Jim's Spock has yet to impart that nugget of knowledge, if it's something he's even cognizant of - to be fair, Jim wouldn't know anything about his Spock's brand of calisthenics. It's not something they talk about any more than necessary, tacitly sidestepping the damage Khan had wrought to Jim's body (damage this Spock is clocking, in the way Jim holds himself, the way his non-dominant side is weaker than the other in a tangible way.) Regardless, Jim knows it's a...sensitive topic, and something about it with Spock always seems oddly charged - so they just don't touch it with a ten foot pole, the same way Jim avoids bringing up Jocelyn with Bones, unless Bones is the one to broach the topic first.
Jim buries his hands in the sand, letting the warmth cover them, even as Spock shakes his hair and sends water droplets every which way. It's as undignified as it is charming, in a way, and Jim can't help the funny little smile that pulls at his lips as Spock starts in on untangling his references. Their battle of wits is cut short, and Jim abandons any possible responses to Spock's aborted sentence, turning towards him as he, predictably, starts to argue instead.
That Spock calls him Jim instead of Captain surprises him, however, stopping his rebuts in their tracks, if only for a moment. Jim blinks, processing the tone for a beat as Spock approaches, hovering firm at his shoulder. It's about as close to impassioned as Jim could expect from his Vulcan Commander; and a far cry from his stoic "Let me drown Captain, don't worry about it, it's no trouble," bullshit from twenty minutes ago. Even if Jim will be fine in the water, stubborn bastard. Jim can't even be anything other than fondly exasperated about it, though, not after his insistence on an adamant no man left behind policy.
And of course, Spock's suggestion gets another doubletake - first surprise, then mild incredulity. Jim meets his gaze with evaluation couched in concern; he almost has to look away at the warm ocher color that makes itself known in Spock's iris, a reflection from the sand, surely - instead, he uses it as an excuse to take in the whole of him, looking for any signs of green tinge to his skin. "Spock - are you sure you're in a fit state?"
'Operating near normal capacity' wasn't exactly 'Ready to carry 190 pounds of human 30 feet up a sheer rockface'. Moreover, Jim's attention turns from Spock to the wall again, zeroing in on the holds carved distant from each other, then back to Spock. "I'd put you off balance, and that kind of a climb needs flexibility in range of motion. It might not be possible anyway, I feel like you'd need to be an octopus with eight - "
Jim cuts himself off suddenly, clearly working through an idea that lights him up as soon as it's uncovered. "Have you ever been camping, Spock?"
Jim approaches the wall without further comment, stretching the wingspan of his arms across the divide. Two sides to climb up, ostensibly, but the gap in the middle - he can touch both sides with his fingertips when standing between them. He turns around with a determined grin, beckoning Spock over. The room seemed determined to pit them against one another, but teamwork makes the dream work, as they say. "There's a technique I think we can...repurpose for our current needs."
The poorly-concealed amusement is evident in Jim's expression, but at least his eyes are alight with mirth and no longer abject worry.
He might do it, he thinks. He could do it, if the situation continued to call for it. His body knows itself, as much as he might know it. He knows what it has before endured, what it might still yet. But, there are times where such qualifiers need not apply. There are times where might becomes must, could becomes would. There are times, like these ones, where Spock gauges correctly no matter the physical cost.
It is that determination and certainty that buoys him forth, that brings him to rest as his side as though an anchor. What hypocrisies he engages in and does not? It does not matter. It is illogical to dwell upon a double-standard when the value of the other party is far more evident than his own. And it is so, despite the look that Jim casts him. It is not distrust, he knows. It is consideration. It is a hope for another alternative, when one may not be present. Still, the defense rises readily to his tongue, the probabilities and percentages available to him as they so often are. They are as accurate as they might be in this scenario. And this scenario?
Unquestionably, he nearly says. There is no conclusion without a first attempt. But, the words are devoured by the rumbling behind them. They are ensnared by the sudden spark of inspiration that flares up in Jim, the frenetic motion of his mind moving them further in. Spock follows, willing to hear the argument. They have time. They have time enough yet.
"Not as such," Spock says, settling as though a shadow would alongside him. He believes he knows what it is Jim may be suggesting, knowing that his love of free climbing, but there are times. There are times, further and further between, that Spock cannot yet discern the conclusion before Jim approaches it. "Though you have waxed on most expansively about such activities before."
He casts a discerning eye over the spaces afforded, the angle and cut of the rock. There are few solutions he might come to, but there is something to be said of making a wedge of forms. If one gains the appropriate traction and balances external force - it is not ideal, given the way his body still burns with the excess stimulus, but it is better than what might be. Could be.
The math works out right.
