Kirk and Spock are sent to Uriman V to smooth things over after a premature First Contact with an alien race. Things start off well…and then go horribly wrong…Certainly not meant to be slash, but with enough alcohol I suppose anything's possible…
A/N: Special thanks to Anna Amuse, who in spite of everything, has made time to help out a friend in need. Her support, guidance and encouragement have proven invaluable once again. And to Verenna – my toughest critic! Love ya ladies! No technical beta on this, so all mistakes are mine.
_
_
His Last Breath
They were running through the thick underbrush, running for their lives, Spock positioning himself directly behind Kirk, using his body as a shield – the only way he could protect the captain at the moment from their armed pursuers, following at about a hundred meters distance.
Suddenly, they burst out from under the canopy of trees onto a narrow strip of rocky shore, a wide, raging river beyond. "Where to now, Spock?" Kirk asked, quickly scanning their surroundings. "It's too deep and too swift-moving to cross here, and the Urimari are only moments behind us."
"This way, Jim," Spock said decisively, motioning downstream and collecting the captain by an elbow, propelling him once again into the lead, steering him toward the slightly higher protection of the dense forest. "There is a chance it will become narrower or calmer farther down, allowing for a safer crossing. Or perhaps we may find a piece of driftwood which would serve as a makeshift raft, enabling us to use the swift current to our advantage." They continued their headlong flight, paralleling the river from the relative safety of the trees, the sharp leaves and thick branches viciously whipping and stinging their unprotected heads and faces.
They had been sent to Uriman V to smooth over a premature, inadvertent First Contact and were clothed in the native alat'ele out of respect for their hosts, the garment similar in pattern and style to the loose drape of fabric worn by Maasai warriors of the African nation of Kenya on Earth.
Things had been going quite well, their hosts open, gracious and accepting, when suddenly all hell broke loose. Their host village had been overrun by a hostile faction, the two Starfleet officers taken captive by the enemy. After a two-hour march through the jungle, blindfolded, they had managed to escape and were doing their best to avoid being recaptured.
Behind them, Spock heard the twang of a bowstring, and without breaking stride, pulled Jim sharply to the left, the projectile whizzing by the shorter man's right ear. "Captain, it would be most beneficial if you could proceed with slightly more alacrity," Spock announced stiffly, his trademark calm slipping slightly under the stress of the situation.
"I'm running as fast as I can, Spock," Kirk wheezed, arms and legs pumping furiously, his breath coming in great, heaving gasps.
His First refrained from responding, instead glancing to his left to catch a glimpse of the river through the dense undergrowth of native foliage, glittering and shimmering as the sunlight danced on the coursing, churning water. It seemed to be picking up speed, not slowing, and Spock became aware of a deafening roar.
"Captain, it is my belief—" he began, shouting to be heard over the cacophony of sounds, but suddenly Kirk stopped short in front of him, and it was all Spock could do to avoid colliding with the broad back. Gazing over the captain's shoulder, he saw what had caused the sudden halt to their forward momentum. They had come to the edge of a sheer cliff, a drop of over twenty seven meters ending in a turbulent pool below, clouds of mist billowing and swirling angrily above the surface of the water, the sparkling droplets spewed forth by a magnificent waterfall. Another arrow coursed over their heads, and Kirk made a snap decision.
"Let's go, Spock. The Urimari have almost caught up to us. They might not be able to see us through the trees, and probably won't think we jumped," he finished, grasping the Vulcan's forearm tightly, feeling Spock respond in kind as the pair disappeared over the edge.
***
Kirk held his breath as the two of them impacted the surface of the pool, the shock of the frigid water almost causing him to gasp involuntarily. He felt Spock's grip slacken, his hand slipping from the captain's arm. They had gone deep, perhaps ten meters, Kirk's feet groping futilely for a bottom which never materialized under them, depriving him of something solid to push off from and make for the surface. Lungs burning, screaming for air, he began kicking mightily, clawing through the water with one arm, the other hand still securely fastened around Spock's wrist. He tried desperately to drag the Vulcan's limp form with him, but Spock was heavier than he, a dead weight at the end of his arm, impeding his upward progress. He decided on a risky gamble. Releasing the Vulcan, he quickly shot through the last two meters and broke the surface, gulping great lungfuls of air.
He instantly dove again, straining to catch a glimpse of Spock's sinking form. He could just make out the alat'ele Spock was wearing, the magenta and blue plaid fabric billowing and waving gently in the current as the Vulcan's body descended toward the bottom. A burst of speed brought him alongside his First, and he grabbed Spock's wrist, orienting himself toward the sunlight once again.
Several strong kicks later they breached the surface, Kirk changing his grip on Spock, rolling him face-up, an arm thrown across his First's upper torso, supporting the unconscious man's chest and head on his hip and side. Once Spock was situated securely, he began towing the heavier man toward the opposite shore, careful to keep the Vulcan's nose and mouth above water.
After several minutes, his feet scrabbled for and found purchase on the bottom, and he half carried, half dragged the Vulcan to the water's edge. Heaving Spock onto the rocky beach, he scrambled around behind the Vulcan, and grasping him under the armpits, managed to wrestle him out of the water.
Spock was not breathing.
Kirk flipped the Vulcan onto his stomach, pumping his back furiously as fluid drained from the Vulcan's nose and mouth. His First sputtered, wheezed, and then vomited a considerable amount of water.
"Spock, can you hear me?"
Harsh, ragged breathing was Kirk's only response, but at least Spock was breathing.
Kirk began rapidly rubbing the Vulcan's arms and legs, trying to restore blood flow to the frozen appendages.
Hearing a shout he cast a glance over his shoulder, detecting movement along the far cliff. The small band of enemy Urimari warriors was moving rapidly down what could only have been a path, descending toward the far bank.
At least they're on the other side of the pool, Kirk thought grimly, focusing once again on the shivering form of his First Officer. Hopefully, they think we're still over there.
"Spock, can you stand? We have to go. The Urimari are headed for the opposite shore, and will be able to spot us if we don't get under the protection of the trees."
Spock's reply was indecipherable, but he fought to get his feet under him, pushing himself up on wobbly arms.
"Here, let me help you," Kirk intoned gently, once again grasping the man by the armpit and hauling him to his feet. Spock swayed dangerously and Kirk hurried to steady him, draping the Vulcan's limp arm over his shoulder. It was then that the captain noticed the ten-centimeter gash above Spock's left ear, blood oozing liberally from the jagged cut.
"C'mon, we've got to go," he urged, supporting his Science Officer as they staggered into the tangle of jungle plants.
