Celebrate the Earth and Sky (4/20)
Celebrate the Earth and Sky III
“So, how come you never take off your hat?”
Spock froze for a second, then kept on walking. Behind him, Jim limped with an unsteady gait, leaning heavily on his makeshift cane.
“Because I do not wish to,” Spock replied after a moment. He pulled out his compass and peered at it. Adjusting his heading, he continued on.
Jim was silent, clearly mulling this over. “I guess that’s fair enough,” he replied finally.
Spock allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
“So, why don’t you wish to take off your hat?”
The corner of Spock’s eye twitched. “Why must you persist in asking so many personal questions?” he shot back. Ancestors be understanding, but the human never ceased!
Jim laughed. “My mom always said that annoyed her too,” he said, speeding up a bit to catch up to Spock. “She set me to reading the dictionary as soon as I could, just to get me to stop pestering her.”
“Wise woman,” Spock muttered, conveniently forgetting his own rather inquisitive childhood.
“Okay, I’ll stop asking so many questions if it bothers you so much,” Jim said. Spock turned around in disbelief. Jim smiled, “How about you tell me about yourself instead? Then I won’t have to ask.”
Spock faced forward again, and took a few more decisive steps. “The more you speak, the more quickly you will dehydrate,” he said.
Jim rolled his eyes. “It’s nighttime,” he pointed out.
“We are still in a desert,” Spock retorted.
Jim pursed his lips, “True,” he said, this time with a hint of gravity to his voice.
They walked in silence for a little while longer, the quarter moon shining down through the clear sky. Spock was hard pressed not to look for 40 Eridani, just to make sure it really wasn’t visible to the naked eye. He knew where in the sky it was located, after all. That should be sufficient. The desire to see a more familiar desert in place of this one was likewise illogical. He needed to set his focus on the present.
Spock stopped again to check out their heading and Jim staggered forward to stand next to him. He spoke softly over Spock’s shoulder, looking down at the instrument. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“Yes,” Spock replied. He put the compass away, fighting paranoia that Jim would be able to discern its other, more unusual functions.
“Positive?” Jim pressed.
“I have an excellent sense of direction,” Spock said. And a holographic map of your planet on my compass, he added to himself, but did not speak. He had already endangered the mission by spending so much time in close contact with the human. He didn’t need to make things any worse.
“Huh,” Jim said.
They did not speak for a long while after that, only continued on their long march.
“The sun is beginning to rise,” Spock said, a few hours later. “We should locate a suitably protected area to set up the tent.”
Jim did not answer.
“Mr. Kirk?” Spock halted, and looked over his shoulder at his human companion. Jim was covered in sweat, his head downcast. He walked unsteadily, even with the help of his stick. “Mr. Kirk?”
Jim tilted his head up. “I’m fine,” he said. His voice was dry and raspy. He coughed. “Could use some water though, please.”
“We are rapidly running out,” Spock said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a water bottle. He tossed it to Jim, who caught it one handed, belaying his clear state of exhaustion.
“I know,” he said simply. Their gazes caught and held. Spock wondered if Jim knew just how low their water supply was really getting. The water bottle was designed to collect and purify moisture from the air and deposit it in the bottle. Sol III being an M-Class planet, ostensibly they should never run out of water. The trouble was, there was hardly any moisture in the Death Valley to begin with. It might have been sufficient for one Vulcan traveling alone, bred for the rigors of the desert. But for a human and a Vulcan together?
The odds were not in their favor.
“We should rest,” Spock said. “We cannot travel during the day. It would prove fatal for you.”
“What about you?” Jim demanded, although his obvious exhaustion made the question somewhat less intense than it could have been. “I don’t see you wilting all over the place like a delicate flower.”
“I am very used to desert climates.”
Jim snorted. “Yeah,” he said. “I kind of noticed, although you’re as lily white as they come. Where’re you from?”
“There is a suitably shaded overhang over there,” Spock said, pointing slightly to the south.
Jim shaded his eyes. “I don’t see anything,” he complained.
“It is there,” Spock assured him.
Jim pursed his lips. “I don't doubt you,” he said. “God knows, over the past two days you’ve been nothing but trustworthy. I’m just saying - I can’t see where you’re pointing at.”
“It will become visible to you soon,” Spock said. “I have exceptional vision.”
“Modest, too,” Jim said.
Spock ignored him, as they continued on. In time, Spock’s overhang became apparent even to Jim’s eyesight, and they stopped below it. Jim collapsed on his back onto the hot ground.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he groaned. “I’ll quit the service and become a farmer back in Iowa. No aircraft is worth this shit.”
Spock glanced up from where he was once more removing his tent from his pack. “You are in the military?” he questioned.
Jim looked sideways at him, propping himself up on his elbows. “Yeah,” he said. “Thought it was kind of obvious. Civilians aren’t allowed to fly fighter planes.”
“Of course,” Spock recovered. “I was just wondering - what is your rank?”
Jim closed his eyes. “Captain,” he said, after a moment. He pointed to the insignia on his flight suite, which he wore unzipped, the arms tied around his middle. “See? Two stripes.”
“Fascinating,” said Spock.
“Why so?”
“I do not have much experience with the military,” said Spock.
Jim opened his eyes and sat up, looking at Spock with renewed interest. “But, everyone is required to serve,” he said, frowning. “I went to school and joined the Force so that I wouldn’t have to join the army as an enlisted man.” He peered more closely at Spock. “Who are you?”
Spock looked away, pulling his hat more firmly down around his head. “I am a traveler,” he said simply.
“Bullshit,” Jim said. “I bought that two days ago, when I was in shock from just crashing my plane, but there’s no way I’m buying it now. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“I am a traveler attempting to secure our safety,” Spock said, tightening the straps on the tent with a little more force than necessary. “Any other information is my purview. I am not required to share myself with you, Captain.”
Jim held his gaze for a moment, blue eyes furious with frustration, then his shoulders sagged. “Fine,” he said. “You’re not required to ID yourself to me at all. Although I’d hoped that - given what we’ve been going through together and all - that you’d be willing to trust me even a little.”
“I do not know you,” Spock said. “We only met two days ago.”
Jim smiled a crooked little smile. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, heaving himself off the ground to limp over to the tent. “Can I go inside?”
Spock gestured wordlessly. Jim inclined his head, then slid inside. A minute later, Spock joined him, crossing his legs as he sat. He rested his hands on his knees, palms upturned, automatically starting the breathing pattern that would lead him into the first level of meditation. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jim starting to unwrap his sprained ankle. He closed his eyes.
“Why do you do that?”
What?” Spock said, opening his eyes to see Jim peering at him.
“Meditate so much,” Jim said. He frowned, “That is what you’re doing, right?” he said. “Meditating?”
“Yes,” Spock said warily.
“Thought so.” Jim scratched at the red marks the wrapping had left on his sweaty ankle. “Why do you do it so much? Are you a monk or something?”
“No,” Spock said. “I am not a monk.”
