Star Trek - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Imprint ❯ Chapter 4

 

 

Imprint

Chapter Four

 

 

Heavy grey clouds masked the dawn sky. It had begun to snow. Throughout the morning the wet flakes melted as soon as they touched the ground, but by the afternoon they began to stick.

 

Spock no longer kept precious inches of space between himself and Jim. He lay flush against the young captain's back, drawing warmth and a greater sense of stability. There wasn't a blare of unwanted thoughts and emotions that he had anticipated. Though his hands stayed tucked away in the excess length of his coat's sleeves, he observed that Jim was a Human with great mental focus. He suspected that touching the surface of the man's mind would transmit only muted emotions buried beneath tactical thinking. The manner in which sharp blue eyes constantly studied their surroundings suggested that Jim remained in a perpetual state of guarded awareness. It was almost Vulcan.

 

Finding his unconditional dependence upon Jim unacceptable, Spock compensated by lending his expertise at every available opportunity. His accurate sense of direction allowed him to correct Jim's trajectory.

 

When Jim said, “Keep talking. It helps me forget that I'm running on fumes,” Spock began to give a running narration of hypotheses and probabilities. Excessive chatter was discouraged among his peers, but Jim seemed to appreciate it. He vocalized the actual calculations and explained each situational variable he considered relevant to his computations.

 

Though Jim rarely offered a comment in response, Spock could tell the man was listening. He had never held someone's rapt attention for such an extended period of time.

 

In school, when he wasn't in the learning pods, his instructors acknowledged his answers with a briskness that they did not demonstrate towards the other students. Over the years, he had surmised that his instructors expected less of him because he was part Human. His records and aptitude scores were high even for a Vulcan, but his instructors seemed keen on dismissing his achievements, as if to ignore the fact that a half-Human were more intelligent than most full-Vulcans.

 

Once, he'd expressed his concerns to his mother, who had betrayed his confidence by informing his father. His father had told him that he was being overly emotional and sensitive. His mother had wished to champion against discrimination, but she did not understand the difficult position doing so would place him in. He learned to suppress his emotional response as his father had advised. When he spoke of school and his daily activities to his mother, he withheld encounters and experiences to spare her.

 

Regardless of who listened to him on Vulcan, Jim absorbed his every word. He became lost in his own musings, explaining the intricacies of what fascinated him most about anything and everything.

 

After expounding on a journal article published by the Vulcan Science Academy on rejuvenation and the physical effects of gamma radiation exposure, Spock glanced behind to check on the lieutenant. Jim had assigned him the task of keeping tabs on the man.

 

“Lieutenant Carter appears to be in need of rest,” Spock said.

 

Behind Kirk and Spock, Carter stumbled and nearly fell. His form sagged even after he caught his footing.

 

Kirk glanced skyward, squinting against the falling snowflakes. His breath puffed in misty white clouds every time he exhaled. He pinpointed the reddish orb low in the west, the red giant sun. He began to look for a secure spot to rest. This was their third day on Thelos, and he anticipated reaching the river by mid-afternoon the next day.

 

There had been no sign of the rebels. Kirk still didn't know if this was a good or bad indication. He might be running headlong into a trap. Communications remained blocked.

 

Carter had done away with all ceremony. He dropped to sit against the nearest tree, gasping and clutching the side of his stomach. “Captain, I can't keep up like this.”

 

“We're less than a day away,” Kirk reasoned. “You can do this.”

 

“I can't,” Carter declared, coughing violently. His stomach twisted, threatening to turn itself inside out.

 

Kneeling before his lieutenant, Kirk set a firm hand on the man's shoulder. “You have to.”

 

Carter met the captain's gaze. Those blue eyes burned with frightening resolve. It was infectious. He gave a weary nod.

 

After letting Spock down, Kirk arched his back. His spine gave a series of pops that did nothing to alleviate the stiffness of sore muscles.

