Work Text:
Chapter 1: Spock
Spock could not remember how he had ended up sprawled awkwardly on the surface of an unfamiliar planet. That fact suggested a head injury of some kind, which in turn suggested that he should be very cautious in moving about until he had determined the extent of his injuries.
In the distance, Jim's voice cried out in pain.
Spock immediately leapt to his feet and took off running.
Spock found his captain in a more wooded area, half hidden in the underbrush. The first thing Spock noticed was a bright red gash across Jim's left pectoral muscle. Whatever blow had resulted in the injury had also badly torn his shirt.
“Captain,” he began.
“Ah, Mr. Spock, good to see you.” Jim smiled and for approximately 0.23 seconds Spock forgot what he was going to say.
“Captain,” he repeated. “Are you injured?”
“I've done something to my leg,” Jim replied. He shifted his weight slightly and his face contorted into an expression of pain. “Ah! I can't…can't get a good look at it, it seems to be stuck on something.”
“Do not attempt to move,” Spock said sternly.
First, he checked his communicator. It was working, but the signal was poor. He hailed the Enterprise anyway.
“Commander Spock to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise.”
His communicator crackled. In between bursts of static, he caught a word or two in Lieutenant Uhura’s voice. “... transport … storm … Kirk?”
As if on cue, a strong wind swept in from the east, where the terrain was flatter. Spock turned to see dark clouds, streaked with lightning, racing towards their location.
“I have located Captain Kirk. He is injured but not severely. We will take shelter until the storm has passed. Spock out.”
Spock closed his communicator. It was unlikely that Uhura had been able to hear much of what he had said, but there was virtually no downside to taking a chance that she could.
That remedy having failed, Spock knelt down in the underbrush. Upon examination, he found that a large branch had embedded itself in the outer part of the captain’s right thigh. He conveyed this information to Jim.
“Well, you'll just have to pull it out,” Jim said, his face drawn and pale. “Use that Vulcan strength of yours.”
“Very well,” Spock said, running mental calculations and then positioning himself in such a way that he would have optimal leverage. He also took the space of a single deep breath to shore up his emotional controls. He would endure infinite suffering himself to avoid the captain having to experience pain, but in this case that was simply not possible. Logic demanded that he not allow compassion to curdle into a squeamish inability to do what was necessary.
As Spock lifted the fallen branch, Jim's entire body contorted in a scream, but any sound was lost as lighting and thunder came upon them almost simultaneously. Spock felt the fine hairs on his neck rise, smelled ozone, felt the powerful waves of sound in his lungs more than his ears. And he thought, I must get the captain to safety.
Spock picked Jim up bodily – a liberty he would not have permitted himself if not for the urgency of the situation – and made for a cave he had noticed in the nearby highlands, just above the treeline.
By the time they reached the mouth of the cave, they were both soaked to the skin by the sudden downpour. Spock nevertheless hesitated a moment to allow his eyes time to adjust to the dim light of the cave's interior.
The captain apparently misinterpreted his hesitation as fatigue because he said, “You can put me down, Spock, I'm not as bad off as all that.”
Spock obeyed but kept a steading arm around Jim's waist. A sudden gust of wind pelted their backs with rain.
“I suggest we venture deeper into the cave system,” Spock said.
“Good idea,” Jim replied tersely.
For quite some time, navigating the uneven floor of the cave and supporting his captain demanded all of Spock's attention, given the number of stalagmites and fallen rocks obstructing the way forward.
Nevertheless, Spock found himself noticing things. Here, a tiny fanlike shape in the rock that suggested fossil life. There, a cascade of calcium carbonate that looked like a waterfall of diamonds.
Jim stumbled, groaning, and Spock chided himself for his divided attention. “Captain, are you well?”
“Yes, of course,” Jim said, his breathlessness belying the reassurance. “If I could just rest a moment…”
Spock helped him sit on a relatively flat outcropping of rock.
“This cave system,” Spock commented, “Is at least superficially similar to those on other planets that are formed due to the erosion of sedimentary rock. Perhaps at a later time it would be possible to return and explore more closely. Such geological formations often contain fossil evidence of the early stages of the evolution of animal life.”
