A Small Space in Time

His breath was harsh and echoed in the small space. He froze, struck silent as he heard a splintery crash. It was quickly followed by muffled cursing.

Two of them. He could hear the other one, scolding his friend in some unknown dialect. Absently Kirk lifted a hand, covered the torn flesh on his forearm where his translator had been gouged out.

The weight against him shifted with a moan. A spike of adrenaline shot down his spine and he clutched Spock close, clapped a hand over his mouth. The two outside had gone quiet, and that was bad. Kirk crouched in tense silence. For about ten minutes there was nothing but the occasional murmur between them (first to port, then to starboard...seaching, Kirk was sure). Then they seemed to reach some kind of mutual agreement and resumed talking in a natural tone of voice. Their conversation trailed off casually into the distance.

Kirk waited. For a few minutes, the world was silent, save for his breath, and Spock's. Then Spock stirred, made a soft, petulant sound against his hand. Restless. Kirk winced. His fingers tightened over his first officer's mouth. He didn't think Spock had been loud enough to hear outside the crate. Leaning in, he took a deep breath of Spock-scented air and pressed his lips to the Vulcan's ear.

"Shhh..." he whispered.

It seemed to calm him.

Kirk heard a sudden, explosive sound of exasperation from outside. Close by. The rustle of the stiff fabric the natives preferred. Kirk narrowed his eyes and took a moment to silently congratulate his own intuition. He heard hard soled shoes click-clacking on concrete, fading off to starboard, laced with sullen mutterings. Bemoaning the fate of nameless henchmen everywhere, no doubt.

Kirk waited an hour. Then he relaxed a little. He scooted around in the small space, pulled Spock into a more comfortable position. His first officer tensed in his arms at the motion, made a soft verbal protest against pain. Kirk pressed his lips together. Listening. In the past hour he'd heard voices several times, but never as close as the first two had been. Well. Someone was moving around out there.

Voices again.

He sighed quietly. Pressed his cheek against Spock's. Spock had found him once. He'd been captured, and Spock had found him, just thinking. Spock had stumbled in on his Captain seemingly by chance. Just chance. Just thoughts. Kirk was thinking now.

Maybe if they were...close...Spock would hear him. Even unconsious, maybe he would sense something, something of what his captain needed him to hear...

Kirk took a breath, a breath of Spock, and shut his eyes.

Sshhhh.
Quiet now. Quiet. He tried to think as loudly and clearly as he could. Quiet.

Spock stilled under his hands, tension melting. Leaning into his touch. With a nearly inaudable sigh he relaxed against his friend.

Kirk raised an eyebrow, surprised more than he would care to admit. After Sargon, he really shouldn't have been. Maybe there was something to this 'mental mumbo jumbo,' as Bones would say. Certainly came in handy from time to time.

Outside, someone raised their voice. An argument.

The patrols, if that's what they were, didn't seem to be regular. Though someone had been by at least once every fifteen minutes. He shifted under Spock. They might be stuck here all night if he was too hurt to move quickly.

With careful thought to the possible damage he might find, he lifted a hand to the back of Spock's head. He hadn't had much time to spend looking when there was light to look. He brushed his fingers over singed hair, noted with relief the lack of blood or blistering. They'd given him quite a jolt, but the absence of deep burns was reassuring.

Spock stirred a little at the touch, as if uncomfortable, but remained quiet. Kirk took hold of his narrow shoulders, rested his lips next to his First Officer's ear once again.

"Spock," he breathed. Spock mumbled something and turned his face into his Captain's neck. Kirk stilled, eyebrows rising as his proper Vulcan friend cuddled up to him. Aching, stiff and exhausted, he let slip a mute breath of laughter. He rubbed at his First's shoulders, gave him a little shake.

"Commander Spock." He murmured more firmly.

Spock did not-exactly- start awake. It was more like tension seeped into his limbs until he was almost vibrating under Kirk's hands.

"Captain?" Spock replied in dismay.

"Shhh." Kirk reminded him. Spock, to his credit, took a moment to survey his lack of surroundings before drawing away from his Captain. His back moved in a way that made Kirk think he had a hand out, feeling the limits of their world. He hesitated, his breathing suddenly gone harsh.

