REPOST: TOS A/U, 6/6, New Minglewood Blues, [PG13] K/S
Killashdra
New Minglewood Blues (sequel to Deep Elem Blues)
TOS A/U, K/S, h/c, part 6 of 6
PG-13 for Violence and Other Unpleasantness
Jim drew in a breath, and it went on forever. It felt as if
he were inhaling All The Air There Was. He let it out and
drew another, and nothing in all his life had ever tasted so
sweet. He drew another, for the pure pleasure of it. Then
he rolled over so he could get up, and *then* he saw:
!M'zh!w*hee was down, on her back, her face in wet ruins;
yellow was splashed *everywhere*. Even that elegant
silver hair was soaked with yellow. She wasn't moving,
and it looked as if her neck was broken...
He saw Spock, on his hands and knees in the middle of it,
wavering. Saw him try to get up, and fail. Saw him sag the
rest of the way, until he lay flat, his eyes already beginning
to roll up. His hands -- Gods, his hands were *broken*;
there was yellow and green splattered on his hands, his
face, on his clothes, on the floor around him... !M'zh!w*hee's
skull looked as if she'd been beaten with an iron pipe, and
Spock did that with his *bare hands*?
Jim blinked, trying to take it in -- then he saw the
Vulcan begin to stiffen, his muscles start to lock up... He
ran, first for his control, which had skittered across the
room when Spock fell, and then for the medkit, praying all
the while that *she* hadn't moved it, heedless of the
watching Sek'hel. The boy's eyes widened in shock as he
saw how fast the human accelerated, but he said nothing of
it. If it was done as he thought it was, then it was most
Private indeed.
The medkit was still where Jim had left it; he rummaged
through it hastily, looking for the shots he'd used the last
time.
Sek'hel coughed, to catch his attention. "Jim! It is --
sugar, he needs most. The -- glucose? yes, glucose -- it is
all gone. Give him that, before you give anything else!"
Jim hesitated, for just an instant, then grabbed that, too.
"How do you know what he needs?" he asked, already on his
way back.
The boy looked uncomfortable. There were so damn many
things Vulcans hated to talk about; that was the trouble.
Finally he looked up again. "It is... It is the 'ach'adh-
tzech'besh, Jim. He burned it all up at once." Jim knelt and
applied the glucose injector. He hoped the boy knew what he
was talking about. His own struggle for air had left him
with a fierce headache, which was making it hard to think.
"What do you mean, burned it all up?" he asked, as the
injector emptied itself. It didn't seem to make any
immediate difference.
Sek'hel was looking uncomfortable again. "It is one of
the oldest of the mind arts; it is a way to use all one's store
of energy in one burst. When it is finished, the blood has
almost no sugar left." The boy had moved to the very end of
his chain, trying to see in. "Now give the other injection,
the one you usually give. After that, if you will come and
cut this chain, I believe I can be of further help." There was
a look on the kid's face, intent and alive, that reminded Jim
of the way Bones McCoy used to look, back in Sickbay on the
Enterprise, up to his ass in alligators and loving every
minute of it. It was the look of someone doing what he was
born to do, the same look that he and Spock had once worn,
on the bridge of that same starship.
*Shit, he's just a -kid-*, thought Jim. But he did as
Sek'hel had advised, for there was that in his voice that
spoke of knowledge that Jim himself did not possess. Damn
if this kid wouldn't make a pretty fair doctor one day, if he
was any judge. It just seemed -- right, on him.
The second shot did the trick; the Vulcan's eyes snapped
closed and he went limp. Jim took a moment to pull him
away from the worst of the mess on the floor, then went to
free Sek'hel. There was a laser cutter in the cockpit tool
kit; it didn't take long. He stuck it in his pocket, planning to
remove his and Spock's collars later, once there was time.
The boy rubbed at his neck for a moment, where the
collar had made the skin green and irritated. He looked up
again. "Thank you, Jim."
"You're welcome. But how do you know what to do?"
Sek'hel was rummaging through the medkit; finally he
found a handscanner, and turning it over, began to
recalibrate it. "Sivek my brother is a Healer; over the years
he has taught me a little. It has always been his wish that I
follow him into that art." He snapped the scanner shut and
reached for the kit again. Jim picked it up and brought it
along.