“Definitely,” Jim said. Then, in a different tone, “Do you suppose there's anywhere near here we can lay out a couple of sleeping bags?”
“I believe there is a larger chamber a short distance ahead, though I cannot guarantee it will be suitable for our purposes.”
“Well, can't know until we try,” Jim said, levering himself awkwardly back onto his feet.
As Spock predicted, they soon entered a large chamber with a smooth, gently sloping floor. He shone his flashlight around and Jim gasped as the beam illuminated walls covered in pigment – red, black and white interspersed apparently at random. There were abstract shapes and more complex drawings that seemed to depict animals, but most of all there were hands. Hundreds or perhaps thousands of them, outlined on every available surface, standing as testament to an unknown, alien intelligence.
“Fascinating,” Spock said.
Chapter 2: Jim
Jim loved the way Spock looked when he was fascinated by something. It was like his whole face was illuminated from within by a quiet fire.
Then his pulse was pounding in his ears and the ground was coming up towards him and Spock was saying, “Jim!”
I'm all right, Jim thought, but his mouth wasn't cooperating and he was too tired to figure out why.
A hypospray hissed. Slowly, fog cleared away from his mind.
“Jim,” Spock said again.
“Yes?”
“You have lost a significant amount of blood. I believe that treating the wound on your leg will alleviate this problem while we await contact from the Enterprise.”
“All right.”
“I must remove your pants now,” Spock explained.
“At least buy me dinner first,” Jim said with a weak laugh.
“Your attempt to lighten the mood with humor is unnecessary, Captain.” Spock's tone was impassive as usual, but even in the dim light Jim could see the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes that suggested he was secretly amused.
Unfortunately, there wasn't actually anything romantic about having one's torn, blood-soaked pants removed. Jim tried not to show how painful it was and mostly succeeded, other than a choked groan or two.
Spock inspected the wound and then selected several large absorbent pads from his first aid kit.
“I will now apply pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding,” he explained.
Jim nodded. “Of course.”
The pain was so bad that Jim maybe blacked out for a second. At any rate, when he could focus again he found Spock looking intently at his face, something like worry haunting his dark eyes.
“I apologize for causing you pain, Captain,” he said, in that way he had of making every word sound like it had three or four layers of hidden meaning.
“Ah, it wasn't so bad,” Jim replied. His voice didn't sound quite as steady as he would have liked. “I'd put it somewhere between an electric cattle prod and a branding iron.”
Spock's face softened incrementally – Jim read a little bit of amusement and a larger helping of relief. “It seems our respective estimations of severity differ significantly.”
Once the wound was bandaged to Spock's satisfaction, he wrapped Jim in an emergency blanket – “I look like a baked potato” – and handed him what looked like a perfectly ordinary Starfleet rehydration packet.
“Drink this,” Spock said.
Jim obediently took a sip and sputtered in surprise. “What is that??”
Spock blinked slowly, his eyes briefly reflecting greenish light like a cat's. “It is a standard Starfleet rehydration packet, modified to have the flavor of sarsaparilla. Do you dislike it?”
“No, no,” Jim said hastily, taking another sip. “It just took me by surprise is all.”
“I recalled you saying once that you dislike the taste of the rehydration solution,” Spock added, “and it was a trivial matter to synthesize a flavoring compound that would make it more palatable without rendering it ineffective.”
“Logical,” Jim replied teasingly.
Spock didn't deign to respond, instead carefully repacking his various supplies.
“It would be a shame,” Jim said, “if we came all this way and didn't collect any information on this cave art. It's really quite an impressive find, scientifically speaking.”
Spock looked at him with a vaguely suspicious air.
“You should take a look around and gather some preliminary data while we're waiting to get back in contact with the ship.”
Spock, as Jim expected, could not resist an order that prompted him to do what he really wanted to do anyway.
“Curious,” Spock said after making a slow circuit of the cave and returning to Jim's side.
“What is?”
