Fic: Companion, Chapter 5: Bones and Spock

 You sure got down here fast.

There was no reason for me to delay.

Well, you could have at least bothered to change.  You look like you just got off a prison work detail.

Indeed.  This is Starfleet standard issue clothing.

Well, there's nothing standard issue about a grubby tee shirt and work pants.  This is a hospital, for God's sake.  You could have at least cleaned up.

I apologize if my appearance offends you, Doctor.  I personally saw no reason to waste time changing my clothing.

I can see you didn't waste any time.  Are the transporters on board still operational?

Negative.  I came via shuttlecraft.

So the shuttlecraft still work?  I thought they all got trashed.

Indeed they did.  I had requisitioned a shuttlecraft from fleet operations to remain on standby so that I could leave the ship at any moment.  

Wow, you rate, huh?

If by that statement you mean that Starfleet has been unusually accommodating with regard to my personal requests, you are correct.  Were you to make any demands of your own, I imagine you would find the administration equally eager to comply.

I didn't think to ask for anything but a place to stay, but now maybe I might.  Like every other day off and a four-course meal every night.

I can do nothing about the former, but as to the latter, I have brought some nourishment that I hope you will find acceptable.

Wait...you didn't take time to change, but you did stop for takeout?  Jesus!

What would you prefer at this moment, Doctor?  

Between a less visually offensive you and a hot meal?  All right, I guess I prefer breakfast.  Is that it out in the...what the hell, man, you brought three cargo containers of food?  What are we gonna do, camp out?

Negative.  I only brought enough food for this one meal, for now.  

So what's in the boxes?

I surmised that the captain's recovery would proceed more comfortably were he to have access to his personal effects from on board the ship.  The contents of your cabin are in one of the other containers as well. 

Wait, what...?  How'd you do all that?  It's barely been an hour since I commed you.  Or you commed me.  Hey, how did you...

Several days ago I assembled all the salvageable items from your quarters as well as those of the captain and myself as part of my duty in clearing the Enterprise of debris.  It was only necessary to retrieve the containers from the cargo bay and load them onto the shuttle before I myself boarded.

So you had this all planned...?

Doctor, it became immediately apparent that you would not soon be returning to the Enterprise.  Nor, obviously, was the captain.  I saw this as the most expeditious way to reunite both of you with what is left of your belongings so that you may make use of them until our next mission.

That is mighty kind of you, Mr. Spock.

Kindness had little to do with it.  All surviving personnel were directed to do likewise.  I was merely fulfilling that responsibility in your absence.

All the same, it'll be nice to have my own toothbrush.

I imagine you will also appreciate having your own Early Times Kentucky Whiskey.  

Now you're talking.  I'm surprised it didn't break.  But it's a little early for the hard stuff.  What's in the bag?

Biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, bacon, cinnamon rolls, and coffee.

Oh good Lord.  Marry me.

As attractive an offer as that is, Doctor, I regret that I must decline.

Sure, break my heart.  What are you having?

Fruit salad and tea.

To each his own, I guess.  Let's dig in.

I would appreciate hearing an update on the captain's status while we, as you say, "dig in."

Let me at that coffee first, and hand over on of them cinnamon buns.

As you wish.

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

Fic: Companion, Chapter 6: Spock

  

Over the several years that I have served with Humans, I have become attuned to the variations in tone, timbre, and inflection inherent in their vocal expressions.  For those individuals in whose company I spend relatively greater amounts of time, I have become adept at associating those variations with their physiological or emotional status.  For instance, while my mother seldom varied the  pitch of her voice, it would on occasion rise precipitously in amplitude, usually indicating an argument with my father.  Conversely, Nyota's speech maintains a relatively constant volume, but its frequency varies with a standard deviation of 573.6 Hz when she is angry.  And the average pitch of Dr. McCoy's voice predictably drops from his normal speaking frequency of 312.5 Hz to 228.2 Hz when inebriated or sexually aroused, both circumstances also inducing a curious exaggeration of his unique regional pronunciation. 

His voice, the morning I commed him after sensing the captain's first signs of regaining consciousness, averaged only 131.8 Hz in frequency and 32 decibels in amplitude, the low pitch and volume accompanied by a notable tremor and marked hoarseness as well.  It was logical to assume, based on previous knowledge of his singular work ethic, that he was acutely weakened, likely by fatigue but also possibly by illness, and needed rest and relief from his service to the captain as well as to the other injured parties at Starfleet Medical.  I also have previous knowledge, however, of his tendency to take the mere suggestion of any incapacity as justification to demonstrate its absence, thus precipitating a positive feedback loop with the potential to result in his collapse.

