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Title: Interlude  The captain of the Enterprise leaned heavily against a divider wall in sickbay as his friend was wheeled into surgery. The relief knowing that Bones was going to be alright washed over him, making him suddenly light-headed. As the door to the surgical suite whispered closed, he looked up at Spock tiredly, more relieved than he could say to be home after a week in a cave trying to keep Bones alive. "Mr. Spock, I'm going to get some food and sleep, please don't wake me unless we are surrounded by five Klingon Warbirds." He smiled wanly, forcing his exhausted body to support him, and turned to go. "Captain, you look quite unwell and—" "--I'm sure I do indeed look---and smell---quite unwell, Spock, but it's nothing some shut-eye, and a shower, won't cure." He reached for a reassuring smile and, again, he turned to leave. Softer now, "Jim..." Spock could almost see the waves of pain emanating off his captain and had noticed the calculated, stilted movements signaling the internal battle his captain waged just to stay on his feet. Jim relented, "I'll get checked out when things have calmed down a bit here, I promise. Goodnight Spock." And he made a judicious retreat before his friend and first officer could argue further. In his quarters, Jim popped a pain reliever in his mouth and set his teeth as he removed the garments he'd been wearing planetside. The undergarment had stuck to the wounds on his back and it was like ripping away flesh to remove it. He tossed the soiled mess in the incinerator and walked into the shower. His eyes closed in bliss as the water hit him and took away enough of the soreness to make it manageable, though his backside stung like the devil. He felt all the anxiety and worry over Bones' precarious condition fall away and sighed a thousand thanks to the gods that he'd somehow managed to get them home alive--luck had been with him again. Had he lost Bones...no, he could not think about that anymore. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he turned off the water, dried and pulled on some loose sweat pants, wincing again at the pain it caused just to bend over. God my ass hurts, he smiled, chagrined. Exhaustion overwhelmed his desire for food, and without his permission, his body dropped onto the bed. He was not accustomed to sleeping face down, it made him feel oddly vulnerable, but the cool sheets felt like heaven, and slowly, painfully, his muscles relaxed one by one. He let himself sleep for the first time in 96 hours. Where his captain was concerned, Spock no longer recognized the sanctity of the "do not disturb" message on the outer door. He had unquestionably discerned more than exhaustion and worry in his captain's eyes, and logically concluded that the man needed to be monitored until Medical was able to take a look at him. After taking a quick turn around the bridge, Spock quietly entered the captain's cabin through their adjoining chess alcove door, and found him unconscious, his bare back covered in deep bleeding gashes and black bruises as if he had been savagely beaten. Spock's eyes flared before reclaiming some semblance of control. In a heartbeat he was at his captain's side checking his pulse before moving to the comm unit to call sickbay, but Jim awoke, coming painfully up on one elbow and turning his head to glare at Spock. "Spock, what part of 'do not disturb' do you fail to comprehend?" "Captain, what part of 'seriously injured, in need of medical care' do you not comprehend?" His imperturbable Vulcan seemed...quite perturbed, Kirk thought. Knowing he was too exhausted to wage an effective argument, Jim conceded defeat with an amused smile and laid back down flat, resting his head on one arm. His voice muffled by the bed sheets, "Spock, if it were serious, I'd be dead by now—took the fast route down the mountain on my back four days ago. You'll be pleased to know that I have no intention of taking up 'rock surfing' as a hobby any time soon..." "Captain, you are bleeding. I am calling sickbay, you will lie still," he said firmly as he stood again. His eyes closed now, Jim replied, "Spock, I'm too tired to feel much of anything. I just want to sleep, in peace, in my bed, call whomever you wish but I'm not going to sickbay. Goodnight." And with that, he was asleep, his lips set in an endearingly defiant line. He would find, however, that Spock could be just as stubborn as he. His First walked to the wall comm to summon sickbay. Dr. M'Benga arrived two minutes later. "Sweet Jesus...why the hell didn't he say something?!" M'Benga immediately administered pain medication and, distantly, Spock felt Jim's mind relax into a deeper sleep, the hum of pain subsiding. M'Benga found badly bruised ribs and kidneys, but nothing life-threatening. He spent a considerable time sealing and dressing the open gashes. When finished with the Captain's back, without hesitation he gently eased the sweat pants down over the captain's backside and found more of the same. "No wonder he remained standing in sickbay when he looked about to topple over," he whispered. "I'd like to have him in sickbay, Mr. Spock, but there isn't a free bed with this damned ship-wide epidemic and I don't think that exposing him to that flu is in his best interest given how exhausted he is. I'll send down a nurse to stay with him here—" "--I doubt he would accept that