With The River As My Guide 7/8
With The River As My Guide 7/8
Chapter 7
McCoy stared at him, aghast. “What- we’re colleagues! What the hell did I ever do to you?”
Valdez cocked his head. “It’s all so much to explain in so little time,” he said thoughtfully. “Why don’t you ask the Commander over there? I’ve told him what I thought of you once or twice, and I know he has a way with words.”
“. . . Disgusting, unnatural, abomination . . .”
Spock swallowed, the phrases floating back to him, their venomous hatred made even more potent by the burning eyes of the man in front of them.
McCoy slowly turned his head to stare at Spock. “Spock?” he asked quietly.
“Of course,” Valdez said. “He might not remember everything. I did do a number on his brain. I was actually worried there for a moment that I had gone too far, and that there was no way he’d even remember what I’d told him to do.” He shook his head. “I even worried that I’d be left with a useless hostage, though,” he leveled his gaze to Jim, who had fallen unconscious in Spock’s arms once more, “I don’t think it would’ve been a problem after a week or so. Captain Kirk hasn’t been in the best of health lately.”
“Damn you!” growled McCoy, his fists clenching helplessly. “What the fuck do you want with me? What the fuck did you want with them?”
Valdez stepped closer. “Although,” he began, pursing his lips as if in deep thought, “I’ve heard that even if Captain Kirk was dead, you’d be able to bring him back. Wouldn’t you, McCoy?”
“You’re crazy,” said McCoy, moving closer to Spock and Kirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh?” Valdez gave out a thin smile that was little more than a grimace. “So maybe I’ve been mistaken - what have you been doing with all that research money that you gave up your vacation to get?”
McCoy snarled, “Research, asshole! Medical research!”
Apparently that was too much for Valdez. “Don’t lie to me!” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. “I know what you’re researching! I know why Starfleet won’t fund it!” He brandished the phaser like a saber.
“The hell- I’ll bet you don’t even know a damned thing, you crazy motherfucker!”
Valdez shook with unrestrained rage. He pointed an accusing finger at McCoy. “You swore an oath to protect- and now what are you doing?”
McCoy stared furiously at him, but did not answer.
Valdez turned the phaser towards Spock, and moved his finger on the trigger. “What are you doing, McCoy?” he demanded. “Say it or I’ll shoot them right here!”
“All right, all right!” McCoy held up his hands. “Cloning! Just cloning, damn you! People’ve been doing it for hundreds of years!”
Valdez sneered, and aimed the phaser back at him. “Don’t sugarcoat it, McCoy! I read the proposal! You want to take the cells of the unconsenting dead and buried, and clone them to see if you can bring them back to life! It’s unnatural! It’s against every moral and ethical standpoint, every law of nature!”
McCoy’s eyes grew larger with each accusation. “That’s not what it’s about!” he protested angrily. “I’m not making Frankenstein’s monster, I’m trying to save lives!”
“The dead are meant to stay dead!” Valdez bellowed. “You can’t wave your medical license and bring them back to life! What’ll be next? What’ll be next, McCoy? You’re sick! You’re wrong!”
“At least I’m not an insane fucking criminal!”
“Don’t call me crazy! I’m not the crazy one here- I’m not the one trying to play God!”
As Veldez continued to spew insults at McCoy, stepping closer with every other word, Spock shook Jim’s shoulder.
“Jim,” he whispered. “Jim, you must wake up.”
“Whaa?” Jim mumbled. “Spock?”
“Jim, you must think of me,” Spock told him.
“I’m always thinking about you,” Jim objected. “Why is everyone shouting? Ugh, I feel dizzy.”
“Think of me!” Spock said sharply. Valdez was nearly chest to chest with McCoy now, who in turn now seemed so angry that he appeared to not even register the phaser aimed for his heart.
“Killing me isn’t going to make a goddamn difference- there’s tons of other scientists working on this thing!”
“They’ll never succeed without you!” Valdez retorted. “Without the famed Dr. McCoy, medical genius, they’ll never even make the testing stages!” He raised the phaser even higher, his fingers inching again towards the trigger.
“Don't do this!” said McCoy.
“I’m not doing this because I want to,” Valdez told him. “I’m doing this to protect my children, and this Federation from your perversion of science and thought!”
Desperately, Spock urged Jim into a standing position, letting him lean against him, and then latched his free fingers onto Jim’s meld points and flowed into his mind.
“Now, Jim!” he said. “Think of me! Draw my mind to yours!”
“But why?”
“Just do it!” Spock pleaded. “Trust me!”
After a moment, Jim obeyed.
Strong tendrils, like vines or tree roots fastened themselves to Spock’s mind, tugging. In turn, Spock delved into his own psyche and found that river that belonged to Jim, and next to it, oozing around it, that thing that did not belong. Spock clawed at it, trying as hard as he could to rip it from where it had stuck into the corners of his thoughts.
Outside, Valdez suddenly shuddered. “What?” he began, turning almost hesitantly to look at Spock. McCoy turned too, just in time to see Spock take one crucial step forward, Jim in tow, and reach out a hand to touch Valdez’s face.
Valdez’s eyes widened and he staggered and dropped to his knees, phaser tumbling out of his grasp. Spock and Kirk sank down with him, Spock not letting go of either of them, driving into Valdez’s mind with the force of a hurricane.
Spock snarled at that thing that had stuck itself in his mind all those weeks ago, cursing him with a connection he did not want, drawing his mind to two opposite directions, to two different people. “You do not belong here!” Spock said fiercely. He could feel Jim pulling at him, each jerk stronger than the last, but Valdez resisted, planting himself out of pure, instinctive survival.
“You’ve been in my mind?” Valdez accused. Anger and fear and hate poured from his connection to Spock. Spock doubled his efforts, focusing on the river that linked him to Jim, its current flowing with friendship, trust, affection, and determination.
“Correction,” Spock grunted, “You have been in mine.” He took a deep, centering breath, immersing his mental self in the water of Jim’s mind. “But now I cast thee out!”
And he set to the connection with all his strength and Jim’s; rending at it with claws borrowed from a mental construct of a le-matya, and sharp edges from broken familial bonds left over from Vulcan That Was. He ripped, and tore, and pulled and cut with everything he could muster until finally, with a great heave and a sting of pain that was immediately washed away by Jim’s mental presence, he slashed the mental connection with Valdez in two.
Spock tumbled backwards, his fingers numb, still clutching his Captain to him as on his knees, Valdez opened blank eyes and screamed his agony to the night sky.
##########################
The first to come were the firefighters. Unbeknownst to either Spock or McCoy, as soon as the smoke alarms went off in the house they were on their way. Unfortunately, the distance from the fire station to the house was enough so that they took their own sweet time getting there. Upon seeing the three Starfleet officers surrounded by copious amounts of weaponry and destruction, the woman in charge immediately called for police backup.
By the time Starfleet showed up, Spock, McCoy, and a mute, unresponsive Valdez were all in handcuffs. Jim and several others were being treated in a fleet of ambulances (much to McCoy’s ire: “How dare you put him in the same ambulance as the guys that tried to kill him! Just let me do it!”) and Spock was refusing to give a statement.
