Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11011743.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek:_Alternate_Original_Series_(Movies), Star_Trek, Star_Trek:_The
      Original_Series
  Relationship:
      James_T._Kirk/Spock, Spock/T'Pring, Spock/Nyota_Uhura, Leonard_"Bones"
      McCoy/Spock, Stonn/T'Pring
  Character:
      James_T._Kirk, Mirror_James_T._Kirk, Spock_(Star_Trek), Mirror_Spock,
      Leonard_"Bones"_McCoy, Mirror_Leonard_McCoy, Leonard_McCoy, Winona_Kirk,
      Christopher_Pike, T'Pring_(Star_Trek), Stonn_(Star_Trek), Original_Male
      Character(s), Original_Vulcan_Character(s), Original_Female_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced_Character_Death,
      Implied/Referenced_Child_Abuse, Implied/Referenced_Torture, Implied/
      Referenced_Underage_Sex, Temporary_Character_Death, Abuse, Past_Child
      Abuse, Torture, Teenage_Rebellion, Rebellion, Spock_Has_Feelings, so
      many, He_doesn't_want_them, Genius!Kirk, Rough_Sex, Anal_Sex, Angst,
      Angst_with_a_Happy_Ending, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Self-
      Mutilation, Blood_and_Gore, Blood_and_Injury, Blood_and_Violence,
      Blowjobs, Oral_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-27 Updated: 2017-07-23 Chapters: 6/8 Words: 35918
****** The Blood We Spill ******
by Valmasy
Summary
     (Formerly: The Devil and the Huntsman)
     Shi’kahr, Vulcan - 2246 
     The air feels heavy, solemn, and, logically, Spock knows that there
     is nothing they can do to reverse the situation. Though, hearing his
     mother's tearful voice makes his knuckles whiten briefly on his PADD.
     "All those people... The children..." Amanda whispers, mournful and
     soft. Spock thinks he'll remember that moment for as long as he
     lives.
     ~~
     How far would you go to save the man you loved? What would you
     suffer? What would you endure? Knowing the path and walking it are
     two different things, and the choices you make could break you.
Notes
     The timeline is fudged. Names and places are drawn in from other Star
     Trek universes. This is not meant to be taken as strict Canon AU.
***** The Hunt for Blue Skies *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Shi’kahr, Vulcan - 2246
Spock is barely nearing his coming-of-age year - what humans would consider
their teenage years - when the emergency appeal explodes across the universe.
His mother stands at the chair in his father's study, watching as the news
spills detail after horrifying detail. He, himself, is clutching his study
PADD, watching with an unblinking gaze.
The air feels heavy, solemn, and, logically, Spock knows that there is nothing
they can do to reverse the situation. Though, hearing his mother's tearful
voice makes his knuckles whiten briefly on his PADD.
"All those people... The children..." Amanda whispers, mournful and soft. Spock
thinks he'll remember that moment for as long as he lives.
~
The next few days are hectic. Well, as hectic as it can be for Vulcans. The
Elders send aid, because any civilized species would not hesitate. It is only
logical. The aid consists of resources that the survivors desperately need.
Spock watches as his father packs for travel. Behind him, his mother has the
news playing on a holo at the dining table. She's writing in her journal, and
Spock feels a distant ache at the sight. She's been wearing out her pencils
with her prayers for the children that had been med-warped to the Pegasus two
days prior - the Federation's medical flagship.
They won't show the children, which is of no surprise. They're underage, and
the horror stories that have come out are enough for most Vulcans' mouths to
thin before they disappear to meditate.
But Spock is observant. He has seen all of the news stories, has avidly drank
in every detail. In the background of one of the reports when the Aurelion aid
had touched down, Spock had caught a glimpse of a small disturbance. A small
figure had made a break for it before being dragged back into the darkness of
the medical tents. It had been blurry, distant, but Spock had been riveted.
Blue.
He has never seen that shade of blue.
Riveted. Fierce. Determined.
"Father, I wish to accompany you to the Pegasus."
There is no reason for his request to be denied. Sarek agrees, citing that
Spock's studies merely require completion before they travel.
Spock finishes a month's worth in 3.432 hours; his mother packs his bags while
he does so. When Sarek stands at the door to leave, Spock doesn't let him wait
longer than a few seconds.
He's careful to hide the eagerness he feels in his limbs. It wouldn't do to
show his father, especially since he can't explain his fascination with the
figure that had struggled for escape.
Why.
That single word circulates through his thoughts, too many unknown variables to
answer the question. What was so important left on that planet that the figure
had tried to escape rescue to return to It? He dismisses the hope that he'll be
able to ask that figure when they arrive.
... If Spock can meet that person.
Spock stands still as his mother kisses his cheek and embraces Sarek briefly.
"Take care of them," Amanda whispers at Sarek's ear. Spock glances away from
the intimacy.
"I will do what is needed," Sarek assures her. "Come along, Spock."
Spock follows at his father's heels and, before he knows it, they're boarding
the shuttle that will take them to the jump.
Spock is carefully reading his father's duties once he boards the Pegasus. As
Ambassador for the Vulcans, the largest aid sent, Sarek is required to make
sure that all resources are used and distributed in the most efficient
capacity.
Safely on the shuttle, Spock feels that he can ask his father something he
dearly wishes to know. He's been sitting with his mother too much lately. He'll
have to focus on studying in his room when they return.
...Just for a while, though. He enjoys it when she dotes on him.
"Will we meet any of the survivors, Father?" Spock asks, tone even as he flicks
to the next page of the duties.
Sarek looks down at him, brow raising slightly.
"It is possible," he replies. "Though I've already been informed that most of
them are quarantined."
"Have they informed you of what truly happened, or will you be informed when we
arrived?" Spock closes out of the document to hand the PADD to his father.
"It is not necessary for me to know all the details to do what is required. I
am merely offering Vulcan's assistance until the survivors are cleared to
return to their families under Federation protection."
Spock's stomach lurches uncomfortably. He fears, actually fears, that he won't
be able to meet him in time. He looks out the viewing screen and wonders if he
can accept the very high probability of not being able to meet that vivid,
entrancing survivor.
He will know in the future to never underestimate James T. Kirk.
For now, though, Spock descends from the shuttle after its docking. The jump
had been uneventful, the Pegasus waiting on the other side like a beacon of
hope in the darkness of the universe. Several smaller ships of the Federation
hover around her as shuttles depart their hulls to visit the planet just below.
Spock looks upon Tarsus IV with a moue. The planet is an innocuous one, red
with silt deposits and, while it is hospitable for many species, its recent
events will forever darken its history.
Spock believes that the unfortunate souls that didn't survive wouldn't consider
it adequate recompense. He turns from the view when his father is hailed.
A grave-looking Arcadian walks up to them as her aide dashes off.
"Ambassador, I am Lelana. I am the envoy for arrivals. We are honored by your
presence. We have begun sorting the supplies you have brought. Captain Rehanon
is in the quarantine wing, but he asks that I escort you to the Ambassadors
Hall."
"Has anyone else arrived?" Sarek asks as Spock falls into step behind them.
"Yes. Ambass-"
-Atrian Code 2B!-
Envoy Lelana comes to a stop as the announcement repeats, and Spock almost runs
into his father. She swears something colorful and turns to Sarek.
"I deeply apologize, Ambassador, but I must go to assist them. If you continue
down to that hallway, I'll have an ensign meet you at the turbolift."
Sarek inclines his head in acknowledgement, and Lelana takes off at a full run.
Sarek strides off, but Spock walks slowly enough to see that Lelana disappears
around the corner to Quarantine. She's fast even in the long skirt of her
uniform, and Spock acknowledges the impressive feat.
But only because he really wants to follow her.
There is a rustle of movement from the end of another hallway, and the sound of
grating shifting. If Spock could ju-
"Spock."
Spock turns to look at his father standing beside the turbolift. An ensign in a
green uniform stands just beside him, expression grim but most would consider
it still approachable.
"My apologies," Spock says when he realizes he has stopped more than a few feet
away. He finishes the few steps to the lift, feeling the tips of his ears flush
just slightly. He must be more careful, more aware of his surroundings outside
of his focus or his father will begin to question him.
Logically, he knows he should purge this strange fascination. These survivors
have been through enough; they didn't need what they would surely think of as a
strange, Vulcan child intruding into their healing and mourning. He knows this
even as, instinctively, he feels driven to sate his curiosity.
As the turbolift closes, Sarek and the ensign, Vorrik, speak briefly about the
other Ambassadors. Spock keeps one ear to the conversation and begins going
through his studies as a form of meditation.
~
The human female's shoulders are drawn tight, and her expression is almost as
placid as his father's, but Spock can see the tightness of the lines around her
eyes and mouth. Her tongue curls pleasantly around the Vulcan greeting, and
Spock stares up at her.
He's sure she notices how green his ears must be, but he can't explain why he
suddenly feels... He cannot adequately label this feeling. He actually stumbles
out the proper greeting in return and finds himself subtly shifting to hide
behind his father's heavy robes.
Neither his father nor the woman make note of it, for which Spock is eternally
grateful. He sticks closer than usual to his father's side, peeking up at the
woman as they speak. Her manner and speech are impeccable, succinct. His heart
beats faster than normal.
Ambassador Kirk is strangely alluring and fascinating, but mostly intimidating.
"And have there been any discussions regarding the children?" There's a moment
of silence, potent and leaden, and it makes Spock's hair stand on end. He
blinks, makes sure to to blink slowly again.
"I have more information, yes," Ambassador Kirk supplies in response to Sarek's
query. Her words are leading, the ends of them clipped. It's telling, something
a Vulcan would be able to hide long before they reached the human's age.
Spock wants her to meet his mother. Amanda could make Ambassador Kirk smile.
Spock thinks he'd very much like to see it. A very small part of him also
thinks coming to the Pegasus had been a mistake. He squashes that ruthlessly,
snuffs the thought out like his sehlat had his mother's experimental garden.
"I see." And Spock knows that his father certainly reads the situation more
easily, though he makes no outward reaction. Spock looks between them, waiting
to be clued in.
"There are only nine survivors," Kirk says, folding her hands behind her back.
It draws her up straighter still, and her uniform rustles softly.
"The children," Sarek states, and Kirk inclines her head in agreement.
"I have been working with envoys on Deneva to secure housing for them. Their
families were among the four thousand."
Sarek remains quiet for a moment, and Spock thinks it's more because Ambassador
Kirk has already begun such important dealings without the other Ambassadors
rather than mention of the children being orphans.
"Deneva is an acceptable colony. The children will be raised adequately for the
mining belt. It will be productive and enriching."
Spock resists the urge to make a face. A mining colony sounds awful for
children.
"We will discuss it with the children first, of course," Kirk says, and she
sounds almost resigned for a moment, exasperated. Spock wonders at it before a
shuffling sound draws his attention. His father must hear it too, but he merely
continues his conversation with Kirk.
Spock tilts his head up, and his gaze connects instantly with another in the
ceiling. Where Ambassador Kirk had his heart beating faster, it's certainly
pounding now. He stares at those riveting blue eyes and knows he's found his
survivor.
The boy is young, appearing a couple human years younger than Spock's own age
and, aside from his striking gaze, his blond hair is closely cropped to his
head. Spock can't catalog many details from the ceiling grates, but he sees the
boy press a finger to his lips, and even Spock understands the simple gesture.
So he simply watches quietly, not alerting the adults to the boy's presence.
The boy drags his eyes away and seems to focus on his father and Ambassador
Kirk, but Spock continues to peer at the boy.
"You were stationed for the initial transfer, were you not?" Sarek asks.
"Yes," Kirk replies, watching a shuttle descend towards the planet. Spock isn't
sure when the viewing screen was turned on. "I escorted my brother and his wife
on the first trip."
Spock tilts his head in brief surprise when he catches emotion on his father's
face; understanding and sadness.
"They were part of the four," Sarek says quietly, more statement than question.
Kirk nods, finally showing the strength of her own sadness. Spock thinks about
Remembrance Day, and the Kelvin Incident that is its source. Ambassador Kirk
has lost much in her life; her husband, and now her brother and sister-in-law.
Spock understands his father's break in control, feels the same ache for her.
Family is important.
Family... Realization dawns just as the door opens to Envoy Lelana. Sarek and
Kirk both turn to her, but before the envoy speaks, Kirk is already lifting a
hand to rub her brow.
"He went missing again, didn't he?"
"I'm sorry, Ambassador Kirk," Lelana says with nod as she wrings her hands
absently. "Doctor Pterryl insists he took the sedative, but Security chased him
into the tubes."
Spock is careful not to look up to the ceiling again, but he can hear that the
boy's breathing has sped up. The boy must be Ambassador Kirk's son; James
Tiberius, Spock recalls.
Which leads Spock to another realization, a connecting of facts and details.
Tears well up in his eyes as he thinks about what James Tiberius had
experienced on the planet below them. He suddenly desperately wishes for his
mother, wishes for firmer control. His chest is tight with pain, and his skin
feels chilled with embarrassment at his lack of control.
But then, his father's hand settles on his shoulder, light but steady. The
shock of it calms Spock enough that he's able to blink back the emotions before
they spill over. He can't help but look up at the ceiling then, but James
Tiberius had disappeared without a sound. Sarek's hand slips from his shoulder
as he turns to track the venting system.
"Just..leave it be for now," Kirk says, frustration now plain in her tone.
"He'll come to me when he's ready."
"Yes, Ambassador." Lelana bobs her head in agreement, stepping to the side as
the door opens again on Captain Rehanon as he sweeps into the Hall.
Sarek greets Rehanon in Vulcan's customary way.
"Sarek. Winona." He takes them in with spread hands and a wry smile. "It's been
a long time. I only wish it were under different circumstances."
"As do I," Kirk answers. "Thank you for all your crew has done. I... If I
lost..."
"But you haven't." Rehanon shakes his head. "It'd take more than that crazy
asshole to take down George's son."
The adults step away to seat themselves at the table and begin discussing their
resources for the remaining four thousand colonists. Spock partially listens to
this; he's more interested in the children. He eyes Rehanon as the man takes
the main chair. His human features are odd to Spock's eye, unpleasant and aged.
He decides he doesn't trust the Captain. He stays silent and moves about the
room, listening in vain for a sign of James Tiberius.
Twenty minutes later, Spock approaches the table as a pause in the discussion
arrives. He politely awaits his father's attention and, when Sarek nods at him
to speak, he asks: "Father, I wish to take a walk around the ship. If the
Captain allows it."
Rehanon waves the question off with permission as he continues to sign through
a few padds his yeoman has brought him.
"You may," Sarek responds just as Kirk leans forward in her chair. Her fingers
are laced together, the bones slender and knuckles white from tension. She
gains Spock's attention, and he has the strange urge to bite his lip and hide
behind his father again.
Kirk tries to smile at him. The gesture curves her mouth, but it's brittle,
strained. "You've been so quiet, Spock. I'd forgotten you were here."
Spock doubts that, but slightly inclines his head. "Ambassador."
"Please, call me Winona or, because I see that Vulcan panic in your eyes, Mrs.
Kirk." The smile she gives then is much more genuine.
"Mrs. ... Mrs. Kirk," Spock responds and actually shifts his weight. He'll be
aghast at his fidgeting later.
"If you happen to run into another little boy about your age, can you tell him
that if he doesn't want to stay in the infirmary, he could at least stay in my
rooms. He's a...hm, a little shorter than you. Blond with blue eyes."
"Loud," Rehanon offers with a cheeky wink at Kirk. Spock can see her hide a
grimace in the way she looks back to him.
No, he doesn't like this Captain at all.
"Yes, James has quite the personality. Only if you see him, okay?"
"Of course, Am- Mrs. Kirk. I will do so should I see your son." He half bows
and bids his father goodbye, eager to be out and about in the ship.
Spock strides easily through the ship despite his unfamiliarity with its
layout. He folds his hands behind his back like his father and follows the wall
across from the Ambassadors Hall. He passes a lot of the crew who are bustling
about in their duties.
The vents in the main halls of the ship are recessed and covered. Spock can't
see a way into them, but that doesn't mean that someone like James Tiberius
couldn't find a way. So Spock wanders through the ship and learns some of her
ins and outs while simultaneously being disappointed every five minutes that he
doesn't run into Kirk's son.
He finds himself standing two floors down near the Quarantine area again, but
he doesn't think he'll find James Tiberius down here. He's simply drawn there,
though he doesn't know why. The remaining children are behind the hermetically
sealed doors and, with them, knowledge that Spock doesn't have.
He finds he wants it.
"Are you gonna cry?"
The question startles Spock out of his frowning stare, and he whirls around,
coming face to face with James Tiberius Kirk. Those blue eyes are fierce, but
Spock can see the crazed edge, the pain...and the hate. It steals Spock's
breath away.
"What?" Spock hears himself say, and he physically jerks back at the awfulness
of it.
James Tiberius mirrors the movement, wariness radiating from every inch of him,
and Spock feels sick. He doesn't understand what's wrong with him today. He's
always so controlled that even his father has complimented him.
"My apologies," he forces himself to say without stammering. "You... I didn't
expect you to be there." It isn't very Vulcan to be startled or to admit to
being scared. He didn't want his father to turn away from him.
James Tiberius eyes Spock, and Spock takes that moment to size the other boy up
too. The bags under his blue gaze are dark and bruised, and he's gaunt,
starved. Spock's fingers tighten painfully behind his back. He feels the
irrational desire to pick a fight with Stonn.
James Tiberius' mouth quirks suddenly. "I like that better; you don't look so
weak now."
Spock blinks. "What?" He closes his eyes briefly, mortified, then takes a
steadying breath to try again in a more precise, proper manner. He doesn’t get
a chance.
"You don't look like you’re gonna cry now. You look mad. That's good; you'll
last longer."
It's said so easily that Spock doesn't know how to respond.
Spock shakes his head. "I assure you, James Tiberius, that no harm will come to
us on this ship. Your moth-"
"My mother doesn't know a damn thing, and it's Jim. Not that full name crap,"
Jim cuts in with a curl of his lip. "What's yours, Vulcan?"
"Jim," Spock repeats. His heart trips over itself again, and he feels a flush
tint his ears like he could actually taste the name on his tongue.
"Your name is Jim too?" Jim asks skeptically, squinting at Spock.
"What? No!" Spock draws an embarrassed, indignant breath. "S'chn T'gai Spock,
so I am named. But humans are uneasy with Vulcan names, so you may call me
Spock."
"S'chn T'gai Spock," Jim casually spits back at him with a smirk. "Ambassador's
son, I'm good with my tongue."
For Spock, there is no double meaning to the words. He is too young to
understand the tone in which Jim states that fact. Though, Jim's skin goes
ruddy and mottled with anger after he says it. Upon seeing it, Spock feels an
echo of violence in empathy. He wants to hurt what hurt James T-Jim. He wants
to go down to that forsaken planet and raze it further to the ground. Along
with the anger which he tries hard to tamp down beneath a shaky control, he
feels the insufficiency of his age, the paucity of his ability to actually
enact his vengeance.
“Wow,” Jim says as he watches Spock. “Are you okay?”
No. No, Spock is decidedly not okay. He’s impotently furious and, at the same
time, he feels nauseous from all the reeling emotions. He distantly thinks his
mother would be happy to hear him experiencing such a range, but all he wants
to do at the moment is vomit from dizziness. She wouldn’t appreciate that as
much.
“I am adequate,” he hears himself respond, and he takes a steadying breath to
straighten his stance.
Jim snorts, pressing bandaged fingers to his hips. “Sure you are. I ain’t ever
seen a Vulcan like you, S’chn T’gai.”
“Spock.”
Jim blinks then smirks. “Spock. I ain’t ever seen a Vulcan like you, Spock.”
The way his name falls off Jim’s tongue elicits a response quite opposite from
anger, more like what Spock had felt when faced with Ambassador Kirk. It’s the
same hollow feeling in his stomach except multiplied by the blue of Jim’s eyes
and the uptick of his mouth.
Jim doesn’t have the same gentleness in the slope of his shoulders like his
mother. His angles are sharper; offensive instead of defensive. They’ve been
standing together for approximately ten minutes and not once has Jim’s stance
relaxed. He’s constantly braced for impact, and Spock believes that to be
normal after what Jim has been through.
“There are many Vulcans similar to myself,” Spock says. “My fellow academia
colleagues, for one.”
“Acad-you could just say classmates, you know,” Jim says with a roll of his
eyes. “And yeah, that’s obvious, but I meant because you’re so...so…” He waves
a hand at Spock, but all Spock can do in response is arch an eyebrow. He has no
clue what Jim is trying to say. “Ah, never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll see
you around, Spock.”
“Jim, a moment more, please,” Spock says, taking a step forward when Jim turns
to walk away, stopping when Jim turns back. “Ambassador Kirk has requested that
I ask you to restrict yourself to her rooms aboard the Pegasus if you don’t
wish to remain in medical.”
Spock expects Jim to roll his eyes again, to dismiss his mother’s concern with
nonchalance, but he’s wrong. Jim’s expression turns dark, his features
tightening into that hate that Spock had seen in his gaze.
“Real chummy with her, aren’t you?” Jim says, tone still deceptively light.
Spock wishes he hadn’t promised to say anything.
“I do not understand the term. I have only just met the Ambassador this
afternoon. She simply correctly assumed we would meet on my walk.”
“I’ll bet,” Jim huffs and shrugs a shoulder. “Well, you can tell her I ain’t
staying in that chop shop, and I don’t wanna go anywhere near her rooms.”
“She is your mother, Jim, and you’ve been through...a lot. She is only
concerned for your well-being.” Spock is speaking from the experience of having
a human mother. Surely, Ambassador Kirk is the same.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jim picks at a bandage on his arm.
