10-32:

"There is no need to apologize for misplacing our communication device, Lieutenant."

Jim slowly rolled his head back to glare at Spock over his shoulder. "Yeah, whatever…" he muttered.

He looked back down at the steady stream of piss he was letting out into one of the 'testing spaces.' After three more antagonizing hours of holding back days' worth of urine, Jim finally ripped a slit in the fabric covering the inside of his thigh and proceeded to turn one of the pits into a urinal (much to Spock's horror.) Jim sighed as the stream eased up and he tucked himself back into his suit.

He turned and walked back to the pit where Spock stood with his back turned, arms stuck to his sides. Jim smirked, "You can turn around."

The Vulcan's ears twitched as he shot a cautious glance over his shoulder. Spock turned and folded his arms behind his back. He continued. "Your coordination and state of mind were both being affected due to the gas. It is no fault of yours that the communication device was lost during this time."

The rumble guilt in Jim's stomach was only doubling. "Kid, of course I'm gonna feel like an asshole, okay. Just drop it?" Jim sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Brushing past Spock, he began walking towards the room's entrance. "It's probably clear now, or somewhat. We should get going."

Spock followed, his steps rocky as he tried not to put pressure on the cuts that scored the soles of his feet. "I wish to secure items from the medical bay on the basement floor," he said plainly.

Jim made a face. He glanced down at the Vulcan's feet and huffed. "So your feet are hurt?"

"As I have told you, Lieutenant, the state of my feet is not a priority. You are still losing blood, however, and I wish to disinfect your wounds."

Jim rolled his eyes and tried to block the pain that was gnawing at his lower body. "I told you not to worry about that." He limped out of the room and into the dark hallway. He watched as Spock turned off the lights in the classroom, the pits losing their shine one after the other like tiny blackouts. His eyes dilated as the last of the light fled and dark swallowed them.

Clutching at his thigh, he walked to the turbolift. He reached the door and began to open it. Jim was more annoyed then surprised when Spock's thin hand slammed onto the surface of the keypad.

Spock removed his hand and effortlessly wedged himself in between the door and Jim. "You are ill or you soon shall be. You will allow me to collect the items I find necessary from the medical bay and you will allow me to treat your injuries."

"I don't need anything," Jim began.

Without answering, Spock turned and slammed his finger into the keypad. The turbolift's doors slid open and they stepped in. Jim reached for the 'Lobby' button yet Spock's hand cut him off. Jim felt his temples throb. "Kid…"

Spock glared up at him. Silently, he pressed the button for the basement. His hand stayed hovering over the buttons.

The lift hummed and soon floors were passing them through the glass. With a scowl, Jim slid a hand under Spock's outstretched hand so his fingers brushed the buttons. "Getting a few boo-boos isn't a reason to make a fuckin' pit-stop," he sniffed.

Spock jerked his arm down, connecting the side of his hand with Jim's wrist. Jim pulled away with a squeak. Even if Jim had a good foot on the boy, Spock seemed to double in size as his voice came out dark. "To treat the fact that you are hurt so lightly is highly ill-advised."

When Jim didn't pull away, Spock let out a sound that Jim could have sworn was a Vulcan growled. "We have to move to get to the station," Jim sneered, dropping his hand. "Your "55 hours" shit isn't looking too good."

Spock's eyes glinted and the two stared at each other for a moment. They looked away when the lift jerked and the doors opened up again. Spock turned and strode out of the turbolift, cutting their stare so that it whipped Jim in the face.

Jim grumbled and hobbled after him.

The Cloud 9 hadn't reached the basement levels. The air was pure and still. For a moment Jim thought of slipping the constricting mask down his chin and taking a breath, a real breath. He touched the pads of his fingers to the mask yet dropped them when Spock grounded out a, "No."

Jim frowned and held up his hands in defense. The kid's in my head, he thought.

Spock guided Jim past a row of hangers and other rooms till they reach two large aluminum doors. Spock gripped one handle, instructing Jim to get the other, and they prided the doors open.

A blinding flash of white caught Jim's eyes. White floors, white walls, white furniture. White. The brightness the bay held, a stark contrast to the heavy darkness they had been in, made Jim want to vomit.