After stumbling through the dense growth, putting a hundred meters between them and the pool's bank, Kirk deposited Spock gently on a fallen log.
"Spock, your head's bleeding. Do you remember what happened?" Kirk asked, tearing a strip of cloth from the bottom of his alat'ele and beginning to wrap the Vulcan's wound.
"I have no recollection of events after leaping off the cliff prior to regaining consciousness on the beach." He paused, coughing wetly.
"Forget it – it's not important. There, that should help to control the bleeding," Kirk said matter-of-factly, trying to keep the worry from his voice. "Can you travel? We need to keep moving in case they have a canoe or something on the opposite bank and come over here looking for us."
Spock nodded his assent, climbing onto shaky legs.
"We need to find a game trail, try to cover our tracks," Kirk remarked, taking the lead. I'm betting the Urimari are excellent at tracking prey through the forest, and would have no trouble at all following us. If we can confuse them, it should buy us some time." They proceeded in silence for a kilometer or so, Kirk reaching out occasionally to steady the Vulcan who was still shivering, the thick canopy preventing the rapidly fading sunlight from penetrating to the forest floor.
"You okay?" Kirk asked finally.
"I am somewhat unsteady, and still quite chilled," Spock admitted frankly, "but otherwise functional."
Kirk didn't believe that for a second, but since there was nothing he could do about it at present, refrained from comment.
***
Once they had traveled about three kilometers into the forest, Kirk could see Spock's stamina fading, the rush of adrenaline having worn off a while ago. He'd been supplying more and more support to the Vulcan as Spock's gait became increasingly erratic, the fact that Spock permitted the help without protest adding to Kirk's unease. He feared Spock felt worse than he was letting on, and knowing instinctively that his XO would be unable to walk much farther, began looking for a secure place to spend the night. He spotted a massive tree, at least fifty meters tall, the trunk some ten meters in circumference with widespread, buttressed roots at its base. The cavity between the roots formed a roofless shelter, about four by four meters, with the walls at least one and a half meters high near the trunk, gradually sloping toward the ground as they radiated out from the foot of the tree. It would afford some protection from the wind, and they wouldn't be immediately visible to anyone who might be tracking them.
"Let's stop here for the night, Spock."
The Vulcan nodded, shivering in earnest now, the chattering of his teeth preventing an answer. Kirk settled him gently on the soft, moss-covered ground flanked by the enormous roots.
"I'll be right back – I need to find something to cover you with." Another nod, as Spock dissolved into a fit of hoarse coughing. When Kirk returned, arms full of huge leaves, Spock was trying unsuccessfully to remove the still-wet alat'ele, knotted loosely about his shoulders.
"Here, let me get that for you." Kirk swiftly untied the brightly colored fabric, slipping the garment over the Vulcan's head. "Lie down, Spock," Kirk said gently, covering his First Officer with the numerous, large orange leaves he had gathered. Once Spock was burrowed snugly under the mound of native vegetation, Kirk sat down beside the injured man and began to plan his next move.
Making a fire was out, as either the smoke or light would be a dead giveaway of their position. He was hungry and thirsty, but without a tricorder, had no way to discern which plants and fruits were safe to eat. The water was another problem. The human members of the research team which had crashed on the planet two months ago had been able to drink it, but the Andorian had not due to a protozoan incompatible with his physiology, and the Vulcan scientist had died on impact, so Kirk had no way of knowing if the water was safe for Spock. Hopefully, most of it had been purged from his system when he regurgitated his stomach contents on the beach.
Glancing down at the Vulcan, he could see that his shivering had not subsided, despite being buried under the thick pile of leaves. He may not be able to do anything about the food situation at the moment, but he could definitely help Spock. Peeling off his own damp alat'ele, he spread it on the ground next to Spock's near the mouth of their makeshift refuge. He would have liked to hang them up to dry, but realized that could alert any following Urimari to their presence. Moving back to where Spock lay, he lifted the leaves, situating himself next to the Vulcan, wrapping himself around the thin, quivering form and replacing the leaves over the two of them.
Spock immediately stiffened at the unexpected contact, but soon relaxed into the soothing heat radiated by his captain. Kirk noted with dismay that he felt unusually hot, even given his higher body temperature. Spock was already running a fever? That did not bode well.
"Spock, are you awake?" He asked softly.
He felt the Vulcan's head nod in affirmation.
"Feeling any better?"
Kirk's question was answered by another coughing spell that left Spock weak and breathless.
"Never mind. Don't try to talk. Let's just get you warm." Kirk spooned in closer, and Spock pressed his back into the captain's warm torso, pulling himself into a fetal position, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs. After about twenty minutes, Spock's shivering had subsided considerably, his breathing evening out with sleep.
Kirk lay awake, listening to the sounds of the jungle around them, straining to hear the patter of footsteps through the dissonant chirping of night insects and the howls, squeaks and grunts of native wildlife. He wanted to get up and explore their surroundings in more detail, perhaps rig up some impromptu traps that would alert them to anyone approaching, but he was loathe to deprive the Vulcan of his much-needed body heat. After an hour of listening, he too fell into a fitful sleep.
***
Kirk awoke with the dawn, heralded by the melodic songs of the colorful native fowl roosting in the vast jungle. After a moment of disorientation, he remembered where he was. Spock was still asleep, his back nestled comfortably against Kirk's chest. While no longer shaking, Spock's breathing had become worse during the night, a distinctive wheeze accompanying each exhaled breath. Pressing an ear to his First's back, he could hear the Vulcan's lungs crackle and snap with each respiration. That was most distressing. And he still felt too warm, only adding to the captain's concern.
Carefully extricating himself from their nest of leaves, Kirk rose, surveying the scene before him. They were deep in the rain forest, the rumble of the distant river no longer audible. His stomach chose this moment to complain vociferously, and while acutely aware that he could not risk eating anything, he began to search for some water. It was bad enough that the Vulcan could have none for the next two days, but he couldn't afford to become dehydrated as well, especially if Spock had not recovered somewhat from his ordeal of yesterday.
Scanning the vegetation surrounding their camp, he noticed a large, bowl-shaped flower with fiery red petals, its stem covered in large, concave leaves. Upon closer inspection, he saw that some rainwater had collected in several of them. Raising the striated leaves to his lips one by one, he swallowed greedily. It was only a few mouthfuls, but it would have to suffice for now. Seating himself on one of the large, protruding roots, he thought about the events that had led them to their current situation:
Six months ago, the Federation had discovered Uriman V on a routine star-mapping mission. The planet was covered in lush rain forests, but the inhabitants there were well below the level for First Contact technologically, the vast majority of the population still concentrated in relatively small, self-sufficient communities.