 

Kirk reviewed the map and conferred with Spock on the distance they had covered. The boy had a gift for calculations and was able to accurately estimate their location. Kirk could maintain a general sense of how far they'd gone, but the constant turnabouts and backtracking made it difficult to separate right from left.

 

“We'll walk for an hour.” Looking to Spock, Kirk asked, “Will you be okay on your feet?” Previously, he'd let the boy walk for short intervals, no more than ten or fifteen minutes. His back was ready to break and needed more than fifteen minutes of reprieve.

 

The bindings on Spock's feet were already soaked. Placid expression hiding his discomfort, he said, “Yes.”

 

A grim smile tugged at Kirk's chapped lips. “At least walking will help keep you warm.” Dark blond hair was slick with melted snowflakes and sweat. His habit of raking his fingers through the strands left them spiked at odd angles. Between torn clothing, patches of crusted blood on his head and arm and too many scrapes and bruises to count, Kirk looked liked death warmed over.

 

“Indeed,” Spock agreed. He suppressed the urge to grimace at the unpleasant sensation of his feet sinking into the cold, slushy earth. When Jim began walking, he silently moved to the man's side.

 

The day progressed with intermittent showers of icy rain and snow. The sky remained a bland grey even as dusk approached.

 

Kirk was searching for a shelter when he caught a sharp scent in the air. It was faint, easily overwhelmed by sodden earth and pine. He stopped and held a hand up, signaling Spock and Carter. Carter knocked against Spock, apparently not seeing the signal. Kirk crouched and gestured for the other two to follow.

 

Carter wedged between Spock and the captain. “What is it?”

 

Kirk inhaled sharply. “Can you smell it?” he asked, looking to Carter for confirmation. It was almost like hickory or charcoal.

 

Carter looked confused, but tilted his head back and smelled the air with exaggerated sniffs. “Smoke?” he questioned.

 

“Stay here,” Kirk instructed. He gave Spock a knowing look and added, “Stay with Carter.”

 

A protest rose to Spock's lips, but he had no logical reason to argue. He lowered his head in compliance and glanced with barely concealed resignation at the lieutenant.

 

With Jim gone, the forest became a menacing presence. Even the silence seemed threatening. The distant snap of twigs and chirp of high-perched creatures echoed despite the damp atmosphere.

 

Seated on one of many strewn rocks, Spock kept a vigilant watch in the direction Jim had gone. Arms wrapped around his drawn up knees, he counted the minutes as they passed.

 

“Hey, do you have any of those octopus plants left?”

 

Spock shook his head. The lieutenant had been present when Jim insisted he finish drinking, despite his perfectly logical argument on Vulcan physiology and his ability to retain water.

 

Carter scoffed with open hostility. He kicked at the ground and paced away. He'd been busting his ass to please the captain. There hadn't been any sign of the rebels since the first day. The only reason Captain Kirk wanted to hurry was because of Spock. The kid talked about Vulcan superiority, but didn't seem so superior while getting a free ride. Meanwhile, he could barely swallow because his mouth was so dry. He let out a frustrated sigh. This was supposed to have been a diplomatic mission. He'd been on the job two weeks. He wasn't trained for this.

 

Spock watched the lieutenant pace. For a man who repeatedly claimed to be incapable of taking another step, his current expenditure of energy was illogical.

 

Approximately seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds passed before the soft tread of Jim's footfall drew Spock's attention. Jim came into view, his hood drawn and dark figure practically indiscernible from the shadows. When bright blue eyes landed on Spock, Jim leveled him with a stunningly bright smile and pushed his hood back.

 

Kirk stepped away from the shadows and into plain view. The kid had already spotted him. Spock had sharper eyes than he'd suspected. Letting his steps fall heavy, he alerted the lieutenant to his presence. The young man whipped around in surprise, hand moving to a draw a phaser that wasn't there.

 

With a chuckle, Kirk held his hands up in mock surrender. The lieutenant laughed nervously in return. He motioned the man over and crouched beside the rock Spock sat on. “It's a village,” he said, not bothering to hide his eagerness. He turned to Carter and added, “It's guarded.”

