stepped away, smashing the neck of the bottle against the wall. It shattered, littering the floor with broken glass, though most of the -- he sniffed -- alcohol remained inside.
They both eyed the glass mess. "Maybe not my most inspired moment," Kirk mumbled, and knelt in front of Spock again. "Drink?"
"Out of a glass bottle with sharp edges?" He was nearly hidden under the folds of the blanket, now wrapped tightly around him. When Kirk looked, Spock's shivering was painfully obvious.
"Okay, point." He set the bottle down and headed back toward what had clearly been the kitchen, in search of something to hold the liquor. Finally, armed with a bowl, he came back into the room.
It had seemed warm just a few moments before, newly sheltered from the wind, but now the cold was creeping back on him. His fingers felt thick, and his toes hurt. "Here's the plan," he said, pouring alcohol into the bowl and pressing it toward Spock. "I'm gonna check your leg and your feet -- don't argue -- and then we're going to curl up under that blanket and sleep. Any disagreements?"
For a beat, Spock hesitated. Then he sipped from the bowl, long-fingered hands just peeking out from under the edge of the blanket, and said, "None, Captain."
Jim sat, tugging another blanket around his shoulders before grabbing the third, a moth-eaten thin one with large holes in the middle. Methodically, he picked up the knife and began to tear the blanket into long strips, soaking them down with the alcohol. "You think there are bacteria on this planet that could cause infection in us?"
"It does seem likely, given past precedent."
"Then we'll just hope alcohol still sterilizes." Kirk glanced sidelong. Slowly growing daylight was filtering in through the boards, as well as a large hole in the ceiling. It left Spock in plain view. He was pale, moreso than usual, and drawn. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks looked gaunt. His hair, normally so tidy, was greasy and mussed. A red smear of blood adorned his chin, as well as clinging under his nails.
Kirk frowned. "I thought you were green-blooded." He was sure of it. Information was coming back to him, even if episodic memories were not.
Spock glanced at him. "I am."
Knife in one hand, Kirk pointed to Spock's nails.
Spock regarded them steadily. "I do not believe that is mine."
Which made Kirk remember the fight just before he'd lost awareness again. Thoughtfully, he continued to tear the blanket into strips.
When he had as many as he thought he could possibly need, he wrung the excess alcohol out of them and shifted until he sat facing Spock. "We need to bandage you. I'm gonna end up touching you. How can I help?"
Lids fell, heavy lashes sweeping down to lie against pale skin for the barest of moments. Then Spock looked at him, holding his gaze. "Remain calm. Think... quietly."
Kirk huffed a laugh and laid the first strip across his knees, while Spock shuffled around until the blanket was still over his shoulders, but Kirk could get to his legs.
Kirk started on the side that still had a full pants leg. He reached out, wrapping his hands carefully around the firm muscle of Spock's calf, drawing it out to rest the Vulcan's foot on his knee, then pushed the hem up slightly.
"This might sting."
"I had deduced as much."
Kirk gave him a bare little smile. While Kirk swabbed at the raw, abraded flesh, keeping cloth between their skin, Spock picked up another piece and cleaned red blood off. Jim's actions had to have hurt like hell, but Spock neither twitched nor made any noise. His foot wasn't as bad as Kirk had expected, either. It didn't take long to clean away the grime and assess the damage. "I doubt you'll be dancing any time soon," Kirk said finally, "but you ought to be able to walk."
"As I do not dance, walking is all that concerns me."
Kirk chuckled, picking up the next length of cloth. "What, you mean you don't head to the bars on shore leave, learn a little Centurian Two-Step, maybe some Gamma line dancing?"
"No, I do not."
"I'm kidding, Spock." Kirk gave Spock a lopsided smile, feeling it grow at the vaguely uncertain look on Spock's face -- something subtle, a movement of eyebrows, a shift of Spock's gaze. Suddenly, he wished he remembered them better. What they were like, if they were good friends. He turned his attention back to Spock's battered foot.
He couldn't keep from touching Spock any longer. Think quietly. He wrapped his hand around Spock's ankle, pinning the end of the first strip in place. Kirk thought of snow. Falling snow, landing on already white ground. Fields covered in it, drifting down from a sky almost as pale. Carefully, he wrapped the bandage around Spock's foot once. Spock's skin felt chilled to the touch, and Kirk couldn't tell if that was normal or if it was an indication of freezing or, heck, if Spock was going into shock.
He wrapped the bandage around again, fixing on that image of snow. Snow, peaceful and quiet, across the entire field. Wrapped the bandage again. Snow heavy over the bare tree in the front yard, snow that looked fluffy, snow that promised good packing snow later.
"Jim."
He looked up.
"I don't mean to pry, but I cannot guard easily against your thoughts, and you're making me cold."
Kirk laughed. "Figures. Don't worry about prying. I think normally you're pretty good at not reading minds, but everyone has a bad day. Yours has been really bad, so... I can just... think of good things until we're done." Warm things.
