Arc 1: Absolute Zero

Chapter Seven

The deserts of Gemini III were, Spock decided, a few degrees too hot for his preference. Sand blew across a rugged, battered sandstone foundation, the dry winds hardly making up for the oppressive heat beating down from overhead. But, despite the uncomfortable heat, Spock's mind was as sharp and clear as ever. He was alert to every little movement and sound that caught in the swirling sands between the towering dunes, ready to fight or run at the first sign of danger. After all, he did not know enough about the Canithor beasts to conclude that they would not follow him out of the jungle and into the heat.

Jim had been sleeping—or unconscious, more likely—for approximately three point four hours. He was limp in Spock's arms, head lolling with every long stride that the half-Vulcan took. Spock knew that if the temperature was uncomfortably hot for someone of Vulcan blood, like himself, then it would be virtually unbearable for Jim. Perhaps even fatal, should the captain remain in the direct sunlight for much longer. Unacceptable, Spock thought. Every piece of him rebelled against the thought of losing his captain; he forced the possibility from his mind immediately.

At that moment, as if sensing that Spock's thoughts had turned toward him, Jim mumbled something and attempted to turn over in his sleep. Spock held on tighter, preventing Jim from rolling out of his arms. "Captain?" Spock said, softly. Hesitantly. "Jim, can you hear me?"

Jim didn't reply. His forehead glistened with sweat, and when Spock readjusted his grip so that Jim's chest was pressed against his own, he could feel the human's heart pounding dangerously fast against his ribs. He has developed a fever, Spock realized. Despite the heat, he suddenly felt as if a finger of ice had traced its way down his spine. Quickly, he estimated Jim's internal temperature at around 103.5 degrees Fahrenheit, nearly five full degrees above the average human body temperature. Unless I can lower his core temperature soon, he will not survive. The thought caused Spock's breath to catch; he closed his eyes, pushing back a wave of overwhelming emotion.

Looking around desperately, Spock scanned the desert for any sign of water, or shelter, or both. There was nothing. Not even a dead tree, or a deep indent beside a dune to provide a small measure of shade.

"Spock!" Jim called out suddenly, and reached up to grab the front of Spock's tunic, clenching his fist around a wad of dusty blue fabric. Spock looked down at him, surprised, but the captain's eyes were still firmly shut. He is dreaming, Spock told himself. Nothing more. Even as he thought it, Spock knew that this assessment was not entirely true. It was far more likely that Jim was hallucinating, delirious with fever, and that the captain was, in a sense, awake. However, such possibilities only increased the building fear inside Spock's mind. He shoved the thoughts roughly aside again, and forced himself to concentrate on finding refuge from the sun as soon as possible.

Salvation came in the form of a lonely rock, which sat by its self in the midst of a large flat patch of sand. The indent in the desert was quite close to the approximate location that Spock had decided would be the best place for the Enterprise to beam them up: a stretch of flat desert sand that was far enough away from the Morrowi civilization that there would be no way for the aliens to interfere, should they somehow have come into the possession of technology capable of such a feat, but not so far out into the desert that they could not retreat back to the jungle if necessary.

Spock set Jim down in the relatively cool shade spread at the base of the rock—which, now that Spock could examine it up close, seemed to be a large asteroid that had likely struck hundreds of thousands of years before. It would explain the crater-like, round patch of flat, level sand all around the formation. However, its origin was of no consequence at the moemnt. Wherever it had come from, Spock was grateful for the temporary shelter that it provided.

At once, he set about fiddling with the light cube he had taken from the Morrowi, as well as with the disassembled parts he had taken from Jim's phaser. If only we had managed to find a communicator during our escape, Spock thought. Immediately, recognizing the illogical nature of wishing that the past had unfolded differently than it had, he returned his entire attention to the task at hand. The sooner he managed to hail the Enterprise and inform them of his and Jim's location, the sooner Jim would receive the medical care that he so desperately needed.