He’s lost his hostile aura, and Spock relaxes slightly. “But how could you? No
one gets it.”
Spock watches him quietly for a moment, reminded that they are both very young
still, but Jim has experienced tragedy upon horror. The dissonance in his age
and maturity is understandable.
“Would you explain it to me?” Spock wonders, finally letting his hands rest at
his sides. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the green of his blood rush
back to his fingers from where he’d been clenching.
Jim’s eyes widen for a moment then narrow. “You want me to explain everything?
Why, are you some Vulcan prodigy-cum-psychiatrist? I don’t need anymore doctors
trying to get in my head.”
“No, Jim. That’s not it at all,” Spock says quietly and decides to be frank,
honest. “You simply fascinate me, and I wish to understand you.”
For a moment, Spock thinks Jim will stay, will talk to him. For a moment,
Spock’s side feels like it’s going to burst open with how fast his heart is
beating. But Jim only shakes his head.
“I’m not interested in being someone’s butterfly again, Spock. It’s better you
just back off and forget about me.”
Spock, unfortunately, does understand that term. He doesn’t want to pin Jim
down and examine him, not at all. He just wants to learn everything he can,
understand what makes this human boy Jim. His heart thuds once painfully.
That’s exactly what Jim doesn’t want. He hesitates and, while he does so, Jim
starts to walk away with a two-fingered salute over his shoulder.
“They’re sending you to Deneva!” Spock calls out, startled by his own outburst
as his voice echoes against the metal walls of the ship. He draws back
immediately, pressing a hand to his mouth. This family, this boy, has thrown
him off the cliff of control. He hates it as much as he suddenly finds an
intense craving for it to continue.
Jim stops again, freezes completely without even turning back around. He
already knows this, of course, because he’s been in the vents enough to keep
track of his mother’s plans. “They’re only sending the orphans. I ain’t an
orphan, despite my mom’s best efforts.”
“Of course,” Spock replies, feeling foolish. Of course the Ambassador wouldn’t
send her own son to the mining belt. “My apologies. I have overstepped, and I
will...back off, as you say.”
Jim’s shoulders go up around his ears briefly then he continues on around the
corner, disappearing out of Spock’s sight once more. Spock wants to go after
him, wants to trail him like he does his father. He does neither. Instead, he
returns to the Ambassadors Hall where he forces himself to meditate in the
corner out of the way until his father summons him to retire.
He doesn’t see Jim again before the ship warps to Deneva, though he hears about
how a section of the Pegasuss’ Quarantine shuts down due to hacking.
Identifying information on the survivors of the massacre is erased, and the
children disappear into the jefferies tubes. When security goes in after them,
Jim hacks the Pegasus further, and the children’s bio signatures disappear with
them. Security comes out confused and empty-handed.
The crew is beside itself with anxiousness. Technicians are constantly battling
Jim’s successful attempts at turning the ship’s systems to his benefit.
Ambassador Kirk is growing steadily paler and, with each degree of color lost,
her expression flattens.
Spock suppresses a shiver in her presence, listening to Captain Rehanon as he
rails. Rehanon is an angry, dark cloud that patrols his ship, shouting order
after order to shaking ensigns and scattering security. He’s not changing
Spock’s opinion of him for the better whatsoever. As for his opinion of Jim,
Spock is impressed, enthralled by Jim’s technical acumen.
It’s late one evening, and the ship is quiet. Spock wakens with a restless
feeling in his limbs. His father sleeps still across the room from where
Spock’s cot rests; it was logical to take up less space by sharing the room. He
stands to pace the length of the room, trying to shake out the feeling his in
his body. It doesn’t help; the room is too small for Spock’s sudden
claustrophobia.
He lets himself out of his father’s quarters to walk the now-familiar lengths
of the Pegasus. The Gamma shift is sparse with their patients missing, so Spock
doesn’t need to exchange polite greetings with anyone in the halls. His walk is
uninterrupted for a quarter of an hour when he finds himself near the
Quarantine wing again.
He tilts his head, peering at the illumination around the corner of the hall,
the light’s source unseen. His restlessness increases until his legs are moving
the rest of himself forward towards that light. As he gets closer, he can hear
metal scraping across a surface, a rough sound of a pain, and Jim’s voice.
“Let me go!” Jim’s demand is loud and full of lethal warning. The words are
barely complete before Spock is sprinting the last distance to where the light
is spilling from one of the medical exam rooms. His foot hits a hypospray that
has fallen with other supplies onto the floor. He pivots just in time to save
his balance then freezes in shock. Jim’s thrashing had knocked over a supply
cart, leaving its contents to roll to new places.
Jim is spitting curses and is struggling to escape the heavy-handed grasp of
Rehanon, but the captain has Jim trapped between the bio bed and his much
larger body. There’s blood dripping down from Jim’s nose, blood glistening
under his fingernails to match the deep gouges on Rehanon’s face.
“You little bitch,” Rehanon snarls, shoving Jim’s head down against the bed
with the vicious impact of his fist.
Jim’s bandages are mostly gone, but a few are unraveling to trail limply to the
floor. The white of the bandages almost blends into the paleness of Jim’s
thigh, bright against the tanned skin of Rehanon’s. Spock tears his gaze
upward, meeting Jim’s gaze; his eyes are blown wide, animalistic and rabid, and
focused intensely on Spock.
“Sahr-tor!” Jim yells the Vulcan word harshly. Even at a time like this, James
T. Kirk still puts others before himself. Though, Spock hears it as if from a
distance. Rehanon is jerking upright a little, startled, but Spock’s eyesight
tunnels, and something snaps inside of him with the deafening roar of his
ancestors. He launches forward with a scream as primal as his small form can
produce.
He blacks out.
Chapter End Notes
     Sahr-tor! - Run!
***** The Devil's in the Details *****
Chapter Summary
     Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage.
     Then someone will say what is lost can never be saved.
     Smashing Pumpkins
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Vulcana Regar, Vulcan - 2253
Spock is angry. To be fair, he's always in a less-than-pleasant mood, but
today, the room is positively irradiated with controlled fury. The other
Vulcans in the room do not stir to it; they do not dare.
Spock contemplates the news Stonn has brought, one hand absently, expertly
twisting long strands of dark hair into a formal braid. His chin rests in his
other hand, legs crossed at the knee. At his feet, T'Pring sits quietly, back
straight and hands folded primly as Spock fixes her hair. She knows not to
move, for to do so would irritate him and risk more than a few strands of hair.
"How many did we lose?" Spock asks, silken strands slipping over his knuckles
in intimate caress. He pushes his thumb forward to stroke his bondmate's neck,
test her control. T'Pring remains still, but Stonn shifts, drawing Spock's
focus.
"Three," Stonn replies when Spock arches a brow in question.
Spock waits for Stonn to elaborate, but sensing no further words, he sighs and
turns his hand to rest the unbound braid over T'Pring's shoulder. She tends to
it, arranging the braid carefully so it doesn't come undone. Spock briefly
ponders slicing it off at the crown of her skull, remembering that an old human
race had done such a thing once upon a time.
"Go on," he says, tone flat and uninspiring. "Name them, then."
Stonn draws his gaze away from T'Pring and clears his throat. "They have
recruited T'Ven, Suray, and Skasir."
The names bring Spock to a pause. "They took Skasir? He is barely out of the
Pits."
"Yes, though I heard he tested favorably in endurance."
“Perhaps that is a sign you’ve bullied him too much,” Spock muses. Stonn says
nothing, merely inclines his head in acknowledgement. “That is the second batch
of children in as many weeks. The Elders allow too much.”
Spock uncrosses his legs, and T’Pring comes to her feet gracefully to step to
the side. Spock watches as Stonn noticeably forces himself to keep his gaze
away from her. His mouth ticks upward briefly, and he reaches out a hand to
press his forefinger to T’Pring’s where her hands are folded in front of
stomach. He idly strokes his finger along hers, and though she lowers her gaze
to the floor, she gives no further ground to the intimacy of the gesture.
Spock is always impressed by her control. Stonn, on the other hand, is severely
lacking in it, if the mottled green of his cheeks is anything to go by.
It amuses Spock to no end. He drops his hand and stands, the black folds of his
robe falling around his legs. “Seven of us. Seven more they have taken.” It’s
frustrating and enraging, and Spock lets the curl of anger weight his hands,
turn them into fists.
“The Federation’s draw is hard to resist.” Stonn watches Spock pace to the
other side of his room. It’s a wide space, granted by Sarek’s status of
Ambassador. “Though, I am hard-pressed to understand it myself. What do the
united species offer that our Science Academy does not?”
Spock ruminates on the question, remembering blue eyes bright with intelligence
and hatred. It’s not often that he allows himself to follow that train of
thought, but now… Now, he actively tries to sprint down it. Like before, his
thoughts ram right into a void of black; a void so consuming that he staggers a
little.
It’s a weakness that he’s quick to dismiss, turning back to face the others.
T’Pring has taken Spock’s seat, her finger smoothing along the rounded edge of
the desk beside her. It’s the same one he’d kissed, and her expression is
knowing as she meets his gaze.
His bondmate is well-chosen.
Stonn, T’Hain, and Falor remain in their close formation. Despite their
appearances, they fear Spock and believe that sticking close will bring safety.
It’s logical, though Spock hasn’t lost control in years.
“The Federation offers frequent travel and broader experiences,” Spock says
fairly. “Though, they employ filth more often than not. They take children and
send them to slaughter.”
“Turkana IV,” Falor murmurs, and Spock flexes his fingers out to release his
tension.
“Giedi Prime.” T’Hain’s expression is sour; she lost a brother to the military
ranks on that green failure.
“Deneva.” This, from T’Pring, is put forth steadily, the only one in the room
unafraid of breathing out that cursed name. Her confidence serves to calm the
fire that ignites at its mention, and Spock regards Stonn calmly.
“Where do they take them now?” Spock asks.
“Fort Baker,” Stonn answers. “It is the new academy near Starfleet-”
“Headquarters in California, I am aware,” Spock finishes for Stonn. “I confess
myself surprised that it is something so...simple this time. I feel my father’s
hand in this.”
“Indeed,” Sarek agrees, standing in Spock’s doorway with his hands folded into
his robes.
Stonn and the others turn and bow in greeting to the Ambassador before filing
out of the room. T’Pring stands as Sarek approaches. He inclines his head to
her, but she waits for Spock’s slight nod before stepping quietly out of the
room.
Sarek doesn’t put on a facade, making no attempt to waste movement on looking
about his son’s belongings. “You simply need ask me when curious about where
the students choose to go.”
“You are mistaken if you believe me still young enough to think they have a
true choice in destination.”
“You are still very young, my son,” Sarek says, a hint of admonishment in his
tone. “Your attempts at undermining the Council’s authority are, at best,
unsuccessful.”
“And at worst?” Spock’s even tone is as close to bratty insolence as his Vulcan
upbringing will allow.
“At worst, your mother would be ashamed of how you have been acting,” Sarek
states.
The silence then is leaden, and Spock is flushed with embarrassment. His skin
is heated, and he’s very aware of the unconventional styling of his hair, the
stud piercing the point of his left ear.
“They…” Spock falters, swallows and tries again. “Out of the hundreds of
children they have taken from us, sixty have survived. At most. Father-”
“Your numbers are skewed with your opinions,” Sarek says dismissively. “You
speak of tragedies that were unfortunate, but the Federation is not inherently
tragic. They are peacekeepers and explorers.”
“They are thieves and murderers! They have taken everything.”
“Spock.” Sarek stares at him in surprise at his outburst. Spock is shaking,
nauseous. He shows more weakness by lifting a trembling hand to push back the
longer strands of his hair. He leaves his fingers there, digging blunt nails
against his scalp.
Sarek takes that hand between his own, gripping it firmly to help steady it.
“Your mother’s death had nothing to do with the Federation. Their doctors and
our healers did what they could; they eased her passing. As for James…”
“Do not,” Spock whispers. The void calls to him with gentle encouragement.
“As for James,” Sarek continues, keeping Spock anchored. “I know that you blame
yourself for his death, but it is time you learn to forgive yourself, or at
least learn to live with it.”
An abhorrent tear finds a path down Spock’s cheek.
“You are almost a quarter century now, Spock. Even James would find this
mourning period illogical. He would not want this for you.”
“We know nothing of what he would want,” Spock says hollowly. Sarek breathes
out quietly and examines the picture his son presents; the earring, the shaved
side of his head, the ceremonial burial robes.
“You must remember that you did not die with him that day,” Sarek reminds him.
“You are still alive, and you are still my son. I will not lose you to
this...this pointless rebellion. You are old enough now to be an example for
others, old enough to lead them.”
Spock pulls his hand away, frowning at his father. “Father, what have you
done?”
Sarek regards him quietly.
“What did you do?” There’s a desperate edge to his question, a coldness seeping
through the foundation of his control.
“You are to be on the shuttle to the Temperance this evening,” Sarek informs
him. “You will be joining Skasir and the others on Earth.”
Spock wishes he could black this moment out too.
~~
Sausalito, California - 2255
Spock celebrates his twenty-fifth birthday across two days. Nyota assures him
that most people stretch such tidings across the span of a week, some even the
whole month of their birth. It is illogical and indulgent.
He begins to formulate plans to spoil her as much as he can on her next
birthday. He adjusts the sit of the strap on his shoulder, his students’
reports weighing his bag down. The air is crisp, salty from the bay, and it
makes Spock miss the desert winds of his homeworld.
Someday, he will take Nyota to Vulcan. Perhaps he will request leave and treat
her to the surprise for her birthday. She would enjoy the many accents of
Vulcan in the heart of Shi’kahr. He allows himself a small, private smile at
the thought.
“Now I know I’ve seen everything,” a voice exclaims in what could only be a
human accent. Spock comes to a stop before he runs into the human standing near
the holo-hub just ahead. He’s not one Spock’s met before, but that’s not
anything to be surprised about. Fort Baker continues to grow each year; its
numbers increasing as the Federation’s popularity increases.
“Are you addressing me, cadet?” Spock asks, taking note of the red uniform the
man wears. He doesn’t appear to be the normal age of new recruits, but the pips
on the shoulders indicate medical, which lends credence to the man’s older
years.
“I’m not that old, kid,” the man says with a roll of his eyes.
“Excuse me, I did not realize there were still telepaths among your species,”
Spock says, straightening just a little. His bag shifts down his shoulder
again, but he pays it no heed as the man chuckles. There’s warmth in the sound,
a promise of slow nights and meaningful touches.
The proposed image is immediately banished when the man smirks, though the
expression favors the cut of his cheekbones. “I don’t need to hear your
thoughts, Vulcan. It’s written on your face, plain as day.”
Spock has the irrational urge to tell the man to take it back. He says nothing,
but he also doesn’t continue on his way. After a moment, he prompts: “Go on
then. What about me has you saying you have seen everything, Cadet...?”
“McCoy. Leonard McCoy, and have you looked in a mirror lately?” Leonard asks,
arching a brow at Spock as he crosses his arms and leans against the holo-hub.
He actually manages to appear as if he has no care in the world for the
hustling bustle of the campus. “You certainly don’t look the part of teacher,
let alone the poster child of the most uptight species in the universe. Where’s
your bowl cut?”
“You,” Spock begins then pauses, blinking. He’s almost speechless. He may have
given into becoming a teacher as his father wished, but he’d taken a stand
regarding his personal style. He didn’t want to lose any more pieces of his
himself. “You are quite rude, Cadet McCoy.”
“Comes with the territory,” Leonard snorts. “Gotta keep the kids on their toes.
I like it, by the way, the haircut. It’s different, really shows off the, um…”
He gestures to his own ears, and Spock feels his expression flatten.
“Thank you for your opinion,” Spock replies dryly. “I will be sure to run my
next choice by you before I alter my appearance.”
“The smile too,” Leonard continues, brushing off Spock’s sarcasm easily. “Is
that why you’re here and not home?”
“Forgive my rudeness, but I would rather continue on my way than continue this
conversation. Good day, Cadet.”
“Wa-” Leonard comes away from the holo-hub, but Spock is already maneuvering
around him.
“I said good day,” Spock repeats, mostly expecting the hand that lands on his
shoulder. Still, the heat of it sends a spark of awareness down his spine. He
turns to face Leonard again with a brow arched. It’s usually enough to quell
the student masses, but Leonard merely arches one right back at him.
“I actually need to speak with you, Professor. I wasn’t waiting around the
Command Track campus for my health.”
“No? I suppose it would be for mine since you are clearly medical.”
Leonard shrugs this time. “You’re the only Vulcan above consenting age.”
And this time, it’s Spock’s turn to smirk. His mouth barely moves, but it’s
effective by the way Leonard’s gaze is drawn to it then snaps back up
immediately. “As flattering as that true statement is, I am currently in a
monogamous relationship. Perhaps if she is in a good mood, I may make the
suggestion that you join us. She would appreciate your accent.”
Spock basks in his success as a stunned Leonard stares at him.
“If you continue to leave your mouth open that way, I believe your species says
it will catch insects,” Spock says, being so bold as to tap Leonard’s chin to
shut his mouth.
Leonard actually flinches back, and after a moment, he laughs. “Oh man. I like
you.”
“I shall note this momentous occasion in my diary,” Spock replies flatly.
“Kindly explain exactly what it is you wish for me.”
“I need you for my finals,” Leonard says, finally letting go of Spock’s
shoulder. Spock hadn’t realized it’d still been there. “No one’s ever gotten
higher than a barely-passing in Bashir’s class, and I aim to beat that with
you.”
“Bashir’s class?” Spock runs through his knowledge of the Academy courses. “His
finals are not scheduled until after next year’s summer semester, not for the
current graduating classes.”
“I’m fast-tracked,” Leonard explains with a determined tone. “I’ve made a
promise, so I’m bustin’ my balls trying to get everything done by the end of
next semester. But that means taking Bashir’s finals at the end of this
semester.”
“I see,” Spock responds with something not quite a hum.
Leonard waits for a few seconds then rolls his eyes. “So will you help me or
not?”
Honestly, Spock thinks he's not very good at requesting favors. The sheer
arrogance in his stance is almost enough to make Spock say no. Instead, he
says: “I fail to see how I benefit from such an invasion of my privacy.”
Really, that smirk is simply unfair.
~~
Spock gives in with little fight after his initial resistance, figuring it
would at least provide entertainment to work on reports regarding his species.
They work, most often, in the campus cafeteria or one of its libraries. After
nearly two, weeks, Leonard treats him to dinner in repayment.
It’s late when Leonard’s back hits a wall in his livingroom with enough force
that he expels a breathy grunt. He grins, sharp and amused, at Spock over the
hand gripping his throat.
“Kre’nath!" Spock spits. He’s standing sideways to Leonard, face tilted away to
hide the sweat breaking out on his skin. Leonard can see it glistening damply
in Spock’s buzzed hair, though, and it’s delightful.
“You say the sweetest things, darlin’,” Leonard drawls and reaches out to drag
Spock in by the slick black uniform top. Spock doesn’t move, but tightens his
hand around Leonard’s throat, shoving the cadet back into the wall again with
more force than he probably should.
Spock can tell it’s not effective the way he means it to be. He can practically
feel Leonard’s arousal spiking in the air. Like a cat rubbing against its
owner’s legs, that arousal raises his own, and Spock shakes his head once,
trying to dispel the impact his drink has had on him.
“You spiked my drink,” Spock accuses, and there is Leonard’s smirk again. Spock
growls at the sight of it. This human… This human dares… “You dared to. Spike.
My. Drink.”
“I was getting impatient, and you’re still standing,” Leonard says, impressed.
“That was a hell of a lot of chocolate sauce. How are you still standing?”
Spock growls. “Stop. Speaking.” He flexes his hand and hears Leonard’s stilted
intake of breath. He wants to hear it again, make him gasp for it. “I could
have...you...arrested…”
“Or you could use that monster you’re passin’ off as a dick, and we could both
have a good time,” Leonard suggests, tugging on Spock’s uniform again.
Spock gives into the tugging this time, shoving into Leonard with a growl.
Their mouths slam together, teeth clacking in a way that should be painful for
Leonard, but he’s laughing into the brutal excuse of a kiss, and then he bites.
Hard.
Spock’s mind whites out with static for a moment. Of course, Leonard bites,
blunt teeth sinking into Spock’s lower lip until they can both taste his green
blood spilling over their tongues. Spock makes a guttural noise, letting go of
Leonard’s throat to tangle his fingers into Leonard’s hair and yanks his head
back against the wall. It gives Spock the better angle to take control of the
kiss.
He’s struggling against the intoxicants in his system, losing to the urge and
the need to give up and sink into the haze of pleasure on offer. He doesn’t see
Leonard’s hand move, but he feels it when Leonard pinches the stud in his ear
and pulls in return.
Spock gives in completely and takes a laughing Leonard to the floor in a very
brief struggle he wins by virtue of superior strength. He straddles Leonard,
unfastening the silver buttons of his uniform until he’s peeling it off and
throwing it off to the side. Leonard’s hands immediately drag over Spock’s
exposed chest and stomach, mapping and memorizing, and briefly, Spock considers
that Leonard might be looking for a prime place to stab him.
Instead, he digs his nails into Spock’s skin and leaves scratches in the
grooves of Spock’s abs. Little drops of green well up as Spock hisses and
grinds their hips together. He can feel Leonard’s cock through his jeans, and
it drives his arousal higher. He rolls his hips again, deft fingers working
himself out of his slacks without moving too far from Leonard’s lap. They hit
his uniform top across the room.
“Fuckin’ look at you,” Leonard breathes. “Ain’t ever seen a drunk Vulcan, but
goddamn, it’s a good look on you. Sure did pick good.”