Sometime during the next hour, while he snipped and
wrapped at Sek'hel's direction, when he picked Spock up, and
carried him into the other room -- so easy to lift, so light,
with the wire's help... The Vulcan's hands, like bundles of
broken twigs, and *damn -- he did that for -me-*...
Sometime while he was covering *her* body and cleaning up
the mess, it finally began to penetrate.
!M'zh!w*hee was *dead*. She would never harm him or
anyone else, ever again. He smiled, as he re-set Dirhja's
life support; very deliberately he turned it up to 40 degrees.
That was a level most Terrans would find uncomfortably
hot. But Spock needed the heat, to keep him out of shock. It
might comfort the kid. And, truth be told, Jim thought it
felt kind of nice himself. He'd lived where it was too cold
for too damned long, before their first, too-brief, taste of
freedom. He never wanted to feel cold again.
The last chore of all, after checking it for keys or money
or anything else of use, was to put her body on the
transporter pad, and beam it out into space, widest possible
dispersion. He could only tell it was her by the velvet-
furred skin and that hair -- there wasn't much of a face
left. It was *very* satisfying, to see the last sparkle
disappear, and to clear and reset the transporter. After
that he turned the ship around, set her on course for the
Vortex, and engaged their cloak, having first determined, as
best he could, that !M'zh!w*hee had left no traps in the
computer. He didn't think she would have -- she had been
otherwise occupied since coming aboard, mostly at his
expense. But he'd had to take a look, just the same.
Now he could check on Spock again. The air temperature
was slowly coming up, from where *she* had kept it -- but
it would be a while yet before it could really be called
warm. The Vulcan lay now in !M'zh!w*hee's bed, wrapped in
all the blankets that they had. His hands, splinted as well
as Sek'hel could manage, were propped on pillows, and he
was sleeping -- and Jim could feel that it was the true
sleep. Of a sudden the strength went out of his own legs,
and he sat down hard on the far edge of the bed. It was that,
or fall. He reached into his pocket, felt for his control,
meaning to boost himself back up -- then reconsidered.
"Sek'hel," he called, "you could do me one last favour..."
The boy returned, from the galley. "Of course. Ask it."
He had washed himself, and put on a clean tunic. Even his
hair was wet.
Jim smiled. Vulcans -- they were as bad as cats...
"Would you -- keep watch, a while? I have got to get some
sleep; it's been days since she let me... We're cloaked, no-
one should even know we're here, much less bother us.
Autopilot's flying for now. I'll wake up in a couple of hours
-- is that all right?"
Sek'hel inclined his head, in much the same way that
Spock sometimes did. "Of course, Jim. I shall monitor
Selek's condition, but I think that he is past the worst of it,
now. If you are there he will sleep quietly, and it is best
that he sleep; he will be very sore when he awakes."
Jim paused, in the act of stealing one of the blankets for
himself. Whether it was because of the bond with Spock, or
simply that he himself was too tired, he still couldn't quite
seem to get warm. "I wouldn't be surprised if he *is* sore,"
he said. "I've never seen *anyone* move that fast. Do
Vulcans do that kind of thing often? I never heard of it
before." Jim could move pretty quickly himself, if it came
to that, with the wire's help. But Spock's speed had been
blinding.
Sek'hel looked away for a moment. "No, we do not. It is a
very old technique; its use is quite rare, now. Most of the
time, the person who does it dies of doing so. Had I known
that he planned to do it I would have tried to dissuade him."
Though his control was as tight as ever, the boy's face was
haunted, his eyes full of thoughts of what had almost
happened...
Jim's voice was very quiet. "So would I, Sek'hel --
which, I suppose, is why he didn't tell us. It's an old habit
of his, believe me." He finished wrapping himself up,
reached into his pocket, and quietly tapped two hours of
sleep into the control. "See you in a couple of hours, kid."
He ducked into his blanket, touched the hidden control, and
was instantly asleep. Sek'hel was intrigued, but said
nothing. Jim, he knew, preferred not to speak of this thing;
therefore, he would not. It had been pure chance that let
him see it, during the fight with !M'zh!w*hee; he thought it
quite likely that no-one had noticed.
