Arc #1: Absolute Zero

Chapter Six

Jim! The name spun through Spock's head like a leaf caught in a tornado. Fear, vicious and abrasive as the six-inch claws of the beast that crouched over his captain's body, cut through Spock's carefully erected mental shields like a hot knife through butter. The fear was joined a second later by anger, born of terror, as Spock watched the creature raise it's paw, poised to strike. A potentially deadly blow, should it fall.

"Jim!" Spock yelled, leaping out of the mouth of the tunnel and launching himself across the wasteland at the creature with ferocious strength. He was unarmed, and, statistically, his chances of surviving without a weapon against this enormous alien beast were infinitesimal. But if Jim did not survive, then that did not matter anyway. If he could not save his captain, then his own changes of survival were inconsequential.

(When had that become the case? When had his life become so intimately, ultimately intertwined with that of James T. Kirk? Why was he thinking about that now? Why-?)

Be quiet, Spock told himself. He inhaled deeply, and prepared for battle. There was no time to reflect on such things. Later, maybe. But right now, the fight was all that mattered.

Spock paused for a fraction of a second to pick up Jim's phaser as he rushed toward the Canithor with unbridled aggression. Leaping between the creature and his captain, he raised his phaser, and fired mid-air. The beam of brilliantly glowing particles hit the Canithor in the center of the chest; it snarled, shaking its head, but did not go down. Spock was knocked aside as it shifted one enormous shoulder against him, sending him sprawling back in an ungraceful fall.

And then its paw came down, hard, and Spock watched in horror as Jim's head slammed against the bare rock and ice of the planet's surface, the captain's blue eyes going wide with shock before sliding shut. Blood, thick and vibrant red, trickled sluggishly from a fresh gash across Jim's cheek and forehead. The captain went limp, lifeless. Helpless and entirely at the creature's lack of mercy.

"No!" Spock cried out, terrified, angry, and grief-stricken all at once. Emotion, raw and wild as the landscape around him, burst through Spock's already splintering composure and threatened to drown him as it surged, white hot and burning, through his blood. "Jim, no!"

With renewed fury, Spock lifted his phaser (no, not his phaser, Jim's phaser, and how had the captain even lost it in the first place? Was he trying to get killed?) and sent a rapid succession of shots straight into the Canithor's exposed flank. With a scream so loud and piercing that Spock instinctively lifted his hands to shield his sensitive ears, the huge striped beast turned its attention away from Jim. Toward Spock, but that did not matter. As long as Jim was safe.

Safe. If Spock had been human, he would have laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. As long as he is alive, Spock told himself. In the next instant, he realized he did not even know if Jim was. A new wave of fear nearly crushed the air from his lungs. I must save him, he thought, wild and desperate and terrified that he was already too late. His shields were gone now, crumbled to dust, frayed and torn and splintered. Emotion, red-hot and blindingly powerful, raced like electricity through his veins. That does not matter. He is all that matters now.

The Canithor reared up, extended claws raking the air, and bared dagger-like fangs in a sneering snarl. It screamed again, a battle-cry this time, and lunged, thousands of pounds of lithe, supple, muscular flesh and fury bearing down on Spock.

Spock held his ground. I will not run, he told himself. It was not an option. Any act of cowardice now could lead to Jim's death. If he abandoned his captain now, the knowledge of that fact would kill him regardless. So, lifting Jim's phaser and bracing himself, Spock fired: one, two, three shots directly into the gaping, open mouth of the creature.

The Canithor fell like a bag of concrete. Its eyes, cruel and slit-pupiled, rolled back into its sleek, enormous head. A shudder ran through its entire body, rippling the greasy black and white-stripped pelt. As it struck the ground, front legs collapsing under the sudden dead weight of its body, the ground shook from the force of it. It skidded, claws extending and retracting wildly, until it came to a halt with its wrinkled, whiskered muzzle inches from the toes of Spock's boots.

Spock did not wait to watch it die. As he stepped past it, already running, he gave only the barest moment's pause to send a few extra blasts into the twitching body of his foe. Insurance. It would not get up again.

When Spock reached him, Jim was lying with his lips parted, blood in his mouth and dripping sluggishly down his face. His eyes were closed. A bruise, dark and deep, was blooming on his right cheek. His torn and bloodied shirt was in even worse shape than before; the golden material was scuffed and covered in dirt in addition to fresh and dried blood.

Spock knelt beside his captain, hands hovering over Jim's body as hesitance overtook him. "Captain," Spock said, and was surprised at how uneven his voice sounded. Quite un-Vulcan-like, he thought. He found that he did not care. "Jim?"

