1lostone | Rishan D’Kahf-spol (Heart’s Survival)

Title: Rishan D’Kahf-spol (Heart’s Survival)
Author:

1lostone
Rating: NC-17
Universe: TOS+ Reboot
Words: 22,259
Beta:

jademac2442
Pairings: K/S and of course, K/S
Warnings: None really. Some angst and h/c.
Summary: Jim and Spock , who can barely tolerate working together, let alone come anywhere near the epic friendship they’re supposed to have, find themselves on an inhospitable (but strangely not uninhabited) planet- stranded from the Enterprise.
A/N: Written as a pinch-hit for the

trekreversebang for

swordsart 's amazing art. Also thanks to my cheerleading squad,

jlm121 ,

littleboycalico , and

yesterday_girl

Chapter 1

There was no possibility of saving the shuttle.

The small craft gave a shudder, as though agreeing with Spock’s unwelcome certainty. Spock calculated swiftly, correcting the trajectory and trying to compensate for the shuttle’s nearly absent propulsion system.

There was a dip as the fragile shuttle gave another shudder. The fire from the Orion slaver had been most unwelcome. If the gravitational sensor had not immediately engaged once the phaser fire had breached the hull, both he and the Captain would have been sucked out into the blackness of space.

Spock’s vision was disorientating, blurry; he knew he had hit his head sharply on the console. The green blood that slid slowly down his nose confirmed that fact. Spock ignored his own injuries as irrelevant. He had a duty to his captain, who was currently not conscious, to make sure that they landed safely onto the planet.

The anomaly that the Captain had chosen to fly towards had shaken their small craft around like a Sehlat with a particularly tasty morsel in its fangs. As the craft was propelled forward and out of the anomaly’s gravitational pull, the shuttle gave an ominous sounding crack; the ship’s metal sides groaned alarmingly. The craft’s sensors were still offline, but Spock knew they had sufficient oxygen. It had been quite fortunate that the environmental controls had not chosen to ‘go on the fritz’ as the Captain had often stated, but the integrity of the hull was compromised.

Spock’s fingers flew across the console, repairing what damage he could. He diverted power from the small transporter, and allowed a small twitch of his lips when, with a minute dimming of the lighting system, the navigational controls came back on-line. Spock’s eyes widened slightly in shock when he saw the large planet looming in front of him.

The craft dipped again, and Spock began scanning the planet, attempting to glean what information he could. The shuttlecraft was firmly entrenched in the planet’s orbit. It was highly unlikely that the craft’s controls would allow him to break away from the gravitational pull, even if the craft had been in optimal condition.The craft being disabled made the likelihood of successfully meeting up with another starship, let alone the Enterprise, less than four percent.

There was a moan to his left and Spock reached out with one hand, the other still flying over his controls, scanning. The captain was still not moving. Spock gripped his captain’s wrist to keep him upright and away from the hissing force field that still shimmered with a sickly lavender glow every time one of the wires from the hull’s bulkhead slid against the gaping hole of twisted smoking metal.

Class L. There appeared to be some more Terran-like Class M aspects to small pockets of mass on the planet’s surface, but the classification was clearly Class L. Used to processing several different thoughts at the same time, Spock had no trouble focusing part of his attention on the issue of whether the planet would even be suitable for him and his Captain to survive there. Class L were classified by Starfleet to have the proper mix of oxygen, water, and other life-sustaining nutrients, but it was likely that the planet might not sustain them for long. Spock cut his glance to the Captain, still slumped back against the headrest of the seat. There were quite a number of injuries visible to the fragile human skin. A large lump was already beginning to swell with a sickly-looking red color. There was no other choice. The Class L planet would have to suffice.

A high-pitched wail of alarms had Spock jerking his attention away from his captain and back to the console. He so rarely miscalculated that Spock’s error caused him to freeze for a moment in shock. His previous attempts to divert power had taxed the shuttlecraft’s small databases too far. There was no way to control the shuttle’s controls.

A crash onto the planet was eminent.

Unfortunately, there was just a small amount of land visible in the vast oceans of the planet. Spock caught a quick, disjointed glimpse of land to the west through the broken viewfinder before he grabbed the Captain and dove behind the two shuttle chairs, moving quickly, curling his body around the other man’s to protect it as best he could.

