Kirk
Even though he already knew what it looked like, watching Spock go into the trance was weird. Jim fumbled for his pulse a few times. He couldn't convince himself this was safe. He waited until Spock was completely under, then covered him in the tattered slime leather blanket and forced himself to back off. The memories were unsettling, he thought, but that didn't mean they weren't useful. Besides, knowing Spock's chess strategies and exactly how to counter them was undeniably awesome.
He tended to his own injury, a ring of tiny punctures on the side of his waist. The mantis never got the chance to rip into him, so the area was more bruised than anything else. But unlike Spock, he didn't have the benefit of being unconscious while he fixed himself up. He had to bite down on a mouthful of shirt when he broke out the alcohol, or else risk teaching the other side of the planet the filthiest swears in the alpha quadrant.
Smarting and exhausted, he kept vigil, waiting for what Bones would probably call 'Vulcan mumbo-jumbo' to take its course. That night he tied himself to a tree with all kinds of knots, but the weather stayed cooperative, and absolutely nothing happened. He checked on Spock's wound every few hours, and each time it was smaller, less ragged-looking and swollen.
Finally, while snacking on some mid-afternoon duskmelon, he heard the magic words: "Hit me."
Without his unusually-obtained background knowledge, Jim might not have been able to do it. He tried to imagine Spock was the awful programming professor who threatened to fail him because he corrected her in class, which helped a little.
"Thank you, Captain," Spock said, catching Jim's wrist after the fourth slap. "That will be sufficient." He seemed rejuvenated, although slightly miffed at the rude awakening.
"Are you sure?" Jim teased. "I was pretending you were Dr. Wexel, and I'm only halfway through my list of grievances."
Spock raised both eyebrows at him, which Jim was pretty sure meant 'humans are the most nonsensical species ever to exist for all time.' Jim was tremendously proud of himself for that.
Unfortunately, Spock made a big fuss for awhile, insisting they rest for several days until Jim was fully healed. After a bit of cajoling and sweet-talking, Jim haggled him down to two.
But it was probably a good call in the end, because the highland hills grew steeper, more difficult to traverse. Sheer rock faces jutted out of slopes, and they couldn't travel in anything resembling a straight line. He grew all kinds of blisters and calluses. The climb was satisfying, though. Jim had done a little bouldering back at the Academy, and he liked the challenge of high places. Much to Spock's consternation, he scrambled up a few of these tempting miniature cliffs. He always made sure to wave from the top and savor the look of total exasperation he got in return.
As they hiked, they discussed the changing jungle around them, naming new species as they appeared. Spock called them all practical, boring things like Pseudoavis albus, while Jim went for silly in-jokes and bad puns. He didn't care what Spock said, the only possible name for a slimy, burrowing rat thing was Harrys muddus. The whole situation quickly devolved into a contest over who could spot something first, claiming the right to name in the ridiculous or sensible manner of his choice. There were plenty to go around either way.
One day the subject of the bulbweed came up, mainly because Jim decided he wouldn't jinx his luck if he mentioned it. Spock replied with the kind of answer that told Jim he'd been mulling over the issue for awhile.
"Typically, high altitude environments cannot support large insectoids, due to lower atmospheric oxygen," he said. "And it appears that the bulbweed depends on the cattlebugs. If they cannot survive here, neither can it."
"That's a pretty tight relationship. Co-evolutionary?"
"A reasonable possibility."
"Too bad we didn't know that a few weeks ago," Jim said, joking on the outside and throwing a minor frustration tantrum on the inside.
Sure enough, Spock's hypothesis panned out. Three days in the highlands and there were no more rhinopterans, or cattlebugs, or anything else with lots of legs and no real lungs. Chances seemed good the mantis was among the vanished species, and it was not going to be missed. They didn't come across a single bulbweed for days. Night was something Jim looked forward to now, a time to relax and reflect.
With his head so clear, he thought about Taylor a lot. He still couldn't reconcile what he had done with the kind of person he thought he was, but sometimes entire hours went by where he was at peace with it.
He had other distractions though, because the memories were sticking around. Although the bulbweed had set them off, somehow they kept coming well beyond the plant's sphere of influence, just as strong as before.