I considered therefore, during the brief shuttlecraft journey from spacedock to San Francisco, various methods by which to induce the doctor to rest, whether voluntarily or otherwise, but discarded the more duplicitous ones as unbecoming an officer and a friend.  I settled instead for procuring him a calorically dense meal replete with torpor-inducing lipids and simple carbohydrates along with decaffeinated coffee.  I confess to a fair amount of satisfaction that my purpose has been achieved: the doctor is, at this moment, deeply asleep on the reclining armchair in the captain's hospital room, and when he wakes, he will have no reason to suspect his reprieve resulted from anything more than an overly heavy meal and a paucity of sleep.  For indeed there is no other cause, save for the unspoken deliberateness of my action and the lack of alkaloid stimulant in the coffee (both details I withheld from him, rendering me ultimately guilty of deceit by omission but not at least by outright falsehood).

I have selfish reasons for wishing Dr. McCoy to rest, as well.

Even before I felt the stirring of the captain's consciousness, I have wished to examine the phenomenon of his mind more closely.  My experience when I melded with him was unusual, even for a Human meld, and the memory of that encounter draws my own psyche back time and again to reflect on that place of shared consciousness.  The sheer power of his thoughts was remarkable; I confess to a desire to experience that sensation of immersion again.

But entering his mind the first time was a matter of necessity.  To do so again, uninvited, would represent the worst sort of violation.  I will not meld with him again, not without his explicit permission.  I arrived at this conclusion as well on the shuttle voyage.

I will, however, investigate his presence in a more acceptable (at least to Humans) manner.

I am resolved to touch him.

Humans are so careless with their persons; their inability to form mental connections appears to spur them on to pursue all manner of physical contact.  While the pursuit of intimate relations for sexual release and reproduction is entirely logical, the more casual forms of closeness that they crave -- caressing, embracing, hand-holding, and the like -- are unnecessary and therefore unseemly in Vulcan culture.  How often I have seen arms casually slip around waists, hands brush against backs and buttocks, and wondered, to what end?  In order to maintain my relationship with Nyota, I have learned to endure her urges to casually touch me (just as she has learned to restrain herself to some extent); I have, for similar reasons, schooled myself to tolerate the captain's occasional touch on my shoulder.  But, with very few exceptions, I refrain from instigating such impulsive contact.

This contact will not be impulsive.  I have reasoned it out, justified it, judged it to be sensible.  

And I am, uncomfortably, aware that I am willfully deceiving myself by describing it in such rational terms.

So be it.  For, during the past two weeks, I have been absurdly preoccupied with the desire to contact the captain's mind again.  Packing our belongings and purging the ship of damaged equipment were welcome distractions from the constant pull that this man's essence exerts on me, even in the depths of his slumber.  It has disturbed my rest, my own sleep interrupted, my meditative practice insufficient to banish the craving.  Were he to remain unconscious for much longer, I fear I would lose my sanity from the very intensity of that unanswered pull.  

So I will answer.  There is no other logical option.

I seat myself next to his bed and observe.  Shortly after ingesting his soporific breakfast, Dr. McCoy repositioned him, his professional expertise evident in the practiced movements of his hands, each touch gentle yet purposeful as he bolstered him onto his right side. 

His right hand is facing upward, open and defenseless, the palm exposed, the fingers slightly curled inward.  His hand, extended across the bed, toward me. 

The doctor sleeps on, his mouth slightly open as he snores, oblivious.

I extend my own hand and place my index and middle fingers on that open palm.  A daring expression in Vulcan society, reserved only for the very closest of bonds.  But for Humans, an almost trivial gesture.  Surely it is no intrusion.

Trivial, for most Humans.  But not for me, and, evidently, not for him. 

I feel his mind erupt in an irresistible wave of light and warmth at my touch.  Little wonder I felt such tenacity in the gravitation of my mind to his; his subconscious is more powerful than I could have imagined.

He recognizes my touch, my presence, at that deep level below awareness, and I feel his joy, an enchanting luminosity that demands a reciprocal response to its glow.  Demands and indeed, if I am not once again to lie by omission, engenders a reciprocal response within me.

And something else -- a ripple on the surface of his conscious mind.

His hand constricts weakly around my fingers, the movement slight but discernible.

I know I must wake the doctor, must tell him of this development without delay.  He would not forgive me otherwise.

But I linger, luxuriating in the temporary appeasement of the hunger I have suffered for days, as I move my fingers to circle his palm, then lower to stroke the vulnerable medial surface of his wrist, concurrently sensing his burning incandescence and the cool, languorous beat of his pulse.

 

Chapter End Notes:

The previous meld Spock is referring to here is not the one his older self shared with Jim on Delta Vega but the one that they engaged in during the transfusion with Khan's serum in Compeer.