Spock shoves his fingers into Leonard’s mouth to stop him talking.
Oh, and Leonard certainly knows how sensitive a Vulcan’s hands are; he scrapes
his teeth along each of the three digits trying to press his tongue down. He
watches Spock over his hand, a challenge in his gaze, and Spock is unable to
resist.
He shoves his free hand down between them, flicking button then zipper open
until his long fingers tease Leonard’s cock from his jeans. Leonard’s eyes go
half-lidded, hips shifting up into Spock’s hand to help work the denim down his
thighs. Spock squeezes him tight in warning, and this time, Leonard narrows his
eyes.
He bites again, down on Spock’s fingers. Spock’s hips jerk forward, precum
beading at the tip of his dick to dribble against Leonard’s stomach. It’s then
that Leonard realizes the discovery. He sucks at Spock’s fingers, tongue
passing over the indents of his teeth, and bites down again.
Spock hangs his head and rocks against Leonard, breath slipping from between
his own teeth in sharp pants. He thrusts their cocks together, sliding in sweat
and precum, and ignoring Leonard’s sudden efforts to get out of his jeans
completely.
Leonard grumbles around Spock’s fingers, trying to kick his legs free of his
jeans without Spock’s help. Spock peers up at Leonard through the long fringe
of his hair and smirks. His fingers shift, curling to grasp Leonard’s jaw with
the press of the heel of his hand.
“You may...have drugged me...but you...are not in control,” Spock states
heatedly. “You do not need...your legs.”
Leonard snarls, trying to shove up against Spock, but he’s let Spock have the
upper hand for too long. He’s holding Leonard down easily even through the
loose-limbed weightlessness he’s experiencing. He slides his fingers around
Leonard’s mouth until he deems his hand slick enough.
Leonard is breathing harshly as Spock removes his fingers, but he’s obedient
and remains still as he watches Spock shove his own fingers behind and inside
himself. Leonard’s head thunks against the floor as he moans at the sight.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Leonard complains adoringly.
“Danik kesik,” Spock purrs, rocking back against his fingers now and then
against Leonard. It’s good; the stretch and burn of his touch spreading himself
open. It’s been a very long time since he’s explored this side of himself.
Years, actually, where he’s lost himself in the soft curves of women and their
softer smiles. The void is trying to scream at him, but it’s deafened, muted by
the intoxicants.
He pulls his fingers free before others would consider him properly prepped,
but neither of them are in the mood for proper preparation as Spock leans
forward. Leonard clamps his hands around Spock’s waist, and Spock allows it as
he sinks onto Leonard’s cock without any hesitation.
Spock squeezes his eyes shut, tipping his head back as he lets Leonard settle
inside him. He clenches around him, and is struck by the image of a long, black
ponytail. He bares his teeth and flicks thoughts of Nyota away. He’ll deal with
the consequences in the morning.
But there’s guilt in his actions, and where there’s guilt, there’s a memory. A
memory that threatens to tear him down, rip him apart. In Leonard’s place, blue
eyes glare angrily up at Spock, and Spock snarls, slamming his fist into the
floor beside Leonard’s head. The memory disappears just as Leonard thrusts his
hips up into him. From there, the sex is quick; it’s rough and dirty, and it’s
everything Spock knew it would be.
~~
Spock awakens in the middle of the night, just a few hours after he and Leonard
had gone to bed. It’s normal; Vulcans don’t need as much sleep. He slips out of
Leonard’s bed and stretches. They’d dropped their clothes at the foot of the
bed, and Spock leans down to pick up his uniform from the pile. As he dresses,
he looks around Leonard’s room. His movements slow as his surroundings become
clearer.
He straightens, his expression going tight for a brief moment. He finishes
dressing and stalks out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him hard
enough to wake Leonard.
By the time Leonard stumbles out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, Spock is
leaning against the counter. He’s holding a mug of coffee in his hand, and he
watches Leonard blink blearily, but catches the shine of something disappearing
behind Leonard’s back. He files that away and sips his coffee as Leonard scrubs
his hands over his face.
“What the fuck is wrong wit’ you?” Leonard asks muzzily. He slumps over to the
replicator to make himself a cup of coffee too. “It’s, like, the asscrack of
nowhere near dawn.” He yawns, jaw cracking. He’s also still naked.
Spock looks him over impassively, the chocolate having dissipated from his
system during sleep. There’s no denying that Leonard is aesthetically pleasing,
but Spock’s discovery is the most effective bucket of cold water. Spock’s lip
wants to curl; he ignores the urge.
“Tell me, Leonard, how long did it take you to find a cadet with the same build
as yours.”
Leonard’s expression doesn’t change much; he finishes his swallow of coffee and
mutters: “Ah hell. Lack of books?”
“Lack of anything really,” Spock replies calmly. “In my experience, Medical
Track tends to lend itself to an unorganized lifestyle. The apartment is too
neat.”
“You caught me,” Leonard smirks, unconcerned. He scratches at the base of his
cock absently and sets his mug aside.There’s a bruise below his left pectoral;
Spock’s teeth rim the discolour. “I’m not really a cadet.”
“This is my shocked expression,” Spock says flatly. “It would be logical to
speak quickly.”
“First off, I really am a doctor,” Leonard replies, bracing his hands on the
counter behind to either of his sides. “But I’m also a recruiter.”
“A recruiter.” Spock’s tone couldn’t possibly get any flatter.
“Yep.” Leonard pops the “p”. Spock wants to throw his coffee in his face.
“For whom?” He asks with an arched brow.
“The Silence.”
Spock blinks then actually chuckles.
Leonard frowns. “That’s not the response we usually get.”
“It is a juvenile name for a juvenile faction,” Spock replies, inclining his
head. He finishes his coffee and turns to set the mug in the sink. “You are
known for little more than throwing tantrums and destroying Federation
property.”
There’s silence, and when Spock turns back around, Leonard is smirking, arms
crossed over his chest. “From what I’ve read, you’re really not that different
from us.”
Spock ponders this and concedes with a slight shrug. “What does the Silence
want with me? I am no more than a professor now.”
“You’ll never be just a professor, Spock. I’ve watched you for a while now, and
I see the way the new recruits get your goat. Whatever’s in your craw about the
Federation hasn’t changed a bit. We want your help.”
“Who else is part of this “we”?” Another Vulcan would know that the questions
already signal Spock’s capitulation, but Leonard just answers carefully-casual.
“The Admiral gave me this mission,” Leonard says a little proudly.
“The Admiral.” Spock pushes off the counter. “Two days, and then you may
collect me.”
Leonard nods.
“And if you are dishonest with me again, I will show you what I know of the
human’s inner anatomy.” Spock leaves then, leaving Leonard to look after him
with an admiring grin.
~~
A few days later, Leonard leads Spock to a shuttle and then on to a jump point.
He at least respects Spock enough not to insist on a blindfold, so Spock is
able to catalogue the details of the ship they jump to. He doesn’t catch the
name of it, though, and the few people they pass in the halls don’t mention it.
In fact, they don’t speak at all when Spock and Leonard are nearby. They’re a
species he doesn’t know; pale and short, they watch Spock and Leonard pass with
backlit gazes.
“Your resistance members are smart to keep their mouths shut,” Spock states,
curiosity creeping into him the deeper into the ship they go. It’s much bigger
on the inside than its compact appearance would suggest.
“They’re our engineers,” Leonard says after a moment. “We pulled them from
Jetheia before the colonists could wipe them out with terraforming. Their
species removes the tongues of their orphans and sends them into the bowels of
their ships to run the engines.
“Before you ask, they were given a choice. They can choose to remain on our
base or work with the resistance. The ones here chose to assist us. Everyone on
this ship has truly chosen to be here.”
“I believe you,” Spock replies and finds that he truly does. Leonard’s tone
when discussing the Jetheians was the same tone Spock’s fought against since…
Well, Spock understands.
“Here we are,” Leonard says, coming to a stop at a door that Spock assumes is
the Captain’s -or Admiral’s- ready room. He lifts his hand to buzz the door
open, but pauses and glances at Spock. “Think you can keep a civil tongue? I
know how sharp it can be.”
“Your attempts at innuendo are pointless,” Spock responds, folding his hands
behind his back. “I am Vulcan; we are nothing but civil.”
“Right,” Leonard huffs. “I’ll remember that the next time I offer you a drink,
my darlin’ drunkie.”
Leonard doesn’t see the glare Spock levels at the back of his head.
To be fair, Spock doesn’t see much either past the sight that greets him as the
doors slide open. The man standing at the hologram of a building straightens to
face them both.
“Admiral Pike.” Spock is confused, brows drawn down sharply. do y
“Professor Spock, how good of you to join us.” Pike waves them in, and Spock
enters slowly, cautious as Leonard moving around the table in the center of the
room. “And it’s not Admiral anymore, hasn’t been for some time.”
“I admit that your choice of retirement plans is surprising.”
“I could say the same for your profession,” Pike says with a genial smile.
Spock’s voice is coolly distant. “I could not outright refuse my father’s
wishes when he sold me to the Federation.”
“That is why we wanted you here,” Pike announces. “You’re still full of fight.”
“I assure you that I am not.”
“Vulcans can’t lie, but they can stretch the truth.” Pike looks pleased as
Leonard snorts and settles himself off to the side. No one sits; the atmosphere
is uncomfortable.
“Get to the point, Admiral. I’ve no patience for small talk.”
“Spock.” Leonard is not quiet with his admonishment, but Spock owes him no
compliance.
“I told you I’m not the Admiral here,” Pike says a little more sharply as he
straightens away from the hologram.
“Then who holds that prestigious title?” Spock asks, nearly spitting the words
in irritation.
And like any good prompting, the door slides open again, and Spock turns to
keep his back towards a wall. His vision is filled with red, and the void
rails.
“You.” The word is done and gone in the air before Spock realizes he’s moved.
The back of his hand stings with the force of his blow. He hears the clatter of
chairs as Leonard vaults over the table. He’s raising his hand again,
heartbreak and blind fury guiding his actions.
“I got him!” Leonard is saying, and his hand slides around Spock’s wrist and
his other arm slides around Spock’s waist, dragging him forcibly away from his
victim.
Spock doesn’t struggle, though he desperately wants to. He’s itching to get his
hands around the throat in front of him, much more violently than he’d done to
Leonard a few nights ago.
“It’s okay.” And Spock’s heart rate ratchets up at the sound of that voice. “I
deserved it, and more.”
“How dare you bring me here,” Spock growls, positively acidic. “I made you a
promise. If I ever saw you again, I would kill you, AdmiralKirk.”
Leonard struggles to keep Spock back, which isn’t easy when every atom inside
of Spock is straining to hurt, hurt, hurt the person in front of him. “Christ,
what did you do to him?” Leonard exclaims.
Pike merely sighs and crosses his arms.
Winona touches the back of her hand to her bloodied mouth, her gaze steady on
the others. “I killed my son.”
Chapter End Notes
     Kre’nath - Bastard
     Danik kesik - Most likely
***** The Wind in the Willows *****
Chapter Summary
     Spock is greeted by The Silence, suffers from a flashback or two, and
     is distracted by Leonard continuously shoving things into him.
     Meanwhile, Winona Kirk still walks the ship, and Spock isn't one to
     leave a promise unfulfilled.
Chapter Notes
     Additional warning: There is a scene where the character is
     peripherally-aware of mutilation. It is NOT graphic. The character
     cannot see it, therefore the reader cannot see it. If this bothers
     you, it is near the end of the chapter, skip the paragraphs that come
     after "punishment".
Winona’s announcement is met neither with shock nor abhorrence, but with a
snort from Pike and a prick from Leonard to Spock's neck. Spock doesn't
understand. How could they ignore such a statement? How could no one...care…
He's lost to a roll of lethargy, and soon, he succumbs to the drug Leonard has
injected.
When he wakes, he's resting on a standard cot in the ship's brig. There is an
ache making itself known behind his brow, and a few strands of his hair
irritate his eye. He goes to brush them away and finds his wrists bound
together and to a chain that connects to the floor.
“What did you give me?” Spock asks, toneless and angry. Behind him, he hears
Leonard shift, familiar with the weight of the man's step.
“A sedative strong enough to drop a hengrauggi,” Leonard replies, coming to
lean against the clear divide. “I almost didn't think it was gonna work. You’re
one scary bastard, darlin’.”
Spock pushes against the bed to sit up as best he can. He feels sluggish, but
the drug is burning away quickly in his bloodstream. He'll be free of it soon.
“You have an alarming proclivity for putting things inside of me.”
Leonard smirks, and Spock doesn't need to look to see it. He can hear Leonard's
amusement in his voice. “You asked for one, and I'm pretty sure you took the
other.”
“And the sedative?” Spock challenges, finally getting his feet to the floor to
face Leonard. “I thought you wanted me here. Do you plan to keep me chained in
containment?”
Leonard sucks his teeth, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “I really can't
have you killing Ms. Kirk, so yeah, you're in here until you promise not to or…
Or we reach the base.”
“That woman does not deserve to live,” Spock says evenly through clenched
teeth.
“That may be.” Leonard crosses his arms again and peers at Spock, almost
pouting. “Why'd you have to hit her, though?”
“I would have snapped her neck,” Spock says bluntly, truthfully. “I will do so,
given the opportunity. It is quick, and it will be the only mercy I show her.”
“Mm,” Leonard hums. He's giving Spock a thoughtful look. “Because of her son?”
Spock's mouth thins, and he says nothing. He arches a brow and tugs pointedly
at the old-fashioned manacles around his wrists.
“I ain't lettin’ you out,” Leonard drawls. “I'll come in there and you'll nerve
pinch me or worse.”
“Or worse,” Spock agrees.
“Pity,” Leonard mourns with a hand to his chest. “I bet it'd be real fun to
ride you like that.”
“I'd sooner you sedate me again,” Spock growls.
“Your mouth says no and... Okay, your eyes do, too, but your dick liked it
plenty enough,” Leonard says smugly.
“You're infuriating,” Spock says after a moment, giving in to rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Leonard shrugs. “Look, maybe if you talk to me… If
you-”
“No.”
“Spock.”
“I have no desire to become confidantes with you, Leonard. You lied to me,
misrepresented yourself, drugged me twice, and have me chained in the brig of
ship I really should not be on.” Spock looks away, down to the chains. He
remembers asking Jim to explain everything to him, being shot down.
“It's a sorry excuse, but I didn't have a choice. The Admiral gave me a
mission, and I couldn't just refuse. I don't regret it either. I mean, I wasn't
technically supposed to fuck you, but goddamn… I've only seen one sight more
attractive than you on chocolate.”
“Fascinating,” Spock says quietly, tilting his head to the side so his fringe
falls out of his eyes. “How long until we reach your...base? If I am to be held
captive, I would like to know for how long I will call this cell home.”
Leonard seems to sag in disappointment, resignation. “You've been out for a
day, but with warp, we should be there by the start of Alpha.”
“How curious that a rebel faction would run like the very Federation they spit
on.” Spock watches Leonard roll his eyes and push away from the divide. He
experiences a moment of...something at the thought of being left alone. “Who
started the Silence?”
Leonard pauses, eyes narrowed in puzzled thought. “You're joking, right?”
Spock feels his eyebrow twitch. He obviously isn't, or he wouldn't be asking.
Humans are so needlessly confusing. “I had assumed it was Pike when I saw him,
but his insistence lends credence to Admiral Kirk. She never seemed the type to
run the ship, but I never imagined her capable of murder either.”
Leonard's puzzlement has faded and been replaced by a surprisingly stony
expression. “You're not joking.” He presses forward again, one hand splaying
against the divide. “Spock, you may have a reputation, but I'm warning you. You
gotta stop now and watch what you say. It's bad enough you struck Ms. Kirk; you
keep this up and they'll hit back. Harder.”
Spock takes note of Leonard's seriousness, but lets his mouth quirk just a
fraction. “They may try.”
Leonard bares his teeth in frustration. “When I'm cleaning your green-blooded
ass off the floor, I'll remember you said that.”
“You do care,” Spock says, shaking his chains slightly.
Leonard draws back just a bit before pushing forward again. “Tell me what got
you so angry that even your special God philosophy ain't enough to keep you
from beating Federation agents to a pulp.”
~“Sahr-tor!~
Spock stills, chills sweeping down his spine.
Leonard's voice tries to distract Spock even as he encourages the memories.
“How many has it been? Two? Ten? Dozens?”
~“There's no time. If we don't do it now, then the whole belt is lost!”
“Mrs. Kirk!”
“Blow it.”
“No! Jim's-”~
Leonard is backing away from the divide, features pale and eyes wide. The
chains connected to Spock's wrists have snapped, and they dangle noisily from
the motion of Spock having gotten to his feet. Spock can feel the void, that
deep and dark blackness, creeping around his vision. He’s staring at Leonard,
hands trembling in the air in front of him.
It’s happening again. Spock knows, instinctively, that the ship is old enough
that he could break the divide between them with enough applied pressure, but,
while he hasn’t known Leonard for long, he has no true desire to hurt him.
While he’s still conscious enough, the thought of hurting Leonard curdles in
his gut, so he grits his teeth instead and tries to beat back the void crowding
his vision. He forces himself to speak instead, tone clipped, words logical to
himself, concise.
“Each of them, they deserved it,” he tells Leonard, lowering his hands
purposely to his sides to appear less threatening. He’s not sure it works
completely, but at least Leonard doesn’t look ready to bolt.
“Why? What’d they do?” Leonard asks, one hand still held behind his back as if
he’d gotten a hand on a weapon. Spock wouldn’t be surprised, especially if it’s
another hypo full of sedatives.
Spock breathes in and out for a few moments, steadying himself further before
he answers. “They took what did not belong to them. Filth and monsters who had
no rights to what they put their hands on.”
“Rapists and pedophiles,” Leonard says slowly and plants both hands on his
hips. “You… You kill them for taking the children.”
Spock just gazes back at Leonard, the tension in his frame easing as control
returns to him. He doesn’t flex his fingers; it’s wasted movement.
“Why didn’t you just rescue the children?” Leonard sounds more curious than
accusing, but that tone is still clear to Spock.
“It may have escaped your notice, but I am still young, and I was younger then.
I did not have the resources at my disposal to rescue them all at the time. I
removed the threats I could.”
Leonard scoffs with a shake of his head. “You’re little better than an animal
with the “help” you provided. You’re lucky you’ve only bashed in the “bad
guys”. You could’ve killed the kids when you raged out of control.”
Spock feels his features go blank. “Yes,” he agrees. “I could have.”
Leonard blinks at Spock, mouth slowly quirking then pulling fully into a smirk.
“You crazy hobgoblin. I really wanna know more about this, but we don’t got the
time. I’ll bring you some food, but I ain’t letting you out. I really don’t
want to have to explain Ms. Kirk’s corpse when we get to base.”
“You will not let me go,” Spock concludes, and he already has his answer by the
way Leonard sucks his teeth.
“‘Fraid not. Despite this issue between you two, she specifically told me to
recruit you, and until she tells me to dispose of you, you stay.”
“Dispose,” Spock repeats flatly.
Leonard’s smirk turns too knowing for Spock’s tastes. “I’ve managed to drug a
badass Vulcan twice now. Pretty sure I got a few more tricks up my sleeve to
knock you on your ass. Maybe I’d even take advantage of you as you’re
succumbing... See if I can’t get another good fuck out of you before you
monster-rage yourself out of the situation. It’d be worth the broken bones.”
Spock is rethinking his decision on not harming Leonard. “There would be no
cause for broken bones, Leonard. I would simply kill you.”
Leonard grins and slinks forwards to Spock’s cell again. “Talk dirty to me,
sweetheart, and I might just drug you anyway,” he warns. “There might be a few
others on this ship who’d like to go for a piece of that Vulcan ass.”
Spock refuses to rise to the bait. “You are a doctor,” he states, jumping to a
logical conclusion, and Leonard arches a brow. “And by the way you’ve spoken of
my own deeds, you would not allow your crew to sexually assault anyone on your
ship, regardless of whether or not they are a prisoner.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Leonard retorts.
“I would kill them before they could, and you would experience guilt.” Spock
watches Leonard, the doctor’s mouth twisting. Then, Leonard shrugs.
“You got me there, no use denying it. Besides, we want you in tip top shape if
you’re going to be helping. Ms. Kirk or Pike might actually have my balls if I
let you get hurt before we arrived. Besides, I think your smiling face might be
a kink of mine.”
“Is there no one else aboard you may thrust your useless flirtations upon?”
Spock asks dryly.
“You didn’t find my thrusting so useless the other night,” Leonard reminds him,
rubbing his fingers down the divide like he’s actually touching Spock. “You
liked it so much, I thought you’d break my dick off and cast it for future
use.”
“You have a very high opinion of your sexual prowess, Leonard,” Spock muses. “I
confess myself curious as to who praised those bumbling attempts of barnyard
fornication you consider skills.”
Leonard snorts, grinning. “You know, in that analogy, you’d be the animal. I
guess I could see you as a horse, powerful muscles, lengthy stamina.”
“Shall I whinny for you too? Or perhaps I should act the swine and play about
in the muck for you, since you like it dirty.” Spock wonders flatly.
“Fine, fine. I get it. I know when I’m not wanted. But it’ll get really lonely
on base without a friend, darlin’.” Leonard raises his hands, stepping back
from the cell, amused about the whole thing.
A chirp sounds from Leonard’s hip. He gives Spock a once over before turning to
answer his communicator.
“Yeah, what? I’m dealing with the Vulcan,” he says into the communicator, and
Spock’s expression flattens.
