PART IV: HOME
Warp and weft. The warp is the thread stretched over the loom, the weft is the thread that weaves and fills in the holes. He's not sure which of them is warp, which is weft. But he knows Spock is tightly woven into the fabric of his existence.
"The Man Who Fell To Earth" by louiseb
Chapter 40
— Is he alive, Bones?
A pause while the tricorder whirs: seconds only, but it's as if they hover on the edge of a singularity, disappearing into all possible futures. Later, he'll remember it as a stray thought that hit an accidental target, because that's exactly what it's like: as though time sits on a razor's edge, poised to fall according to a single syllable from the doctor's mouth.
And then Bones nods.
— Just barely, he says, but it's enough. It's enough. — Jim, I'm going to need you to move.
— I'm seeing some evidence of trauma to the somatosensory cortex, says Chapel. —There's some swelling around the postcentral gyrus that might indicate a bleed, but it's difficult to tell without a full bioscan…
— We need to get him to sickbay, says Bones. His face is gray, unsmiling, and there are lines of worry around his eyes. — Jim, I need you to let go of him; I have to get him onto a stretcher.
— I think… I think he opened his eyes...
— It's a trick of the light, Admiral Kirk; his brainwave activity indicates coma…
— Spock. Spock! Open your eyes. Look at me, goddamn it…
— Jim, I need to move him right now.
— Open your eyes—that's an order, Science Officer!
— Jim! Jim, you need to step away…
— Admiral, please—we need to get him to sickbay immediately…
And it's only when Chapel's hand closes gently but firmly around his upper arm, her soft voice deferent but insistent in his ear, that Kirk realises that he's still clinging to his science officer's body as tightly as when they fell through the airlock.
— Of course, he says, and he releases his grip, long Vulcan limbs slackening against the floor as the medical team close in to take possession of their patient. Kirk steps back, forgotten, to stand by the bulkhead as they work, and he tells himself that it's command duty that keeps him fixed in place, that it's his responsibility to apprise himself of his officer's status before he returns to the bridge, that his decision to remain is predicated on the need to know what Spock has learned as soon as it can be known; nothing more. Nothing more. And so he waits, and he watches, and he asks himself no questions because he has no answers, and all he's certain of, all he knows for sure in that moment, is that there's an emptiness against his chest, a vacancy, a coldness where, just a moment ago, there was connection and life and warmth…
-o-o-o-
A/N: Huge thanks to louiseb for allowing me to quote from The Man Who Fell To Earth. It's a truly gorgeous fic and I love it more each time I read it.