Bonds Know No Distance

[mirroredcommand]

The 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.

Comments

A universe away

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

The ragged end of the bond was closed off as effectively as possible - and in Spock's brain that was very effectively indeed. He supposed he owed his father gratitude for that at least - the severing of his cultural bonds had let him accustomed to the silence and solitude of his own mind.

Were Pike (he needed the distance of last names to consider such a thing) to die, Spock would survive. Whether or not, he admitted to himself, he would want to, well, that was another question entirely.

And this limbo was taking its toll. His logic was not yet impaired but, as he mentally reviewed his actions of the past few weeks, he could read the emerging tendencies as clearly as anyone. He was spiraling closer toward the madness and blood lust that Christopher had controlled in Spock so rigidly, for his own good, when Spock's own control had come so close to failing before.

A lifetime of the strictest control had exacted its own cost as well.

The bonded nanoprobes, tuned to Christopher's hand and to Spock's as secondary command, visible only because there was such a quantity of them, swarmed inside the jar as he held it to the light, admiring. When these were unleashed on the Enterprise, they would become a part of the fabric of her systems, her very structural integrity at the deepest levels.

He was close now - there were two tests running, close to completion. If they concluded as expected, Spock would release the creatures, organisms, really, and let them secure the Enterprise for him, for Christopher.

The severing was violent and unexpected - the only reason he remained conscious was the careful shielding he had been holding in place so tightly. Even so, he gasped, in the privacy of his lab, and watched as the jar slid through nerveless fingers to shatter on the floor.

It was good that he knew how the tests would conclude, Spock allowed himself to think before he sank to his knees, body bending until his pounding forehead was pressed against the cool surface of the floor.

Christopher. Christopher. Christopher.

His blood pounded the name, screamed out for his mate. Something was wrong, deeply wrong and now there was no more time.

Spock tore down the shields he had erected out of self-preservation, tore through his own mind to fan the ember of the bond, almost smothered in what ever was afflicting Christopher. He whispered, he raged.

Christopher, I am coming for you.

No more diplomacy.

Spock took two more deep breathes, stood and straightened his uniform, and strode from his lab toward the transporter bay. The shards of broken jar glittered on the floor behind him as the organics of the nanotechnology gleamed wetly, claiming the Enterprise as his and as Christopher's.

[just-uhura.livejournal.com]

Sitting in a conversation she could contribute so little to was mind-numbingly frustrating. Nyota Uhura was not a physicist, nor did she possess the Vulcan genius that would perhaps shed some light on this whole situation. She was, however, a communications expert, and as soon as she could slip away there was someone that she had to see.

Sliding quietly out of the Bridge, Nyota ducked quickly back to her quarters to retrieve the PADD she'd been steeling herself to deliver. It was disconnected from every network possible, and contained only the select information she had decided to put on it; the public history of the Federation, as well as some additional histories that the Captain Pike in the Brig could do no harm with. He had responded well enough to an exchange of information before and a little empathy, she just hoped that he would do the same now. If anyone had a clue how this other Spock worked, it would be him.

With a curt nod to the security officers flanking the entrance to his cell, Nyota took a step inside just in time to see the man fall to the floor. Out of instinct she moved to rush forward, calling out his name, but caught herself when she realized exactly where she was and who he was. This wasn't the Pike she knew but he was still in trouble and needed help. "Damn it." she hissed through gritted teeth, pushing the food and PADD she had been carrying into the arms of the nearest guard, slamming a hand onto the intercom. "Lieutenant Uhura to Medical." She glanced over her shoulder at the guards, waving between them and the cell. She had seen the way he fell, and it wasn't an act. "Open the damn thing. Medica-- damn it, Leo! I'm in the Brig and Pher just collapsed on me."

As soon as the force field was dropped, Nyota moved over to kneel beside him, carefully avoiding any contact with those damned gloves. Training taught her to check for a pulse - check. So he wasn't dead. "Tell Doctor McCoy we're coming up and whatever you do do NOT touch those gloves." She didn't have to tell the security officers twice, they'd been around enough to know how dangerous he was. However unhappy they seemed to be with touching Pike, they swiftly did as they were told.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

He was impatient during the entire short ride in the turbolift, though it was known only to Nyota through their contact, and once they came to the medical division he kept a brisk pace all the way to the room. He didn't need directions to know where he was going--making sharp turns around the corners, barely waiting for the double pocket doors to part for him. His hand was tight around Nyota's as he walked, following the hum at the forefront of his mind now.

The feedback of the ache and the swell of longing pain grew with each step he took against the hard floor, but so did the tug, the pull, the pure insistence. Yet he knew it was not first hand. Spock could think outside of it just like any other bothersome pain.

He saw his counterpart, and the doctor, and demanded at once as he stepped forward to the bedside and looked down at Pike. "Status report."

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

Space-time has a sick sense of turning on him when he least wants it to, and now is one of those times. It must be retribution for his persistent studies and manipulations of it. The floor turns into the ceiling and he doesn't even care if his forehead falls six feet and two inches into the floor--

And then a strong body. Jim (http://iron-command.livejournal.com/3569.html?thread=138737#t138737). He doesn't have the energy to fight against being turned, and when he next looks up he sees those brilliant blue (so, so blue, so concerned) eyes looking into his own dark gaze, and.

And.

The connection with Jim, twined red and gold, thrums painfully loud in his mind, surging up from where he had been smothering it during the meld. It reminds him of what could have been distorted in his foolishness, and the implications hitting him all at once weaken him again.

It is not alone. The connection with Nyota, always white-gold and constant but now having also been smothered, shoots into his consciousness with its own burning reminder, a pure and holy note ringing through the fog of his thoughts.

Spock sags against Jim, leaning onto his body with his head dropping onto that strong shoulder with his temple pressing to the fabric, exhausted but grappling to get back his strength. In this position, he can look at Nyota directly, focusing on her as his hand tightens around hers. The grip is stronger than he normally does, would hurt if he continued it for long, but he's unaware of the added strength.

His other hand--it comes up between him and Jim, and rests heavily against the other side of Jim's neck, fingertips clutching weakly into the muscle. Thoughts stream, less words and more just feeling, sorryneedNEEDlove....

He needs them both.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

Spock is waiting. The newly reforged rope of their bond twists around him in this secret place and he waits because Christopher needs to come here, to Spock, where it will be easier to make it all right between them.

He can feel the other two withdraw - another reason he waits. The usurpers had kept his Christopher from succumbing to madness but to meet them here where only Spock was allowed...

He did not wish to turn Christopher's mind, his inner sanctum, into a battleground.

Christopher.

He called to his mate, the full sense of his yearning in the single word.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

As the door closed, Pike turned and looked to Spock. "Is the room secure?" He imagined there would be at least a camera or a listening device within the room. His body was sore, thrumming in pain along with his mind, but uncaring. Things had to be seen to, first.