“What in the hell is going on here?” Admiral Pike said, beaming into the clearing with an entourage of security officers and all the patience of an angry bull. His gaze landed on Spock and McCoy, “Why are my officers cuffed?” He looked around, “Where’s Jim Kirk?”
“He is in the ambulance, Admiral,” Spock said from inside the cop ‘car. “He has a high grade fever, is malnourished and delirious, but he is alive.”
Pike closed his eyes briefly, “Thank god,” he muttered, momentarily leaning back against the backrest of his wheelchair in relief. His eyes snapped open in an instant and leveled on Spock. “And you!” he signaled to one of his security officers, who stepped up beside him as he wheeled himself up to the cop ‘car.
Inside, Spock had to work very hard not to shrink away from Pike’s obvious ire. In the seat next to him, McCoy looked down. “What the hell were you thinking?” Pike growled, “You were under explicit orders to stay-” suddenly, Pike noticed a very eager police officer listening intently, and holding a recording device. “. . . Stay the course,” Pike finished disgustedly. “And not let things get out of hand!”
McCoy looked up.
“Apologies, Admiral,” Spock said, attempting to look contrite and mostly just succeeding in looking like a blank wall that somehow radiated smugness.
But Pike wasn’t finished yet, “Does this look like it’s in hand to you?”
“We did recover the Captain,” Spock pointed out from the safety of the double barred windows of the police vehicle. McCoy elbowed him in the side as Pike’s ears turned red.
“You- You’ve been placed in custody! There’s a house on fire! Jesus Christ,” Pike took a deep breath, then rubbed his hands with his face. “Vulcans!” he said fervently. The police officer that had been attempting to get a statement out of Spock looked mildly sympathetic.
“Admiral,” said the head policewoman, “Am I to understand that these two have been operating under Starfleet orders?”
“I- yes,” said Pike vaguely. “It was very high up,” he added lamely, seeing her doubtful look. “You can release them now.”
“I see.” She fixed Pike with a glare. “And that one?” she indicated Valdez, who was sitting quietly in another ambulance, hands cuffed behind his back.
Pike peered at him. “Dr. Valdez?” he said in confusion. The doctor did not reply, continuing to stare blankly ahead.
McCoy could not contain himself. “That’s the bastard that kidnapped Jim and Spock!” he said angrily.
“He appears to be in shock,” said the policewoman severely. “The EMT’s say it’s likely due to severe telepathic trauma.” Her tone of voice left no doubt as to whom she thought was responsible for the trauma. She moved closer to Pike. “They’ve broken the law, Admiral. Even if it was under orders.”
Resigned, Pike squared his shoulders. “Starfleet will take full responsibility for their actions,” he said quietly. “Furthermore, Dr. Valdez will also be placed into Starfleet custody. There will be an internal investigation, as well as an investigation in conjunction with the local law enforcement to find out what happened here.”
“This is my jurisdiction,” the policewoman snapped.
“I know,” Pike said tiredly, running his hand through his hair. “Now, please release them so I can take them back to Starfleet Headquarters and court martial them.”
As the police officers moved to release Spock and McCoy into the custody of Pike’s security force, Pike wheeled over to see to the status of Starfleet’s finest captain. He looked down at the unconscious Jim, squeezing his hand for a moment, “You’re damn lucky they found you,” he murmured, brushing a hand through limp blond hair, grown longer than regulation through neglect. He noted the thinness of his frame, and the unshaven face flushed with fever, and shook his head.
After a moment or two, he affixed a transponder to Jim’s shirt and spoke into his communicator. “This is Admiral Pike, emergency code alpha, alpha, gamma, five, three, six, two. Requesting immediate transport to Starfleet Headquarters via Space Station Three.”
“Beam up request understood,” came the reply. “How many?”
“Twelve to beam up, all members of the party in possession of transponders signaling code Ecta-five.”
“Understood. Please stand by. Locking on to all signals beaming code Ecta-five.”
And the transporter gripped them and they were gone.
##################################
McCoy had been grimly prepared to spend the night - possibly the next few, in fact -in the county jail with a cellmate named Bubba, so he was pleasantly surprised to be shown to standard Starfleet barracks and placed under house arrest instead.
Spock was not so docile.
“I wish to see the Captain,” Spock requested. The security officers watching the door exchanged glances.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” one of them said, something like apprehension mixed with pity in his brown eyes. “You’re confined to quarters until your trial.”
“Which is when, exactly?” McCoy asked from his seat on the bland sofa.
The second officer shrugged, “Sometime next week, most likely,” she said.
Spock’s eyes narrowed, “I must see the Captain immediately.”
“Spock, he’s unconscious,” McCoy said, “Maybe when-”
“I do not care!” Spock barked. The two security officers flinched, most likely having never been exposed to a Vulcan’s anger before. Spock made a threatening move forward, and McCoy decided that things had gone far enough.
“Spock,” he said sharply. Spock stilled, hands still by his sides, but curled into fists. “Spock,” McCoy repeated more quietly. He got off the sofa and stepped up to him. Hesitantly, he touched Spock’s shoulder and turned him around to face him. “Look at me,” he said. Spock shook his head, eyes averted. McCoy shook him a little, “Look at me,” he said, voice louder. Reluctantly, Spock looked up.
“I must see him,” he said hoarsely.
“I know,” McCoy said, “I know.” He looked past Spock over to the security guards still standing by the doorway, nervously fingering the phasers on their belts. “You can go now,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “Give us some privacy.”
They left, closing the door behind them.
When they had gone, Spock’s shoulders slumped more visibly. McCoy led him over to the sofa and sat him down.
“Stay here,” he said. “They’ve left us with a sink and a water heater, so I’ll make up some tea.”
Spock nodded, staring at his hands. When the water was hot, McCoy filled two mugs with some jasmine tea and brought it over. Spock fingered the mug listlessly, then set it down to rest on the table next to the sofa.
They sat in silence for a moment, then McCoy spoke. “Jim’s going to be all right,” he said. “Even if I’m not there, they’ll make sure he gets the best care.” When Spock did not reply, he cleared his throat. “I- but I’m worried about his mental state. Being imprisoned, alone, neglected- he’s going to need us. But we can’t- you’re not in the best place right now to help him, you see? We-” he stopped as he saw Spock shaking his head slowly, as if denying McCoy’s words.
“It doesn’t matter,” Spock said, voice quiet, “Even if I were dying and my body broken, I would still be beside him. I-” he shuddered. “My control is poor. My apologies, Doctor.“
McCoy passed a hand over his face, and leaned forward intently. “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. You’ve been through hell, Spock. And before you run off and shoulder all of Jim’s burdens for him, you’ve got to take care of yourself. You can’t help him if you’re a wreck.”
Spock’s breath hitched. “You speak . . . logically,” he managed, “It is most unusual.”
“Thanks,” McCoy said dryly, leaning back again.
“I just . . . I want to see him,” Spock said. His voice was small and lonely, like a lost child’s. “Logically, I know he is being cared for. Logically, I know Valdez is under the highest security, and what’s more, his mind is broken. Logically . . .” he trailed off. “But there is no logic when it comes to the Captain,” he said. “I must see him. Can you understand that?”