“Too bad,” Jim said lightly. “If you shaved your head it would explain why you never take off your hat.” A beat. “Sunburn, you know?”
Spock did not find this humorous. He closed his eyes again.
“So if you’re not a monk, why do you do it so much then?” Jim pressed. “You meditate every time we take a break, and I think you meditate half the night, too. Don’t you ever sleep?”
“Meditation clears the mind of day to day minutiae,” Spock said, not opening his eyes this time. “It allows me to process any emotional responses throughout the day, and observe them in a neutral manner.”
Jim propped his chin up on his hands. “Why on earth would you want to control emotional responses?”
“To maintain inner discipline,” Spock said.
“Huh,” Jim said. “No offense, but that sounds kind of- inhuman. I mean, I’m all for having some emotional control and all, but all the time? How do you enjoy anything?”
Spock shrugged.
Jim lay down and rolled over onto his side. “Again, no offense,” he said to the wall of the tent, “But you’re kind of weird.”
Spock inclined his head. “Likewise,” he said. “And there is no offense where none is taken.”
“Good,” he heard Jim’s sleepy reply. “Because seriously, you’re really weird.”
As Spock listened to Jim’s breathing even out, he calmed his own breathing, determined to spend most of the night in a meditative trance. He had much to think about.
Through very little prodding on Spock’s part, he had managed to piece together a decent picture of Jim’s past. The human he had inadvertently rescued hailed from a farming family. His father had been killed in the South Pacific Conflict before Jim was even born. He had joined the air force in order to gain a commission and to avoid being drafted. This spoke to some level of wits on his part, Spock thought, to make the best of a bad situation.
Still. These facts, however fascinating a portrait of human culture they painted, did not pertain much to Spock’s goals. Jim had made no mention of past visitations from alien life forms. He was even hard pressed to speak badly about his own government, despite his admittance that yes, continuous warfare was probably bad for everyone and no, he didn’t suppose he really supported the idea of ruling over the entire planet.
“You do not believe that people can be trusted in terms of their own welfare?”
Jim wiped sweat from his forehead. “Their own, maybe,” he said slowly. “But other peoples? I don’t think so.”
“I concerned myself with your welfare,” Spock pointed out.
Jim’s gaze flickered to him. “Yeah,” he said. “But that’s different.”
“How so?”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just is.” He swallowed, “Can I have some water?”
Spock passed him the water bottle. Jim took a long gulp, careful not to dribble any. “I do not believe there is any difference,” Spock said, taking advantage of Jim’s momentary silence. “I believe that you have been taught to think that.”
Jim swallowed the water quickly. “Hey,” he said, “That’s kind of dismissive, don’t you think? What gives you the right to judge me like that?”
“Am I incorrect?”
Jim glared at him. “My opinions are my own,” he said. “The government might not be the best, but at least it’s stable enough to put food on the table. That’s more than what it was like before.”
Spock sensed enough animosity radiating from him to back off for the time being.
Spock’s mind was drawn back towards the present, as he heard Jim draw in a rattling breath. He turned to make sure the human was still sleeping and was satisfied when he saw the slack mouth and still-closed eyes. He thought back to their conversation.
It was not his right, he chastised himself, to interfere with the people of this planet. He should not have pressed Jim so - even if Jim’s ideas were the polar opposite of his own, Surakian ideals. As a Vulcan, he ought to respect Jim’s right to have different opinions from him, no matter if Spock did not exactly agree with them.
Yet, he had spent enough time with Jim in close quarters over the past two days to be certain, is some regards, of Jim’s character. He was intelligent, Spock knew, and his declaration that they should press forward only at night pointed toward at least a rudimentary grasp of logic. Jim had also revealed that his decision to join the air force rather than, for example, the navy like his father, had stemmed in no small amount from a desire to forge his own path, and to travel roads rarely trodden.
Spock could not understand why such a character would continue to believe what was, to Spock’s outside view, clearly propaganda. Spock had done studies on Vulcan’s past, and on Romulus’s present. He knew a party line when he saw it, and Jim’s words reeked of something learned by rote from infancy.
Spock pondered. Did he have any right to attempt to open Jim’s mind to other possibilities? Or was the logical course to stay silent?
On their third night of travel, Spock was forced to move forward at a slower pace than previously, for fear that he would leave Jim behind. The human’s feet - good and bad - dragged against the pebbled ground, leaving long ribbons of scraped earth in his wake. His voice was weak and raspy, and Spock wondered if he ought to offer him some other form of support. Perhaps an arm, to assist in keeping him upright? Yet, fear of what human cultural taboos he might run into if he were to offer his assistance, kept Spock from speaking.
They stopped to rest. Jim slumped to the ground, panting. Spock knelt at his side, offering him water. Jim sipped gratefully, turning haggard, dry eyes to Spock’s face.
“Damn, you don’t seem affected at all,” he said. He coughed, “It’s hot,” he added. Somewhat redundantly, Spock thought. “Even though it’s night, the ground is still so hot.” He patted the packed, hard soil. Spock followed the motion of his hand, and saw to his fascination that they were standing on a plain full of hardened, hexagonal mudcracks. He ran his finger along the edges of the nearest one, marveling at its precise shape. Mudcracks were rare in the Forge, although more common near the sea.
“I grew to adulthood in a similar such environment,” Spock said, recalling that Jim had spoken to him. “I am used to the heat.”
Jim ducked his head wearily. “Just because you grew up in it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t affect you,” he said. “Hell, I grew up with Iowan winters, but that doesn’t mean I could just head on out to Siberia and be fine and golden.”
“I do not understand,” said Spock. “You would not be golden in the winter regardless of your location, because the winter clothing necessary for maintaining optimal body temperature would preclude tanning.”
Jim stared at him blearily. “I’m going to pretend that I just hallucinated that,” he said. He blinked. “Except, say ‘optimal body temperature’ again.”
“Optimal body temperature,” said Spock.
Jim’s mouth twisted into a grin, his lips cracking. “It’s better when you say it,” he said.
“What is better?”
“Everything.”
“I do not understand.”
“Never mind,” Jim said. He smiled.
Spock looked at him helplessly.
“So, shall we keep on trucking?” Jim asked, staggering to his feet. He handed Spock back the nearly empty water container, and slapped him on the shoulder. Spock jumped at the unexpected contact.
“If you are still fatigued,” he started, but Jim was already hobbling his way ahead of him. Spock watched him for a few seconds, then rose from his crouch, swung his bag back onto his shoulders, and prepared to follow, his expression unreadable.
They stopped to set up the tent before the sun rose. Jim sat on the ground, taking care with his ankle. Once again, Spock had rejected his offer to assist with setting up the tent. Spock paused in his work to see Jim looking up at the sky. The constellations had shifted throughout the night, but the stars of the early morning were still visible and, Spock admitted to himself, quite spectacular from this viewpoint.
“You know anything about constellations?”
