tampered | ( open )

Entry tags:

( open )

When: September 2-3rd, daytime.
Rating: G.
Characters: Spock (

logistical) & OPEN.
Summary: Someone has acquired a lute and is playing.
Notes: Wrote in [action] but prose is also welcome.
Log:

[ Spock hasn't yet installed a door to cover that "magnificent hole in the wall" (as Jim has dubbed it. McCoy was far more less forgiving), and claims it is due to lack of sufficient currency. That is true - he prefers to save rather than spend right away - but he is getting quite comfortable simply being a busybody and listening to the goings-on of the other apartment. The transition was inevitable and he shouldn't be putting it off, but the displacement to the City, even with the crew, had not been easy. He found living in a metropolitan area constricting considering he had spent the majority of the past few years on board a spaceship, where they could leave at a moment's notice. He'd have taken the expanse of Vulcan's deserts over this in a heartbeat, and not for purely sentimental reasons. ]

[ However, there's no longer a home except the Enterprise, no family save for her crew, and while he has made an attempt to make his residence presentable he has no intention of getting to know the City. Walks are limited to exercise - though he needed little - and his routine is strict, but offers little comfort or intellectual stimulation. ]

[ Even work is progressing frustratingly slowly. Unlike Jim, who finds other outlets for the restless energy, Spock diverts his into more projects. He would read, but since Khan was at the library, Spock avoids it as much as he can, and he occasionally skims the books Nyota has finished and placed on the shelf to be returned as soon as possible. ]

[ So one day, he quite spontaneously decides to find himself a lute. The exact object wouldn't be present in the City, but there was wood, and strings, he could make do. When he's satisfied, he sits in the middle of the living room, and begins to play. ]

[ Maybe you are visiting. Maybe you are walking by, or coming home and wondering what the music is. Or maybe you are an angry neighbour who wants to know when that racket can stop. In any case, the sound carries. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Frequently.

[He's pleased at the praise. This is not a part of himself he shares with others, and for someone as perceptive as Jim even the choice of song can be extremely telling.]

I have not had the opportunity, recently.

It's not like we haven't got the time, right? Keep it up, I'd like to hear more in the future. [ His brows raise with a sudden thought. ] Can you write compositions?

I have not attempted any...

[But hey. It's not like he can't.]

If you intend to acquire a guitar, I will arrange a piece.

Alright, sounds good. We'll write something about us. [ He can't keep a grin off his face. ] It might start out a little shaky ...

[He twangs a few strings, it makes a discordant sound.]

The early days were difficult.

[A few more. Jim sneaking aboard the ship. The moment Spock stood up with him to Pike, seeing his logic. Saving Vulcan, or trying to. The chords change, it becomes smoother, but not completely in sync.]

[He pauses, and looks at Jim for confirmation that the tune is appropriate.]

[ His smile remains, muted as he listens and seats himself nearby on the couch, chinning a hand. A nod is given to the tune. ]

You were the first Vulcan I ever had any extended contact with, I had no idea how to take you.

[ It's a quiet murmur but one he doesn't mind relenting on. Not now. ]

I am half-human.

[Spock smirks. Just a little playful.]

No one had ever beaten the Kobayashi Maru.

[He continues, the tune turning harsh again. Jim telling him he'd never loved his mother, and the anger bleeds through in the quick, desperate movement of the fingers, reaching a crescendo. He's strangling Jim, all his rage and guilt pouring through that skin-to-skin contact, and abruptly, his father calls out his name, and he stops. The music stops, too, and turns quiet, mournful. The transporter room had been emptied to give him space.]

It was cruel. [What you said about her. What you had to] And yet. It was necessary.

[He puts the lute down, on his lap, and quietly-]

I understand why you called for me, and not Doctor McCoy.

Edited 2013-09-19 09:25 (UTC)

[ Those harsh twangs prompt laugh-lines before the tune settles into something sadder, his regret and commiseration during their first huge fight waning into outright sorrow for all that Spock lost. Jim felt it, secondhand perhaps but even so, he felt it from the older Vulcan and knew how it was to lose everything; to fail completely. It's a dim memory now, but it still pricks at him uncomfortably like a thorn under dust. Not knowing what to say when Spock broaches the topic of his lost mother, Jim remains obediently silent for the musical rendition. When the lute lowers, it's only then he looks up.