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

 

Fic: Companion, Chapter 7: Bones (2)

  

You know you're getting old when the first thing you think about as you're waking up from an afternoon nap is, Goddamn my ass hurts.  Used to be I could sleep in whatever location, whatever position I needed to.  One time during my residency I grabbed half an hour of shuteye lying on a laundry pile; another time, I found an empty room in the ward I was rotating on and napped just leaning up against the wall, propped up by the restroom door frame.  My aching back and ass are telling me those days are over.  Welcome to impending middle age, son, they tell me, how you like that?

And I've been getting that message from other body parts, too -- my eyes are singing the same song.  I've noticed that I can't shift my focus as easily as I used to, that I have to stand farther away from the wall monitor to see the readings, hold PADDs and charts farther away from my face so what I'm trying to read doesn't look doubled and my ocular ciliary muscles don't scream.  

But my distance vision is fine.  Almost perfect for a Human, in fact. So when I woke up in the recliner, back stiff and ass sore, and saw Spock holding Jim's hand, I was pretty sure I wasn't seeing things.  

I blinked, hard, a few times.  And just like that, he wasn't.  I didn't hear or see him move across the room, but a second later, Instead of being seated at Jim's bedside, he was standing next to the recliner looking down at me with that Vulcan look that says, Hey, dumbass, time to get it in gear.  

I guess I'd been dreaming, after all.

"Doctor, the captain has shown signs of awakening.  If you would, kindly assess his current condition."

Didn't have to tell me twice.  I was out of that chair in a second.  "How long was I asleep?"

"Three hours, sixteen minutes, and 27 seconds.  It is currently 1249 hours."

"Fuck."  Joints popped as I made it over to the biobed and checked the readings.  "Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

"There was nothing more compelling for you to concern yourself with.  The captain's physical status remained unchanged, save for an increase in his vital signs and a slight movement of the fingers of his right hand, which I am reporting to you now."

I nodded.  Logical as always, damnit.  "Respiration and heart rate are up, all right.  Let's turn him on his back and see if we can get him to respond."       I cranked the head of the biobed up slightly and pushed Jim onto his back while Spock pulled the pillows out from behind him. Jim's body still felt limp, the muscles slack with atony.  I tried not to get my hopes up as I sat down next to the bed; Spock remained standing on the other side.

"Jim.  Are you...can you hear me?  If you can, open your eyes."  Damn, my voice sounded rough.  I cleared my throat and tried again, my hand rising to touch his forehead, to comb through his hair with my fingers.

"Jim, please.  Try to open your eyes.  Look at me, please."  My fingers tugging at his hair, like they could draw him out, pull him into wakefulness.

Nothing.  I looked up at Spock.  "Are you sure?  That you saw..."

"I am sure."  Not one bit of hesitation.

"Jim.  I'm here.  Spock is here.  We want you to open your eyes, let us know you're okay."

Something socked me in the chest when I saw it, a fractional lowering of his brows, a tiny frown.  I petted that frown encouragingly, smoothing the skin with my thumb.

"That's it, come on, wake up.  Look at me."

The frown deepened as his eyes opened, not a lot, but enough that I could see a glint.  His mouth moved, his voice wispy and unsteady but distinct.

"Bo..."

I felt my face break into a huge-ass grin.  

"Yeah, kid, yeah it's me." 

His eyes shifted toward the other side of the bed.  "Poh...?"

"I am here as well, Captain."  Spock tried to sound cool, but his voice hitched slightly on the "well."  My cheeks were cramping from smiling so hard.

"Kay."  And just like that, he was out again, his eyelids closing as the frown relaxed.

"He knew us."  I thought I would bust a gut from sheer joy.  "He knew us, he knew who we were."

"Indeed."  

"Sweet baby Jesus," I breathed, and I let my head drop to rest on his shoulder, my hand still clinging to his hair.  A moment later, I heard Spock come around the bed to stand next to me.  I didn't trust myself to look up. 

I felt a firm but gentle squeeze, his hand on my shoulder, and I kind of lost it again, so I pushed my eyes against Jim's gown for a few minutes until I could stand up to update his chart.

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

 

Fic: Companion, Chapter 8: Nyota

  

To say it's challenging being in a relationship with a Vulcan is a huge understatement.  Once you get past that whole no-emotion thing, which is understandably difficult for most people to get past, you run into the no-casual-touching thing, the no-idle-conversation thing, and the absolute worst, the whole you-are-illogical thing.  It's really not surprising that there have been so few Vulcan-Human pairings throughout the 200 years our species have known each other.

But there is one huge advantage in dating a Vulcan over a Human -- no drama.  They say what they mean, no coyness or subterfuge.  If those pants make your ass look huge, they'll tell you (if you ask, which you probably shouldn't unless you really want to know).  If they don't want to go see your parents next weekend, they'll tell you.  They will never pick a fight with you over where to go for dinner or whether you stared at some other guy's pecs for 0.12 nanoseconds. What you see is what you get, so you always know where you stand.  (As to whether that matches up with where you want to stand is another story.)