And, given his lack of tools and the short time he had to work with, that task had become almost comically difficult. He would have to apply all of his considerable mental prowess and delicate knowledge of electronics to this problem if he wished to solve it in time.

Mentally steeling himself, he got to work immediately.

Jim drifted through consciousness. At any one moment, he couldn't say if he was waking or sleeping, living or dead. Flashes of disjointed memory and images that were gone before he could begin to examine them whirled through his mind. His eyes felt closed, and yet, he could see these things, these startling bursts of bright mediated by uncomfortable glimpses into a deep, dark void.

Occasionally, he would hear his name. Soft, whispered, familiar, drifting through the blackness. Whenever he did, he tried to reach back, to pull himself out of the endless cycle of dark and light, to answer. But his lips never worked, and no matter how much energy he put into moving, into forcing himself upright or even just rolling over, he never seemed to get anywhere.

At one point, he managed to crack his eyes open—or so he thought—and was greeted by the sight of a huge, ferocious tiger-like creature standing over him, its teeth bared, crimson blood dripping from its wrinkled muzzle and whiskers. He thought that he might've cried out at that—a name, as familiar as his own, spoken with terrified urgency—but then his mind fell back into the hazy delirium of heat and empty blackness, and the vision crumbled and drifted away like ash in his hands.

The first time he became one hundred percent aware of his surroundings again, he realized that he was much cooler than he could remember being before. Where his skin had been burning before, he now felt almost absurdly cold. He shivered as a steady, calm breeze brushed against his body, drying the sweat that he could feel, damp and sticky, on his face. No, not only on his face, everywhere—what had happened, he wondered? He'd been attacked, right? By something… why couldn't he remember the details? And why the hell did his head hurt so much? Maybe both questions had the same answer. If so, he couldn't find it in the jumbled chaos of his fever-wracked mind.

"Captain?" Spock's voice, distant and unreachable as the farthest star in the sky, sounded above Jim. He tried to make his mouth work again, to reply, because this time he knew who it was. At least he'd gotten back enough of his senses to recognize his First Officer.

Finally, finally, after what must have been entire eons, Jim managed to say, "Yeah?" A victory. A small victory, but one nonetheless. Not that it felt that way—talking, even a single word, immediately brought attention to how dry his mouth was. He tried to swallow, but it was impossible. Suddenly, he was so thirsty it physically hurt.

"Jim!" Spock said, and a moment later Jim heard Spock approach him, and settle down in the sand beside him. "How long have you been awake, Captain?" Spock asked.

Jim cleared his throat, wincing. He still wasn't sure if he should open his eyes. What if he did, and the Canithor was crouched over him, preparing to rip his throat out? What if Spock was the illusion, and not the other way around? Shaking his head—or attempting to; the actual motion proved too painful—he said, "Jus' woke up, Spock. How about you?" It took him a few seconds of Spock's silence to realize what a stupid question that was. Okay, so maybe his mind hadn't come all the way back online yet. But it was getting there.

"Captain, I have relocated us to an asteroid crater seven point one five miles from the outer fringe of the jungle that we passed through earlier today."

"No days here," Jim corrected, his words still slurred, and his voice croaky. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, and releasing it through his mouth, he blinked open his eyes. Immediately, he took in the strangely distant blaze of golden light surrounding him. Well, not directly surrounding him: he seemed to be in the shadow of an enormous, roughly rounded rock. The asteroid Spock had been talking about, then. Right.

Spock himself was sitting cross-legged beside Jim, hands on his knees as if he were meditating. His posture was even more rigid than usual (was that even possible? Jim wondered) and his dark eyes were fixed intently on Jim.

Jim blinked. He managed a smile, albeit an unsteady one. "Not fair that you don't sweat," he said. "I'm all sticky and gross." He lifted a hand to his head, running his fingers through his matted, blood-encrusted hair. He made a face when his hand came away covered in sweat and red dust. He held his hand up, turning his palm toward Spock. "See?"