"Are you all right?" Kirk asked immediately.

Spock simply breathed for a moment. Then,
"yes," he said in a faint, not-at-all-alright tone of voice. Kirk let out an exasperated puff of air through his nose.

"I see," he said dryly. From the sudden elbow in his chest he could guess Spock was rubbing at his head.

"Where are we attempting to hide?" He asked, voice hushed.

"Storage crate. In the warehouse." Kirk shrugged, then abruptly felt stupid in the darkness.The crate was tightly made, nearly airtight, and black as pitch. "Any port in a storm," He continued." They're looking for us now. I've heard guards coming through five times this past hour." He felt Spock's uniform shift, supposed he was nodding, and felt a bit better about himself. Then Spock ruined it.

"Mendoza?" Spock asked softly, as if he knew the answer. And didn't he? Shouldn't he know if the lieutenant was still alive he'd be here? Why ask, why the hell ask-

Spock sighed regretfully. Kirk turned his head to look at him, though it was too dark and he saw nothing. Given time to adjust, the human eye was capable of seeing a single photon of light. Humans had that over Vulcans. They saw better in the dark because it got darker on Earth.

Spock, however, seemed to be seeing just fine.

"Captain, I-" He began, and there was warmth, and sympathy in that voice, and damn him if he didn't hate Spock a little for it.

"Yes," he cut off briskly. A quiet echo of his usual snap. "Yes, Mr. Spock." He wanted to give Spock a firm shove out of his personal space all of a sudden. He didn't. Spock let out a dissaproving little breath. Kirk wanted to tell him he was much easier to read in the dark. He didn't do that, either.

"They got my communicator. You?" he said instead. Spock hesitated just a fraction, spoke with understanding still painting his voice in delicate watercolor.

"Yes, Captain. They confiscated my communicator shortly after we were separated."

Kirk made a soft 'hmmm' sound. He'd checked Spock over for a communicator in the first fifteen minutes. Spock probably knew it, too.

Spock took the opportunity to draw away from him, pressing into the corner, trying to remove himself from his Captain's lap. His breath came fast and shallow, as if it hurt more to move than it ought to. After a few moments he sat back with a resigned sigh. He was still half on top of Kirk. Jim reached over and gave his arm a pat. A thought passed through, that if Mendoza had been there they never would have had room to hide together. Had there been larger crates? He hadn't seen any. He would have found a way, somehow... he let the thought go, let it pass.

Spock relaxed against him, and Kirk leaned his head back. He wasn't comfortable, but he was less uncomfortable than he had been in quite a while.

"We've missed two check-ins already. Scotty'll be looking for us."

"Mr. Scott is most diligent in these matters." Spock agreed, seeming content for the moment to lean against his Captain. Kirk smiled, and it showed in his voice.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said so," he replied.

The sudden yell made them both jump.

One voice shouting, then another, and another, moving closer, too close. They stopped barely a few meters away, from the sound of them. Silently, Jim took his first officer's hand. Spock stiffened a bit, and Kirk pressed his reluctant fingers against the torn skin on his forearm. After a moment Spock relaxed, understanding. Kirk felt his own fingers taken, pressed into the flesh of his officer's arm. Smooth. Spock could understand them. Somehow, Kirk wasn't surprised. Something about his posture made him think he was listening, not just hearing.

The voices rose in volume, and one in particular sounded terrified. That one ran, he thought. The other two followed after, calling to her.

Kirk waited impatiently for the voices to fade.

"Report," he murmured.

"They are looking for an outworlder." A soft rustle of fabric and a shifting of weight told him Spock had turned to him. "One outworlder," he said, sounding startled, "one hostage."

Kirk blinked at him.

"It would appear that your disguise was effective," Spock said reasonably.

"It would indeed," Kirk agreed with a twist of his lips. "But at the moment that hardly improves our position, since I have no plans to go native, and no desire to see my First officer dragged away in chains." He smiled. "Or whatever the local equivalent might be."

There was a long history of small considerations in the good-humored gratitude glinting in Spock's eye, in the careful tilt of his head as he nodded.