 

Spock unfolded his legs and sat straight. Jim had intentionally included him in this discussion. He assumed a passive expression and quelled his concern that Jim had been near enough to armed guards to have seen them.

 

“How many?” Carter asked.

 

“Six patrolling the parameter. Probably more inside the village. It's not an outpost though.” A village full of civilians meant potential allies. Information was the best weapon he could hope for. The odds of a successful infiltration were marginal, but he couldn't keep running through the woods like this.

 

“Do we wait `til dark?”

 

Kirk shook his head. “The dark has as many disadvantages as it does advantages.”

 

Spock studied Jim's pensive expression. “A curious statement,” he said. “Please clarify?”

 

A lopsided grin graced Kirk face. Spock's previously reticent behavior had disappeared the moment he told the boy to voice whatever questions or concerns came to mind. On the Enterprise, he was lucky if Commander Spock spoke two sentences to him while they were off duty. After a solid hour of nonstop talking, this younger version of his commander was downright chatty. It amused him to no end. He wished he had thought to set the tricorder to record every word.

 

Clearing his throat, Kirk explained, “There's no traffic at night. If I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb, I'll need to do this during the day and there's not much of that left.”

 

“How do we get past the guards?”

 

Kirk's eyes sharpened. “We don't. I want you two to hunker down here and wait.”

 

“Captain, you can't expect me to wait around while you take on the enemy alone.”

 

“I don't expect anything, Lieutenant. I order it. With any luck, no one will notice I'm there.” If Kirk had his way, he wouldn't be taking on the enemy. A fight was the last thing he needed with a single phaser that had a quarter charge left.

 

Spock quickly erased his look of wide-eyed shock. “Jim, on this occasion, I must agree with Lieutenant Carter. The risk involved in such an attempt is too great.” He had the irrational urge to reach out and take hold of the man's arm. His fingers twitched in response, but he held back.

 

“As always, Commander Spock,” Kirk said with a teasing edge, “your concerns are noted.”

 

Green pinpricks of color rose to Spock's cheeks. He lowered his gaze, equal parts embarrassed and ashamed that his concern had been apparent.

 

“I've had a lot of experience sneaking in and out of places I shouldn't be. Trust me.” Kirk gave a playful wink. “Compared to campus security, this'll be a walk in the park.”

 

Flabbergasted by the captain's easy confidence, Carter's protests fell apart. “Captain, at the very least I should go with you.”

 

Shaking his head, Kirk admonished, “Spock might be smarter than both of us put together, but he's still a kid. Stay with him.”

 

Head snapping up, Spock glanced between the two men. A warm hand settled on his shoulder.

 

“You're in good hands with Carter,” Kirk said.

 

Spock didn't want Jim's assurances. The captain was handing command over to the lieutenant and leaving. The statistical likelihood of Jim's safe return was too low to hold any expectations. In that moment, cold anger flashed through him. He stood and shirked Jim's hand off. “Very well,” he said.

 

Kirk winced at the strangely void monotone of Spock's words. There was no pleasing everybody.

 

After shedding his jacket, Kirk peeled his command gold shirt off his sweat damp body. The form fitting black undershirt was a thin barrier against the cold. He quickly slipped back into his jacket. Setting the discarded shirt on the rock that Spock had used as a seat, he caught the Vulcan boy's eye. “You still have my knife. You can cut this shirt up for your feet.”

 

Believing that Jim was attempting to mollify him, Spock bristled indignantly. “I do not require this empty gesture of consolation. Whether you return or not is of little consequence.”

 

Kirk ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “Use it or don't, but I can't wear it. I'd have an easier time with a bull's eye painted on my back than if anyone caught sight of that shirt.”

 

As understanding dawned on Spock, he felt rebuked. His emotions were clouding his judgment. He was sorely in need of meditation.

 

“Good luck,” Carter said.

 

Wishing to apologize and admit his error, Spock turned around, but Jim had already left. He caught a final glimpse of dark blue disappearing into the fold of trees.