Nothing. Jim was still and silent. Unresponsive. His face was set in a frozen expression of surprise, of fear. Unacceptable, Spock thought, and found that he was shaking. It is cold, he told himself. But that was not the reason.

Reaching out, Spock pressed one hand, palm down, fingers spread, against Jim's face. He found Jim's psy points quickly; closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind. Immediately, the distant thrum of Jim's consciousness brushed against his own. Just long enough for him to know that Jim was alive. The relief that Spock felt as he retracted his hand was electric. A second later, however, it was swept aside by concern as Spock slid his fingers beneath the captain's head, thinking to stabilize his neck, and felt them come away wet.

Jim groaned as Spock brushed against what appeared to be a large cut in the back of his head. The captain winced, and turned his head to one side, mumbling something incomprehensible. Beneath his closed eyelids, his eyes flickered from side to side as if he were living through some traumatic nightmare. Which, Spock remembered, was not too far from the truth. Jim's hair, usually light brown and gold, was soaked through with dark, clotted red. The clumpy, sticky stain had spread from the top of Jim's head down to the nape of his neck. And it was still growing.

"Captain?" Spock said, forcing himself to sound composed. The last thing Jim needed right now was for Spock to be emotionally compromised. Concentrate, Spock told himself. You are Vulcan. Control yourself. Do not give in to emotion.

"Spock," Jim slurred, turning his face up and toward the sound of Spock's voice. "That you?"

Spock reached down and pressed his palm flat against Jim's forehead. It was meant to be a brief touch, just to test the captain's temperature and hold him steady, but Jim seemed to melt at the contact, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked open bright blue eyes. He looked up at Spock, and managed the ghost of his usual charming smile.

"Hey, Spock," the captain said. "Don't tell Bones I got my ass kicked by a cat, 'kay? I'll never hear the end of it."

Spock stared at Jim as the captain's eyes slid shut again, head lolling toward the rocks. "Captain," he repeated, a sharp note in his voice. He slid his hand beneath Jim's head again, holding it up and away from the cold, rocky surface of the alien planet. "We must return to the Morrowi facility. We must find Doctor McCoy and tend to your injuries before-"

The distant sound of voices, strained and reedy and not human, cut Spock off. He shook Jim very gently with his other hand, gripping his captain's shoulder, but Jim did not show any signs of consciousness. The Morrowi, Spock thought. They have found us. He looked back over at the mouth of the tunnel through which they had come. His gaze was captured by a bright beam of light that slid up over the rocks beyond the tunnel, coming from just inside the opening. We must move, he thought.

Without a sound, Spock slipped both arms beneath Jim's body. Picking him up almost effortlessly, he held the human tight against his chest, one arm cradling the captain's head, the other braced across the small of Jim's back. "Hold on, Jim," he said. Illogical—he knew that the captain could not hear him—and yet it somehow gave him strength to taste Jim's name in his mouth. I will not fail you again, he told himself. Never again.

He set off across the cracked, icy, barren landscape at the fastest pace he could manage, heading for the distant, faint promise of trees silhouetted against the horizon.

When Jim came to, it was to find himself staring up at a canopy of gnarled, thorn-laden branches and huge, arching black leaves. His head was throbbing viciously—tears sprung to his eyes, unbidden, with every fresh wave of pain that rushed through him—and he was so cold that he was afraid, momentarily, he might already be dead. He seemed to be lying on a soft, padded surface of some sort, although he did not have enough strength to sit up and see what it was.

"Captain!" Spock said, cutting off Jim's spiraling, chaotic train of thought. Jim sensed a definite note of relief in the half-Vulcan's tone. Spock was at his side in an instant, kneeling beside him, dark eyes full of thinly veiled concern. "Jim, are you conscious?" Spock demanded to know.

"Mmm," Jim hummed, because he couldn't actually get his tongue to form words. Everything was heavy, his memory sluggish, his muscles seized up and frozen.

And then Spock's hands were on him, warm and soft and real, and his breath hitched in his throat. "Do not move, Captain," Spock murmured. Long, tentative fingers settled on Jim's forehead, blissfully warm and gentle. "You have sustained considerable damage from the Canithor attack. Although I cannot be entirely sure at this moment, I believe you may have a concussion, as well as several dermal abrasions on your face and head."

Jim managed a weak smile. "Not gonna ruin my stunning good looks, is it, Mr. Spock?" he rasped. His throat was achingly sore and dry; he swallowed convulsively, and winced at the less-than-pleasant sensation. Sighing, he let his head fall back against the soft pad beneath him.

