Jim and McCoy worked on the tricorder through the afternoon. As evening approached, Jim told McCoy that he was going to fetch a bowl of water.
Taking the tricorder, McCoy looked up suspiciously. "Oh, yeah? And you're going to carry it back in that loaf of bread, aren't you?"
Jim glanced down at the loaf tucked under his arm. "Well—"
"Jim, Spock clearly said no one can visit T'Prylla," McCoy pointed out.
Jim looked away. "Spock doesn't need to know."
Upon slipping out of his room, he dropped by the infirmary to glean the location of T'Prylla's room. Then, bread tucked securely under his arm, he disappeared down a small corridor.
After a few minutes, he reemerged through a low, narrow door, shutting it securely behind him. He carefully reattached the ends of the circular padlock, and they snapped quietly back together.
"Captain, I must say that your lock manipulation technique is impeccable."
Jim turned around slowly. Spock stood behind him in his dark blue tunic, eyebrows raised.
Swallowing, Jim dipped his head. "Good evening, Mr. Spock."
Spock's expression did not budge. Jim met Spock's dark eyes.
Spock tilted his head forward. "I clearly forbade visiting T'Prylla. I even placed a lock on the door. Why did you do it?"
"There's no reason to treat her like that," said Jim. "Locking her up, depriving her of food and water."
"It is my policy for offenders."
"And why is that? Shouldn't the aim be to reform, not to punish?"
"While that is the case in ideal circumstances, reformative measures clearly cannot be afforded in our present situation," replied Spock. "The risk T'Prylla poses to the Sanctuary is too great. Furthermore, in order to better protect the refugees, we must establish an example of the importance of following policy."
Jim couldn't help the vast feeling of disappointment.
"This isn't about policy, Spock!" exclaimed Jim. "This is about decency and civilization. The way T'Prylla must feel—"
"Attempting to comprehend the emotional context only serves to confound logical decision making."
"Spock, it doesn't matter if you don't understand the emotional context," said Jim. "I don't quite understand it, either. Aravik told me I wouldn't understand what's between him and T'Prylla, and I guess she's right. All I know is that T'Prylla is in terrible pain, and they're both being torn apart by it."
His expression remained unflinching. "I do not see how that situation relates to you."
"Yes, you do," replied Jim quietly. "The day before yesterday, you rescued two men from the desert who otherwise would have died. You didn't understand them, either, but you helped them anyway."
Spock held his gaze in the silence. Jim tilted his head to search his eyes, but they were unreadable.
Spock finally dipped his head. "While you are misguided, I must concede that your statement is logical." Jim let out a breath. The Vulcan inclined his head to indicate that he wasn't quite finished. "However, you did violate my policies."
Jim nodded. "I'll take the penalty."
Spock's eyebrows lifted, and Jim could have sworn that the corners of his mouth tugged. "I am sure you are aware that the water pipe is broken."
"Yes, I'm quite aware," replied Jim, casting his eyes down.
"As penalty for violating my policies, you must accompany me to the oasis to carry water to the sanctuary every evening for a week."
Jim's mouth spread into a smile as he met Spock's eyes. "I think I can handle the extra commitment, Mr. Spock."
He arched an eyebrow. "I was not aware that you had a choice in the matter," he replied.
As the afternoon progressed to evening, the room grew cooler, and they continued work on the tricorder. The progress was slow and halting. Jim found his thoughts wandering and the tricorder stilling in his hands.
McCoy's eyes slid over to the tricorder resting on Jim's lap.
"You're pretty useless today, aren't you?" sighed McCoy, grabbing the tricorder from him. "You take the reading, I'll do the tricorder."
After an hour, a quiet knock sounded on their door. Jim rose.
"Come in," he called, straightening his garments.
Spock opened the door, dressed in a light cloak. "It is cool enough to go now," he said.
"Well, good evening to you, too," said McCoy, glancing up at Spock.
Spock acknowledged him with an eyebrow raise and a nod, then turned back to Jim. "Are you ready to come?"
Pulling on his cape, Jim smiled. "I thought you said I have no choice in the matter, Mr. Spock."
He joined Spock in the doorway. Spock began to close the door behind them. Then, as his eyes travelled downwards, his brows furrowed.
"Doctor," he said carefully, "what is…that?"
McCoy also looked down at the disemboweled tricorder in his lap, mouth drawn with resignation. "I don't even know anymore," he sighed.