-----///-----
Late that night, something brought Jim up out of a sound
sleep; he'd nodded off at the pilot's station. None of Spock's
jury-rigged conn alarms had gone off... Some vague feeling
of trouble took him into the main cabin, and from there to
the sleeping quarters. There he found Sek'hel, fruitlessly
trying to get Spock to drink something he had made up, some
kind of supplement mixed with juice. The Vulcan was
curled up facing away from them. He was awake, but only
barely so; he'd been given a pain shot not long before. The
blankets were a churned mess. He had not been resting
quietly.
"You need to sit up and drink this," Sek'hel was saying,
patiently.
But over the bond, Jim could feel -- he wasn't thirsty; he
just wanted to go back to sleep... He tapped the boy on the
back, leaned down, and put his own hand on Spock's too-thin
shoulder. He was *hot*, even for him; he was burning up, it
seemed. His hair was soaked with sweat, tangled about his
face, and when he turned his head, there was a wild look in
his eye -- as if, for a moment, he had no idea who they
were. Jim kept his hand where it was, and concentrated, on
reaching through the confusion and fever. <<Please,
t'hy'la...>> And after a while, he allowed them to sit him up,
and he drank about half of Sek'hel's potion. He didn't really
care for the taste -- Jim could feel that, but he did drink it.
Even so, it proved to be a long night. Jim and Sek'hel took
turns at first, but it was really only with Jim there that he
would rest. It was almost the start of day watch when
Sek'hel came in, tapped Jim on the shoulder, pointed to
Spock, who was finally sleeping quietly, and sent him off to
get some rest himself.
It was midafternoon when Jim came back in and found
them both asleep, the boy slouched in the chair, Spock
wrapped up in a roll of blankets with only the top of his
head sticking out, a wild tousle of silver and black. Huh --
so they both slept that way, sometimes. Must be one of
those Vulcan things... He smiled and walked out again. When
he returned, later, he found Sek'hel was wide awake, and
just closing up the medkit. The boy saw the questions in
Jim's eyes. "The fever is gone now, but he keeps waking
himself up. I had to give him another pain shot. Has he
always talked with his hands, while he sleeps?"
Jim nodded. "Yes, at least for the last few years, he has."
Sek'hel looked thoughtful. "I thought perhaps so. He
dreams; when he dreams, he talks in his sleep -- and his
hands hurt, and he wakes up. I am trying something longer
acting. It is not as strong, but with this sort of damage,
perhaps it will give better relief. He needs to see a doctor,
though. I cannot do this kind of rebuilding, but there is no
reason not to have it done. He has no injuries that cannot be
repaired -- and it is a good sign that he dreams, so soon."
He set the medkit down on the floor, pulled the covers up
over the sleeping man's shoulders, and turned to face the
human.
"There is a thing which I need to discuss with you", he
said, looking uncomfortable again. It reminded Jim again of
Spock, when they first met -- always apologizing for
something... It must be another Vulcan thing. The boy
cleared his throat and continued. "While you were away,
when we were in the holding area -- your, Selek -- he had a
seizure. In order to get him breathing again, it was
necessary for me to touch his thoughts. In doing so I
became aware of who the two of you -- who you were, at
one time.
"I tell you this now only for one purpose: to reassure you
that I will in all ways observe and protect your Privacy. My
contact was inadvertent and for good cause; nonetheless
custom requires that I notify you." He bowed a little, an
oddly formal gesture coming from this rumpled kid with a
medkit at his feet.
Jim sat back and thought for a minute. "Seems to me,
Sek'hel, that there's a quote that about covers this -- 'The
cause was sufficient.' It works for me." The boy nodded,
and looked relieved. Jim went on. "If you hadn't done what
you did, none of us might be alive right now, because neither
of us could have done what he did later. So thank you --
from both of us, all right?" After that, Sek'hel looked
slightly more relaxed.
-----///-----
The next morning Spock just -- woke up. He opened his
eyes, looked around, and said, "...cousin Sek'hel... I ...thirst."
He didn't understand why Sek'hel looked so relieved, but it
didn't matter. The water was cold and sweet, and pain or
no, it was good to be alive.
He drank the E-rations that Jim had always claimed were
so disgusting, and found them tolerable. He was very tired,
and he slept most of the time. He was dimly aware that
Dirhja was in warp for somewhere, but he had no idea
where. It didn't really seem to matter, just yet.