McCoy heaved a breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I can.” He stood up and headed for the door. Cracking it open, he stuck his head through the opening and spied the two security guards down the hall. “Hey,” he called to them. They straightened up immediately. “Get Admiral Pike down here,” he said.
They looked at him warily. “We don’t have the authorization to-”
“Bullshit,” McCoy said. “I’m Chief Medical Officer of the Fleet’s flagship. You have authorization if I say you have authorization, now go comm. the man!”
“But, you’re scheduled to be court martialed,” one of them ventured. McCoy scowled.
“Have I been stripped of my rank yet? No? Then move your ass!”
They scattered to do his bidding.
“Lord,” McCoy grumbled, retreating back into the room and shutting the door, “That whole department needs a work over.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Now drink your goddamn tea,” he said to Spock.
Pike showed up thirty minutes later.
“Is there any way to stop you from terrorizing the security?” he asked sardonically as he wheeled his way into the room. “I know what you want,” he said, as McCoy opened his mouth, “and you can’t have it. You’re damn lucky to be here instead of in a civilian prison. I’m not going to give you leave to wander around a hospital!”
“No disrespect meant, Admiral,” McCoy said, “But you damn well should.” His gaze flickered over to Spock, and Pike followed it. He frowned.
“What’s wrong with Spock?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” McCoy’s voice rose an octave. “What’s wrong is that he’s been through extreme trauma, that’s what’s wrong! He had amnesia until some Vulcan healer dug out his memories for him! He’s been kidnapped and mentally manipulated! He thought Jim was dead and now,” his voice dropped to a fierce whisper, “despite all the damn, stupid logic he’s trying to hold on to, he still believes in his core that Jim is dying, that’s he’s lost to him. And speaking of Jim,” McCoy’s eyes blazed, “He might need medical care and rest but he also needs us, damn it. More than that, he needs Spock. He thought Spock was dead, and he’s not going to get much better until he’s convinced of the opposite. You know how those two are with each other. That’s what’s wrong, damn it!”
Pike blinked at him. “I see,” he said neutrally. He turned to look at Spock again. “But what I meant was, why is he lying on the couch like that?”
“Oh,” McCoy’s posture drooped a little. “I drugged him. He’ll be out cold for at least twelve hours.”
“With what?” Pike asked curiously.
McCoy shrugged, “Diphenhydramine in his tea,” he said. “Spock’s hybrid physiology makes him especially susceptible to it.”
“Where did you get that?” Pike queried.
“It was in the cupboard. It’s just a common sleep aid, really. They must’ve forgotten to clean out the place,” McCoy said.
“Huh,” Pike looked pensive for a moment, then he spoke. “I’ll be straight with you, McCoy,” he said, “Technically, you and Spock should both be in prison for breaking and entering, and assault at the very least. It doesn’t matter that they were the ones holding Jim. The law’s the law. But,” he held up his hand. “I’ve already ‘let it slip,’ so to speak, that you were under orders-”
“But we weren’t,” interrupted McCoy obliviously.
“I know that!” Pike snapped. “But for god’s sake don’t let anyone else know it. That’s what’s keeping you out of the civilian court right now, damn it. It’ll be an internal Starfleet investigation, which means we’ll be able to keep it under wraps and hopefully under control. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” said McCoy. He hesitated, then spoke. “What, exactly, are our chances for coming out clean?”
Pike shrugged, and McCoy could see the lines of exhaustion on his haggard face. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t even know what’s fully happened, so you two had better get your story together and come up with some good witnesses or something before the week’s up.”
McCoy nodded. “And Jim?”
Pike raised an eyebrow. “Jim’s fine,” he said. “He’s not guilty of anything except for getting abducted all the damn time.”
McCoy shook his head, “No,” he said. “I know. What I meant was, are you going to let us see him?”
Pike gave him a long, hard look. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said finally, opening the door. “But no promises.”
They came for them in the morning.
“Commander Spock? Dr. McCoy?” a junior grade lieutenant stood outside their doorway at oh eight hundred on the dot. His black hair was precisely regulation, and his expression buzzed with something Jim occasionally referred to as ‘asshole level enthusiasm.’ He was so bright and clean cut it made McCoy kind of want to shove him in the nearest mud puddle just on principal. He was also extremely tall.
“That’s right,” McCoy said, scratching two days worth of beard growth and looking as slovenly as possible, possibly to make up for the extreme cleanliness of the other. “What do you want?”
The junior grade lieutenant saluted. Crisply. “I am to escort you and Commander Spock to the Starfleet Hospital, sir!” he said.
“Oh?” McCoy said, brightening up considerably. He looked down at Spock, who was still asleep on the couch. “Ugh, hold on a minute, kid,” he said. “Commander Spock’s not ready yet.” He glanced around. “Could you get me a glass of water for him?”
“Certainly, sir,” said the kid. He filled a glass from the sink. “Is Commander Spock unwell?”
“Nah,” McCoy said. “Just sleeping.” He accepted the glass. “Thanks, this’ll wake him up.” And he unceremoniously dumped it on Spock’s head.
Spock came to coughing and sputtering and glaring murderous Vulcan glares while McCoy laughed and the security officer stood by awkwardly, an expression of Why do I always have to escort the crazy written all over his face.
“Dr. McCoy,” Spock said icily, swinging his legs over the couch and wiping water from his eyes. “I fail to see the logic in your actions. What, exactly, qualified that particularly distasteful method as the best one for awakening me?”
McCoy slapped his knee in mirth, “Took a lot of Diphenhydramine last night,” he chortled, “Had to shock you to wake you.”
Spock glowered, ”I do not recall imbibing any sleep aids last night,” he said.
McCoy shrugged, “Must be slipping,” he said.
Spock looked at him suspiciously.
“Come on,” McCoy said, “we’re going to go see Jim.”
Any trace of irritation vanished from Spock’s expression and he stood quickly.
“You might want to change your shirt,” McCoy pointed out.
“It is of no matter,” Spock said. “It will dry. Jim is waiting.”
They headed for the door.
As it turned out however, Jim was not waiting. Well, not technically.
“Captain Kirk is asleep,” said the orderly at the desk. “You can come back later.”
“You’re kidding,” said McCoy.
“I can assure you Dr. McCoy, I’m completely serious.”
“Listen Ma’am, as his personal physician I have a right to-”
“You are not currently his physician, you are not currently on active duty, Dr. McCoy. So you can leave Captain Kirk to get his rest and come back later.”
“I did not spend days driving around in a hovercar with a crazy Vulcan to find Jim just so I could get turned back at the hospital doors!” said McCoy. “Come on, Spock. We don’t have to- Spock? Spock?” He looked at the orderly and then at Mr. tall, dark, and clean cut, who was busy picking lint off his uniform. “Where did he go? Spock?”
The minute Spock heard that there were to be no visitors, he walked away. Neither McCoy, embroiled in a battle to reassert his hospital dominance, nor the orderly, nor their security guard, noticed. Spock headed up the stairs and down one of the passages at random, certain in the knowledge that no matter what, he would see Jim.