 

In Jim's absence, silence descended again. The wait began.

 

 

ooo

 

With the village in his sight, Kirk crept as close as he dared, keeping within the tree line. The closest structure was a wooden shed. A metal pipe atop the roof vented smoke. Two guards disappeared inside, while one exited to take their place.

 

A broad dirt road led through the center of the village. A number of houses were little more than shanty sheds dotting the outskirts, but the majority were cobbled stone.

 

Robed civilians in thick leggings milled near the main entrance, but few came and went along the road. Each pass that the guards made with their shouldered rifles earned rueful glares from the villagers.

 

Lying in wait, Kirk absorbed every detail and movement. He searched for a pattern in the guards' route, but they were dangerously unpredictable. One or two of them would circle around the village perimeter, which was a solid ten-minute walk. Other times, the guards would simply return after pacing near the main entrance for a little while. The rebels were lazy and disorganized, and unpredictable as a result. He suspected that one or two of the guards were better trained than the rest. Like the group of reinforcements that had shown up from the main encampment.

 

If Kirk tilted his head at the right angle, he could hear the unmistakable thunder rush of water. Becoming too absorbed in the sound of his destination so close at hand, his guard faltered. The hairs on the back of his neck rose like the hackles on a dog. A twig snapped behind him. He whipped around and met the pointed end of a spear.

 

A split second before Kirk was prepared to lunge to the side, the man holding the spear lowered it. Kirk jerked back a step, ever careful to keep out of sight from the village guards.

 

A Thelosian garbed in a heavy brown cloak regarded Kirk with wonderment.

 

Kirk returned the sentiment, though his expression remained untelling. There was something familiar about this spear-wielding alien. A garishly wide smile split the man's face, emphasizing the inhuman characteristics.

 

A memory danced on the edge of Kirk's mind. “Are you with the Brotherhood?” he asked. When the Thelosian's eyes dropped to read his lips, he remembered. At the base of the temple's stairs, the man who'd approached him for direction. It had been a brief encounter, only a matter of seconds, but he must have made a good impression because the Thelosian held a hand out to him.

 

Returning the man's smile, Kirk clasped the outstretched hand and hooked their thumbs together by way of Thelosian greeting.

 

Once Kirk had the universal translator between them, he learned that the Thelosian's name was Jyro, or at least the Standard equivalent. He had two sons, one who'd been injured in the attack on Belmar. Jyro started to talk about his wife, and Kirk suspected the man would ramble until he gave a complete medical history. Kirk redirected Jyro's verbose inclinations with a few tactful questions.

 

Prompted by Kirk, Jyro explained that all villages were under watch, but the guards demonstrated no open hostility. The violence of the initial attack had not been repeated. The Brotherhood had herded Thelosians from the main city to outlying villages, wherever they had family or relations.

 

Jyro had slipped away rather easily from the village. The guards were surprisingly lax in their duty, especially as the weather became colder and they preferred the heated confines of the shed. He'd heard nothing about blocked communications, nor had he seen the guards using unfamiliar devices. Rumor had it that the Brotherhood's numbers were concentrated beyond the ridge of the valley.

 

Licking chapped lips, Kirk forced down his excitement at this news. If the rebels hadn't moved south of Belmar, then there was a safe direction to head. The river was close, only half a kilometer east and Belmar wasn't much father than that.

 

Kirk was ready to give his thanks and slip away. He wouldn't need to risk going into the village to gather information. It was his first stroke of luck since beaming down to Thelos.

 

“Kirk leader wanting food and more clothes,” the translator said in its robotic voice after Jyro spoke.

 

Preferring to return as soon as possible, Kirk was about to turn Jyro's offer down, but it occurred to him that Spock would need more than bandages on his feet. “Can you get me a pair of children's shoes?” He waited for the translator to relay his request and demonstrated the size he was looking for with his hands.

 

Confusion registered on Jyro's face, so Kirk lifted his leg and tapped his boot. Then he signed the small size he wanted.