The strangest part was when he literally saw himself through Spock's eyes. His alternate universe counterpart seemed so damn confident and popular and well-adjusted, but that wasn't what bothered him. For God's sake, he thought after the third time it happened. Do I really look at Spock like that? Then he caught himself gazing at his first officer over the fire one night, sort of idly studying the tips of his ears and basking in a general feeling of pleasantness, and he barely resisted the urge to smack himself on the forehead.
It wasn't all bad though. One day he was busy scoping out the best way to climb an awesome outcrop when it hit him.
He knew his father.
A patient voice, the outline of a tall figure. Holos of camping at the creek, frying up the puny fish they caught that day. His parents dancing together at the wedding of a family friend. These were different from all the other fragments. There was a warmth to them he couldn't explain, a distinct texture and flavor that was so familiar. They fit into his mind like they belonged there.
Fortunately Spock was some distance ahead of him, because he had to quietly lose it for a minute or two. He was jealous of his other self, but grateful he could have a small piece of a past and future he never got to live.
Later that night, when he calmed down enough to think straight, he came to an odd realization. His father looked young in the memories, so young that he doubted Spock could have met George Kirk yet. They had to come from the other Jim. Which meant the other Jim had shared these things with the other Spock through a mind meld.
That threw him off a little. Why would they exchange personal details that way instead of just telling each other like normal people?
Jim glanced at Spock, sitting beside him on their frond mattress, eyes closed and hands clasped in a meditative posture. His stomach churned from concerns he couldn't quite place. Sometimes he felt like he was at the threshold of a door, his hand on the knob, and he didn't know if he wanted to see the other side. He also wasn't sure he had a choice.
They made camp in a brushtail clearing the next day, and Spock went to search for some much-needed water. Jim replaced the tip of his spear with a fresh pincushion spine and waited for the visitors to show up. Every day for the last three days, packs of tree squid gathered in the trees and watched him when Spock left, stealing scraps of food whenever he turned his back. Sometimes he got one, and sometimes he chased them, but he was always forced to stop before he got lost. Well, that or he collapsed with laughter, because watching a squid run was like watching ten slinkys fall down the stairs at once.
But this evening was different, because the pests didn't show. The stillness unnerved him far more than the rustle of semi-intelligent squid. Jim kept one hand on his spear, but after a quarter hour or so, his alertness faded. Maybe they got bored of him and moved on. He started to experiment with weaving brushtail stalks into a shelter.
That was right around when he saw it.
A giant lizard. Nothing like the drakes either, not like anything he had seen so far. It was maybe three meters long, mottled brown, crawling deftly over a fallen tree fern across the clearing when he spotted it. A second later, it spotted him.
Suddenly it rose up on two legs and rushed him in a blur. He couldn't even reach for his spear before it was on him.
A living sheet of scales met his upraised hands with all the force of a storm surge. He was knocked off his feet, the clump of delicate brushtails breaking his fall. He scrambled away, tried to jab his fingers into the narrow red eyes, but sharp claws punctured his arm and held him in place. He cried out, the air torn from his lungs.
The weight of his attacker kept him from getting another full breath. His legs were trapped under its stomach. It was all he could do to brace a hand against its neck and hang on to the foot about to crush his throat. He had to. A mouth full of long, white teeth snapped together barely ten centimeters over his nose. His muscles shuddered with the strain, seconds away from collapsing.
Damn, it was strong.
Then it started making noises, rough and terrifying. At first it was just a bunch of low growls, but suddenly the universal translator kicked in and started inserting words into the chaos. It wasn't particularly helpful.
"Kill – kill – soft – kill – die –"
"Wait!" Jim choked out. "Listen! Can you hear me?"
He was sure his face was going to be torn off when it blinked at him, and some of the pressure let up. "Sound… strange. How?" The voice had all the delicacy of gravel scraping on gravel, yet it was definitely female. Jim sized up the hulking figure on top of his chest and wondered if the translator hadn't gotten its chips fried like everything else.
He fought to catch his breath. "Yes. I can understand – "
The air hissed, and an arrow appeared in the lizard's shoulder. She jerked and flung herself away from Jim, wheeling around and searching for the source.
Jim lifted his head just in time to see Spock emerge from the trees, switching to a spear. He charged across the clearing, lowering the weapon like a lance. He was gone. Jim could see it in his eyes.