Given the overwhelming number of unknown species of plants, and the comparatively sparse areas of habitation, the Federation Council had decided to allow a small group of scientists to surreptitiously collect, analyze and catalog samples of the native plants, in hopes of finding medicines beneficial to the numerous species represented by the Federation.
A six-member team was assembled, consisting of a cross-section of races. Launched in a shuttlecraft from an Intrepid-class science vessel, they were to be retrieved in a week, but the craft experienced a critical mechanical failure, crash-landing in one of the most populated areas of the planet. When the Gagarin returned a week later to collect the team, they were unable to establish contact. Planetary scans revealed the location of the downed ship, and a security contingent was immediately dispatched to discover the fate of the scientists.
Much to everyone's surprise, the Urimari exhibited no xenophobic tendencies, welcoming the strangers from the sky, and like it or not, right or wrong, First Contact had been made. There was no going back now. Knowing that in good conscience the Federation couldn't simply disappear at this juncture, leaving the Urimari open to conquest from other, less honorable races, top-ranking officials had decided to proceed with a modified contact plan, gradually introducing this intelligent, progressive and open-minded civilization to Federation technology.
The Enterprise had been tasked with handling the initial portion of the negotiations, and her senior officers were gathered about the table in Briefing Room 3, discussing the rapidly approaching mission.
"The Urimari are a warrior race, rather primitive by our standards, rating approximately grade B on the Interplanetary Industrial Scale," Spock had been explaining, "and have yet to develop automated locomotion, electricity, or even gunpowder, the weapon of choice at the moment the equivalent of the Terran longbow. Their society is reminiscent of that which we discovered eighteen months ago on Neural, some ethnic groups living in tribal communities in the rain forest, other elements congregated in small villages.
"As such, they have requested negotiations be conducted by military personnel, not diplomats, who have no counterpart in their society. They were quite accepting of the mix of species that crash-landed on their planet, and expressed their sincere desire to host a multi-racial contingent. Since the Captain and I are the only inter-species command team currently serving in Starfleet, we have been selected as our government's principal representatives." McCoy had harrumphed loudly at that, but otherwise remained silent.
Spock had continued smoothly, "Due to their relatively low ranking on the IIS, Starfleet and the Federation Council have decided that we will not be permitted to take any devices with us which display our technological superiority, including communicators."
"That's just asinine, Spock." This from Doctor McCoy. "How are we supposed to know if you're in trouble, or even when to beam you up?"
"The Captain and I will have transponders implanted, and the Urimari have asked that we remain with them for a period of three days, engaging in negotiations and various tests of manhood to ensure the Federation's worthiness," Spock had explained patiently. "At the end of that time frame, we can be beamed aboard via the transponders."
"Surely you can't be serious – either of you," McCoy had remarked angrily, his blue eyes cold, hard, questioning, shifting between the Captain and First Officer.
"I don't like it any more than you do, Bones, but we owe it to them. We're the ones who miscalculated and now that they know there are higher life forms and more advanced technology out there, we've opened them up to exploitation by a half-dozen races whose intentions would be, at best, questionable. It's our duty to be here for them, to protect them from our costly mistake," he had said resolutely.
"Well that's just great," McCoy had countered sharply. "And who's gonna protect you two? I swear, sometimes I think you and Mr. Spock have a death wish. Anything could happen down there, and we'd have no way of knowing what's going on, or of helping you if you needed it," he had argued, gesticulating with his arm, forcefully punctuating his own assessment of the current situation. What about this ship's duty? The crew's responsibility to her command team? Care to comment on that?" The doctor had been understandably upset, fueled by a genuine concern for the two men.
"This ship's duty, first and foremost, is to preserve and further the tenets of the Federation throughout the galaxy, Doctor. The way I see it, we'd be doing just that," he had remarked, more than a little annoyed.
"You're crazy, Jim. This is suicide! It's well known that technology and I aren't the most companionable of bedfellows, but there's only so far I'm willing to go without it," McCoy had commented heatedly, slapping his palm sharply on the desk in front of him, "and Starfleet and the Federation don't have the right to ask this of either of you!"
"The Urimari are a most intelligent and gifted people, Doctor. Were we to lose a piece of equipment, a communicator perhaps (Kirk had seen McCoy's sudden flush of embarrassment, everyone present remembering how the doctor had 'misplaced' just such a device on Sigma Iotia II), there is no doubt the Urimari would be able to successfully reverse engineer it, learning a great deal about Federation technology, despite their low ranking on the Interplanetary Industrial Scale." This, from Spock, in the Vulcan's characteristic even, measured tones.
"I don't give a damn what they can reverse engineer! I can understand going without tricorders, or even weapons – we are trying to gain their trust, after all – but if you go down there without communicators, what's to stop them from doing whatever they want to you?! You'd essentially be beaming down blind, and rendering us helpless in the process! They could take you hostage, use you as bargaining chips to get what they want, or even kill you outright!"
"The transponders would cease to function in the event of our deaths, thus alerting you to our fate," Spock had supplied helpfully.
"I don't believe what I'm hearing!" The doctor had clearly been incensed. "Fat lot of good it would do us then, Mr. Spock." Icy, blue eyes had glared indignantly at the Vulcan.
"It's a chance we'll have to take, Bones. Our two lives against the fate of an entire civilization? Seems to me, it's worth the risk. The trust between our two societies has to start somewhere. You're forgetting that when faced with aliens dropping from the sky in a mechanical box – the likes of which they'd never seen before – instead of immediately killing them the Urimari sought to care for the injured, welcoming them in spite of their obvious physical differences."
McCoy's expression had softened somewhat as he carefully considered that fact.
"Scotty?" Kirk had cast a glance at his third in command, who had remained silent during this exchange, his dark gaze shifting between the other three senior officers.
"It's problematical, and I dinna like it one bit, but dinna see any other solution." He had paused, fist pressed to his chin, lips compressed into a thin line. Dropping his hand back to the table, he had continued, "I suppose we could track ye continuously via the transponders, and beam ye aboard directly if we suspected something was wrong."
"No! Under no circumstances is that to happen!" Kirk recalled his own forceful reply. "They said we'd have some tests to endure, and we have to play by their rules. A premature beam-out could result in losing their trust in us forever. I'll admit, it could be a costly gamble, but it's a risk I'm willing to take."