Finally he heard them drop out of warp. Jim came, then,
and perched on the edge of the bed. He made an elabourate
shrug. "Hey. You, with the ears..." He was smiling, and the
flat chain collar was gone from around his neck. Spock
moved his head, and noticed that his own collar was gone,
too. And it was *warm*, again -- he was finally warm
enough...
He tried to sit up, and his hands got in the way. He
winced and sagged back against the pillows. "...Jim...?" The
human was up to something. He had that look on his face
again.
Jim cocked his head. "Listen -- I know your feelings
about doctors. But if you ever want to use those hands
again, you're going to have to see one." Spock glanced down
at his hands, and by pure effort of will, managed *not* to
move them, this time... They were -- odd-looking. There
were bends where there weren't supposed to be any; they
were lumpy and bumpy -- and they were exquisitely tender.
Even with the pain meds, he was always bumping them on
things...
He couldn't even feed himself, like this. "What... do you
....suggest?"
"We're back at the Vortex. I can send a message to Yojo
Vakako from here, and he knows a doctor who *will* be
discreet. Will you let him see you, if I bring him here?"
Spock permitted himself a small sigh. "It would... appear,
....that I ...have... little ...choice. Yes... I ...will see... him." He
looked down at his hands again. "Do you... know, ....Jim -- I
...had no ...idea, ...that this..." He ran out of words again, but
it didn't matter -- he knew that Jim understood.
He was still very surprised to find himself alive. He had
not expected to survive the 'ach'adh-tzech'besh -- hardly
anyone ever had. That was not what it was for. It was for
that time of ultimate desperation, when no other choice
remained. And that had certainly been the case.
But his hands -- no. He did not wish to lose the use of
them. And he had not seen any real doctor in a very long
time. Only the veterinarian, at the camp, when the
overseers had thought it needful... There was no other
choice; his hands were not going to heal themselves. Since
it appeared, after all, that he was going to live, he had
better do something about them.
-----///-----
The doctor had come and gone. It had been a taciturn
Ilmarian, invisible beneath a cloud of veils and robes -- but
indubitably a doctor, for all of that. It made Spock promise
to be seen in one week, if not by itself then at least by
somebeing of a medical persuasion.
In fact, it had quite unexpectedly made him feel
homesick, as it grumbled at him and very gently put his
hands back together. So clear, for a moment, was the image
of that other doctor, that he blinked a couple of times
before he realized what it was. He hadn't remembered that
face, before. The name, yes -- but not that face. That was
something new. He could not put a name to the feelings it
invoked.
He was still lying there staring at the ceiling when Jim
came in. The human perched on the edge of the bed, looked
at the Vulcan's expression, and grinned. "I think I know
what's eating you. It *did* kinda sound like Bones on a tear,
didn't it?"
Spock nodded, allowing himself the faintest ghost of a
smile. "Yes," he drawled, his voice still harsh and rasping.
"...it was... quite ...familiar." He looked down at his hands.
They were still splinted and bandaged, but at least they
were the right shape again. "It said... in a ...week, ...I can..."
He got stuck, and after a moment, he just shrugged, human
fashion.
"In a week you can start using them?" At the Vulcan's
nod, Jim continued. "That'll help. Is it my imagination, or is
it harder for you to talk, when you can't use your hands?"
Jim remembered Sickbay, on the Enterprise, and its
equipment -- there, Spock might have been up and around
that afternoon and back at work the next day. He sighed.
Spock looked faintly rueful. "It... harder... Doesn't...
matter. Jim... on planet, ...I had..." Once more, he got stuck.
He frowned very faintly; in his situation, Jim would have
been scowling fiercely.
Lambasting himself for an idiot, the human dug out his
control and boosted himself up enough for the mindtouch.
<<There. Can you hear me?>>
Gratitude, then, on the bruised face. <<...Yes. Thank you,
t'hy'la...>> He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.
<<On the planet, I had... a seizure. Sek'hel made it... stop.
Jim -- I had stopped...breathing... He had... to touch my
thoughts... He knows who we... were.>> He was looking
distinctly embarrassed now.
Jim smiled, just a little. <<I know. He already told me
about it -- and he was as nervous about it as you are.