Looking past the migraine-making-brightness, Jim could tell that the medical bay was by far the cleanest one he'd ever seen. Hoverbeds covered by stiff bed sheets lined both sides of the room, each one hooked up to a blank screen and an empty IV stand. Cabinets and tabletops with draws were scattered here and there. Jim felt his eyes widen slightly as he saw a wall length x-ray screen covering one wall.

"Wow," his voice came out hushed yet the room's walls picked it up and hurled it back and forth, creating a nice echo. "All this for a school?"

"The academy's medical bay is an open establishment. It caters to all who need assistance," Spock said from across the room. Jim tore his eyes away from the room to watch Spock rummage through different drawers and cabinets, plucking different items out and placing them in the crook of his arms.

"Sit down," Spock said.

Jim sniffed and walked over to the nearest hoverbed. He tapped on the sleek row of buttons lining the beds side and the bed slowly began to lower. With a grunt, Jim sat down and the bed lifted itself back up so that Jim's feet dangled two feet off the ground. He let his shoulders droop and placed one hand over the broken flesh of his thigh.

He hissed and looked down at the sudden sogginess he felt under him. Dark stains were already spreading through the white bed sheets. Jim blinked; the stains reminded him of flowers blooming.

"Hold this."

Jim looked up at the bottle of antiseptic Spock was dangling in front of him. He took it and watched as Spock unloaded his findings on the end of the bed—bandages and pads, a needle and a spool of transparent sting, a long pair of scissors, and gloves. Spock snapped the rubber gloves on and began threading the string through the needle.

Déjà vu thrummed at the back of Jim's head. All of this was pathetically similar to when he was little and had gotten stitches on his arm for falling out of a tree. "It's like I'm fucking four again," he bit out.

Spock's eyebrow lifted slightly as he tugged the string and placed it and the needle down. He took the antiseptic from Jim's hands. "You have experienced surgical suture before?" he asked, popping the cap of the bottle off. He gestured for one of the pads.

Jim turned and grabbed one of the pads. "Yeah," he said opening the pad's bag and handing it over to Spock. "A couple of times, actually."

Spock let out a hmm but didn't look up. He placed the pad to the lip of the bottle and turned it upside down. He flipped his hands back and pulled the now soaking pad away. Without so much as a "This might sting." or a "Here we go." Spock slapped the pad onto Jim's open wound.

Fire ripped up Jim's leg like a phaser shot. "Fuckin' shit!" he howled and bucked under Spock's hand. He clenched his fists in the bed sheets and jerked his head back as he shuddered. "Warning next time!?"

Spock gave him a blank look and slowly peeled the pad away. "The pain would still be the same even with a verbal notice."

"Humor me, huh?" Jim snarled.

Taking another pad, Spock wiped the dry cloth over the wound and picked up the needle and thread. Unwinding the spool until the string was a good foot and a half long, he cut it. Spock let his eyes stick to Jim's. "I am now going to sew the edges of your wound together using the technique of the simple interrupted stitch—"

"Fine. Just go."

Spock blinked tightly as Jim cut in. "You expressed that you wished for a warning. I am giving you a warning."

"Yeah," Jim nodded and leaned away, readying himself for the feeling of metal piercing skin. "Now go."

Another blink and then Spock lowered his intense gaze to the wound. Grabbing the inner part of Jim's thigh, he squeezed and pushed one side of the split skin towards the other. Jim hissed and bit down on his bottom lip. "Any time now…"

Spock's mask sighed and Jim tensed as a sharp pain poked at his leg. His stomach clenched as a cold line slid through his skin and out the other side. Spock pulled the string through till the small knot at the end caught.

The string sat under Jim's skin like an itch. Jim took a breath and the cool feeling slid through him again. He let his head loll back and he stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't needles that fucked him up, it was the feeling of needles going through you that Jim flinched away from. It was gross—Spock tugged then drove the needle back through—really gross. He remembered having to get his blood tested when he joined FSOC, how he'd broken out in a cold sweat because he'd watched the nurse slide the needle into his vein.

Risking a glance, Jim looked back at Spock. He looked like a machine, hands not missing a beat, eyes not looking away. Blood covered the gloved hand that he was using to sew while the other pressing on his thigh sat still yet held him with tight fingers. His hand flicked again; he looked like was conducting.