Snow outside, and sitting by the fire. The creak of an old-fashioned rocking chair. A woman's foot by his hand, rising up on tiptoe as the chair rocked back, then coming down when the chair came forward. His mother, home from tour, and Sam playing video games. Being completely warm and listening to the logs snap and pop, sipping hot cocoa and doing homework.
He tied off the ends of the bandage and glanced up, ready to tell Spock that one, at least, was done. But he stopped before he'd spoken, caught at the look on Spock's face.
Spock's gaze had turned inward, his head tilted slightly. He didn't look peaceful or content, exactly, but more like someone who'd heard a joke, and knew it should be funny, but couldn't quite puzzle out why. At the very least, Kirk decided, he looked distracted. Moving slowly and quietly, Kirk drew Spock's other foot over and started cleaning it, holding that image.
Sam muttering as he lost the game. The lick of the flames as they rose, bursting with life when the log fell into the coals.
He cleaned Spock's second foot, and wrapped it, too. Spock's face was relaxed, though his brows tightened and relaxed, as if working out some mental problem. Kirk rolled up the torn pants leg and regarded the crusted wound, the green blood so dark it was nearly black. Wordlessly, he started to soak the scabs away, tightening his grip on fireplace-warm-comfort-family when Spock tensed.
He couldn't entirely hold the scene, not when he had to pause and draw fabric out of the injury, but he did the best he could. Both of them were sweating by the time he began to wrap bandages around the graze, but at least it was clean. He put a hand on Spock's knee and brought the image back, the feeling of safety and heat, contentment he'd only felt when his mother was home, before he grew too old and the anger of her leaving drove everything else away. Sitting on the thick rug, the whole world muffled by the storm, listening to the creak of the rocking chair.
Spock relaxed. "Jim," he said softly, as Kirk finally let the image go.
Kirk looked up, eyebrows raised in question.
"You remembered that."
He had. He had! He grabbed for it again, frantically, reaching as it sank back into the abyss. Snow, a snowstorm, sitting by the fire, listening to--
Listening to--
Family, there had been family--
"No!" he snarled, closing his eyes as if that might bring it back. It had to be there. It had to. It had just been there, he could remember remembering it, but everything was gone. He reached, and reached, and reached, pushing into the void--
The headache came first.
"Jim, stop. You're--"
"It was there! It was just there!" He could get it back, he could--
His muscles clamped down. His mind froze. His breathing hitched, struggling to get through lungs that seized. Darkness threatened, the maw that had stolen his memories offering to take him, too.
There were hands, and a voice telling him to relax. He couldn't remember. He shook and choked and couldn't remember. Finally, he stopped trying.
**
The seizure didn't last long. Kirk didn't lose consciousness. Both were good signs.
When blue eyes blinked open and stared sightlessly ahead, Spock watched. He and Kirk were curled together, Kirk wrapped in a blanket so no bare skin touched Spock, another blanket thrown over the top of them both for heat. Spock was finally starting to feel warm again.
Jim stared straight ahead and said nothing. Spock knew he was awake. He could feel the press of hard muscles against his chest with every breath, the minute shifting of legs that indicated wakefulness. Still, Jim said nothing.
"The fact that the memories continue to surface implies that your mind is repairing itself," Spock said into the quiet.
Jim didn't move out of the recovery position Spock had put him in. "I don't remember hardly anything more than when I woke up. I'm having seizures when I try. How, exactly, is that improvement?" His voice rose on the last words, tension sliding through his body.
Spock kept one arm tucked under his head, the other wrapped around Jim's chest. He could feel Jim's heartbeat, painfully slow. "I don't know," he said finally.
Jim didn't respond.
There was no logical next step. Nothing in Spock's upbringing had prepared him for this. He cast around for a solution, for any good news, but came up with nothing.
Then another suggestion presented itself. He took a bracing breath, and said slowly, considering his words, "Humans and Vulcans are quite similar. I might be able to put memories into your mind, though there is a twenty-three point five percent chance it won't work, and I estimate a point two three percent chance it will make things worse."
Kirk thought about that for a long time. "Like the old-you put memories in my head?"
That galled. That Ambassador Spock had done such a thing, at his age and theoretical wisdom--
Spock refused to think about it. There must have been a logical reason. Perhaps, like what he was suggesting, it was not a true mind meld. It was... something he would learn as he practiced working with humans. Yes, that was rational.
"Something like that," he said at last.
"I don't want your memories, Spock." Jim sagged.
"Not my memories," Spock said. "Not allowing you into my mind, which I am sure is not quite what Ambassador Spock did, either." One did not simply share everything with someone, unless that someone was a bond mate. Which, obviously, Kirk was not. But the likelihood that Ambassador Spock had done that was slim. It was just a partial meld. Spock pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Not my memories -- you shared with me one of yours. I still remember it and, possibly, I could... give it back." Which was an inaccurate way of putting it, but--
Kirk twisted until his nose was inches from Spock's. "You could show me what I can't remember."
"I can simply show you what you already showed me," Spock clarified. "Might I remind you that there is a point two three--"
"Do it."
"We should consider the repercussions before--"
"Do it." Blue eyes glared at him intensely, so pale they were almost icy.