Swore up and down he'd protect Privacy... I think it'll be all
right. He might be just a kid, but I have a feeling he's a kid
who keeps his word.>>
<<So I also... believe. He may be young, ...but he has
passed the... kahs-wan. And he is... a Healer, or he... will
be.>> There was no doubt in his face or in his mind. Jim
still felt skeptical, but the kid *was* a Vulcan. Maybe that
made it different...
<<You know... that it does, Jim.>> And this time that was
definitely the bones of a smile.
The human shook his head. Of a sudden he recalled the
look on Sek'hel's face, in the middle of the crisis. He
grinned. <<I'll have to take your word on that. Anyway, you
wouldn't be alive if he hadn't acted, would you?>>
The black eyes were solemn. <<No. I do not... believe
so.>>
<<That settles it then. I'll tell you what I told him --
'the cause was sufficient'. I'm just glad you made it.
Damifino *how*, after pulling a crazy stunt like that, but
I'm glad anyway.>>
<<I could see... no other way, Jim. It... was not ...my first
choice.>>
<<I should hope not!>> The human was bouncing on the
balls of his feet, as McCoy had often done; soon now he
would probably just turn and start pacing.
Spock looked up at him, curiousity sharp in those wide
black eyes. <<I have... been meaning to ask -- how... did you
manage ....to hit her?>>
Jim laughed, more at himself than anything else. <<Oh,
*that*. Hell, I did something *really* stupid. I figured if I
turned the wire all the way off, I could attack her. And it
worked, sort of -- I did turn it off, or so I thought -- I was
able to strike one blow, anyway, by pretending very hard
that all I was doing was throwing a ball. But I forgot --
she'd had me amped up for days, at that point. I got in one
good shot, and the damned thing blindsided me. All the
strength went out of my legs. The floor jumped up and bit
me. I couldn't move; I could breathe, a little, but I couldn't
move. And then *she* got my control, and that was it.
Seems *I* don't really have the access to turn it off. I'd
never tried it; I didn't know.>> He laughed again, but Spock
could hear the bitterness behind it.
<<I see. Perhaps, then, not... our finest hour. But ...we
have... survived. The masters... underestimated... you. She
did not... think, that *you* would ever... turn it off. Perhaps,
no-one had... done so, before.>> He frowned, trying to
remember something. <<There is something -- I ...saw it in
her thoughts... There may be... cargo, somewhere on
board...>>
Jim grinned at him. <<I'll check for that. Be nice if it
was loot, eh? Hard to be dashing and successful pirates,
without any loot.>>
<<Indeed...>> As the human left to check the holds, Spock
leaned back, and allowed his eyes to close. Jim could be
active enough for both of them. For himself, for now, it was
enough simply to be alive. To be free.
-----///-----
<<Jim?>> He could always tell when the human was near.
Careful of his hands, he worked his way up into a sitting
position, unassisted -- something he hadn't been able to do,
a few days ago.
Jim sidled around the door, and grinned. <<Hey. The kid's
finally asleep; I thought maybe you could use to get your
shoulders rubbed. *I* can feel how tight they are, out at
the conn. I didn't figure you'd be getting much rest, *that*
way.>>
Spock moved to shrug and had to stop, wincing. <<Your
feeling... is more accurate, than was... my own.>> he
admitted. <<The doctor said that... the muscles were
...strained, that the damage is not ...permanent... that it
would pass, in... time. But it... is tiresome.>> His face, and
voice, were rueful. Spock had always hated having to admit
to infirmity of any kind, and all the years had not changed
that in him.
Jim inclined his head, the wire lending him, as always,
that unnatural grace. <<Here --slide forward, and I'll see
what I can do.>> A few moments, then, of cautious moving
around, and Jim was safely settled behind him, leaning
against the wall.
He couldn't help making a small hiss, as the human's cool
fingers reached for the knots, beginning to work them out.
Born a touch-telepath, he had all of his life avoided touch,
as much as possible. It was only lately, and only with this
one, that it was at all tolerable. Jim's thoughts were...
unobtrusive. Easy, to co-exist with. In a crowded
marketplace, jostled by the thoughts of many, he would be
lost.
Another hiss, as a particularly bad spot began to loosen
up. He'd been skipping some of his pain pills again. They
interfered too much with his concentration. He had begun
studying with Sek'hel again during his convalescence, trying
to re-learn the mind rules. Without them, without that
which lay at the very heart of what it was to be a Vulcan --
he didn't really feel like one. As yet, he had not been
successful, and Jim knew that it was Sek'hel's opinion that
he simply was not ready yet. In the back of Spock's mind
was the fear that he might not be *able* to re-learn them.
