Rain Shadow (Kirk/Spock, ST:XI, pre-slash or friendship)
Jim collapsed as soon as they were on the pad, home safe at last. Spock caught him as he fell, seconds before McCoy reached him. Spock spared a glance around the Transporter Room, unusually crowded as it was with medics and security.
The anti-grav gurney moved quickly down the corridors, past shocked crewmembers who jumped out of its way. There was no blood, no evident injury. All that was to come.
They were already in Sickbay. Spock had often noted that one’s perception of time changed drastically in times of crisis. The medics were lifting Jim onto the operating table, and McCoy was cutting open the front of his uniform.
Spock moved nearer, not close enough to interfere with the work but close enough to see the long, pale expanse of torso. Under the flat belly, something terrible moved.
The movement revived Jim, who looked wildly around in barely contained panic.“I can feel it! It’s hatching!” McCoy winced in horror as he reached for the constraint straps, wrapping them around Jim’s shoulders and pelvis.
“I’m sorry, Jim, I can’t sedate you. I have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”
“Just get it out. Get it out!” Kirk plea ended in a sharp cry of pain.
“Spock!” McCoy hissed. Spock needed no further encouragement to move forward and take Jim’s left hand in his own. The fingers of his right found the supraorbital, infraorbital, buccal nerves easily. His last conscious vision was of red, red light and red liquid.
++++++++++
“Where are we?” Jim looked down across the broad slopes that trailed off toward the plain. He had never been to Vulcan, and so could not have recognized the celebrated view of the Voroth Sea from the Arda Hills, where the green coastline suddenly appeared like a misty mirage.
“My parents’ retreat in Raal. We came here often when I was a boy. I had my first view of the sea from this terrace.” Spock was interested to note that Jim wore a white tunic in the kor’at style over his uniform pants. It has been Spock’s observation that his memories occasionally contained these strange ephemera, as human dreams were said to.
“It’s beautiful. I’ve seen maps of Vulcan, but I didn’t imagine the sea being so large.” He gave a grunt of pain and wrapped an arm around his middle, but kept his face turned, like a polite guest struggling with indigestion.
“I am sorry. Your mind is not an easy one to control, especially at the present moment.”
“That’s OK. I’m sure I’m much better off in here than out there right now.” He winced and closed his eyes briefly. “Is that a storm on the horizon?”
“A rain shower, yes. It will not reach us; the rains always fall to the east, over the plains. It is why they are so fertile. Most of Vulcan’s food is-was-grown there. The rest of the planet must rely on wells, or extracting moisture from the air.”
Jim walked to the low terrace wall and leaned against it, for support. “Hard for me to imagine. Where I grew up was landlocked, but it was green, all the time. It used to drive me kind of nuts, nothing but flat and green to the horizon.” He turned to look at Spock. “Earth must seem strange to you, being so wet. Especially San Francisco.”
“Indeed. It was hard for me to reconcile my experience with your profligate user of water. I believe there is a human saying, ‘the streets are paved with gold’?”
“I can’t imagine what you made of that huge fountain in front of Starfleet Headquarters.” He smiled a little, though the smile did not reach his eyes. “Are all Vulcans able to do this? To enter their memories?”
“All possess eidetic memory, yes. But a high degree of mental discipline is required to reconstruct memories in this manner.”
“That’s good. Then you can visit whenever you want.”
“It is not encouraged. The philosophy of kol-ut-shan holds that he possibilities of the material universe are infinite and yield themselves to introspection by logic. Time spent on the constructs of the mind is therefore wasted, unless it is to recover records of the past and bring them into the present.”
“If you say so. I’m glad you brought me here.” A shaft of sun, penetrating the thick haze, fell on his face, and for a moment Spock thought he was reacting to that. But with a sharp intake of breath, Jim clutched at his middle and sank to one knee.
Spock knelt beside him and slipped an arm around his shoulder. Touching was thoughtlessly easy here, as the touch of minds was already closer than the touch of flesh. With his other hand he clasped Jim’s, completing the circle. From a distance, Spock could hear McCoy’s voice, an urgent string of commands punctuated by curses.
“Nothing like this to show you in Iowa, but you’re welcome all the same,” Jim managed between panting breaths. “Haven’t been back since the day I left for the Academy.”
“Perhaps that is the value of a home, that it is does not cease to be our point of origin and may yet always be our point of return. I am fortunate to have found another.”
