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.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 02:44 am (UTC)The sickbay door swished closed and Bones stood there, staring at it for a minute before turning back to the pair. He wasn't afraid - there were two security guards with him, and he had his phaser on him... he wasn't afraid for him.
Kirk was gone. Taken from the ship. Was this what was happening to the other ships, when the others appeared on their Enterprise. Was Jim on some alternate universe right now, on some other ship with someone that looked like him?
Pike and his Spock... Bones watched them, because there wasn't anything else he could do. This was a helplessness to a degree he hadn't known before. It was all on Spock now, their Spock, and whomever else he got to assist him in getting Jim back. Had to trust the fucking Vulcan to get back the man he- Fuck...
Fucking useless. That ought to be his middle name.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 04:37 am (UTC)George. George, who had chased Jim out of here. George, Bones needed George to talk him through this, to help him find out what Spock was doing on the bridge while he was stuck here in Sickbay.
Bones turned to the computer panel, tapping violently against the screen, looking for where George was. His heart stopped when he saw those words: not on board the Enterprise. No, not George too...
Breathing loudly, he tapped at his communicator. "Sickbay to bridge, I need to talk to Spock, now." The urgency was evident in his voice.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 11:10 pm (UTC)desperatesearch for Jim--but also because he knew that the seat was not his rightful place. Acting captain or not, it was still Jim's one seat on the bridge, his throne of power. And Spock didn't want to intrude on it just yet in his absence.Also, he had not told the rest of the ship that the captain had mysteriously disappeared. To take that seat would hint at...the situation. And for now he had no answers if someone asked.
Then the communication. Couldn't McCoy wait at least an hour before panicking, give him some time to find Jim before he started yelling...?
He took the communication at his station. "Yes, McCoy?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 11:15 pm (UTC)"Spock, he was following Jim," he added. "You think both of them-" He stopped, knowing Spock would know what he meant.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 11:34 pm (UTC)Emotions. He resisted cursing himself (as that was, yet again, another emotion). Distracting him. Preventing him from analyzing the entire situation.
"Yes," Spock agreed with him, finally. "That is quite possible."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-15 11:51 pm (UTC)He turned back to the pair melding, filled with an empty dread. Kirk was gone. His attention to the two men was half-hearted at best.