“Comm-call from base,” a woman responds. It’s not Kirk, so Spock looks around
the frame of the cell, cataloging weak points. “Sulu says you’ve got ten
minutes before the field disrupts all communications.”
“I’ll take it in my office. Get someone down here with Vulcan fare in the next
few minutes.”
“Yes, Doctor.” The communicator goes silent, and Leonard looks at Spock over
his shoulder.
“Just sit tight and try to behave? I don’t actually want you getting hurt.”
Spock contemplates violence on a few different levels, but, eventually, he just
inclines his head in acknowledgment. Leonard sighs and leaves the brig, doors
sliding shut behind him to leave Spock alone in the silence left behind.
~~
This time, Leonard blindfolds Spock as they move through the ship. “I don’t
want to be distracted by the bland stare of doom,” he says as he clicks the
visor into place.
“I assure you, it is not bland now by any means,” Spock replies, standing
straight with his arms locked in mobile restraints behind his back.
“I’m sure,” Leonard chuckles, placing a warm hand on Spock’s elbow to guide him
through the ship. “Honestly, it’s just an excuse to get my hands all over you
again.”
“That has a 97.833 percent chance of being the correct reasoning,” Spock says,
and Leonard squeezes Spock’s elbow. They bicker, in their way that is quickly
becoming normal, until Leonard begins to direct Spock down the gangplank. Spock
goes rigid, sensing Kirk nearby. Leonard catches on fairly quickly and clucks
his tongue.
“Don’t even try it. She’s already halfway across the bay, and there’s enough
security surrounding the ship that one of them might get a lucky shot.”
“I am beginning to truly dislike you, Leonard,” Spock says evenly. Sulu passes
by them, talking to someone that Spock cannot identify about the propulsion
switches.
“Yeah, yeah.” Leonard says absently, rechecking Spock’s restraints as they come
fully off the ship. “This could’ve gone so differently,” he mutters. “But you
just had to hit her.”
“There is no point in lamenting my actions, Leonard,” Spock says, blindly
turning his head towards Leonard’s voice. Leonard is close enough that their
hair displaces each other’s. Neither of them step away. “I do not.”
“Past is the past bullshit?” Leonard scoffs, the sound low and harsh. “We both
know that ain’t true, crazy little Vulcan, or you wouldn’t be tryin’ to kill
her still.”
“The past is the past, Leonard, but a promise is something I always keep.”
“Yeah, well…” Leonard steps back as footsteps approach them. “We’ll see about
that. Just try to keep your mouth shut for now, okay?”
“Doctor, I’m so glad to see you!” This woman’s voice was different than the one
on the communicator. It was melodic and inherently suggestive. Spock tilted his
head and inhaled subtly.
Orion. Given the purpose of the rebel faction and the severely muted scent of
pheromones, she is most likely a rescued slave. Fascinating.
“I was only gone four months, sweetheart.” Spock hears the sound of a kiss and
the woman’s hum. Then, he hears her cry of delight before soft fingers begin
poking at his shoulder, his chest. “Is this really him? He doesn’t look so
scary.”
“Gaila, he’s restrained, not muzzled. Be careful where you stick those
fingers,” Leonard warns her. He sounds a bit further away now, and Spock feels
the need to step closer to him. He doesn’t like not being able to see them,
especially in an unfamiliar environment. The vulnerability is grating; he may
actually snap at her.
Gaila laughs and falls back, presumably, to drape herself against Leonard. “I
know you’d just reattach them, Doctor. Besides, it’s been pretty driven home
that he’s off limits, so you don’t need to worry about my fingers, or anyone
else’s, for that matter.”
There’s a pause in conversation. Spock wishes he could see Leonard’s expression
for cues, because Leonard’s voice is carefully flat when he responds.
“He’s off limits?”
“Janice Rand levels of off limits,” Gaila says, like it’s the highest end of a
scale known only to the rebellion. Spock assumes this Janice Rand was perhaps
assaulted while on base. Leonard curiously doesn’t answer that, and Gaila
continues. “Anyway, I’m supposed to make him presentable. I’m assuming he’ll be
manageable while that’s happening?”
“I…” Leonard trails off, and Spock almost takes a step towards him. “I’ll sit
with you to make sure he behaves.”
“You’re the best, Doc,” Gaila simpers sweetly. “I’ll go on ahead and make sure
everything’s ready. You bring him right along, okay?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Leonard says, tone distant as if he’s lost in
thought. Gaila leaves, heels marking her exit with the clicks on the bay floor.
After a few moments, Leonard takes Spock’s elbow again to lead him off once
more.
“You are troubled, Leonard,” Spock prompts.
“A-plus observation, Spock,” Leonard snaps, fingers tightening on Spock’s arm.
“Never let it be said you’re an idiot.”
“Not very nice, Doctor,” Spock replies, enjoying Leonard’s acerbic tone. He’s
blinded and bound; he doesn’t mind finding pleasure in the little things.
“No one told me you were off limits,” Leonard finally says after they’ve been
walking for a few minutes. There are more people, obviously, on the base than
the ship. The base is loud and almost too intense for Spock’s Vulcan senses;
all the noise and crush of bodies overwhelming.
“While I understand the term, I cannot fathom why this is troubling you,” Spock
muses and turns his head to look blindly towards Leonard.
“You wouldn’t. Just...forget it,” Leonard says quietly, and Spock’s brow is
unable to arch due to the visor.
“As you wish, Leonard,” Spock replies. The rest of the journey is spent in
silence, and Spock is left to wonder about Gaila’s meaning about making him
presentable. A quick pass through a sonic shower should be all he requires,
though by the sound of it, it isn’t what she means.
Leonard directs Spock around a corner, and they continue down a hall. It’s
still as noisy as the rest of the base, but there’s a wall of quiet all of
sudden, and Leonard stops Spock without a word. It’s the kind of quiet that
lends itself importance or gravity, and Spock tries to reach out with his other
senses, but all of the activity around them is crippling his advantages.
Frustration mounts in the set of his shoulders, worsening as that quiet moves
towards them. It feels too close now, but Spock can’t get an accurate read.
There’s nothing to grasp, to analyze. Inside the restraints, his fingers ache
to move.
And then it’s over. The quiet moves away, disappears, and Leonard relaxes.
After another brief moment, he pulls Spock forward again. Spock feels as if his
head has broken the surface of water; the base’s sounds rush back in as if
they’d been muffled. Spock hadn’t even noticed. Perhaps it had been some sort
of scanner or sterilizer.
When they arrive at their destination, Gaila drags Spock into the what he
assumes is the center of the room. Leonard lets her, moving off to the side to
sit out of the way. Spock can tell that Leonard is still distracted by the “off
limits” issue, but Spock can’t imagine it would include the sex they’d had. No
one would even know. Unless Leonard or himself spilled the proverbial beans.
“Alright!” Gaila singsongs. “Time to work my magic. It’s almost a shame,
though.” She touches the longer side of Spock’s hair, tugging at the fringe. “I
really dig this look. Is it the new Vulcan fad? I can’t imagine your Elders
wearing their hair like this.”
Spock tenses, then goes to stand. “You are not changing my appearance.”
“Sit down,” Leonard orders. “I don’t want to sedate you.”
The threat of it makes Spock’s lip curl, and Gaila’s fingernail taps his chin.
“Better listen to him, honey. He’s a little handsy with those hypos. It’s kind
of his thing.”
“That is an understatement,” Spock nearly growls. He reminds himself that his
hair is only that. It will grow back, and he will imagine strangling this Orion
woman until it does. As it is, the imagining doesn’t help as she manually
shaves the rest of his head.
“I don’t know if I can get the styler around the visor,” Gaila says when she’s
finished. “Can’t we take it off just long enough to do his hair?”
Leonard doesn’t answer verbally, but Spock hears him get up, then he’s standing
right in front Spock. Gaila has moved behind him, most likely retrieving the
styler. Spock blinks once, then once more when Leonard removes the blindfold.
There are deep lines now around Leonard’s eyes and mouth.
Spock frowns, but Leonard just shakes his head. The styler comes down over
Spock’s head, and he’s blind again as the machine goes to work. It makes
Spock’s ears tingle; he wants to rip the machine off and smash it to pieces.
It’s over quickly, and Spock stares at Leonard as the doctor looks over the new
style when Gaila trounces off to put the machine away. Leonard grimaces and
that’s enough of an answer for Spock. He feels forced into a mold again, the
sharp lines of the standard Vulcan cut heavy against his brow.
Gaila returns and goes to take the stud out of Spock’s ear. Leonard flinches at
the expression that comes over Spock’s face. “If you continue that attempt, I
will remove your nails from your fingers.”
The threat only serves to make her pause. “With my teeth, if necessary,” Spock
warns.
Leonard jerks his chin at her over Spock’s head, and she finally backs off. “If
you say so, sugar. Maybe you’re a little scary after all. I’ll just put out
your clothes. I guess I’ll let you handle that, Doc.”
“Fine,” Leonard grits out, crossing his arms.
“What is the point of this?” Spock demands to know. “If it is to bolster my
anger, then it is assuredly working.”
“We’ve got orders,” Leonard said, looking away from Spock’s penetrating gaze to
wherever Gaila was behind them. Spock could hear the rustle of clothing, but he
continued to focus on Leonard. “And I’m not disobeyin’ again.”
Spock narrows his eyes, but Leonard just reaches out to tug Spock to his feet.
“Are we going to have a problem if I take off your restraints?”
“You tell me, Leonard,” Spock states. They’re standing close by virtue of
Leonard handling him, and Leonard actually steps back this time. Spock’s brows
draw down to accompany his narrowed gaze. Spock is aware that Leonard can hold
his own in a struggle, so whatever is troubling him worries Spock. Enough that
Spock calmly dresses in the sweater, plain slacks, and plainer shoes Gaila
hands to him in a pile.
Spock feels ridiculous, confined, normal. He loathes it. He can tell by
Leonard's continued grimace that he does too. He searches Leonard's gaze,
focuses on him meaningfully.
“All will be well,” Spock hears himself say as his sight is stolen by the visor
again. Leonard doesn't respond, and Spock is grateful for it. He does feel
Leonard flinch when an alarm as loud as klaxxon bells goes off.
“Ready, Doc?” Gaila quips, bumping her elbow against Spock's arm after Leonard
locks Spock's hands behind him again. “His audience is eager to meet the
Huntsman of Quadrant Beta.”
“If they did their jobs as much as they slaved over gossip and trash
entertainment, I wouldn't constantly see them in medical.” Leonard guides Spock
to exit the room.
“Are you calling me trash now, Leonard?” Spock says to try and lessen the
tension.
“We'll see how well you burn,” Leonard mutters, pulling Spock down a different
hallway away from the milling crowds heading to whatever platform Spock is
about to be placed on.
Gaila keeps up a steady stream of nonsense until they stop. “I'll announce
you,” she says, and Spock can practically see her bounce away.
“For the love of anything you hold dear,” Leonard says quietly. “This one time,
truly keep your mouth shut or you might lose your tongue.”
If Spock thought the base was loud before, it is nothing compared to the
deafening roar that greets their walk into the room. It's almost suffocating,
and Spock's instinct is to balk and pull back. Leonard's grip is firm, though,
and his steps aren't faltering. Spock assumes they're in some sort of stadium
or atrium-like setting. He is on display in terrifying vulnerability. He
wonders how many he can kill before his honor feels restored.
They stop, and it takes a moment, but the crowd begins to quiet. “Stay here,”
Leonard murmurs and moves forward, leaving Spock behind to strain his hearing
for anything that might explain what was going to happen. He could sense
Leonard still ahead of him, but there were too many people around to pinpoint
Kirk or Pike, though he assumed they were present.
“You’re late.” Spock stills at the soft, low tone. It’s clear that it’s coming
from much further away than where he can still feel Leonard’s presence, but it
carries well in the pin-drop silence that pervades the audience. Unfortunately,
Spock knows what kind of man it takes to reprimand a crew member in front of so
many. He girds himself for cocky posturing that amounts to nothing more than
hot air.
“He proved harder to pin down than we estimated, and he was difficult to
persuade,” Leonard replies, tone cautiously mulish.
“You know how I feel about excuses,” is the met response, and Spock hears
Leonard shift restlessly.
“Yes, Commander,” Leonard says, and the title does not help Spock in any way.
“I confess myself disappointed,” Commander sighs. “I wanted to be further along
by now.”
Leonard remains silent.
“Difficult to persuade, you say,” Commander muses. “How did you manage it?”
“I drugged him and he agreed to come,” Leonard answers truthfully.
“You drugged the Huntsman of Quadrant Beta? Just like that? And he agreed to
come with you, just like that?” That soft voice sounds deceptively even; Spock
tips his head slightly to the side. The hairs on his arms are standing. He
thinks he suddenly understands why Leonard was worried.
“Yes, Commander,” Leonard replies, and he’s forcing his own voice to be steady,
firm.
“There’s nothing else you want to tell me?”
“Nothing of note that you don’t already know, Commander,” Leonard says, and
even Spock believes him.
“I see,” Commander murmurs. “Huntsman, come forward.”
Spock doesn’t bother hesitating. He walks forward, steps sure despite being
unable to see, and only stops when Leonard exhales shakily beside him.
“You’ve caused quite a stir already, Huntsman,” Commander says, and now Spock
can hear the slow tap of a finger against what is probably the arm of the
Commander’s seat.
“I assume by the theatrics of my abduction that is something your people
enjoy,” Spock responds flatly.
The Commander hums quietly. “Those theatrics are by your own hand. You struck
Admiral Kirk with intent to kill, did you not?”
“I did,” Spock answers without regret.
“Would you care to explain why?” Commander wonders.
“No.”
Amusement laces the Commander’s tone. “By your choice. Do you corroborate the
doctor’s story? He managed to drug you, and you simply agreed to come along.”
“That is how it happened, yes.” Leonard’s tension is not helping Spock’s; it’s
almost distracting.
“I see. How curious.” The crowd’s tension is also ratcheting up, like sharks
agitated by chum. “Gaila, come here, sweetheart.”
“Sir,” Gaila says meekly.
“It’s okay, Gaila,” the Commander says, soft and placating. “Tell them what you
told me.”
Spock connects it quickly, feels foolish for not remembering before. Orion
females are inherently sexual beings. She can probably smell Leonard and Spock
on each other like they just bathed in semen. Leonard is breathing shallowly.
“They’ve had sex,” Gaila states.
“You fucked the Vulcan,” the Commander says before she finishes. “I don’t have
many rules.”
There’s a low tsking sound, and possibly out of panic, Leonard says: “I didn’t
know he was off limits. I was already on the mission.”
“Len,” and it was a name full of an ocean’s worth of resignation. The crowd
begins to shift and murmur, but they’re quieted quickly again.
“I’m sorry,” Leonard breathes.
“You’ve grown close already.”
Spock wants to deny the Commander’s claim, but he doesn’t lie.
“I’m sorry,” Leonard repeats.
“Do you accept your actions?”
“Yes, Commander,” Leonard responds, voice thick with emotion.
“Very good. Gaila, you may return to your seat.” Gaila’s presence retreats and
the Commander is moving. Spock listens to him stand, the soft rustle of
clothing as he moves. It is only his Vulcan half that keeps him from flinching
when the Commander is right in front of him. Suddenly, he recognizes that wall
of quiet from earlier. The Commander’s mind is blank, blocked. A void.
Spock’s own void claws at him, desperate to send him into darkness to protect
him from what is about to happen.
There are fingers at Spock’s ear. They touch the silver stud, and Spock braces
himself for the pain. A short hum from the Commander when he notices, and then
he tears the stud from Spock’s ear. Spock can feel the immediate pouring of his
blood down the side of his head. It soaks into the sweater and pools against
his collarbone. The pain hits a second later, but with proper focus, he can
ignore it. He still bares his teeth as the crowd hoots and hollers.
Leonard swallows back a noise, though it sounds roughly in his throat. Spock
wants to warn him not to draw attention back to himself, but he doesn’t think
it would help.
“That’s for the transgression against the Admiral,” the Commander says quietly.
“If you touch her in violence again, you won’t find me so lenient. I hope you
understand.”
He does. “I do.” That doesn’t mean that Spock won’t kill the bastard along with
her. He wants to give in to the void, but the blankness of the Commander and
Leonard’s trembling is keeping him grounded.
He feels the Commander nod and turn by the air he displaces.
“Len,” the Commander says softly. “I cannot allow your transgression to go
unpunished. You know that.”
“Yes,” Leonard replies, and though he still shakes, his voice sounds steadier.
There’s the schlik of steel sliding from its hiding place, and Spock turns his
head. The Commander steps back away from them, and Spock is willing his
restraints off in vain. The crowd is beginning to chant, the word inaudible due
to sheer size. Spock thinks it might just be “blood”. His instincts are
screaming, and the void is clawing at him.
Leonard is moving, his breathing so quick it’s almost nonexistent. There’s a
sickening, wet crunch, and Spock’s breathing speeds up to match Leonard’s, but
then Leonard is gasping just as wetly. The crowd is screaming, loud and
stamping. It’s not enough to drown out the damp crush of bone as it continues.
By the time the steel hits the floor in front of them, burnt flesh it thick in
the air and Spock is radiating uneasy fury. Leonard is clearly trying to
swallow back vomit by the sounds emitting from his throat. The crowd is unruly,
driven to bloodlust by Spock and Leonard’s injuries. The whole while, the
Commander is quiet, blank, seemingly unaffected. Spock experiences warring
emotions towards the man who could inspire such brutal loyalty; fear and the
primal drive for power.
“I will take that,” the Commander says after a moment, and he doesn’t sound
amused or anything else, then: “Remove the Huntsman’s blindfold, Len. It’s time
to for him to...see exactly who runs this rebellion.”
There’s sluggish movement and Leonard is kneeling in front of Spock. The visor
is retracted. The world blurrily comes into view for Spock. Leonard is a sweaty
mess in front of him. He’s pale and shaking, and half of his face is covered in
blood. He’s missing an eye.
Spock’s gaze darts to the side to see the blood puddled on the floor, the
dagger discarded at the edge of it. It’s a medical dagger, one that clearly has
cauterizing capabilities. His gaze flicks up, the blurriness receding. Over
Leonard’s head is the Commander. He’s examining the mess of an eye in the palm
of his hand. The half of his face Spock can see is a mess of jagged scars, but
the gaze that meets his is one that Spock will never forget.
“The Devil of Deneva,” Spock breathes. He really should’ve known not to
underestimate James Tiberius Kirk.
***** Bohemian Rhapsody *****
Chapter Summary
     Confronted with his past, Spock is left dealing with memories brought
     back from the void and the consequences of Jim's survival.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Realization stuns Spock for too many seconds. He’s staring at Jim, taking in
every detail of the man he thought he would never see again. Leonard stands,
blocking Jim from view, but he wavers, unsteady from the blood loss. From
behind, Jim’s hand clasps Leonard’s bicep to steady him. He steps forward,
bumping shoulders with Leonard as he looks down at Spock.
Spock’s mind can’t reconcile the man in front of him as Jim. The broken, jagged
rot in Spock’s core barely stirs at the sight of him, is left unanswered by the
void in Jim. This can’t be Jim. This can’t be Jim.
“So you do know me,” Jim says, still soft and low, and Spock pointedly bites
his own tongue to stop himself speaking aloud by accident again. He’s too
addled. He looks to Leonard, who is standing steadier now, then to the crowds
that, by some unspoken command, are filing out; they are all rescues.
Spock frowns. It’s too incongruous. This is not the Jim Spock knew, but then
again, Spock is hardly the same, as well. He still doesn’t respond, and Jim
shrugs a shoulder in an easy roll of motion. He lifts his hand to Leonard’s
cheek and smears his thumb in the blood. His other hand still holds Leonard’s
eye.
“Take him to medical, Len,” Jim orders, not taking his blue - Spock’s never
seen such a blue since Jim’s - gaze from Spock’s. “I need to meet with Mom
before I join you.”
“Do you want me to regenerate his ear?” Leonard asks, and he sounds perfectly
normal now, like he hadn’t just mutilated himself out of punishment.
“No.”
~”No! Jim’s still in there!” Spock is inconsolable as he watches the mine
explode. He rips away from his father, stumbling out of the control room and
into the thick, dust-laden air. It chokes him and brings tears to his eyes as
the dust whips against his gaze, but he keeps going. The two flights of metal
stairs threaten to trip him up, send him tumbling the rest of the way down, but
he hits the ground running; Vulcan strength pushes him faster, harder, away
from the cry of his name in his mother’s voice.
He can’t stop. He can’t. This is all his fault. If it hadn’t been for him, Jim
wouldn’t even be on this forsaken hell hole. He has to get to Jim before it’s
too late. Jim’s consciousness is pulsing, urging him on, pumping energy through
Spock’s limbs. He’s alive. He’s alive.
He’s still a hundred feet out from the mines when the newly-discovered matter
implodes, casting everything in Spock’s sight in a red so deep that Spock feels
like he’s on fire. Then, he realizes it’s because Jim is on fire.
Their bond is burning, disintegrating just out of reach, as the mine is sucked
in on itself rock by rock. The pieces crash together, huge and deafening.
“Jim!” Spock screams for him in thought and voice, crushed to the ground under
the pressure of the implosion. His entire being is straining out to Jim,
attempting to shield and soothe and save. Jim’s reach back is weak, distant.
”Spock.” Everything Spock needs to know is in that one tendril of thought from
Jim. Spock’s throat seizes up. He’s blinded by tears tinted rose by the glow
that make it seem like he’s viewing the destruction through Jim’s blood. ”Sp-”
The red matter winks out of existence, energy expended. The leftover debris
slams to the ground as gravity retakes its control. It’s too late.