It took Spock’s brain a moment or two to catch up to the fact that Jim had spoken in the first place. The human had hardly moved, still gazing heavenwards.
“Little,” Spock said.
Jim tilted his head, then he pointed, “I don’t know much about constellations,” he said, “But I know that’s Venus. The morning star.”
Spock searched his memory for the term Venus. Ah, yes. A name shared by an ancient goddess of a Mediterranean civilization, and the second planet in the Sol system.
Spock joined Jim, sitting beside him. “Venus was a Greek goddess?”
“Roman,” corrected Jim, absently. He frowned, “Well, kind of. She was a Greek goddess too, but they called her Aphrodite.”
“Over what tenets did she rule?” Spock queried, interested despite himself. His mother had detailed some of Sol III’s history, but little of its mythology.
Jim smirked a little. “Love,” he said lightly. “Beauty, sex, fertility . . .” he turned to Spock, “You know, all the interesting things.” His eyes widened. “Oh my god, tell me you’re not blushing.”
“I do not blush,” Spock said, straightening his posture in affront. He pulled his hat down further over his head.
Jim reached out with teasing fingers. “Yeah, you totally are,” he crowed. “You know, I thought your Zen face was impenetrable, but I guess not-” Spock caught Jim’s hand before it made contact with his face. Jim flicked an eyebrow at him.
“I am not blushing,” he said, dropping Jim’s hand as though it was on fire. In spite of his words, he put his own hand to his cheek. To his mild horror, he discovered that his cheeks were, in fact, hotter than usual. Spock felt an illogical surge of gratitude for the night, which made seeing the greenish tinge to his blush well nigh impossible.
“Suit yourself,” Jim shrugged. He leaned over and massaged his ankle through the wrappings, then rotated it a few times.
“You seem to be very knowledgeable about mythology,” Spock said, more to direct the topic away from himself than for any other reason.
Jim rolled his shoulders back and forth. He stretched his hand over to one shoulder, and pressed strong fingers down on his aching muscles. “I guess,” he said. “Not really. I was kind of a history buff in school, but not really classical history. More like, the Industrial Revolution and the early 20th century.”
Spock nodded.
Jim twisted to look at him, “You know,” he began slowly, another one of those infernal little grins forming at the corner of his mouth.
Spock had begun to recognize such expressions as precludes to some grave illogic. He braced himself. “Know what?”
“Talking to you is kind of historical,” Jim said.
Spock narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”
Jim’s grin grew wider. “Oh,” he said. “It’s just, your speech is pretty formal, you know? Victorian, almost.” He paused, “And you're a prude.”
Spock drew himself up. “I am not a . . . I am not.”
“Yeah,” Jim drawled, “You kind of are.”
“From what,” Spock said, despite being absolutely certain that there was no way he was ever going to come out on the correct side of this argument, “From what evidence do you draw such a conclusion?”
“Well,” Jim said. “Mostly because you blushed when I said the word sex.” He winked.
“I did not,” Spock asserted.
“You’re doing it again,” Jim said. “Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.”
Out of reflex, Spock’s hand flew to his cheek. He glared at Jim as the human laughed. “I do not understand your amusement,” he said darkly. He was not sulking, he told himself. Sulking was illogical. Therefore, Vulcans did not sulk.
“Oh, lighten up, Spock,” Jim said. He got to his feet, wincing as he attempted to put some weight on his ankle. He also prodded the sore spots on his side. “I’m just teasing you. You’re too easy to tease, all serious all the time. I bet you were a real nerd in school.”
“Perhaps,” Spock said, uncertain as to what the word ‘nerd’ even meant.
“Well, that’s okay.” Jim patted Spock’s shoulder. “I was kind of a nerd too.”
“I suppose I ought to be gratified,” Spock said dryly.
“Yep,” Jim said. “Oh, ow.” He stopped moving. Spock quickly got to his feet. Jim waved him back down, “No, no,” he said. “Just the ribs. I’m fine. I think I’ll go lie down in the tent though. You can do your meditating thing.”
“Very well,” Spock said, easing his form back down to a sitting position. It was true, he did need to meditate after another trying day. However, his concern for Jim’s health prompted him to say, “If I can assist you in some manner, or ease your pain, please make me aware.”
“Okay,” Jim said, crawling as best as he could into the tent. He left the flaps open, to allow for a breeze, and to prevent suffocation when the sun was at its zenith.
To the east, the sky was beginning to gain a pinkish tinge.
Spock sat back down again fully. What had possessed him to say such a thing? It was illogical to request of the human that he interrupt his meditation. Jim had been managing his pain without Spock’s assistance for nearly three days now. Spock’s words seemed unfortunately emotional.
You cannot afford to become emotionally compromised by any being on this planet, he told himself firmly. He is but a brief companion. An emotional attachment could prove detrimental to the mission at hand.
But it was difficult to maintain a proper distance, more difficult than Spock had originally anticipated. Perhaps if he had not rescued such an outgoing and tactile human, this would not be an issue. Perhaps if Spock had greater control over his curiosity. Perhaps if Jim Kirk was not dependant on him for his very survival. Perhaps if they had not been the only two sentient beings present, necessitating communication, necessitating some degree of teamwork. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps . . .
Still, Spock thought, at least he had caught the burgeoning attachment before it became too tangled. It spoke to some hitherto unrealized laxity in his control, which was regrettable, but that could be rectified. In any case, severing any attachment to Jim should not be too difficult. What’s more, it was necessary to the future success of his mission here.
That settled, Spock exhaled and drifted deeper into meditation.
Shortly before midday, Spock withdrew from his meditation. He stretched out his legs and rubbed his eyes. Vulcans did not need as much sleep as humans, but that did not mean they did not need to sleep at all.
Spock stood and strode over to the tent, dusting himself off as he went. Satisfied that his clothing was relatively dirt free, he stooped and entered. He stopped at the sight before him.
Jim had sprawled diagonally across the tent floor, his body half on the pallet and half off. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes screwed shut. His right hand fisted the folds of the pallet, while the left was drawn up against him protectively. His dark blond hair was in sleep-tousled disarray and, unless Spock was mistaken, he was drooling a little.
Spock’s nose wrinkled.
Spock narrowly avoided tripping on Jim’s outstretched foot as he entered the tent more fully. Movement silent as a whisper, he folded his legs beneath his body and sat on back on his heels. He bit his lip, dark eyes pondering the best method of removing Jim to his allocated half of the tent without waking him.
A complex endeavor indeed.
Still, Spock thought, he possessed at least three times the human’s strength. Surely such an action was not beyond his skill.
Experimentally, Spock pushed at Jim’s uninjured leg. It did not budge. Very well. More determined, he picked it up by the ankle, and moved it back onto the sleeping pallet.
Jim mumbled something in his sleep and brought the leg up towards his center, knee bent. He curled into himself more fully, and sighed.