option. I will stay with him." M'Benga knew how deeply the first officer cared for their captain and did not blink at that suggestion. "Very well, I'll be back to check on him in a few hours. I'm going to leave these pills and anesthetic lotion should he wake in pain--and he will. He needs to stay off his feet until the kidney damage is healed. The pain from that alone should have caused him to pass out...." Shaking his head, he exited the captain's quarters. Adjusting the lights to 10%, Spock soundlessly crossed back to the sleeping alcove and sat in Jim's favorite leather chair next to the bed. His captain was sleeping soundly now…tousled gold hair over pale gold skin. The lines of tension had smoothed from his boyish face. That Spock hadn't immediately realized the extent of the human's injuries and pain when he'd come back aboard signaled just how adept Jim was becoming at shielding their link when he wished, a fact that did not please Spock in the least as it made it more difficult to monitor his condition and keep him safe. Spock leaned closer and pulled a light sheet up over the human's badly damaged back. His head was facing in Spock's direction now and his hands were no longer balled in fists as they lay on either side of his head. The doctor's ministrations had clearly helped relieve much of the pain he had been experiencing. In his sleep, his lips soundlessly formed Spock's name. Softly, "I am here Jim, rest now." Spock struggled to resist the urge to brush the golden locks from his forehead and ease the remainder of his discomfort with a meld. No, he did not have the right. Yet. He found his hands were fisted in frustration, seeing this man so hurt again; having been unable to protect him again. Starship captains rarely survived five year missions, and this one seemed determined to place himself in harm's way on a daily basis. He would never send a crewmember where he himself would not go. It was a point of contention between he and his First Officer, among others, but this attitude had won the profound loyalty of a crew that would do anything for him. The Enterprise had become Fleet's flagship in two short years under the leadership of this boy captain. He was barely more than an adolescent in Vulcan terms—and the youngest captain, by far, in Fleet history—and he'd already used up at least ten of his lives in his first two years. Nothing, nothing, Spock, or any of them, could do would ever change that reality. This was his first, best destiny, however short it might be, as McCoy had remarked in the past. This was Jim Kirk and all they could do was have his back, just as he had theirs. But it was easier said than done. Spock sat back in the comfortable chair and watched his exhausted captain sleep. The nature of this new injury took Spock back to their most recent shore leave on Camus V. After dinner one evening Jim had wanted to go hiking at sunset to a high vantage point on a butte a mile or two from their shared cabin. When Spock had ask why Jim desired to climb the butte to observe a sunset that could be appreciated from their current location, Jim had responded,--as though it should have been obvious-- "Because it's there, Spock!". Closing his eyes, Spock found himself back on that tallus slope now....Jim was scrambling higher and higher despite Spock's protests, "Jim, it will be dark before we are off this rise." "That's where your night vision comes in, Spock!," he grinned mischievously. His irrepressible vitality was coming back in full-measure after months of cumulative exhaustion that had begun to erode even his indomitable spirit. Had Spock been human, he would have sighed. Jim Kirk was the embodiment of trouble waiting to happen, particularly on shore leave. Thirty minutes later, "Jim...." "Almost there Spock!" This situation and the Captain's grin reminded him of all the similarly ill-advised adventures the two of them had gotten themselves into as cadets at the Academy. Yet, even now, Spock was no more immune to that grin than any other species ever had been and Jim took shameless advantage of that knowledge. "We could not have taken this hike during the daylight perhaps?" "Nah, where's your sense of adventure, Spock?" "We do not experience an adequate degree of adventure on a daily basis?" Jim grinned, "Touché!" Jim was several feet above Spock on a small ledge when it suddenly gave way sending the captain falling several yards down the slope. "Jim!!" Spock made it over to him as he stood and began dusting himself off. "I'm okay, I'm okay. These are lousy climbing shoes..." "Jim, are you alright?" "Just some scrapes--I’m fine--maybe if we went around to the left--" "—Jim-" Spock saw blood on his T-shirt and lifted it before Jim could look down to stop him, and found bruises and several cuts. He whipped out his communicator, but Jim grabbed it like lightning, "Don't even THINK about it." "Jim, you may have broken--" "--no I didn't, just some bruises. Wake up Bones for this and I'd never hear the end of his lectures, not a chance." "Jim--" "Quit fussing over me Spock, I'm fine. Let's try going around to the east--" "--Jim, under no circumstances will we be continuing up this ridge. We return now or I call McCoy." Spock favored his friend with one of his famously inscrutable dark stares that made even Jim think twice about challenging him, command hierarchy not withstanding. Given the devilish gleam in the man's eyes, it