It would require dropping his shields again. Spock tightened his grip on them in response. For all the trauma earlier, they seemed to be holding well. His own emotions -- that legacy from his human side -- were back under lock and key. He'd been unable to keep Jim's memories out, but keeping another's thoughts out was more difficult than keeping his own emotions under control at the best of times.
He could do this.
Spock pulled his hand out from under the blankets, squirming it inelegantly between them until he was free. Carefully, he settled his fingertips against Jim's jaw and temple, feeling warm, elastic skin. His fingertips seemed to tingle, ever so slightly, as if Jim's electric life would wash over him. "Try to relax," he murmured.
Jim's own innate shields melted away, though Spock could still feel them prepared to snap back up. Not that shields so rudimentary would keep out a determined alien with psi abilities, but...
Aware of how breakable the human mind was, and especially Jim's in its current fractured state, Spock called up the images he'd been given, trusting that the emotions that had gone with them would make more sense to Jim. Carefully, slowly, he eased into Jim's mind, trying to go gently enough not to hurt the fragile human pathways.
A fire, a woman, her sons, a snowstorm, warmth and safety, those things that mattered so much to primitive creatures. A rug, the pop of flames, the soft muttering as one boy lost at a game.
Jim soaked it up, almost grasping for the next image, the next impression. Spock went delicately, withholding each memory until he was sure he wouldn't burn out the flicker of Jim's consciousness.
A consciousness that was, he thought with a chill, very empty.
When the last memory had been shared, Spock pulled back and focused again. Jim's eyes were closed, but liquid gathered at the raw corners. Spock studied him for signs of pain, but his color was good and his muscles weren't tense. "Jim?" he asked quietly.
Jim took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, blinking hard several times. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He continued watching though, just in case.
Jim rolled onto his back, staring up. "If it's gone when we wake up, you'll bring it back again, right?"
Spock hesitated. But Jim's voice was steady. "If you wish it."
Jim nodded. "I do. I mean, I will." He folded his hands on his stomach and stared at the ceiling. Spock did not think he was truly seeing it.
"Ah, hell," Jim muttered after a moment, and proceeded to squirm. At long last he pulled the gun from its holster, and laid it just above their heads. "In the morning, you need to show me how to shoot that thing, too." There was something odd in his tone, but Spock wasn't sure what it indicated. He did not, Spock thought, sound entirely self-confident.
Spock glanced at the weapon to be sure it was in easy reach, then settled back down. "Certainly. But perhaps we should wait until the afternoon, after we've slept."
"When we wake up, Spock. You don't have to be so literal."
"I'm Vulcan. We--"
"Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep." Jim's words were nonchalant but his tone was not. He rolled again, his back to Spock, and wadded a corner of the blanket under his head as a pillow.
Spock regarded Jim for a moment. Then, determining that there was no other help he could offer for the time being, he closed his eyes and put it out of his mind.
*******
Just FYI, guys, I'll be starting a new series soon, Switch To Decaf. It's an ensemble series, so many of the stories won't be released on character-specific comms. Feel free to friend me if you'd like to keep track and came over here from kirkspock or something like that. ;)
JB
The Sum of its Parts
by JB McDragon
Rating: Eventual R/NC-17
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, though it's now nearly done. 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
Chapter Six
The third time he stumbled in as many minutes, Kirk called his name.
Spock came to a halt, burying the flash of anxiety. Kirk, whatever his lack of memories, was a friend. There was no reason to worry about his touch. They'd touched before. Rarely, true, but they had. His shields had always held, and there was no desire in Jim to cause harm.
While Jim caught up, Spock looked at the face of the canyon, hoping for a path to the top. None presented itself. Jim stopped nearby, sweating lightly even in the cold night air. Which presented another problem: they'd seemingly lost their pursuers, but Jim had broken a sweat doing so. With no shelter, there was a slight chance of his perspiration lowering his body temperature beyond safety limits.
"You're limping."
Spock didn't look over. "I am injured." Pain was a mental thing, but it was also the body's way of protecting itself from further harm. There was no shame in limping if it saved his leg so he might run, later.
"Think they're still behind us?"
Spock turned and looked back the way they'd come, listening before he gave his answer. "I have not heard them for three kilometers, now. I believe we've lost them, at least for the time being."
"Good." Kirk collapsed onto a boulder, wincing and pulling his boots off. "Have a seat. I want to take a look at your leg."
Spock hesitated, weighing options, then finally said, "I believe we should keep moving. There is only one way for us to go in this canyon, and they may call for reinforcements. The walls, however, have been getting gradually lower, and--"
"And we can sit for ten minutes while I look at your leg."
Spock regarded the boulder Kirk had pointed to. Exercise had left his injury nearly numb with pain, and a lead weight sat in the pit of his stomach. As he had eaten nothing to cause intestinal distress, he had to assume the two were related. "Captain--"
"Sit. Down." Kirk pulled out the gun, leaning against his knees with the muzzle pointed lazily in Spock's direction.
