[ For one who seems most inclined not to rest, Spock somehow excels at it where warranted.

In the most immediate aftermath, whatever safehouse they have selected to stow the remaining Chosen is alight with periodic flashes of activity; injured shuffle in, injured shuffle out. Those who remain are often (and too occasionally) up and about, but Spock remains strangely motionless. Even when he prodded and poked by more medically experienced hands, he does not seem to respond in the slightest. All that signals that he is alive? The steady, cyclical sound of his respiration.

In the proceeding hours (days?), Spock is not often by himself in rest. Jim lingers, confined too as he is. Even when Spock stirs from the earlier state he was in, it is not atypical to find them huddled together on one of the narrow cots toward the back. Whether they are asleep or awake? It does not seem to matter, but Spock makes himself most often small enough to accommodate Jim wherever he deems it. He still looks rough, but less so then when he arrived. The green of his blood is (for the most part) contained beneath the skin and the residual bruising resembles the burnish upon bronzed statues where it lays the deepest. But, most peculiarly, one might observe that Jim and Spock seem to rarely talk to each other directly during their stay here. And yet, they seem to understand the other perfectly.

Weird.

Now may be a good enough time to catch up on the other side of things, make awkward plans. Maybe exchange a few apologies? Or none of the above. Maybe there's a bone to pick in there somewhere. ]