Chapter Text
The wooden door to the cell opened and two guards entered, dragging Spock’s limp body between them. Jim remained where he was, reclining on one of the sleeping benches, feigning a disinterested expression with his hands folded behind his head. One of the guards looked in his direction, his face wearing a sneer that Jim could only imagine.
The guards unceremoniously dropped Spock to the ground before turning on their heels and exiting the way they had come. Jim waited, counting to 10 in his head, hoping that would be enough time for the guards to decide that he truly did not care about the state of his first officer and return to their patrol duties (or at least to grow disinterested enough in his reaction to leave) before leaping from the bench and rushing toward Spock’s prone form.
Spock lay on his stomach, completely still, arms near his head, exactly as the guards had left him.
‘ F*&* Spock, what did they do to you? ’ Jim thought, as he knelt and began to assess his first officer for injuries. He gently palpated his arms and torso, grimacing to himself when he felt signs of broken, or at least cracked, ribs. Carefully, he eased Spock onto his back, feeling disturbed when Spock remained completely motionless. Was he in a healing trance, or simply unconscious? And if he was unconscious, what kind of torture had they inflicted that would make a Vulcan pass out?
Pushing these thoughts aside, Jim slowly rolled up the shirt hem of Spock’s uniform. He frowned as he took in the green and blue bruises already starting to form around Spock’s ribs. He gently pressed against the ribs. Damaged, to be sure, but not enough that he couldn’t risk moving Spock. He wanted to get him up off of the cold dirt floor and onto… ‘ Onto what? The warm stone bench? ’ he thought, looking around at his surroundings.
The cell they were in was sparsely furnished in what closely resembled a medieval Earth dungeon. Stone walls with built-in stone benches as the only ‘furniture’ to be found. A dirt floor and several barred windows completed their scenery. The residents of this planet, although eager to accept advances in technology and weaponry, did not seem to see the value in upgrading their holding cells. Or indeed, much of their other architecture. Epsilon 5 was a curious juxtaposition of modern tech and antiquated scenery, the result of a culture that had interacted with Warp-capable cultures far before developing their own space capabilities.
Kirk and Spock had arrived yesterday to negotiate a trade agreement with the inhabitants, only to find themselves immediately arrested on charges of kidnapping and accused of being spies for the Tenra’s enemy, the Horlu. After both men had refuted the claim that they had kidnapped a prominent member of the Tenra aristocracy and denied that they were Horlu spies, Spock had been hauled away for “further questioning” by several guards.
Pulling Spock over his shoulder, Jim heaved the Vulcan into his arms and carried him to the nearest bench. Laying him down gently, he arranged his limbs, hoping for some semblance of comfort for Spock on the unyielding stone surface. He stood, stretching his back and rubbing his arms absently as he thought. There had to be some way of contacting the Enterprise so they could be rescued. He’d left Scotty in command - surely the Chief Engineer would notice that they had failed to check-in at the appointed time? He felt helpless, out of control of the situation. It was a feeling he hated, especially where his crewmates were concerned. Especially where his first officer was concerned.
Jim rubbed his hands together. Darkness had fallen outside and the temperature had dropped in their cell. His attention snapped to Spock, still lying unconscious on the bench. If Jim was feeling cold, how much colder was Spock? He knew Vulcans were far more sensitive to cold temperatures than humans, but he wasn’t sure how much more sensitive. He knelt down next to the bench and held his hand toward Spock - then stopped. Vulcans were also touch-telepaths. As such, touches that would be deemed innocent by human standards could be considered quite scandalous or intimate to a Vulcan. Jim wanted to respect Spock’s boundaries and culture - what would be the least inappropriate, checking Spock’s temperature by touching his hand, or by touching his face?
Jim remembered seeing Vulcans kiss by pressing their pointer and index fingers together. Maybe that meant that a touch to the hand was more intimate?
‘ Face it is, ’ thought Jim to himself, leaning over Spock’s form. Yet, for some reason, he hesitated, his hand hovering just above Spock’s smooth, pale features. What seemed like the lesser of two intimate gestures by Vulcan standards still seemed suddenly incredibly intimate by human ones. It occurred to him that the only time he ever laid his hand to a person’s cheek was when he was holding them in his arms. Right before he kissed them.
Jim shook his head to clear the sudden thoughts away. ‘ Check if he’s cold,’ he said to himself. Feeling slightly guilty for the unplanned path his thoughts had taken and the delay in helping his first officer, he laid his hand to Spock’s cheek.
‘Fuck,’ Jim thought. Spock’s skin was like ice. Jim wasted no time and climbed onto the bench next to Spock. ‘ Sorry, buddy ,’ he thought to himself. ‘ Vulcan propriety will have to take a backseat this time.’
