Degrees of Separation, Part 1 : Star Trek, PG-13
someday i will write something short. but it is SO not this day. *sigh*


Title : Degrees of Separation : Part 1 of 3 (even though there's no way out, we'll find one)
Fandom : Star Trek XI / reboot
Pairing : Kirk/Spock
Rating : Eventual R; this part is PG13 for bloody violence.
Summary : for ninety6tears's prompt at st_xi_kink : Kirk/Spock. While villainz are torturing both of them (or right after), Spock manages to mind meld with Kirk in an attempt to help him control the pain; dauntingly protective and angry "I'm going to kill them for doing this to you" stuff gets through and then they probably do kill the motherfuckers after all because they've just figured out they need to make it out alive so they can have lots and lots of sex.
A/N : yes, i did borrow the silurians from dr. who, which i don't watch, but i googled "reptilian aliens" and that's what i got, so, consider it a shout-out to any who fans reading this. XD a million thanks to raphaela667 for her beta skillz, and of course to absolutely everyone who commented on "Break Down and Tell"-- without all of your awesome feedback i probably never would've written more, so thanks from the bottom of my heart! title taken from the song of the same name by badly drawn boy.

~~~

It was clever, Kirk thinks, shackling them within reach of each other. Your garden-variety evil aliens would've known to chain them up so they could see each other-- that's a piece of cake to an experienced torturer-- but this, tying them up with enough give on the chains so they can reach out to each other-- is really cruel.

Kirk might have appreciated the cunning in it, if he weren't kneeling on the floor next to Sulu's unconscious body, frantically feeling for a pulse.

"He is not dead," says their tormentor, the s lengthening into a cool hiss. The sibilance still makes Kirk's skin crawl, and it's been two days.

"Lucky for you," Kirk snarls, unable to help responding. He stands, the chains dangling slack from his wrists, and gives the Silurian a look that would make any normal person spontaneously catch on fire. "You're going to pay for this."

"Your attempts at threats are amusing to us." The forked tongue darts out even when it's not talking; tasting the fear on the air, or something equally poetic and disgusting.

"It has been my experience that when Captain Kirk makes a promise, he follows through on it." Spock's voice is ragged. Kirk chances a look at him; his mouth and the side of his face are a mass of green scabs, but the deep slice curling around the front of his ear has mostly stopped bleeding, and his eyes are radiating hatred toward their captor.

"Irrelevant." It's almost funny, Kirk thinks, how the alien's emotionless reaction seems to piss Spock off even more. "We require the information you have learned from the rebels you met with yesterday. Your resistance has only brought you pain. Why not concede?"

"That's not what I do," Kirk growls, feeling the fury rising from the pit of his stomach like a living thing.

"It is what everyone does," the alien says, sliding one of its seven-fingered hands into an iron-studded glove. "Eventually." It crosses the room to where Jim's tied up and casually backhands him across the face. He sees stars, his legs buckle, the left side of his face explodes in agony, and everything else goes dim. He doesn't fall to the ground, though, not yet. He's got a lot more fight in him than this. He straightens, spits a mouthful of blood at the alien's feet, despite the agony the motion inflicts on his split cheek, and gives the bastard the widest, most gruesome grin he can manage. He's rewarded with a punch to the stomach, one that sends him stumbling backwards, winded and heaving.

"I can assure you that you will not achieve your desired end through inflicting physical pain." Spock's voice is more than hoarse, now; he sounds like he's the one who just got a wrecking ball to the gut. Jim can't look at him. He's in the zone now, the zone he reaches when he's in a fight and he knows he's losing and he's stopped hoping he'll be able to walk away in one piece. Now he just wants to fuck with the other guy-- or in this case the other lizard-- as much as possible. Never make it easy, never let him see he's making headway-- it's a habit by now, a reflex. Somewhere between stepdad number two and the first bar brawl that landed him in county lockup for the night, he ended up with this idea that showing your weaknesses was a fast way to get them kicked down your throat; he hasn't always been glad of it, but he sure as hell is now.

"Perhaps not from him," comes the hissed reply. The alien's not even looking at Spock now, too intent on fitting a cap on each finger of the glove; a cap with a short, slender blade attached like a fingernail. Seven bright points of steel; Jim follows them with pain-hazed eyes as the hand draws close to his face. "But we are very thorough. One of you will speak, if only to prevent the other's demise." One finger caresses his cheek; Jim doesn't even feel the skin part, only the pain that follows after.

The second cut curves beneath his right eye.

The third connects the corner of his mouth to his ear.

The fourth traces the line of his throat, stopping just short of his clavicle.

And then, just as Jim's starting to think he might be able to get through this, the razored hand grasps him by the shoulder, all seven claws digging in deep, holding him in place while he howls and kicks out, and the Silurian's other brass-knuckled fist drives into his stomach, three times in rapid succession.

He does fall down, then, retching, his ruined face on fire. He can't see for blood and pain, and now James Kirk is more pissed off than he can ever remember being in his life. It's only made worse by the fact that he's too weak to move.

An indeterminable amount of time later he senses movement beside him and flinches, but nothing touches him. "It's me, Jim," says Spock, and Jim forces his eyes open. "Great," he croaks. "How ya liking the sneak preview?" Spock's kneeling beside him, his face unreadable as usual. "Where's Godzilla?"

"I am close, never fear." The voice almost sounds amused.