People who are what my friend Isabel calls "telefonica"  can get their feelings hurt pretty badly when their Vulcan friends don't call.  Because part of the no-idle-conversation thing is that they don't call you unless it's urgent; conversely, they don't expect you to call unless it's urgent.  The upside is, you will never waste hours playing comm tag with your Vulcan boyfriend. The downside is, if you're feeling needy and want to chat, you shouldn't comm your Vulcan boyfriend unless you want to get hit with the you-are-illogical thing.  Better to invest in a romantic vid and a pint of ice cream, one spoon (but don't forget not to ask if your ass looks huge later).

Which is why I was worried.  I had already commed Spock twice today to confirm our plans for tonight, and he didn't respond.  Then I commed Scotty, who told me that Spock had almost killed Keenser this morning and then fled the ship.  So I was more than a little worried by the time I finally got a hold of Leonard, who sounded surprised that I didn't know.  

"Spock's right here, darlin', he's been here all day."

Oh, really.  All day.  Thanks for letting me know, lover.

The problem is, there is nothing I can rationally blame him for.  Leonard told me that Jim was starting to wake up, and that he commed Spock to tell him.  So naturally Spock's first concern would have been to be there for him.  I guess it bothers me that his first concern wasn't informing me of his change in plans.  It bothers me that he thought it would be okay for me to not know where he was. 

It bothers me more that he might not have thought about me at all.

And it's not like I don't know how much he cares about Jim, but it's like he forgets that I care about him too.  I've known Jim for longer, been his classmate at the Academy, shared the same first mission and every mission since then.  Why wouldn't Spock tell me?  Why keep that information to himself?

Then I remind myself that Vulcans don't lie and only keep secrets when there's no reason to divulge information.  And Spock would have known that I would very badly have wanted any news of Jim's recovery.  So, logically, there must have been a reason not to tell me.

Perhaps it's because Leonard told him not to spread the word, out of some doctor-patient confidentiality thing.  Maybe he's too weak to have visitors.  Maybe his mind is gone, after all.  Maybe...maybe he took a turn for the worse, maybe even died.  The fact that I don't know makes it a lot easier for me to spin the worst-case scenarios out into infinity.  But unless Spock informs me otherwise, I have no reason not to.

So I go on spinning, and spinning, and driving myself slowly insane with worry, fear, and, yes, anger.

Because I got over the no-emotion thing, the no-casual-touching thing, and the rest.  But this, this secrecy, it feels deliberate. We've had tickets to the SFO for months and he knows how much I've been looking forward to seeing the 22nd century adaptation of Don Giovanni tonight.  And I've spent all day getting exfoliated, waxed, polished, and coiffed for the occasion, spent hours practicing how I'm going to tell him my news.  And then he goes and ignores my comms.  And, from what Leonard said, he's not making any plans to leave the hospital any time soon.  So I guess those pricey tickets go down the drain, my buffed bod goes unseen and unappreciated, and my news has to wait at least another day.

Bullshit.  That is just bullshit.

I'm debating just going to the opera house by myself.  Who knows, maybe there will be some cute guy with awesome pecs sitting next to the empty seat next to me.  Maybe he'll slide on over and start up a conversation, or maybe I will.  Maybe we'll find out how much we have in common, how much we both love opera and seafood and Victorian poetry.  Maybe we'll end up taking a walk together by the bay, just to enjoy the lights and the crowds and the cool night breeze.  Maybe we'll end up sharing a kiss, maybe more.  Maybe Spock will comm me while I'm fucking him, and maybe I'll ignore it.  Maybe that will teach him not to ditch his hot girlfriend on a date night.  

But I know it won't work.  He'll just throw logic at me, explaining in that patronizing tone I can't stand how there was no way to predict when the captain would wake up and that the one takes precedence over the other, that the resumption of a life takes precedence over a night at the opera.

That he takes precedence over me.

Bullshit.  

I'm comming Isabel to ask her if she'd like two tickets to Don Giovanni.  Then I'm going on over to the hospital -- my evening is ruined anyway.  They let him in, they can let me in.  I've got credentials, contacts, as much connection to the captain as Spock does, even more.  If Jim is dead, or a vegetable, or awake and aware, it's just as much my right to know as it is his.  

I refuse to be kept in the dark.

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

 

Fic: Companion, Chapter 9: Jim (3)

 

Bones.

Spock?

Okay...

 

Ow, too bright, turn that light off.

Spock?

Hey, man...

 

Thirsty.  Thanks.

Bones?  

Damn you look like hell.

Where are we...

 

This can't be Sickbay.

Why won't my hand move?

Ohhh, that feels good feels wonderful, thanks Spock.

