As You Were (1/?)
Warnings: K/S established, violence, sexual situations, angst
Summary: Spock picks up the pieces
Disclaimer: Just playing in other people's sandbox. I own nothing. I'm also borrowing the Leerans, their name and their appearance, from K.A. Applegate.
* * *
It had been three weeks. Three weeks, two days, five hours and fourteen minutes, according to Spock, who sat motionless, save for the slight shifting of his fingers every once in a while to straighten the starched sheets of the biobed. He had perhaps another minute or so before he needed to report back to the bridge, serving now as the acting captain. He supposed it shouldn't make a difference to him now, how long he stayed, tracing the line of veins along the hand of the man he knew so well, a man who could not appreciate the gesture. James T. Kirk had lain unmoving in this very biobed for three weeks after all.
Spock had been avoiding them all. Not literally of course. That was impossible. They were his most trusted crewmembers, but the laughter and exuberance that had once inhabited the bridge was replaced with tense silence. He did not need them. Nyota's sympathetic stare. Chekov's determined grimace. Sulu's despair. None of them understand. Although that was not entirely fair. There was one who did.
"There's nothing I can do for him," the Enterprise's chief medical officer, Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy announced without preamble, knowing without looking up, whom had entered his office this late in Gamma shift. The counter Spock prepared died on his lips when he stared intently at Dr. McCoy. The man obviously had not slept or not slept well, in over a week. The hair he had a habit of running his hands through when anxious in complete disarray, as if he had been doing nothing but running his hands through it all day. "As I've told you before, there's nothing wrong with him. Not physically."
"Surely if that were the case, he would have awoken by now."
"Jim, Spock. He has a name," McCoy stated warily, throwing his unread paperwork down and running a coarse hand through his mousy brown hair. "It's bad enough Starfleet is pulling him off official command of this ship. He won't be 'Captain' soon enough. If he's not 'Jim,' well." Then he might as well be dead. McCoy could not be so cruel.
"If we cannot show Starfleet that the Captain has some hope of recuperating they will have him sent back to Earth. To a hospice." To die. Alone. It would have taken Jim to have noticed Spock's mask slip at these words. The collection of air in his Adam's apple, the slight indentions at the corners of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes. Spock could not breathe for the thought of this.
"….one thing left to try." Spock started at the words. McCoy looked up at him wearily, handing him a brief, half-page print-out.
"This is," Spock began, scanning the text on the page.
"A longshot. I've been consulting with medical personnel throughout the Federation since this damn nightmare began. A few days ago I received that message from a healer on the new Vulcan II colony. Healer Selek."
Spock's eyes widened at this. "Healer Selek is…"
"You from the goddamn alternative reality future. Let's not talk about that. It gives me the creeps," McCoy grumbled. "Apparently he and the Kirk from his reality share some commonalities with you and…well this Jim."
"Doctor McCoy, if you may, as humans say, 'cut to the chase,' how is any of this information going to help us recover the Captain?"
"He said that throughout his life he has frequently been able to call Jim back from the brink. Through that damn alien telepathic what's it you two share."
"Our mental bond."
"Yeah," McCoy waved his hand dismissively. "Your mental what's it. Have you tried it?"
Spock studied McCoy's face carefully, but found no signs of the doctor's usual facetiousness. "Our bond fell silent the minute Jim was attacked. It has stayed so throughout the time I have been by his bedside."
"Have you tried to, you know, poke around?" Spock raised an elegant brow at this. "Oh you know what I mean you green blooded hobgoblin. Have you tried talking to him through the bond?"
"Our bond is new," Spock confessed.
"So no," McCoy demanded flatly.
"I have not tried such a thing." McCoy said nothing for a moment, but the request did not need to be vocalized.
"I am off my shift in thirty minutes. I will return then." Spock turned to leave.
"Thank you," McCoy spoke so softly even Spock almost didn't hear him. That also did not need to be vocalized. Spock did not respond.
As had become his habit for the past three weeks, Spock returned to his quarters, showered and dressed in his "causal attire" before departing for the sick bay. To Jim. His "causal attire" consisted of clothes Jim attained for him on their last shore leave in San Francisco: a light weight, grey and black argyle sweater and a pair of dark trousers. "Don't you look so cute?"
He carefully lit the lavender candle on the small table beside Jim's biobed. It emitted a pleasant fragrance that Jim expressed preference to several months ago. Although that time seemed very long ago now. When the touch of Jim's hand became the touch of his mind. A soft caress in the dark recess of his mind. Spock blew out the candle and took a deep breath; shutting his eyes and willing the pain in his chest to recoil. It was illogical how the thought of the loss of this man could send him into such a mental tailspin and yet he had read the message from "Healer Selek" over and over again. The words of his elder self reverberating through Spock's mind through the remainder of his shift. "You and Jim are one. We are t'hy'la. If you call him back, he will come."