 

“Little shoes, you want?” Jyro asked, his eyebrows drawn so low that the recess of his prominent brow shadowed his eyes.

 

With a wry smile, Kirk said, “Yes. Little shoes for little Vulcan feet.” He laughed quietly at the reminder that his stalwart commander was now a child. He'd known Spock for little more than a month and already he felt stunted without the Vulcan's support. All the more reason to fix what had happened. Though even a thirteen-year-old version of his first officer acted as efficiently as any decorated soldier.

 

Jyro's look of confusion turned to worry. “You have child?”

 

Weighing his answer carefully, Kirk said, “From my ship. The shaman's relic changed him. Do you know anything about that?”

 

Jyro appeared mystified. “Child spirit,” he said gravely and bowed his head.

 

The temptation to press Jyro about the relic and its effects was nearly overpowering. However, Kirk prioritized his crew's safety over scientific inquiry. He couldn't even hope to fix Spock until they were safely aboard the Enterprise.

 

Jyro left Kirk with the promise to return as quickly as possible. Kirk hated waiting.

 

 

ooo

 

 

Spock settled against the trunk of a tree, knees drawn tight to his chest. Meditation proved more elusive than ever. He stared fixedly at the crumpled command shirt. The shirt remained where Jim had set it, untouched by either himself or the lieutenant.

 

The gentle warmth of his mother's presence was gone. He could not tap into the familial bond. Either by distance or his current undisciplined mind, it was as though the bond no longer existed. Physical isolation had never before entailed mental solitude. On Vulcan, silences could always be filled by calling forth the hum of telepathic bonds. At home, he always had a sense of his mother and father. Even when his father was off planet, there was at least a vague impression of the man.

 

Spock understood that he was too far away to sense anything familiar, but that didn't stop him from seeking the bonds. He huddled deeper into his jacket. With Jim gone, his isolation felt more absolute.

 

Convinced that he acted out of necessity, Spock unfurled and snatched Jim's shirt. Not bothering with the knife, he employed strength to tear lengths away. He felt the disapproving eye of the lieutenant as he unwrapped the sodden strips from his feet and used the dry material to rewrap them.

 

When Spock finished his task, he felt a twinge of disappointment that he had nothing else to do. No tasks to occupy his mind or hands, nothing to distract from the uncertainty and unnatural silence in his head.

 

The lieutenant whirled around abruptly and came to a halt in front of Spock. “I'm going after him. The captain could be in trouble.”

 

Spock kept his eyes riveted on the torn fragments of the golden shirt that bound his feet. “Jim expressly ordered us to remain here and await his return.”

 

“Screw that!” Carter cut the air with his hand. “He only said that because of you. You go on about Vulcan superiority, but you're useless. Do me a favor and stay put while I go after Captain Kirk.”

 

Spock did not flinch from Carter's statement. He agreed with the man. His presence had been a great hindrance to both Starfleet officers. “Indeed, I will remain here.”

 

Tone laced with sarcasm, Carter said, “Good for something then, Commander.” He grimaced at his own pettiness. “Christ, that's not what I meant.” The small Vulcan didn't react. “Just stay here, out of sight. You were first officer, but I can't treat you like a commanding officer when you're four feet tall.”

 

“I have previously stated that I am not a Starfleet commander. It would illogical to treat me as such.”

 

“Exactly, so stay put.”

 

At the repeated order, Spock's brow twitched. “I have already confirmed my intention to follow Jim's orders. Your repeated directives are unnecessary.”

 

Carter rolled his eyes and set off after the captain.

 

Spock did not expect either man to return. Accustomed to all manner of subtle and overt intimations that his presence was unwanted, he understood that the lieutenant considered him a liability. A number of his schoolfellows stated that his very existence was a disgrace and abomination. Like his birth, he had no control over his placement on Thelos. He had awoken where he did not belong. His presence lowered Jim and the lieutenant's chances of survival. Jim moved slower while carrying him and spent extra time collecting a third share of food.