Regrettably at the time, it hadn't really come home to him just how costly this gamble could turn out to be. He returned to his sleeping XO, squatting beside him and gently lifting the bandage covering Spock's head wound. It was swollen and angry-looking, the jagged edges of the cut a fierce teal color, the flesh surrounding it discolored and bruised. No longer bleeding, a clear fluid seeped slowly from the nasty gash. He was no doctor, but even he could recognize the first stage of infection. And the wound had been clean. Kirk suspected there was something in the Uriman water, or perhaps even airborne pathogens, which were hindering the healing process.
He was also concerned that Spock's Vulcan metabolism had not come to his aid as he slept. Spock healed faster than any other being he knew and frankly, he had expected the wound to look better, not worse this morning.
Spock stirred slightly at his side.
"Captain?"
"Right here, Spock. How are you feeling now?" One look at the Vulcan's pale face and pinched expression, and Kirk already knew the answer.
As usual, Spock tried to gloss over the severity of his condition. He sat up gingerly. "I am no longer dizzy, and the chills have subsided." A slight pause, the Vulcan blushing noticeably. "Thank you for sharing your body heat with me, Captain. It proved to be most beneficial."
Kirk could feel the heat stealing over his own features as well, as he diverted his eyes briefly from his XO. "I was cold, too Mr. Spock, and since we couldn't risk a fire it just seemed the logical thing to do. No point in both of us being miserable." He favored Spock with his most charming grin, doing his best to make light of the awkward moment, and was relieved when the Vulcan noticeably relaxed.
"Captain, are you well? Your face is bruised and there are several cuts on your cheeks."
He reached up gingerly, wincing slightly as his fingers encountered the wounds. "They're superficial, Spock. Souvenirs from our flight through the jungle, no doubt." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Maybe that's how you got your head injury. If you hit your head on something in the water after we jumped, it probably would have killed you instantly."
"A logical assumption, Captain."
Kirk changed the subject. "I'm sorry I can't rustle up some breakfast, but without a tricorder we have no way to tell what's safe to eat, and what isn't. Here," he added, handing Spock his alat'ele and donning his own. "They aren't completely dry, but it's better than nothing."
"Captain I would suggest that we press on. In the event the hostile faction of Urimari is pursuing us, we should try to put as much distance between us and them as possible," the Vulcan stated, his voice rough, getting to his feet and slipping the alien garment over his head. He was not as stable as he claimed, however, and Kirk was instantly at his side.
"Are you sure you're okay to travel?" He could feel the heat of the Vulcan's body through the thin fabric, and the ever-present wheeze was most unnerving. "You feel like you have a fever, Spock."
"My temperature is slightly elevated, but it is not life-threatening, Captain," he informed his CO calmly, tugging the loose drape of fabric over his shoulders. Now dressed, the two did their best to remove all traces of their presence at the tree and set off once again into the depths of the forest, moving away from the river, pool, and possibly, their pursuers.
***
They had been walking for several hours now, heading straight into the rising sun. It had seemed as good a choice as any. "Do you have any idea where we are, Spock?" After their escape and frenzied flight into the jungle, Kirk had become hopelessly disoriented, unsure of the direction in which their host village lay. He was counting on Spock's Vulcan sense of direction to point the way.
"Negative." Spock looked as if he had wanted to say more, but a violent coughing spell prevented further explanation, having progressed over the course of the day from the dry, hoarse one of last evening to a moist, productive one, the Vulcan occasionally pausing as they walked to expel phlegm from his lungs.
Kirk had noted surreptitiously that the sputum was tinged with the Vulcan's green blood.
The wheeze he had detected this morning had become more pronounced as the day wore on, Spock's breathing now shallow and rapid, to compensate for the pain, Kirk suspected.
"Then let's rest here a minute; try to get our bearings," Kirk suggested, seating himself on a fallen log. Spock sat heavily beside him, head hung low, struggling to fill his lungs.
"Maybe we can figure out where we are and try to make our way back to our host village." At least there they'd have access to the supplies they had brought with them.
"That would be most unwise, Captain. If the enemy tribe is seeking to find us, logically that would be the first place they would try to reacquire us."
"Okay, scratch that idea. Time before the Enterprise beams us aboard?"
"Thirty-nine point seven hours," his breath raspy, the air whistling in and out of his lungs.
Kirk regarded his XO, trying hard to keep his expression neutral, not wanting the Vulcan to see his concern. "Let me check your head wound," Kirk remarked casually, "see if we need to change the dressing."
Spock nodded his assent, unable to spare breath for a reply. Much to Kirk's horror, the clear fluid had now turned a sickly yellow, a sure sign of infection.
"It's looking better," he lied, favoring the Vulcan with a thin smile, "but I'd like to put a fresh wrap on it, just to be safe." He deftly tore another strip from his garment.
"Jim…" Reproachfully.
Blushing slightly, eyes downcast, he realized he'd been caught. He glanced up guiltily.
"Please Jim, there has always been nothing but truth between us." Understanding shining in the dark eyes.
"Agreed. Sorry, Spock. You can't blame me for trying, though." A wry grin creased his face.
"Illogical…and so very human." There was no trace of censure in Spock's words, his eyes soft, regarding him fondly, an almost-smile playing briefly over his lips.
He held the Vulcan's gaze for a few moments, allowing his own affection to show, and then continued to bandage the purulent sore.
***
After heading east for several more hours, they opted to spend the night in a small depression nestled in the side of a large hill, the opening barely deep enough to accommodate the two of them, neither one able to stand upright inside. Spock fell into an exhausted sleep almost immediately, propped up against the back wall, his breathing eased somewhat by the semi-upright position. Kirk settled himself next to his First, shoulders brushing slightly. Except for Spock's sporadic coughing spells, the night passed uneventfully.
Kirk awoke to a torrential downpour the next day, the patter of the raindrops on the leaves and ground outside thundering like a barrage of mini sonic grenades. He glanced to his right and observed Spock. The man was still sleeping, albeit a bit restlessly, his face oddly pale, the hollows at the base of his neck sinking in each time he drew a breath. Kirk was grateful for the rain – it would afford the perfect excuse to force the Vulcan to rest.
They remained holed up in their shelter, Spock dozing off an on, Kirk helping to pass the time during his waking hours by regaling him with stories of his boyhood antics back in Iowa with his brother Sam, his days as a cadet at the Academy, and his adventures as a newly-minted Ensign assigned to the USS Farragut.
Spock seemed to be enjoying the camaraderie, responding occasionally, commenting on the 'illogic' of some action or asking for clarification of some point or turn of phrase he pretended to not understand, but these were often punctuated by severe bouts of coughing, the phlegm rumbling in his chest as his body fought to expel it. Kirk's main goal was to keep the Vulcan, whose condition was now quite serious, as quiet and immobile as possible as the rain continued to fall throughout the day, finally stopping in the late afternoon.