The bond is shredded, the ends of it left fluttering in Jim’s absence. It’s too
quiet now, as if the universe is already mourning what Spock can’t comprehend
yet. Spock lies unmoving where the pressure put him, staring out at the crater
left behind. Mentally, he’s scrambling, clutching desperately at the tattered
remains of his bond.
It’s not true. It can’t be true. Jim is still there. He’s just teasing Spock
like he always does, because Spock cares so much, and Jim has never been so
happy in his life. So Jim is there, Spock knows that he’s still there. All he
has to do is keep pulling on the bond until it reels Jim in like a leash, a
tether to life.
His hands are bloodied, stained by the severed ends, but Jim never shows, never
responds or acknowledges Spock’s desperate pleas. This isn’t right, Spock
thinks as hands clamp around his shoulders.
He “comes to” to find himself kneeling in the rubble of the crater. His nails
are broken and ripped away, green staining the debris around him as he
continues to dig at the rocks. There’s a security team swarming down into the
crater now, presumably to clean up and contain, but Spock can’t focus, doesn’t
understand.
“Where’s Jim?” Spock asks, and the hands on his shoulders clench and try to
pull him away and out of the crater. He follows because he has no control over
himself; his hands are too busy trying to patch the bond back together.
“Where’s Jim?”
He kneels just outside the crater and his mother’s hands are cradling his face,
wiping at his cheeks and brushing back his hair. Her mouth is moving quickly,
but Spock can’t hear her despite how hard every atom of his being is straining
for a sign of anything.
“Spock!”
Spock’s head whips upward at Winona’s voice. She’s picked her way carefully
towards the mine; she’s pale and trembling. Spock remembers her looking the
same way when they met last year on the Pegasus. It doesn’t matter. All he
truly sees now is the woman who condemned her son to death to save a mining
belt, condemned Spock to a half-life with a broken bond.
He’s on her before he’s registered that he’s thrown his mother out of the way.
Winona can fight, but Spock is lost to death and primal rage, so he drops her
like a rock in water, quickly sinking after her to get his hands around her
throat.
There is no satisfaction in the feel of her windpipe contracting under his
hands, but she’s not struggling anymore. She’s just watching him with eyes too
close to Jim’s. He snarls wetly, his face still damp with tears, and streaks
his blood against her skin as he shifts to knock her head against the ground.
“I’ll kill you!” Spock yells. “I’ll kill you like you killed him!’
Her expression is soft, pain etched deep around her eyes and around her mouth
that is quickly turning blue. She gently touches Spock’s wrist and he increases
the pressure around her throat. He wants to feel it crush under his touch. He
wants to feel her death like he feels Jim’s.
“Do it,” she manages partially. It’s mostly the shape of the words, but Spock’s
tortured heart skips a beat. “Please.”
This woman has lost so much, Spock knows. Her family. Her husband. All she had
was Jim. All she had, and she threw it away so easily.
“I will,” Spock promises, teeth bared and feeling sharp enough to rip out her
jugular. “I’ll kill you.”
But there’s a bright burst of light behind Spock’s eyes and then
weightlessness. Part of him still expects the ridiculous humming Jim likes to
do as Spock falls asleep, but as a new, dark void swallows him up, there’s
nothing but silence.~
Spock becomes aware again sitting in what appears to be medical. His vision
remains unimpeded, but his hands are still restrained behind him. He’s sitting
on one of the biobeds, back straight against the wall the bed is pressed up to.
He blinks and turns his head towards the voices outside his room.
The door is open and Spock can see Leonard working at a supply counter. His
body language is easy, relaxed. Beside him, the Commander -Jim- is leaning back
against the counter, arms crossed and an easy smile tugging at the scars lining
his face.
Spock’s bond continues to lie in its rotting grave, and Jim continues to be a
blank, blocked void.
“You really should let her make you dinner,” Jim says, and whatever expression
comes over Leonard’s face is enough to get Jim laughing. His words are still
that soft-spoken tread, but that laugh…
Spock knows that laugh like the back of his own hand. The sound reverberates
through him and makes a long-dead part of him ache fiercely. Jim is there,
underneath that cruel facade and scarred exterior. Spock’s fingers try to curl
inside the restraints. He doesn’t know if that will stop him from murdering
everyone in this base.
Perhaps, he will spare Jim for last. Spock believes he at least deserves an
explanation before he makes sure Jim’s death sticks this time.
And yet, that ache expands into an emotion Spock isn’t used to, can’t name at
first, when Leonard turns his head and says: “The only Kirk I’m interested in
is you,” and Jim tips his head to the side to let Leonard kiss his scarred
cheekbone then his mouth. Possessiveness.
Leonard is touching Jim.
A dark and angry swell of possessiveness tunnels Spock’s vision as Leonard
shifts, bringing his optical cavity partially into view. It does nothing to
quell Spock’s building rage. Jim’s hands drop to the countertop, long, blunt
fingers gripping the Corian material lightly. And while Jim’s mouth is eagerly
responding to Leonard’s kiss, a sharp blue eye is now directly focused on
Spock.
Spock believes his face may still be blank, but he honestly doesn’t know with
the rage flooding his system. Jim’s visible brow arches, almost like a
challenge, and he lifts a hand to grip the back of Leonard’s neck. He squeezes
and bites down on Leonard’s lower lip. Leonard groans, and Spock bares his
teeth.
Jim’s other hand slips between his and Leonard’s body, and Spock can’t see it,
but Leonard’s hips roll forward. Jim is still holding Spock’s gaze. He lets go
of Leonard’s lip and kisses Leonard’s cheek below the missing eye. He squeezes
Leonard’s neck again and drags his tongue up to the very rim of the optical
cavity.
“Len,” he murmurs, his voice full of what Spock knows is lust, and Leonard
lowers himself to his knees to nuzzle into Jim’s cock through his pants. Spock
doesn’t drop his eyes to watch. He holds Jim’s heartbreaking gaze, and Jim’s
expression is far too intense for a simple blowjob. Not that Leonard’s skills
would qualify as simple, Spock knows from experience.
Jim’s hand goes into Leonard’s hair as Leonard works Jim free of his pants.
Even then, Spock doesn’t allow himself to look, because to look would be to
give in to whatever war of wills he and Jim are currently locked in. Jim’s
mouth parts around a hiss and sigh, and he guides Leonard’s motion with the
hand tangled in his hair.
There’s a glint in Jim’s gaze, a determined tilt to the harsh line of his full
mouth, almost like he’s willing Spock to feel this with him. It gives Spock a
moment’s mental pause. It’s probable, 92.7 percent likely, that Jim is
suffering from the severed bond just like Spock.
Leonard’s head bobs, hand twisting around Jim’s cock to pull Jim forward down
his throat as Spock watches Jim’s color rise. A flush spreads across Jim’s
cheeks, mottled only by his injuries. Spock’s struck by the strong desire to
watch Jim find release. He wants -needs- to see it happen.
“Goddamn, I missed your mouth,” Jim breathes, words thick and strained, then
he’s yanking Leonard’s head back so that he can stroke himself off across
Leonard’s lips. To his credit, Leonard takes it stoically, not even flinching
when splashes of Jim’s semen land perilously close to the empty socket.
Through it all, not once does Jim look away from Spock. Not until Leonard gets
back to his feet and Jim cups his face to clean Leonard off with his tongue,
ending it in another kiss. Leonard loops an arm around Jim’s waist to return
it. Spock thinks he might take off Leonard’s hands and let him live after all.
“You should regenerate this,” Spock hears Jim murmur as he brushes a thumb
under Leonard’s missing eye.
Leonard inhales deeply and lets it out slowly before shrugging. “Eventually.
Sometimes, it’s good to have a reminder.”
Jim tsks softly then nudges Leonard back with a hand on his hip. “Your patient
is awake.”
“I certainly hope he enjoyed the show,” Leonard says dryly. “Are we fixing his
ear now?”
“Be my guest,” Jim replies with a shrug. “Maybe next time, he’ll let people do
their jobs properly. I didn’t like having to punish Gaila. I like Gaila.”
Spock feels nothing at that pronouncement and stays settled against the wall as
Leonard comes into the room with a medical tray. Jim follows him in, of course,
leaning back against the wall by the door. Jim is all assured confidence and
easy control; he’s casually lethal, and Spock knows that, whatever happens, the
fight between them will lead to a bloody climax.
“Punishing Gaila is like praising her,” Leonard snorts. “She gets off on you
treating her normally like the rest of us. I’m surprised you don’t keep a mop
in your quarters.”
“Why would I?” Jim wonders curiously. “She doesn’t mind cleaning up after
herself.”
Leonard snorts again and sets the medical tray on the end of the biobed. He
steps up to stand between Spock’s legs. “Turn your head for me, kid.”
“I believe the correct vernacular in this moment is “go fuck yourself”,
Doctor,” Spock states.
Jim’s mouth stretches into a grin. His amusement is not surprising, but
unexpected. He’d always found it funny getting Spock to repeat the humans’ “bad
language”. Spock still doesn’t understand what makes it bad, other than their
appalling grammar.
Spock continues to watch Jim, mostly because he finds he doesn't want to look
at Leonard. Not because the missing eye is off-putting, but because he finds
himself feeling betrayed. Though, there was no way for Leonard to know...was
there?
Jim's grin fades into a smirk that pulls wickedly at his mouth. “Do you find me
too distracting? You've the look of a man who's seen a ghost. Unless, is it
this?” He gestures to his scars. “Does my pretty face disgust you?”
“On the contrary,” Spock replies, and talking with him is surreal. “I think it
suits the walking corpse.”
The smirk twitches until Jim's expression twists into something slightly manic.
“Dead man walking, right? Sorry to break it to you, Huntsman, but I'm as alive
as you are. I'd be happy to prove it to you.”
Spock files the information for later, noting that Jim has yet to say his name,
to acknowledge Spock as anything other than a hunter. He regards Jim quietly,
uncaring of Leonard's impatient huff. “Certainly, all you need do is remove
these restraints. We will then see who has more to prove.”
Leonard gets fed up and shoves Spock's head to the side to start working on
Spock's ear.
“Tough guy like him? Don't waste the anesthetic,” Jim decides as he kicks off
the wall. “Bring him to me later, Bones.”
“Sure thing, Jimmy,” Leonard acknowledges, tossing the anesthetizing hypo back
on the tray. He picks up medical scissors instead to begin cutting around the
damaged cartilage of Spock's ear.
Spock barely notices the pain of Leonard’s work. He’s forcing himself to
breathe normally, to keep the logic of a cool temper at the forefront of his
thoughts. He can’t get Jim’s flushed expression out from in front of his vision
and, behind him, the restraints around his hands creak.
“I’m getting from the tension that you two know each other,” Leonard muses. His
breath is warm against Spock’s ear; it stings the fresh wound.
“How astute, Doctor,” Spock answers and says no more.
Leonard huffs, twisting slightly to drop the scissors back on his tray. It
reminds Spock that Leonard is standing between his legs. He could, conceivably,
crack Leonard’s back and find one of the old bone cutters to laser through his
restraints. He’s confident he could find Winona first and then use her death
throes to lure Jim to him.
“You could do that, or you could give me five minutes to fix your ear, and then
I’ll unlock your cuffs,” Leonard says, watching Spock quietly. He has a sealant
in his hand, and Spock narrows his eyes.
“I wasn’t speaking aloud,” Spock says tartly, drawing his shoulders back. He
doesn’t like how easily Leonard smiles at him. It’s decidedly grim with the
missing eye.
“You forget I can read that pointy face of yours like a book.” Leonard brushes
his knuckles against Spock’s cheekbone. Spock doesn’t so much as twitch at the
touch.
“You cannot possibly want to fuck, Doctor.” Spock frowns. “Or you truly are
mad. Do you not fear your-” Spock can’t say lover. His stomach churns angrily
at the thought. “Do you not fear Kirk?”
Leonard laughs, bracing himself on Spock’s thigh. He really has grown too
familiar with Spock’s body. Perhaps Jim will take Leonard’s hands off for
Spock.
“Me? Afraid of Jim?” Leonard laughs some more, mockingly wiping a tear from his
empty eye socket.
“I hardly find it that amusing,” Spock says in clipped tones, affronted. “He
made you cut your eye out.”
“Oh, come off it, Huntsman,” Leonard replies, and this time, his voice is
harder. “You’ve done worse to your ragtag group of Vulcans. Besides, he didn’t
make me do anything. I chose this punishment.”
“What do you mean I’ve done worse? What do you know?” Spock asks, expression
carefully blank.
Instead of answering, Leonard asks: “How do you know Jim, and why hasn’t he
killed you if you guys hate each other so much?”
“I do not hate him,” Spock answers reflexively, honestly. He could never hate
Jim. Jim is his blood, his life; Jim is the only reason Spock is who he is.
Leonard stares at him, eyes narrowed in thought. “Is that right?”
Spock pauses, thinks quickly. “Whatever you are thinking, you are wrong.”
Leonard smirks. “Maybe,” is all he says as he leans back in to finish
regenerating Spock’s ear. Spock doesn’t know what to say. He’s trapped in the
predicament of being sickeningly fond of Leonard, and wanting to rip him and
the rest of the ship apart with just his hands. Leonard works in silence for a
few minutes, and Spock lets him, trying to think of how Jim could have possibly
survived the mine.
“I heard a story once of a Vulcan that crossed Jimmy’s path.”
“I assure you, I am not that Vulcan, regardless of what that story might say.”
He tugs his head back to look at Leonard. Leonard blinks back at him, one dark
eye amused. “It has been longer than five minutes, release me.”
“You’re such a child,” Leonard says and actually ruffles Spock’s hair.
“I am going to kill you,” Spock decides again, eyes staring ahead as Leonard
steps away to move his tray and retrieve a device that will remove Spock’s
restraints.
“Uh huh,” Leonard agrees then pointedly waves his hand at Spock.
Spock’s brow furrows before he realizes that he needs to move himself so that
Leonard can get to his restraints. He scoots forward, and there’s no real way
to make that look graceful, twisting at his waist.
“You have no instinct for self-preservation,” Spock realizes. “Leona-”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” Leonard cuts Spock off, shoving
Spock down against the table. It’s an unnecessary move since the restraints had
been easily accessible with Spock standing, but Spock understands the need to
feel in control. “You didn’t spend two months researching me. Big bad Vulcan
that you’re supposed to be, you just handed yourself over on a silver platter.”
Anger surges through Spock’s system again, and he narrows his eyes at the wall.
“You’re speaking rather confidently for someone who is about to release me.”
“You’re not going to kill me,” Leonard replies, and he sounds frustrated and
angry now too. The restraint laser rests against the swell of Spock’s ass for a
moment. “You could’ve done it a hundred different ways by now. And, if you
haven’t done it yet, you’re not going to. Hurt me, though? Yeah, probably. It
ain’t anything I haven’t felt before, and whatever you decide to do can be
healed, if not fixed completely. How anyone close to you thinks you’re a
threat, I don’t know. Idiots, if you ask me.”
There’s a knot of worry and disgust in Spock’s stomach. He doesn’t respond at
first because there are too many roots to grab hold of left from Leonard’s
declaration. Leonard must realize this because he’s quiet, the laser’s still
off, and one of his thumbs is stroking Spock’s hip through his slacks. He’s
completely calling Spock on his front of violence, confident in whatever slim
hold of affection he’s torn from Spock.
Leonard’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Spock will tell him that. It
just serves to show them both how much seeing Jim has thrown Spock off his
game. He feels off kilter, like a globe jarred off its axis. Leonard knows so
much, and Spock knows… Spock knows that he doesn’t know enough.
First things first. “Is it always James Kirk?” He asks, making no attempts to
move or shift away from Leonard. He feels Leonard’s thumb pause.
“Is ‘what’ always Jim?” Leonard’s tone is hesitant with confusion.
“Is he the one that always hurts you?” Spock needs to know, needs the affirmed
knowledge to fuel the simmering rage in spoiling for a fight.
Leonard sighs and pats Spock’s hip. “I told you, kid. He doesn’t hurt me. He
hasn’t, and… Well, I guess I can’t say that he never will, but it’s a minuscule
possibility. He doesn’t hurt those who don’t deserve it.”
“And you did,” Spock states, because he already knows Leonard will say yes.
“For having sex with me before you knew I was to be off-limits.”
“I decided my punishment,” Leonard growled, stretching his arm out to pinch the
fresh meat of Spock’s healed ear. The pain comes, sharp and sweet, before
Spock’s basic control washes it away. “It’s a show of obedience for the crowds.
Gaila had probably already told others, and the story would’ve spread that the
rule wasn’t as hard and fast as everyone thought. It would’ve caused chaos
because you’re green ass ain’t the only one off-limits.”
“Janice Rand?” Spock recalls the name, and Leonard freezes.
“You keep her name out of your filthy mouth,” Leonard says, and it’s the first
time Spock has heard Leonard sound so cold and low. It’s the first time that
Spock believes that Leonard could truly hurt him should he have the mind to. “I
told you when we got on the ship to keep your tongue to yourself, and that
hasn’t changed.”
Spock is intrigued, but dredging up whatever story goes with that response
would help him none at the moment. Showing obedience through mutilation,
though, Spock understands. He thinks of T’Pring and, for a moment, he remembers
the soft skin of her inner thighs and the husky edge of her voice as he
expertly worked her body with his hands.
Then, he remembers that she bonded anew after Spock left for Earth. Stonn will
die a slow death by Spock’s hand for daring to take what was his. And it is now
the same for Leonard. Regardless of his affiliations and Jim’s miraculous
presence, Leonard has claimed affection from Spock, and if Jim had hurt him,
Spock would not hesitate in repaying the favor.
After all, there is no bond to stop him.
“Why did you bring me here?” Spock asks. “A straightforward answer would be
appreciated.”
“Oh, it would, huh?” Leonard huffs and turns the laser on, bringing a soft hum
to the background. He’s very warm against the back of Spock’s thighs. “Jim
wanted you. Well, specifically, he wanted The Huntsman, but he knew it was you.
He told me where to look.”
“What does he want me for?”
“Maybe he wants to fuck you too,” Leonard snorts. “Not my answer to give you.
You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“Noted,” Spock murmurs as Leonard begins to laser off the restraints. “How did
you come to work with him?”
“I’m his doctor,” Leonard says dryly and, out of the corner of Spock’s eye, he
can see that Leonard has his tongue poking out between his teeth in
concentration.
“Leonard,” Spock says.
Leonard’s gaze flicks up very briefly then back down to his work. “We’re
connected, so I’m here because I can’t be anywhere else. Not that I want to be
anywhere else these days.”
“Connected?” Spock frowns. Even he, in his youth, knows that humans don’t form
bonds between themselves the way Vulcans and some other species do.
“Metaphorically?”
“Nope,” Leonard sighs, popping the ‘p’ again in that way that makes Spock want
to slap him. “I used an Erufassan to heal him.”
Before the words have fully registered in Spock’s brain, the restraints are
pulled apart and set aside. Spock dodges the butt of the laser as he jerks out
from under Leonard. The doctor swears even as Spock’s arm catches him around
the shoulder and drives him to the floor. Leonard coughs as he loses the air in
his lungs to the impact and the weight of the Vulcan slamming into his stomach
to straddle him. Spock doesn’t let him get his breath back, long-fingered hands
closing around Leonard’s throat.
“You had no right!” Spock says, low and hissing. He watches Leonard’s features
pale, but Spock’s sight is turning red.
Leonard struggles, stretching a hand for the laser that’s fallen just out of
reach and prying at the fingers on his throat. He’s clearly confused by Spock’s
reaction, but how could he know? How could he know what an Erufassan would do
to a Vulcan bond? Such a thing is of the utmost rarity as a Vulcan’s bond is
rarely broken.
It is no surprise any longer why Spock’s rotted bond doesn’t react around Jim.
Because Jim is compromised, returned to life by a guiding spirit, requiring
ritualistic sacrifices to tie Jim’s life force to Leonard’s. Such a connection
by a guiding spirit can only occur when the one being guided has no ties to the
living. Spock and Jim’s bond had shorn itself upon Jim’s death, too new to
cling to Jim’s departing soul without taking Spock with it.
Despite how Spock had wished for it often in the months following Jim’s death.
Jim’s bond would have had nothing to reach for upon returning to this plane of
existence. Except it had. It had had the man slowly dying beneath Spock. His
hands clench and Leonard’s hand slackens, falling to the floor beside them. It
is not Leonard’s fault, Spock knows this. He tells himself this until he
remembers that the person responsible for this whole mess is somewhere else on
this base.
His lip curls, and he releases his hold on Leonard, who doesn’t even gasp in
air like a normal person. He simply breathes deeply in once then again before
his breath fans heavily out of his nose. He’s watching Spock through half-
lidded eyes, hands still limp against the floor. The empty orbital socket mocks
Spock silently, and Spock understands better now than he could have before.
Whatever violence is inflicted upon Leonard, Jim will feel. Pain is the only
sense strong enough to pass through an Erufassan tether, and even knowing this
-surely by now-, Leonard chose his punishment knowing that Jim would feel every
second of the act along with Leonard. It’s no small feat that they’re both
still as sane as they are.
But, perhaps Leonard is right, Spock doesn’t know a goddamn thing.
“You are his Vulcan,” Leonard says, voice scratched and rough.
“I do not belong to him-” not anymore “-or anyone else, Leonard McCoy.” Spock
stands and steps back, kicking the laser so that it slides beneath one of the
beds. Leonard doesn’t take his eye from Spock as he rolls to his knees then
pushes himself up to his feet.
“Of course not,” Leonard snorts. “Why would he want you when it’s your fault he
died? Why’d you do it?”
“Clarify,” Spock demands, brushing off the accusation of his guilt. He has
always blamed himself for Jim’s death.