 

Suddenly, Spock felt foolish for his behavior that afternoon. Instead of drawing on Vulcan disciplines to shore up his mind and body, he had sought comfort from Jim. He had concentrated on the physical feel of the man, creating a false sense of safety. He had reveled in having an audience, like a Human infant clamoring for attention. Peace of mind came from within oneself, not without.

 

He would spend the night waiting, simply to exhaust whatever small chance there was of either man returning. By first light, he would set off on his own.

 

Faced with the unknown and more alone than ever, Spock struggled to control his anxiety. He began a mental recitation of Surak's founding principles.

 

 

ooo

 

 

It was dark by the time Jyro returned. He appeared panting, his eyes gleaming with alarm. He shoved a cloth sack into Kirk's arms and began speaking with rushed urgency.

 

The smack Kirk gave to the translator did nothing to make it work faster, but it made him feel better. He told Jyro to slow down, but the man's alarm only became greater.

 

Jyro indicated his meaning with wide gestures while the translator computed.

 

Finally, the translator spit out, “Brotherhood find Federation man like you. Man run from them. Brotherhood follows back by way you came.” The translator continued relaying Jyro's words, but Kirk had stopped listening. He set off at a sprint, heedless of keeping cover.

 

 

ooo

 

 

An inhuman screech cut through the forest. Spock's eyes shot open, his meditative recitation left unfinished. Ears alert, he heard tromping feet and the sound of bracken and branches snapping. The noise drew closer.

 

Night had fallen, laying down a shroud of cool shadows. An ambient light reflected in the heavy cloud cover made the landscape more distinct than in past nights. Snowfall accumulated in patches, wherever the trees thinned out. A solid two inches has already collected.

 

The forest appeared still, almost frozen, but panicked cries filled the air. It was Lieutenant Carter. The man was close enough that Spock heard his hoarse gasps and stumbling feet. A sharp tingle of fear radiated towards Spock. He could feel it in his mind. The heightened emotion of raw terror shattered past his weakened mental defenses.

 

Spock stood from his spot at the base of a tree, prepared to move towards the man, even as his instincts urged him to move away. The cold had numbed his feet.

 

The hammering burst of gunfire made him jump and retreat back against the base of the tree. Kneeling, he glanced around for better cover, but he didn't dare move.

 

As a dark form entered the narrow clearing of trees, Spock had the irrational hope that it was Jim. Despite his conclusion that Jim had fallen victim, or the remoter chance that Jim had simply abandoned him, his desire for the starship captain's return kept him from accepting what he saw. Even as he took in the form that was too tall and wide to be Jim, he recalled past instances when Jim had appeared quite suddenly from behind trees and boulders after gathering food. But this was not Jim and his hope crumbled as the figure turned in his direction.

 

The figure loped closer. Spock started to stand again, his pulse racing and movements strangely clumsy. Following a series of angry words, the figure opened fire at the ground in front of him. This time the sound did more than startle Spock. Logic fled, leaving him open to baser instincts. He fell to the ground and clutched his head.

 

At the raucous sound that was unmistakably laughter, shame washed over him. He had not trained tirelessly as a student of logic or in the art of Suus Mahna so that he might cower on the ground. Hands dropping from his ears, he began to stand once more.

 

Laughter gave way to angry shouting. Spock darted a sharp look to the excitable alien. He spared a moment to study the strange weapon. Its size appeared to account for its loudness. Finally met the gaze of his assailant. The rebels had hunted him for the past two days, yet they had been a faceless enemy.

 

Narrow eyes glistened in the darkness. The rebel's visage was distorted by shadow. A prominent nose and a sloping forehead cast angular features in sharp relief. The alien had an elongated torso of considerable girth, but squat legs. Spock wondered if he might outrun his Thelosian opponent.