Spock's mouth tightened against his will. "There is no point in drawing your weapon. I was simply going to mention that there is little you can do for my injury, but if we get to the top we might be able to find a hospital."
Kirk kept staring at him, gold eyebrows slightly raised.
Spock gingerly moved to the rock Kirk had gestured at and sat, trying not to favor his injured leg.
Kirk put the gun back in its holster and leaned forward, nimble fingers reaching for the knot in the make-shift bandage.
"Captain--" Spock heard himself blurt before Kirk could touch him.
Kirk stopped and looked up, eyebrows raised.
"I cannot be certain that my shields will remain in place--"
Kirk cut across his words, eyebrows drawing in over the bridge of his nose. "You're really freaked out about this, aren't you?"
Spock straightened, drawing his shoulders back. "I do not 'freak out,' as you put it."
"I saw you in that room back there," Kirk challenged. "I'd say that was freaked out."
"Perhaps I lost control for a moment--"
"And you hit me, when I grabbed your wrist."
"If you had let go--" Spock stopped, hearing the emotion in his own words. He was half Vulcan. He would not be subject to whims of emotion. Kirk watched him silently, and somehow that was worse than all the recriminations he could think of. He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm down. It was a matter of logic. Much as he hated to admit it, they'd hurt him. Hurt caused fear in lower animals, and there was no denying that Vulcans had evolved from lesser creatures just like everything else. A fear reaction was natural, and meant only that he needed to apply higher thinking. Logically, he knew that Jim wasn't going to hurt him. Not on purpose, and not any more than was simply physically uncomfortable, and possibly somewhat mentally straining -- only because he had already been weakened. If he thought about things coolly and rationally, it was obvious that Jim was only trying to help.
It was also completely rational to untie the bandage himself, since he'd tied it in the first place. Humans weren't as strong as Vulcans, and the knot had tightened over their hours of walking.
Kirk didn't say a word as Spock untied, and then unwrapped, his bandage. Without touching him, Jim slid down to one knee, closing the distance in the shadowy night.
"There's a lot of blood here, Spock."
Spock stared resolutely at the canyon wall. "Considering how long we've been walking, there isn't an unusual amount. Nothing to be concerned over, certainly."
"Which is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, because you got shot."
"I was only grazed." He tensed as gentle fingers tugged at his pants leg, pulling it first one way and then the other, opening the tear just a bit farther, presumably to see the injury beneath. He kept his eyes riveted on the canyon wall, picking out patterns in the stone. There, that hole could be used as a handhold, and there was another close enough to reach...
"Spock! Your feet!"
"We have been walking over rough terrain, and I have no shoes."
"Why didn't you say something?"
There was a ledge, if they could just get to it... "I weighed the importance of foot coverings versus bodily coverings, considered the coolness of the night and balanced that with my own ability to continue walking, and judged that it was more important to have clothes than--"
"Than making sure you don't go crippled? You're the most stubborn man I've ever met."
A flurry of motion caught his gaze, and he watched as Kirk shimmied out of the guard's shirt. Muscles tightened and relaxed under golden skin, and goosebumps rose quickly. "Very likely," he agreed.
Kirk froze and peered at him. "Was that a joke?"
"I do not joke."
For a moment, it looked as though Kirk was going to argue. Then he just yanked his shirt off the rest of the way, grasping it in both hands and preparing to tear it into strips.
Having less clothing was exactly what Spock had been trying to avoid. "Jim, we have no idea of where we might find shelter. Ruining what clothing we have--"
Jim looked straight at him and tore. "Think about this logically," he said in a curiously elongated way. "If you can't walk, we can't escape. If you walk leaving bloody footprints, it doesn't matter if we escape, they'll find us. And if you tell me to go on and let you play decoy or some idiot thing like that, I'll have to refuse, and we'll end up arguing. So just keep quiet and--" He reached for Spock's feet.
Spock couldn't quite stop from drawing away. Jim paused, then slowly, his mouth a tight slash against his face, handed Spock the strips of cloth. "Bind your feet. Then we'll figure out what to do next."
Wordlessly, eshewing an argument since Jim had already done the damage, Spock wrapped his feet and re-wrapped his thigh. Jim losing his memories hadn't seemed to affect his inability to reason. Hopefully it hadn't affected his ability to get out of problematic situations, either.
"Okay," Jim said the moment Spock had finished. "I suppose you're going to tell me we should keep walking."
"Actually, Captain, I think I may have found a way out. How are you at climbing?"
Jim looked at him, eyebrows raised.
Spock pointed a single finger at the nearly sheer rock wall.
Jim laughed. It didn't seem to be humorous, but Spock couldn't be sure.
**
Kirk was pretty positive he'd left more skin on the canyon walls than he was currently sporting. The worst part was that when the wind blew -- there'd barely been a breeze in the canyon, but up here the wind was alive and well -- it made him cold and it stung all his lack of flesh.
He was mostly trying not to think about the fact that he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, even though he'd stuffed them beneath his armpits as he walked. He was really trying not to notice how Spock kept stumbling, or how Spock's teeth were clenched to keep from chattering, or the way Spock looked sickly pale in the dawn light.