He arches a brow, raises with it the remnants of his shields. They will hold just enough. He will make them. He takes a breath, meets Jim's eyes. He squares himself internally, mirrors from Jim the sturdiness of his form. The certainty.
"A tribute to your eight-legged Terran mollusk, I presume?"
Oh, Jim's well aware of the percentages and COUGH - bullshit - COUGH that Spock likes to stack behind his 'logical' deductions. That he is always so prone to this self-sacrificial streak - well, Jim's not buying what he's selling, he never has. He trained it (mostly) out of his Spock, and Jim'll be damned if he doesn't train it out of this one, too. The needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few in some scenarios, well, he could accept that - he had accepted that, when he took a risk he would never allow men under his command to take - but when there was a way, any other way? Absolutely not.
Regardless, Spock's premise is faulty, though he has not given voice to it (probably because he knows.) No one life was worth more than any other, fullstop. Even if one did engage in that kind of thinking - there's no one who would agree with Jim being worth more than Spock, by any metric. No one.
If Spock were here, and I were there, what would he do?
"Oh, we've definitely got to rectify that when we get out of here," Jim grins, all teeth, and resist the urge to bump his shoulder against Spock's - they're not wearing the protective layer of their uniforms to make the gesture friendly and not an imposition. "You'll like it. Bring your sample kit and you'll have a blast."
Spock gets to fondle plants, Jim can roast marshmallows. Wins all around. It's a pleasant distraction from the climb in front of them, but not one Jim can indulge for long; another piece of the platform falls away with a distant splash in the water below, and he squares his shoulders with determination.
"Something like that." Jim's amusement holds, even as he steps between the ridge, turning so he's facing right, the left half empty - he won't be able to stretch across both on his own. "You're familiar with how the puborectalis muscle functions, I take it."
Jim gestures behind himself, committing to a half squat in demonstration; he's pretty sure Spock will pick up his point, camping experience or not. "If we stand back to back, I think we'll be able to brace and use each other for leverage."
Something about the Terran idiom of pots and kettles should spring to mind here. Even so, Spock will always balance the benefit of all against the benefit of one. If it is between himself and Jim, then it is Jim that he should endeavor to let the universe keep. And if they might come upon an equilibrium, if it is possible that neither should be left behind? Well, that should be an ideal scenario indeed. All that aside: Jim might yet rattle the self-sacrificial tendencies from this Spock. Just as Spock may yet confirm for this Jim that his importance is paramount.
And thus, they reach such an impasse: that is one statement that would never sway this or that or another Spock. If he himself was so important, he should think, then why is Jim not? And he supposes this is why Jim spins about in his usual and chaotic thoughts. That he strikes upon an interesting compromise and course is no surprise to Spock. This is what makes him the Captain, after all.
Spock has no doubt he needn't remind Jim that his condition (as well as Jim's) is not stellar at the moment. Even so, he takes to Jim's suggestion without further thought. The sooner they might scale this obstacle, perhaps, the sooner they might clear this room. And, if there is a particular sort of mercy that the tower might show them, come upon a change of clothing.
"An inelegant solution, but a practical one."
Spock assesses the modeled position for no longer than he has to, eyes flicking up and away to focus upon the grain of the rock. He clears his throat, heart thudding away against his side. He reminds himself of what Jim has told upon the raft in the lower half of the room (he'd tell him, he'd left him know).
"As you wish," he says, the syllables rounded with the usual amount of capitulation. It is no hardship to answer that whim, but time is running out. "I believe the saying goes: 'on your mark.'"
He makes himself as pliant as he ought, settles with his back against Jim's.
Jim could list a hundred reasons, a thousand, why Spock's survival was necessary, why it was right and the absence of it would be so, so wrong, but in truth, he only needed one. No others would ever surpass the painfully sincere fact at the heart of his obstinacy, pots and kettles be damned: Spock was one of his greatest friends, and Jim could not conceive of a world without him.
More importantly, he would not want to.
Perhaps it's selfish, in the way that caring for someone can be, sometimes - but it's no secret that Spock would outlive all of them, and Jim, admittedly, takes some amount of comfort in knowing that. There's no guarantee, of course, now that his universe is out of sync with the one this Spock hails from - but if there's anything Jim hopes remains a constant, well, his answer should come as no surprise.
"Work smarter, not harder." It's the only idea he's got, and while he's open to suggestions, they'll be pushing it on time soon enough. Spock acquiesces to the idea, which means he's determined it's likely (enough) to succeed - whether it's still post-hypothermic delusion or not, Jim will take the wins where he can get them.