Like a bloodhound following an almost invisible trail, he could sense Jim’s presence growing closer with each step. Spock turned to the right, striding straight past a surprised nurse at his station, and into a new corridor. Jim was here. Spock quickened his pace, and then suddenly stopped in front of a room labeled only with a number. He entered.
The woman at the front desk had been correct. Jim was sleeping, but to Spock that did not matter. He quietly dragged one of the chairs over to the bedside and sunk into it, allowing himself this time, this one time, to look at his Captain fully, in peace, alone, and reassure himself of Jim’s continued likelihood of survival.
Jim’s fever had been brought down to reasonable levels, and the superficial cuts and bruises and scrapes had mostly healed. Although his torso was covered with a blanket, Spock knew there were likely bandaged ribs that, having healed crookedly whilst in captivity, had been rebroken and set again. He was attached to several monitoring systems and had an IV drip in his arm. He breathed slowly but steadily, and the beeping of the heart monitor beat an in time rhythm to each breath.
Spock breathed too, closing his eyes briefly and attempting to reach at least the first level of meditation. But something, something was still off. He saw Jim, he heard his breathing, he could even smell the slight musk of him under the scent of sterilized hospital and generic brand soap , but still . . . and then he knew. Vulcans did not touch as much as humans. That did not mean that they did not, on occasion, need it. Slowly, daringly, Spock took Jim’s hand in his.
Jim shifted, and Spock was swamped with vague physical feelings of warm, comfort, but also an undertone of loneliness.
Spock gripped Jim’s hand tightly. “You are not alone,” he said. “I will not allow it.”
Tentatively, he pushed his own thoughts at Jim, allowing him to feel his . . . regard for him, and his relief at his safe return. His determination to protect him at all costs covered Jim like a shield made from a warm blanket, with iron hard will woven into the fabric, and Jim stirred.
Spock stiffened, and moved to tug his hand away, but now Jim was returning his grip with a fierce grasp of his own. Surprised at the strength in Jim’s hand, Spock ceased his efforts to free himself.
“Spock?” Jim murmured, not opening his eyes. “Spock?”
“I am here, Captain,” Spock said, moving a bit closer to the bed.
“I knew it was you,” Jim said drowsily. “I always know-” and then something jolted him into further wakefulness and he gasped, trying to sit up, eyes flying open. Spock pushed him back down into the pillows with his free hand firmly, the other one being clenched almost painfully tight by Jim.
“Captain, do not try and sit up,” Spock started, but Jim shook his head, eyes wide and scared.
“Where am I?”
“You are at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco,” Spock said tentatively. “You were brought here-”
“But you’re Spock, right? You’re really, really Spock? I’m not- I’m not imagining you, right?”
“I- yes, I am really Spock,” Spock said somewhat dumbly. “Captain, you’ve been running a high fever and you must continue to rest.”
But Jim was shaking his head vigorously. “Shut up,” he interrupted, “Shut up, shut up. Don’t talk, don’t say a damn thing, just-” his breath stuttered. “God, you- always you, you’re always a fucking stupid-” and then Spock was being pulled down onto the bed by an alarmingly strong invalid and crushed close. Hesitantly, Spock allowed his arms to go around Jim as far as they would go, trying to be careful not to squash him with his greater weight.
Spock swallowed, “Captain?”
“Don’t call me that,” Jim said, voice muffled into Spock’s shoulder. “Not right now. Just-”
“Jim,” Spock said.
Jim swallowed, “Yeah, like that.”
“Jim,” Spock said again. He could feel his shirt getting slightly damp where Jim’s face was hiding. “Jim, are you- are you crying?”
“No,” Jim said emphatically, “Fuck it, I’m not. Just,” he struggled to both sit up and to keep holding on to Spock at the same time. Reluctantly, Spock allowed this. He also did not protest when Jim moved one hand to scrub it across his face and eyes. “Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse, “Sorry. I just, I thought.” He shrugged, miserable. “I couldn’t feel you anymore, and I thought you were dead,” his voice broke.
Spock may have gripped him a little tighter. “Could you always feel me, before?” he made himself ask.
“I don’t know,” Jim admitted. “Maybe, sometimes, yeah. Just, when you were gone, it was like an emptiness, here,” he indicated his head. “And I thought that was it. That you were dead. But then,” and his voice rose, “but then you were there again, sometimes, when I was asleep, and I thought I might finally be going crazy, but I just . . .” he trailed off. “Nothing was right,” he said. “I missed you.”
“I-” Spock’s voice caught in his throat. “I too, experienced, emotional difficulty,” he managed. “I-”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, just say you missed me too,” Jim said with a spark of his old self, still wiping his face with the back of his hands.
Spock nodded shakily, “I missed you as well,” he said quietly. “More than was logical for a first officer to miss his commanding officer. More,” his voice dropped even lower, so that Jim could scarcely hear it. “More than was logical even, for a friend to miss a friend. Or even for a brother to miss a brother . . .”
Jim’s breath hitched, and he rubbed his face in Spock’s shoulder, “Good,” he said fiercely, “I’m glad.”
They stayed like that for several moments, each taking comfort in the living presence of the other. Eventually, Spock’s posture relaxed enough so that Jim was able to pull him fully against him, and then wriggle back down to a sleeping position. Spock had little choice but to lie down with him.
“We’re going to stay like this,” Jim informed him. “Until the doctor says we can’t. And I am going to sleep. And then, once I get out of here, we’re going to have a long talk about what the hell happened, okay?”
“I-” Spock started, intending to explain that his presence there was only due to what could loosely be defined as a prison break.
“That wasn’t a request,” Jim said. And then he closed his eyes, and Spock could do nothing but remain his mostly willing captive.
By the time McCoy, the junior grade lieutenant, and about three orderlies found them, they were greeted with the sight of a sleeping Jim Kirk with a lightly meditating Spock stretched out on the bed beside him, their hands still clasped together.
McCoy let out a long suffering sigh, “I told you we should’ve just looked here in the first place,” he said. He snagged the uniform sleeve of a frowning orderly who had started to walk toward the pair. “Don’t,” he said.
“It’s quite outside regulation,” she protested.
McCoy shrugged, “Yeah, but who cares? They’ve both been through a lot. Let them sleep.”
After a last frowning look at Kirk and Spock, she relented. McCoy turned to their guard. “I’m going to have a look at Jim myself,” he said. “No use coming here just to do nothing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and go get me a cup of coffee?”
“Sir,” said the junior grade lieutenant, “I am under strict orders not to leave you or Commander Spock alone.”
McCoy rolled his eyes and jerked his head toward the room. “Kid, Jim Kirk’s in that room and he’s not going anywhere. Do you really think I’d be anywhere else?” McCoy’s blue eyes locked with brown, and after a moment or two of a stare down, the man finally left, tossing glances over his shoulder as if to make sure McCoy was not going to vanish the moment he let him out of his sight.
McCoy turned to the rest of him. “Now,” he said. “Anyone else have any objections they’d like to get out in the open?”
As he had suspected it would be, the consensus was a resounding no, and the orderlies dispersed. Allowing himself a flicker of satisfaction at these results, McCoy let loose the smallest of smiles as he finally, finally walked in through Jim Kirk’s hospital door.