"Spock, wait! She's sapient!" Jim struggled to his feet and moved to intercept.
He grabbed Spock's arm and Spock threw him off easily, elbowing him in the ribs. He almost keeled over from the pain, but his tolerance had been upped to ridiculous levels weeks ago. He shook it off and limped after his wayward first officer.
"Stop it!" he shouted hoarsely. "Listen to me!"
It was amazing, how fast they both moved. Spock thrust at the lizard's head and she twisted to the side, circling him in a cloud of falling brushtails. Her tail lashed and she launched herself at Spock's leg. He dodged, bringing his foot down on her neck only to have her yank out from under him and throw him off balance. She was on all fours, then two legs, rearing up taller than either of them. Spock stumbled back. She sliced green lines into his chest before he could recover.
Jim fought his impulse to run between them. Getting gashed or skewered wasn't going to help things. "Commander Spock, this is an order from your captain. Stand down!"
A sudden shift in the flow of the fight. The lizard tried to dash around Spock, but she slipped as she transitioned from two legs back to four. The way she landed pushed the arrow deeper into her shoulder, and she snarled and curled in on herself.
Spock strode toward her, switching his spear from underhand to overhand, and that's when Jim knew for certain. He wasn't looking at his first officer. He was looking at a Vulcan from two thousand years ago.
Jim summoned his last reserves of strength. He lowered his shoulder and charged into Spock, knocking them both to the ground.
He could barely figure out what was happening in the mad confusion of flailing limbs. He grabbed fistfuls of blue shirt and acted on instinct, all the grappling training from the Academy flooding him at once.
The struggle lasted much longer than it should have. Either Spock was holding back, or something was wrong with him. Jim got his legs in a guard, but Spock was too fast. He passed it, straddled Jim, and pressed a knife against Jim's neck before he could blink.
Jim almost laughed. The déjà vu was incredible. But it faded quickly, and then there was only Spock, and a thin line between Jim and a slit throat.
He swallowed, his Adam's apple shifting against the blade. Spock visibly gasped for breath above him, pupils blown like a panicked animal. Jim knew how to talk someone down from rage, but fear was different. Even less rational, even more consuming.
"Spock…" he started, and too many things came to mind at once. I thought we got over this. I thought I could depend on you. I thought we were friends.
The change happened in the space of a second. A look of utter devastation flashed over Spock's face, so profound it was hard to watch. Abruptly he scrambled off Jim and lurched back a few steps before sinking to the ground. His gaze fixed on nothing, and the knife slipped from his hand.
Jim let his head tip back. He stared at the sky for awhile, convincing himself the miraculous rise and fall of his chest was real. He pushed himself to a sitting position and surveyed the clearing around him. His first attacker was on all fours, watching them from the sidelines with obvious interest. The slits of her pupils widened when he looked at her.
"You speak," she said flatly.
"So do you," Jim said. He clamored to his feet, flinching at a dozen new aches, then turned his palms up and took a deliberate step toward her. Time for damage control. "We don't want to hurt you. And I hope you don't want to hurt us."
"Bad lie," she hissed, jabbing her snout toward Spock. "Wants to kill."
"No. Not anymore." Jim took a few seconds to inspect the puncture wounds on his right arm. They were wide, but not too deep. With any luck his home brewed sterilizer would do the trick. "Why did you attack me?"
"Looked good to eat. But speak. Do not eat speaking things." Her nostrils flared.
"Great." Finally, it looked like the universe was throwing him a bone. He watched her glance at her injured shoulder and flex her forelimb. "I can help you with that."
She snarled at him, twisted her neck at an impossible-looking angle, and ripped the arrow out with her teeth. She bit down, snapping it in half before spitting it off to the side.
"Okay then." Jim glanced back at Spock, who was still sitting on the ground, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "Can you just… go over there and wait for me?" He shooed her toward the far side of camp. "I need to take care of something."
She seemed wary but curious, and slowly followed his instructions. He studied her for a minute as she twisted her neck again and licked her wound with a darting black tongue. There was only one advanced lizard species that Jim knew of, but she definitely wasn't a Gorn. She was too lean and quick, not to mention a semi-quadruped, and shaped much more like a komodo dragon than an upright crocodile who had an unfortunate encounter with a wall.