What time is it? 

Something I'm supposed to remember...

 

Mmm, something smells great.  Perfume.

Hey baby.

You looking so fine I'm serious.

Wanna get out of here go grab a drink?

Well, you just let me know.  I can wait.

Just a little tired.

 

What the hell...oh, okay.

Yeah, I guess I need that.

God that feels great.

That's so much better, thank you guys.

Damn girl you look good.  You staying all night?

Here I'll slide over, you just come on in here with me, baby.

Shut up Bones you cockblock, I'm making my move.

Hey man, you snooze, you lose.  What can I say.

Better luck next time my friend.

I'm gonna get some sleep now.

 

Spock?

I remember...

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

 

Fic: Companion, Chapter 10: Bones (3)

  

My daddy had a saying for what just walked in the door to Jim's room:  "That there's a lotta woman."  

And so she was.  Dressed for an evening out, like she just stepped out of a Union Square storefront, she radiated that proud imperiousness that let you know she'd kill you for looking at her wrong. I was afraid I'd die if I looked at her right.  Son, that girl was loaded for bear. Hot damn.  

I guess Spock must have commed her, but even he looked a little surprised at her entrance.  

Her eyes swept around the room, raking right through me and Spock like we didn't matter, until they came to rest on Jim.  Something in her face changed, I don't know what exactly, but the imperiousness shifted into something not as fierce but just as forceful.  She took off her coat, tossing it and her handbag onto the foot of the bed as she walked up to him, then slid her hand behind his head to adjust it on the pillow, tilting it slightly so that he faced her.

"Jim," she said, or stated really, demanding his attention, his awareness.

He was still pretty out of it, rising up into consciousness only periodically, but that demand made his eyes flutter open.  

"Ay, bay," he mumbled.    

"Hey yourself," she grinned, and if she looked intimidating when she was fierce, she was lethal when she smiled.  

Jim's eyes flickered as he looked her up and down.

"You look so fye I seeus."  

I couldn't quite figure out what he was trying to say; the disfluency was improving each time he awoke, but his muscles were still weak from disuse. Didn't seem like she was having any trouble understanding him, though.  

"Yeah, I dressed up for you."  

"Wanna get outta hee go gab a dih?"  

Typical Kirk. Even I could understand him then, I'd heard it from him a million times.    

Her other hand lifted to tip his chin up as she kissed him fully on the mouth, the hottest, sweetest kiss I’ve ever seen. I sneaked a look over at Spock but got nothing from him.  

"Sorry, baby, not right now. I've got other plans for you."  

He took it in stride. "Ju leh me know, I cah way."  

She stroked his cheek, her eyes warm on his. "Rest for now. I'm not going anywhere, I'll take care of you."  

"I juh a lihuh tied..."  

He passed out again, and she laid his head back down, then turned to me to shoo me out with a wave of one graceful hand.  "Go on, Leonard, tend to your other patients.  I've got this one.  And Spock, you need a shower."  

With that she dismissed us, and even though my shift didn't start for another half hour, I knew better than to stay.    

***    

When I made it back a couple of hours later, Spock was gone, and Nyota was rubbing Jim's feet and legs with lotion. She'd also managed to shave him and wash his hair, wetting the front of her dress in the process.  

"Help me change his sheets. I got them pretty soaked."    

We rolled him from side to side on the bed to replace the wet sheets and his gown too. Then we pushed him onto his stomach so she could reach his back to rub it, her hands expertly manipulating his shoulders and lats. She worked her way down to the small of his back, then unselfconsciously began massaging each of his ass cheeks.  Jim was still half out of it, eyes closed and mouth slack but occasionally mumbling endearments and groaning with appreciation.    

"I didn't know you were so capable in patient care. If I'd known, I might have recruited you for Sickbay duty."  

She smiled as she pushed a strand of hair behind one ear, then resumed her attentions to Jim's ass. "My earliest memory is helping take care of my great-grandparents. I've had a lot of practical experience."

I smiled.  "You might be sorry you let me know that."

She looked me right in the eye. "Depends on who needs me."  

Um.  

She tied his gown closed and wiped her hands down the sides of her dress. Jim's eyes opened as we rolled him over onto his side, and for the first time, he moved his hand, just a small patting motion on the bed beside him.  

"You stayin ah nigh?"  

She kicked off her high heels and climbed up onto the bed next to him, fitting her legs behind his knees as she spooned him, her arm wrapping around his waist to pull him toward her.  

"Should I hang a tie on the door, or are you all right letting Spock see you two like this?"  

Jim mumbled something incomprehensible while Nyota nuzzled his neck. ""First of all, it's hang a bra on the door. Second, Spock can fucking deal with it." 

I turned the lights down to 20% and pulled the door closed behind me as I heard her say, "Mmm, baby, you sure do smell a whole lot better."