required no mental contact to ascertain the nature of Jim’s thoughts. Spock up'd the ante with an eyebrow...and won this round. Like a child denied dessert, Jim sent him a whithering look, but relented, "Spooock....oh hell, alright, but we've got to come back tomorrow." "Pouting is an interesting human trait. Remarkably ineffectual" earned him a feral sneer. They made their way slowly and silently down the rise in the dark and back to the cabin. Jim had taken a shower and come out sometime later to a darkened cabin lit only by the firelight. Thinking Spock was in bed, he'd sauntered into the kitchen in grey sweat pants and a red flannel shirt that he hadn't gotten around to buttoning as he was hoping to find some ice to put on his sore ribcage. Spock had been standing in the kitchen preparing exactly that when Jim walked in. Spock thought that Uhura would no doubt have given a year's pay to have this particular holoimage of their captain--tousled damp hair, open shirt revealing a very well-muscled chest, and the now-suntanned face that seemed to attract light itself...he was inarguably beaut--Spock could not imagine why his thoughts had taken this tangent and visibly shook himself as his eyes focused on the angry bruises poorly concealed by the open folds of the shirt. He could see in Jim's eyes that he'd wished he'd thought to button the shirt and reached to do so, but Spock had pulled his hands to the side without quite managing to look like he was three times stronger than the human--Jim's attempt to push his hands away was to no avail as Spock had been just annoyed enough with his human St. George to use his Vulcan strength to his advantage against the human this once. Holding his wrists aside, Spock had pulled the shirt wider, ignoring Jim's protestations. "Jim, I am skeptical of your diagnosis--you could easily have at least one cracked rib." Finally pulling out of Spock's hold, Jim had picked up the ice pack and pressed it against his ribs, gingerly. "Damn, that's cold...and thanks by the way." Spock had said nothing, thereby loudly conveying his disapproval, enough so as to make Jim squirm, he recalled with some satisfaction. "Spock, it'll wait 'til morning, I got some pain pills, I'm fine, go to sleep--I'm going to crash on the couch and read for a while. Besides, I don't know what you're so upset about, that was a great hike--we'll get to the top tomorrow!" he beamed. He'd turned on his heel and sauntered back toward the fire. Eyes sparkling, he looked back over his shoulder at Spock, "This is a fairly typical shore leave so far, don't you think, Spock?" With a boyish grin, he popped the pills in his mouth and reclined on the couch with his latest antique book acquisition. As it turned out, this book had been gift from Spock's mother to Jim during his recovery following his journey into the Codex. The work, entitled, Riders of the Purple Sage, Earth circa 1800, had instigated the captain's obsession with equines and cowboy boots throughout the remainder of their shore leave. But that was another story,..one related quite entertainingly by Lt. Uhura. If the captain only knew how many times that story, and her holoimages, had circulated around this ship already... To his dismay, Spock caught himself almost smiling. His mind returned to that night in the cabin. The completely irrational exuberance evident in his normally rational captain baffled him to distraction at times. Spock had claimed a heavy chair near the fire and returned to his blissfully rational treatise, Analysis of Transitional Energy Intermediates in Biphasic Space. An hour later, Jim had fallen soundly to sleep and Spock had carefully removed the melted bag of ice from his chest. Based on the darkening bruises, he guessed that Jim had at least two cracked ribs and had been perfectly well aware of it all along. Spock had retrieved a blanket and covered his captain, turning out the light. In the fire glow, he looked about 25 years old, hardly more than a child. Just as he did now, lying there so vulnerably on his stomach. As it was, at his real age of 38, he was younger than 2/3rds of his crew, less than two years into his first mission, and already a legend in this sector of the galaxy, much less Star Fleet. Yet, during those rare shore leave opportunities, free of the mantle of responsibility for his ship and crew, his youthfulness, necessarily suppressed by his command, was allowed expression... and he took childlike delight in nearly everything around him. He seemed, even, to revel in acting irresponsibly and endangering himself--a behavior that would have aggravated Spock no end--were he not Vulcan, of course. Perhaps McCoy was right, the boy inside this impossibly young captain deserved an escape every so often, and if that meant that they had to keep a closer eye on him, so be it. Besides, the adventures were usually quite... entertaining, and the injuries generally minor compared with what he suffered regularly on active duty, as clearly evidenced by his current condition. That night on shore leave, as Spock rested in his room, he wondered if he would ever fully decipher this particular human. Doubtful. Jim's already extraordinarily dynamic personality seemed to evolve and increase complexity every year. He was... fascinating, and the best friend Spock would ever have. The following day after Jim's tumble down the mountain, proved to be "good theatre", as Uhura