Leonard had been so hurt and Jim hadn't had the answer for him that he wanted. "I didn't mean to call Spock instead of you, it was impulsive, please forgive me." None of that could pass his lips. He wasn't choosing one above the other at the time, it was a matter of who he needed most urgently at his side, all of it on Jim. There's an inability to feel sorry or badly for that which becomes abundantly clear when he looks at his close friend, still bereft of a way to explain it. ]

He misses his home. [ Strangely, that's what he says now. It ties in with why Jim called for Spock and not Leonard and he hopes that's conveyed. This is a sensitive subject, so when he swallows and amends where he's going, Jim makes sure to look him in the eye so he can see there's no ill intent behind the segue. ] When I met the old guy on Delta Vega and we melded, I felt it. His crew.

[ The only one that mattered to him. Jim's smile echoes the resonating note of loss which had stirred a notion of twice lost, twice adrift in the elder Spock's mind. Blue eyes blink to stay rooted on his friend and it's like Jim can't feel the couch or see the room, only the understanding between them matters. Now seems as good a moment to air the details as any. ]

He missed the other me like I already missed you when Scotty couldn't open that door.

[He misses his home.]

[Spock doesn't think about the other one - the older one - often. They are decidedly not the same, and while it's still uncertain if he'll become an Ambassador someday it'll be by a new path, different means. Nero had ensured as much, and the very nature of their reality meant that a great many things were different. No doubt the original crew had been assigned and weathered their missions, whereas theirs had come together, forged through crisis, well before that.]

[Yet-]

He would.

[He stares at the curtain separating the two apartments moving with the slight breeze. Up until a few weeks ago he had still been upset, he had told McCoy what he thought the doctor should have heard from someone, that he wished it'd been him, instead of Spock, at the other side of the glass. Spock thought it the proper thing to say, and now, he realises just how human of him that was, to offer comfort. Was it untrue? No. It had been what he'd thought was right, at the time, and he wasn't going to retract the statement.]

[Perhaps... he's less lost. He is definitely less scared.]

The crew is all we have left.

[He looks at Jim, with an expression of complete compassion, and mutual understanding. I can't allow you to do that, Jim says, a lifetime ago, before they beam to Nero's ship. I'm coming with you. He had melded with the other Spock, on Delta Vega, that was how-- he had known. To target Spock's mother. He'd held his tongue aboard the Jellyfish, too.]

[Their Jim, the one who's sitting on the bridge of the ship right now, back home, Spock wonders if he's thinking this too.]

[The only sound is his quiet, regulated breathing, then-]

If you still desire a mind-meld, I will acquiesce.

[Now now, he hopes, but perhaps, when they are both... calmer. Or now, since Jim says there's no time like the present quite often.]

[ There's a stillness lingering with pent-up words behind closed lips as he watches Spock closely to gauge his feelings. The crew is everything to both of them, Jim knows that. It just so happens that Spock makes up a different kind of everything, too. To say he's surprised at the offer would be an understatement, especially given how voracious Spock was in driving him off the idea last time. Jim wasn't planning on bringing it up as a viable option for them any time soon, respecting the boundary. ]

You know you don't have to do that, Spock.

[ Nothing will change if they don't and their relationship doesn't mean any less without that strangely intimate addition. ]

Indeed. It is unnecessary.

[But the context from the last request is different. There, it was for selfish reasons, and now, it is not. It's that simple.]

That is precisely why the offer is now open.

[He doesn't need to explain the reasoning, he knows. Jim will get it. Some things just need to be said out loud, though.]

[ The twist of a smile is wry, though he doesn't contest that. It didn't feel unnecessary last time he asked (well, demanded, that was definitely a mistake) for a meld, given his intentions had been good. It's easy to see how he messed things up in hindsight.

Now that he's been given the green light, Jim's more than a little shy of the idea in case he wrecks something else all over again. ]

When would you want to do it? [ It can all be Spock's decision, tailored to his comfort. That's the least that could be done, except, ] As long as you want one, too. I don't want to go in your head if it's just a favor.

[In Spock's mind this is really how the first discussion should have gone. Jim shouldn't be taking it lightly, and shouldn't have demanded. The fact that's falling together now is just a plus, really.]

I have no preference. The location, however, should offer complete privacy.

[Emotional transference. That shouldn't be mentioned or shared with anyone else, really.]

Do you still intend to share what you originally proposed?

[He doesn't need to know that now, but.]

[ They're alone right now, who knows where the others are. With an original idea of showing Spock how things were when he first arrived, priorities have shifted slightly since then. ]

You were able to get in contact with the Enterprise back then, but it couldn't pick up the rest of our signatures on the transporters. If you still remember something and this whole place made you forget it, maybe I can help by showing you what happened.

I didn't want to ... push this on you.

You are not.

[That's what's different from last time.]