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

Fic: Companion, Chapter 11: Spock (2)

  

I have noticed that Humans, whether consciously or not, devise a seemingly endless number of ways to subvert their own intentions.  This space I currently inhabit, for example, the hospital chapel, is designed to be a place of  retreat and reflection, even entreaty for those whose spiritual practices involve deities.  Yet the arrangements of scented flowers, the bank of candles (many of them illuminated) off to one side, and the depictions of various historical scenes rendered in segments of colored glass all invite the mind to wander, to focus on the appearance of the external surroundings rather than on the individual's own thoughts.  Similarly, the spartan seating, while initially intended perhaps to disallow diversion from the mind's contemplation, shortly becomes a source of discomfort, and therefore distraction, obviating the very effect it was intended to inspire.  I do not understand how Humans, with their poor mental control, can ever hope to achieve the enlightenment or peace they frequently seek when in such surroundings.  

But, as this space is currently unoccupied save for myself, it is for the moment an appropriate location for me to attempt to engage in my meditative practice.  For I have much to ponder.

Today has been, for the most part, a very gratifying one.  I was privileged to be made aware of the awakening of the captain's mind and to be present during his efforts toward achieving consciousness.  The doctor, contrary to his normal pattern of behavior, has been exceptionally cooperative and even kind toward me, his demeanor suggesting gratitude at my efforts to support the captain's recovery.  The captain's own appreciation of my efforts at nursing, although not glibly expressed, was unmistakable.  Thus I have had what I would largely consider a very satisfactory day.

Were it not for the fact that I retained no recollection whatsoever of the evening plans I had made with Nyota several weeks past, and in fact did not remember those plans until a few moments after she arrived in the captain's room, it would have been an excellent day.  However, my disappointment relates only to my failure to remember an outing for which she had obviously spent some time preparing.  I am not sorry to have spent that time as I did rather than as we had planned, but I will be certain to apologize for my neglect nonetheless.

As I reflect on the nature of that apology, I find that I can identify another element of the day's events that I would not consider to be ideal.  Nyota's actions upon arriving at the hospital are causing me some small amount of concern.  She seemed determined to focus all her attention on the captain to the exclusion of myself; I cannot guess whether she is angry at me for forgetting about our plans or whether she is simply too absorbed in assisting with the captain's care to spare me any consideration.  I will defer judgment on that point until I can obtain more information from her.  I did think it curious, however, that she displayed more affection toward him than I would have thought appropriate between a superior and a subordinate.

I admit that her behavior has also affected me in a rather unpredictable manner.   I feel a certain unease, I might even term it anxiety, deep in the recesses of my mind.  Small, but discernible.   I can sense it but cannot rationalize it, and meditation has thus far been ineffective in inducing its dissipation. Examination reveals only that it does not lessen with time, and although it has not increased, it is still an irritant, like having a miniscule splinter in one's hand and being unable to locate it to remove it.  All I can deduce about the sensation is that it began when Nyota kissed the captain and has not abated since that event.

Curious.  I will continue to monitor this response.

I turn my mind away from Nyota toward the captain.  Another sensation that does not abate and in fact grows stronger as time passes, the awareness that I do not wish to be in this hall of distractions where I am of no use.  I have calculated that, since my arrival this morning, I have spent only 8.2% of the intervening time in active service to the captain: providing water, repositioning him, smoothing his sheets, and the like, the remainder of the day having been occupied merely by watching him and waiting for his next interlude of consciousness.  I cannot rationally justify the expenditure of so much time toward doing so little.  And yet, now that I am theoretically engaged in restful meditation, an activity that I can easily justify, I find myself impatient to resume the largely prodigal task of sitting by his side and awaiting his awakenings.  

Impatience.  Another irritation, but this one much more perceptible than that of a tiny splinter.  Over the past two weeks, as I waited for the touch of his mind against mine, I occupied myself with readying his ship for his return.  Now that the contact has been established, I can conceive of no desirable activity with which to occupy myself that removes me from him.  Had Nyota not arrived and commanded me to leave, I should never have done so.

For while the majority of my time today was spent in inactivity, I cannot deny the exceptional satisfaction I experienced merely by being in his presence and available to him as the need arose.  I found myself observing him even when there was nothing conspicuous to observe, relishing the anticipation of seeing his eyes open and focus on me, of hearing his voice, physically distorted but clearly apprehended in my mind.  I refrained from further physical contact while in the doctor's presence, but I find myself relishing the anticipation of that event as well.  

I open my eyes and look about this chamber, at its colors and flickering lights, inhaling the scent of its flowers and candles, distractions all of them to its main purpose.  I resolve to end this contemplation of the distractions I am encountering that keep me from mine.