The shuttle slamming into the surface of the water was most unpleasant. Spock bounced, allowing himself a small grunt of pain when his spine cracked against the ceiling of the craft, quickly losing his tenuous balance when he and the captain slammed back against the floor of the shuttlecraft, the small breath whooshing out of his lungs. He felt it when his frontal bone, much more dense than the captain’s fragile skull, assailed the captain’s head.

The environmental controls went off-line as the shuttlecraft hit the water with a teeth-rattling crash. Had Spock the time to waste, he would have cursed as his skull slammed against the titanium chair. He felt the shuttlecraft vibrate as it was sucked under the surface. Spock stood, a quick glance around the shuttlecraft taking in the fragile hold of the faintly shimmering force-field. Spock made the most efficient use of his time, casting around for what items he thought that he would need immediately; knowing that he had mere minutes before there was a system-wide failure and the mechanism that kept the water from rushing into the small craft also went off-line.

There was a crash, a horrendous scraping sound as the back of the craft slid against whatever it had stuck and Spock leaped into action. He removed the emergency pack from its space near the seat and placed the strap around his shoulder. Working quickly, Spock also ripped off two of the seat cushions from the back two seats and crouched, tying one around Jim’s waist and shoving the other up under his uniform, tucking his shirts into his trousers. Not wasting a moment of time, Spock picked the captain up and held him, positioning the other man so that one of Spock’s arms would be free to propel them towards the water’s surface. He had just enough time to get the captain situated before there was another warning hiss of sound and water flooded into the craft as the safety measures on the force-field completely failed.

Spock took a deep breath and pushed with his feet, sending the two of them out through the jagged hole before the seal could completely malfunction. Were that to happen, there was a 98.7 percent certainty that the force of the incoming water would keep Spock from being able to exit the Shuttlecraft and swim to safety.

As it was, Spock had not calculated for the suction created when the water crashed through the small hole, and he went tumbling through the water, unable to ascertain which way was up. His body mass, so much more dense than a human’s, began to sink, despite the standard issue ‘fleet flotation device he had shoved into his clothes.

The water wasn’t completely dark. Spock felt his eyes burn as the substances in the water hit the fragile tissue. As illogical as it was, the claustrophobia that hit him as the water pressed against every inch of his body made made his heartrate increase and his skin crawl with distaste. Spock squinted towards the light. His lungs were beginning to hurt now as he strained not to breathe. He caught the movement of displaced water as something very large swam near to where the shuttle had landed.

Spock did not think it would be wise to stay to meet the creature’s acquaintance.

He began scissoring his legs desperately, clawing at the water to gain some sort of altitude from the heavy wetness. The water was almost viscous. Spock was startled from his smooth glide when the captain gave a jerk, his limbs twisting, and Spock kicked again, heart thrumming in his side. There was no time for this. He must go faster.

The water was lighter in one direction, so close now- only meters away- and Spock continued his swim, his muscles burning, lungs aching. The captain gave another violent jerk, and Spock could not keep his hold as the human's limbs thrashed. He made a feeble grab and his hands slid against Jim’s face, fingertips tingling as the slid against his psi points. The bag he had recovered from the shuttlecraft was in the way, tangling between their two bodies. With a quick jerk, Spock broke the strap, letting the bag sink. With his other hand he grabbed Jim’s hair, curling his fingers in the short strands, unwilling to cease their contact.

The captain was drowning.

“Captain’s log, supplemental. Commander Spock has beamed back aboard the Enterprise with very little fanfare. He did not have much to say, not that I really expected him to. His Vulcan controls are just as rigid as they were in the first months of our mission, with the effects from the Valiant and that dammed Psi200 still running rampant over the ship. Everything has happened so quickly. Spock surely knew, logically, that his parents could be used as targets. With Sarek’s status as Ambassador, and Lady Amanda’s stubborn refusal to leave her husband’s side, surely Spock knew that this was a possibility. Spock is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of.... computer, pause recording.”

Kirk sighed, looking out into the stars. He could see his reflection in the small window, and realized ruefully that if anything could make him drop the captain facade, it would be the slightly too-tense line of his First Officer’s shoulders when he barely acknowledged Kirk’s greeting before requesting to spend the remainder of his leave in his quarters. He watched his reflection as he pulled on the scratchy sleeves of the new wraparound tunic, nervously meeting his own hazel gaze, the lines of the stars as they warped away from Vulcan on their way to their next mission serving as a backdrop to his own worry.