Spock assumes the position behind him, and Jim links their arms together, leaning back to brace them against one another. Where his Spock has an inch on him and Spock has several on his own Captain, the two of them are evenly matched. The burst of color that occurs when their skin touches, back to back, is not as controlled as it was on the raft - Jim doesn't have the mental capacity to recall poetry as he determines the course of action. It is, however, focused - determination hums, tightly bound, under his skin. Adrenaline, the thrill of both physical exertion and a healthy dose of distress - just another day in the Fleet.
"One, two - three - !" Jim braces one foot against the rock, flexing his toes, and pushes up with his other leg on three, pushing back against Spock. It works, insofar as they are indeed suspended between the two cliffs. Jim tilts his head back to look upwards, brushing against Spock's - it looks fairly even all the way up, so hopefully the hypothesis holds true, and the length of both of them combined will be enough to stretch the whole way. "Alright, ready?"
Jim takes a step, core muscles engaged, leveraging his hips a little higher, before waiting for Spock to shift. They'll need to establish a rhythm, a back and forth, as his shoulders shift against Spock's - a push and pull, like a seesaw, the rowing of a boat, sliding into sync as if they're one organism.
This is one task that's never seemed to be an issue for them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
expiationmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
expiationlogs2024-05-13 12:27 am
you'll be billed for the psychic damage this email gave me
Jim buries his hands in the sand, letting the warmth cover them, even as Spock shakes his hair and sends water droplets every which way. It's as undignified as it is charming, in a way, and Jim can't help the funny little smile that pulls at his lips as Spock starts in on untangling his references. Their battle of wits is cut short, and Jim abandons any possible responses to Spock's aborted sentence, turning towards him as he, predictably, starts to argue instead.
That Spock calls him Jim instead of Captain surprises him, however, stopping his rebuts in their tracks, if only for a moment. Jim blinks, processing the tone for a beat as Spock approaches, hovering firm at his shoulder. It's about as close to impassioned as Jim could expect from his Vulcan Commander; and a far cry from his stoic "Let me drown Captain, don't worry about it, it's no trouble," bullshit from twenty minutes ago. Even if Jim will be fine in the water, stubborn bastard. Jim can't even be anything other than fondly exasperated about it, though, not after his insistence on an adamant no man left behind policy.
And of course, Spock's suggestion gets another doubletake - first surprise, then mild incredulity. Jim meets his gaze with evaluation couched in concern; he almost has to look away at the warm ocher color that makes itself known in Spock's iris, a reflection from the sand, surely - instead, he uses it as an excuse to take in the whole of him, looking for any signs of green tinge to his skin. "Spock - are you sure you're in a fit state?"
'Operating near normal capacity' wasn't exactly 'Ready to carry 190 pounds of human 30 feet up a sheer rockface'. Moreover, Jim's attention turns from Spock to the wall again, zeroing in on the holds carved distant from each other, then back to Spock. "I'd put you off balance, and that kind of a climb needs flexibility in range of motion. It might not be possible anyway, I feel like you'd need to be an octopus with eight - "
Jim cuts himself off suddenly, clearly working through an idea that lights him up as soon as it's uncovered. "Have you ever been camping, Spock?"
Jim approaches the wall without further comment, stretching the wingspan of his arms across the divide. Two sides to climb up, ostensibly, but the gap in the middle - he can touch both sides with his fingertips when standing between them. He turns around with a determined grin, beckoning Spock over. The room seemed determined to pit them against one another, but teamwork makes the dream work, as they say. "There's a technique I think we can...repurpose for our current needs."
The poorly-concealed amusement is evident in Jim's expression, but at least his eyes are alight with mirth and no longer abject worry.
the penalty of knowing me is high, etc.
It is that determination and certainty that buoys him forth, that brings him to rest as his side as though an anchor. What hypocrisies he engages in and does not? It does not matter. It is illogical to dwell upon a double-standard when the value of the other party is far more evident than his own. And it is so, despite the look that Jim casts him. It is not distrust, he knows. It is consideration. It is a hope for another alternative, when one may not be present. Still, the defense rises readily to his tongue, the probabilities and percentages available to him as they so often are. They are as accurate as they might be in this scenario. And this scenario?
Unquestionably, he nearly says. There is no conclusion without a first attempt. But, the words are devoured by the rumbling behind them. They are ensnared by the sudden spark of inspiration that flares up in Jim, the frenetic motion of his mind moving them further in. Spock follows, willing to hear the argument. They have time. They have time enough yet.
"Not as such," Spock says, settling as though a shadow would alongside him. He believes he knows what it is Jim may be suggesting, knowing that his love of free climbing, but there are times. There are times, further and further between, that Spock cannot yet discern the conclusion before Jim approaches it. "Though you have waxed on most expansively about such activities before."
He casts a discerning eye over the spaces afforded, the angle and cut of the rock. There are few solutions he might come to, but there is something to be said of making a wedge of forms. If one gains the appropriate traction and balances external force - it is not ideal, given the way his body still burns with the excess stimulus, but it is better than what might be. Could be.