"Jim." Spock's tone holds a note of urgency Jim knows he wouldn't have noticed six months ago. He tries to focus; only one eye cooperates. "Jim. Relax." He wants to ask Spock what the hell he means, relax, how's he supposed to relax when he's been beaten half to death, and why should he relax anyway, when he sees Spock's hand hovering beside his face. The Vulcan makes a show of brushing the hair back from his brow, then mutters softly, "This will hurt."

Then his fingers are on Jim's face, chin and cheek and brow, and he's goddamn right it hurts, it's fucking agony having fingers pressing hard where iron studs and tiny knives have torn open his flesh. But what happens as Spock's eyes fall shut and his mind opens to Jim's is enough to make the pain fall away, almost enough to make him forget what pain feels like.

The older Spock had melded with him for a purpose, and what he'd seen had been defined by that-- one story, each image chosen and given with a will. This is nothing like that. Spock's mind is a tangle, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that sucks Jim in, and he is submerged, he drowns, like diving headfirst into still water and finding the bottom is nowhere near as close as you thought.

I am giving you some of my energy, the voice is a shout and a whisper at the same time, and Jim reels, while he is bombarded with images and feelings that are not his own--

in the transporter room, Sarek tells him /I married her because I loved her/, and months later in the same room Jim meets his eyes with a steady gaze and says /I can't do this without you/--

and he does feel it, a warmth and energy suffusing him, coming from somewhere that is definitely not himself. Like being drunk, except instead of making his brain hyper or fuzzy it's making everything clear, but the images just don't stop--

Uhura looks sad but her eyes are kind as she says /We were friends first, we will be again/, and Jim lies unconscious and bruised in sick bay while McCoy's voice drifts down, /You've been here five times, man, I will tell you when he wakes up/, and when Jim returns to the bridge three days later Spock looks up with only a nod, though his heart rate has jumped and he's having trouble containing a smile--

Jim gasps, dizzy, What are you doing to me, only barely aware he's not actually speaking out loud, but Spock doesn't answer the question except to give him more, more strength, more of himself, and somehow it's not just physical, it's from the heart, and for the first time in two days Jim feels hope--

the Silurian's seven steel fingertips drive into Jim's flesh and he screams, and Spock's stomach roils with fear and feeling and the urge to let his fury take control, to snap the lizard's neck and tear its heart out, and he thinks, /I will fucking kill them for this/, and Jim feels the surge of possesive protectiveness as if it's his own--

His eyes snap open but Spock's are still closed, and he sees their captor turn toward them again--

While the Silurian drops Jim to the ground Spock dispassionately folds his thumb into his palm and presses down on the joint until it cracks, dislocating, the pain does not register as he pulls the manacle off, scraping fresh gouges in his skin, and he keeps it hidden as he goes to Jim's side--

Then Spock is gone, his hand dropping away just in time for the menacing hiss too close to be safe, "Step away from the human," it says, and Spock looks more shaken than Jim's ever seen him, and now he's aware enough to notice the blood and bruises on Spock's right hand, the hand holding the manacle that used to be around his wrist.

"No, I don't think I will," Spock says, exhausted but adamant, and the chain flows through his hand like water, the manacle spinning through the air to connect with the alien's skull, a wet thwack that Jim will remember with crystal clarity for weeks.

The Silurian slumps to the floor, unconscious or dead, Jim can't tell and doesn't really give a shit. Spock reaches first for its weapon, next for the keys, and as he unlocks their chains Jim laughs, a wheezy rattle that sends air whistling through the gashes in his cheeks; if he hadn't already seen what his face looks like through Spock's eyes, he'd know now just how fucked up he is.

"My hero," he mutters thickly, starting to get to his feet. Spock kneels beside him again, lays a hand on his shoulder. "You should not move yet," he says, his voice strained, and Jim's starting to be able to tell when Spock's having a hard time keeping a handle on his emotions.

"I'm okay," he says, meeting Spock's eyes with his own honest look, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. "Might not be as easy on the eyes after this, but, you know." He tries to smile but his bruised mouth won't let him, and suddenly Spock's hand is on his, tight and hot and if it were anyone else it'd probably be the kind of hug that knocks you on your ass. He doesn't say anything; Jim thinks maybe he can't, and he's not sure he could find many words just now either. Not just for everything that's happened in the past two days, but more for everything that's happened in the past ten minutes; it's just all too much, right now, and it occurs to them at the same time that it's probably high time they armed themselves and got the hell out of Dodge.

"Come on," Jim says, getting to his feet and pulling Spock up by the hand he's still holding onto. "I'll take Sulu, you take two phasers, and let's get the fuck out of here." There's practicality, but promise in it too; he won't forget what he saw and felt in Spock's mind, and maybe after they've managed to fight their way clear to where the ship can pick them back up, they can talk about it. Or maybe talking's overrated; Jim's still feeling enough like himself to spare a thought for that possibility.

He picks up a phaser himself, 'cause why the hell not. He's done crazier things than try to shoot while carrying a wounded guy over his shoulder. "Whoever kills the most of these lizard bastards gets first choice of beds in sickbay," he says as he shoulders Sulu's weight and turns to see Spock taking another phaser from the rack on the wall.

His face grimmer than Jim's ever seen it, Spock flicks the weapon's setting to kill and points it between the eyes of their torturer, still unconscious on the floor. "That is a wager I will happily take," he says, and pulls the trigger.

---

[[continue to part 2]]