 

Grasping at the only thing that would not fail him, even in a situation where his death seemed imminent, he calculated the probability of a successful escape. The independent variable that faulted his equation was whether this rebel intended to kill him or capture him. Erring on the side of caution, he assumed that any sudden movement from himself would trigger the rebel to open fire on him. Previous gunfire had been an intimidation tactic. He saw that now, though he might have known before and still succumbed to the adrenaline inducing effects of fear. Indeed, he was still quite afraid.

 

Regardless of his emotional upheaval, the math stayed the same. There was a 10.59 percent chance of evading immediate capture by ducking behind the nearest tree. That chance increased to 26.00 percent if the rebel wanted to capture him alive. The odds of his escape after reaching the trees was despairingly low, at best a 2.70 percent chance.

 

If he remained, Spock would be killed or taken captive. Logic pointed out that he would face the same end if he chose to run. There was no logical conclusion in which he could hope escape.

 

Seconds ticked by and Spock could not twist the numbers into a better solution. His calculations fell apart when his hand knocked against the object in his right pocket. He was unaware that he'd made the move for the knife. His fingers curled around the weapon, drawing on it for strength.

 

The rebel eyed Spock warily, but seemed to conclude he was no threat. His gun remained pointed towards the ground, held in a lax grip.

 

Spock would stand and fight. He was Vulcan, immune to fear and panic. He forced his hand to steady as he withdrew the small knife, but he nearly jumped in surprise when he managed to find the trigger and the blade shot out from its end.

 

The rebel laughed again, louder this time. A wide mouth extended into a gaping maw that seemed to sever the man's face. The sight of the man laughing was as unpleasant as the sound.

 

Heart thudding against his side, Spock prepared to lash out when the rebel reached for him.

 

The rebel was a step away when a guttural cry rent through the air. Spock's whole body seized as he jerked his head to the left. Eyes widening, he watched as Jim launched from the shadows and tackled the rebel away from him.

 

Limbs tangled, the two bodies rolled across the small clearing between trees. Spock found that he couldn't move. He watched with mounting horror, all the while unable to command his limbs.

 

Adept at all forms of tumbling, chiefly across soft mattresses, Kirk managed to come out on top. The gun sailed from the rebel's grasp and clattered somewhere off to his right. He wasted no time before unleashing a series of fracturing hits to his opponent's face. The rebel delivered a hard jab to his kidney that doubled him over.

 

The two grappled, wrestling as they struggled to find enough purchase to land a blow. Kirk disengaged and staggered to his feet. He drove his knee into the rebel's side, but a painfully strong grip caught his leg and upended him. Landing with a grunt, his vision darkened for a moment. He kicked out instinctively, pushing the rebel off before the man could pin him down.

 

As he scrambled to his feet, he searched for something, anything to use as a weapon. His eyes sought the gun, but his hand found a rock. The rebel came up behind him. He swung around and brought the rock down with a sickening crack against the rebel's temple. The man keeled over, stunned but not quite unconscious. Kirk straddled him, raising the rock to finish the job.

 

A sharp gasp from the other side of the clearing caught his attention. Posed with his arms upraised, ready to bring the deathblow, he locked eyes with the kid. Small, pale and helpless, Spock's wide brown eyes gazed at him without recognition.

 

Chest heaving, Kirk slowly lowered his arms and tossed the rock aside. The rebel peered at him through narrowed eyelids, one eye streaked with blood. Nostrils flaring, Kirk struck with a well-aimed fist, effectively knocking his opponent out. Clambering off the lame form, he staggered over towards Spock. When the kid backed away from him, he stopped.

 

“Stay here,” Kirk said, his voice cracked and rough. He jogged out of sight, but returned moments later, carrying the sack Jyro had provided. Rifling through the contents, he procured a set of small shoes, an odd mesh of sneakers and boots. “You'll want these,” he said. He tossed them to the ground near Spock's feet, but made no move closer.

 

Spock felt strangely detached from his body. He was able to move, but only in stiff and jerky motions. He retrieved the shoes and mechanically slipped them on. While his fingers automatically fastened the metal clasps, his mind replayed the fight he had just witnessed. His eyes fixed on the rebel's unmoving form.