Not everyone who was brain injured did; sometimes there
was just too much damage.
Thinking of that made him tighten up again. Jim renewed
his attack, using his own awareness, and the bond, to seek
out the worst of it. <<You're brooding again, my friend.>>
Warm hazel eyes in his mind, then the coolness, once more,
of those remorseless fingers. <<You're brooding, and you're
skipping pain meds again.>>
The Vulcan looked down for a moment, caught out. <<I...
suppose, that I ...am.>> A small involuntary gasp escaped
him, then. *That* knot, right *there* -- that one was the
worst of them all... The black eyes began to close. <<It is
not logical, ...but I am... troubled, tonight.>> He forgot, tried
to use his hands, and froze for a moment. Again, that slight
hiss of indrawn breath, though he made no other complaint.
Jim changed his angle, and went after the trapezius
muscles. <<Worried about planetfall tomorrow? Sek'hel
was practically bouncing off the walls tonight. I never
knew Vulcan kids *got* that hyper.>> Slowly, the muscles
began to relax, to give up their tightness.
The faintest trace of embarrassment... <<We were not
....supposed to. But occasionally... there were... exceptions.
He... has never been away... before. And he is... home.>>
There was a pair of tendons, like tight steel wires,
running up the back of that long neck; Jim pursued them
with his thumbs, merciless. <<You shouldn't be worrying,
you know -- with Sek'hel's chop on those papers, we're
legitimate hired transport.>> Sek'hel's chop, and no few of
!M'zh!w*hee's no doubt stolen bars of latinum. Dirhja was
now duly and lawfully registered to fly the colours of the
Republic of New Jamaica, signed by President-for-Life
Selassie Marley himself, and all, man. A small brass plate
under the main viewscreen confirmed it, the New Jamaican
flag was painted on the hull, next to the Rihannsu
calligraphy of her name, and the proper documents were
locked in the ship's safebox. Jim was surprised how easy it
had been, really. Money changed a lot of things. Money
bought a new autodoc, and medical supplies, and better
medications for Spock. Money bought the right to come and
go freely. Long ago, he had taken that for granted. He never
would again. Most of all, money assured one of anonymity,
if desired. He had worn the robes and veils of the deep
desert, at their registration, and none had remarked on it.
If the generous and wealthy gentleman wished to dress in
such a way, why then, that was of course his business...
The Vulcan winced, and gritted his teeth, but he
stretched out his neck and let Jim keep on with what he was
doing. <<It is not even... that. It is... it is that, I *could*
...go back, now. We are *here*. I always... thought, I would
wish to... With empty hands, still... I could join ...a monastic
order. Such do not... ask, who one ...was, before. But I do not
wish... to go back.>> Barely visible under that flat Vulcan
mask were wonder, and fear. Yet he *must* speak; above all
else, there must be honesty at the heart of this, if it was to
work at all. <<This -- this ship... *This* is home, now.>>
Jim knew exactly what he meant. He had spent most of
his life aboard one ship or another. A number of years
aboard *this* one, in fact. He had never felt as comfortable
dirtside as he did once he returned to the ship -- any ship.
Though he'd been born and raised a grounder, Jim would
never be one again. He was comfortable here, as he was
nowhere else. Only here could he relax, and be himself.
Seemed like a pretty good definition of home to him.
He began to work, then, on the long muscles of the
Vulcan's arms. They were also far too tight. <<You're right,
you know. I hadn't really thought about it, but you're right.
This *is* home.>> He smiled. <<So what's wrong with
that?>> He finished one arm, and picked up the other. The
black eyes squinted shut, then, and Jim said, <<No, I don't
think so. That's too sore. Wait a minute, let's try this,
instead.>>
And a warm heaviness settled over the aches in Spock's
right shoulder, the soreness in that arm. Something hot, and
damp, and heavy, and ...comfortable. <<That... is helping...>>
Some of the pain eased out of his thoughts.