Spock lifted one eyebrow. "Yes, Captain," he said stiffly. "I am well aware that the average human's biological response to elevated temperatures differs greatly from that of an average Vulcan. However, I fail to see how such a condition is 'unfair.' The ability to sweat can be quite beneficial in many cases, such as-"

"Shhhh." Jim hushed, pressing his fingers to his temples. He attempted to sit up. Immediately, Spock was in action, one firm, steady hand spreading across Jim's chest and holding him down in the warm sand. "I would advise you against moving until you receive proper medical care, Jim," Spock said. Jim opened his mouth, ready to protest, but hesitated at the look on Spock's face. Something about the way his First Officer said Jim's name screamed protective. Protective, and concerned. Jim would hate to cause Spock undue worry on top of everything else that had happened, after all. So he leaned back, letting himself relax, and released his breath in a huff that was part annoyance, part resignation.

"Fine, Mom," Jim said. He might be obeying medical orders for once in his life, but there was no way in hell he was going down without a fight. Even a small, passive-aggressive, entirely verbal one.

A few minutes passed in silence. Jim was just beginning to drift back toward sleep, the heat lulling his usually sharp mental faculties, when a garbled voice broke through the heavy cover of impending unconsciousness, buzzing with static interference.

"Uhura… think we just… contact… there's something here… Mr. Spock? Captain? Can you hear us?"

"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock said, the faintest rise in pitch in his voice betraying his relief. "I am reading you. However, the device I am currently using to pick up your signal is unreliable, and could fail at any moment. I suggest that we speak quickly."

Forgetting his previous resolution to stay lying down, Jim sat straight up, his heart leaping into his throat. He ignored the pounding in his head, and the throbbing in his neck and shoulders. He stared at the tiny, flickering device in Spock's hand, hope gripping him like a giant's fist at the sound of Uhura's voice. The device was a crude radio of sorts, made of pieces of his phaser and the deconstructed glowing cube that Spock had taken from the depths of the Morrowi fortress. "Is that Uhura?" he asked, even though it was obvious that it was. He'd just heard her. Somehow, against all odds, they were going to be okay. Then again, he should really be used to that by now. Beating the odds was all they ever did anymore, if he was being honest with himself.

"Spock!" Uhura's voice was tight with emotion. "Are you still reading me?"

Jim held out his hand to receive the device, grinning eagerly. Spock gave him a slightly disbelieving look, and said, "This device is a very delicate instrument, Captain. I do not believe I should risk transferring it to you in your state." Jim's hand fell back onto his chest, defeated, and he slumped back onto the ground with a groan.

Into the device, Spock said, "I am still reading you, Lieutenant. Have you beamed aboard the rest of the landing party?"

"Yes," Uhura replied. "You and the captain are the only ones unaccounted for."

Jim let out his breath in relief. "Tell her to account for us," he said to Spock. "'Cause I'm really fucking ready to get off of this hell-planet. Preferably before I melt."

Spock gave him an odd look, and appeared to be on the verge of launching into a long-winded spiel about how it was impossible for a human body to melt unless the temperatures were significantly higher. But then he returned his attention to the device in his hands. "The captain is here with me," he said. "We are both ready to beam up as soon as you can get a lock on our location."

"We're working on that," Uhura promised. Her voice was coming through more clearly with every passing second. As if, somewhere in that overly bright sky overhead, the Enterprise was drifting slowly closer. The thought filled Jim with enough relief to floor him, had he not been already flat-out on the ground. "Is there any way you could give us your location? Even an approximate one?" the Communications Officer asked. There was a noticeable strain in her voice now; they must be having a hard time figuring out where the signal from Spock's makeshift radio was coming from. Debris left in the atmosphere from the meteor shower could be causing disturbances, Jim mused. That must be it.

"Of course, Lieutenant," Spock said. "We are on the dark side of the asteroid located approximately five miles from the edge of the jungle nearest to the Morrowi settlement."

"Good thinking," Uhura replied, sounding pleased, impressed, and relieved all in one breath, "finding an unmistakable landmark like that. We'll have a lock on your signal in less than a minute. See you soon, Commander. Captain. Uhura out." The signal cut off, and static filled the connection.