He gathered Spock’s limp form into his arms, positioning him so that Jim covered as much surface area as possible. He hooked his legs around Spock’s and wrapped his arms around him, hugging Spock from behind and pulling him flush against Jim’s body. He pressed his face against Spock’s neck, trying to hold him as closely as possible without further damaging his ribs. After a few minutes, he felt himself grow a bit warmer, and could only hope that meant that Spock was getting warmer, too.
*********
Spock began to gradually return to consciousness, feeling light behind his eyelids and a gradual sense of increasing awareness. A mixed sensation of both hard and soft, and also of both cold and warmth. His eyes snapped open and he jerked slightly, fully expecting to see the drab furnishings of the interrogation room and the hostile forms of several Tenra guards. As his eyes adjusted to the dim morning light, he quickly realized that he was no longer in the interrogation room. Feeling the pressure of being restrained by something solid and warm, he looked down and caught sight of gold fabric. Command gold fabric. The Captain. The Captain’s arm was around him?
Spock’s slight movement caused the arm to tighten its grip, pulling him snug against the source of warmth, which he now realized must be the Captain himself.
Puzzled, Spock paused, unsure how to proceed. It seemed that in between his last conscious memories and the present time, he had somehow arrived back in the antiquated cell that he and the Captain had been brought to by the Tenra. And somehow, he now found himself lying on what appeared to be one of the sleeping benches in their cell.
Their rather cold, damp, cell. Spock thought to himself, feeling the chill against the parts of his body not currently enveloped by the warm presence that was his Captain. The cell was likely too cold for either the Captain or himself to comfortably sleep. Most likely the Captain had made the command decision that they should try to share warmth to keep up their health and strength. It was only logical.
He felt the Captain stir against him and felt the tip of a cold nose brush against the back of his neck, sending a slight chill down his spine. He flushed slightly. Now that he was awake and morning was upon them, Spock should probably separate himself from the Captain, shouldn’t he?
But the thought of disentangling himself from that warm, solid presence did not sound appealing. And disentangle it would be, for Spock now realized that the Captain’s legs were wrapped around his own as well. Every place where the Captain touched him was warm, and Spock felt that warmth all the more in stark contrast with the cold air pressing against every inch of exposed skin.
The Captain sighed and pulled him closer still, and Spock felt hot breath against his skin. Suddenly he felt slightly flushed, despite the cold. He had the sudden urge to press himself back against the Captain, to worm his way even tighter against him, tighter inside that warm embrace that felt so soothing, so protective against the chill. Surprised (and a little embarrassed) by his own thoughts, Spock forced himself to gently loosen the warm arms from his torso and slipped his legs away from the Captain’s. The movement caused Kirk to stir, and he opened his eyes groggily.
“Spock? You’re awake,” the Captain said.
“Affirmative, Captain,” Spock returned.
Kirk’s eyes widened somewhat as he took in their proximity to each other on the sleeping bench. “Good!” he said, sliding away from Spock and sitting up. “That’s a relief.”
Spock sat up as well, acutely feeling the absence of Kirk’s body against his. Declining to comment on their previous position, he turned to Kirk.
“Approximately how long did I remain in my healing trance?” Spock asked.
“Is that what it was?” Kirk questioned. “I wondered. I noticed a few bruised ribs, but I hadn’t found any head injuries.” He frowned at the memory.
Spock inclined his head, indicating that Kirk’s assessment of his injuries was correct.
“You were out for about 10 hours, as near as I can tell. We don’t all have your Vulcan sense of time,” Kirk gave him a slight smile. “What happened, Spock? What did they ask you?”
“They ‘questioned’ me, Captain,” Spock answered wryly, using the same phrasing as the Tenra guards that had taken him for interrogation the day before. “Our hosts seemed most convinced that both you and I were involved in the kidnapping of a prominent member of their society by the name of Imrhat.”
“Imrhat?” Kirk mused. “I’m not familiar with that name. Why would they think we had anything to do with it?”
“Apparently Imrhat’s disappearance coincided with our arrival on the planet. As far as I was able to surmise, he was scheduled to attend a negotiation with representatives from the Horlu people, but failed to arrive.”
“And the Tenra suspect foul play?” Kirk asked.
“Evidently Captain,” Spock continued. “The Tenra suspect the Horlu of kidnapping Imrhat. By failing to appear at the negotiations, the Horlu claim that Imrhat has insulted them and that the Tenra government is not serious about their negotiations. The Tenra interrogators believe that this is merely a ploy by the Horlu to advance their own ends. They suspect the Horlu have kidnapped Imrhat themselves.”