The math works out right.
He arches a brow, raises with it the remnants of his shields. They will hold just enough. He will make them. He takes a breath, meets Jim's eyes. He squares himself internally, mirrors from Jim the sturdiness of his form. The certainty.
"A tribute to your eight-legged Terran mollusk, I presume?"
What else might it be?
no subject
Regardless, Spock's premise is faulty, though he has not given voice to it (probably because he knows.) No one life was worth more than any other, fullstop. Even if one did engage in that kind of thinking - there's no one who would agree with Jim being worth more than Spock, by any metric. No one.
If Spock were here, and I were there, what would he do?
"Oh, we've definitely got to rectify that when we get out of here," Jim grins, all teeth, and resist the urge to bump his shoulder against Spock's - they're not wearing the protective layer of their uniforms to make the gesture friendly and not an imposition. "You'll like it. Bring your sample kit and you'll have a blast."
Spock gets to fondle plants, Jim can roast marshmallows. Wins all around. It's a pleasant distraction from the climb in front of them, but not one Jim can indulge for long; another piece of the platform falls away with a distant splash in the water below, and he squares his shoulders with determination.
"Something like that." Jim's amusement holds, even as he steps between the ridge, turning so he's facing right, the left half empty - he won't be able to stretch across both on his own. "You're familiar with how the puborectalis muscle functions, I take it."
Jim gestures behind himself, committing to a half squat in demonstration; he's pretty sure Spock will pick up his point, camping experience or not. "If we stand back to back, I think we'll be able to brace and use each other for leverage."
no subject
And thus, they reach such an impasse: that is one statement that would never sway this or that or another Spock. If he himself was so important, he should think, then why is Jim not? And he supposes this is why Jim spins about in his usual and chaotic thoughts. That he strikes upon an interesting compromise and course is no surprise to Spock. This is what makes him the Captain, after all.
Spock has no doubt he needn't remind Jim that his condition (as well as Jim's) is not stellar at the moment. Even so, he takes to Jim's suggestion without further thought. The sooner they might scale this obstacle, perhaps, the sooner they might clear this room. And, if there is a particular sort of mercy that the tower might show them, come upon a change of clothing.
"An inelegant solution, but a practical one."
Spock assesses the modeled position for no longer than he has to, eyes flicking up and away to focus upon the grain of the rock. He clears his throat, heart thudding away against his side. He reminds himself of what Jim has told upon the raft in the lower half of the room (he'd tell him, he'd left him know).
"As you wish," he says, the syllables rounded with the usual amount of capitulation. It is no hardship to answer that whim, but time is running out. "I believe the saying goes: 'on your mark.'"
He makes himself as pliant as he ought, settles with his back against Jim's.
Get set and go?
no subject
More importantly, he would not want to.
Perhaps it's selfish, in the way that caring for someone can be, sometimes - but it's no secret that Spock would outlive all of them, and Jim, admittedly, takes some amount of comfort in knowing that. There's no guarantee, of course, now that his universe is out of sync with the one this Spock hails from - but if there's anything Jim hopes remains a constant, well, his answer should come as no surprise.
"Work smarter, not harder." It's the only idea he's got, and while he's open to suggestions, they'll be pushing it on time soon enough. Spock acquiesces to the idea, which means he's determined it's likely (enough) to succeed - whether it's still post-hypothermic delusion or not, Jim will take the wins where he can get them.
Spock assumes the position behind him, and Jim links their arms together, leaning back to brace them against one another. Where his Spock has an inch on him and Spock has several on his own Captain, the two of them are evenly matched. The burst of color that occurs when their skin touches, back to back, is not as controlled as it was on the raft - Jim doesn't have the mental capacity to recall poetry as he determines the course of action. It is, however, focused - determination hums, tightly bound, under his skin. Adrenaline, the thrill of both physical exertion and a healthy dose of distress - just another day in the Fleet.
"One, two - three - !" Jim braces one foot against the rock, flexing his toes, and pushes up with his other leg on three, pushing back against Spock. It works, insofar as they are indeed suspended between the two cliffs. Jim tilts his head back to look upwards, brushing against Spock's - it looks fairly even all the way up, so hopefully the hypothesis holds true, and the length of both of them combined will be enough to stretch the whole way. "Alright, ready?"
Jim takes a step, core muscles engaged, leveraging his hips a little higher, before waiting for Spock to shift. They'll need to establish a rhythm, a back and forth, as his shoulders shift against Spock's - a push and pull, like a seesaw, the rowing of a boat, sliding into sync as if they're one organism.
This is one task that's never seemed to be an issue for them.