Jim’s body began to tremble. “I don’t think it’s going so well out there,” he gasped against Spock’s shoulder. “If things don’t work out, can I stay here?”
Surprised, Spock looked down and the golden head. “I do not know if it is possible. It is a matter of much debate whether humans have katras. The practice of transference is a difficult one in any case.”
“But you’ll stay with me? Until the end?”
Spock began to be worried by this line of questioning. He knew relatively little about the human connection between mind and body, and whether it might be loosened by a loss of will. Long melds were treacherous in any case, let alone those that took place at the border of life.
“I will,” Spock said, and pulled Jim a little closer. His body tensed and he stifled a cry of agony against Spock’s shoulder. For many long moments they sat unmoving, while the clouds and murky sunlight played above them.
Jim’s head suddenly became heavy against Spock’s shoulder, and he sighed. “Woah. What was that?”
“I believe Dr. McCoy has given you an anaesthetic with sedative properties.”
Jim nodded drowsily, but managed to raise his head. “Oh, look. The rainstorm is coming after all.”
It was true, and yet it had never happened. How pleasant it would be to lie here with Jim, now out of pain, and watch the clouds approach, see if the large, warm drops would actually fall on the slopes of Arda.
They could not. For Jim’s sake, he must resist.
He gave Jim’s hand a final squeeze. “No. The wind is blowing from the west.”
++++++++++
Spock opened his eyes to find himself staring at white. His head was bowed, close to Jim’s, and he was seeing what Jim was meant to see: a surgical drape at chest level, blocking his view.
Spock rose up slightly, and looked over. What he saw seemed both terrible and dangerous, but McCoy and his team were now working with calm, if swift, efficiency.
“You OK, Spock?” McCoy did not look away from his work. “I don’t know what the hell you did, but I’m grateful.”
“I am quite well.”
“What about me?” Kirk asked faintly.
“Jim, you’re going to be fine, but I’ve got a lot of patching up to do. I’m gonna to knock you out for a while.” It was the doctor’s prerogative not to wait for approval. “Chapel? 20 CCs of melorazine.”
Spock did not stay for the rest of the procedure, which went on for many hours, only long enough to see Jim’s face become still and calm. It was not the stillness of death. He knew that very well, and he would continue to know it, as long as they both lived.
The anti-grav gurney moved quickly down the corridors, past shocked crewmembers who jumped out of its way. There was no blood, no evident injury. All that was to come.
They were already in Sickbay. Spock had often noted that one’s perception of time changed drastically in times of crisis. The medics were lifting Jim onto the operating table, and McCoy was cutting open the front of his uniform.
Spock moved nearer, not close enough to interfere with the work but close enough to see the long, pale expanse of torso. Under the flat belly, something terrible moved.
The movement revived Jim, who looked wildly around in barely contained panic.“I can feel it! It’s hatching!” McCoy winced in horror as he reached for the constraint straps, wrapping them around Jim’s shoulders and pelvis.
“I’m sorry, Jim, I can’t sedate you. I have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”
“Just get it out. Get it out!” Kirk plea ended in a sharp cry of pain.
“Spock!” McCoy hissed. Spock needed no further encouragement to move forward and take Jim’s left hand in his own. The fingers of his right found the supraorbital, infraorbital, buccal nerves easily. His last conscious vision was of red, red light and red liquid.
++++++++++
“Where are we?” Jim looked down across the broad slopes that trailed off toward the plain. He had never been to Vulcan, and so could not have recognized the celebrated view of the Voroth Sea from the Arda Hills, where the green coastline suddenly appeared like a misty mirage.
“My parents’ retreat in Raal. We came here often when I was a boy. I had my first view of the sea from this terrace.” Spock was interested to note that Jim wore a white tunic in the kor’at style over his uniform pants. It has been Spock’s observation that his memories occasionally contained these strange ephemera, as human dreams were said to.
“It’s beautiful. I’ve seen maps of Vulcan, but I didn’t imagine the sea being so large.” He gave a grunt of pain and wrapped an arm around his middle, but kept his face turned, like a polite guest struggling with indigestion.
“I am sorry. Your mind is not an easy one to control, especially at the present moment.”
“That’s OK. I’m sure I’m much better off in here than out there right now.” He winced and closed his eyes briefly. “Is that a storm on the horizon?”