Spock pushed the door open, and the two of them stepped from the red-lit hallway into the desert night. The horizon ahead glimmered purple in an echo of the sunset, illuminating the curves of the sand dunes. The warm desert breeze wrapped around them, stirring their cloaks and their hair.
The purple ribbon of the horizon unraveled into darkness, and the land around them folded itself into shadows. Buckets clattering quietly against their legs, the two walked to the oasis. Only the buckets, their soft footfalls in the sand, and the occasional animal call punctuated the vast desert silence.
"Spock," said Jim, "I have to apologize for the whole scene yesterday. It's your sanctuary. It's not really my place to tell you how to run it."
He didn't reply for a while. "I must admit that while I did not anticipate your actions, I was not entirely surprised by them," he said.
"Why?"
"You are not governed by logic. From what I have observed, you are irrational, effusively emotional, and impulsive."
Jim laughed. "Well, I'd say that's a fair assessment, Mr. Spock."
"I utterly fail to comprehend your thought process."
"Well, Mr. Spock," he said thoughtfully, "Maybe emotions are a form of logic, too."
As they continued walking, Jim found his thoughts going back to yesterday. The merging of consciousness, the warm feeling spreading within him—
"You do not belong here," stated Spock contemplatively.
Jim looked over at him. The shadows softened Spock's Vulcan profile, the defined nose and the line of his jaw. "Yeah?" he replied. "What makes you think that?"
Spock glanced at Jim's ears and eyebrows. "Beyond the obvious?"
He chuckled. "Sure."
When Spock spoke, Jim realized that the Vulcan, too, had been considering the previous day. "I was speaking your scientific knowledge and your vision of the future. You perceive and understand with unusual depth, and yet…" He thought, his brow furrowing. "There is something else that I have rarely encountered. Something I have difficulty describing."
He was silent for a moment, and the buckets clanked against his legs. "Where do you think I belong, Spock?"
The hush of the desert wind overtook the pair for a moment. "I wish I could say."
Ahead of them, a silvery light shimmered off of water, illuminating the slender grasses and water plants. Spock dipped his head.
"This is the Great Oasis."
The breeze blew on their faces, light and refreshing with moisture. As they stepped towards the glistening water, the grasses rustled against their legs. Insects hummed quietly around them, bright lights twinkling amongst the trees.
Jim stopped and took off his hood. "This is beautiful." The glow glimmered in his eyes.
Spock looked over to glimpse the open wonder on Jim's face. Then, turning away, he took a few steps towards the water and knelt down. Jim followed him, walking through the reeds to the edge of the pool. He knelt. His knees sank into the wet soil. Rolling up his sleeves, he dipped the first bucket into the water. The silvery water slipped over his hands and arms, delightfully cold.
They filled their buckets side by side. When their buckets brimmed with water, Jim looked over at Spock, waiting for him to rise. However, he made no move to leave. As Jim turned back to the water, he saw Spock looking towards him. The wind wrapped around them, and the insects hummed in the trees.
Wordlessly, Jim stood. He retreated to the tree at the water's edge, settling on a broad, flat rock nestled in the tree's roots. He heard a rustle of grass and footsteps in wet soil as Spock followed and sat beside him.
A streak of silver light glimmered on the water. As Jim stared at it, he grew aware of another inner light within him, deep inside his consciousness. The longer he gazed into the oasis, listening to the wind and waters, the more he felt himself opening, falling away.
"Spock."
The Vulcan turned his sharp, slender face to Jim. The light from the water lingered in his hair.
"Telepathy among your people is only possible through touch, isn't it? Unless they are bonded, of course."
Spock tilted his head, but didn't question the "your." Jim let the mystery dissolve in the air between them.
"Even when telepathy happens," he continued, "you can usually only sense the shields, right?"
Spock was silent for a few moments. The breeze wrapped around the two, stirring their cloaks and hair.
"That is true," he said.
He slightly turned to Jim, waiting for him to question. However, Jim didn't press. Spock didn't continue, because he didn't know anything beyond that.
"I can't pretend I understand," Jim concluded, "but I'm very glad it happened. It probably saved our lives."
"Yes."
They looked out at the water. A group of firebugs flashed over the surface and hovered about Jim, the bright lights sparking around his face. Jim gently waved them away. The lights winked in his eyes as they diminished into the night.
Jim watched them go, the brightness fading in his eyes. He drew in a breath. "You know, Spock, you don't quite belong here, either."
Spock turned to him, waiting for him to continue. Jim shook his head slightly.