Jim let out his breath. His eyes slid shut. The light was making his head pound, and now that they were safe, the last of his strength, born of adrenaline and fear, was fading. "Spock," he said, drifting toward the void in his mind again. He reached out, almost unconsciously, as he began to slip. Searching for an anchor. Something to hold onto as the world shifted around him, fading to nothing.

And then, shockingly, Spock reached back. Jim almost startled at the feeling of Spock's fingers curling around his wrist. His First Officer held on with a light but firm grip. Anchoring Jim, just as Jim had wanted, to reality. In his half-conscious state, the captain managed a small smile. What would I do without you? he thought, and knew that, through the contact of their bodies, Spock had heard him.

The next thing Jim knew, light was dancing all around him. Like fireflies across his vision, playing against the darkness of his overloaded, fevered mind. The steady, familiar hum of transporter energy wrapped him up. As consciousness fled, he began to dissolve.

Even in the blackness, Spock did not let go.

When Jim came back to himself, the first thing he was aware of was the sensation of a strong but gentle hand on his forearm. The fingers were long, steady, and oddly warm. Through the haze of fever half-dreams, he heard voices drifting, like little birds caught in a torrent of wind.

"He'll be fine, damn you. Now get out of my sick bay before I throw you out myself!"

Bones, Jim realized, and his heart leaped. We made it back to the ship!

"I can assure you, Doctor, that 'throwing' me out of this room is not only physically impossible for you, as I possess three times your strength, but may also negatively affect the mental state of the captain. I am here so that, should he become confused upon awakening, I may aid him in recollecting what has happened up until now. As I was with him during the traumatic events that he recently experienced, I am better qualified to help him make sense of those events. I think you would agree."

And there's Spock, Jim thought. He glowed with internal happiness. If his CMO and First Officer had fallen back into their usual routine of petty argumentation and insults, then all must be well on the Enterprise.

"You know what I think?" Bones growled. "I think you just like holding his hand."

"Doctor," Spock said, sounding mildly affronted, "I can assure you that I most certainly do not like holding his hand. I am merely providing a physical anchor to reality, so that he is not confused when he awakens."

"Physical anchor to… why, I've never heard such a pile of horseshit in my life!" Bones snorted. "Call it what it is, Spock. You're worried about him. It would be cute, if it wasn't so damn inconvenient."

"I fail to see how I am inconveniencing you, Doctor," Spock said.

"You fail to see a lot of things, Spock," Bones shot back. "It's not my fault that you're a cold-blooded hobgoblin with no more emotion than a chunk of lead."

Spock was silent for a long moment—likely coming up with a particularly eloquently passive-aggressive comeback, Jim decided. Which probably meant it was time for him to 'wake up.' After all, it wouldn't be very captainly of him to allow his CMO and First Officer rip each other to shreds over such a trivial disagreement. Whether that 'ripping' be pure verbally or physically.

So, with a deliberately theatrical gasp, Jim opened his eyes. He blinked rapidly, as if clearing dust from his eyes, and attempted to roll onto his side.

"Whoa, Jim!" Bones was by his side in an instant. The CMO's hands were rougher than Spock's gentle grip on Jim's arm, wrestling the captain back into place on the hard, thinly padded bed. As Jim's vision cleared, the ship's doctor came into clear focus. Bones was scowling, predictably, and wielding a hypo loaded with some sort of clear liquid. Without warning, Bones unceremoniously injected directly into Jim's unwisely exposed neck.

Jim yelped, going limp as a cool, almost pleasant sensation pulsed through his veins from the injection site. "What'd you give me?" he asked, words tripping over one another as he tried to make his tongue work with his lips.

"A mild sedative," Bones replied. "You took a hell of a beating down there, Jim. It's a miracle you're still alive."

Jim chuckled weakly. Without turning enough to bring down Bones' wrath again, he shifted his posture just enough that he could look up at Spock. "That just about sums me up, doesn't it, Mr. Spock?" he said. He was entirely unable to hide the grin that slid easily onto his cracked and dry lips.