had put it. Not surprisingly, Jim had awakened stiff and sore. Spock had been waiting for him on their porch. "Jim, how are you feeling?" With a sigh of resignation, bright hazel eyes admitted, "You may have to use that neck pinch of yours on Bones." "As you wish." And Jim had grinned and laughed at his ready acquiescence. "---Oh, oh, ...don't make me laugh Spock...", he'd said, gingerly wrapping his arms around his chest. "I'm hungry, let's go get breakfast." He made a valiant effort to stand erect and they headed off to the main lodge. Jim had managed to get through breakfast without tipping off McCoy, but when Ensign Chekov had told another joke, Jim couldn't help but grip his chest when he'd burst out laughing, and the gig was up--even though the Doctor had been all the way at the end of the table he'd always had eyes in the back of his head when it came to their captain's well-being, knowing all too well of the captain's innate talent for creative obfuscation when it came to his health. Jim had still been chuckling, if painfully, when the doctor came around the table and rolled his chair back. With his hands on his hips, he'd looked down at Jim, superior to errant child. "Spill it." Jim had laid his head back on the chair and looked straight up at Bones, engaging his most disengaging smile. "You can turn down the wattage, JimBoy, I've built up immunity." Deflated and all-innocence, Jim shrugged and tossed it all into the ring in typical Jim Kirk style, "Well Bones, it's like this. I went for a short walk last night and...cracked some ribs somewhere along the way." Everyone around the table was silent with supreme effort, waiting for the bomb to drop, but with a long-suffering sigh, McCoy had simply pointed to his room at the end of the hall, his eyes never leaving Jim's. The captain had risen carefully, if sheepishly, and headed that way. McCoy turned back to the occupants of the table (who were trying very hard not to burst out laughing at their captain's heroically failed attempt at innocence) and asked--"So, who won this year?" Jim had stopped and turned, seeing bills being passed across the table, and turned back, "Hey---", but McCoy grabbed his arm and propelled him away. "What was that about, Bones?" "We had a bet to see how many days it would be before you got into trouble this time." "What!?" "Get in there and strip off the shirt--" The door closed. Seeing that their Captain was in no immediate danger, and no longer able to hold it in, Star Fleet’s finest burst out in not so silent laughter around the table as their Chief Engineer collected his money with a smug look on his face. He'd seen the Captain eying the peaks around their lodge within ten minutes after they had arrived and knew the headstrong lad would not be able to resist the temptation for long! Spock's attention was drawn back to the present when Jim began thrashing fitfully in his sleep. His restless movements had pulled the blanket off his shoulders. Spock leaned forward to tuck the blanket back over his captain, his hand lingering on his bare shoulder. Yes, even through layers of exhaustion, Spock could feel the faint hum of Jim's vitality, a tangible warmth that had taken up residence in the depths of Spock's mind. He could never return to the days before Jim, return to his battle for non-emotion. He had tried to reclaim his Vulcan vow of non-emotion on numerous occasions with terrible consequences for both of them. Jim had been correct, the key to living with both his halves lay in using his beloved Vulcan logic tempered with emotion, a balance for which he continually struggled. It was precisely these qualities that made Jim Kirk the brilliant leader he was. And it was Jim's vibrant joy for experiencing life that gave no quarter and inexorably drew Spock out. In turn, Jim had come to depend on Spock for friendship that was denied him by the lonely life he had chosen as Captain. Spock and McCoy were the only two people in whose presence Jim could occasionally relax and reveal his anxieties and fears... and joys. But Spock was all too aware of the deeper bond that had formed between he and his captain over the last year. Various circumstances had necessitated the use of mind melds on several occasions and this repeated mental contact had engendered a permanent carrier wave of sorts between them, but it was more complex than that now. Neither fully understood how or when this bond had formed, but it had become crucial to their mutual well-being. And it scared the hell out of this man lying before him. This man who had already lost more than most men would ever dare. Spock took a deep breath reaching for his center. Jim was not ready to admit to their bond yet, much less his feelings about it. When he was ready, Spock would be here. He was sleeping comfortably for the moment, if far too pale. If M’Benga did not return soon, he would call sickbay. Noticing the cherished cowboy boots leaning against the bulkhead in the corner of the sleeping alcove--the boots the command crew had had designed for the captain on his birthday last month--Spock decided on a whim--scratch that--for preparedness purposes--to retrieve the book his mother had given Jim. Perhaps if he had some knowledge of its contents he would be better able to prepare for what lay ahead on their next shore leave. He was certain it would in some way involve equines. His head aching and his stomach complaining