“Why’d you make him take the blame?”
The question is such an easy one that Spock allows his mouth to quirk, mood
shifting erratically as the taste of familiar words comes to his tongue.
“No one can make James Tiberius do anything,” he replies easily. “His choices
are his own, regardless of the opinions of others. I doubt that even death can
change that. However, if you truly believe I could sway his actions, then I am
flattered you think so highly of me. Though, Leonard, I’m afraid it will do you
very little good here.”
“What in the hell do yo-uh.” Leonard’s eye rolls back in his head as Spock
administers a nerve pinch, and he feels calm enough to catch Leonard before he
hits the floor. Spock scoops Leonard onto the biobed after knocking the
restraint pieces off to the floor. He steps back and evaluates his situation.
He looks at Leonard’s prone body, the bruises on his throat. Spock’s fingers
twitch and the memory slips around him like a soft breeze.
~”What did yo-Oh my go-you-.” Jim slumps to the floor, leaning slightly to the
side as his the heel of his palm slips in a small puddle of blood. It’s a murky
shade blending red and green, putrid, and there’s so much of it now on the
floor of the exam room.
Spock feels dizzy, disoriented; he wants to throw up at the sight of it. His
hands hurt, fingernails screaming at him and, when he looks, there are some
that are bent and others that are broken, torn free from their beds. There’s
pain in his face, too, where Rehanon had defended himself. The pain radiates
throughout his entire body, too much for his fractured control to whisk away.
Rehanon is a lifeless obstacle now between Spock and Jim. Spock drags his
blurring sight up to Jim. He doesn’t know if it’s just his gaze or if Jim is
really shaking, but he thinks it’s Jim. Jim is pushing trembling hands into his
hair, and Spock can see that there are unshed tears in Jim’s eyes.
A blink, another, and then Jim is rolling to his feet, uncaring of the blood he
smears along his knees and hands. With seemingly barely any thought, he gets
his pants back around his waist and rights the rest of his clothing. Then, he’s
grabbing at whatever medical instruments are nearby and covering them carefully
in Rehanon’s blood only.
Spock sways where he kneels, taking in all of Jim’s actions like he was
watching one of the holos his mother loved. He is outside, nothing more than an
observer; he cannot fathom interfering. He realizes, though, that he is
shaking, too, and where Jim’s tears are unshed, Spock’s own are rolling, fat
and unchecked, over his cheeks.
He flinches when one of the heavy scanners hits the floor near Rehanon’s head.
He stares at it for longer than is warranted until Jim’s eyes -so blue, bluer
than anything Spock has ever seen; he wants to drown in them and never surface-
fill his vision. Spock glances down at Jim’s mouth to see his lips moving, but
all Spock can hear is static and a distant, piercing tone that is long and
unbroken.
“-n’t have much time,” Jim is saying when Spock is able to force his hearing
under control. Jim’s gripping Spock’s biceps. He’s strong enough to rattle
Spock slightly when he’s shaken. Spock’s unsteady grip finds Jim’s wrists. His
fingers are sticky with blood, spreading the filth further up Jim’s arms. “It
was self-defense, okay? Spock, do you understand? What you did was self-
defense.”
Spock should laugh; he should scoff at Jim for a human trying to explain the
logic of one’s actions to a Vulcan. He can’t, though, because all he can think
about is Rehanon’s hands on Jim’s thighs, the resigned shame in Jim’s gaze when
their eyes had met, the way Rehanon’s skull had caved in under Spock’s hands.
Spock swallows, tasting the metallic tang of blood in the air, feels it
saturating his pores. He wonders if he looks as bad as Jim. He feels like a
monster.
Mother, he thinks, Forgive your son, but I was only protecting… I was
protecting...
Spock had only protected what was his.
And he knows now, kneeling in the blood and gore of the Pegasus’ Captain, that
the buzzing in his head that is rocking through his body… He knows now exactly
what he had protected. The buzzing is a word, an understanding, a promise.
“T’hy’la,” Spock says, and it’s the first thing he’s said since he stepped foot
in the exam room.
Jim’s entire being bows towards the word even as his expression twists in
exhausted confusion. “What?! Spock, what did you say?”
But by then, it is too late. Security is pouring through the doorway and the
memory becomes a blur of action and words, too many words, and where were they
taking Jim? Why were they taking him? Spock is the one that killed the Captain,
not Jim! Jim’s lying! Jim’s lying!
But no one listens to Spock, though his father watches Spock like he sees to
the very core of his son. He may very well be for all that Spock feels broken
open. Jim is taken from Spock as they're led in separate directions. Spock is
led by his father and the First Officer-cum-Acting Captain. Jim… Jim is hauled
off by security, and he can hear Jim's mother.
There is steel in her voice and demands on her tongue, and Spock wants to he
next to her, demanding to be kept with Jim.
A woman, gentle looking and soft spoken crouches in front of Spock, trying to
capture his attention. He stares at her, that's all he gives. He remains sullen
and silent; in shock, they say, but that's not it at all.
And Spock knows his father knows it. He steps out of the room to speak with
Spock's mother who is more frantic than anyone else, and Spock hears “tel” and
“telan” and breathes deeply.
The woman is tending to Spock's wounds, quietly trying to soothe him with
mindless chatter. He feels a desire to shove her away, into the wall, again and
again until she, too, slumps to the floor. He doesn't startle at it, he merely
examines it and realizes then that it simply is not only his emotion.
He's no longer alone in his mind and, just as he thinks this, the bond opens
like a sigh, like it'd always been there and Spock had just needed to open the
door.
Spock?
No fear or hesitancy lace his name; only a genuine curiosity and a soul-deep
understanding that they both will explore in time.
Jim. ~
Spock leaves Leonard and the memory behind. Standing outside of the medical
bay, he pauses to gain a sense of the base ahead of him. It's only a bit
quieter than it was when they'd first docked, but it makes no difference now.
Spock knows exactly what to look for. It calls to him like his own void. He
pinpoints the negative space that is Jim and allows it to guide his steps
forward.
Chapter End Notes
     Tel/Telan - Bond/Bonding
***** (Dangerous) Your Love Is Always Dangerous *****
Chapter Summary
     Spock finally has a moment alone with Jim and learns why, after all
     these years, Jim finally revealed himself.
Chapter Notes
     I am so sorry for the delay, but man, this chapter kicked my ass.
     It's longer than the others by a few pages and a couple thousand
     words.
     To be safe, I'm going to say expect another two weeks for the next
     chapter, and two weeks after that for the final chapter. The outline
     is finished, and I just need a day or two break after this monster
     broke my brain. Please enjoy!
Perhaps the crew is wiser than Spock was willing to credit them, because none
of them try to stop him on his way to Jim. It is either that or they simply
believe him to be one of them now. He thinks it foolish either way, but simply
because he knows he's on his way to murder their leader.
Jim’s void leads Spock throughout the base and to the very heart of it. He
turns a corner and stops. At the end of the hallway, Winona stands in his way,
and every one of Spock's hackles rise to greet her.
“I can't let you do this, Spock,” she says, and Spock steps towards her,
stopping again when she matches him with her own step forward.
“You are no more in control of my actions now than when I was a child,” Spock
replies, anger taut in his tone. His fingers twitch, wanting to curl around her
throat like before. It's a dream, and it's a nightmare.
“You have no idea what's going on,” Winona says, harsh and entreating in the
same breath.
“Nor do I care. Had I simply been a stranger, the hospitality alone would
incite disapproval,” Spock responds, and now he stalks towards where she stands
firm. All the while, that void beats at him, claws into him desperately. “I am
no stranger, though, Ambassador, and I am going to fulfill my promise to you.
You've had enough reprieve.”
Winona lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. “You couldn't kill me then,
and you can't now.”
“You must know that after your death, I will go on to kill Jim,” Spock says
quietly, so close now that their shoes touch. He knows he's exuding his desire
to kill; he sees the fine tremor under her skin.
“You need to listen to me,” Winona says, almost a whisper. She swallows
reflexively as Spock touches her throat with the tips of his fingers. It's
intimate in its threat, thumb stroking down the hollow to press against her
pulse. She keeps hold of his gaze, a blue faded past its years. The color
disgusts Spock.
Logic dictates that he do exactly what she says; stop and listen to her words.
He will kill her anyway, a moment or two surely would be no waste. There's a
wave of violence that laps up his spine like the ocean at his feet. He hates
seawater, but he obeys and presses his thumb deeper, watching her eyes dilate
slightly.
“Spock,” Winona says, and he approves of the steadiness of her voice. “There's
much you don't know. He's…”
Spock arches a brow then realizes her gaze has slipped to the side over his
shoulder. Spock doesn't pull his hand away, but he becomes very aware of that
quiet behind him.
“Mother,” Jim says pleasantly. “I see it's not safe to let you wander around on
your own.”
Something is holding Spock back now, refusing to let him take his hand, to let
him spin and take Jim out. He stands, frozen to Winona, and he growls, low and
dangerous. Her eyes meet Spock’s one more, only very briefly before she’s
peering at her son again.
“It's fine, Jim,” Winona says. “He was just apologizing.”
“I'm sure,” Jim says, and the smile is serpent slick in his tone. Spock’s gaze
goes half-lidded at the sound, a shiver working down his body against the
violence in his system. “Run along now, Mother.”
Spock’s fingers release Winona as she steps back. She flicks a glance at Spock
then disappears back the way Spock had come. He turns to face Jim, whose hands
are casually in his pockets as he rocks on his heels.
“Did you have fun with Bones?” Jim wonders, gaze knowing and sly.
Spock feels a pang of desolation; it's a hollow, empty thing that cradles the
end of his bond in a fetid grave. He allows it to simmer, to boil away the
memory of fresh sunlight and the dew staining his robes, of Jim.
“Doctor McCoy was adequate company, as always,” Spock replies, vowing to
himself, here and now, that he won't lose himself to this Jim, this unknown
variable that is inserting itself into Spock’s life like it has always been
there, like it belongs there. There is nothing but the past stringing them
together, so it will be easy to cut those ties and move on.
He straightens his stance, folding his hands behind his back. He thinks he
might be able to forget this in the long-away future, lost in the dark and
alone, because Vulcans bond for life and the thought now of finding someone
that isn't Jim…
...He'll take the comfort of Jim's permanent death at his hands, and maybe -
just maybe- they'll both know peace.
Or something like it.
Jim's mouth curves into the scarring on his cheek. “Something like that,” he
echoes Spock’s thoughts eerily. He tips his head, indicating the door to his
left. “You should come in. I'm sure you've got plenty of questions, Huntsman.”
It's not really a suggestion, and while Spock could easily overpower Jim, it's
only logical that he collect what information he can before returning home.
Then, Jim surprises him by turning his back and heading through the door,
seemingly trusting Spock at his back.
Spock’s stomach absolutely does nothing at the thought. It's just as likely
that Jim doesn't perceive him as a threat. He refrains from baring his teeth as
the the display would be wasted in the empty hallway. He feels murderous,
inquisitive, off-foot...lonely.
His mother would have approved of his range of emotions. With that thought,
Spock follows Jim into a large room divided by a panel markedly Vulcan based
off of its geometric design. Spock sees the corner of an unmade bed just beyond
it, but turns his attention to Jim as glasses clink together.
Jim stands at a table near the large desk dominating the rest of the room. It's
just as messy as the glimpse of Jim's bed. For some reason, Spock finds it
endearing. He wants to burn it to the ground. Jim pours a rich amber liquor
into one glass and a darker brown liquid into the second.
“Why are you here?” Spock asks as the sharp bitterness of chocolate plumes
around Jim. It settles against Spock’s olfactory receptors, just like Jim's
soft huff of amusement settles against his skin.
Jim turns, holding both glasses in one hand and pulling out one of the guest
chairs at the desk. “Are you going to ask me the meaning of life next?” He
wonders, gesturing for Spock to take a seat as he rounds the desk to sit in the
main chair. It creaks, worn and abused.
It's fitting, Spock decides, and though he prefers to stand, he takes the
offered seat. He sits straight, serious and unyielding. When Jim sets both
drinks on the desk between them, Spock resists the urge to purposely inhale.
“I do not drink,” Spock says flatly, adding 'often' to himself, and Jim grins.
“I have it on good authority that you're lying, but as it happens… This one is
mine.” Jim shrugs and pushes the liquor closer to Spock, taking the chocolate
beverage for himself. He swallows a mouthful then settles back in his seat,
rolling the edge of the glass on the desk as he contemplates Spock.
Spock watches Jim lick his lips, obviously chasing the aftertaste. This is much
worse than actively imbibing the chocolate, he decides, left to imagining just
how rich Jim's mouth would taste if Spock were to claim it.
“Because I'm planning something big.”
The words float to Spock from a distance. Jim's mouth ticks upward, and Spock
looks away from it, up to Jim's eyes. They're amused and crinkled at the
corners. Spock arches a brow in question.
“The answer to your question,” Jim clarifies, tapping the glass once. “Usually,
I'm not on base. I don't like it much to tell you the truth. It's not the
answer you want, but I'm not in the mood for that topic.”
Spock categorizes Jim's words, his inflection. He remains straight in his seat,
but his sternness relaxes enough to take a sip of the liquor. It's untainted,
not that he suspects Jim would poison him, but he is always careful.
Notwithstanding his recent experiences with Leonard, that is. He regards his
glass for a moment to center himself before looking back at Jim.
“And that is why you had the doctor bring me in?” Spock asks, long fingers
wrapping fully around his glass. He sets it on the desk, but doesn’t let go. It
feels a little like an anchor, and he worries that he’s giving too much away by
the very fact that he’s remained in Jim’s vicinity without violence. Jim should
already be crushed under Spock’s boot, a step up from the muck of the past that
is sucking at Spock’s legs. “This big plan of yours, you require assistance of
a Vulcan nature.”
Jim’s gaze cuts to the side for a brief moment, and that is its own tell. He
stands, framing the rim of his drink with his fingertips as he paces away from
the desk to a cabinet near the dividing panel. Spock downs the rest of his own
drink while Jim’s back is turned and sets the glass aside noiselessly. When Jim
turns around, he eyes the empty glass but says nothing, returning to his seat
with a data chip hanging from a short chain. He places it halfway across the
desk, and Spock arches a brow.
“I don’t require a Vulcan. I need the Huntsman; you,” Jim says firmly,
expression fierce. Spock ignores the chill down his spine, a premonition of
what this could be about. His heart rate increases by forty-seven percent.
“There are many mercenaries available for hire,” Spock replies, not assuming
that Jim means him personally. “Those of whom would welcome the pay I’m sure
your group can afford by the looks of it.”
“Don’t be obtuse.” Jim very nearly cuts Spock’s words off with the harshly-spat
retort. “Use that big Vulcan brain of yours and ask yourself why I’d bring you
in now.” He leans forward, bracing his arms on the desk. He still holds the
chocolate in his hand; the drink is almost gone, and it twinges at the edges of
Spock’s awareness that it’s barely enough for a sip. Jim should just finish it
already so that Spock can lick the dregs of it from Jim’s mouth as he steals
the life from his lungs.
“No,” he hears himself say, refocuses on Jim, and doesn’t take back the
negation.
Jim presses on, relentless as a fire burns bright in his eyes. “After all this
time, why would I do this to you?”
Spock knows now what’s on the data chip between them. He feels the sensations
of hot and cold chase themselves across his skin. His heart thumps painfully in
his side; once, twice, and then keeps a steadily-increased pace. He tries to
regulate it back to its normal resting rate, but Jim is there and the truth is
between them; unspoken and ugly, it’s practically a wailing specter come to
spread its putrid disease.
He can’t bring himself to acknowledge it aloud. The void clogs his throat,
brings him memories of stories woven by a younger version of the man across
from him. Stories built of hope and revenge where Spock had tried to redirect
them to closure and their future. It hadn’t worked then, and Spock had been
swept away by the grandiose schemes of his t’hy’la and their entwining
emotions.
He remembers the echo of Jim’s pain and suffering, recalls the rage that had
swept through them both as Jim’s memories had spread across Spock’s limited
experience like shadows in a dark land. There were wings in the inky black,
beating out whispered promises of power and control; both of which they each
lacked in their youth.
“Don’t break on me now.” Jim’s huff is impatient, signalling that Spock has
been quiet for too long. “If you’re this easy, you’ll never be of any use to
me.”
Instantly, Spock is wrathfully calm. It settles into his bones, a familiar
second skin. Spock stands, and just a moment before he moves again, Jim
snatches the data chip off the desk. The desk crashes into the panel, crushing
it under the heavy material against the bed and a dresser that had been on the
other side of the Vulcan divider. A few pieces had splintered in Spock’s grip,
and he drops them now on the floor between himself and where Jim still sits.
Spock advances once; it’s enough to bring himself into Jim’s space. “I
apologize, Commander, but I do not believe I heard you correctly. Please repeat
yourself.”
The data chip flips slowly through Jim’s fingers. He smiles, an unpleasant
reminder of how sweet he can be, and stands with all the grace of a predator
who’s getting his meal exactly how he wanted it.
What a shame that he doesn’t realize that Spock will not be so easily eaten.
“If I can break you so easily so soon,” Jim almost murmurs, his tone low and
inviting. “You’re useless to me, a waste of the recycled air in my base.”
Spock doesn’t move and they’re toe-to-toe, mirroring how close Spock stood to
Jim’s mother earlier. This time, though, he’s not looking down at her, but
meeting Jim’s gaze straight on. Jim is provoking him, deliberately. Spock knows
this, knows it as deeply as he once knew Jim. After all, that was how their
bond had worked; Jim’s emotional state bled into Spock and Spock… Well, Spock
had craved every bit of it.
“Where’s the Vulcan that wiped out Terran E-Class 42 for destroying the refugee
camps?” Jim asks, adopting boredom now, a curious disinterest. “Bathed the
Orion children in the blood of their slave masters?”
“That is enough.”
“I want the Vulcan that flayed the skin from Captain Soval’s hands for losing
himself to pon farr and attempting to claim your beloved.”
Spock’s fingers twitch and curl into his palms. They don’t look away from each
other, and Spock knows the next words before they leave the tip of Jim’s
tongue.
“I want my Vulcan that crushed a man’s skull for touching me.”
~”You should not allow them to believe this lie,” Spock says quietly, hands
folded primly over his knees. He’s kneeling in front of the clear divider
between himself and Jim. Jim is lying on his back on the cot attached to the
wall. One foot is swinging back and forth, socked toes barely brushing the
floor. He hasn’t looked at Spock since he snuck in. He doesn’t need to, seeing
and feeling Spock just fine through the bond that is still steadily forming
between them.
“You and me both know it’s too late for that, Spock,” Jim huffs, slowing his
foot until it stops. He can feel Spock’s distress, though, and he sits up to
scrubs his hands over his face. There are fresh bandages on Jim’s fingers, but
Spock deliberately avoids thinking about them. He understands now that Jim
doesn’t appreciate acknowledgement of his perceived weakness, of his humanity.
“Besides, it ain’t so bad. They believed the self-defense, so now I’m just…” He
trails off with a shrug.
“They are sending you with the other survivors until you have come-of-age.”
Spock drops his gaze to his hands as Jim comes over to sit, cross-legged, on
the other side of the divider.
“You heard Mom,” Jim says, dipping his head to search for and catch Spock’s
gaze. When they connect, they both lift their heads back up in tandem, Jim’s
mouth quirking. There’s a chipped tooth on Jim’s left side, a cuspid that took
the impact against the biobed. Spock ignores that too. “She’ll bring you to
visit when she comes.”
Spock watches Jim for a moment then replies: “You don’t believe her.”
Jim sucks his teeth and grins a lopsided thing, a bloom of chastisement circles
between them. “She ain’t that good at keepin’ promises.”
Spock is shaking his head, reaching across the unstable bond to bolster the
feeling of their connection. His touch is unsteady, hesitant. He is too young
to have fully grasped the meaning of a bond, let alone a bond such as the one
he now shares with Jim. He think he succeeds, though, when the set of Jim’s
shoulders inch down just a bit in relaxation.
“You are my t’hy’la, Jim. Not everyone here understands, but the ones that
matter do, and they know it is a crime to keep two such as us apart while our
bond is so new. We will have to visit often to ensure a permanent, healthy
bond. Your mother will have no choice but to accept this. In fact,” Spock
allows Jim’s burgeoning amusement to infect him, smiling just a little, “my
mother will insist upon it until my father ensures my prompt arrival for each
visit.”
“Your mom’s way scarier than mine.” Jim is grinning, though, so Spock knows he
doesn’t truly mean the word in its most basic definition. “She said she wanted
to take me home and stuff me full of sweets until I rolled around like ball on
account of bein’ so big.”
Jim is picturing the description even as he says it, sharing glimpses of it
with Spock as best he can. It will take Jim much longer to learn how to control
his end of the bond. His mother still finds it difficult at times even with the
length of her relationship with his father. Spock isn’t worried; he knows that
he and Jim have a lifetime ahead of them to learn and grow together. He’s met
Jim now, so he can be patient.
“While I understand her need to make sure we do not go hungry, I see no benefit
in being so encumbered that you have trouble moving.”
Jim laughs, lighting up their bond with unfiltered happiness at Spock’s
response. In turn, Spock glows with pride at making Jim laugh. He lifts a hand,
pressing it to the divider. Jim matches him effortlessly, fingers spreading to
copy the Ta’al. His gaze is bright, unfettered, open. It takes Spock’s breath
away.
“I ain’t ever met a Vulcan like you, Spock,” Jim says, the memory of their
first encounter flitting like a hummingbird across the bond.
“You never will,” Spock replies tightly. “Because I am yours, and I am the only
one.”
