Bonds Know No Distance
Sep. 10th, 2009 03:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mirroredcommandThe night was dark and deep and long in space, never ending, without a dawn to break the line between waking and sleep, day and night, beginning and end. It made existence endless, broken only by the silent running of the clocks on the wall, the movements of work, food, and sleep. Without these things, without the sureness of a schedule, time became meaningless. Even the stars could not keep him company.
So after Kirk came and 'visited', time resumed its endless patterns, moving on and on without pause or break or concept. For a man used to near-constant action, it was a form of torture more exquisite then any bit of pain or distress. More then anything, it was a torture that gave him nothing to focus his mind on anything but the swelling pain of the broken bond. It was swiftly becoming over whelming, completely and utterly. There was nothing left to keep the pain away, and with his shields designed only to block out Spock's light intrusions instead of a full on force, they were failing after being buffeted for so long. In short, he was going mad.
His expression showed little of the internal war except for the strong brow being furrowed and the age-lines at the edges of the eyes and corners of the mouth looking thicker. It was his hands that gave him away, gripping fiercely into the fabric of the bed he was reclining on. A headache was throbbing behind his eyes in time with his heart, a thick red-hot band of light that was searing like a knife into his mind. Deeper, deeper with every beat of his heart.
Every part of him was focused on maintaining the failing shields, rebuilding them as Spock had taught him those years ago. He had survived torture from Vulcans who knew precisely what to do in the mind, but could not stop this. This bond that had been forced onto him but in the end welcomed, this bond that had saved his life many times in the past, that had saved the life of his first officer and friend, this bond that had been a respite from a world where one could never relax... this bond was killing him. It would destroy him as surely as any blade to the heart.
SPOCK!
Never screamed aloud, never aloud. Instead, strong white teeth bit firmly into his lip, hard enough to send a trickle of crimson along his chin, down to his jawline. The pain, the strain, had been steadily increasing since James Kirk's visit to his cell, as if the reminder of the bond and speaking of it had started a chain reaction. He had long since started to keep his eyes closed [was it hours? minutes? weeks? centuries?] because at least this way the room would not spin. He was starting to feel that same spinning in his mind, making his world wobble like a child's toy.
It seemed hours passed this way. A day? Perhaps. He vaguely heard someone calling him, but did not dare respond. Still trapped in the arms of the enemy, he could not let a weakness be seen. The smell of food made his stomach swell and gurgle, but not from hunger. It felt like his entire body needed one thing it could not have. [a universe away]
He did not feel when he stood, instead he felt the world sway, go sideways. Could not feel the floor beneath his feet, the slap of his hand against the wall in an instinctual attempt to keep himself upright. Did not feel when the world tuned him out, blew him out like a light bulb, did not feel when the pain consumed him and his shields finally fell, did not feel when he hit the ground.
The darkness had claimed him instead.
So after Kirk came and 'visited', time resumed its endless patterns, moving on and on without pause or break or concept. For a man used to near-constant action, it was a form of torture more exquisite then any bit of pain or distress. More then anything, it was a torture that gave him nothing to focus his mind on anything but the swelling pain of the broken bond. It was swiftly becoming over whelming, completely and utterly. There was nothing left to keep the pain away, and with his shields designed only to block out Spock's light intrusions instead of a full on force, they were failing after being buffeted for so long. In short, he was going mad.
His expression showed little of the internal war except for the strong brow being furrowed and the age-lines at the edges of the eyes and corners of the mouth looking thicker. It was his hands that gave him away, gripping fiercely into the fabric of the bed he was reclining on. A headache was throbbing behind his eyes in time with his heart, a thick red-hot band of light that was searing like a knife into his mind. Deeper, deeper with every beat of his heart.
Every part of him was focused on maintaining the failing shields, rebuilding them as Spock had taught him those years ago. He had survived torture from Vulcans who knew precisely what to do in the mind, but could not stop this. This bond that had been forced onto him but in the end welcomed, this bond that had saved his life many times in the past, that had saved the life of his first officer and friend, this bond that had been a respite from a world where one could never relax... this bond was killing him. It would destroy him as surely as any blade to the heart.
SPOCK!