Spock raised one eyebrow in an expression that was caught between subtle amusement and faint disdain. "Indeed," he agreed. Standing up, the half-Vulcan stepped away from the bed, turning toward Bones. Spock inclined his head slightly. "Now that the captain has awakened, Doctor, I believe my presence is needed elsewhere."

Bones rolled his eyes. He looked to Jim. "That's what I've been telling him for five hours-" he began, but Jim cut him off.

"You're needed here," Jim protested, looking up at Spock beseechingly. As soon as the physical contact between Jim and his First Officer was broken, the former immediately missed it, more desperately than he'd expected to. There was definitely a spark of something there that Jim would have to think over more carefully later, but for now, all he knew was that he wanted Spock to stay. And that was enough. For now.

Spock met Jim's gaze steadily. "I fail to see why, Captain," he said, almost carefully. As if testing the waters, fishing for Jim's reaction.

Jim grinned again. "I'll get bored," he said. "And I'll drive Bones nuts. Trust me, no one wants that."

Bones grumbled something that sounded like a long string of choice Southern curses. Spock raised one eyebrow so impossibly high that Jim was shocked it didn't disappear into his hair entirely.

"And how do you suggest I alleviate your boredom, sir?" the half-Vulcan asked, almost sounding exasperated now.

"Bones," Jim said, his gaze still fixed on Spock. "Do you mind sending one of the nurses to my quarters to get my chess set?"

Bones' irritation was so thick in the air it was almost hard to breath, but the doctor didn't protest past his usual irritated grumbling, as Jim had expected. "I don't know why I put up with you, sometimes," Bones complained as he started out of the room in search of an idle nurse. "Most of the time, in fact."

Jim chuckled, shaking his head as Bones made his exit, still muttering to himself. Jim made a face when pain shot through his head and neck at the sudden movement; he relaxed back onto the pillows that had been piled under his shoulders, sighing. "So, Spock," he said. He returned his full attention to his First. "You ready to get your ass handed to you?"

"While I am unfamiliar with that particular turn of phrase, Captain," Spock said, looking slightly scandalized, "I can infer that it means that you expect to win. I cannot say that I share your confidence in that outcome."

Jim laughed, lifting one eyebrow. "Guess we'll see," he said.

The nurse that Bones had sent returned with the chess set at that moment. Spock took it from her, thanked her, and meticulously began arranging the players on the three boards. Jim watched the half-Vulcan's fingers move, mesmerized by the way they moved with such quick and steady precision. As accurate and well-placed in everything that they did as Spock's brilliant mind was in every thought. Jim thought about how those fingers had felt against the inside of his bare wrist, slightly hotter than his own skin, the touch subtle but somehow electric. As if a current was passing through the contact. Your thoughts to my thoughts. The words echoed through Jim's conscious, as if coming from a long way away, and he was suddenly struck by an overwhelming desire to know what it would be like to have Spock inside his mind. To share every intimate thought, every undiscovered crack and corner of his inner self with another person.

No, not another person. Just Spock.

Okay, the origin of that train of thought was definitely something he'd have to think about later. But not right now. Right now, he had a game to win.

Spock finished setting up the board. The half-Vulcan placed himself across the small bedside table from Jim, lifting his dark gaze to meet his captain's. "Your move, Captain," he said mildly.

Smirking, Jim reached out and moved a pawn. "May the best man win," he replied.

They lapsed into silence as the game began in earnest.

...

Hi everyone! I'm so excited to see that people are actually reading this story on here! I want to thank each and every one of you amazing people who left lovely compliments for me on the last chapter. I love you all so much; thank you for your kind words! I hope you're all having a great week so far. :)

So this is the end of Arc #1. I'll start working on the next arc as soon as possible; I'm super excited to share the idea I have for it with you all. Again, thank you all so much for reading/commenting, and know that I appreciate every one of you so much! Until next time, happy trekking! ;D