Only when he was sure she wouldn't claw him in the back did he approach Spock. He started trembling halfway there, high on a fresh shot of adrenaline. The surrealism of the event vanished, leaving nothing but pure betrayal in its wake. It was one thing for Spock to attack a giant, aggressive lizard thing, but to attack him? That was so far out of line, calling it insubordination didn't do it justice.
"All right. What the hellwas that?" He didn't even attempt to keep his voice in the calm and professional range.
As he got closer, he realized Spock was mumbling to himself, the same phrase over and over in a mantra. "I am in control of my emotions. I am in control of my emotions."
That made Jim even angrier. "The hell you are!" he snapped. "What were you thinking?"
"–control of my emotions. I am in control–"
Jim stopped at Spock's side and loomed over him. Enough was enough. "I just asked you a question, Commander. Answer me." He seized a handful of Spock's hair to jerk his head back.
Spock stared up at him, tears streaking his face.
A memory smashed into Jim, so vivid it made him dizzy. He knew this. He had been here before, attacking Spock while at his most vulnerable, so distressed and ashamed he couldn't think his way out of paper bag.
Jim's fingers let go without any conscious action. He stepped back, Spock's eyes boring holes into him. Walked some distance away. Sank down by the lump of his ruined shelter project and stared at the ground.
The three of them sat in total silence for what felt like a long time. Jim caught his breath, gingerly cleaned his injuries, and tried to figure out what to do next. This whole situation was the setup for a terrible joke, he thought. A druggie captain, a Vulcan having a breakdown, and an overgrown lizard are stranded on a planet, trying to kill each other. He wished he knew the punch line.
Eventually he decided there was no right way to approach this, so he stood, rubbed his hands together, and pretended he was still in charge. "We're camping here tonight," he announced, and turned to the lizard. "If you want to stay with us, I'd like to ask you some questions. We have food to spare." That wasn't true, but most intelligent species had codes of hospitality. If Jim could placate her by sacrificing part of his dinner, all the better.
"Will stay," she said, after a nerve-wracking moment. Jim was pretty sure she had just sized him up and deemed him adequate by some weird alien standard.
"Good. My name is Jim Kirk." He pointed to his chest for clarity's sake. "Over there is Spock. I apologize for his behavior. I think we had a… misunderstanding." He didn't look back. He couldn't handle Spock right now. "What's your name?"
"First Longclaw, Battlesister of Nine Suns, Six from Nest-by-the-Spines–"
"Longclaw. Got it." Jim guessed that she wouldn't quibble over that, and fortunately she seemed satisfied with his version. It was also a name he wasn't about to forget, he thought, glancing at one of her weaponized, four-toed feet. "So, Longclaw. Can you help me gather firewood?"
"What fire for?"
"Light. Cooking."
God, it was hard to read reptilian faces. Like playing roulette and guessing the result blindfolded. "Will help," she said finally.
They gathered enough wood to last through the evening in a strange and uncomfortable collaborative effort. The one time Jim chanced a look at Spock, he was deep in meditation at the very edge of the clearing. Jim put together the best meal he could to impress Longclaw, pulling out all the stops like slow-roasting and seasoning. By the time he was done, it was evening, and it occurred to him that he made enough food for three people. Also, the water pouches were over by Spock. He ignored both of these things and served the meal anyway.
He watched Longclaw rip into half a drake as he thought about where to begin. "We've never seen your kind before." The raucous crunch of bones made him hesitate to eat his own portion. "What are your people called?"
She picked a piece of wing out of her teeth. "Strong."
Jim frowned. Usually the 'people' line translated pretty well, but it must not be getting through. "No, I mean… what do you call yourselves? My people are 'humans,' Spock's people are 'Vulcans.' Like that."
She blinked at him a few times. "Brave. Very strong."
He gave up and moved on. "Is this your home?"
"No. Come from Gr'skgr'ut. Many stars away." The universal translator didn't bother tackling the mess of throat clicks and snarls that apparently named her planet.
That surprised him. Exactly how did this species have access to post-warp technology? Jim approached the problem as delicately as possible. "We come from far away too. A place called the Federation. How did you get here?"
