( 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

>> open prompts (for spock)

[ashaya]

[ don't respond to this. this is an umbrella for spock prompts. ]

i. en mí todo ese fuego se repite (toward week's end)

[ashaya]

[ Pushed from the periphery, what is base in Spock has been forced to focused wanderings. For so much of the duration, Spock had made himself a shadow to his Captain. Unerringly, he had followed with precision the exacting nature of Jim's steps. As though pieces to a singular, as though bound by some unseen thread, their determination had been as one breath, as one firmer understanding. But, now—

It is only him. It is only Spock, untethered from the physical gravity of Jim. It is only him, the runs of alleys turned over and abandoned in the pursuit of something more fundamental. On the hunt for, it would seem, something more important.

For those who have grown wise to their prior tricks, they may find it most curious that a fellow Gnosia has left their snares unmanned. And for those who have fallen astray of the newest? No one arrives to check. Once as though clockwork, they are left to fend for the elements. Those who are spry and determined may find themselves able to claw themselves out, unimpeded. But, still: those that have been untriggered are ferocious; they spare no power behind the force of their offset, the inevitable snap back more likely to be literal than figurative.

But, where does that leave Spock?

At night, Spock traces the periphery of the lessening boundary. Where he can, he presses his palm flush to the brick and mortar of the remaining buildings within their containment, as though one feeling for something that those beyond can neither see nor sense. He learns to cover his tracks, but the wounds he had earlier acquired from Claude chafe beneath the lay of his robes. They weep, occasional and sluggish, the scent sharp and copper when one catches it. At times, he paces through the funneled nets that he would once occupy — dead-end alleys, narrow crevices between the oppressive scrape of buildings.

Often, he is not heard until one is already upon him. And by then, the deafening silence that uncoils from his frame as any emotional riot from another's is already scrabbling up against the surface. To another's psyche, it should feel as though a bruise, a greater hunger that subsumes. A splintering grind, sand against a wound. This is just the start of what one might compare it to, alien as it should be. Alien as it is.

During the day, Spock does not deviate. He does not deviate, but he does slow. Glimpses of him reveal more in the full cast of the sun, robes stained an unappealing bronze in spots. It becomes obvious where it is it originates, his skin mottled with a greener liquid (blood?) that crawls beneath and above the surface. His hands are at times slick with it, knuckles bruised in coppers and ochres.

Has he stopped to rest at all? It's unclear. But, it is obvious that he has no intention to truly lean into the opportunity until something gives or someone comes his way. ]

ii. en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida (aftermath)

[ashaya]

[ 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. ]

cw for wound care

[homeostatic]

( For McCoy, it's nothing short of a blessing that Spock's deep in a healing trance when he arrives. Not that he hasn't much to say – he has a great many things to get off his chest – but it keeps him focused on the work ahead.

Here and there he offers an explanation ahead of an action, a warning before he sets to pulling out those arrowheads, or that the long rinse of antiseptic after might sting. Once one injury has mostly knitted under the steady glow of the regenerator, he moves onto the next, worst to least, until Spock's time as a Vulcan pincushion has come to an end. )

Hold still, ( he cautions dryly, when he wipes away the dried, flaking blood from his skin, and chases out any lollygaggers so he can trade Spock's ruined attire for clean sweats and a warm sweater. Then, he leaves him to his rest. )

We ought to get you back home, ( McCoy later announces over his tricorder, once Spock seems to have left that trance, ) Free the cot for someone else.