Jim hums and there’s a thrum in their bond, an echo of the desire to make
someone feel the same pain as he does. Spock thinks of how he'd wanted to hurt
the nurse, to keep fighting, after his fight with Rehannon. That thrum turns
into a sigh of approval, and Jim’s fingers curl against the glass, violent in
their tension. Spock is caught by the fire in Jim’s eyes.
“That’s right,” Jim breathes. “You’re mine. My Vulcan.”
“As you are mine,” Spock says. “And no one will dare harm you while I stand
beside you.”
“Because you’ll kill them.” Blunt and truthful, Jim is holding Spock’s gaze
like it’s a vow Spock is making. Spock can’t look away, can’t move his hand
from the divider. Every single atom that forms him is drawn, magnetized, to
Jim. Beneath the increasing thrum, Jim’s mind is chanting ‘mine, mine, mine’.
And Spock accepts it readily. “Yes.”~
“I am not your Vulcan.” Spock speaks the words easily, because they’re true.
He’s disgusted for having to keep reminding himself of that. He watches Jim’s
expression sour so completely that he imagines he can feel Jim’s fury as he
once could, as if it were his own.
The open hostility disappears almost instantly, leaving Spock with nothing but
the phantom anger whispering over his skin. The fine hairs at the back of his
neck are standing; he ignores the sensation. What he can’t ignore is Jim daring
to step right into him, daring to stand chest-to-chest with Spock, and daring
to smirk in Spock’s face.
“If that were true, then I wouldn’t still be standing, would I?” Jim said,
unblinking and challenging; clearly insane for challenging a violent Vulcan.
Somewhere, Spock suspects the Fates - a human concept he’d read about some time
ago - worship at the feet of Jim’s likeness, honoring him with gifts humans
shouldn’t possess. Perhaps that is Jim’s reward for the trauma he’d endured for
years. “Anyone else would be paste on the floor, wouldn’t they? But you just
can’t do it to me. I wonder why that is, hm?”
Spock can’t even open his mouth. His jaw is clenched so tightly to avoid rising
to Jim’s bait that the moment he so much as even twitches again, he’ll break.
So, of course, Jim pushes further, pushes in until his mouth is there, speaking
the words against Spock’s lips with one sure, heated breath that still carries
the sweetness of chocolate.
“Because you’re mine.”
Instead of red, Spock sees blue. Jim is so close, so tangible, that Spock
falls. He drowns in the depth’s of Jim’s gaze, and he lets the rage drive the
breath from his lungs in a snarl. He barely registers the sheer relief in Jim’s
sigh as the heel of Spock’s palm punches into his chest.
“You dare claim me still?” Spock snarls. “I have mourned your death. You are
dead to me.” The still-rational part of Spock’s mind, sliver though it may be,
half expects Jim to be able to fight him off, but his primal side gives a cry
of blood lust when Jim stumbles back to double over. He’s fighting to draw in
air, one arm sliding over his chest in instinctive protection, never taking his
eyes off of Spock.
Which means, there’s no surprise when Spock advances immediately. He grabs
Jim’s other arm, that hand still clutching the data chip, and drives his cross-
palm into it. He feels the elbow give, hears the splinter of bone and then
Jim’s bitten-off grunt. Dropping Jim’s arm, Spock stoops enough to grab Jim’s
knee on the same side. His fingers are already digging into the patella as he
drags Jim’s leg out from under him. The fragile bone crumbles under his touch
and adrenaline is fresh and fast in his system as Jim is slammed to the ground.
Jim’s troubled breathing registers distantly, alongside the fact that he isn’t
defending himself at all. Spock uses the very plain shoe he’d been gifted by
the Silence to pin Jim’s chest to the floor. He meets Jim’s gaze, the blue now
dimmed a bit from pain. He holds Jim’s leg suspended, threatening, trembling
with the release.
Jim smiles up at him, and it’s red with blood. “There you are.”
A roaring rushes through Spock’s mind, the void rejoicing as its echoed by his
voice. He uses the pressure of his hand and arm to twist and snap Jim’s fibula.
The leg drops from his grip, hitting the floor limply, broken. He lowers
himself to one knee then the other, straddling Jim’s thighs and purposely
applying weight to the injured leg. Jim’s grin only sharpens.
The rage is spent in less than ten seconds. It dies down, receding from the
forefront of Spock’s mind slowly until he can place a hand on the floor beside
Jim’s head. He spreads his fingers flat, bracing himself as he leans over Jim,
angling down against him to increase the pressure.
“Hello there,” Jim purrs, voice thick with pain and something else, that
something else that presses an insistent heat against Spock. The scent of it is
prevalent in the air, and Spock curls his lips back from his teeth because he
can’t deny his own answering arousal. It’s something he’s never been able to
shake; a lingering trait he’s absorbed from his bond with Jim.
Jim likes violence and the sharp bite of agony, and Spock learned to like it
too. He’s hard and restrained by his slacks, driven by adrenaline and instinct,
and he briefly ponders the onset of pon farr, but logical thinking -what’s left
of it momentarily- disperses the concern. The only explanation is the madness
of Jim’s proximity. He stares down at Jim, observing the stuttering rise and
fall of Jim’s chest, the fluttering pulse in the hollow of his throat.
Jim shifts his broken arm, and Spock doesn’t move to stop him, watching as the
crippled movement brings Jim’s hand within an unacceptable range to Spock’s. He
can practically taste the pain firing through Jim’s system with the
propinquity, and almost shifts to close the gap.
“Don’t you wonder what it would be like again?” Jim asks softly, unable to work
the angle any further; the ruptured bones won’t allow him to curve his arm
enough. His pinky stops a pitiful length away from Spock’s exposed wrist.
Spock always wonders, trapped in the hell of a dead bond and a mocking void, an
endless sea of black and quiet where Jim used to be. But Jim is here, right
beneath Spock. And instead of glaring angrily like Spock had envisioned before,
Jim’s half-lidded and aroused after Spock has beaten him. It would be so easy
to lower himself, curve downward and take what he wants, take Jim’s mouth,
touch fingers, and try to reclaim what they once had.
But he’s still a void, still blocked and silent when Spock dares to creep a
tendril of thought Jim’s way; it’s something he can’t understand yet. The only
logical answer has to be the Erufassen connection between Jim and Leonard. This
close together, there should be no other reason why Jim and Spock can’t
reconnect their bond. Surely, the universe would see to it as it once did.
Jim rocks up at what he must see in Spock’s expression, dragging their hips
together once before Spock forces Jim to still with the weight of his body. He
won’t let Jim take this from him; the choice to pursue what Jim is offering is
Spock’s alone to make. Even aroused, Spock can’t shake the betrayal driven into
him every second he looks at Jim, can’t shake the insanity he’s endured because
of the man beneath him.
“Do you wish to reconnect?” Spock asks. “Is that what you offer? Or are you
simply trying to sway me to your mission, using me as you would anyone with the
skills you require? Would you ever have come to me, sought me out, otherwise?”
“Oh come on,” Jim complains in a huff. It slurs a little. “Does it need to be
about that? You’re hard; I’m hard. We’re both human, and we’re all a little mad
here. Nothing wrong with fucking crazy, Spock. You’ve done it before. Deep in
the mine, remember? Our first argument; you let me take you against the rocks,
no oil, no prep…. You begged me for it, and I gave you what you wanted.”
Spock swallows once as he listens to Jim then sits up. A week before Jim had
died; the heat of Jim’s words is frozen in place by the reminder. He wants to
turn his gaze away, but he does not. The data chip lies at the edge of his
peripheral, dropped from him breaking Jim’s arm. He leans over to pick it up,
grinding weight down against Jim’s leg further and feeling Jim tense through
the motion.
“I will go,” Spock says after a moment, composed now as if the brutality never
occurred, as if they weren’t both achingly hard against each other.
“With me,” Jim rasps. His lashes are trembling as he begins to lose the fight
to consciousness. “I’m going.”
“I would expect nothing less when it comes to confronting Kodos,” Spock
replies. He presses his other hand to Jim’s chest again, bearing down against
it just to feel the wheeze of pain rattle inside him. “And after-”
Jim’s eyes shut, finally releasing Spock from the trap of his gaze. “You’ll get
what you want.”
Spock arches a brow, trying to ascertain the sincerity in Jim’s statement.
“After that bastard is dead, I want you to kill me.”
Spock smiles.
~~
Leonard is not the one treating Jim when the nurse finally pulls the curtain
back. She’s asking Jim to wait patiently while the replicator reforms his
fibula, ticking away information on the PADD in her hands. Jim’s chest is bare
from the treatment to his sternum; his shirt lies discarded at the foot of the
biobed he and Leonard are sitting on. It doesn't surprise Spock that Leonard
isn’t setting the machines; Leonard suffers the same pain as Jim does from his
injuries. As soon as he gets a visual of Spock standing across the hall,
though, he shoves off the bed.
“You goddamn, green-blooded, knife-eared, piece-of-shit, hobgoblin!” Leonard
shouts. “I oughta inject you with the Neptune Plague and then disembowel you
before you turn into jello!”
“Sit down, Bones,” Jim says pleasantly, leaning back on his hand that isn’t
broken, “and shut up before you give me a headache.”
His gaze sweeps over Spock where he stands, relaxed in parade rest. Spock
returns his gaze with a bland look, his hands bound behind his back once more.
He is composed outwardly, but he is still derailed mentally where arousal wars
with sanity; another problem he seems cursed to carry around Jim as no one else
has ever managed to incite such emotion within him.
He wonders if he would’ve given in atop Jim if they hadn’t been interrupted.
Leonard had burst into Jim’s quarters, in agony, with security to haul Spock
away from Jim with force that would have injured a human. Despite Jim's
insistence that everything was fine, a compromise had been reached and Spock
had been restrained. Again. He is not surprised considering Jim seems to find
it endlessly amusing.
“You- He-” Leonard takes a deep breath and points a threatening finger in
Spock’s direction. Spock’s brow arches. “Sternal fractures. Broken ulna and a
compromised pisiform. Shattered patella and fibula, and a medial malleolus
fracture.”
“You are correct, Doctor,” Spock says, because he is the one who’d given Jim
the injuries. He’s very aware of what he’d chosen to break. He only wishes it
hadn’t affected him so thoroughly. He is having a hard time looking away from
Jim; the length of him, the feel of him still fresh in his thoughts.
“I swear to that heathen god of yours that if our hands are in pain from this
forever, I’m going to practice taking the skin off you in one whole piece.”
Jim rolls his eyes and grabs the scruff of Leonard’s neck with his injured
hand. Spock watches Leonard pale a little with the echo of pain in his own
hand. He begins to feel apologetic for causing Leonard pain, hurting him as
well as Jim, but then he remembers why that’s possible, and the guilt is swept
away by a grim satisfaction. His affectionate regard for Leonard only carries
the doctor so far.
“Sit. Down.” Jim’s soft tone brooks no argument this time, and Leonard obeys
with a put-upon huff. Jim lightly flicks the eye patch that now adorns
Leonard’s face. It earns Jim a glare that’s less threatening for being only
half if Jim’s grin is anything to go by.
Spock knows that hardly anything could spoil the good mood Jim is in, and he
finds himself distantly wishing he could share that feeling with him. He also
knows that Jim is very aware of his presence still in the room. And yet, Spock
feels out of place, outside, a...third wheel, if one must. It curls in his
stomach, acidic and ridiculous, the longer he watches Jim and Leonard interact.
They're easy in a way Spock and Jim are meant to be, in a way they never got
the chance to be. He doesn’t even know if they could have that now. The void is
ever present in Spock, as Jim, screaming silence that reminds Spock that Jim
hadn’t cared enough to come to him. But he wants it, and Spock…
Damn him to every species’ hell, he still wants Jim. He wants the chance to
reform their bond and to feel Jim’s rightful claim on him. He wants Jim to
reject Leonard’s touch because it does nothing but make him ache for Spock’s.
Jim glances at him as if he can actually know Spock’s thoughts. His thumb idly
rubs into the base of Leonard's neck, eyes lidding and mouth curving, daring
even after Spock had proven his willingness to hurt him.
“You’ve got the most dour expression,” Jim says, and that soft tone he tends
towards curls around the words in a mocking lilt. “Did you learn that from Papa
Vulcan?”
“After living through the death of a t’hy’la, I’ve found it quite natural to
wear a flat expression when needed,” Spock responds, his tone as flat as his
expression. Then, as an afterthought: “Though, yes, my father does seem to
champion a calm veneer.”
Leonard snorts, but says nothing as he crosses his arms. Jim squeezes Leonard’s
neck again briefly, and Spock can see the slight wince from Leonard, the
tensing of his own hand. Jim is causing himself pain again. It does nothing to
quell Spock’s arousal. He very nearly bites his tongue to help stave it off.
“Go away, Bones,” Jim says after a moment.
“Are you se-”
“Bones,” Jim repeats, and he doesn’t sound as casual about it anymore. Spock’s
eyebrow ticks upward slightly, watching Bones shove off the bed again to glare
at them both. Then, he blows out a breath and relaxes.
“Fuck up the regenerator, and you’re gonna wish he’d killed you,” Leonard says
to Jim, smile a touch mad.
Jim touches his tongue to his canine, smirking. “Promise?”
If possible, Spock’s expression flattens further. He shifts, only a little, but
it’s enough to draw Jim’s attention again.
“Yeah, yeah,” Leonard muttered. “I’ll be back later.”
It’s quiet after Leonard leaves the room, save for the almost-silent hum of the
regenerator encasing Jim’s leg. Spock braces himself, wills his crumbling
resistance to stand firm. Jim opens his mouth, and Spock knows he’s already
failed.
“No.”
Jim purses his mouth, eyeing Spock strategically. Spock can see the gears
working behind his gaze. “Come here.”
“No,” Spock repeats.
“What if I said please?” Jim grins.
“I would consider requesting the nurse to check your cranial scans,” Spock
answers, reluctantly enjoying the quiet laugh Jim gifts him.
“I’m hobbled at the moment, and you’re restrained. Not much we can do to each
other even if you get closer.” Jim says this with straight face, eyes widening
a fraction to appear innocent and thoughtful.
Jim has never looked innocent. It’s a wasted attempt.
“If I actually believed that were true, I would not waste my time standing
here,” Spock informs him. He does roll his shoulders once, adjusting the angle
where his bound hands rest. Jim’s gaze sweeps over him once more, lingering at
his thighs, his hips.
“Please?” Jim requests. The guileless tone of it actually moves Spock forward
before he realizes it, and he visibly rolls his eyes when Jim grins at him
again. “See? You do still respond to manners.”
“I do not need my hands to injure you,” Spock warns him and reminds himself.
His breathing has increased almost imperceptibly again and the restraint creaks
as he rolls his shoulders. The charade is in vain as even now, especially now,
Jim knows him too well.
He reaches out between them, not breaking eye contact with Spock as his hand
hesitates mockingly then purposely hooks into Spock’s slacks to drag him closer
to the biobed. Spock’s thighs press against the bed, and he clenches his jaw.
He needs to stop this, to step back and drag Jim’s broken body to the floor if
he must.
They’re going to kill Kodos and then Spock is going to kill him. There is no
room for yearning after what they’ve lost. He tries to call up his pain, the
agony of Jim’s death.
~/”Spock!”/~
“I’m waiting,” Jim challenges him, brows raised. His fingers, from knuckles to
tips, are a burning brand against Spock’s pelvis and lower abdomen. He slides
his thumb up the front of Spock’s slacks to the clasp. The memory slips away,
and Jim licks his lips. “Well?”
Spock imagines then that he can feel Jim through the void, straining to reach
him just as desperately. His side hurts, heart beating painfully at thought of
Jim sharing this misery, unable to sate it in any other way. They might not be
able get back what they’d lost, but they can still have this. Spock can still
give Jim this.
“If you bite, I will snap your neck,” Spock states, and he’s at least able to
hide the break in his voice as he gives in to Jim and the need that Jim has
always stirred in him.
Jim groans, gaze dark as he pushes Spock’s slacks down. Spock makes no move to
stop him, warnings blaring through his mind until the quiet of the void, of
Jim, swallows them whole and drowns them out. Jim licks his lips again as he
pulls Spock’s cock free from the material. He trails his fingers over the
subtle differences of Spock’s length, light and teasing.
“What would you do then? Ignore the erection or finish yourself?” Jim asks, and
Spock waits to answer until Jim’s hand wraps around him fully to stroke once.
On the downstroke, he smirks.
“Perhaps I will find the Admiral to see if you received your oral skills from
your mother.” He’s anticipating the pain before Jim’s nails dig into the
sensitive flesh of his shaft. It only spurs Spock on, flooding him with bright
arousal until he’s hard in Jim’s grip. Much deeper, and Jim’s fingers will be
drawing slits of green blood.
“I’ll tolerate a lot, Spock,” Jim says softly. “But I’ve already warned you
about touching my mom.” His thumb does draw blood then, and it beads up above
the nail before sliding down between his fingers. Spock’s hips twitch and
still.
“Do not worry, Jim,” Spock replies, his name coming on a sigh as Jim begins
stroking in a casual, steady pace. The restraint binding him creaks as he
shifts his arms. This is a horrendously bad idea, but like Jim said, Spock is
half human, and even he falls prey to physical pleasure. Leonard is proof
enough, and this is Jim. Jim’s eyes on him. Jim’s body. Jim’s touch relearning
the shape of him.
It’s enough to make his thoughts hazy and his head spin. He wants this in a
visceral, animalistic way. And, if he’s honest with himself, the moment Jim was
revealed and Spock stayed, he’d known that any vow he'd make would be in vain.
His path will always lead him here, lead him to giving Jim everything that is
in his power to give, even when that means giving Jim all of himself.
“Do not worry,” Spock repeats, giving away how breathless he is just to see
Jim’s pupils dilate further, to hear Jim’s heart rate trip and speed up. He
pushes his hips into each of Jim’s downstrokes, thighs working against the
biobed with each movement. “You will be dead when I get to her.”
Jim’s gaze shoots up to Spock’s face, his lip curling away from his teeth. It’s
a warning, but Spock doesn’t care. All he cares about at the moment are the
exquisite bursts of sensation where Jim is bleeding his cock. He searches for
friction in Jim’s hand.
“And I will give her what she asked for all those years ago,” Spock husks, head
tipped at a slant as if he still has his fringe to keep out of his eyes. “And
then a little more. I have noticed human females have a fetish for Vulcan
cock.”
It’s that one step too far for the cruel possessive streak Jim has in regards
to Spock. So when, in the blink of an eye, Jim is sinking his teeth into
Spock’s shaft, Spock knows he provoked him purposely.
His orgasm is agonizing, breathtaking.
He shudders, hips held still by the threat of ripping Jim’s teeth along his
cock, and Jim swallows down Spock’s release with a sharp glare through his
lashes. Spock finds the glittering anger mesmerizing, stifling the urge to lean
down and claim the taste of himself out of Jim’s mouth when he finally pulls
back.
There’s green blood painting Jim’s lips and chin. Spock is entranced, but Jim
is clearly unhappy with him, for all that he got his way. After a moment
though, he rolls his eyes and runs his tongue across his lower lip. “You should
have that looked at. It’s easy to catch diseases in bases this old.”
Spock just takes a step back, his cock lying against his hip and pants, wet and
abused. Blood streaks the dark material. “It seems good fortune to already be
in medical then.”
The nurse chooses that moment to return, as life goes sometimes, takes one
glance at them, and gives them both a look of disgust. She pulls the curtain,
saying, “I’ll just get McCoy,” and fairly stomps away.
***** Death Becomes Him *****
Chapter Summary
     The mission is put into motion with little more than revenge leading
     the charge, and Spock is provided more pieces to Jim's puzzle.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Clearly, you’re not thinking this through,” Pike says, tapping his fingers on
the war table like he’s two seconds away from punching it. Frustration etches
its way along the deep lines of his face, and Winona briefly touches his
shoulder. “You’re letting your past cloud your judgement.”
Jim snorts so hard that Leonard winces. “Where’ve you been, old man? My past
has been driving my judgement since that bastard locked me in a room.”
Winona’s gaze slides down, away from Jim, but Pike is having none of it. He
taps the table again before pointing at Jim. “You’re not planning a detain-and-
kill, Jim. You’d gather your strike crew for it and, forgive me if I’ve gone
blind in my ‘old age’, but I don’t see Hikaru here. You’re planning a goddamn
suicide mission.
“If you’re right, if the intel is right… Jim, he’s built himself a fortress in
a Dominion Dreadnought. A dreadnought, Jim.”
“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Jim says, letting his head drop back against
his chair. He pushes his foot out against the chair Leonard is sitting in,
rotating his own back and forth with a little bit of pressure. He looks up over
the back of it, meeting Spock’s gaze. His mouth quirks, and Spock doesn’t miss
the delight that chases itself across Jim’s expression.
Spock might feel more charitable towards Jim’s good mood if the blood flow to
his hands wasn’t still restricted. It’s something he could ignore if he really
chose to, but he’s distracted by the sheer awareness the rest of his body is
still experiencing having been physically intimate with Jim. He fears it is a
slope he won’t be able to ascend again, and he’s slid to the bottom into Jim’s
waiting void.
Winona’s presence across the room is the only thing keeping Spock’s head above
that void and, consequently, the only thing keeping him from sliding into Jim’s
lap and giving in again. The look Jim is giving him currently seems to concur
with Spock’s thoughts, but Jim has been distracted for far too long by simply
staring at him. He jerks suddenly, head dropping to glare at Leonard, who’s
sporting -of all things- a fresh papercut.
“Where did you even get that?” Jim asks petulantly, eyeing the small piece of
paper Leonard is tucking into his pocket.