"In a ship."
"Did you fly the ship?"
"No. Thinkers do that."
Now he was getting somewhere. "Who are thinkers?"
"Thinkers think, and fighters fight. Is the way."
A dimorphic species, maybe? Jim turned to Spock out of sheer habit and saw that he was livening up a little, listening in on the conversation. He probably had all kinds of theories and questions of his own, but Jim doubted he would voice them. When he noticed Jim's gaze, he dropped his own and went back to looking like he was embarrassed for existing.
"Not seen speaking things in long time," Longclaw said. It was the first detail Jim didn't drag out of her, and he took that as a sign of progress.
"What about the, uh, thinkers?"
"Ship attacked. Destroyed in sky."
It looked like they weren't the only ones who rubbed some trigger-happy aliens the wrong way. "Do you have any idea who attacked you? The same thing happened to us."
"Do not know. Thinkers know, maybe." She dipped her head briefly in what Jim guessed was the lizard equivalent of a shrug.
"So you've been here alone?"
"Yes. Battlesisters dead for many seasons." Her face might not be emotive in the slightest, but he thought he detected sadness in her tone.
"Well, you don't have to be alone anymore," Jim said. "We're looking for one of our ships that crashed here. If we get lucky, we might be able to leave."
"Leave?" She stuck out her neck, lifting her head high. "When?"
"We don't know yet. But we're going to try."
"Want to leave," she said, losing all interest in her food. "Leave now."
"If we find a way, we'll take you too."
After a few more minutes of reassurance, Jim got her to calm down before she hurt herself. He started preparing for bed, gathering frond leaves, his mind spinning like a hamster on a wheel. They weren't the first intelligent species to find this planet, nor the first to be chased away. Who was so adamant nobody pay a visit? What could be so special about Sigma Nox that it merited this kind of protection?
What had gone so wrong so quickly between him and Spock?
He sat down to change the dressing on his arm. He was distracted enough by Longclaw fussing over a strange dirt nest a few meters away that he didn't notice Spock's approach.
He was surprised and a little apprehensive when he glanced up. His animal hindbrain demanded he stand to meet a threat. But he stayed put, because Spock's posture was the exact opposite of aggressive – his eyes were fixed to the ground, and he placed every step like he thought the earth could crumble under him any second. He stopped a comfortable distance from the sleeping mat and folded his hands behind his back.
"I wish to apologize, Captain," he said, as if he were giving a department report. "I understand if you do not accept."
Jim thought about how quickly the other version of himself had forgiven the other Spock for trying to kill him, twice. How quickly he forgave Spock for what happened during Narada. This was different. "I might," he said finally. "But first you need to tell me what happened."
Spock directed his gaze upward in thought. "I suspect a combination of prolonged physical and mental stress resulted in a temporary but severe neurotransmitter imbalance which impaired my judgment."
"Please don't bullshit me, Spock. Not now." Jim didn't need a third layer to his headache when the first two were getting along so well.
"I made a mistake."
"Clearly. That's not an answer."
"It is difficult to explain."
"Try me."
Spock started to pace, then stopped. "Surak teaches us there is never a reason for anger. Of course, any emotion is dangerous, but succumbing to anger is chief amongst our transgressions. If a Vulcan acts on such a feeling, he is… deeply flawed. Perhaps irreparably flawed."
Hearing Spock write himself off as damaged goods was difficult to hear. Despite his intentions to keep up the stern superior officer facade, Jim couldn't help feeling sympathetic. "You don't really believe that, do you?"
"There is little doubt in my mind that Surak is correct," Spock said simply, and continued. "When I was a child, I attacked one of my peers in a blind rage. From that point forward, I never again experienced a loss of restraint. I made sure of it. Until one year, one month, eleven days ago, I was successful."
We've been through this before, Jim wanted to say. It was my fault. Why won't you accept that? But he kept his mouth shut, because he could sense Spock was going somewhere with this. Where he actually went, Jim never could have guessed.
"You do this to me," Spock said quietly, his face neutral as ever. "The fact that I have allowed you to influence my actions repeatedly in this way is… intensely disturbing."