As dusk approached, Kirk examined his First's laceration again. A thick, yellowish film had formed over the cut and much to his dismay, it had swelled to the size of a plum.
"Spock, your wound has abscessed. I need to drain it." Gently.
The Vulcan shook his head in agreement, and Kirk began picking at the crusty surface of the injury, afraid to use any of the rainwater to soften it in case Spock's system couldn't tolerate it. Kirk knew it had to hurt, but Spock bore it stoically, no trace of discomfort evident on his features. Once he'd peeled off a portion of the scab, fluid started leaking from the fresh opening. Pressing lightly on the swollen area, he was rewarded as a deluge of yellowish, fetid liquid gushed from the unsightly lesion. Milking all of the infection from the site, Kirk gently cleaned it using the wrap he had removed from the Vulcan's head, covering the wound with a fresh strip of the thin, native fabric.
"Thank you, Jim. That has relieved the pressure considerably."
"It's a quick fix, but it'll get worse. How long until the Enterprise retrieves us?"
"Thirteen point seven hours." The reply was weak, Spock's lungs struggling to draw in enough air.
Kirk did not like the Vulcan's color. He wasn't oxygenating well, a teal cast visible to his lips and fingertips. "How about a healing trance? Would that help?"
"I cannot risk it, Captain. It would require at least twenty hours. Should the Urimari find us before the Enterprise beams us aboard, I would be incapacitated, unable to travel. It would mean recapture, possibly death…" The remainder of Spock's sentence, left unsaid, hung heavily in the air between them: For you, Jim. Another bout of coughing left him gasping for air.
"There's been no sign of the Urimari for over a day and a half. I think we'll be safe here until the Enterprise rescues us." Knowing Spock wasn't buying it, Kirk paused, trying to find the right words to convince his pertinacious First. He decided to play on the Vulcan's guilt. "You know, Doctor McCoy will have my hide if I return you in this condition."
"The good Doctor will 'have your hide' regardless of my condition upon returning to the ship." The Vulcan paused to catch his breath, inhaling and exhaling several times in quick succession before continuing. "His emotional display in the Briefing Room prior to our departure has left no doubt as to his feelings regarding this mission," Spock rasped out. Abruptly, he changed the subject. "Jim, you require water. You should be able to find a sufficient quantity among the leaves outside thanks to the storm."
Inexplicably, Kirk allowed the shift in the conversation without argument. "Yes, Spock, I am thirsty. I'll just be a minute." He couldn't stop himself from briefly placing a compassionate hand on the Vulcan's shoulder, Spock nodding slightly in acknowledgment and closing his eyes.
Once outside, he noticed Uriman V's twin moons were rising, basking the forest in an eerie glow. A few stars were visible in the darkening sky, and he observed them dispassionately. Ever since he had been a small child, gazing at the stars had had the ability to soothe his jangled nerves. But not tonight. He had an uneasy feeling about Spock, his intuition in overdrive, a headache pounding mercilessly at his temples.
After drinking his fill, he returned to their shelter to find that Spock had dozed off again. Careful not to disturb him, Kirk gently pressed the back of his hand to the Vulcan's cheek. It was on fire. Swallowing his panic, he left the security of their shelter, tearing another strip of cloth from his rapidly-disappearing alat'ele, dunking it in a small depression filled with rain water. Returning, he carefully draped it over the Vulcan's forehead, making sure none of the liquid dripped into the open wound. It was all he could do for now. He sat beside his First once again, unaccustomed to being powerless, to not being in total control of a situation.
And the feeling was most unsettling.
Spock stirred slightly in his sleep. His fevered head, seeking comfort, came to rest on his captain's shoulder. Consoled somewhat by that, Kirk prepared to spend the night keeping guard over the Vulcan's life. However, after a few hours of listening to Spock's harsh, rapid breathing, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, his dreams dark and disturbing.
***
He awoke in the semi-darkness, someone calling his name, once, twice, a third time. Through a foggy haze, he realized it was Spock crying out for him.
"Spock, I'm here. What's wrong?" Grasping the thin shoulders, the skin molten beneath his fingers.
"Jim, we must hurry. The Urimari will soon be upon us. I must protect you…"
"Spock! Wake up! You're dreaming!" He gave the Vulcan a firm shake, trying to snap him back to the present. "They aren't after us. We're in the dirt hole we found. We're safe at the moment."
"Jim?" Eyes struggling to focus on his face, confusion playing over the features, a thin film of sweat breaking out on his First's forehead. He couldn't recall seeing Spock sweat before.
"Please, Spock you need to enter a healing trance. It's our only hope," Kirk argued, fighting to keep the despondency from his voice.
"I cannot." The Vulcan's eyes glittered with fever. "We would not be able to leave here until you awaken me. The Urimari are sure to discover you in that event." Breathy. Weak. Strained.
"I told you, they aren't following us. We're safe here. The Enterprise should be beaming us aboard soon. Please, Spock." Tortured. Dejected. Urgent.
Kirk watched helplessly as the expressionless eyes closed, knowing instinctively that it was not due to a healing trance, but because the Vulcan was losing his tenuous hold on life. He grasped his First's hand, troubled by the fact that he suddenly felt cool to the touch – a sure sign that they were running out of time.
"How long until the Enterprise beams us aboard?" Silence. "Report, Science Officer!" Spock's eyelids fluttered and opened briefly, but the eyes were distant, vacant, unfocused. "Spock? Spock!" Kirk's mind was reeling, desperate to find some way to reach the Vulcan. He strove for calm and began speaking again.
"I'm sorry, Spock." Softly. "It's all my fault. I should have realized that the water would be too cold for you, that your desert-bred lungs wouldn't be able to handle a near-drowning. And this damp, humid climate is just making matters worse." He had pulled the Vulcan's upper torso into his lap, cradling the dark head against his chest.
His First was limp and unresponsive, the cold sweat drying on the cooler-than-normal brow, his breath now coming in shallow, strained gasps, yellow pus seeping through the makeshift bandage from the inflamed cut on the side of his head.
"Spock, don't go…please." Kirk's voice was strained, tinged with frustration, sorrow, and self-recrimination, breaking painfully on the last word. In his anguish, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the Vulcan's pale, clammy one, a sob clawing at the back of his throat, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Please don't leave me – I need you Spock." Shaking the thin shoulders again in an effort to keep his First with him. I can feel you slipping away from me. The Vulcan's soothing, familiar presence in his mind, restricted to the deeper levels of his subconscious, barely noticeable most of the time yet comforting and reassuring just the same, had faded to almost nothing. In a last, desperate attempt to prevent the inevitable, he disentangled a hand from the Vulcan's lanky frame, pressing his fingers to the side of the too still face, unsure of what to do next, but reaching for Spock's mind with everything he had.