Previous Next
Chapter 7
McCoy stared at him, aghast. “What- we’re colleagues! What the hell did I ever do to you?”
Valdez cocked his head. “It’s all so much to explain in so little time,” he said thoughtfully. “Why don’t you ask the Commander over there? I’ve told him what I thought of you once or twice, and I know he has a way with words.”
“. . . Disgusting, unnatural, abomination . . .”
Spock swallowed, the phrases floating back to him, their venomous hatred made even more potent by the burning eyes of the man in front of them.
McCoy slowly turned his head to stare at Spock. “Spock?” he asked quietly.
“Of course,” Valdez said. “He might not remember everything. I did do a number on his brain. I was actually worried there for a moment that I had gone too far, and that there was no way he’d even remember what I’d told him to do.” He shook his head. “I even worried that I’d be left with a useless hostage, though,” he leveled his gaze to Jim, who had fallen unconscious in Spock’s arms once more, “I don’t think it would’ve been a problem after a week or so. Captain Kirk hasn’t been in the best of health lately.”
“Damn you!” growled McCoy, his fists clenching helplessly. “What the fuck do you want with me? What the fuck did you want with them?”
Valdez stepped closer. “Although,” he began, pursing his lips as if in deep thought, “I’ve heard that even if Captain Kirk was dead, you’d be able to bring him back. Wouldn’t you, McCoy?”
“You’re crazy,” said McCoy, moving closer to Spock and Kirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh?” Valdez gave out a thin smile that was little more than a grimace. “So maybe I’ve been mistaken - what have you been doing with all that research money that you gave up your vacation to get?”
McCoy snarled, “Research, asshole! Medical research!”
Apparently that was too much for Valdez. “Don’t lie to me!” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. “I know what you’re researching! I know why Starfleet won’t fund it!” He brandished the phaser like a saber.
“The hell- I’ll bet you don’t even know a damned thing, you crazy motherfucker!”
Valdez shook with unrestrained rage. He pointed an accusing finger at McCoy. “You swore an oath to protect- and now what are you doing?”
McCoy stared furiously at him, but did not answer.
Valdez turned the phaser towards Spock, and moved his finger on the trigger. “What are you doing, McCoy?” he demanded. “Say it or I’ll shoot them right here!”
“All right, all right!” McCoy held up his hands. “Cloning! Just cloning, damn you! People’ve been doing it for hundreds of years!”
Valdez sneered, and aimed the phaser back at him. “Don’t sugarcoat it, McCoy! I read the proposal! You want to take the cells of the unconsenting dead and buried, and clone them to see if you can bring them back to life! It’s unnatural! It’s against every moral and ethical standpoint, every law of nature!”
McCoy’s eyes grew larger with each accusation. “That’s not what it’s about!” he protested angrily. “I’m not making Frankenstein’s monster, I’m trying to save lives!”
“The dead are meant to stay dead!” Valdez bellowed. “You can’t wave your medical license and bring them back to life! What’ll be next? What’ll be next, McCoy? You’re sick! You’re wrong!”
“At least I’m not an insane fucking criminal!”
“Don’t call me crazy! I’m not the crazy one here- I’m not the one trying to play God!”
As Veldez continued to spew insults at McCoy, stepping closer with every other word, Spock shook Jim’s shoulder.
“Jim,” he whispered. “Jim, you must wake up.”
“Whaa?” Jim mumbled. “Spock?”
“Jim, you must think of me,” Spock told him.
“I’m always thinking about you,” Jim objected. “Why is everyone shouting? Ugh, I feel dizzy.”
“Think of me!” Spock said sharply. Valdez was nearly chest to chest with McCoy now, who in turn now seemed so angry that he appeared to not even register the phaser aimed for his heart.
“Killing me isn’t going to make a goddamn difference- there’s tons of other scientists working on this thing!”
“They’ll never succeed without you!” Valdez retorted. “Without the famed Dr. McCoy, medical genius, they’ll never even make the testing stages!” He raised the phaser even higher, his fingers inching again towards the trigger.
“Don't do this!” said McCoy.
“I’m not doing this because I want to,” Valdez told him. “I’m doing this to protect my children, and this Federation from your perversion of science and thought!”
Desperately, Spock urged Jim into a standing position, letting him lean against him, and then latched his free fingers onto Jim’s meld points and flowed into his mind.
“Now, Jim!” he said. “Think of me! Draw my mind to yours!”
“But why?”
“Just do it!” Spock pleaded. “Trust me!”
After a moment, Jim obeyed.
Strong tendrils, like vines or tree roots fastened themselves to Spock’s mind, tugging. In turn, Spock delved into his own psyche and found that river that belonged to Jim, and next to it, oozing around it, that thing that did not belong. Spock clawed at it, trying as hard as he could to rip it from where it had stuck into the corners of his thoughts.
Outside, Valdez suddenly shuddered. “What?” he began, turning almost hesitantly to look at Spock. McCoy turned too, just in time to see Spock take one crucial step forward, Jim in tow, and reach out a hand to touch Valdez’s face.
Valdez’s eyes widened and he staggered and dropped to his knees, phaser tumbling out of his grasp. Spock and Kirk sank down with him, Spock not letting go of either of them, driving into Valdez’s mind with the force of a hurricane.
Spock snarled at that thing that had stuck itself in his mind all those weeks ago, cursing him with a connection he did not want, drawing his mind to two opposite directions, to two different people. “You do not belong here!” Spock said fiercely. He could feel Jim pulling at him, each jerk stronger than the last, but Valdez resisted, planting himself out of pure, instinctive survival.
“You’ve been in my mind?” Valdez accused. Anger and fear and hate poured from his connection to Spock. Spock doubled his efforts, focusing on the river that linked him to Jim, its current flowing with friendship, trust, affection, and determination.
“Correction,” Spock grunted, “You have been in mine.” He took a deep, centering breath, immersing his mental self in the water of Jim’s mind. “But now I cast thee out!”
And he set to the connection with all his strength and Jim’s; rending at it with claws borrowed from a mental construct of a le-matya, and sharp edges from broken familial bonds left over from Vulcan That Was. He ripped, and tore, and pulled and cut with everything he could muster until finally, with a great heave and a sting of pain that was immediately washed away by Jim’s mental presence, he slashed the mental connection with Valdez in two.
Spock tumbled backwards, his fingers numb, still clutching his Captain to him as on his knees, Valdez opened blank eyes and screamed his agony to the night sky.
##########################
The first to come were the firefighters. Unbeknownst to either Spock or McCoy, as soon as the smoke alarms went off in the house they were on their way. Unfortunately, the distance from the fire station to the house was enough so that they took their own sweet time getting there. Upon seeing the three Starfleet officers surrounded by copious amounts of weaponry and destruction, the woman in charge immediately called for police backup.
By the time Starfleet showed up, Spock, McCoy, and a mute, unresponsive Valdez were all in handcuffs. Jim and several others were being treated in a fleet of ambulances (much to McCoy’s ire: “How dare you put him in the same ambulance as the guys that tried to kill him! Just let me do it!”) and Spock was refusing to give a statement.