Never screamed aloud, never aloud. Instead, strong white teeth bit firmly into his lip, hard enough to send a trickle of crimson along his chin, down to his jawline. The pain, the strain, had been steadily increasing since James Kirk's visit to his cell, as if the reminder of the bond and speaking of it had started a chain reaction. He had long since started to keep his eyes closed [was it hours? minutes? weeks? centuries?] because at least this way the room would not spin. He was starting to feel that same spinning in his mind, making his world wobble like a child's toy.
It seemed hours passed this way. A day? Perhaps. He vaguely heard someone calling him, but did not dare respond. Still trapped in the arms of the enemy, he could not let a weakness be seen. The smell of food made his stomach swell and gurgle, but not from hunger. It felt like his entire body needed one thing it could not have. [a universe away]
He did not feel when he stood, instead he felt the world sway, go sideways. Could not feel the floor beneath his feet, the slap of his hand against the wall in an instinctual attempt to keep himself upright. Did not feel when the world tuned him out, blew him out like a light bulb, did not feel when the pain consumed him and his shields finally fell, did not feel when he hit the ground.
The darkness had claimed him instead.
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no subject
Date: 2009-09-14 03:41 pm (UTC)A choked noise escaped her throat as she saw Spock falter and almost drop, just a few seconds behind James. She gritted back the first remark that came to mind, teeth clenched tightly as she reached out for Spock's hand. Please be alright, please be alright, she repeated like a mantra in her mind, desperately wishing - and not for the first time - that she could do anything to be helpful, useful. Instead she just stayed gripping his hand, trying her best to project all the positive things that he summoned with her; love, warmth, complete trust. Out of some misplaced instinct she would ignore later, she reached out with her free hand and gripped James's arm tight.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-14 03:58 pm (UTC)His counterpart's retreat knocks him back into a single identity, the pain of the suddenly broken blending between them ignored in this face of this Spock, this Christopher being reunited.
Christopher is struggling to rise - Spock will not enter those doors with him but he helps the man to stand.
Do you know what to do?
no subject
Date: 2009-09-14 04:29 pm (UTC)Go. Part statement, part question, part command. Yet he turned his head enough to look back at Spock again, an almost thankful expression. This had been the one, much to his own surprise, to comfort him, help him. It was a near-unknown in his own universe, but here it could not make sense to aid the enemy either. Something to think on, later.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-14 04:48 pm (UTC)The transition back into himself was easier because he was no rushing it. Still, something like exhaustion and something else like (desireneedtouchkissclaim) wanting to touch Jim buzzed through him, mind and body.
His counterpart was being cared for - they could speak another time.
Spock kept his hands to himself but raised his heated gaze to make eye contact with his Jim.
"Captain, I request assisstance back to my quarters."
That Spock would be no trouble, too caught up in repairing the hurts to his Christopher's mind.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-14 04:56 pm (UTC)Something to worry about later.
Spock's presence--singular and needy and needed--roared back into him, and even so he was able to straighten, to pull his expression together into something like calm despite the burning coals Spock's eyes now resembled. He didn't know how much Spock was letting him feel, consciously or not, but it was enough to know that whatever it was it was worse for Spock that Jim. And Jim himself felt wrung out.
Strong enough for Spock, though. Always.
He nodded, glancing at the others assembled and deciding to trust that the other Spock and Pike would be occupied. Still, he looked over at McCoy. "Make sure someone keeps their eye on those two," he said. "And I would ask that Jim contact us should anything arise." His tone did not command, but it was the voice of a captain, born and trained.
Jim moved to Spock and, arranging himself at his side, moved his outer arm to offer his first two fingers in addition to the physical suport.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-14 05:12 pm (UTC)But he reaches out to brush Jim's fingers with his own, the brief touch enough to communicate...
Spock does not trust his own restraint at the moment. He trusted Jim not to be offended, to know it is not Jim that Spock is resisting but the thrumming in his blood.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-14 05:17 pm (UTC)He didn't need a display, with or without the bond.
Jim excused them, not knowing if Jim and the other Spock and Uhura even knew they were there, and certain Pike and Spock were lost to them for now. And he led Spock from sickbay without touching him, lending his presence and the support of their own bond, as open to his mate as he knew how to be.