Jim relaxed, in turn. <<That's good. You just let yourself
hurt all the time, t'hy'la -- it's as if, you think it doesn't
matter, because it's only you. But it does matter. *I* feel
it, and *I* think it matters. If you are always tired and
always in pain, how well can you heal?>>
He had no answer for that. He hadn't thought of it that
way. Jim reached out, then, and touched his cheek for just
one instant. <<I think, that for a long time they told you
that you were useless, and treated you that way. I think
that somewhere in your head, you're still hearing that. And
it's not true.>> In his thoughts, then, were only calm
acceptance, and the awareness that the one thing they did
have now was time.
Listening, Spock realized then -- Jim really didn't care,
if he could speak or not. He didn't care about the mind rules.
He didn't care about any of it. Only about staying free, and
about how empty the world had been, when he thought he
was alone. The human thought that *he* was planning to
leave, and as for what Spock had been thinking... The Vulcan
turned his head, and stared into the familiar hazel eyes. He
kept his own eyes open, and he took a chance. <<Jim -- if it
is... if you want... I will not go. ...I will... stay, here. Is that...
what you ....were going to ask?>> He didn't breathe for a
moment, waiting for the answer.
Jim shook his head, and grinned ruefully. <<I don't know
if I'm *ever* going to get used to that. But I don't guess it
matters. Yes, that's what I was going to ask. When you
started talking about becoming a monk -- well, I can't see
that. But I thought I'd better check, just the same...>> He
looked away for a moment; when he looked back, his face
was lit up with that familiar lazy cat grin. <<So, does this
mean, both of us are staying on? The dread pirate Dirhja
won't be needing to sign up new crew?>>
Spock *remembered* that grin. He had always
remembered it. It had been the only thing he still knew,
when Jim first found him. <<Not... at the moment. No...>>
One last sore spot, then, at the base of the skull, where
the heat pad didn't reach. Jim dug into it, rolled his thumbs,
went back... <<What made you think I was going to leave,
anyhow?>>
Faint memories, of different faces; of... what? The scent
of sun on hot sand... A flash of actinic sunlight, on the edge
of an upturned blade... Spock himself was not sure where
the idea had come from. <<I... do not... know.>> Something
that had happened to him, once -- a rejection, a pushing
away... But it was gone again. He couldn't remember...
Jim reached for his arm, helped him turn over, get
settled. <<Hell, look what happened the last time I left. It
took me twelve *years* to find you. Think I want to do
*that* again?>>
Elegantly slanted eyebrows crawled upward. <<I...
suppose not...>> The long thin face was resolutely *not*
smiling.
An emphatic nod, from the human. <<Well, all right
then.>> He reached down and made sure the heat pad was in
place. <<Best thing you could do now is sleep for a while,
with this on. Can you manage that?>>
Gratitude, in the black eyes. <<Now I can, ...yes. Thank
you... t'hy'la.>>
<<It isn't very often I can talk to you like this. Thank
*you*, my friend, for saving *my* life...>> He sat there,
then, on the side of the bed, and watched, as the slanted
black eyes drifted closed. Soon enough the Vulcan was
asleep, and for the first time in a week the pain lines were
gone from his face. Jim sat and watched him for a long
time, savouring the fact that they had both survived. So
very nearly, they had not. It could just as easily have gone
another way. He had so nearly lost everything, a sum whose
value he was just beginning to appreciate.
Vulcans. They were a lot like cats. Hell, they were
worse than cats, some ways. But there was no one in all the
universe so loyal. There wasn't really anyone else who
mattered at all, no-one to whom he could really speak.
Both of them had a few surviving kin, but for himself,
Jim had no wish to get in touch. He could not imagine trying
to explain what he had lived through to his mother, if she
still lived, or to Peter -- so serious at age 9; an unknown
quantity, now.
The hazel-eyed man sat there long into the night, content
simply to be there. If anyone had asked, he would have just
grinned, and answered that he was only watching the cat
sleep.
-----///-----
End of part 6...
This story was brought to you by the letters K & S <grin>,
the music of Kashtin, Due South, and the Yes album Relayer.
Much help was given in the writing by Killa, and my old
friend Sharon in LA... And, by The Boys themselves, who
refused to leave me alone until the tale was told... ;-)> Who
am I, to argue with a Vulcan?
Greywolf the Wanderer
--borrowing Zepp's account
--mail me at grey...@snowcrest.net