***
He was floating in blackness, wrapped in a soundproof, pitch-dark cocoon. Gradually, his surroundings began to coalesce around him, emerging from the inky darkness. He was back on Vulcan, in the foothills of the L'langon Mountains, the path leading up to the cave where he had spent many hours of solitude as a child beckoning him. There was no sound; the dry, arid wind stirred the sparse vegetation, blowing sand stinging his face and hands, a flock of birds cavorting noisily overhead, but he couldn't hear any of it.
His feet, of their own volition, began moving him up the path, toward his boyhood sanctuary, salvation, peace. He could feel the sensation of gravel giving way under his boots, but there was no accompanying crunch, the sound perhaps sucked away by the strong currents of air.
As he continued his slow, steady progress up the side of the mountain, little by little, he became aware of another presence. It was calling to him, but he couldn't hear it. Pausing briefly, head cocked to one side, working to bring the faint, strident tones into sharper auditory focus, he dismissed it outright and continued on his journey.
The presence would not release him, however, now battering against his skull like a bird seeking refuge from a hurricane.
Spock, don't go...please. This brought him up short. He struggled to identify the source.
Please don't leave me – I need you Spock. He felt himself buffeted by the harsh desert wind.
I can feel you slipping away from me.
Jim?
Yes, Spock, it's me. An overwhelming sense of relief. I can't see you. Where are you? Wait for me. The reply was muted, indistinct, and he wasn't sure if he'd really heard it, or if it was a cruel trick of his damaged psyche. He turned and started up the steep incline once again.
Hold it right there, Mister! The disembodied voice was gaining in strength, the tone harsh and angry. He glanced over his shoulder, but seeing nothing, pressed on.
Don't you dare walk away from me!
Jim? Once again his gaze traveled behind him, and a figure was starting to solidify out of the swirling eddies of red dust. He paused.
Just where do you think you're going?! Definitely angry, colored with sheer determination.
He was so tired, the rage and indignation of this most stubborn of humans encompassing him, sapping what little strength he had left.
I am going where I must, Jim. Please, let me go, and do not attempt to follow. I must go alone.
I won't let you go – it's not your time yet. Stay with me! The figure had taken on a familiar form, a sparkling aura emanating from the beloved countenance. Kirk approached, grasping the Vulcan's biceps in a vice-like grip. Fight, Spock, fight! Each word punctuated by a gentle shaking. I know you can. You've come through much worse than this.
I cannot stay. I have become a burden, hindering your continued survival. I will not be the cause of your demise as well. It is best if I leave now.
You're not going anywhere – and neither am I! Either we both survive, or we don't! Your choice, Science Officer! Emphasis given to the individual words and phrases by the captain's distinctive speech pattern – more pronounced when the man was upset or angry.
A muted sigh. Jim, please, you are being irrational. A vain attempt to wrest himself free of the captain's iron hold on him. I have not the strength to persevere.
Then borrow my strength. Lord knows, your strength has sustained both of us in the past. Now it's my turn – let me help. Wide, concerned hazel eyes searched his own and he felt blasted, torn apart, suddenly old. This man made a habit out of asking him for the impossible, and as of yet, he had never been able to refuse that request. He closed his eyes against the implacable onslaught.
The Enterprise should be beaming us aboard in a few hours. You can hold on for that long, I know it. Lean on me, share my strength until we can get you to Sickbay. Please.
He nodded, relenting, and felt himself drawn into the solace of Kirk's arms – safe, secure, sheltered. He let his head fall against his captain's chest, a jolt of electricity passing through him as he felt Kirk's mind slip deeper into his, bolstering his will to endure, somehow helping his tortured lungs to expand, fill with air.
That's it, draw strength from me. Breathe, Spock – it won't be long now.
His world faded to black again, but this time there was the steady tattoo of Kirk's heart beating beneath his cheek, hearty, reassuring, and the quiet drone of his captain's voice, offering an unceasing string of encouragement and support.
He was unsure how long he lay like this, but when he was finally able to open his eyes, he was met with the sight of Kirk's golden head resting against his forehead, moisture leaking slowly from the captain's closed eyes.
He reached up a hand, long fingers brushing away the salty discharge. Kirk sat up quickly, startled by the touch.
"You're awake. Thank God." A crooked grin broke like the sun over his captain's face.
"Jim, you are weeping. For me? For what purpose?"
"I'm relieved, Spock. Relieved that you weren't stubborn enough to carry out your plan. How are you feeling?"
"As well as can be expected." He was exhausted beyond measure, sorely winded by that brief exchange. His eyes closed involuntarily, unable to remain open and focused on the apprehensive face hovering above his own. He felt Kirk's arms tighten protectively around him.
"Yes, that's it. Rest now. We'll be home soon."
***
Sickbay was quiet, the only patient being the ship's First Officer, and therefore by default her Captain as well. Even now, Jim was slumped in a chair next to Spock's biobed, in what could only be described as a most uncomfortable position, refusing to leave until he could see for himself that the Vulcan would survive. McCoy had tossed a thin blanket over the sleeping captain several hours ago.
He rose to his feet, moving into the main ward to check on his two most problematic patients. Damn Jim for always feeling that he was indestructible and dragging Spock along for the ride. More often than not, it was Spock who got the short end of the stick, saving his captain's ass at the expense of his own well-being. As far as he could tell, this had been one of those times. They almost hadn't been able to pull the Vulcan through.
As McCoy approached, he could see Spock studying Jim's face intently, his own more expressive than usual, seemingly just watching his captain breathe, reveling in the fact that he was relatively unharmed. He watched from the shadows, relief, contentment and a myriad of other unidentifiable emotions playing briefly over the XO's features. He still didn't have all the details of what had transpired over the last seventy-two hours, but he knew without question it had been bad. From what little the bridge crew had been able to glean by following their command team's progress via the transponders, they had been certain all was not proceeding according to plan. Unnoticed, he stopped beside Spock's bed.
"You gave us quite a scare, you know."
Startled, Spock shifted his gaze to meet the doctor's eyes, the Vulcan mask slipping effortlessly into place. McCoy pressed a warning finger to his lips. "Shh, don't say anything. Your lungs are healing, and I don't want there to be any additional damage. Besides, I wouldn't want you to wake Sleeping Beauty over there," he whispered, gesturing to Kirk.