[He gets up, and places the lute securely on the shelf, before pulling up another chair, for Jim.]

I believe... you deserve to see Admiral Pike's last moments. If... you are amenable.

[To preserve some part of him, and carry it with you.]

[ Rising, he absently rubs his wrist as he stands to one side, the fracturing of his heart concerning Christopher's untimely death dancing behind uncertain lowered eyes on the chairs. ]

Would you ... [ Jim wets inexplicably dry lips when that offer's on the table, needing to be broached in short order. Too soon, almost. ] Would you be there with me?

[ He isn't sure if he can watch that man die or feel so alone immediately after. Not again. ]

I don't know how this works.

[ There was a lot of our minds will be one BAM last time. ~~He went in dry!!~~ ]

[Doubt. Discomfort. Pain. Things that sadden him to see, in Jim. And he'd seen his friend's eyes go glassy, and his body slump. Yet, this hurt too.]

[Softer:] I will be present throughout. And after.

[ That'll be okay, if Spock's staying. Jim doesn't know what he expects but with that peripheral knowledge floating around it cuts his apprehension in half. Nodding along before he can bite out an answer, he sits down at a slump. ]

Okay. [ I want to see Chris. It feels pertinent (albeit pointless) to add, ] I trust you.

[ Some things do bear saying, once in a while. ]

[He pulls his chair slightly closer. Physical presence, as he's learnt, can be helpful, and he wants to ease Jim's apprehension as much as he can. Having experienced one before he probably knows what to expect, but... he is melding with a different Spock.]

There may be momentary discomfort.

[He raises his hand, and it hovers, some distance from Jim's face. Whenever you're ready.]

I'm way ahead of you.

[ One last look at friend and Jim closes his eyes before he can watch that hand pull closer; anticipation's a bitch. He immediately starts to recall all those times he's been told how beneficial meditation is and why it's such a great tool to use to quiet a busy mind, but he's never even wished he could do it properly before now. It couldn't have hurt, in all likelihood.

Jim does his best to clear his head, unlike the last time when it felt like entire star systems were being shoved aside in order to bring him to the right place. ]

[He gives it only a moment, not wishing to drag out the waiting. Placing his fingers firmly on Jim's cheek and brow, Spock applies light pressure. Their thoughts, one and the same.]

[He's not as experienced with this as Spock Prime is, a few snapshots of the ship pass by in a flurry, attached to them is a feeling of warmth: home, family, mine, before it all calms down. His mind is a loch (peat soil), gentle winds rippling the surface, held in by the mountains, content to be what it is. The depths are murky, objects only discernible when the water is disturbed, or by sharp eyes.]

[Brief, and sudden, the death of Vulcan, and Jim's death, are all there, swirling whirlpools, but he dampens those. They are not for sharing, not right now. He simply waits, searches for the moment Jim mentioned: I was here previously, let me see.]

[ He sucks in a sharp breath when the meld connects. It's nowhere near as caustic as the previous one, putting him in Spock's mind and a sea of consciousness that makes his head ache from the off with tomes afforded to grief in endless mausoleums that he's guided from as his own mind surrenders, pushes in the same moment. The same sense of home, family, mine applies to the Enterprise with fervent force like a storm around its eye, protective and fierce and fueled by love as harrowing as the deepest note of a lion's roar that carries for lightyears. Following Spock's lead, that sense of one, Jim pulls him into the past from his own viewpoint.

The entire City is grey from the moment he vomits into a fountain (hurts, it hurts) and Bones is there to haul him free, so much time spent languishing in slow-motion with the constant fear of this is death, none of it is real worn as an invisible cowl. There's not so much the sight of Spock as the overwhelming fright and desperation to get back to where they were on the ship when Jim finds him, holding onto Vulcan-shaped driftwood. You are dead. It's like being stabbed and then Bones is whispering in his ear, holding him up, there's a room and Jim wants to grab onto Spock who looks like he's withering inside. He isn't scared when Spock looks like that because it means he has to be brave.

The first time he lets him out of his sight (Use the tricorder to take readings, come back soon) he walks back to the closed door and stands there leaning on it for a full five minutes, stopping himself from going after him. Spock vanishes and there's the same anger as before, the grey slips into place and his eyes just want to see the right shade of blue. It's cold for a week in the City and its forests, he sleeps where he drops against trees, gets up and carries on. Bones is angry. You'll get sick, Jim. Uhura is grief-stricken and Jim is so cheated that none of them feel the need to turn over every single rock.