This was stupid.

Kirk blew out a breath, jumping to his feet and pacing around his quarters. Spock was only a few feet away, separated from him by only the bulkhead. Spock needed a friend right now, and it was Kirk’s own cowardice that was keeping him in his quarters instead of Spock’s. He tightened his lips and took a deep breath, tugging a little on his uniform as it rode up a little over the waistband of his trousers. It only took a few steps before he was out of his room and standing uncertainly in front of Spock’s door, trying not to feel like a nervous prom date. He blew out another frustrated breath and waved his hand over the door sensor. There was several minutes of silence before Kirk repeated his action, ignoring the faint stirrings of trepidation deep within as he realized that Spock was not responding.

There could be several different reasons. Spock could be in the ‘fresher, or asleep, or.

It was the or that had him using his executive override, stepping quickly into Spock’s quarters only to come up short, embarrassment warring with a strong sense of shame for interrupting Spock’s ritual.

Spock didn’t react, and part of Kirk had to wonder just how deeply he had sunk into his mediation cycle. It wasn’t like Spock not to be hyperaware of his surroundings. Spock sat perfectly still, the deep black meditation robe spilling around his kneeling legs. Spock’s fingers were steepled, his head bent slightly enough to show the fragility of his sharp, angular cheekbone, the long slope of his neck. The faintly green cast to his skin seemed strangely pale against the silk of the robe. His breathing was extremely shallow and for a moment it looked to

Kirk that he was hardly breathing, a Vulcan statue come to the barest hint of life.

With a shake of his head, Kirk took another step forward, feeling the doors of Spock’s quarters slide shut behind him. Part of him wanted to turn right back around and leave, and apologize profusely for his horrible intrusion. The rest of him acknowledged the faint buzz of arousal that always seemed to flare at the sight of his friend, and the slightly voyeuristic feeling was easily ignored as Kirk quietly removed his boots and sunk down in front of Spock, trying to be as still as possible. Spock didn’t even flinch, and that more than anything made Kirk feel justified in his actions. Whatever had happened on Vulcan, Kirk knew that Spock would need him once he emerged from his meditation. With Spock, it was easier to just be there for him than to walk through the tiresome dance of attempting to get Spock to give into his half-human need for companionship. Jim took a deep breath and stared at Spock’s bent head, his lips twitching in the familiar half-grin that he always seemed to wear in his favorite Vulcan’s presence.

His ass was numb by the time he saw Spock’s eyelids flutter. Kirk watched as Spock’s nostrils flared, and felt his heart-rate accelerate when Spock’s deep brown eyes opened, fixing on his own hazel gaze.

“Captain.”

“Spock.”

Spock inhaled, rising gracefully to his feet. Jim bit his lip, feeling uncertain. Had this been over just about anything except Spock’s parents, he would have just blurted out what he was thinking.

“Do you wish for refreshment at this time?”

Kirk nodded, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “That’d be great. Some of that bark stuff?”

Kirk saw Spock’s lower lip twitch, and all at once he felt less unsure of himself. He got to his feet, wiggling his toes in his socks to wake up his tingling feet. He sat down at Spock’s workstation, tugging unconsciously on his uniform shirt as he did so.

“Vulcan Spice Tea is, as I have mentioned one-hundred and thirty-three times since beginning this five year mission, not made of ‘bark’.” The replicator beeped and Spock brought the two beverages to the table, setting them down with a small clink. “That is to say, it is not made solely of the bark. There are seven other types of spices indigenous to the L-langon Mountains.”

Spock timed his rejoinder just as Kirk was taking a sip, so that he managed to dribble some of it down his chin when he laughed. Kirk’s whole body relaxed when Spock sat down beside him.

“You seem much less... tense.”

“Indeed. The meditation was quite successful.”

Kirk couldn’t have kept his smile from his face if someone had held a phaser to his head. Spock must have still been shaking off the remnants of his meditation, because for a moment his brows tightened, his eyelids blinking rapidly before he looked back down at his tea.

“I’m glad, Spock. I was kind of worried about you. I want you to know that no one on the crew knows the details, Spock. I kept everything under wraps. They just know that you took some leave on Vulcan and that your parents happened to be in attendance. Come to think of it, I’m not exactly sure what strings T’Pau pulled to keep all of that off the nets but--”

“All of the crew, Captain?”