The Vulcan obeying without comment for once, he watched as Spock turned to look at his captain, then shifted his glance to McCoy again, his question evident.
"He's okay. He was pretty exhausted and somewhat dehydrated when we beamed you aboard, but otherwise none the worse for wear, and just as pig-headed as ever. No amount of gentle persuasion or blatant threats could budge him from your side. He wouldn't even let my staff tend to his minor injuries, wanting instead to personally monitor your care."
McCoy recalled the scene that met their eyes when the two men materialized on the transporter platform: Jim, seated, with Spock's head clutched to his chest, murmuring over and over, "hold on Spock, we should be rescued any minute now. Breathe. Breathe." Kirk had been disoriented at first, not wanting to release his hold on the Vulcan; McCoy had had to bully him into it: "Please, Jim, let go. The faster we can get him on a gurney and get him to Sickbay, the better his chances will be."Once he had passed the scanner over the prone First Officer's form however, he regretted his hasty words. Spock was in bad shape; it was quite probable he might not be able to save the Vulcan.
After arriving in Sickbay, Kirk had pestered him mercilessly, until finally he had snapped. "Jim, if you really want me to help him, then leave me the hell alone for a few minutes and let me do my job." The angry words continued to tumble forth. "Maybe he wouldn't be such a mess if you had considered things a little more carefully, instead of rushing recklessly into obvious danger without a second thought."
This had brought Kirk up short, the color draining from his face, the naked guilt clearly visible, and McCoy was instantly sorry he'd lashed out at the Captain. He softened his tone, grasping Kirk by the arm and leading him to a chair. "Sit down, before you fall down – that certainly won't win you any brownie points in the eyes of the crew." Kirk had allowed himself to be seated, and McCoy continued softly, "We're doing everything we can. I'll let you know as soon as I know anything."
"Can you save him, Bones?" Vulnerable. Fraught with doubt. Impossible to lie to that.
"I don't know yet, Jim, but I'll do everything in my power to pull him through."
As the image dissolved, McCoy pursed his lips, puffing his cheeks out ever so slightly as a small sigh escaped them, dropping his gaze to the floor. "So I decided to let it ride, and helped him rest once we had you stable, since he wouldn't help himself, or let any of us help him." The doctor met Spock's eyes defiantly in the faint glow of Sickbay's night, hands clasped behind his back, bouncing up and down a few times on his toes as he observed Spock's questioning eyebrow, easily reading Spock's train of thought: In other words, you drugged him.
"You betcha," replied McCoy, seeing approval in the Vulcan's dark eyes. "I let my hypo do the convincing for me, and as you're well aware, this isn't the first time I've had to do so. If Jim weren't so damned headstrong, or impulsive, or didn't believe himself cast out of solid tritanium, I wouldn't need so much caffeine, and I'd certainly have a hell of a lot less wrinkles," he added, favoring Spock with a lopsided grin. The smile melted away as quickly as it had appeared.
"As for you, you had a pretty bad case of pneumonia, and a raging infection from that cut above your ear, not to mention you were severely dehydrated. We got to you just in the nick of time. Just what the hell happened to you down there? Jim was roughed up, but you were an absolute wreck. He was pretty upset when you got back. Was he responsible for your condition?"
His inquiry was met with a reproachful look, eyebrow on the rise.
"Right. I did say 'no talking,' didn't I? I suppose I'll find out eventually."
The doctor paused, fingering his lower lip thoughtfully. "Frankly, I'm amazed you were able to hang on as long as you did. It's obvious you didn't enter a healing trance – there was no evidence of healing to either your lungs or that wound. I know he had to have a hand in helping you survive as long as you did, but when I asked Jim what he did for you down there medically, he had no comment, just gave me that unreadable look he's so good at. Learned it from the master, I'll wager." Another pause, longer this time, as McCoy studied the Vulcan's face intently. Spock was showing the same reticence Jim had regarding that particular question, his face as blank and expressionless as ever.
"Never mind. I really didn't expect an answer from either one of you. Nobody tells me anything around here anyway," he grumbled under his breath. Spock turned away from him, his gaze returning to the face of his captain. McCoy found himself unable to interpret the look the Vulcan bestowed on the sleeping form.
"You need rest, too Spock. I'd suggest you get some shuteye, lest I have to resort to drastic measures to see that you do," McCoy remarked gruffly, a hypo mysteriously appearing in his hand out of thin air.
Hastily, Spock closed his eyes.
***
He came instantly awake, unsure of what had disturbed him. Quickly surveying his surroundings, he realized he was still in Sickbay. His time sense told him he had been sleeping for four point three hours. He looked for his captain and saw that he was awake as well, still sitting in the chair next to his bed, watching him intently, the hazel eyes glittering, appearing much darker in the muted light.
"Welcome back, Mr. Spock. I'm sorry if I woke you."
"You did not." Then what had? "I trust you are recovered, sir?" Spock asked, noting with some concern the unhealed scrapes and bruises still visible on his captain's face, his voice a hoarse whisper, pushing himself to a seated position on the biobed.
"I'm fine, Spock. You were the one in bad shape. I'm just glad you were able to hang on until McCoy could patch you up." Said most sincerely, but accompanied by an unreadable look.
Neither spoke for several long minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, knowing that there was much that needed to be said between them, both unsure where, or how, to begin. Surprisingly, it was Spock who took the tentative first step.
"Jim, I wish to thank you for the assistance you rendered me on the planet. It is quite apparent that I would not have survived, had you not intervened."
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Spock stole a look at his captain. He watched as a fleeting smile played briefly about Kirk's eyes as he opened his mouth to speak. His lips closed over the comment, however, the look changing from one of boyish amusement to total seriousness. He began again. "I only did what had to be done, what you yourself would have done, had the situation been reversed." Trying hard to catch Spock's eyes.
"Yes, I would undoubtedly have done the same," this said from under his lashes. Looking his captain squarely in the eye now, "But you were unaware of the supreme danger in which you placed yourself. Had I continued on my journey up the mountain, and had you followed me, you would have perished as well."
"Dammit, Spock, I'm not a China Doll, you know. I may not be Vulcan, but I have been known to be able to take care of myself in the past." The captain sighed forcefully, and Spock could see him working to get the anger that had suddenly bubbled to the surface back in check. "Besides, I could never stand by and let you die, if it's within my power to prevent it." Blunt. Direct. Honest.
"Nor could I, Jim." Truth. Undeniable.
An awkward silence.