They were taking turns watching for any sign of habitation. Mostly, it was a lot more rock with occasional scrub brush. Kirk kept his head up while Spock tucked his chin, protecting his face from the cold wind and watching where he put his feet. At least Kirk had boots, even if they were rubbing blisters on his blisters.
"Hey. Spock." The words were bitten off between cold breaths.
"Yes?" Even freezing, he wasn't less than proper. With the bare bones of an amused smile, Kirk looked at him sidelong. His usual grace had been forfeited hours before, his lean, athletic frame hunching in on himself.
Kirk forged on. "If they wanted you to call the ambassador, and me to call the Enterprise, what do you think they were gonna do?" Talking was better than thinking, even if it robbed him further of breath. He paused, trying to find a way through the next batch of rocks that didn't involve scrambling, and finally found a weaving path between two clusters of boulders with only one short climb. He waited on the other side, watching to be sure that Spock made it.
Spock was quiet as he navigated over the stone. He seemed to be moving slower, and his hands shook. Kirk could only hope that the rising sun would bring heat -- and not too much of it. Escape, only to die of exposure. Now that would be ironic.
By the time Spock answered, Kirk had almost forgotten his question. "I do not believe there are enough facts to determine what they might have wanted."
"So theorize. I mean, you're a science officer. That's what scientists do, right? Theor--" His head snapped up, a smile splitting his face. Fresh blood spilled from his lip, and he didn't even care. "Spock! You're a science officer! I remember that!"
Spock looked up briefly, and in his dark eyes there was almost a look of relief. His lips were tinged slightly green. "Do you remember anything else?"
Kirk thought, wracking his mind then trying to clear it, probing at the darkness. "No. Just that." Damn it. Another voice echoed in his mind, another man muttering, "Damn it, Jim..." But it was gone again, and he couldn't even say if it was a friend or an enemy.
They walked on in silence. Kirk's eyes watered against the cold, the corners slowly going raw. His nose ran, the skin becoming red and inflamed. Spock didn't seem to be sniffing. Kirk was jealous.
"Perhaps," Spock said after a long while, "since the rebel faction that had us does not want to align with the Federation, and is in fact opposing the main country currently in power, they were trying to arrange for an international incident."
"Oh?" Kirk checked that Spock had taken over watching their path, then tucked his face down to protect it.
"They were able to take information from you about the Enterprise and the Federation, perhaps enough to know that the ambassador is a man of great importance. Certainly enough to know that he would not rendezvous for a written letter, but would expect one of us to call him visually. In addition, the Enterprise has voice recognition scanners. It is possible that they needed us, and that is why we are still alive." Spock's voice seemed brittle, thin. His breathing came in quick little bursts when he spoke, as if he forgot to take deeper inhalations of the cold air.
"Huh." Kirk curled his hands into fists under his arms, trying to keep from shivering. "So they make you call the ambassador and me call the Enterprise... how would that create an international incident?"
"Perhaps if they killed him."
Kirk nodded wryly. "That would be an incident, yeah. But they could kill him now. Bomb the city..." He trailed off, staring at the ground as it passed. Dirt, rocks, nasty little plants. He licked the sluggishly moving blood off his lip. "But then they'd be blamed. It's not really an international incident. They'd just have the Federation after them too, then."
"Hmm."
"So..." Kirk frowned. "What planet are we on, again?"
"The planet Casari."
"Right. So the main Casarians would need to either think the Enterprise killed the ambassador, and therefore want to split with them, or the Enterprise would need to think the Casarians killed the ambassador and not let them in. And you and I were, what? Pawns? That's annoying."
"A game of chess is often won or lost depending on what one does with one's pawns."
"Pawns are expendable," Kirk muttered. "I'm not."
"Everyone is expendable, under the right circumstances."
"There you go, being defeatist again."
"Simply realistic."
It was easy to fall into this sort of banter. Idly, Kirk wondered how often they'd done it before. No memory rose to give him an easy answer.
"Jim."
He stopped behind Spock and looked up. His heart leaped. There was a house. Old, half falling apart, the windows boarded up, but it was there. "Isn't it weird that most aliens seem pretty much human?" he asked, starting forward with renewed energy.
"I believe you mean they seem 'pretty much' Vulcan."
Kirk looked sharply over, his grin returning. "Spock, was that a joke?"
"I do not joke." But Kirk was sure he saw a glimmer in those large, coal colored eyes.
"Come on, pointy ears. Race you there." As he started off, he thought he heard Spock say, "And I do not race," but he couldn't be sure. Either way, he got to the house long before Spock did, and had even found a way in through a loose board over a broken window by the time Spock caught up.
Kirk wriggled between the wooden slats, cursing as he fell forward and had to catch himself ignobly with his hands, his legs still half hooked in the wood. He yanked his feet free, losing a boot in the process, then sat and pulled the other off. His blisters thanked him.
"Hang on," he yelled, suddenly hot in the absence of the wind. "I'll get the door open." Not that Spock couldn't climb through, too, but Kirk figured it was better not to use that injured leg, if at all possible.