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

 

Fic: Companion, Chapter 12: Jim (4)

  

I'm moving again, and it feels great, like I've been motionless for too long and need to get up and stretch, run, fly through the ship.  I feel so strong, stronger than I've ever been, my legs so powerful and my lungs bottomless.  And I can see everyone clearly, now, and they can see me, everyone turns to me to wave and smile as I fly by, and it feels fucking great as I run past sickbay to shout at Bones and his hypos, the mess hall where Chekov is grabbing a snack, fly up the turbolift shaft to my quarters and wave at Carol in the corridor, past the rec room where Darwin and Sulu are battling each other in a virtual duel, and on to Engineering...

No, I don't want to go there.  I don't know why.  I try to change direction, try to stop, no, not there.

But I can't control my own body; it takes me there anyway, and now I'm not running anymore but walking, slowly.   And dread is starting to grow in my gut, curling in my stomach and crawling up my throat as I cross the elevated walkway and move down the stairs, arriving at the warp core.  And there's Scotty holding Keenser by the hand, his other arm wrapped around Uhura, and she's crying quietly into his shoulder as he looks stonily into the core access port. 

I try to stop my feet but can't.  They take me up to the transparent door so I can see what's on the other side.

It's Spock, and he's dying.  He's lying against the entry, his skin mottled with green splotches, crinkled and peeling from the gamma radiation, his eyes open but unseeing as his retinas degrade.  I tap on the glass and his head turns, slowly, to face me as I drop to my knees.

You saved the ship, I tell him, and he nods weakly in understanding, then places his hand on the glass, palm outward toward me.  I do the same, trying to reach him but knowing I can't, trying to show him but knowing he can't see.  He relaxes and his eyes close as they start to bleed, green fluid oozing from them and sliding down his cracked cheeks.

The dread turns to horror, and I try to scream, but all that comes out is a trembling whimper, and I pound on the glass to try to break through, but Scotty says from behind me, He's dead already. 

And the horror bleeds away, leaving my mind like the ebbing of a tide, leaving behind it emptiness, nothing.

I feel nothing.

I am nothing.

Then for a dizzying moment I am both of us, I see through the glass in both directions, looking at him lying inside and looking out at him from the inside as I feel my life draining from me, and I can't tell who is who, where I end and where he begins, who is living and who is dying.  And then we settle into ourselves, I in the core and he outside, the shocked emptiness on his face and not mine, the death in my eyes and not his. 

It hurts me to see him suffer, and I try to tell him 

    it's all right    

    I chose this    

    please    

    I don't want to leave you    

    I'm sorry

but I can't speak and he can't hear me.  And soon I can't see anymore, and I know it's time.

And I feel myself smile as I let go, because I know, of those two possible outcomes, this is the better one.

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

Fic: Companion, Chapter 13: Spock (3)

  

Nyota is sleeping with him.

They are asleep in his bed,

Sleeping together.

 

His gown has slipped, his flank is exposed,

Her hand rests on the bare skin of his hip.

She is touching him;

My mate and another are touching.

 

Her dark hand is slender, lovely,

Her fingers delicate and soft.

His skin under her hand gleams white in the dimness,

Flawless.

 

And in the dark spaces of my mind I feel a spark ignite,

Feel the heat of its smoldering glow,

Smell the smoke of its flame.

 

He is dreaming,

His eyes moving rapidly from side to side,

His brow creasing in a frown,

His mouth opening as if to cry out...

 

I stand by his bed and hear him exhale,

A small sound, like the bleat of a lamb,

Soft and tremulous.  

 

I lay my hand on his forehead.

His face relaxes;

He smiles slightly as his eyes open

To find me watching.

 

He says,

I remember.

 

And in the dark spaces of my mind

I feel the spark grow into a fire,

And I bask in the heat of its eager flare,

Reveling in the sweet vapor of its flame.

 
 

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>

 

Fic: Companion, Chapter 14: Bones (4)

 

About the last thing I expected to see, when I got back to Jim's room after my shift was over, was the kind of scene you find in a college dorm suite on a Saturday morning.  People lying everywhere, some of them naked, all of them passed out, the sour smell of carpeting soaked in equal parts beer and vomit hitting you in the face like a slap.  Except for the carpet stink, that pretty much described Jim's room.

He himself was still on the biobed, turned on the same side as when I left last night, but his gown was twisted almost all the way off, held in place only by the I.V. in his arm and exposing everything from his chest on down.  Nyota was snuggled tightly up behind him and snoring lightly into his hair, her hips pushed right up against his naked ass, her hand groping (or so it looked to me) for his dick, her fingers entwined instead in his pubic hair.  And Spock was laid out on the recliner, shirtless, one arm hanging down toward the floor, his head turned to one side, and God help me, he was drooling.  Drooling.

Goddamn.