This could be a volcano. Grey, ashen, obscured. There's no blue to be found and it seems so much like he let him die somehow, burned up not by fire this time but time and space itself. ]

[He's tempted to linger on the ship, afford Jim some measure of joy, even when things were quiet aboard, there was still something to do, some new place to explore or monitor. Something was happening.]

[Another day.]

[He follows the memory, forming a cohesive chain, watching himself and McCoy through Jim's eyes. That Spock is falling apart, chips and blocks, struck by a blunt instrument, his hands bloodied, a recollection of beating Khan surfaces, and Spock carefully places it together with what's playing. Jim deserves to see, even if it's shameful. Spock had wanted to be the one to avenge him, even if that seems so hollow, and so pathetic. Then, it had been real. That Spock, the one Jim is trying to be brave for, considered it real.]

[You are dead, says the Spock, in the memory. Yes, says the Spock, sitting in the chair in an empty apartment. He was dead, and it hurt. McCoy is soothing him. How strange, that he should understand the man in a moment of such terror and loneliness, rather than weeks of serving next to him. The image shifts, briefly, and they are looking at Jim from the other side of the glass. It is all shifting, blurry, they are crying and it hurts, everything hurts. A black hole has opened inside them and is swallowing the joy, the wonder, the newness of home, all of it is fading and slipping. I'm scared, Spock.]

[His hand slides away from the glass. In Jim's memory, his hand reaches for Spock's knee. Grey changes to blue, they are both in the forest, hunting for different people. But at least, there's both of them now.]

[ It the touch upon a knee that anchors him and immediately strips the memory to something barren and bland - the land is dry and close enough to a desert as a young Jim ever wants to get.

You'll be alright, says Sam, and Jim can tell he's sorry but he still walks away. He walks on and on, Jim doesn't know whether to run after his big brother or back to the house, only that he doesn't like this. Don't leave me. It's so hot behind that pane of glass, it tastes like Iowa on the worst of days, but Spock stays with him. Jim forfeits part of himself, the better half, then and there.

It hurts as he strains to see through the blinding darkness but he isn't afraid before his last thought dims.

You're here.

A tumbling chaos of emotions crack like fissures under the weight of devotion Jim feels for his new brother; yelling at him and only having compassion throughout their altercation on the bridge, not a shred of real anger; Chekov, Scotty and Sulu are telling him that Spock is lost and Jim asks for guidance from Bones only to be told He'd let you die, which is wrongwrongwrong, Turn the ship around, get us over that volcano, he snaps, gratified when no one argues (if they did, he would have torn them out of their seat and charted the rescue with his own hands). It's his decision, the cost is his to pay. It pales beneath one striking instinct when he storms out of Christopher's office and tears off his uniform in his apartment, furious and wrecked as his hands shake at the idea of losing his ship, what he couldn't possibly convey to the older man or put into words when it came to saving Spock.

If I hadn't tried, the cost would have been my soul. ]

[Is this mine to see? he asks, as he watches Sam leave. Jim is being ripped apart as the figure in the distance gets smaller and smaller, and Spock quietly smooths a hand over the rough edges. I'm sorry, he says, knowing it's too old a wound, too far away for him to touch, but he's there anyway, and he'll try. I do not believe this is a no-win scenario, just as Jim speeds past in the car.]

[Help me not to be, and Spock doesn't move his hand, doesn't move from where he is, not for a second. Time freezes, it all still hurts so much, but he and McCoy are in the hospital room, waiting for a miracle. Spock knows they don't happen, they don't exist at all but he holds on to hope as surely as McCoy does, because the doctor is giving it to him freely when he has none. Like this, they wait.]

[He's surprised, when it shifts again to Nibiru, and cautiously, he follows, filling in the gaps to form the complete narrative. He is in the middle of a volcano, somehow alive, knowing he's going to die to ensure these people have a chance where his own did not. It is all warm, and pleasant, and he thinks perhaps this is what being under Vulcan's sun felt like, on that final day, the day he escaped only by happenstance, and it feels fitting, somehow, to meet his end here. There is so much to be done, and part of him doesn't want to go, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few by far. He is simply... sorry, that he didn't get more of a goodbye.]

[There's a wrenching feeling in his stomach and he recognises it as a transporter beam. The next thing he knows Jim and McCoy are in front of him and he feels (illogically) grateful, and... angry that they have broken the Prime Directive, just for him. They're in the office and he is insufferable to Pike, because he wants the blame to be centred on him, not on Jim, never on Jim. You cost him his ship. And yet, he stands there and says he misses you. Nothing makes sense.]

[I'm sorry, he says again, as the memory rewinds, repeats that last argument they had with Pike before being demoted and reassigned. I did not intend to cost you our home. Our family.]

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