Spock's tilted his head slightly, considering. "No, I do not believe any damage has been done that cannot be reversed," he said carefully. "As long as you do not move unnecessarily, and do not fall unconscious in the next three point five minutes, I estimate your odds of survival at-"

"Hold that thought," Jim cut over Spock. He shook his head weakly, his eyelids becoming heavy as sudden sleepiness threatened to overwhelm him. "I do better without knowing the odds," he explained. He managed another small smile. "Illogical, I know. But it works for me."

Spock paused, seemingly thinking this over. Eventually, he said, "Are you in pain, Captain?"

Jim took a moment to assess himself. Simply put, the answer was a resounding "yes," but there was no point in burdening Spock with that information when Jim's level of discomfort was trivial at most. "No," he said, trying for a joking tone and falling about a hundred miles flat. He attempted to shift his posture, wiggling his shoulders to get comfortable, and winced as a shockwave of agony raced through his entire body, tingling through his fingers and toes. He winced, closing his eyes. "I'm feeling awesome. Just fantastic."

"That statement," Spock replied, with a hint of disdain in his voice, "is very clearly false."

Jim sighed, and changed the subject. "Where are we?" he asked.

"The twilight jungles of Gemini III."

Jim opened his eyes just for the sake of rolling them. "But where are we?"

Spock gave his captain a look. "Do you wish for me to tell you our exact coordinates, Captain?" he said, lifting one eyebrow. "Or the current position of Gemini III in its rotation around its sun?"

Jim laughed aloud. The sound quickly turned to a cough. For a moment, he found that he couldn't breath, the jungle's muggy air catching in his throat and settling, heavy and uncomfortable, on his tongue. He sat up suddenly, and very nearly passed out as blood rushed to his head. "Shit," he gasped, hands coming up to massage his throat. He wrapped his arms around himself, wincing as each cough sent a new wave of pain through his battered and beaten body.

"Jim." Spock's voice was laced with urgency, and, unless Jim was hallucinating, a large measure of concern. The half-Vulcan's hands were back on him as the coughing continued, one pressed flat against his back, and the other on his chest. "Do not fight it," Spock commanded, tone low and intense. "Let it pass."

Jim nodded, and closed his eyes. He did his best to obey his First Officer's advice, taking slow, measured breaths as his chest stopped seizing. When he finally found his voice again, he said, "Guess you can't be funny for a while, Spock. I might laugh myself to death." Even as he spoke, his strength began to give out, and he sagged into Spock's strong, gentle hands.

Spock moved forward a foot or so, scooting across the jungle floor—which was, Jim realized, what he had been lying on—and caught Jim so that the captain's back was pressed flat against his First Officer's chest. "I will attempt not to, as humans say, 'crack any jokes', sir," he said.

Jim laughed again, this time managing to avoid triggering another coughing attack. "God dammit, Spock," he said, tone light and teasing, "that's exactly what I'm talking about. Bones is right; you're a goddamn sneaky Vulcan."

In the distance, the faint thrum of some insect stopped abruptly. "We have been here too long," Spock murmured. His voice was close to Jim's ear, close enough to send shivers down Jim's spine that had nothing to do with his injuries. "The Canithor will find our trail if we do not move soon."

Jim's blood, already chilled, ran cold. "It's still after us?" he said, trying to hide the way his voice shook.

"No," Spock said. The half-Vulcan rose to his feet, gently lifting Jim by the arms as he did so. "I killed the Canithor that attacked you, Captain. But there are many more out in the wastelands beyond this jungle, as well as in the jungle itself. It is not safe to linger in any one place for long."

Jim attempted to step away from Spock, and immediately fell to his knees. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his face, pressing shaking fingers to his temple in a vain attempt to alleviate the pulsing headache behind his eyes. "Why didn't you drag my ass back to that tunnel?" he asked.

Spock moved forward with inhuman speed—which, Jim remembered, was actually something Spock was capable of—and slid one arm under Jim's shoulders. Hoisting the captain back to standing, Spock shifted until most of Jim's weight was on him. "The tunnel had been compromised," he said.

Jim swore again. He leaned against Spock, happy, for once in his life, to accept someone's help. "I hate this planet," he complained, bare inches away from sulking. "Any luck getting through to the ship?"