“Jim, Spock. You know you can call me Jim.”

Spock just waited patiently.

Kirk just nodded. “I respect your privacy, Spock. I figured that if you wanted me to know, then you would tell me.”

Spock sipped the tea, his long fingers wrapped around the mug. They were both quiet for a minute, the sound of the ship’s engines filling up the quietness of Spock’s chamber. Kirk was very aware of the play of the muted light against the silk of Spock’s robe, the heavy smell of the incense that would hang in the air until the ship’s purifier took care off it. He could taste the tea; the blend of not-cinnamon and what still tasted like dirt-flavored bark on his tongue, despite what Spock said.

“My mother is a very strong-minded individual.”

The words, when they came were soft, hardly breaking the comfortable silence they had fallen into. Kirk straightened, looking up from Spock’s reflection in the shiny table surface. Spock was also looking down, and Kirk watched as he opened his mouth to continue his quiet conversation.

“My father married my mother despite the protestations of the Vulcan council. They were somewhat... less than enthused about the idea of my father diluting his bloodline with alien blood.” Spock ignored the sound Kirk made and continued. “My mother was undaunted. She chose to remain on Vulcan with my father, chose to travel with him when his duties called him away from our planet. Even with the disharmony between my father and myself, my mother never tired in her belief that we would, ‘eventually quit acting like the south end of a north-facing mule.’”

Kirk couldn't help the snort of laughter at Spock’s use the colloquialism. He was rewarded with another twitch of Spock’s lower lip.

“You could say that I am the living embodiment of IDIC, with imperfect results. There have been threats on my life before, of course. Some of the more traditional thinkers on my planet have been quite vocal in their belief that my birth was an abomination to traditional Vulcan thinking.”
Spock’s voice trailed off, and Kirk twitched in his seat, calling on all his diplomatic training not to show what he was feeling. He couldn’t control the slight squeak as his fingers tightened on his own mug, stopping just before the ceramic surface cracked.

“My father was not aware of much of my own experiences with cultural and xenophobic bias. Part of that was my own insistence. I did not wish for my mother to … worry.” Spock’s voice was off. The normal rich cadence of his speaking voice had an undercurrent of strain to it. Kirk bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to let go of the tea mug.

“They claimed to be working for the Pahth, a insurgent group that took it upon themselves to purge my father’s blood line of its less desirable members. They used explosive devices, set in my mother’s quarters at the Embassy. My father should have been working. Had he not heard the particular high-pitched sound of the device, it is likely that my.. my mother...”

Kirk couldn’t help it. He reached out to grasp Spock’s forearm, trying to mute his emotions so that Spock would not be overwhelmed. The touch wasn’t even skin on skin, but the jolt that went through him shocked him so much that he jerked away from Spock’s arm on reflex. His fingers felt like they were burning, the feel of Spock’s heat through the silk lingering on his skin.

“But they’re okay, right?”

Spock was quiet for several seconds. His face had slid into the blank mask that he usually wore around strangers, and Kirk cursed himself for touching Spock without his express permission.

“They are. ..adequate. My father’s injuries were severe. He managed to shield my mother from the worst of the debris and fire from the explosion. My mother also sustained some injuries, but they were negligible when compared to what had been intended. They were both.... fortunate.

Kirk tossed back the rest of his tea, telling himself that the warmth he still felt was leftover from the hot beverage, and not the Vulcan sitting rigidly in front of him. Spock wasn’t as standoffish as he’d been once he beamed back to the Enterprise, but neither was he displaying the almost relaxed comfort he’d been enjoying before Kirk had fucked everything up by touching him. He stood and bent to retrieve his boots.

“I’m going to go. I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay. Well, as okay as could be expected. Thank you for telling me, Spock.” Kirk waved him down as Spock half-rose, his impeccable manners not failing him even now when he was under stress.

“Of course.”

Kirk forced another smile, and walked to the shared ‘fresher. He didn’t usually use that way between their quarters, but frankly he was too damn tired to mess with his boots and going around the “official” way.

“Good night, Spock.”

The door slid shut behind him, but not before Kirk heard Spock’s softly returned, “Goodnight, Captain.”

Later that night, when Kirk was stretched out on his narrow bunk, he found sleep almost impossible. When it came, it was full of dreams of heat and the slide of silk; affection and the imagined echo of desperate, needy cries.

Chapter 2.