The house was small. It didn't take much time to locate the door through the dust and cobwebs, though it took a little more time to pry it open. It had been nailed closed. By the time Spock came stumbling inside, the sun was fully up, and it wasn't much warmer than it had been before.
"Sit," Kirk said, gesturing to the floor -- there wasn't much else. "I'm gonna see if I can't start a fire..." It was almost alarming that Spock sat without an argument, curling up into a corner as if the shelter would keep body heat in. He had his shirt, still, but one pant leg had gone to make bandages, and his feet were bare. The pajama-like outfit they'd put him in was made of thin material; at least Kirk had something a little bit warmer, even if he'd sacrificed his shirt.
Kirk went through the house, looking for anything flammable. He found some furniture in the back room, along with a mattress so infested with bugs he wouldn't dare try sleeping on it. It could happily, however, be burned.
There were tins of food in a small basement, along with bottles of some form of liquid. On earth he'd have said wine, but here -- it was anyone's guess. There was other food, too, but most of that had rotted away -- he had a sneezing fit when he nudged a bag of mystery food with his foot, and spores rose off it. He found blankets, and metal instruments that were clearly supposed to be knives.
Eventually, Kirk dragged his loot to where Spock was huddled up, dropping it all down. "There's a mattress back there, too, but it's disgusting. I thought we could burn it."
"No fire," Spock said on a shuddering breath.
"What?"
"They'll see the smoke."
Kirk looked back toward the bedroom, dismayed. But Spock was right, and he'd been a fool to think otherwise. Glumly, he pulled the heaviest blanket free and tossed it over Spock, then sat down to try and open one of the bottles of liquid. "Any brilliant ideas on how we're going to summon the ship?" he asked, glowering when the bottle remained stubbornly sealed.
"I suggest we get to the nearest city, once we've provisioned ourselves."
Kirk grunted. Losing patience, he stood up and stepped away, smashing the neck of the bottle against the wall. It shattered, littering the floor with broken glass, though most of the -- he sniffed -- alcohol remained inside.
They both eyed the glass mess. "Maybe not my most inspired moment," Kirk mumbled, and knelt in front of Spock again. "Drink?"
"Out of a glass bottle with sharp edges?" He was nearly hidden under the folds of the blanket, now wrapped tightly around him. When Kirk looked, Spock's shivering was painfully obvious.
"Okay, point." He set the bottle down and headed back toward what had clearly been the kitchen, in search of something to hold the liquor. Finally, armed with a bowl, he came back into the room.
It had seemed warm just a few moments before, newly sheltered from the wind, but now the cold was creeping back on him. His fingers felt thick, and his toes hurt. "Here's the plan," he said, pouring alcohol into the bowl and pressing it toward Spock. "I'm gonna check your leg and your feet -- don't argue -- and then we're going to curl up under that blanket and sleep. Any disagreements?"
For a beat, Spock hesitated. Then he sipped from the bowl, long-fingered hands just peeking out from under the edge of the blanket, and said, "None, Captain."
Jim sat, tugging another blanket around his shoulders before grabbing the third, a moth-eaten thin one with large holes in the middle. Methodically, he picked up the knife and began to tear the blanket into long strips, soaking them down with the alcohol. "You think there are bacteria on this planet that could cause infection in us?"
"It does seem likely, given past precedent."
"Then we'll just hope alcohol still sterilizes." Kirk glanced sidelong. Slowly growing daylight was filtering in through the boards, as well as a large hole in the ceiling. It left Spock in plain view. He was pale, moreso than usual, and drawn. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks looked gaunt. His hair, normally so tidy, was greasy and mussed. A red smear of blood adorned his chin, as well as clinging under his nails.
Kirk frowned. "I thought you were green-blooded." He was sure of it. Information was coming back to him, even if episodic memories were not.
Spock glanced at him. "I am."
Knife in one hand, Kirk pointed to Spock's nails.
Spock regarded them steadily. "I do not believe that is mine."
Which made Kirk remember the fight just before he'd lost awareness again. Thoughtfully, he continued to tear the blanket into strips.
When he had as many as he thought he could possibly need, he wrung the excess alcohol out of them and shifted until he sat facing Spock. "We need to bandage you. I'm gonna end up touching you. How can I help?"
Lids fell, heavy lashes sweeping down to lie against pale skin for the barest of moments. Then Spock looked at him, holding his gaze. "Remain calm. Think... quietly."
Kirk huffed a laugh and laid the first strip across his knees, while Spock shuffled around until the blanket was still over his shoulders, but Kirk could get to his legs.
Kirk started on the side that still had a full pants leg. He reached out, wrapping his hands carefully around the firm muscle of Spock's calf, drawing it out to rest the Vulcan's foot on his knee, then pushed the hem up slightly.
"This might sting."
"I had deduced as much."