Jim glanced up to Spock's face. Black lashes splayed themselves out over the pale rise of his cheeks, covering his astoundingly focused eyes. Lines marked the bridge between his eyebrows as he frowned in concentration, making him look older. Passed the line of his mask, Jim could make out the already strong curve of his jaw, the muscles there tense. Jim blinked in awe as Spock tilted his head slightly, his black bangs sliding over his light skin. He was gorgeous.

Jim stopped.

What the fuck? What the fuck was that? What am I thinking?—

"OW!" Jim let out a shriek when his wound was tugged closed. He hissed curses through his teeth and rocked back and forth. "Fuck!"

In front of him, Spock leaned back slightly. He picked up the glinting cutters and cut the excess string before tying off the end. He stared down at the wound and nodded slightly. "The wound is sealed."

Jim let out a rough breath through his nose and blinked down at the neat stitches running up his thigh. "That's a good stitch. Where'd you learn that?"

Spock lifted his head slightly. "At this academy."

Jim felt a smile creep over his lips. "Good school."

They both stopped and fell into silence, but it wasn't that silence, the one that latched onto them at the beginning of the mission. This silence wasn't awkward or heavy. It was comfortable. They stayed like this, looking at each other, before Jim realized Spock's hand still sat on his thigh.

Jim yanked his leg away and stood. His stitches burned as his leg flexed. "Thanks, kid," he coughed.

Spock blinked and picked up one of the bandages. "You need to wrap it—"

Jim stopped him and took the spool. "I can do it."

"As can I," Spock said, watching Jim take the bandages and wind them haphazardly around his thigh.

Jim patted the bandages and nodded. "Already done."

Seeing Spock standing there, Jim almost couldn't understand. It was Spock, a kid. There was none of the sparkle that his fucked up head had seen when he was sewing him up. He couldn't see any of the details that had been so evident just a second ago. It was just Spock—

A kid.

Jim shook his head slowly. I'm going insane.

0-0-0

Jim twirled the scissors around his index finger. "Finally have a weapon, heh?" he said.

Across the room, Spock was filling up a small bag he had found with different bandages and medicines. Because Jim wouldn't let him treat his shoulder wound, he'd insisted that they take some supplies with them. "Still going to say 'no'," Jim called when Spock flung the bag over his shoulder.

He walked over to Jim. "You seemed to be quite fond of the idea of contracting gangrene," he droned through his mask.

Jim snorted. "Whatever." Smoothing down his bandages, Jim started towards the door. His leg already felt (slightly) better. He could imagine the hefty scar it would leave, but scars were the only medals FSOCs every got, so he'd treasure it.

They rode the lift back up the lobby. Before exiting, Spock spoke up. "There is a back exit through the dining hall. It points towards the station."

Jim nodded his head and opened the lift.

Brown smog still floated through the air, yet it was not as thick as before. Jim craned his neck out and looked around the tattered lobby. There was nothing. "Okay," Jim flicked his hand and walked out.

Spock followed. "The dining hall is this way," he said, branching off from behind Jim and making his way towards the back of the lobby.

Jim watched him, shooting looks over his shoulders and around his sides. He gripped the scissors at his side and padded after Spock, dodging the various piles of debris on the floor. Spock led them around the front desk and past the large, broken holoscreen. They came to a door and Spock pushed through.

Some of the smoke followed them down the closed off hallway, sneaking through the door in wisps. Jim breathed deeply and tried to keep pace with Spock as he rounded a corner. Jim stopped as a very large lunch room came into sight.

White seats and tables separated by panels sat all around the room. Light flooded in from a skylight held up by a high, arching ceiling. Jim blinked up at the bit of dusty sky before looking across the room. Along one of the walls was a long table with empty bowls and serving trays that lead to a door to a back room; the other wall held a row of shattered windows.

Even if there wasn't any food, just standing in a lunchroom made Jim's mouth water. "God, I'm starving," he muttered.

"I too am suffering from malnourishment," Spock agreed. He blinked and nodded toward the long table. "Food containers are kept in the back room."

Jim walked up beside Spock and eyed the door at the end of the table. "Are you shitting me? You have fresh food here?"

"Vulcans eat fresh, vegetarian products. Because of this, there are no replicators on the planet," Spock said. He stepped over to the door and pushed on it. He frowned when it didn't budge. He tried again before turning towards Jim. "It is locked."