Spock’s lips thinned. He attempted to move Jim’s other foot, but he could not get a proper grip on the injured ankle, for fear of causing further damage. After a few more minutes of futile prodding, Spock slumped his shoulders and curled up into a ball on the other side of the tent, as far away as possible from Jim’s chaotic limbs.
He awoke briefly late in the afternoon to notice, to his chagrin, that Jim had managed to somehow ensconce Spock in a deceptively slack grip. He shoved half heartedly at the human, attempting to extricate himself, before giving up the entire exercise as useless, and shutting his eyes in resignation. He slept through the rest of the day until sunset.
The following night was quieter than those previous. Jim appeared even more fatigued than before, his visage gaunt and lips blistered. His eyes however, remained as sharp as ever, occasionally glowering in Spock’s direction, much to Spock’s puzzlement. It was not until their midnight rest however, that matters came to a head.
“So, what did I do to piss you off so much?”
“Pardon?” Spock turned to face him.
Jim planted his hands on his hips. “You heard me,” he challenged, “You’ve been distant all day, hardly replying to anything I’ve said. What gives?”
“You have hardly spoken at all today,” said Spock, still mystified.
Jim inclined his head, the motion sharp, “You know what I mean,” he said. “You’ll hardly look at me, and only grunt when I talk to you. What the hell, did you decide you didn’t like me after all? Did I offend you that badly yesterday?”
“I,” said Spock. “No, you did not offend me.”
Jim’s eyebrows rose, “No?” he repeated, “No? Then what the hell, man?”
“I am sorry,” Spock said hesitantly, “I don’t understand-”
“No,” Jim snapped, “That seems to be kind of a constant with you, doesn’t it?”
Spock did not know what to say.
Apparently, Jim did not need Spock’s verbal input to continue their discussion. “I mean, really,” he said. “You seem like a cool guy and all, but you’ve been treating me like shit all of a sudden, and I want to know why.” He paced a little, the motion made more difficult by his sprained ankle and walking stick. He stopped, his chest heaving, and spoke to some point over Spock’s left shoulder. “I thought we were, hell I don’t know, getting to be some sort of friends, or something, you know?” he scrubbed at the back of his neck, “But Jesus, I hope you don’t treat your friends like this all the time.”
Spock wanted to say, Vulcans do not have friends, but he could not. He settled for, “We only met four days ago,” and hoped that it would appease his emotional companion.
It did not. Jim turned red, “Yeah, but we’re also kind of involved in an ongoing life or death survival situation,” he retorted hotly, waving his hands towards the whole of Death Valley. “That kind of means you move up from casual acquaintance to friend pretty quickly, you know?”
Spock blinked. He had not known. “Oh,” he said.
Jim glared at him.
Spock tried again. “I . . . apologize,” he said slowly, uncertain if such words would anger Jim even more. “I was not aware,” he cleared his throat. “I did not intend to treat you callously,” he said.
Jim looked at him more closely, “Huh,” he said, a hefty twinge of anger still evident in his voice. “And the reason you are is because . . . what? I offended your sensibilities or something? I hugged you in my sleep?”
“No,” Spock said quickly. “I just,” he stopped. In point of fact, Jim was correct: Spock had been behaving more coldly to him than during the previous days and it was indeed intentional. He had surmised that it was a necessary action to destroy any chance for emotional compromise regarding the human.
However. Spock’s lips thinned. It appeared that such actions had negatively affected the human’s mental health, as well as any cohesive teamwork that the pair managed. It seemed somewhat unorthodox, but might such an emotional connection (so long as Spock did not permit it to get out of hand and affect his own sensibilities) be advantageous in this unusual environment?
“I apologize,” Spock heard himself saying. “I am not angry with you. You have not offended me. I am simply . . .” he thought for a moment. “Tired,” he settled on. “I am very tired and it has negatively affected my behavior towards you. Please forgive me.”
There. That sounded like a properly emotional human response. Spock dared a glance at Jim’s face. The human was biting his lip.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “Okay, I believe you.’ He hung his head a little and mumbled, “And sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You’ve pretty much saved my life out here, and I appreciate it, I really do. And I trust you, so. Sorry.”
“There is no offense,” Spock began.
“Where none is taken,” Jim finished for him, a strange light in his eye. “You say that all the time,” he explained, as Spock boggled at him a little. “It’s kind of a nice saying. Where’d you hear it from?”
Spock hesitated. “My father,” he admitted eventually. “It is from one of his preferred philosophers.”
“Huh,” said Jim. “Aristotle?”
“No.”
“Socrates?”
“No.”
“Is it-”
“He is not very well-known,” Spock interrupted.
“Oh,” Jim said. “Who, then?”
Spock wavered for a moment, “Surak,” he said, unwilling to both antagonize Jim again by refusing to answer his question, or to lie about such a thing.
“Oh,” Jim said. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“He is not common here,” said Spock, very aware of the irony in his statement.
“Apparently,” agreed Jim.
They travelled until the early hours of the morning. As the sun rose, they rested beneath the shade of the tent, Spock once again observing Jim’s repose. It was abundantly clear that the human’s body was close to betraying him. In all honesty, Spock was surprised that he had lasted this long, in such brutal conditions as these. He began to worry that the human would not make it out of the desert alive.
Less than halfway through the next night, Spock’s fears became all too prophetic. One moment, Jim was walking behind him. The next, he had simply collapsed into a heap, Spock turning around only when Jim hit the ground with a dull thump.
Spock drew in a quick breath, and hurried to the human’s side. He felt for Jim’s pulse. It was shallow and quick. Heart racing, Spock lifted Jim up to a halfway sitting position, and pressed the dangerously empty water bottle to his lips, urging him to drink.
Jim coughed and groaned, his head lolling a little against Spock’s thighs. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Sorry.”
“Do not apologize,” said Spock.
“‘S’probably better if you leave me here,” Jim slurred.
Spock’s eyebrows drew together. “I most certainly will not,” he said.
“Makes sense,” Jim managed. “I’m kind of dead weight now. Will only slow you down.”
Spock shook his head. The human’s logic was faulty. “By saving your life once, I have assumed responsibility for it,” he said. “I cannot leave you here.”
“What kind of . . . bullshit is that?”
The skin around Spock’s eyes tightened. “That is my cultural heritage,” he said icily.
“Oh,” Jim coughed again. “Sorry. Still, I’d rather only one of us die here of dehydration and heat exhaustion.”
Spock had to consciously clamp down on his controls in order to prevent from rolling his eyes. Clearly his mother had been somewhat of a bad influence, if he was feeling the urge to do so to such a strong degree.
He got to his feet, still supporting Jim under the armpits and around the middle. “You will cease such melodrama,” he said, voice crisp. “We are both leaving this place. I will carry you.”
“You’re crazy,” Jim whispered. “That’s impossible.” His eyes closed.
Spock took a steadying breath. He looked towards the horizon, estimating that civilization could not be more than a single night’s march away.
Jim had said he trusted him.
Spock took another deep breath. He swung Jim’s limp form up into his arms.