 

Kirk watched Spock with growing unease. The kid was in shock. “He's not dead,” he said, finding it necessary to assure Spock of this.

 

Spock managed to pull his gaze from the deathly still body. He stared at Kirk for a full minute before nodding.

 

ooo

 

“The lieutenant left,” Spock stated, not knowing why he chose to bring the matter up. From observation alone, Jim would have been able to conclude that the lieutenant had left. There had been no one in the clearing other than himself and the rebel.

 

With a tightness in his tone that suggested the words were difficult to form, Kirk said, “I know. I found him before I got to you.” Anger filled him, both at himself and at Carter. Carter had defied his order, but he had failed to keep the man safe.

 

Spock reaffirmed his hold around Jim's neck. The shoes Jim had procured were large on his feet, but a significant improvement. He could have jogged alongside Jim, but the man wished to move fast.

 

In the aftermath of Jim's fight with the rebel, Spock felt no emotion. His fear and panic had given way to numbness. It wasn't the comfortable control of emotion, but rather the absence of it.

 

“He shouldn't have left you,” Kirk muttered. “Damn fool.”

 

“You are angry,” Spock said, somehow making the statement a question without any inflection.

 

Navigating the forest at night was no easy task. Moving at a slow jog, Kirk tried to keep his footing. He recognized Spock's state of shock and did his best to keep the kid talking. He would have recited the alphabet if it kept Spock focused on something. Kirk had anger to keep him focused, so he held onto it and said, “He left you.”

 

“Indeed,” Spock agreed, still not seeing the correlation.

 

Jaw clenching, Kirk said, “I gave him an order to stay. It was a dereliction of duty.”

 

Spock was able to accept this logic, but Jim's next words only served to confuse him all over again.

 

“Who leaves a kid? I'd have killed him myself if he weren't already dead.” A small voice in the back of his head asked whether Carter would have acted differently had Kirk not pushed him so hard. The lieutenant had performed admirably under the circumstances. Carter hadn't left Spock, the man had simply gone to retrieve his captain. It had been Kirk who'd left.

 

In his confusion, Spock's interest piqued. “For Humans, who are often swayed by their emotions, the instinct to survive can become an imperative. Had the lieutenant remained at my side, his chances for survival would have been considerably lower.”

 

“He had his orders,” Kirk practically growled. “And if he'd had an ounce of moral fiber, he wouldn't have needed orders to keep him from leaving.” His misguided anger had him lashing out at a good man and making irrational statements. He'd regret it later. For now, he needed to vent.

 

“Is that why you returned?” Spock asked. He paused, weighing an unfamiliar term before using it. “Moral fiber?”

 

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Kirk. His running rhythm faltered as a result. “Yeah, something like that.”

 

“I had not anticipated your return.”

 

“I made quite an entrance, didn't I?” Kirk joked.

 

Silence fell between them. Minutes later, Kirk said, “You shouldn't be surprised. I'm gonna fix you. God knows I would have blown the ship up without you harping at me all the time.”

 

Spock didn't reply, though he was tempted to ask for clarification. It seemed prudent to cease further conversation. Jim's breathing had become labored.

 

At the sound of running water, the weight of Kirk's anger and grief bled away. Relief blossomed and urged him to run faster. The ground sloped upwards. Sweat stung his eyes.

 

“Jim,” Spock said, arms tightening around the captain's neck.

 

Kirk heard the hint of alarm in Spock's tone. Seconds later, he heard the cause of it. Shouts rang out and the guards from the village followed close behind.

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's note: Thank you all for the awesome reviews. Reviews definitely push me to update faster, though I am a notoriously slow updater. This chapter isn't beta-read. My beta has it, but I'm too impatient for my own good. Please tell me what you think (the good, the bad and the ugly). The chapter has more running around in the woods, but I promise the next chapter concludes this redundant saga. But hey, Spock and Kirk used this time together to bond and braid each other's hair.