Jim had been called a lot of things by a lot of people, but 'intensely disturbing' was never one of them. He wasn't sure what to make of that, so he tried to press forward. "All right. So you flew off the handle because someone attacked me. That still doesn't explain…" A strange thought occurred to him then, but it was almost too ridiculous to say out loud. "No, you blameme," he said slowly. "You feel like this emotion thing is my fault."
"That would be irrational." Spock made a point of staring at his boots.
Vulcan code-speak for yes. Jim leaned back on his hands, absorbing this new information. Spock got angry at me for making him feel anger, he thought. In the heat of the moment, he switched targets to the thing that caused the rage in the first place. The root of the problem. That was such seriously convoluted logic, even Jim couldn't force it to make sense while he was sober. No wonder Spock wouldn't admit it.
He should probably say something stern. He should probably be appalled or distrustful. But he didn't have the will for any of these things, so he just sighed and let the last traces of irritation float away. He could handle this. If anyone understood inexplicable emotional impulses, it was James T. Kirk. "Okay. So how do we make sure this doesn't happen again?"
"It will not happen again," Spock said firmly.
"How can you know that?"
"I know. That is all I can say. It is no more rational than the reason I attacked you to begin with." Spock switched his focus to some point in the distance, and his voice grew strangely quiet. "If the only alternative to caring for you is to resent you, I choose to live with the former weakness."
Jim's insides did a little flip, and his heart tap danced across his ribs. "I'm, uh… glad to hear that. But next time, I suggest letting me know about these things before they boil over." He rubbed a hand across his jaw, wondering vaguely why an admission of friendship could put him so on edge. "Anything else you think you should tell me?"
"I feel pleasure when I hunt," Spock said reluctantly.
"Then you won't hunt anymore. I can do it now, and I think Longclaw would be willing to help," Jim said. "Don't argue."
"I did not intend to."
"Yes you did. You got that face…." Spock frowned minutely at him. "Never mind. Come here." He gestured to the space beside him. Spock started to move, but stopped halfway and looked uncertain. "What do you want, a written invitation?" That snapped Spock out of it, and he awkwardly joined Jim on the pile of fronds.
"Captain, I–"
"Shut up and take off your shirt." Jim picked up the booze pouch and poured some onto a piece of brushtail fluff. "I know you haven't cleaned those scratches yet."
"They are shallow."
"Doesn't matter. Do it." Spock listened and stripped off the filthy piece of fabric. Jim almost warned it was going to sting like a bitch before he remembered Spock didn't have to worry about that. He dabbed at the narrow gashes while Spock ate his long-neglected dinner, and a slow warmth crept through him. The old bridge between them had been built out of necessity, on a shaky foundation. Jim had a feeling they could replace it with a better one.
Afterwards they lay side by side in silence, as if tonight were no different than any other night, but Jim knew Spock was determined to stay awake beating himself up. And as the captain, it was his duty to make sure nobody beat up on his crew.
"You know, I'd rather have a flawed Spock in my life than no Spock at all," he said, and got the sudden, bizarre urge to roll over and drape an arm across Spock's waist. He translated that into a firm pat on the shoulder.
Spock looked at his hand, then met his gaze. "I am grateful for your esteem, as misplaced as it may be."
"Stop that. You're insulting a good friend of mine." Jim let go and laced his fingers on his chest. He teetered on the edge of telling Spock what he had been contemplating for the last hour, and finally decided to take the plunge. "So I have an idea. You think you lost control today."
"I did."
"Hear me out." Jim took a moment to order his thoughts. He had no way of knowing if this would make sense to Spock, but he had to try. "Last year, you were put through a stressful situation. I provoked you. You attacked me. If your father hadn't been there to stop you, who knows?
"So here we are, caught in another stressful situation. Not as severe on the sliding scale of trauma, but stressful nonetheless. I provoked you. You attacked me. And you stopped."
He had Spock's attention now. He could tell by the way Spock angled his head and stared at him instead of through him. He cleared his throat and kept going. "Whatever monster you think your emotions can turn you into, there's a limit to it now where there wasn't one before. You can control it, and you did. I guess I'm trying to say you should trust yourself again," Jim finished, and reeled at little at his own conclusion. "Or maybe I'm saying I have good evidenceyou should trust yourself again. How's that?"