"All the Vulcans around you fighting all the time over blood and heritage…and then there's you, with your ideals of logic and science and exploration. You're not like them, Spock. You're different."
In the silence, Jim heard Spock draw in a breath. "I cannot, in fact, fight over blood," he said. "My mother is of an unknown tribe. I never was truly one of them. The difference you speak of is not an intention, but an accident."
Jim laughed softly. Spock looked over, startled. Smiling, he said, "Spock—" His hands rose into a half-motion as he considered how to explain it to him, and how to convey the simple feeling that welled up inside him at the hesitance and vulnerability in Spock's eyes. "Kol-Ut-Shan, Spock," he said finally. "Infinite diversity in infinite combinations." His hands fell, and he craned his head up to look at the stars. "Every one of us is a cosmic accident. But there will be a future where there are so many variables, so many different possibilities, that where you come from hardly matters anymore. It's a future you should be proud to fight for."
They sat in warm silence for a while as the insects murmured around them. Spock turned his eyes upwards.
"You also fight for this future," surmised Spock.
Jim gazed out. The hum of the insects became the vibration of his ship, and the voices of the wind in the trees transformed into the bustle and conversation as he strode onto the bridge, settling into his chair. The voices were immediate, yet irrevocably distant and empty.
He was silent for so long that Spock turned all the way to face him. His open, waiting face brought Jim back from the cold noise of the ship to the warm winds and waters.
Jim's mouth twitched. His hands rose, then fell back into his lap. "It's difficult to keep fighting. But I do my best."
The wind blew, and they heard the handles of the buckets clink, reminding them where they should be. Spock looked at Jim, and Jim nodded. They both rose and lifted their buckets.
They walked back over the desert in the deepening night.
After several trips there and back, they had fetched all the water the sanctuary needed. Spock set down his final two buckets and opened the door, and the bright artificial light shone forth. Thanking him, Jim stepped into the cool hallway, pulling on his hood.
He turned back. "Spock?"
Spock gazed at him, his hand still on the door. The expansive darkness glimmered around his figure. Jim dropped the hood.
"Thanks for letting me help you," he said.
Spock nodded. "The assistance was appreciated, Captain," he replied smoothly.
The corner of his mouth tugged in a smile. "Please, call me Jim."
They took their buckets to the water room. Then, Spock walked him back to his room.
Jim stepped through the door. "Are we going again same time tomorrow?"
"Your sentence has only just begun," replied Spock.
Jim laughed softly. "Good night, Spock."
Spock nodded, the corners of his mouth curved up ever so slightly. "Good night, Jim."
Jim closed the door behind him. With only a vague look in McCoy's direction, he walked over to his mattress and settled down. Changing his mind, he swiftly rose again and paced the length of the room.
McCoy looked up from the tricorder. "Well?" he inquired.
Jim paused and looked over at him. "What?"
"Did you and Spock have a nice outing?
He laughed. "Outing? We carried buckets of water through the desert, Bones."
"If you say so," replied McCoy. He hid his smile by ducking his head to look at the tricorder. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Jim restlessly settled back onto the mattress.
He had to look all the way back up to confirm what he saw. The hard, fixed expression on the captain's face had completely fallen away. Jim's cheeks was flushed with exertion and the desert wind, his face vibrant with life. It was a raw youth McCoy hadn't seen in months.
Jim asked to see the tricorder, and McCoy handed it to him. Jim turned it over in his hands and fiddled with some wires, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. As he leaned over to help Jim, McCoy found his own mind wandering. He felt deep in his heart that something large, inexplicable, and rare was happening. He didn't know whether it was good or bad, or what would come of it.
As he lay on his mattress, with Jim's breath falling into a steady cadence, he studied the expansive darkness above him. That sense of largeness overtook him again. He didn't know whether to give into a relieved joy or into the insidious uneasiness creeping up on him.
Then he remembered Jim's hands glazing distractedly over the tricorder, and the wondrous openness of his friend's face. Somehow, Jim had finally found himself again, and why would he do anything to stop that?
Sighing, McCoy shook his head and smiled. He turned away towards the wall, pulling his blanket over him and resolving to go to sleep.
Comments, as always, are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!
Also, if you could check out my new story, "Communion," I'd be ever so grateful. I'm really proud of how it turned out and feedback would mean the world to me. Summary: "At the very end of end-stage heart failure, Jim Kirk enjoys one more day with the people who mean the most to him. His t'hy'la never leaves his side."