of hunger, Jim awoke in the dark, slowly easing himself to his elbows and cradling his head in his hands. He felt like he'd gone ten rounds with a swarm of Klingons. He rubbed his eyes fighting the desire for more sleep and shuddered as pain rippled up his back with even the slightest movement. "Jim, are you in pain?" He jumped, wincing. Turning his head, exhausted hazel eyes gradually managed to focus on the dark figure in the chair. Jim sighed in exasperation, dropping his head back into his hands. "Spock...do I look five years old to you? I really don’t need a nursemaid." Spock measured him in silence for a moment, then said in his best matter of fact professorial tone, "You look more like a 10 year old when you sleep, Jim. Yes. A sick, stubborn boy, quite in need of a nursemaid." Jim's shoulders slumped. He felt unreasonably touched by that comment on some strange level. "Uhura is corrupting you, my friend..." he muttered, but his voice held warmth, even tender affection. Spock leaned forward, reaching for something on the nightstand. "Speaking of whom, Lt. Uhura brought by soup for you some time ago. I am told it contains a remedy for both the body and the soul, according to the Lieutenant." Jim dropped his head on his arms and chuckled. "You two make quite the pair...'Nyota's Nursemaids, Inc.'" Yawning, Jim slowly turned his head and smiled disarmingly at Spock, giving in gracefully, "Okay, I'll try some soup..." He set his teeth and turned onto his side and then onto his back, and sucked in his breath, stiffening, as the pain hit him--Spock was out of his chair and helping the captain roll back onto his side immediately. The pain had made him surprisingly nauseous and cold. Gripping the pillow Spock had placed in front of him, shivering now, he closed his eyes, his face nearly as white as the pillow his head now rested upon. Immediately concerned, Spock reached for and gently covered the half-conscious human with another blanket, being careful not to inadvertently touch the still angry wounds around his shoulders. "Jim, I’m going to call M'Benga and--" From behind his eyelids, he said weakly, "--Just give me a second, Spock, I'll be fine, just need some food..." Spock reached for the pills M'Benga had left and went to the bathroom to retrieve water. "Jim, can you swallow this?" The human opened his eyes, pushing the pillow aside he managed to lever himself up on one elbow and take the pill and then the water glass Spock held before him. More water landed on the sheets than ended up in his mouth, but he got the pill down. His pallor was disturbing, golden eyelashes feathered across nearly translucent skin, the muscles of his face drawn taut. "Jim, you need to be in sickbay, let me call--" "Uh uh--that pill will help in a moment." Jim's eyes widened and he immediately looked up, "Spock, how is Bones?!" God, he was so out of it he'd forgotten to even ask! "He is fine Jim, M'Benga said he would make a full recovery in a few days." Jim closed his eyes relieved, "Thank the gods...". The pill cut enough of the pain to allow Jim to roll back onto his stomach, holding himself upright on his elbows to eat the soup. It was all he could do to stay awake and his shoulders were getting quite tired in this position. Finally, he handed the bowl to Spock and laid back down tiredly, his head on his arms. "Remind me to tell Uhura that she'd make a great mother..." And, with that, sleep reclaimed him. The painkiller had worked on the deepest pain, but even Spock could feel through their link the residual soreness Jim felt as he lay there. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spock hesitated only a fraction of a second before settling his palm on the side on Jim's face. There was no sign of fever, though Jim was still shivering intermittently. He allowed his fingers to feather across the meld points hoping a light touch might convey a sense of tranquility, but he dare not linger. More asleep than awake now, Jim mumbled, "Spock, go get some sleep, I'll be fine, if I need anything, I'll call." Spock did not respond to that, but simply waited patiently for the younger man's breathing to even out into deep sleep. Spock went to the bathroom sink to warm his hands then returned to Jim's bed and reached for the pain relieving lotion M'Benga had left. He very gently applied it to Jim’s back, taking care not to wake him. As the human drifted deeper into sleep, Spock eased down the soft pant and carefully rubbed the pain reliever into those firm, yet terribly bruised muscles. He no longer cared about the possible consequences--the question was going to come to a head soon enough anyway. Unbeknownst to Spock, a faint thread of Jim’s consciousness remained aware…and he had never felt more cared for, protected...loved...in his life. Or more confused, as those firm warm hands eased his pain and brought a new awareness of...more on their horizon, something that both had been dancing around since the Codexan incident. Jim was simply too tired to venture into this new territory right now, but he knew they would have to acknowledge it soon. Together. Spock pulled the covers back up over his exhausted charge and sat back in the chair for the night, watching him sleep, feeling the same apprehension. And longing. FIN ---------- To the authors out there in Trekspace who feel our Boys as I do, my soul gives thanks. This is my first, and likely last. It was fun. |