( mixed. ) pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego

[ashaya]

Who: Spock, Jim, Gwen, Peter, and various.
Where: Various locations (see prompts for details).
What: Gnosia-related shenanigans.
Warnings: Uh. Probably more than a few? Most likely: references to genocide, references to starvation/famine, references/overt descriptions of being targeted by racially motivated crimes, general violence, and gore. Maybe some vaguely racy commentary here and there (linked).

Comments

[ashaya]

[ It is not unexpected.

The Gnosia writhe and ramble, the wet of their mouths both wild and weak. For all that they burn at the mind they'd found their tinder in, there is only so much that the body might do. There is only so much that the body might withstand. There is only so much that the Gnosia might command, might seize within its formless hands. There is only so much a body might do, molded to the shape of its emptiness.

Even Vulcans require rest and respite. Meditation. Meditation, to sort through the muddle of days - the emotions they hold. Secreted, between what was the body and what was the katra, dug into the places that one might not access without the permission of touch. Touch, which Jim does, without touching. His mind is a sun-sweet and flickering thing, pulled at the edges of Spock's dark periphery. He is many things and for all that the Gnosia hungers, Spock thinks dimly, how is it know how it feels?

The kick doesn't drop him. Not entirely. It staggers him, stuns him. It makes what is dark and viscous in him howl, but all that is pulled from the lips is short and sharp and quick. A gasp, a breath - from the damp of his lungs somewhere, the Gnosia still attempt to catch - to stage a reclamation -, but Peter is gone. Peter is gone and in the lack of impetus to move, the lack of want to lay down his own leverage, Spock has miscalculated. He has miscalculated and yet, somehow -

Rewarded.

Rewarded, by what is familiar and home and comfort. Rewarded, by what he has gone seeking to begin with. Rewarded, as Jim catches him as much as Spock tries (oh, he tries) too to catch him.

It isn't a graceful fall by any metric. They both land upon the crowns of their knees, Spock sucking in a breath around the ache that flows through in duplicate, triplicate. He feels the fatigue that Jim too feels, the bruising and blistering skin. And yet, and yet - the shuddering, slithering things in his mind go quiet. They still. They watch him, watch Jim, from behind the dark of Spock's eyes as his hand settles along the cut of his cheek.

He does not know if it is them or himself that makes a soft, stifled sound. He does not know if it is the relief of the Gnosia or Jim or himself that enfolds him, that drives him to turn into the heat of Jim's palm. He does not know what it is, who it is, that pulls his shoulders inward. That makes his hands, battered and bloodied as they are, scrabble for any inch of him. Any inch of Jim, who grips him so tightly that Spock thinks he might drift without the anchor of his body, the steadiness of him. ]

Jim, [ he murmurs, so soft and so reverent. He is tired. He is so, so tired and all it is that Spock and the Gnosia both want is to rest. To sleep. To recuperate, closer to the flare of Jim's mind. To bask, in what makes him him. His hands settle upon the round of Jim's shoulders, smooth along the strong line of his neck. They cradle, just as Jim cradles, the face he's long memorized. He presses cool palms against the curve of his jaw. Holds them, against the heat of his skin. ] Jim.

[arachnerina]

[It honestly kills Gwen to leave Peter, but she knows she has to. Just seeing him alive and mostly well is at least satisfying the fears she had over the last 24 hours. She held him in her arms, even if just briefly, so she knew he was okay. Thank god, he was okay.

One last glance at him, then she was off, swinging back to the others as quickly and as silently as she could manage. She landed several feet away, not wanting to arouse suspicion on Spock's part. She knew his senses were stronger than the average humans. Whether or not it was at the level of her and Peter was up for debate, but if it was anywhere close, she had to be careful.

But Jim had his attention (?? whatever was happening over there sure was something, but she was not about to open that can of worms), and hopefully that would be enough. She crept closer, each step as silent as the last. She attempts to lock eyes with Jim for any hint of a signal. She doesn't want to make a move too soon, but if she waits too long, Spock will notice her. Finally, before it's too late, she makes to clear the last few feet in seconds and throw her arms around Spock from behind. It's a risky move, given his own senses and strength, but she has to try. She has to save him, whatever the cost.]

[finalfrontiersman]

[ Spock is injured, in every way it's possible to be injured. Jim holds him, one hand still gripping desperately his elbow to keep him steady, the other following trickles of oxidized copper blood back to their origin points. Spock's hands find him, slipping around his shoulders, and Jim makes no fuss about it. His heart is in his throat, but Spock is here, he's alive, and that's about all Jim can ask, nowadays. Whatever else comes, they can deal with the rest but - Christ, just let him live. ]

I'm here, I'm here. [ Spock leans into the warmth of his hand, face pressing fully into the pillow of his palm, and Jim's thumb sweeps under the delicate, shadowed skin beneath his eye. Deep bags, ones Jim is sure are mirrored on his own face, mar the paleness of Spock's countenance. Spock's fingers press against him and Jim obliges, lets him map out the path up to Jim's own cheek. He can still sense the Gnosia through the bond, buzzing along Spock's skin, relentless. Determined to eat away at him, bit by bit, to enslave him to the will of the Gnosia. ] Spock, hey...I'm here. I've got you.

I'm not going anywhere. [ Words designed to soothe, but they're no trick. Even if this gambit doesn't work...Jim's not going anywhere. He's not leaving Spock, certainly not like this. Jim's hand strokes gently against Spock's cheek, leaning his own face into the insistent press of Spock's long digits. ] You hear me? You're stuck with me.

[ Jim would be more self-conscious about the situation - when Gwen returns and gives the exchange an audience - if he weren't still stuck in an adrenaline rush. Pushing down the shakiness, Jim's hand slides to the back of Spock's head, carding through the long hair - and hopefully keeping his attention on him, and not Gwen, sneaking up from behind. ] Just you and me, okay? We'll go home, get you cleaned up...

[ He's not looking at Gwen, because if he looks at her it'll give it away - and who knows what could happen, what Spock would do, if they'd even get another chance -

Gwen crashes into Spock's back and Jim grabs him from the front, unsure if Spock will try to throw her off. He'll be less likely to attempt with any kind of force with Jim in the way, at least. ]