They would make it. They had to.
Previous Next
“So, how come you never take off your hat?”
Spock froze for a second, then kept on walking. Behind him, Jim limped with an unsteady gait, leaning heavily on his makeshift cane.
“Because I do not wish to,” Spock replied after a moment. He pulled out his compass and peered at it. Adjusting his heading, he continued on.
Jim was silent, clearly mulling this over. “I guess that’s fair enough,” he replied finally.
Spock allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
“So, why don’t you wish to take off your hat?”
The corner of Spock’s eye twitched. “Why must you persist in asking so many personal questions?” he shot back. Ancestors be understanding, but the human never ceased!
Jim laughed. “My mom always said that annoyed her too,” he said, speeding up a bit to catch up to Spock. “She set me to reading the dictionary as soon as I could, just to get me to stop pestering her.”
“Wise woman,” Spock muttered, conveniently forgetting his own rather inquisitive childhood.
“Okay, I’ll stop asking so many questions if it bothers you so much,” Jim said. Spock turned around in disbelief. Jim smiled, “How about you tell me about yourself instead? Then I won’t have to ask.”
Spock faced forward again, and took a few more decisive steps. “The more you speak, the more quickly you will dehydrate,” he said.
Jim rolled his eyes. “It’s nighttime,” he pointed out.
“We are still in a desert,” Spock retorted.
Jim pursed his lips, “True,” he said, this time with a hint of gravity to his voice.
They walked in silence for a little while longer, the quarter moon shining down through the clear sky. Spock was hard pressed not to look for 40 Eridani, just to make sure it really wasn’t visible to the naked eye. He knew where in the sky it was located, after all. That should be sufficient. The desire to see a more familiar desert in place of this one was likewise illogical. He needed to set his focus on the present.
Spock stopped again to check out their heading and Jim staggered forward to stand next to him. He spoke softly over Spock’s shoulder, looking down at the instrument. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“Yes,” Spock replied. He put the compass away, fighting paranoia that Jim would be able to discern its other, more unusual functions.
“Positive?” Jim pressed.
“I have an excellent sense of direction,” Spock said. And a holographic map of your planet on my compass, he added to himself, but did not speak. He had already endangered the mission by spending so much time in close contact with the human. He didn’t need to make things any worse.
“Huh,” Jim said.
They did not speak for a long while after that, only continued on their long march.
“The sun is beginning to rise,” Spock said, a few hours later. “We should locate a suitably protected area to set up the tent.”
Jim did not answer.
“Mr. Kirk?” Spock halted, and looked over his shoulder at his human companion. Jim was covered in sweat, his head downcast. He walked unsteadily, even with the help of his stick. “Mr. Kirk?”
Jim tilted his head up. “I’m fine,” he said. His voice was dry and raspy. He coughed. “Could use some water though, please.”
“We are rapidly running out,” Spock said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a water bottle. He tossed it to Jim, who caught it one handed, belaying his clear state of exhaustion.
“I know,” he said simply. Their gazes caught and held. Spock wondered if Jim knew just how low their water supply was really getting. The water bottle was designed to collect and purify moisture from the air and deposit it in the bottle. Sol III being an M-Class planet, ostensibly they should never run out of water. The trouble was, there was hardly any moisture in the Death Valley to begin with. It might have been sufficient for one Vulcan traveling alone, bred for the rigors of the desert. But for a human and a Vulcan together?
The odds were not in their favor.
“We should rest,” Spock said. “We cannot travel during the day. It would prove fatal for you.”
“What about you?” Jim demanded, although his obvious exhaustion made the question somewhat less intense than it could have been. “I don’t see you wilting all over the place like a delicate flower.”
“I am very used to desert climates.”
Jim snorted. “Yeah,” he said. “I kind of noticed, although you’re as lily white as they come. Where’re you from?”
“There is a suitably shaded overhang over there,” Spock said, pointing slightly to the south.
Jim shaded his eyes. “I don’t see anything,” he complained.
“It is there,” Spock assured him.
Jim pursed his lips. “I don't doubt you,” he said. “God knows, over the past two days you’ve been nothing but trustworthy. I’m just saying - I can’t see where you’re pointing at.”
“It will become visible to you soon,” Spock said. “I have exceptional vision.”
“Modest, too,” Jim said.
Spock ignored him, as they continued on. In time, Spock’s overhang became apparent even to Jim’s eyesight, and they stopped below it. Jim collapsed on his back onto the hot ground.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he groaned. “I’ll quit the service and become a farmer back in Iowa. No aircraft is worth this shit.”
Spock glanced up from where he was once more removing his tent from his pack. “You are in the military?” he questioned.
Jim looked sideways at him, propping himself up on his elbows. “Yeah,” he said. “Thought it was kind of obvious. Civilians aren’t allowed to fly fighter planes.”
“Of course,” Spock recovered. “I was just wondering - what is your rank?”
Jim closed his eyes. “Captain,” he said, after a moment. He pointed to the insignia on his flight suite, which he wore unzipped, the arms tied around his middle. “See? Two stripes.”
“Fascinating,” said Spock.
“Why so?”
“I do not have much experience with the military,” said Spock.
Jim opened his eyes and sat up, looking at Spock with renewed interest. “But, everyone is required to serve,” he said, frowning. “I went to school and joined the Force so that I wouldn’t have to join the army as an enlisted man.” He peered more closely at Spock. “Who are you?”
Spock looked away, pulling his hat more firmly down around his head. “I am a traveler,” he said simply.
“Bullshit,” Jim said. “I bought that two days ago, when I was in shock from just crashing my plane, but there’s no way I’m buying it now. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“I am a traveler attempting to secure our safety,” Spock said, tightening the straps on the tent with a little more force than necessary. “Any other information is my purview. I am not required to share myself with you, Captain.”
Jim held his gaze for a moment, blue eyes furious with frustration, then his shoulders sagged. “Fine,” he said. “You’re not required to ID yourself to me at all. Although I’d hoped that - given what we’ve been going through together and all - that you’d be willing to trust me even a little.”
“I do not know you,” Spock said. “We only met two days ago.”
Jim smiled a crooked little smile. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, heaving himself off the ground to limp over to the tent. “Can I go inside?”
Spock gestured wordlessly. Jim inclined his head, then slid inside. A minute later, Spock joined him, crossing his legs as he sat. He rested his hands on his knees, palms upturned, automatically starting the breathing pattern that would lead him into the first level of meditation. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jim starting to unwrap his sprained ankle. He closed his eyes.
“Why do you do that?”
What?” Spock said, opening his eyes to see Jim peering at him.
“Meditate so much,” Jim said. He frowned, “That is what you’re doing, right?” he said. “Meditating?”
“Yes,” Spock said warily.
“Thought so.” Jim scratched at the red marks the wrapping had left on his sweaty ankle. “Why do you do it so much? Are you a monk or something?”
“No,” Spock said. “I am not a monk.”