Kirk gave him a bare little smile. While Kirk swabbed at the raw, abraded flesh, keeping cloth between their skin, Spock picked up another piece and cleaned red blood off. Jim's actions had to have hurt like hell, but Spock neither twitched nor made any noise. His foot wasn't as bad as Kirk had expected, either. It didn't take long to clean away the grime and assess the damage. "I doubt you'll be dancing any time soon," Kirk said finally, "but you ought to be able to walk."
"As I do not dance, walking is all that concerns me."
Kirk chuckled, picking up the next length of cloth. "What, you mean you don't head to the bars on shore leave, learn a little Centurian Two-Step, maybe some Gamma line dancing?"
"No, I do not."
"I'm kidding, Spock." Kirk gave Spock a lopsided smile, feeling it grow at the vaguely uncertain look on Spock's face -- something subtle, a movement of eyebrows, a shift of Spock's gaze. Suddenly, he wished he remembered them better. What they were like, if they were good friends. He turned his attention back to Spock's battered foot.
He couldn't keep from touching Spock any longer. Think quietly. He wrapped his hand around Spock's ankle, pinning the end of the first strip in place. Kirk thought of snow. Falling snow, landing on already white ground. Fields covered in it, drifting down from a sky almost as pale. Carefully, he wrapped the bandage around Spock's foot once. Spock's skin felt chilled to the touch, and Kirk couldn't tell if that was normal or if it was an indication of freezing or, heck, if Spock was going into shock.
He wrapped the bandage around again, fixing on that image of snow. Snow, peaceful and quiet, across the entire field. Wrapped the bandage again. Snow heavy over the bare tree in the front yard, snow that looked fluffy, snow that promised good packing snow later.
"Jim."
He looked up.
"I don't mean to pry, but I cannot guard easily against your thoughts, and you're making me cold."
Kirk laughed. "Figures. Don't worry about prying. I think normally you're pretty good at not reading minds, but everyone has a bad day. Yours has been really bad, so... I can just... think of good things until we're done." Warm things.
Snow outside, and sitting by the fire. The creak of an old-fashioned rocking chair. A woman's foot by his hand, rising up on tiptoe as the chair rocked back, then coming down when the chair came forward. His mother, home from tour, and Sam playing video games. Being completely warm and listening to the logs snap and pop, sipping hot cocoa and doing homework.
He tied off the ends of the bandage and glanced up, ready to tell Spock that one, at least, was done. But he stopped before he'd spoken, caught at the look on Spock's face.
Spock's gaze had turned inward, his head tilted slightly. He didn't look peaceful or content, exactly, but more like someone who'd heard a joke, and knew it should be funny, but couldn't quite puzzle out why. At the very least, Kirk decided, he looked distracted. Moving slowly and quietly, Kirk drew Spock's other foot over and started cleaning it, holding that image.
Sam muttering as he lost the game. The lick of the flames as they rose, bursting with life when the log fell into the coals.
He cleaned Spock's second foot, and wrapped it, too. Spock's face was relaxed, though his brows tightened and relaxed, as if working out some mental problem. Kirk rolled up the torn pants leg and regarded the crusted wound, the green blood so dark it was nearly black. Wordlessly, he started to soak the scabs away, tightening his grip on fireplace-warm-comfort-family when Spock tensed.
He couldn't entirely hold the scene, not when he had to pause and draw fabric out of the injury, but he did the best he could. Both of them were sweating by the time he began to wrap bandages around the graze, but at least it was clean. He put a hand on Spock's knee and brought the image back, the feeling of safety and heat, contentment he'd only felt when his mother was home, before he grew too old and the anger of her leaving drove everything else away. Sitting on the thick rug, the whole world muffled by the storm, listening to the creak of the rocking chair.
Spock relaxed. "Jim," he said softly, as Kirk finally let the image go.
Kirk looked up, eyebrows raised in question.
"You remembered that."
He had. He had! He grabbed for it again, frantically, reaching as it sank back into the abyss. Snow, a snowstorm, sitting by the fire, listening to--
Listening to--
Family, there had been family--
"No!" he snarled, closing his eyes as if that might bring it back. It had to be there. It had to. It had just been there, he could remember remembering it, but everything was gone. He reached, and reached, and reached, pushing into the void--
The headache came first.
"Jim, stop. You're--"
"It was there! It was just there!" He could get it back, he could--
His muscles clamped down. His mind froze. His breathing hitched, struggling to get through lungs that seized. Darkness threatened, the maw that had stolen his memories offering to take him, too.
There were hands, and a voice telling him to relax. He couldn't remember. He shook and choked and couldn't remember. Finally, he stopped trying.
**
The seizure didn't last long. Kirk didn't lose consciousness. Both were good signs.
When blue eyes blinked open and stared sightlessly ahead, Spock watched. He and Kirk were curled together, Kirk wrapped in a blanket so no bare skin touched Spock, another blanket thrown over the top of them both for heat. Spock was finally starting to feel warm again.
Jim stared straight ahead and said nothing. Spock knew he was awake. He could feel the press of hard muscles against his chest with every breath, the minute shifting of legs that indicated wakefulness. Still, Jim said nothing.
"The fact that the memories continue to surface implies that your mind is repairing itself," Spock said into the quiet.