Spock shook his head. "I was unable to reestablish communications," he said. "After the Canithor attack, I carried you for what I have estimated to be thirty miles across the frozen wasteland on the dark side of Gemini III. When I reached this jungle and recognized it as the habitable surface zone between the perpetually dark and light faces of this planet, I decided to settle here and allow you to rest for five point five hours. During that time, I deconstructed your phaser and the alien light cube, and attempted to build a device with which to hail the Enterprise. But, despite experimentation with the very limited resources available to me, I was unable to construct any device capable of receiving or sending a radio signal."

Jim let out a huffing sigh. Reaching up with the hand not resting on Spock's shoulder, he ran his fingers agitatedly through his blood-crusted hair. "That asteroid shower that the Morrowi Empress was talking about must have been primarily affecting the dark side," he said, "which means that we'll have a lot better luck meeting up with them if we're on the light side."

"My thoughts exactly, Captain," Spock agreed. "However, I have estimated the surface temperature of the desert beyond this twilit jungle to peak at approximately 130 degrees Fahrenheit."

In his present, half-frozen state, that didn't sound all that bad to Jim. He told Spock so.

Spock's eyebrow rose skyward. "Although such a high temperature may be comfortable for someone of Vulcan heritage, Captain, it is far out of the ideal range needed to sustain human life."

"Oh, big deal, Spock," Jim said. They'd begun to walk, one slow, plodding step after another, through the eerily silent jungle. All of the fauna here was black, Jim realized—in such a low-light area, it was vital that the trees soak up every available particle of solar energy. "It'll be a few hours. Maybe a day. I'll live."

"It is, as you say, a 'big deal', Captain," Spock replied. "In your weakened physical state, there is a high possibility that you would not survive long enough to be beamed back aboard the Enterprise should I allow you to venture into such extreme conditions."

"Allow me?" Jim echoed, and smiled. "Are you the captain now, Mr. Spock?"

"Since you are currently incapable of performing your duties, sir, I believe that I am, in fact, the acting captain," Spock shot back immediately. "And until you are capable of performing all of the duties required of a Starfleet captain, I will maintain that position indefinitely."

Jim groaned. "Are you bribing me to get better with my job?"

The faintest, most minuscule smile touched the corners of Spock's mouth. "Perhaps."

"Bribery is illegal," Jim mumbled in-eloquently. He was beginning to tire again, slipping back toward unconsciousness with every step he forced himself to take. Spock was being deliberately slow, and yet the snail's pace was still too much for Jim. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, head falling forward so that his chin rested on his chest. "'M tired," he slurred. "Damn headache-"

And then, suddenly, he was being hoisted into the air. His eyes flew open in shock, and he fought back his initial urge to fight against the arms that slid beneath his back and under his neck. "Spock, what-?!" he began to say. And then he realized, and cut himself off with a long, lingering groan of embarrassment and exasperation. "Put me down," he demanded. "I'm not a maiden in distress!"

"No, Captain," Spock agreed. "You are not a maiden."

"Oh, come on!" But, despite his verbal protests, Jim made no physical attempts to remove himself from Spock's gentle but firm grip. He was far too tired for that, and Spock was far too warm. Sagging in defeat, he let his head rest against the Vulcan's upper arm, tilting his head until his nose and lips brushed the fabric of Spock's blue uniform shirt. His eyes began to slide shut again, and he let out his breath in a deep, bone-weary sigh. "Can't tell Bones," he slurred out, even as he sank inevitably toward the bliss of sleep.

Spock's chest was strong against Jim's side, rising and falling in a steady, predictable pattern. "I will make sure that Doctor McCoy never becomes aware of this situation," Spock promised.

Jim nodded, smiling. "Has it been three point five minutes? Can I sleep now?"

Jim could hear the matching smile in Spock's voice when the half-Vulcan replied, "Yes, Jim."

With a sigh of resigned contentment, Jim let himself fall into unconsciousness at last.

...

((AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi everyone! So, I've been primarily updating this story on the Archive of Our Own, but I've also been posting it here because, what the hell, maybe someone will find it an enjoy it. Anyway, what I want to know is, IS anyone reading it on here? Should I keep updating the story to this site, or should I just stick with AO3 from now on? I'm legitimately curious to know if anyone's still finding my stuff here on ! Also, I'm totally interested to know if anyone has any thoughts on the story. :) So readers, if you really are out there, I'd absolutely love to hear from you. I'm just worried that updating to has become a waste of time for me. I'd love to be proven wrong, though! Anyway. Sorry for making you read such a long and boring Author's Note, but I'm really curious if anyone is actually enjoying this! Thank you for reading, if you are, and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! 3)