“What in the hell is going on here?” Admiral Pike said, beaming into the clearing with an entourage of security officers and all the patience of an angry bull. His gaze landed on Spock and McCoy, “Why are my officers cuffed?” He looked around, “Where’s Jim Kirk?”
“He is in the ambulance, Admiral,” Spock said from inside the cop ‘car. “He has a high grade fever, is malnourished and delirious, but he is alive.”
Pike closed his eyes briefly, “Thank god,” he muttered, momentarily leaning back against the backrest of his wheelchair in relief. His eyes snapped open in an instant and leveled on Spock. “And you!” he signaled to one of his security officers, who stepped up beside him as he wheeled himself up to the cop ‘car.
Inside, Spock had to work very hard not to shrink away from Pike’s obvious ire. In the seat next to him, McCoy looked down. “What the hell were you thinking?” Pike growled, “You were under explicit orders to stay-” suddenly, Pike noticed a very eager police officer listening intently, and holding a recording device. “. . . Stay the course,” Pike finished disgustedly. “And not let things get out of hand!”
McCoy looked up.
“Apologies, Admiral,” Spock said, attempting to look contrite and mostly just succeeding in looking like a blank wall that somehow radiated smugness.
But Pike wasn’t finished yet, “Does this look like it’s in hand to you?”
“We did recover the Captain,” Spock pointed out from the safety of the double barred windows of the police vehicle. McCoy elbowed him in the side as Pike’s ears turned red.
“You- You’ve been placed in custody! There’s a house on fire! Jesus Christ,” Pike took a deep breath, then rubbed his hands with his face. “Vulcans!” he said fervently. The police officer that had been attempting to get a statement out of Spock looked mildly sympathetic.
“Admiral,” said the head policewoman, “Am I to understand that these two have been operating under Starfleet orders?”
“I- yes,” said Pike vaguely. “It was very high up,” he added lamely, seeing her doubtful look. “You can release them now.”
“I see.” She fixed Pike with a glare. “And that one?” she indicated Valdez, who was sitting quietly in another ambulance, hands cuffed behind his back.
Pike peered at him. “Dr. Valdez?” he said in confusion. The doctor did not reply, continuing to stare blankly ahead.
McCoy could not contain himself. “That’s the bastard that kidnapped Jim and Spock!” he said angrily.
“He appears to be in shock,” said the policewoman severely. “The EMT’s say it’s likely due to severe telepathic trauma.” Her tone of voice left no doubt as to whom she thought was responsible for the trauma. She moved closer to Pike. “They’ve broken the law, Admiral. Even if it was under orders.”
Resigned, Pike squared his shoulders. “Starfleet will take full responsibility for their actions,” he said quietly. “Furthermore, Dr. Valdez will also be placed into Starfleet custody. There will be an internal investigation, as well as an investigation in conjunction with the local law enforcement to find out what happened here.”
“This is my jurisdiction,” the policewoman snapped.
“I know,” Pike said tiredly, running his hand through his hair. “Now, please release them so I can take them back to Starfleet Headquarters and court martial them.”
As the police officers moved to release Spock and McCoy into the custody of Pike’s security force, Pike wheeled over to see to the status of Starfleet’s finest captain. He looked down at the unconscious Jim, squeezing his hand for a moment, “You’re damn lucky they found you,” he murmured, brushing a hand through limp blond hair, grown longer than regulation through neglect. He noted the thinness of his frame, and the unshaven face flushed with fever, and shook his head.
After a moment or two, he affixed a transponder to Jim’s shirt and spoke into his communicator. “This is Admiral Pike, emergency code alpha, alpha, gamma, five, three, six, two. Requesting immediate transport to Starfleet Headquarters via Space Station Three.”
“Beam up request understood,” came the reply. “How many?”
“Twelve to beam up, all members of the party in possession of transponders signaling code Ecta-five.”
“Understood. Please stand by. Locking on to all signals beaming code Ecta-five.”
And the transporter gripped them and they were gone.
##################################
McCoy had been grimly prepared to spend the night - possibly the next few, in fact -in the county jail with a cellmate named Bubba, so he was pleasantly surprised to be shown to standard Starfleet barracks and placed under house arrest instead.
Spock was not so docile.
“I wish to see the Captain,” Spock requested. The security officers watching the door exchanged glances.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” one of them said, something like apprehension mixed with pity in his brown eyes. “You’re confined to quarters until your trial.”
“Which is when, exactly?” McCoy asked from his seat on the bland sofa.
The second officer shrugged, “Sometime next week, most likely,” she said.
Spock’s eyes narrowed, “I must see the Captain immediately.”
“Spock, he’s unconscious,” McCoy said, “Maybe when-”
“I do not care!” Spock barked. The two security officers flinched, most likely having never been exposed to a Vulcan’s anger before. Spock made a threatening move forward, and McCoy decided that things had gone far enough.
“Spock,” he said sharply. Spock stilled, hands still by his sides, but curled into fists. “Spock,” McCoy repeated more quietly. He got off the sofa and stepped up to him. Hesitantly, he touched Spock’s shoulder and turned him around to face him. “Look at me,” he said. Spock shook his head, eyes averted. McCoy shook him a little, “Look at me,” he said, voice louder. Reluctantly, Spock looked up.
“I must see him,” he said hoarsely.
“I know,” McCoy said, “I know.” He looked past Spock over to the security guards still standing by the doorway, nervously fingering the phasers on their belts. “You can go now,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “Give us some privacy.”
They left, closing the door behind them.
When they had gone, Spock’s shoulders slumped more visibly. McCoy led him over to the sofa and sat him down.
“Stay here,” he said. “They’ve left us with a sink and a water heater, so I’ll make up some tea.”
Spock nodded, staring at his hands. When the water was hot, McCoy filled two mugs with some jasmine tea and brought it over. Spock fingered the mug listlessly, then set it down to rest on the table next to the sofa.
They sat in silence for a moment, then McCoy spoke. “Jim’s going to be all right,” he said. “Even if I’m not there, they’ll make sure he gets the best care.” When Spock did not reply, he cleared his throat. “I- but I’m worried about his mental state. Being imprisoned, alone, neglected- he’s going to need us. But we can’t- you’re not in the best place right now to help him, you see? We-” he stopped as he saw Spock shaking his head slowly, as if denying McCoy’s words.
“It doesn’t matter,” Spock said, voice quiet, “Even if I were dying and my body broken, I would still be beside him. I-” he shuddered. “My control is poor. My apologies, Doctor.“
McCoy passed a hand over his face, and leaned forward intently. “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. You’ve been through hell, Spock. And before you run off and shoulder all of Jim’s burdens for him, you’ve got to take care of yourself. You can’t help him if you’re a wreck.”
Spock’s breath hitched. “You speak . . . logically,” he managed, “It is most unusual.”
“Thanks,” McCoy said dryly, leaning back again.
“I just . . . I want to see him,” Spock said. His voice was small and lonely, like a lost child’s. “Logically, I know he is being cared for. Logically, I know Valdez is under the highest security, and what’s more, his mind is broken. Logically . . .” he trailed off. “But there is no logic when it comes to the Captain,” he said. “I must see him. Can you understand that?”