“Too bad,” Jim said lightly. “If you shaved your head it would explain why you never take off your hat.” A beat. “Sunburn, you know?”
Spock did not find this humorous. He closed his eyes again.
“So if you’re not a monk, why do you do it so much then?” Jim pressed. “You meditate every time we take a break, and I think you meditate half the night, too. Don’t you ever sleep?”
“Meditation clears the mind of day to day minutiae,” Spock said, not opening his eyes this time. “It allows me to process any emotional responses throughout the day, and observe them in a neutral manner.”
Jim propped his chin up on his hands. “Why on earth would you want to control emotional responses?”
“To maintain inner discipline,” Spock said.
“Huh,” Jim said. “No offense, but that sounds kind of- inhuman. I mean, I’m all for having some emotional control and all, but all the time? How do you enjoy anything?”
Spock shrugged.
Jim lay down and rolled over onto his side. “Again, no offense,” he said to the wall of the tent, “But you’re kind of weird.”
Spock inclined his head. “Likewise,” he said. “And there is no offense where none is taken.”
“Good,” he heard Jim’s sleepy reply. “Because seriously, you’re really weird.”
As Spock listened to Jim’s breathing even out, he calmed his own breathing, determined to spend most of the night in a meditative trance. He had much to think about.
Through very little prodding on Spock’s part, he had managed to piece together a decent picture of Jim’s past. The human he had inadvertently rescued hailed from a farming family. His father had been killed in the South Pacific Conflict before Jim was even born. He had joined the air force in order to gain a commission and to avoid being drafted. This spoke to some level of wits on his part, Spock thought, to make the best of a bad situation.
Still. These facts, however fascinating a portrait of human culture they painted, did not pertain much to Spock’s goals. Jim had made no mention of past visitations from alien life forms. He was even hard pressed to speak badly about his own government, despite his admittance that yes, continuous warfare was probably bad for everyone and no, he didn’t suppose he really supported the idea of ruling over the entire planet.
“You do not believe that people can be trusted in terms of their own welfare?”
Jim wiped sweat from his forehead. “Their own, maybe,” he said slowly. “But other peoples? I don’t think so.”
“I concerned myself with your welfare,” Spock pointed out.
Jim’s gaze flickered to him. “Yeah,” he said. “But that’s different.”
“How so?”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just is.” He swallowed, “Can I have some water?”
Spock passed him the water bottle. Jim took a long gulp, careful not to dribble any. “I do not believe there is any difference,” Spock said, taking advantage of Jim’s momentary silence. “I believe that you have been taught to think that.”
Jim swallowed the water quickly. “Hey,” he said, “That’s kind of dismissive, don’t you think? What gives you the right to judge me like that?”
“Am I incorrect?”
Jim glared at him. “My opinions are my own,” he said. “The government might not be the best, but at least it’s stable enough to put food on the table. That’s more than what it was like before.”
Spock sensed enough animosity radiating from him to back off for the time being.
Spock’s mind was drawn back towards the present, as he heard Jim draw in a rattling breath. He turned to make sure the human was still sleeping and was satisfied when he saw the slack mouth and still-closed eyes. He thought back to their conversation.
It was not his right, he chastised himself, to interfere with the people of this planet. He should not have pressed Jim so - even if Jim’s ideas were the polar opposite of his own, Surakian ideals. As a Vulcan, he ought to respect Jim’s right to have different opinions from him, no matter if Spock did not exactly agree with them.
Yet, he had spent enough time with Jim in close quarters over the past two days to be certain, is some regards, of Jim’s character. He was intelligent, Spock knew, and his declaration that they should press forward only at night pointed toward at least a rudimentary grasp of logic. Jim had also revealed that his decision to join the air force rather than, for example, the navy like his father, had stemmed in no small amount from a desire to forge his own path, and to travel roads rarely trodden.
Spock could not understand why such a character would continue to believe what was, to Spock’s outside view, clearly propaganda. Spock had done studies on Vulcan’s past, and on Romulus’s present. He knew a party line when he saw it, and Jim’s words reeked of something learned by rote from infancy.
Spock pondered. Did he have any right to attempt to open Jim’s mind to other possibilities? Or was the logical course to stay silent?
On their third night of travel, Spock was forced to move forward at a slower pace than previously, for fear that he would leave Jim behind. The human’s feet - good and bad - dragged against the pebbled ground, leaving long ribbons of scraped earth in his wake. His voice was weak and raspy, and Spock wondered if he ought to offer him some other form of support. Perhaps an arm, to assist in keeping him upright? Yet, fear of what human cultural taboos he might run into if he were to offer his assistance, kept Spock from speaking.
They stopped to rest. Jim slumped to the ground, panting. Spock knelt at his side, offering him water. Jim sipped gratefully, turning haggard, dry eyes to Spock’s face.
“Damn, you don’t seem affected at all,” he said. He coughed, “It’s hot,” he added. Somewhat redundantly, Spock thought. “Even though it’s night, the ground is still so hot.” He patted the packed, hard soil. Spock followed the motion of his hand, and saw to his fascination that they were standing on a plain full of hardened, hexagonal mudcracks. He ran his finger along the edges of the nearest one, marveling at its precise shape. Mudcracks were rare in the Forge, although more common near the sea.
“I grew to adulthood in a similar such environment,” Spock said, recalling that Jim had spoken to him. “I am used to the heat.”
Jim ducked his head wearily. “Just because you grew up in it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t affect you,” he said. “Hell, I grew up with Iowan winters, but that doesn’t mean I could just head on out to Siberia and be fine and golden.”
“I do not understand,” said Spock. “You would not be golden in the winter regardless of your location, because the winter clothing necessary for maintaining optimal body temperature would preclude tanning.”
Jim stared at him blearily. “I’m going to pretend that I just hallucinated that,” he said. He blinked. “Except, say ‘optimal body temperature’ again.”
“Optimal body temperature,” said Spock.
Jim’s mouth twisted into a grin, his lips cracking. “It’s better when you say it,” he said.
“What is better?”
“Everything.”
“I do not understand.”
“Never mind,” Jim said. He smiled.
Spock looked at him helplessly.
“So, shall we keep on trucking?” Jim asked, staggering to his feet. He handed Spock back the nearly empty water container, and slapped him on the shoulder. Spock jumped at the unexpected contact.
“If you are still fatigued,” he started, but Jim was already hobbling his way ahead of him. Spock watched him for a few seconds, then rose from his crouch, swung his bag back onto his shoulders, and prepared to follow, his expression unreadable.
They stopped to set up the tent before the sun rose. Jim sat on the ground, taking care with his ankle. Once again, Spock had rejected his offer to assist with setting up the tent. Spock paused in his work to see Jim looking up at the sky. The constellations had shifted throughout the night, but the stars of the early morning were still visible and, Spock admitted to himself, quite spectacular from this viewpoint.
“You know anything about constellations?”