“For the most part, the handprints increase in size as one moves up the walls. I estimate that the adults were approximately 1.52 meters in height and had arms that were proportionally somewhat shorter than humans’, based on the angles of the various markings. However, among the highest and largest handprints the pattern abruptly breaks down.” He held out his hand, fingers outspread, a few inches away from the cave wall, looking at something roughly at his own eye level. “There are handprints at this level even smaller than the ones at the lowest level.”
Jim started to stand, eager to take a look for himself, but his leg very rudely reminded him of why he'd been sitting in the first place. “Agh. I've
heard of something similar before, on earth,” he said instead. “I believe archaeologists ultimately concluded that the adults were holding the smallest children – in their arms or riding on their shoulders, you know – and that was how the children were able to make markings so high on the walls.”
“Fascinating.”
Spock completed his circuit of the cave and settled down next to Jim, propping himself up on his arms and stretching out his long legs in the sand.
“On my planet,” he said, “there is a cave system in which archaeologists have found evidence of habitation by sapient life dating back approximately fifty thousand of our years. There are many different objects represented on the cave walls, but a particularly fascinating group of petroglyphs represent musical instruments – a flute, a drum, a stringed instrument similar to a modern lyre. These petroglyphs were in side passages some distance from the main cave complex and it was not understood why until one archaeologist noted that certain rock formations were particularly good at amplifying sound. He arranged to have musicians stand near each of the petroglyphs and play the depicted instruments and discovered that this produced unique harmonies that could be best appreciated by someone standing in the main cave complex.”
Spock paused for a moment as though collecting his thoughts. “I am considered a proficient lyre player and was therefore invited to participate in a reenactment when I was a young man, shortly before I left for Starfleet Academy. It was…a profound experience…to stand where a proto-Vulcan had stood millennia ago and participate in the same ritual. It is remarkable to think that those ancient people so desired…art… and beauty…that they strove to create it even as they lived in circumstances that would have made bare survival difficult.”
Jim wanted to say something that would indicate he appreciated the significance of this ritual without getting too emotional, but his brain was going fuzzy again. And he was so cold. Cold all the way down to his bones.
“Is it…” he started to ask, teeth chattering so hard he could barely manage the words.
“It is not getting colder,” Spock said. “You are experiencing additional side effects from blood loss.”
Jim burrowed deeper into his foil blanket as Spock pulled out the first aid kit and prepared another hypo. As soon as that had been administered, he unfolded a second emergency blanket and said, “Please unfold your blanket momentarily.”
Jim did, though his brain was still too sluggish to understand why.
Spock lay down next to him and spread the second blanket over both of them, sealing its edges together with the first.
“Oh,” Jim said as Spock snuggled close against him.
“It is logical to share body heat in such circumstances,” Spock said, his breath hot on the back of Jim's neck. There was the faintest note of self-consciousness in his voice.
“Quite right,” Jim managed.
Jim woke up to almost total darkness and the sound of Spock's slow, even breathing.
It would be ridiculous to wake his first officer because he suddenly felt a wave of overpowering loneliness. He was the captain of a starship, not a child who had crawled into his parents' bed.
The darkness still pressed in.
It might have been a minute or an hour later when he finally broke and said, quietly, “Spock?”
“Yes, Jim?” Spock replied immediately.
“Nothing, sorry, I just…felt quite alone, for a moment.”
“I will stay with you,” Spock said warmly, and maybe it was just blood loss muddling Jim's thinking but it sounded like so much more than a plain statement of fact.
“Spock,” he said again. Then he was silent for a moment, searching for the right words, for any words. “It's…overwhelming, sometimes. To realize just how massive everything is. And you're just one part, and you don't even know…you don't even know what the finished piece is supposed to sound like, and somehow you've got to go on anyway, and…even though everything is so massive, you can still cross half a galaxy and find people. Helping each other. Making art. And…falling in love. For as long as people have been people.”
Spock had said nothing during this entire speech and for a moment Jim was terribly afraid.
“Do you understand what I mean, Spock?”
“Yes, Jim.”
And then, in the space between them (impossibly vast, nothing at all) their two hands joined.