"Here, let me try," Jim coughed and pushed against the face of the door.

Nothing.

Jim wiped his tongue over his teeth and frowned. He leaned his good shoulder on the door and slammed against it. "Ow…" he muttered. He cast a look at Spock. "Yeah, it's locked."

Backing up, Spock examined the door with sharp eyes. After a moment, he titled his head to the side. Jim watched him squat down beside the table and place his thin hands on either side of the end panel there. With a quick movement, Spock ripped the panel off of the table, pulling it free of the wall and throwing it to the side.

Jim leaned down to stare into the small hole that was now in the wall.

Spock looked up with a smug look. "We shall use this entrance."

Jim blinked then smiled. "Cool." Squatting painfully, Jim slid his head through the small opening in the wall. His head fit through yet his shoulders wedged themselves into the opening. Jim pushed forward then cursed as the jagged top of the hole scratched at his suit.

Reeling back, Jim ripped his leg out of the hole and stood back up. "I can't fit."

"I will be able to," Spock said from his position behind Jim.

Jim frowned as Spock scooted over and began to ease his leg through. He snorted. "Like I'm gonna let you crawl through this thing by yourself."

"Being of my stature, I will be able to successfully enter the room—"

Jim whipped his hand through the air. "Okay, okay." He glared down at Spock then at his rumbling stomach. Jim's eyes flicked around the room before he sighed, "I'll wait."

"I will only take the foods that are in sealed containers," Spock said, easing half of his body into the hole. "Yet… I doubt you will find the sustenance I return with…appetizing," Spock said slowly.

"Kid, I would eat dirt right now." Jim smirked as Spock furrowed his brow. "I'll be right out here."

With that, Spock nodded his head and ducked his entire body through the hole.

Jim watched the last bit of Spock's head disappear into the backroom. He stood there dumbly before turning around and scanning the room. Jim's eyes flickered toward the standing panels separating the different tables. He walked towards them.

The panels were made out of glass with intricate designs of swirls and lines and overlapping shapes etched into them. Jim took a finger and traced one long curve in the glass, followed it until it arched and spiraled off the panel. He turned as walked a few more steps until he was standing under the skylight. He laid his head back on the tops of his shoulders and gazed up at the mixture of brown and black and red sky. In an odd way, it was pretty.

Like Spock.

"No…" Jim shut his eyes and shook his head.

No, Spock wasn't pretty, not even in an odd way. He was a kid, a stubborn little shit, a brilliant mind, a loyal companion, a life saver, but not pretty. And definitely not gorgeous either, Jim added to the arguing cluster fuck that was building in his head. Where had that thought even come from anyway?

Jim blinked as a strange sensation wafted over him. He rolled his shoulders and walked back to the hole. Leaning, Jim cupped his mouth and shouted into the back room. "Hurry it up, kid. Grab and go!"

Pulling back, Jim stood what his head down, mind still battling.

Spock's not attractive.

Obviously, he's a guy.

HE'S A KID.

That girl you banged right before joining was attractive. Great tits, right?

Jim stopped to let out a loud sighed. He was reassuring himself. Jim Kirk was reassuring himself and over what?

Nothing. Obviously.

"Oh, Jim," Jim slapped at the side of his head. "You're fucked."

Without thinking, Jim's eyes flicked about the room, just a glance, and froze.

No more than thirty feet away, a man stood. His face was covered by a black helmet with a visor that gleamed against light coming through the skylight. He wore a tight grey body suit with pads and armor and straps. In his hands was a gun, long and sleek, cocked up and pointed at Jim.

There was a moment where neither of them moved; just stared. The cogs in Jim's head were turning, slowly, as they tried to slosh through the crazy fact that there was another being in the room with him. His senses were acting up, clicking into full throttle. He could feel the coolness of the scissors still hanging from his hands; the hot air on his bare neck. He could see the soldier's finger just twitch on the trigger of his gun; he could see the hole in the wall where Spock was out of view.

"Nais."

Jim stopped thinking as a guttural sound echoed through the air. He studied the Romulan, and he studied him. "Nais," he said again, this time lifting his gun higher up Jim's torso to 'heart range.'