"An… interesting theory, Captain." Spock shifted beside him and went back to gazing at the stars.
"Promise me you'll consider it?"
Spock nodded once. Not exactly the enthusiastic agreement Jim hoped for, but he checked it off as a victory anyway.
"Also, please let the record show I am so. Damn. Tired. Of things attacking us."
"I shall make an entry in the log as soon as possible, Captain."
Jim snickered, and Spock rolled to face away from him, tucking an arm under his head. But Jim didn't sleep yet. He watched Longclaw for a while, who lay flat on her stomach in a raised ring of dirt, her limbs splayed out every which way like a lazy dog. He watched the fire burn low.
Bones told him once that he grew on people like an irritating, infectious fungus, but he had never believed it until now.
He did this. From the very beginning, he got under Spock's skin by being irritating, and now he was doing the same thing in a very different way. Despite the crunchy logic exterior, despite the walls Spock had built working on New Vulcan, Jim could coax still emotion out of him. Knowing he could was almost like a power trip.
He dreamed about a lot of things that night; the Enterprisebridge, endless Iowa cornfields, being late to a class he forgot he signed up for.
He dreamed about Spock pinning him down. But in the dream he wasn't afraid, and Spock wasn't angry. He was doing that not-smile thing, just sort of sitting on top of Jim, holding Jim's wrists over his head, and it felt good. Good in a way Jim wasn't expecting.
He tried to free himself without really meaning it. Spock shifted his grip so he had Jim's wrists trapped with one hand. The other hand shaped into a ta'aland skimmed over Jim's neck, his chin, his forehead. Testing him. Teasing him. Spock watched him intently, waiting for him to speak, but Jim didn't want the tension to end.
He woke up half-tangled in a frond stem and sweating obscenely.
Jim threw himself into the hike that day, clamoring over the rocky terrain like an army of rabid Klingons was hot on his tail. The trees thinned out rapidly until they were few and far between, overtaken by thorn bushes and scraggly grasses. Sometimes at a switchback, Jim could see where the mountains were barren up ahead. He felt cool yet sun-baked at the same time, and it was noticeably harder to breathe now, but Spock seemed to be doing great. Not that Jim could look at him for more than half a second.
Longclaw was nimble, her four legs an advantage, so she scurried ahead of them and scouted out the safest paths. Spock speculated she had superior vision that helped her spot flat areas, and Jim argued she was from a whole species of mountain lizards. That brief conversation took the edge off his unease, reminded him that Spock had no idea about the dream. He hastily consigned it to the same place in his head where he boxed off the memories.
They tag-teamed Longclaw for awhile with questions, but there was so much she didn't know. The universal translator had trouble with her descriptions of her planet. The thinkers were apparently smaller than her, and very smart. So smart that was all she could talk about when they were brought up. They wanted something old out of the ground, she said, but then the ship and planetside base were destroyed. Exactly where, when, and why was beyond her. It just figured they'd run into the grunt of an intelligent species.
"So the thinkers were digging. But why were youhere?" Jim asked, after giving up on working out what they were digging for.
"Had problems. Sent me to kill."
Jim stared at her for a few seconds, almost tripping over a rock. Her face was about as indecipherable as Spock's during full-on logic mode. "And did you? Kill the problems, I mean?"
Her pupils widened. "Yes."
"What kind of problems?" he urged.
"Bad problems."
"I mean, what did the problems do?"
"Kill thinkers."
"What killed the thinkers?"
"Many problems."
"This line of inquiry is pointless," Spock told him from the rear of their caravan. An hour and one pissed-off lizard later, Jim was forced to agree.
They were so close now that they decided to keep going when night fell. The last stubborn trees vanished, then the last bits of scrubland, and everything behind and ahead of them became bare gravel and rock. Jim paused at the base of a challenging, boulder-strewn incline to look back.
A field of faint, twinkling stars spread across the jungle below as far as the eye could see. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, thinning out before a visible band of darkness around the highlands. The real stars overhead seemed distant by comparison. It was amazing and sickening at the same time.
Spock's voice, just above his shoulder. "Do you still feel it?"
"Not really," Jim murmured. Not physically, anyway.
He turned around to find Spock's hand, extended to steady him through a tricky, narrow space between rocks. He took it.
