It's such a little thing.
"Jim!" He yells.
It's only the second time Spock has used his first name in as many years. Kirk hears everything in the echo of the syllable: how they've changed with one another. For one another. It had started after Nero. If there hadn't been amiability, there had been respect, at least. And trust.
Working with the Vulcan isn't like working with Bones. There isn't the smoothness, the easy friendship, the history. But there is something else. Kirk doesn't know exactly what it is, but it reminds him of the cars in Iowa. How he'd hotwire them, waiting for the moment when the ignition caught and the engine came to life beneath his fingers. That's what it's like. He and Spock spark off each other, friction and momentum, the catch-flame that makes the Enterprise the most revered vessel in Starfleet.
Kirk isn't sure where it's all going, but he sees it working. Watches the way that his first officer, for all his stiffness, is unbendingly loyal. Sees the way he's become dependent. He can't make a decision anymore, not without Spock's opinion. Even if it's disapproval…especially if it's disapproval. Kirk has something to rebound against now, something to match and reflect his anger. Always before, there was no one. He has Bones, but it isn't the same. McCoy is like the ground after his lightning strike. He absorbs Kirk's flares of personality, rolls his eyes at Kirk's bullshit. But not Spock. The Vulcan is more like a conductor. He channels Kirk's lighting, redirects it into something dangerous and beautiful. Something useful. And it feels good, because Kirk hasn't had a Reason in a long time.
The fuck of it is, the reason shouldn't be so simple. He's heard the old Terran saying: "opposites attract." He's never really understood how that works and he still thinks it's bullshit. The concept might be right, but the phrasing's all wrong. It's more like: "opposites attract and then collide." And in all that confusion, all that jumble of pieces and broken bits, the right and wrong parts of each get mixed up and rearranged until they are reformed: burned into a whole by the intensity of the collision. Or something. Whatever. Kirk's never been one for elegance. All he knows is that it all makes for one hell of a command team. And for some pretty interesting chess games.
So it's stupid really, so infinitesimally stupid that such a little thing threatens their Whole.
"Jim!" Spock yells, a warning. He shoves Kirk to the side, pushes him out of the way of an arrow. (And who the hell uses arrows anymore?) The point of the weapon nicks Spock in the side. And the entire thing is ridiculous. If Spock were anyone else, it wouldn't matter because anyone else would have yelled and let Kirk take care of the rest. Spock however, efficient Vulcan that he is, can't do a job half-assed. But…he's not a Vulcan, not really, and then he's not Human either, and so it's all really so fucking stupid. It's stupid that the place where Spock is hit isn't protected by a rib like it would be in a Human. It's stupid that his insides are arranged just that little bit differently. The force of the hit makes him stumble. That's why Kirk knows it's different, knows it's bad. Spock just kind of does this little sag into Kirk, gripping his side. At first Kirk is confused. Spock looks at him with huge, human eyes. Black and deep and wide.
"What?" Kirk asks. His gut clenches down like it did the first time he warped.
"Artery." Spock says, cool and calm. He moves his hand away from the wound. The cut is small really, but Spock's hand is already covered in green. A drop of it oozes down his elegant finger and drips down the back of Kirk's hand. It's a beautiful shade of green, like a congealed jewel on his skin.
"Spock." Kirk says. He reaches out and grabs his first officer. Spock slumps against him, his hand dropping away from his injured side; his uniform turning teal, a mix of green and blue. There's already so much blood. Vaguely, Kirk remembers hearing that Vulcan blood is thinner than a Human's, less clotting ability. Shit.
Kirk whips out his communicator, flips it open. Fluid.
"Scotty, beam us back now. Medical team on standby." He doesn't bother to tell Scotty to hurry. Kirk had heard his own voice: soft, clipped.
Stupid. Stupid.
In his grip, Spock is still.