Jim blinked. He didn't understand, but he knew the procedure. He raised his hands slowly and dropped to one knee, hissing when he bunched up his tender thigh. He slowly let the scissors slip off his finger and clatter to the floor, folded his hand back behind his head and intertwined his fingers at the base of his skull. Jim's eyes slid quietly to the side and eyed the room that Spock was in.

Don'tcomeoutdon'tcomeout—

In front of him, the Romulan tilted his head and stepped three paces closer. The weapon in his hands purred like some animal, ready to spring to life and kill. The Romulan scuffed his boots on the dusty floor and dipped the head of his gun towards Jim's chest. "Hevam?"

Jim snapped his eyes back from the door and stared up darkly at the soldier. Don't look, Kirk. Don't fucking look…

The Romulan strode closer. "Hevam," he said again. "Edaol." Adjusting his grip on the gun, the soldier tilted his helmet-covered head at him. Jim could feel his covered eyes taking him in, the state of him: bloody, bruised, stitched up, afraid.

"Vikra ar hraen kina?" he asked. He scuffled closer. "Ar hwi eial?"

Jim stared up at the Romulan unblinkingly. You fucking know I can't understand, he thought. You fucking know… Suddenly, the heavy underside of a boot crashed down on Jim's stitches. Undoing his fingers from behind his head, Jim screamed and grabbed at the now scorching wound.

"Gustai," the Romulan cocked his head, fascinated. He kicked away the scissors then shoved the tip of his gun at Jim's face, making him raise his hands again. A laughing sound echoed out from his throat as Jim growled through clamped teeth. "Idh edaol."

Sweat dripping down the back of Jim's neck and down his back. His breaths were ragged and short as pain still clouded his vision. He could still see the hole in the wall, could still hear the stayhiddenhiddensafe screaming in his ears.

The Romulan paced back and forth in front of Jim, like a predator, gun still purring. He sent his leg out again, this time connecting his boot with Jim's stomach.

Jim hacked up stale air as his abdomen convulsed roughly. His mask wheezed and sighed, covering up the vicious coughs he gave. He stilled when he felt something cold and round press to his temple. Jim glanced up at the gun leaning against his head and shivered.

He betrayed himself, then. He looked—one quick flick of his eyes. That was all. But the soldier saw it and turned his head to face the hole to the back room. An "Ah…" drifted out from behind the visor. The Romulan gave Jim another look before stepping away, gun still pressed close to Jim's skull.

Jim's heart slammed against his chest as he strained to watch the Romulan get closer to the hole. NONONONO! His head screamed but his body was rock with that gun so close. "Emael eial," Jim heard the Romulan drone. He watched him take another step—another step to Spock—and then felt the barrel of the gun barely lift off his skull.

In a flurry, Jim twisted and lunged at the soldier's legs wrapping his arms around thick calves and yanking back with a roar. The Romulan made a sound then his helmet connected with the floor with a crack. Jim was on him in an instant, throwing himself onto the other man's body and driving the knuckles of his fist into the side of the soldier's neck. The alien gave a gargled cry and twitched, fingers freezing up. Jim rolled back, latching onto the gun and pulling it away. He fixed his grasp on the weapon and aimed down.

Before he could fire, the Romulan pulled in his knee and struck Jim's crotch. Jim groaned and leaned forward, bare forehead meeting with the metal lining of the soldier's helmet. White stars shot across Jim's eyes and he leaned back. Suddenly, a hot weight was laying over him, pinning him down and clawing for the gun.

Jim fought against the pull on the gun till the machine fumbled from both of their hands and slid away. Ignoring the gun, Jim drove his body upwards and caught the solider by the neck. He flipped the other man over and proceeded to lay into his visor. The tinted glass stayed until the second hit then shattered into shards, exposing the furious face of his assailant. Jim kept punch, fist smashing into teeth and nose and cheeks.

His wrist was caught and the Romulan twisted it back. Jim yelled as his bones strained against the grip. He could feel a strong leg kick and wrap itself around his hips. It snapped back and Jim was thrown off the soldier and onto his back with a groan. Jim turned onto his stomach to push off the ground, but the heel of a boot slammed down on the middle of his back with such a force that his lungs bled. He curled in on himself as a flood of kicks came down upon him.