It took Spock’s brain a moment or two to catch up to the fact that Jim had spoken in the first place. The human had hardly moved, still gazing heavenwards.
“Little,” Spock said.
Jim tilted his head, then he pointed, “I don’t know much about constellations,” he said, “But I know that’s Venus. The morning star.”
Spock searched his memory for the term Venus. Ah, yes. A name shared by an ancient goddess of a Mediterranean civilization, and the second planet in the Sol system.
Spock joined Jim, sitting beside him. “Venus was a Greek goddess?”
“Roman,” corrected Jim, absently. He frowned, “Well, kind of. She was a Greek goddess too, but they called her Aphrodite.”
“Over what tenets did she rule?” Spock queried, interested despite himself. His mother had detailed some of Sol III’s history, but little of its mythology.
Jim smirked a little. “Love,” he said lightly. “Beauty, sex, fertility . . .” he turned to Spock, “You know, all the interesting things.” His eyes widened. “Oh my god, tell me you’re not blushing.”
“I do not blush,” Spock said, straightening his posture in affront. He pulled his hat down further over his head.
Jim reached out with teasing fingers. “Yeah, you totally are,” he crowed. “You know, I thought your Zen face was impenetrable, but I guess not-” Spock caught Jim’s hand before it made contact with his face. Jim flicked an eyebrow at him.
“I am not blushing,” he said, dropping Jim’s hand as though it was on fire. In spite of his words, he put his own hand to his cheek. To his mild horror, he discovered that his cheeks were, in fact, hotter than usual. Spock felt an illogical surge of gratitude for the night, which made seeing the greenish tinge to his blush well nigh impossible.
“Suit yourself,” Jim shrugged. He leaned over and massaged his ankle through the wrappings, then rotated it a few times.
“You seem to be very knowledgeable about mythology,” Spock said, more to direct the topic away from himself than for any other reason.
Jim rolled his shoulders back and forth. He stretched his hand over to one shoulder, and pressed strong fingers down on his aching muscles. “I guess,” he said. “Not really. I was kind of a history buff in school, but not really classical history. More like, the Industrial Revolution and the early 20th century.”
Spock nodded.
Jim twisted to look at him, “You know,” he began slowly, another one of those infernal little grins forming at the corner of his mouth.
Spock had begun to recognize such expressions as precludes to some grave illogic. He braced himself. “Know what?”
“Talking to you is kind of historical,” Jim said.
Spock narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”
Jim’s grin grew wider. “Oh,” he said. “It’s just, your speech is pretty formal, you know? Victorian, almost.” He paused, “And you're a prude.”
Spock drew himself up. “I am not a . . . I am not.”
“Yeah,” Jim drawled, “You kind of are.”
“From what,” Spock said, despite being absolutely certain that there was no way he was ever going to come out on the correct side of this argument, “From what evidence do you draw such a conclusion?”
“Well,” Jim said. “Mostly because you blushed when I said the word sex.” He winked.
“I did not,” Spock asserted.
“You’re doing it again,” Jim said. “Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.”
Out of reflex, Spock’s hand flew to his cheek. He glared at Jim as the human laughed. “I do not understand your amusement,” he said darkly. He was not sulking, he told himself. Sulking was illogical. Therefore, Vulcans did not sulk.
“Oh, lighten up, Spock,” Jim said. He got to his feet, wincing as he attempted to put some weight on his ankle. He also prodded the sore spots on his side. “I’m just teasing you. You’re too easy to tease, all serious all the time. I bet you were a real nerd in school.”
“Perhaps,” Spock said, uncertain as to what the word ‘nerd’ even meant.
“Well, that’s okay.” Jim patted Spock’s shoulder. “I was kind of a nerd too.”
“I suppose I ought to be gratified,” Spock said dryly.
“Yep,” Jim said. “Oh, ow.” He stopped moving. Spock quickly got to his feet. Jim waved him back down, “No, no,” he said. “Just the ribs. I’m fine. I think I’ll go lie down in the tent though. You can do your meditating thing.”
“Very well,” Spock said, easing his form back down to a sitting position. It was true, he did need to meditate after another trying day. However, his concern for Jim’s health prompted him to say, “If I can assist you in some manner, or ease your pain, please make me aware.”
“Okay,” Jim said, crawling as best as he could into the tent. He left the flaps open, to allow for a breeze, and to prevent suffocation when the sun was at its zenith.
To the east, the sky was beginning to gain a pinkish tinge.
Spock sat back down again fully. What had possessed him to say such a thing? It was illogical to request of the human that he interrupt his meditation. Jim had been managing his pain without Spock’s assistance for nearly three days now. Spock’s words seemed unfortunately emotional.
You cannot afford to become emotionally compromised by any being on this planet, he told himself firmly. He is but a brief companion. An emotional attachment could prove detrimental to the mission at hand.
But it was difficult to maintain a proper distance, more difficult than Spock had originally anticipated. Perhaps if he had not rescued such an outgoing and tactile human, this would not be an issue. Perhaps if Spock had greater control over his curiosity. Perhaps if Jim Kirk was not dependant on him for his very survival. Perhaps if they had not been the only two sentient beings present, necessitating communication, necessitating some degree of teamwork. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps . . .
Still, Spock thought, at least he had caught the burgeoning attachment before it became too tangled. It spoke to some hitherto unrealized laxity in his control, which was regrettable, but that could be rectified. In any case, severing any attachment to Jim should not be too difficult. What’s more, it was necessary to the future success of his mission here.
That settled, Spock exhaled and drifted deeper into meditation.
Shortly before midday, Spock withdrew from his meditation. He stretched out his legs and rubbed his eyes. Vulcans did not need as much sleep as humans, but that did not mean they did not need to sleep at all.
Spock stood and strode over to the tent, dusting himself off as he went. Satisfied that his clothing was relatively dirt free, he stooped and entered. He stopped at the sight before him.
Jim had sprawled diagonally across the tent floor, his body half on the pallet and half off. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes screwed shut. His right hand fisted the folds of the pallet, while the left was drawn up against him protectively. His dark blond hair was in sleep-tousled disarray and, unless Spock was mistaken, he was drooling a little.
Spock’s nose wrinkled.
Spock narrowly avoided tripping on Jim’s outstretched foot as he entered the tent more fully. Movement silent as a whisper, he folded his legs beneath his body and sat on back on his heels. He bit his lip, dark eyes pondering the best method of removing Jim to his allocated half of the tent without waking him.
A complex endeavor indeed.
Still, Spock thought, he possessed at least three times the human’s strength. Surely such an action was not beyond his skill.
Experimentally, Spock pushed at Jim’s uninjured leg. It did not budge. Very well. More determined, he picked it up by the ankle, and moved it back onto the sleeping pallet.
Jim mumbled something in his sleep and brought the leg up towards his center, knee bent. He curled into himself more fully, and sighed.