I let them snooze for a few more minutes, enjoying the feeling of being the only conscious, sane person in the room, before crossing over to where Spock was passed out in the chair.  I've never seen Spock sleep before, and I didn't know the best way to wake him up; I finally settled for putting my hand on his bare shoulder and squeezing lightly.  He startled me by jerking up to a half-sitting position in the chair as his eyes flew open, and it was the damndest thing, because I could see him trying to put himself back together, like he was a puzzle with the pieces scattered all over, and he had to pick up each one and fit it back into the whole of himself.  

"Spock, what the fuck went on here?"

He looked around the room in mild confusion, then froze as he caught sight of Jim and Nyota nestled in the bed.  Whatever the expression on his face, it wasn't confusion anymore.

I felt a little guilty waking him up first; I could have gotten Nyota up before him, to make sure he wouldn't see them together like that first thing in the morning.  But the hell with it.  If I had to look at them, why shouldn't he?

He looked around for his t-shirt, found it, and pulled it on, all without answering my question.

'What is the captain's status?"

"I dunno yet, I haven't checked him out."  I moved over to the biobed to look at the readings.  "Let's wake him up and find out."

Nyota stretched and opened her eyes at the sound of my voice.  "Hey Leonard," she smiled as she sat up, "you get any sleep last night?"  By the time she finished her sentence, her hand was back in her own lap.

"No, darlin', unlike you young 'uns, I actually had to work last night."  I pulled JIm's gown down to cover him, then pulled the sheet up over his legs.  "Jim, can you hear me?"

"Uh-huh."  Eyes still closed, but clearly he heard and understood and was able to respond.  Nyota smiled at me again as she slid off the bed and smoothed her dress, all in a single, fluid motion.

"Well, then, wake up, son.  You just spent the night with a gorgeous woman, the least you can do is tell her goodbye."

"Wha...?"  Jim opened his eyes and struggled to roll over, his hand reaching clumsily for her across the sheets.  "Oh, baby, you leaving already?"

"Yes, lover, I have to head on home," she teased.  "But I"ll be back later this afternoon."

"Shit, Bones, crank me up," he complained, and I felt my cheeks start to cramp again, I was grinning so broadly.  The "shit" sounded more like "sit," but even so, his speech was remarkably clearer than the other day.

I could feel Nyota's eyes on me, then Jim, as I reached out my hand to grasp his.  He met it partway with his own, his grip weak but not feeble, and I pulled him to a sitting position while she raised the head of the biobed and fluffed his pillow.  Together we rolled him so he could lie back squarely on his back.  He caught Spock's gaze across the room and smiled just as she dropped a kiss on his cheek. 

He flushed, the color rising up his neck, and Nyota laughed.  "I didn't think you knew how to blush."

"Stick around and see what else I know how to do," he countered, but his cheeks reddened even more, those ridiculous eyes like hot stars in a field of pink.

She laughed again as she pulled on her shoes.  "Save it for later.  I have to go clean up and do some shopping, and then I'll be back.  Be a good boy and do what your doctor tells you."  She picked up her coat and handbag and turned to Spock.  "Comm me when you can and we'll reschedule."

He nodded.  He still hadn't spoken a word to her.

She turned to me.  "Walk me out?"

 

***

 

It was a beautiful morning, sunny and breezy, chilly but with the promise of a warmer afternoon to come.  She tightened her coat around her and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes as we stood on the steps heading down to the street.

"So, how long have you been in love with him?"

A straight shooter, that one.  I bent my arm and offered it to her, and she took it, slipping her hand under my elbow to rest lightly on my forearm as we started down the stairs together.  

"Pretty much forever, I guess," I said.  "Since I met him, anyway."

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see her nod.  "He cares about you too."

"I know, but not that way.  I'm okay with it though."

"You are."  A question posed as a statement.  I nodded back.

"Yeah, I am, and I don't want him to find out."

We reached the bottom of the steps, and she turned toward me, her hand still on my elbow.  Her eyes, warm and exquisite, searched my face.  I didn't mind. 

"You're very special, Leonard," she said finally, and I saw in the droop of her lips that she wasn't just feeling sorry for me, that she had her own heartbreak to contend with. 

"What about you?  Everything okay with Spock?"

"He's in the doghouse, that's all.  We're fine."

For a straight shooter, she sure knew how to duck and swerve.  I let it go and pulled her into my arms, my chin against her hair as we embraced on the sidewalk.

"You take care.  I'll see you later this afternoon."

I watched her go, those splendid legs peeping out from beneath her coat, confident and sure as she walked away in her high heels.  It didn't occur to me until I turned around to go back to Medical that she'd assumed I'd still be there when she returned, that I wouldn't go back to the hotel and get some sleep or grab a bite to eat, and I shook my head and laughed to myself when I realized she was right.

 

<<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>>