Spock was unaware of when his fingers began to intertwine with Jim's, but had to relax his hold when he realized he was currently doing so with bruising force. His link to Jim was so new. So unrefined. He relit the small candle and brushed stands of gold away from Jim's forehead, letting his fingers trace the man's familiar, angular features until his fingertips rested where they needed to be.
"Jim?"
* * *
"Good evening Captain Kirk," the Leeran woman purred in his ear. Jim willed himself not to flinch, but smile charmingly instead, taking the hand proffered to him.
"Lady Rhea."
"We hope you are enjoying the festivities," the man, or at least, Kirk thought it was probably a male, although it seemed both sexes spoke with a tone of voice Kirk found a bit unnerving.
"Having a gay ole' time as they say," Kirk replied boisterously, hiding another fake smile behind his drink.
"It was kind of the Federation to send one of its captains to attend Lord Camden's inauguration." Kirk almost didn't hear him, eyes too busy scanning the crowd for Spock, Ensign Tomilson and the handful of other Federation officers who accompanied him on this diplomatic mission. He forced another smile and nodded courteously in acknowledgment.
Kirk quietly studied the Leeran male's features. Bemused at how his thoughts continued to return to a certain Vulcan to use as a comparison. The Leerans were also a race of telepaths, but that was where the similarities started and stopped. The home world of the Leerans was over 90% water with arctic like weather conditions, causing the Leerans to develop physical features not unlike the sea mammals on Earth. Kirk also vaguely remembered a mumbled lecture from Bones regarding strange Leeran lung capacity, but he had not been paying much attention.
"What better way of saying, 'Welcome to the Federation,'" Kirk replied easily when it seemed the Leerans currently crowding his personal space were demanding some sort of response from him in regards to the Leeran male's comment.
The Leerans murmured their approval and began, to Kirk's relief, to disburse.
In fact, Admiral Pike was to be the envoy on this particular diplomatic mission, but had requested Kirk take his place when an uprising in the neutral zone diverted the Admiral's attention. Kirk was glad to oblige. His crew was worn out from their last mission, which had left several crewmembers severely injured and viewed the new orders as the perfect time to allow his team to rest and rebuild morale. The Leerans were newly minted additions to the Federation and their technology and mineral rich planet were the topic of much gossip throughout Starfleet.
Kirk's eyes roamed the crowd again and settled on Spock once more. His first officer seemed as ill at ease as himself, but Kirk knew lying under his thinly veiled apprehension was deeply rooted concern. Spock did not trust the Leerans. Neither, of course, did Bones, but Bones never trusted anybody.
"Captain Kirk?"
Kirk's eyes darted away from Spock's just as his first officer met his blue stare. Rhea again.
"Would you like a tour of the Great Hall?" Rhea asked, smiling in the strange way Leerans could smile, as they had practically no mouths.
Kirk shrugged and nodded his assent, following the woman passed the crowd and through hallways of paintings of what Kirk assumed were Leeran diplomats or heads of state.
"Mr. Spock, the one who is with you, he is a Vulcan?"
Kirk started at the comment. The way in which she had said 'one who is with you' suggested knowledge of his and Spock's relationship that went beyond that of their professional relationship. No one on the Enterprise, save Bones, knew of that relationship. Kirk didn't even know of that relationship. Not entirely. His fledgling romantic liaison with his first officer being such a tentative and new thing.
"Uh…he is my first officer," Kirk replied awkwardly, "and yes, he is Vulcan. Well, actually, he's half Vulcan and half human."
Rhea started as if physically struck. "Such relationships are common?" They were entering a private chamber now, one that seemed to serve as an office of sorts to Lord Camden, the seal that was on the Leeran flag emblazoned in a gold emblem above a simple desk.
"Not exactly," again Kirk felt awkward at where this conversation was going. "Well, Spock's sort of special," he answered lamely, rubbing at the goosebumps on his arms where he felt cold suddenly. Rhea's arm came around his and before he could casually brush it off, more hands were upon him, pushing him down. There were hands everywhere, particularly on his head and over his face. His vision went white before he could even scream.
* * *
Silence.
Spock willed away the pain in his head. In his heart.
"What did they want from you, Jim?"
He had not expected a response from the expanse of white, but thought he heard a quiet, "I don't know."
* * *
"Spock. Spock." He felt hands on him. Unwelcome hands. He batted them away fiercely until he opened his eyes and met the furious brown gaze of the Enterprise's chief medical officer.
"Doctor McCoy." Spock blinked. He was tangled in Jim's sheets. On Jim's biobed.
"What the hell did you do?" McCoy demanded, thrusting Spock's hands away from his face. Spock's eyes narrowed at the accusation.
"I do not know what you speak of." McCoy gestured wildly to the machines by Jim's bedside. Machines being fed information from lines attached to the Captain. The information currently being displayed clearly suggested only one thing. Spock's chest tightened inexplicably. Jim was dying.
* * *
Next (Part 2/?): "Spock's late entrance onto the bridge was met with complete silence. Chekov, eyes bright and wet, held his for a few moments before returning to the controls."