Softer now. "You know, it's okay to lean on me sometimes. That's what friendship and trust are all about. It's what you expect me to do, and it really pissed me off that you were willing to die rather than trust me to help you when you needed it." The captain's tone had evened out considerably, but indignation still swirled in his eyes. "And unfortunately, this isn't the first time you've seen fit to do so."
How could he possibly respond to that? He felt his face flush with embarrassment.
Kirk sighed heavily, clearly choosing his next words carefully. "I wasn't ready to lose you, Spock." A pause. "Frankly, I don't know that I'll ever be," he added softly, hunched forward in the chair now, the blanket having slipped to the floor, forgotten, hands clasped loosely between his knees, leaning toward the biobed.
Spock was stunned by that revelation. It mirrored his own thoughts exactly. He drew a shaky breath. Closed his eyes momentarily, slowly reopened them. Struggling for control.
His captain was still speaking. "I've come to depend on your presence at my side, and nothing can replace it, or the special, singular bond we share. I don't know that, having experienced it, I could ever fully function now without it." Kirk's gaze was open, steady, unwavering.
"Nor could I," Spock admitted frankly, drawing strength from the captain's obvious regard for him. Calmer now, having regained some measure of self-discipline, he began to speak again, wanting to say something, anything to convey to Jim just how he felt, but the Captain stopped him.
"Don't, Spock. Don't say a word. It wouldn't be you, and that's not what I want. I'm not looking to change you, make you more human. I want to celebrate the unique being that is my friend Spock." Expressive eyes dropped to the floor. A throat cleared gently. Head lifted, gaze locked with his once again. "Besides, the meld explained everything, for both of us." A wry grin, suffused with affection slowly spread over Kirk's face.
How was it that this man could understand him so completely? Could look into his eyes, which were opaque to others, and see directly into his soul?
"Thank you, Jim," he said simply.
The tension between the two now almost unbearable, Kirk changed the direction of the conversation. "I'm still amazed I was able to reach you. How was that possible, Spock? I'm virtually psi-null."
"Perhaps it was due to your great need." Eyes averted, unable to meet the genuine, sincere warmth visible in the soft, amber ones. A long pause. "Or my own." Quiet. Unmistakably vulnerable.
The golden head dipped in response to that admission. "Yes." Each unsure whether that reply referred to the first or last part of Spock's answer, or both.
The moment interrupted by a dry cough from the Vulcan.
"I'm sorry, Spock, I'm tiring you. I should let you rest."
"You're damn right you should." Both men started at the familiar, stern voice, McCoy making his way into the ward. "I told you before, Spock – no talking. Your lungs still need time to recuperate. Which means, off you go, Jim."
"Now Bones, I promise–," McCoy held up a hand, effectively halting the captain's protest.
"Forget it, Jim. You need rest, and so does he. Unless you want to spend the first three hours of tomorrow's Alpha Shift in traction, having your neck decompressed, I'd suggest sleeping somewhere besides that chair." It had been said in all seriousness, in McCoy's usual brusque, forceful manner, but there was a soft undertone to it that showed the doctor's sincere relief that both men had come home alive.
"Please, Bones, just a few more minutes. Then I'll go, and I promise, no talking on Spock's part." The captain's grin was infectious.
"Okay, fine. Five more minutes. But I swear, if I hear Spock so much as wheeze, I'm gonna give you the longest, most unpleasant physical of your illustrious career." With that, the doctor turned on his heel and left the two alone in the dim light.
***
Back in his cabin, unable to sleep, he allowed himself to reflect on the events of the past few days. Harsh, self-recrimination for having inadvertently put Spock in such danger, but guilt as well, knowing without question he'd do it again, as duty demanded. It was a choice his oath did not permit him to make.
Theirs was a tough profession, requiring personal sacrifices unimaginable to the average citizen. As much as it would hurt to lose Spock, or McCoy, and as acutely as he felt the death of anyone under his command, these were the decisions his rank and position required of him, regardless of his feelings on the matter. It was a dilemma and a paradox. How was one supposed to handle it, when the personal clashed so discordantly with the professional?
And as such, he found himself constantly walking that razor thin line between direct involvement with and total emotional detachment from his crew. After Gary died, he vowed never again to allow someone he served with to get close to him, to touch his soul. But McCoy, and to his great surprise, Spock especially, had somehow penetrated that inviolate barrier he strove so hard to erect around his inner self, becoming closer to him than any other beings in the universe.
His mind drifted to those times when he had almost lost them: Spock, to the neurological parasites on Deneva, to the Pon Farr, to Henoch, the space amoeba, and Kollos. McCoy, to the cure for the illness they suffered on Miri's planet, to the Black Knight, the Vians, and Xenopolycythemia. Both of them together on Taurus II, during the pseudo-Roman gladiatorial games, and on Sarpeidon.
So far they had been fortunate, lucky really, but he knew there would come a time when that luck would run out. When duty would demand the ultimate sacrifice from one or all of them.
A student of history, he couldn't help recalling these prophetic words: "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, for he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother."
He knew unerringly that he would have followed Spock into death today rather than let the Vulcan go. But what if he didn't have that option in the future?
He pondered a life without Spock, or McCoy for that matter, the only brothers he had left, and fervently hoped that if it ever came to that he'd somehow be able to survive it.
_
_
_
_
This song by Evanescence kept running through my head as I wrote the mind meld scene.
My Last Breath
Hold onto me now, you know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was I love you and I'm not afraid
Can you hear me? Can you feel me in your arms?
Holding my last breath
Safe inside myself are all my thoughts of you
Sweet raptured light it ends here tonight.
I'll miss the winter
A world of fragile things
Look for me in the white forest
Hiding in a hollow tree. /come find me/
I know you hear me.
I can taste it in your tears.
Holding my last breath
Safe inside myself are all my thoughts of you
Sweet raptured light it ends here tonight.
Closing your eyes to disappear
You pray your dreams will leave you here
But still you wake and know the truth
No one's there.
Say goodnight; don't be afraid
Calling me, holding me as you fade to black.
Say goodnight /holding my last breath; don't be afraid/
Safe inside myself, are all my thoughts of you /holding me, holding me/
Sweet raptured light it ends here tonight.
Holding my last breath
Safe inside myself are all my thoughts of you
Sweet raptured light it ends here tonight
Holding my last breath…
(See, I wasn't kidding about needing help…) ;-)
_
_
A/N: I'd like to dedicate this to my father, James, who passed away on October 23rd (part of the reason I've been out of the loop for the last few months). He didn't share my love of Trek, or my other passions, like languages and music, but still provided me with encouragement and support, and was proud of my accomplishments in those areas. Thanks, dad, for always seeing the best in me. Love you always!