McCoy heaved a breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I can.” He stood up and headed for the door. Cracking it open, he stuck his head through the opening and spied the two security guards down the hall. “Hey,” he called to them. They straightened up immediately. “Get Admiral Pike down here,” he said.
They looked at him warily. “We don’t have the authorization to-”
“Bullshit,” McCoy said. “I’m Chief Medical Officer of the Fleet’s flagship. You have authorization if I say you have authorization, now go comm. the man!”
“But, you’re scheduled to be court martialed,” one of them ventured. McCoy scowled.
“Have I been stripped of my rank yet? No? Then move your ass!”
They scattered to do his bidding.
“Lord,” McCoy grumbled, retreating back into the room and shutting the door, “That whole department needs a work over.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Now drink your goddamn tea,” he said to Spock.
Pike showed up thirty minutes later.
“Is there any way to stop you from terrorizing the security?” he asked sardonically as he wheeled his way into the room. “I know what you want,” he said, as McCoy opened his mouth, “and you can’t have it. You’re damn lucky to be here instead of in a civilian prison. I’m not going to give you leave to wander around a hospital!”
“No disrespect meant, Admiral,” McCoy said, “But you damn well should.” His gaze flickered over to Spock, and Pike followed it. He frowned.
“What’s wrong with Spock?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” McCoy’s voice rose an octave. “What’s wrong is that he’s been through extreme trauma, that’s what’s wrong! He had amnesia until some Vulcan healer dug out his memories for him! He’s been kidnapped and mentally manipulated! He thought Jim was dead and now,” his voice dropped to a fierce whisper, “despite all the damn, stupid logic he’s trying to hold on to, he still believes in his core that Jim is dying, that’s he’s lost to him. And speaking of Jim,” McCoy’s eyes blazed, “He might need medical care and rest but he also needs us, damn it. More than that, he needs Spock. He thought Spock was dead, and he’s not going to get much better until he’s convinced of the opposite. You know how those two are with each other. That’s what’s wrong, damn it!”
Pike blinked at him. “I see,” he said neutrally. He turned to look at Spock again. “But what I meant was, why is he lying on the couch like that?”
“Oh,” McCoy’s posture drooped a little. “I drugged him. He’ll be out cold for at least twelve hours.”
“With what?” Pike asked curiously.
McCoy shrugged, “Diphenhydramine in his tea,” he said. “Spock’s hybrid physiology makes him especially susceptible to it.”
“Where did you get that?” Pike queried.
“It was in the cupboard. It’s just a common sleep aid, really. They must’ve forgotten to clean out the place,” McCoy said.
“Huh,” Pike looked pensive for a moment, then he spoke. “I’ll be straight with you, McCoy,” he said, “Technically, you and Spock should both be in prison for breaking and entering, and assault at the very least. It doesn’t matter that they were the ones holding Jim. The law’s the law. But,” he held up his hand. “I’ve already ‘let it slip,’ so to speak, that you were under orders-”
“But we weren’t,” interrupted McCoy obliviously.
“I know that!” Pike snapped. “But for god’s sake don’t let anyone else know it. That’s what’s keeping you out of the civilian court right now, damn it. It’ll be an internal Starfleet investigation, which means we’ll be able to keep it under wraps and hopefully under control. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” said McCoy. He hesitated, then spoke. “What, exactly, are our chances for coming out clean?”
Pike shrugged, and McCoy could see the lines of exhaustion on his haggard face. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t even know what’s fully happened, so you two had better get your story together and come up with some good witnesses or something before the week’s up.”
McCoy nodded. “And Jim?”
Pike raised an eyebrow. “Jim’s fine,” he said. “He’s not guilty of anything except for getting abducted all the damn time.”
McCoy shook his head, “No,” he said. “I know. What I meant was, are you going to let us see him?”
Pike gave him a long, hard look. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said finally, opening the door. “But no promises.”
They came for them in the morning.
“Commander Spock? Dr. McCoy?” a junior grade lieutenant stood outside their doorway at oh eight hundred on the dot. His black hair was precisely regulation, and his expression buzzed with something Jim occasionally referred to as ‘asshole level enthusiasm.’ He was so bright and clean cut it made McCoy kind of want to shove him in the nearest mud puddle just on principal. He was also extremely tall.
“That’s right,” McCoy said, scratching two days worth of beard growth and looking as slovenly as possible, possibly to make up for the extreme cleanliness of the other. “What do you want?”
The junior grade lieutenant saluted. Crisply. “I am to escort you and Commander Spock to the Starfleet Hospital, sir!” he said.
“Oh?” McCoy said, brightening up considerably. He looked down at Spock, who was still asleep on the couch. “Ugh, hold on a minute, kid,” he said. “Commander Spock’s not ready yet.” He glanced around. “Could you get me a glass of water for him?”
“Certainly, sir,” said the kid. He filled a glass from the sink. “Is Commander Spock unwell?”
“Nah,” McCoy said. “Just sleeping.” He accepted the glass. “Thanks, this’ll wake him up.” And he unceremoniously dumped it on Spock’s head.
Spock came to coughing and sputtering and glaring murderous Vulcan glares while McCoy laughed and the security officer stood by awkwardly, an expression of Why do I always have to escort the crazy written all over his face.
“Dr. McCoy,” Spock said icily, swinging his legs over the couch and wiping water from his eyes. “I fail to see the logic in your actions. What, exactly, qualified that particularly distasteful method as the best one for awakening me?”
McCoy slapped his knee in mirth, “Took a lot of Diphenhydramine last night,” he chortled, “Had to shock you to wake you.”
Spock glowered, ”I do not recall imbibing any sleep aids last night,” he said.
McCoy shrugged, “Must be slipping,” he said.
Spock looked at him suspiciously.
“Come on,” McCoy said, “we’re going to go see Jim.”
Any trace of irritation vanished from Spock’s expression and he stood quickly.
“You might want to change your shirt,” McCoy pointed out.
“It is of no matter,” Spock said. “It will dry. Jim is waiting.”
They headed for the door.
As it turned out however, Jim was not waiting. Well, not technically.
“Captain Kirk is asleep,” said the orderly at the desk. “You can come back later.”
“You’re kidding,” said McCoy.
“I can assure you Dr. McCoy, I’m completely serious.”
“Listen Ma’am, as his personal physician I have a right to-”
“You are not currently his physician, you are not currently on active duty, Dr. McCoy. So you can leave Captain Kirk to get his rest and come back later.”
“I did not spend days driving around in a hovercar with a crazy Vulcan to find Jim just so I could get turned back at the hospital doors!” said McCoy. “Come on, Spock. We don’t have to- Spock? Spock?” He looked at the orderly and then at Mr. tall, dark, and clean cut, who was busy picking lint off his uniform. “Where did he go? Spock?”
The minute Spock heard that there were to be no visitors, he walked away. Neither McCoy, embroiled in a battle to reassert his hospital dominance, nor the orderly, nor their security guard, noticed. Spock headed up the stairs and down one of the passages at random, certain in the knowledge that no matter what, he would see Jim.