“That still doesn’t explain why they’re accusing us of kidnapping,” Kirk pointed out.
“That was something I was not able to resolve during my time with our captors. Perhaps if my presence is requested again I will return with more information,” Spock replied, dipping his head slightly.
Kirk rolled his eyes. “Well, with any luck we’ll be out of here before we become experts in
Tenra-Horlu politics. It’s at least 15 hours past our check-in time with the Enterprise. They’re bound to be looking for us.”
“Indeed.”
**************
Jim stretched his arms and stood up, walking around the cell. It looked no different today than it had yesterday. Still solid, gray stone blocks and barred windows. One of which was directly underneath their bench…
Climbing onto the bench where Spock still sat, he reached both arms up and stretched towards the windows. Damn. Too short.
Then he grinned to himself.
“Hey Spock, you know how I’ve always said I’ve got your back? Well, I’m gonna mean that literally for a minute.”
Spock turned his head toward the Captain, arching a quizzical eyebrow.
“Captain, while I can easily surmise that your goal in this request is to increase your height using my own body as a platform, I fail to see how reaching the window will aid in our escape.”
“Just trying to get a sense of our options,” Jim replied.
“Very well,” Spock answered, swinging his legs up onto the bench and assuming table-top position, facing away from Jim. He glanced over his shoulder,
“Will this suffice?”
Jim swallowed, suddenly realizing that Starfleet-issued trousers left very little to the imagination in certain positions. ‘ Maybe it’s not Spock’s back that you want’ , a little voice whispered inside his head.
‘Not helpful’ , Jim thought back.
Then aloud, “You know what, maybe I don’t need your back after all. Vulcan’s are super strong, right? We could try just cupping your hands and see if you can boost me high enough.”
He frowned as another thought occurred to him. “And I doubt those ribs of yours have fully healed, Vulcan healing trance or not.”
Jim’s mouth settled in a line as he mentally rebuked himself for forgetting about his First Officer’s injuries.
“As you wish, Captain,” Spock said, climbing to his feet and facing Jim. He bent his knees, swinging his arms around and interlocking his fingers. Shuffling his feet into position and tightening his core, he looked up at Jim. “You may proceed.”
Placing one hand on Spock’s shoulder for balance, Jim stepped into his cupped hands and tried not to wobble as Spock stood up, boosting Jim closer towards the window.
“Whoa -- hold it --” Jim exclaimed as he swayed, leaning into the stone wall for support. “Okaaay… alright I’m good.” And then, in a slightly lower tone, “Sh*& you’re strong.”
“Can you reach the window, Captain?” Spock asked calmly, ignoring Jim’s comment. He remained still, a perfect base for Jim’s stability.
“Yeah,” Jim grunted, stretching his arms up and grasping the bars. “I can reach it. Actually this is a great pull-up position,” he laughed, glancing down at Spock, who appeared less than amused.
Jim cleared his throat. “Yes, I can reach the bars, and I think I can even get my hand outside the window.”
“And is that sufficient for your knowledge-gathering purposes?” Spock asked, continuing to remain almost perfectly still.
“Yeah, yeah. You can let me down now,” Jim replied. He slid both hands down the stone wall for balance as Spock lowered him back down to the bench, reaching for Spock’s shoulder as his foot neared the stone bench. His grip tightened as he felt his right foot hit the stone surface and he disentangled his foot from Spock’s grasp.
Spock straightened back to standing, eyes widening slightly at his proximity to Jim. For a moment all Jim could do was stare back, caught in the gaze of two very dark brown eyes, until he realized that his face was mere inches from Spock’s, that his arm was still gripping Spock’s shoulder, that he was practically embracing his First Officer.
Dropping his arm quickly, Jim cleared his throat and turned away, immediately climbing down from the stone bench.
“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” he said, walking a few paces and then turning back towards Spock with an overly-bright smile.
“Of course, Captain,” Spock replied in a measured voice, his eyes no longer too-wide. “And has this experiment caused any inspiration towards our current predicament?”
“Actually yes,” Jim answered. “We both know the guards took our communicators when they threw us in here yesterday, but maybe we don’t need our communicators to get a message to the Enterprise. Did you notice that both guards wear comms units on their belts? I’m not sure what the range is on those things, but if we could get hold of one of them.. ”
“It might be possible to alter the transmitting power enough for a signal to reach the Enterprise. And any increase in distance from the stone walls of our prison cell would only improve our chances for reception,” Spock surmised.
“Do you think you could do that, if we can get our hands on one of the guard’s communicators?”
“Without having familiarity with the devices themselves, it is difficult to provide an exact confidence level. However, as we have no other options at present, I see no choice but to try.”