The Romulan stood over him, the bottom of his boots bloodied from where it crashed into Jim's face. He kept it raised in the air as he observed Jim withering on the floor. He lowered it slowly, laying it on the back of Jim's neck. He pressed.

Jim felt a pressure start to build around his blurry eyes. He weakly coughed up a wad of spit and blood, strings of saliva dripping from his mouth to the floor as he panted. Feebly, he raised a hand and clawed at the boot on his neck. The pressure grew and he could feel his spine inching away and his eye bugging out.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die—Spock's going to die.

In a rush, the pressure was suddenly gone. It took a moment for Jim to realize that he could breathe and he did, sucking in a lungful of filtered breeze. He coughed and sputtered. Jim turned his head aching upward.

In front of him, Spock was choking the soldier from behind, thin arms locked around the other's neck like a vice and squeezing. The Romulan bucked and sent his elbow back into Spock's gut over and over again. Spock held until the Romulan arched forward and flipped Spock over.

Jim watched as Spock landed on his back in a heap he shook his head before jumping up and darting towards the forgotten scissors. Without missing a beat, Spock picked the sheers up and soon was standing over Jim's body, one leg on either side of him. The Vulcan bent his knees and arched his back. He pointed the scissors at the Romulan and fixed him with a fiery glare.

Across from them the Romulan swayed slightly before picking up one of the larger shards of glass from his visor. He rolled the shard in his hand and gave Spock a twisted smirk. "Akhæ, Thaesha. 'Rau na Terrhaha ryakna llai, riud mnaer'ti hwi urri ih'hwi?" he said breathlessly.

Jim flinched as Spock bent his knees further and lowered his body over him. "Hwi ssaed khoi elet. Arhem sthe emael ssraei ih lloi hwi," he responded.

The Romulan filled the air with his gargled laugh. "Hra'vae? Hwi hhakh khiilal imirrhlhhse!" With a yell, the Romulan sprung forward, glass shard raised. He sprinted towards Spock, waving his arm and slashing at the air.

Spock tensed visibly but stayed still until the Romulan was right there. As the Romulan brought down the shard, Spock shot out his free hand and tightened it around the other's wrist. He twisted the Romulan's arm to the side with a sickening pop then drove the scissors forward. The sheers slid up into the Romulan's throat before he could scream.

Jim stared up in horror as Spock slid the scissors out of the Romulan and a waterfall of blood spilled down his front. The alien made a weak sound and stumbled back a step. He dropped his shard to the ground and soon joined it. He clutched at his throat as he let out one last gurgled sound then laid still.

Two hot hands were soon on Jim's shoulders, flipping him over onto his back. He could hear Spock yelling down at him, "Lieutenant! Lieutenant, are you alright?" but couldn't move, couldn't reply. Spock moved one of his palms to the side of Jim's head and it stroked at the bloody stain there. "Lieutenant!"

Jim saw himself nodding, but he doubted that his head actually moved. "I'm…fine…" he breathed out.

You're fine.

Through the blur, Jim could see Spock's eyes widened. The boy looked away before snapping his attention back to Jim full forced. Jim tensed as his felt arms slide under his bruised back.

Suddenly, he felt like he was flying. Air rushed past him and he was floating feet off the ground, limbs dangling. He blinked. Everything hurt, but he was growing numb, so it wouldn't for long.

"Jim!"

Jim blinked up at Spock's frantic eyes. They were the last things he saw before everything turned to black.

Chapter 9! Sorry for the delayed update ^ but enjoy!

Rough Translation:

"Nais." - "Hands."

"Hevam?" - "Human?"

"Edaol." - "Strange."

"Vikra ar hraen kina?"- "Where are your brothers?"

"Ar hwi eial?" - "Are you alone?"

"Gustai," - "Injured,"

"Idh edaol."- "Very strange."

"Emael eial,"- "Not alone."

"Akhæ, Thaesha. 'Rau na Terrhaha ryakna llai, riud mnaer'ti hwi urri ih'hwi?" - "Back away, Vulcan. Let the Human trash die, or shall you go first?"

"Hwi ssaed khoi elet. Arhem sthe emael ssraei ih lloi hwi," - "You will cease this. I do not want to kill you."

"Hra'vae? Hwi hhakh khiila." - "Oh really? You stupid little fuck."