Like a bloodhound following an almost invisible trail, he could sense Jim’s presence growing closer with each step. Spock turned to the right, striding straight past a surprised nurse at his station, and into a new corridor. Jim was here. Spock quickened his pace, and then suddenly stopped in front of a room labeled only with a number. He entered.
The woman at the front desk had been correct. Jim was sleeping, but to Spock that did not matter. He quietly dragged one of the chairs over to the bedside and sunk into it, allowing himself this time, this one time, to look at his Captain fully, in peace, alone, and reassure himself of Jim’s continued likelihood of survival.
Jim’s fever had been brought down to reasonable levels, and the superficial cuts and bruises and scrapes had mostly healed. Although his torso was covered with a blanket, Spock knew there were likely bandaged ribs that, having healed crookedly whilst in captivity, had been rebroken and set again. He was attached to several monitoring systems and had an IV drip in his arm. He breathed slowly but steadily, and the beeping of the heart monitor beat an in time rhythm to each breath.
Spock breathed too, closing his eyes briefly and attempting to reach at least the first level of meditation. But something, something was still off. He saw Jim, he heard his breathing, he could even smell the slight musk of him under the scent of sterilized hospital and generic brand soap , but still . . . and then he knew. Vulcans did not touch as much as humans. That did not mean that they did not, on occasion, need it. Slowly, daringly, Spock took Jim’s hand in his.
Jim shifted, and Spock was swamped with vague physical feelings of warm, comfort, but also an undertone of loneliness.
Spock gripped Jim’s hand tightly. “You are not alone,” he said. “I will not allow it.”
Tentatively, he pushed his own thoughts at Jim, allowing him to feel his . . . regard for him, and his relief at his safe return. His determination to protect him at all costs covered Jim like a shield made from a warm blanket, with iron hard will woven into the fabric, and Jim stirred.
Spock stiffened, and moved to tug his hand away, but now Jim was returning his grip with a fierce grasp of his own. Surprised at the strength in Jim’s hand, Spock ceased his efforts to free himself.
“Spock?” Jim murmured, not opening his eyes. “Spock?”
“I am here, Captain,” Spock said, moving a bit closer to the bed.
“I knew it was you,” Jim said drowsily. “I always know-” and then something jolted him into further wakefulness and he gasped, trying to sit up, eyes flying open. Spock pushed him back down into the pillows with his free hand firmly, the other one being clenched almost painfully tight by Jim.
“Captain, do not try and sit up,” Spock started, but Jim shook his head, eyes wide and scared.
“Where am I?”
“You are at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco,” Spock said tentatively. “You were brought here-”
“But you’re Spock, right? You’re really, really Spock? I’m not- I’m not imagining you, right?”
“I- yes, I am really Spock,” Spock said somewhat dumbly. “Captain, you’ve been running a high fever and you must continue to rest.”
But Jim was shaking his head vigorously. “Shut up,” he interrupted, “Shut up, shut up. Don’t talk, don’t say a damn thing, just-” his breath stuttered. “God, you- always you, you’re always a fucking stupid-” and then Spock was being pulled down onto the bed by an alarmingly strong invalid and crushed close. Hesitantly, Spock allowed his arms to go around Jim as far as they would go, trying to be careful not to squash him with his greater weight.
Spock swallowed, “Captain?”
“Don’t call me that,” Jim said, voice muffled into Spock’s shoulder. “Not right now. Just-”
“Jim,” Spock said.
Jim swallowed, “Yeah, like that.”
“Jim,” Spock said again. He could feel his shirt getting slightly damp where Jim’s face was hiding. “Jim, are you- are you crying?”
“No,” Jim said emphatically, “Fuck it, I’m not. Just,” he struggled to both sit up and to keep holding on to Spock at the same time. Reluctantly, Spock allowed this. He also did not protest when Jim moved one hand to scrub it across his face and eyes. “Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse, “Sorry. I just, I thought.” He shrugged, miserable. “I couldn’t feel you anymore, and I thought you were dead,” his voice broke.
Spock may have gripped him a little tighter. “Could you always feel me, before?” he made himself ask.
“I don’t know,” Jim admitted. “Maybe, sometimes, yeah. Just, when you were gone, it was like an emptiness, here,” he indicated his head. “And I thought that was it. That you were dead. But then,” and his voice rose, “but then you were there again, sometimes, when I was asleep, and I thought I might finally be going crazy, but I just . . .” he trailed off. “Nothing was right,” he said. “I missed you.”
“I-” Spock’s voice caught in his throat. “I too, experienced, emotional difficulty,” he managed. “I-”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, just say you missed me too,” Jim said with a spark of his old self, still wiping his face with the back of his hands.
Spock nodded shakily, “I missed you as well,” he said quietly. “More than was logical for a first officer to miss his commanding officer. More,” his voice dropped even lower, so that Jim could scarcely hear it. “More than was logical even, for a friend to miss a friend. Or even for a brother to miss a brother . . .”
Jim’s breath hitched, and he rubbed his face in Spock’s shoulder, “Good,” he said fiercely, “I’m glad.”
They stayed like that for several moments, each taking comfort in the living presence of the other. Eventually, Spock’s posture relaxed enough so that Jim was able to pull him fully against him, and then wriggle back down to a sleeping position. Spock had little choice but to lie down with him.
“We’re going to stay like this,” Jim informed him. “Until the doctor says we can’t. And I am going to sleep. And then, once I get out of here, we’re going to have a long talk about what the hell happened, okay?”
“I-” Spock started, intending to explain that his presence there was only due to what could loosely be defined as a prison break.
“That wasn’t a request,” Jim said. And then he closed his eyes, and Spock could do nothing but remain his mostly willing captive.
By the time McCoy, the junior grade lieutenant, and about three orderlies found them, they were greeted with the sight of a sleeping Jim Kirk with a lightly meditating Spock stretched out on the bed beside him, their hands still clasped together.
McCoy let out a long suffering sigh, “I told you we should’ve just looked here in the first place,” he said. He snagged the uniform sleeve of a frowning orderly who had started to walk toward the pair. “Don’t,” he said.
“It’s quite outside regulation,” she protested.
McCoy shrugged, “Yeah, but who cares? They’ve both been through a lot. Let them sleep.”
After a last frowning look at Kirk and Spock, she relented. McCoy turned to their guard. “I’m going to have a look at Jim myself,” he said. “No use coming here just to do nothing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and go get me a cup of coffee?”
“Sir,” said the junior grade lieutenant, “I am under strict orders not to leave you or Commander Spock alone.”
McCoy rolled his eyes and jerked his head toward the room. “Kid, Jim Kirk’s in that room and he’s not going anywhere. Do you really think I’d be anywhere else?” McCoy’s blue eyes locked with brown, and after a moment or two of a stare down, the man finally left, tossing glances over his shoulder as if to make sure McCoy was not going to vanish the moment he let him out of his sight.
McCoy turned to the rest of him. “Now,” he said. “Anyone else have any objections they’d like to get out in the open?”
As he had suspected it would be, the consensus was a resounding no, and the orderlies dispersed. Allowing himself a flicker of satisfaction at these results, McCoy let loose the smallest of smiles as he finally, finally walked in through Jim Kirk’s hospital door.
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