“A rain shower, yes. It will not reach us; the rains always fall to the east, over the plains. It is why they are so fertile. Most of Vulcan’s food is-was-grown there. The rest of the planet must rely on wells, or extracting moisture from the air.”
Jim walked to the low terrace wall and leaned against it, for support. “Hard for me to imagine. Where I grew up was landlocked, but it was green, all the time. It used to drive me kind of nuts, nothing but flat and green to the horizon.” He turned to look at Spock. “Earth must seem strange to you, being so wet. Especially San Francisco.”
“Indeed. It was hard for me to reconcile my experience with your profligate user of water. I believe there is a human saying, ‘the streets are paved with gold’?”
“I can’t imagine what you made of that huge fountain in front of Starfleet Headquarters.” He smiled a little, though the smile did not reach his eyes. “Are all Vulcans able to do this? To enter their memories?”
“All possess eidetic memory, yes. But a high degree of mental discipline is required to reconstruct memories in this manner.”
“That’s good. Then you can visit whenever you want.”
“It is not encouraged. The philosophy of kol-ut-shan holds that he possibilities of the material universe are infinite and yield themselves to introspection by logic. Time spent on the constructs of the mind is therefore wasted, unless it is to recover records of the past and bring them into the present.”
“If you say so. I’m glad you brought me here.” A shaft of sun, penetrating the thick haze, fell on his face, and for a moment Spock thought he was reacting to that. But with a sharp intake of breath, Jim clutched at his middle and sank to one knee.
Spock knelt beside him and slipped an arm around his shoulder. Touching was thoughtlessly easy here, as the touch of minds was already closer than the touch of flesh. With his other hand he clasped Jim’s, completing the circle. From a distance, Spock could hear McCoy’s voice, an urgent string of commands punctuated by curses.
“Nothing like this to show you in Iowa, but you’re welcome all the same,” Jim managed between panting breaths. “Haven’t been back since the day I left for the Academy.”
“Perhaps that is the value of a home, that it is does not cease to be our point of origin and may yet always be our point of return. I am fortunate to have found another.”
Jim’s body began to tremble. “I don’t think it’s going so well out there,” he gasped against Spock’s shoulder. “If things don’t work out, can I stay here?”
Surprised, Spock looked down and the golden head. “I do not know if it is possible. It is a matter of much debate whether humans have katras. The practice of transference is a difficult one in any case.”
“But you’ll stay with me? Until the end?”
Spock began to be worried by this line of questioning. He knew relatively little about the human connection between mind and body, and whether it might be loosened by a loss of will. Long melds were treacherous in any case, let alone those that took place at the border of life.
“I will,” Spock said, and pulled Jim a little closer. His body tensed and he stifled a cry of agony against Spock’s shoulder. For many long moments they sat unmoving, while the clouds and murky sunlight played above them.
Jim’s head suddenly became heavy against Spock’s shoulder, and he sighed. “Woah. What was that?”
“I believe Dr. McCoy has given you an anaesthetic with sedative properties.”
Jim nodded drowsily, but managed to raise his head. “Oh, look. The rainstorm is coming after all.”
It was true, and yet it had never happened. How pleasant it would be to lie here with Jim, now out of pain, and watch the clouds approach, see if the large, warm drops would actually fall on the slopes of Arda.
They could not. For Jim’s sake, he must resist.
He gave Jim’s hand a final squeeze. “No. The wind is blowing from the west.”
++++++++++
Spock opened his eyes to find himself staring at white. His head was bowed, close to Jim’s, and he was seeing what Jim was meant to see: a surgical drape at chest level, blocking his view.
Spock rose up slightly, and looked over. What he saw seemed both terrible and dangerous, but McCoy and his team were now working with calm, if swift, efficiency.
“You OK, Spock?” McCoy did not look away from his work. “I don’t know what the hell you did, but I’m grateful.”
“I am quite well.”
“What about me?” Kirk asked faintly.
“Jim, you’re going to be fine, but I’ve got a lot of patching up to do. I’m gonna to knock you out for a while.” It was the doctor’s prerogative not to wait for approval. “Chapel? 20 CCs of melorazine.”
Spock did not stay for the rest of the procedure, which went on for many hours, only long enough to see Jim’s face become still and calm. It was not the stillness of death. He knew that very well, and he would continue to know it, as long as they both lived.