Jim didn't move out of the recovery position Spock had put him in. "I don't remember hardly anything more than when I woke up. I'm having seizures when I try. How, exactly, is that improvement?" His voice rose on the last words, tension sliding through his body.
Spock kept one arm tucked under his head, the other wrapped around Jim's chest. He could feel Jim's heartbeat, painfully slow. "I don't know," he said finally.
Jim didn't respond.
There was no logical next step. Nothing in Spock's upbringing had prepared him for this. He cast around for a solution, for any good news, but came up with nothing.
Then another suggestion presented itself. He took a bracing breath, and said slowly, considering his words, "Humans and Vulcans are quite similar. I might be able to put memories into your mind, though there is a twenty-three point five percent chance it won't work, and I estimate a point two three percent chance it will make things worse."
Kirk thought about that for a long time. "Like the old-you put memories in my head?"
That galled. That Ambassador Spock had done such a thing, at his age and theoretical wisdom--
Spock refused to think about it. There must have been a logical reason. Perhaps, like what he was suggesting, it was not a true mind meld. It was... something he would learn as he practiced working with humans. Yes, that was rational.
"Something like that," he said at last.
"I don't want your memories, Spock." Jim sagged.
"Not my memories," Spock said. "Not allowing you into my mind, which I am sure is not quite what Ambassador Spock did, either." One did not simply share everything with someone, unless that someone was a bond mate. Which, obviously, Kirk was not. But the likelihood that Ambassador Spock had done that was slim. It was just a partial meld. Spock pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Not my memories -- you shared with me one of yours. I still remember it and, possibly, I could... give it back." Which was an inaccurate way of putting it, but--
Kirk twisted until his nose was inches from Spock's. "You could show me what I can't remember."
"I can simply show you what you already showed me," Spock clarified. "Might I remind you that there is a point two three--"
"Do it."
"We should consider the repercussions before--"
"Do it." Blue eyes glared at him intensely, so pale they were almost icy.
It would require dropping his shields again. Spock tightened his grip on them in response. For all the trauma earlier, they seemed to be holding well. His own emotions -- that legacy from his human side -- were back under lock and key. He'd been unable to keep Jim's memories out, but keeping another's thoughts out was more difficult than keeping his own emotions under control at the best of times.
He could do this.
Spock pulled his hand out from under the blankets, squirming it inelegantly between them until he was free. Carefully, he settled his fingertips against Jim's jaw and temple, feeling warm, elastic skin. His fingertips seemed to tingle, ever so slightly, as if Jim's electric life would wash over him. "Try to relax," he murmured.
Jim's own innate shields melted away, though Spock could still feel them prepared to snap back up. Not that shields so rudimentary would keep out a determined alien with psi abilities, but...
Aware of how breakable the human mind was, and especially Jim's in its current fractured state, Spock called up the images he'd been given, trusting that the emotions that had gone with them would make more sense to Jim. Carefully, slowly, he eased into Jim's mind, trying to go gently enough not to hurt the fragile human pathways.
A fire, a woman, her sons, a snowstorm, warmth and safety, those things that mattered so much to primitive creatures. A rug, the pop of flames, the soft muttering as one boy lost at a game.
Jim soaked it up, almost grasping for the next image, the next impression. Spock went delicately, withholding each memory until he was sure he wouldn't burn out the flicker of Jim's consciousness.
A consciousness that was, he thought with a chill, very empty.
When the last memory had been shared, Spock pulled back and focused again. Jim's eyes were closed, but liquid gathered at the raw corners. Spock studied him for signs of pain, but his color was good and his muscles weren't tense. "Jim?" he asked quietly.
Jim took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, blinking hard several times. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He continued watching though, just in case.
Jim rolled onto his back, staring up. "If it's gone when we wake up, you'll bring it back again, right?"
Spock hesitated. But Jim's voice was steady. "If you wish it."
Jim nodded. "I do. I mean, I will." He folded his hands on his stomach and stared at the ceiling. Spock did not think he was truly seeing it.
"Ah, hell," Jim muttered after a moment, and proceeded to squirm. At long last he pulled the gun from its holster, and laid it just above their heads. "In the morning, you need to show me how to shoot that thing, too." There was something odd in his tone, but Spock wasn't sure what it indicated. He did not, Spock thought, sound entirely self-confident.
Spock glanced at the weapon to be sure it was in easy reach, then settled back down. "Certainly. But perhaps we should wait until the afternoon, after we've slept."
"When we wake up, Spock. You don't have to be so literal."
"I'm Vulcan. We--"
"Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep." Jim's words were nonchalant but his tone was not. He rolled again, his back to Spock, and wadded a corner of the blanket under his head as a pillow.
Spock regarded Jim for a moment. Then, determining that there was no other help he could offer for the time being, he closed his eyes and put it out of his mind.
*******
Just FYI, guys, I'll be starting a new series soon, Switch To Decaf. It's an ensemble series, so many of the stories won't be released on character-specific comms. Feel free to friend me if you'd like to keep track and came over here from kirkspock or something like that. ;)
JB