Spock’s lips thinned. He attempted to move Jim’s other foot, but he could not get a proper grip on the injured ankle, for fear of causing further damage. After a few more minutes of futile prodding, Spock slumped his shoulders and curled up into a ball on the other side of the tent, as far away as possible from Jim’s chaotic limbs.
He awoke briefly late in the afternoon to notice, to his chagrin, that Jim had managed to somehow ensconce Spock in a deceptively slack grip. He shoved half heartedly at the human, attempting to extricate himself, before giving up the entire exercise as useless, and shutting his eyes in resignation. He slept through the rest of the day until sunset.
The following night was quieter than those previous. Jim appeared even more fatigued than before, his visage gaunt and lips blistered. His eyes however, remained as sharp as ever, occasionally glowering in Spock’s direction, much to Spock’s puzzlement. It was not until their midnight rest however, that matters came to a head.
“So, what did I do to piss you off so much?”
“Pardon?” Spock turned to face him.
Jim planted his hands on his hips. “You heard me,” he challenged, “You’ve been distant all day, hardly replying to anything I’ve said. What gives?”
“You have hardly spoken at all today,” said Spock, still mystified.
Jim inclined his head, the motion sharp, “You know what I mean,” he said. “You’ll hardly look at me, and only grunt when I talk to you. What the hell, did you decide you didn’t like me after all? Did I offend you that badly yesterday?”
“I,” said Spock. “No, you did not offend me.”
Jim’s eyebrows rose, “No?” he repeated, “No? Then what the hell, man?”
“I am sorry,” Spock said hesitantly, “I don’t understand-”
“No,” Jim snapped, “That seems to be kind of a constant with you, doesn’t it?”
Spock did not know what to say.
Apparently, Jim did not need Spock’s verbal input to continue their discussion. “I mean, really,” he said. “You seem like a cool guy and all, but you’ve been treating me like shit all of a sudden, and I want to know why.” He paced a little, the motion made more difficult by his sprained ankle and walking stick. He stopped, his chest heaving, and spoke to some point over Spock’s left shoulder. “I thought we were, hell I don’t know, getting to be some sort of friends, or something, you know?” he scrubbed at the back of his neck, “But Jesus, I hope you don’t treat your friends like this all the time.”
Spock wanted to say, Vulcans do not have friends, but he could not. He settled for, “We only met four days ago,” and hoped that it would appease his emotional companion.
It did not. Jim turned red, “Yeah, but we’re also kind of involved in an ongoing life or death survival situation,” he retorted hotly, waving his hands towards the whole of Death Valley. “That kind of means you move up from casual acquaintance to friend pretty quickly, you know?”
Spock blinked. He had not known. “Oh,” he said.
Jim glared at him.
Spock tried again. “I . . . apologize,” he said slowly, uncertain if such words would anger Jim even more. “I was not aware,” he cleared his throat. “I did not intend to treat you callously,” he said.
Jim looked at him more closely, “Huh,” he said, a hefty twinge of anger still evident in his voice. “And the reason you are is because . . . what? I offended your sensibilities or something? I hugged you in my sleep?”
“No,” Spock said quickly. “I just,” he stopped. In point of fact, Jim was correct: Spock had been behaving more coldly to him than during the previous days and it was indeed intentional. He had surmised that it was a necessary action to destroy any chance for emotional compromise regarding the human.
However. Spock’s lips thinned. It appeared that such actions had negatively affected the human’s mental health, as well as any cohesive teamwork that the pair managed. It seemed somewhat unorthodox, but might such an emotional connection (so long as Spock did not permit it to get out of hand and affect his own sensibilities) be advantageous in this unusual environment?
“I apologize,” Spock heard himself saying. “I am not angry with you. You have not offended me. I am simply . . .” he thought for a moment. “Tired,” he settled on. “I am very tired and it has negatively affected my behavior towards you. Please forgive me.”
There. That sounded like a properly emotional human response. Spock dared a glance at Jim’s face. The human was biting his lip.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “Okay, I believe you.’ He hung his head a little and mumbled, “And sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You’ve pretty much saved my life out here, and I appreciate it, I really do. And I trust you, so. Sorry.”
“There is no offense,” Spock began.
“Where none is taken,” Jim finished for him, a strange light in his eye. “You say that all the time,” he explained, as Spock boggled at him a little. “It’s kind of a nice saying. Where’d you hear it from?”
Spock hesitated. “My father,” he admitted eventually. “It is from one of his preferred philosophers.”
“Huh,” said Jim. “Aristotle?”
“No.”
“Socrates?”
“No.”
“Is it-”
“He is not very well-known,” Spock interrupted.
“Oh,” Jim said. “Who, then?”
Spock wavered for a moment, “Surak,” he said, unwilling to both antagonize Jim again by refusing to answer his question, or to lie about such a thing.
“Oh,” Jim said. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“He is not common here,” said Spock, very aware of the irony in his statement.
“Apparently,” agreed Jim.
They travelled until the early hours of the morning. As the sun rose, they rested beneath the shade of the tent, Spock once again observing Jim’s repose. It was abundantly clear that the human’s body was close to betraying him. In all honesty, Spock was surprised that he had lasted this long, in such brutal conditions as these. He began to worry that the human would not make it out of the desert alive.
Less than halfway through the next night, Spock’s fears became all too prophetic. One moment, Jim was walking behind him. The next, he had simply collapsed into a heap, Spock turning around only when Jim hit the ground with a dull thump.
Spock drew in a quick breath, and hurried to the human’s side. He felt for Jim’s pulse. It was shallow and quick. Heart racing, Spock lifted Jim up to a halfway sitting position, and pressed the dangerously empty water bottle to his lips, urging him to drink.
Jim coughed and groaned, his head lolling a little against Spock’s thighs. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Sorry.”
“Do not apologize,” said Spock.
“‘S’probably better if you leave me here,” Jim slurred.
Spock’s eyebrows drew together. “I most certainly will not,” he said.
“Makes sense,” Jim managed. “I’m kind of dead weight now. Will only slow you down.”
Spock shook his head. The human’s logic was faulty. “By saving your life once, I have assumed responsibility for it,” he said. “I cannot leave you here.”
“What kind of . . . bullshit is that?”
The skin around Spock’s eyes tightened. “That is my cultural heritage,” he said icily.
“Oh,” Jim coughed again. “Sorry. Still, I’d rather only one of us die here of dehydration and heat exhaustion.”
Spock had to consciously clamp down on his controls in order to prevent from rolling his eyes. Clearly his mother had been somewhat of a bad influence, if he was feeling the urge to do so to such a strong degree.
He got to his feet, still supporting Jim under the armpits and around the middle. “You will cease such melodrama,” he said, voice crisp. “We are both leaving this place. I will carry you.”
“You’re crazy,” Jim whispered. “That’s impossible.” His eyes closed.
Spock took a steadying breath. He looked towards the horizon, estimating that civilization could not be more than a single night’s march away.
Jim had said he trusted him.
Spock took another deep breath. He swung Jim’s limp form up into his arms.
They would make it. They had to.
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