“Jim, please,” Pike interrupts.
Jim sighs and shakes out the stinging in his finger before getting to his feet.
He grips the back of his chair, swaying for a moment towards Spock like he’s
drawn by force. With the stillness around Spock’s splinted bond, Spock knows
it’s most likely just that Jim doesn’t want to have this conversation.
“He may have a dreadnought, Chris, but his crew doesn’t fill it. At most, he
has close to sixty.”
“Oh, is that all?” Pike asks sarcastically. “And how many of us are you
planning on taking?”
Jim’s cocked eyebrow is answer enough.
Pike and Leonard begin to speak over themselves, but Spock wins the battle
without even trying.
“I believe that to be unwise, Jim,” Spock says steadily. “While the success
rate of a smaller unit than your security team is high, a two-man mission is
too great a risk. Your survival rate would drop drastically.”
“Planning on killing me the moment we’re alone, Spock?” Jim asks, mocking and
inviting in the same breath.
“Most likely,” Spock responds. After all, he will most likely always plan on
it; that does not mean he would go through with it...could go through with it.
“Absolutely not,” Winona states firmly, and Jim grins at whatever expression
leaks Spock’s distaste for her. “I’m not letting you go alone with him.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion on the matter,” Jim says drolly. He
smacks the top of the chair lightly and moves around the table. Pike
straightens as Jim comes closer. “Or yours, Chris, for that matter.
“Your lack of faith in my skills is appalling, but not unexpected. I am mature
enough to understand that I don’t know how I’ll react coming face-to-face with
Kodos.” Jim stops, gaze off to the side as he becomes lost in a memory of his
past that Spock half expects to be shown. Six years Jim’s been dead, and it’s
only take a handful of days to ruin every defense Spock had thought he’d come
to erect.
“And because I’m so mature,” he continues, “You’re coming with me. It’ll be the
five of us, and no more. If you don’t accept that, then you’re welcome to stay
behind and stand by your principles.”
“You’re making a mistake, kid,” Pike growls tightly. Jim’s mood twists, and his
quiet is almost deafening. Spock thinks Pike is either oblivious or stupid,
because he continues. “I don’t confess to understand all that crap that’s going
on between you and Spock, but that’s no reason to go off half-cocked and get
yourself killed.”
Jim turns to look at Pike, head tilted. He moves forward, steps slow and
silent, coming to stop just a foot away from Pike.
“I’m not scared of you, kid,” Pike sighs, and it’s tired and mostly sad. “I’m
too old for this shit.”
“By all means, then.” Jim’s lip curls up a little. “Continue questioning me,
and I’ll make sure you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
Out of nowhere, Winona’s palm cracks against Jim’s cheek, snapping his head to
the right. Behind him, Leonard bites his tongue and comes out of his seat to
stop Spock from moving forward.
“Stand down, Jim. I’m sick of it.” Winona waits a breath, watching the angry
stillness on her son’s face. “Do you even hear yourself right now, or has every
one of your brain cells fled to your goddamn dick? No? Sit down and shut up for
once in your damn life.”
Neither of them pay any attention to Leonard and Spock’s minor scuffle that
stops completely when Jim takes a step back then takes the closest seat.
“The five of us will be fine,” Winona says, staring Pike into quiet and Jim
into a guilty fidget. “Besides, with Spock, we can count ourselves as six, at
least. If you let him go, probably seven. I suggest - suggest, that we pack
light and take the smaller shuttle. The Nautilus has better dampening
capabilities. Are we agreed?”
Jim’s cheek is a mottle of red and white from Winona’s palm, but he nods once
all the same. Pike, eventually, acquiesces with an incline of his head.
“Now, get my son out of my sight.” Winona paces away, pressing a hand to her
brow. Her face is pinched, and Pike goes to her side. He speaks too lowly for
Jim and Leonard to hear, but Spock isn’t surprised by the intimacy Pike is
expressing.
“Come on,” Leonard grunts at Spock, and then he’s shuffling Jim out of the war
room, leaving Spock to trail after them in confusion. He’s shocked that the Jim
he’s coming to know would allow someone such a liberty, even if it is his
mother. To be struck without retaliation seems so unlike this Jim.
His confusion must be palpable, because Leonard keeps shooting cautious glances
back at him as they walk. His hand is latched around Jim’s bicep, but Jim’s
stride is steady as they head towards Jim’s rooms. He stops, though, and
Leonard and Spock follow suit.
“Jim?” Leonard questions.
“Take him back to the cell.” Jim’s tone is soft, much like it had been on the
day of Spock and Leonard’s arrival. It does not surprise Spock, then, that
Leonard doesn’t even question the command. He turns to Spock with a look that
practically dares him to make a scene.
Spock briefly considers it, but then he decides against it. He’s been running
on adrenaline for the past few days; drugs and stress have kept him from proper
sleep, so perhaps being detained in the cell would afford him the chance to
actually rest. He merely arches a brow at Leonard in response, half-turning to
face towards the other hallway.
“Don’t keep me waiting,” Jim warns Leonard just as softly, then disappears the
rest of the way down the hall and around a corner.
Spock doesn’t see Jim again until Leonard leads him to the shuttlebay. Jim
stands at the Nautilus’ ramp, wearing what most of his base seems to wear; the
classic black pants fit him well, as does the deep blue of his vested tunic.
Spock appreciates how the outfit accentuates Jim’s bared arms, but not the
sight of the scars he can see sporadically bisecting Jim’s muscles. He’s almost
grateful when Jim pulls on an old leather explorer’s jacket; he’s able to keep
his hands unclenched at his sides as he and Leonard reach the Nautilus.
Pike gives Leonard a nod, glancing at Spock briefly before heading into the
ship where Spock can hear him speaking to Winona. They discuss the time from
jump to warp, and then how long it will take to arrive at Jim’s coordinates.
The distance is great enough that their shuttle will be able to reach maximum
warp before having to decelerate.
Spock wonders at the five of them being together for so long in such a small
ship, but none of the others seem concerned. At least they seem to no longer
have the tension from the meeting. That’s good; it’ll be less explosive should
something go wrong before arrival.
“There you are,” Jim said as he turns to Leonard, shaking out the sides of his
jacket to let it settle properly on his shoulders. “I thought you might have
gotten lost. Did you forget what time it was? Or did you linger?”
Leonard returns Jim’s sly gaze with a dry one of his own. “I didn’t touch him,
Jim.”
Spock settles his stance, folding his hands behind his back. A wise decision
since Jim’s next move is to reel Leonard in by the front of his shirt to kiss
him. He doesn’t know what point Jim wishes to prove now, but it does stir
Spock’s anger, so maybe that’s all there is. Even moreso when Jim’s eyes meet
Spock’s.
“Do you like the view?” Jim wonders, nuzzling into Leonard and licking his
lips.
“No,” Spock replies flatly, honestly. “But I must keep the promise I made you,
and killing you both now would not do that.”
“Thanks, I think,” Leonard says with a snort, eyeing Jim as he drapes himself
around Leonard’s shoulder. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Jim responds. He lifts his hand to stroke his thumb along
Leonard’s jaw, watching Spock the whole time. Leonard makes a disgusted noise
and worms his way out from Jim’s side.
“Take your foreplay somewhere else,” he mutters, walking up the ramp into the
shuttle.
“Bones, you’re in with me,” Jim says after him and smirks a little when he
notices the muscle that has ticked from Spock clenching his teeth. “Jealousy is
a good color on you, Vulcan.”
“Red will be a better color when it’s your blood,” Spock retorts and, for some
reason, it makes Jim laugh and push into his space.
“If we’re going to be nasty about it,” Jim whispers, head tilting so his words
trip along Spock’s jaw line. “Then I’d say I won already. I tasted your blood
all day yesterday, you know. Licked my lips and thought of you.”
“Caged again, like an animal,” Spock reminds him, body tense with Jim’s
proximity. “Because of you.”
“Yes,” Jim says, eyes dark and lidded. His tone is low, pleased. “Held because
I said so, caged because I wanted it. You go where I say, come when I say. And
you will, won’t you, Spock? Always come when I call.”
Spock arches a brow, unable to deny the truth, but Jim’s words don’t require an
answer.
“Perhaps if you were to actually call, your theory would pan out in your favor.
Must I remind you that you did not? You kept me, they all kept me, in the dark
for sixty percent of a decade. Had I known you were are on the other end of
Leonard’s offer, I am...uncertain if I would have joined him.”
Jim brings his hands up and slides them against Spock’s neck, then around to
press into the still-normal cut of his hair. His thumbs settle behind Spock’s
ears, pressing against his skull. Spock tenses further to stem the tingle of
awareness. His ears have always been sensitive, an erogenous zone for most
Vulcans. Jim knows this well.
“You wouldn’t have resisted coming to see me,” Jim said. “That rage would’ve
carried you here faster than my mother’s shuttle.”
“You wanted me here,” Spock points out, stating the fact with as little emotion
as Vulcans manage. “Why would you not wish it sooner?”
A shadow chases itself across Jim’s expression, and he slides his hands back to
cup Spock’s jaw before withdrawing them completely. “Because I wasn’t ready for
you yet,” he replies, and Spock knows that Jim is confessing something with
these words, but he doesn’t have enough information to understand.
Spock longs to reach out, to run their fingers together, to speak softly,
surely, with this man, with Jim, but he’s unsteady in their new...relationship,
unsure yet what liberties Jim will allow. “And you are now?”
“I don’t know,” Jim says, and it’s hollow and honest. “But I want to be.”
“Jim!” Pike calls from further inside the shuttle. “We’ve got an ion storm
rolling in. Sulu’s picking up the take-off.”
Jim turns and heads up the ramp into the shuttle, leaving Spock standing at the
base, reeling from the impact of Jim’s words. His impassive expression flickers
briefly before he exhales and follows Jim into the main cabin.
~~
Spock is restless. It’s not a feeling he experiences often, and he usually
calms himself by sparring, but he’s encased in a small space with barely enough
room for the five of them to have privacy. So he sits in the cockpit, watching
nothing but the blackness of space as he tries not to think about Leonard
bunking down with Jim.
Thankfully, they’re all retired for the time being. It doesn’t surprise Spock;
he wouldn’t expect Winona or Pike to be interested in making conversation
considering Spock would find himself hard-pressed not to hurt Winona. He’s
beginning to think he’s going to have to let her live to rebuild his
relationship with Jim. The thought curdles in his gut, but he puts his head
back and closes his eyes. He’s done worse things for Jim.
This moment feels surreal; the steady thrum of the shuttle around him is a
quiet companion to Spock’s solitude. The gaping maw of loneliness opens wide to
swallow him whole, but there’s a tether just beyond his reach. It’s a lifeline
he knows he hasn’t seen in years, never expected to see again, but it doesn’t
matter. He will need to seek his father’s counsel, but he’s sure that as long
as the Erufassen connects Jim and Leonard, it’s a tether he’ll never be able to
grasp.
He imagines remaining this way for the years until Jim’s natural death,
imagines it like quicksand slowly pulling him further away until Jim is gone
and the sands of time pour into his mouth, his nose, covering his eyes. He
wonders if it will be worth it in the end, or if he should help Jim with his
revenge and then simply walk away.
There’s a sudden negative space behind the cockpit, a wall of nothing that
would send shivers across Spock’s skin if he wasn’t already becoming used to
it. He opens his eyes to the black of space again, his gaze heavy-lidded with
pensive adagio and his heart beating a bereft lover’s pace.
There would be no ‘simply’ about it. Whatever may come in the aftermath of
their reunion, their parting will always be destined to be unbridled. He should
record this entire encounter, keep it exact and honest, infallible. He should
use it to remind himself in the future what it was like to be swept away again,
to lose autonomy to the force of Jim’s very existence. He will wonder one day
where he went wrong, and this would remind him how the winds of change had
tested the stability of Spock’s control, and he’d fallen to them like any other
dying leaves in the gales.
Even for himself, Spock’s prose is becoming burdensome. He should retreat now
before it’s too late and find a darkened, empty space in which to meditate and
reconnect with himself. He’s been under sustained assault since leaving Earth
with Leonard; he requires a break and feels he’s earned it.
“Should you not be resting?” He asks instead, very aware that he will blow away
in this gust of wind with his eyes open. The quiet moves closer, and Jim braces
an arm on the lower ceiling of the cockpit, his other hand rests on the back of
the pilot’s seat. Spock can feel the warmth of Jim’s fingers close to his neck.
“Bones doesn’t sleep well on shuttles,” Jim answers, tone low as it has been
since Spock has reunited with him. In the hush of the late hour, though, it’s
intimate. “If he kicked me one more time, I was going to break his leg.”
“An unwise decision considering where we are headed and what we intend to do,”
Spock replies, hands settling on his thighs, fingers lax. He must relearn how
to remain calm in Jim’s presence, cannot continue to lose control so quickly
when Jim has no true influence over him. It’s nigh impossible to keep a stable
barrier between them, though, especially when Jim casually draws two of his
fingers up the line of Spock’s neck. There come the chills Spock had avoided
earlier.
“That’s why I made the mature decision to take a walk through the shuttle
instead. Imagine my delight in finding someone else to spend my time with.”
“Surely you would do better with Pike,” Spock hesitates, lip curling, “or your
mother; discussing stratagems seems to make you a lively bunch.”
“You really need to let that vendetta go,” Jim says on a sigh. “It’ll never end
the way you want it to.”
“Because you will stop me,” Spock states flatly.
“I won’t have to.” Jim says it with such assurance that Spock knows he’s
thinking of how easily Spock conforms to his will. Spock doesn’t further the
conversation. Silence reigns for a minute, maybe more, and Jim’s hand is still
on Spock’s neck. Spock makes the mistake of leaning into the touch. He can
sense Jim look down at him, feels Jim squeeze his neck, and he knows bone-deep
what Jim will do next.
Spock moves his hands just as Jim slides around to straddle his lap. He’s a
solid weight on Spock’s thighs, a heat so familiar that Spock can almost tell
himself that they’ve been doing this for years. He meets Jim’s gaze, and they
watch each other, still in silence. Spock resettles his hands on Jim’s hips,
thumbs finding purchase in the groove where his thighs begin.
Jim’s eyes lift and he brings his hand up to touch the straight line of Spock’s
bangs. “When I saw you in the hallway, I could hardly believe it was you,” Jim
says quietly, and Spock’s expression remains passive, politely schooled. “I
thought Bones had fucked up and brought me some pretender, some fake Vulcan
that cried Spock to infiltrate my base.”
“You have a high opinion of yourself,” is Spock’s dry response. It causes Jim’s
mouth to tick upward towards his scars.
“Someone has to or I wouldn’t be in control of my crew. Do you think I command
them with my stunning good looks?”
“You are disparaging the scarring,” Spock says, brow arching. “Do you not feel
it becomes you?” Truth be told, Spock hates looking at it almost as much as he
hates the rigid style of his hair, feels strangled by the conventions of his
species. He assumes the scarring comes from Jim’s death, the mending of his
body coming hard-fought.
“It is exactly what becomes me,” Jim murmurs. “Kalo’smi loka-ksaya-krt
pravrddho.”
Spock had not forgotten that Jim is exceptionally brilliant, “The Bhagavad
Gita,” he says, and it’s a little breathy, because Jim’s intelligence has
always been entrancing, arousing.
Jim’s gaze darkens as Spock watches, and his hand slips from Spock’s hair to
the back of the chair. He leans in, ducks down as he draws Spock’s chin up with
his other hand. “I am become death.”
The words herald themselves across Spock’s mouth, and he parts his lips to
inhale them, too eager to take what Jim offers from the tip of his tongue.
“You are my warrior, and I implore you to do your duty,” Jim continues, and the
kiss is so close that it thrums through Spock’s veins, spikes his heart rate
until he’s sure Jim can feel it pounding away against his knee. Jim shifts,
rolling his hips down and keeping them pressed together.
Spock has watched many humans, including Jim, lick their lips, but never has he
felt the urge to do so himself. He does now, anticipation and teasing in the
pass of his tongue over his bottom lip. It brushes against Jim’s lip, a hint
and no more, due solely to proximity. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock sees
Jim’s pulse jump in the hollow of his throat.
“You are no god, Jim,” Spock intoned, actively attempting to hide his reaction.
“I am your God,” Jim countered, taking Spock’s mouth then with a deep and
claiming sweep of his tongue. Spock lets him, gives in to the demand of Jim’s
kiss, and invites him further, fingers curling, digging into Jim’s hips. The
void tastes like static on Spock’s tongue, dark and cloying. In what feels like
another lifetime, Spock would have known everything in Jim’s heart through the
breath they shared. Now, he doesn’t even have the luxury of the usual light
inference he would get from simple skin-to-skin contact.
Jim bites at Spock’s lip, drags it with him as he leans back then lets go with
a smirk as he rocks down against Spock’s stirring cock. He taps a staccato
against the back of the chair before using both hands to draw the tunic over
his head. Spock doesn't give him the satisfaction of drinking in the sight of
his bared chest. Instead, he runs the tips of his fingers along the outline of
Jim's cock through his pants, firm enough to feel, but too light for much
friction.
“I think I'm going to let you fuck me,” Jim announces, heading tipping slightly
back as he shifts against Spock’s hand. It sends arousal, spiking hot, through
Spock’s system, though he immediately suspects an ulterior motive. It has
always been clear to Spock that Jim views sex as a weapon, having experienced
brutality and punishment via sexual transgressions.
“I shall note the momentous occasion.” Spock grips Jim through his pants, the
heel of his hand pressing in hard and dragging along the shaft. Jim’s arm
tenses beside Spock’s head and Spock lets his eyes partially close, peering at
Jim through his thick lashes. “Dear Diary, James allowed himself to be
sodomized by my person this stardate. I am unable to adequately state the
emotional reaction I am experiencing. I require meditation.”
It is enough to get Jim laughing, an obnoxious but warm sound that seeks to
burrow into Spock’s side and beat his heart faster. His hand slides down Jim’s
thigh as Jim comes up on his knees, digging a hand into his pocket to pull out
a thin disk. Its center appears hollow, belying the thin film that holds sealed
lubricant.
“You know, I’m almost convinced that’s exactly what you recorded after our
first time together,” JIm teases, flipping the disk between his fingers until
Spock gives in and glances at it.
“I assure you that it was not,” he comments, then: “That is not enough to
properly prepare you for my size, and well you know it.”
“Oh, I do,” Jim fairly purrs, dropping the disk into Spock’s palm and pressing
it there with the tip of his finger. “But I’m sure you remember how good the
burn of it can be.”
Spock is pointedly careful to not touch Jim’s fingers as he takes the disk, an
endeavor that will most likely prove fruitless in the end, but one he attempts
anyway. Jim is right, of course; Spock does remember the burn of it and how
quickly it had consumed him when Jim had only pressed in that much deeper, that
much harder, leaving Spock gasping and dazed and utterly ruined for anyone
else.
No, Spock decides to himself. He won’t give that to Jim, not right now, not
like this. He resettles himself in the chair, forcing Jim to follow suit to
stay comfortable. He’s grinning now, thinking he’ll have his way, and Spock
allows it.
“Remove your pants, Jim,” Spock says, relaxing back against the chair. When Jim
pushes to his feet, bracketing Spock’s body as he stands on the chair, Spock
settles his chin on his hand, the disk between his middle and pointer fingers,
as he watches. His free hand runs up the outside of Jim’s leg from knee to
thigh, squeezing the muscle as Jim undoes the clasps and starts pushing the
material down.
Jim’s cock makes an eager appearance, almost fully hard and already damp at the
tip. It flushes red under Spock’s quiet scrutiny and Jim reaches down to stroke
himself, grunting a bit at the touch. Spock gives Jim approval through a short
hum and assists him by pulling the material down until Jim is kicking his
slacks back behind him off the chair.
“Would you like a taste?” Jim asks, using the pad of his thumb to spread the
first drops of his precum along the head of his cock. It shines briefly under
the swell of the flared tip, and lust flutters in Spock’s stomach, pitches into
the base of his own cock and floods his mouth with the desire to say yes.
“No, you may continue,” Spock answers, smooth and unaffected. He places the
disk in his lap and watches Jim for a few moments, smoothing his palm down
Jim’s calf to lightly grip his ankle. He wants to squeeze until he feels the
fine bones grind together, but he knows now that that’s what Jim is after. Jim
wants the pain, likely for more than that it arouses him, but probably because
he wants to fuck with Spock and Leonard, using each against the other. And so,
Spock just keeps his touch light, ignoring the quiet that seeps through the
contact.
Jim strokes himself slowly, taking his time in drawing his pleasure out for
Spock to view. His chin dips down, mouth set in a smirk that pulls at his
scars. Spock’s pinky shifts as he meets Jim’s gaze, settling just below his
mouth. Jim focuses on it.
“You’ve had plenty of these, I bet,” he husks lowly. “These private little
shows where you sit there and let your lover prove how badly they want you. I
heard you’re quite popular among Vulcans and humans alike. Did they all excite
you?”
Spock doesn’t answer.
“No, I bet they didn’t. Not really, because they couldn’t give you what you
really needed, could they? Did you watch them and think of me?” Jim asked,
scraping his nails along his shaft until he digs one into the tip of his cock.
His hips jerk and stutter, and he groans thickly. “Did you touch them, let them
touch you, and imagine it was me?”
The simple response to all of Jim’s questions is ‘yes’. Though, he’d come close
to a willful forgetfulness with Nyota. His brow furrows before he guides Jim’s
hand away from himself with the back of his own. He does not want Jim to cause
himself pain, doesn’t want Leonard involved in this anymore than he already is.
He disguises the intent by taking hold of Jim’s waist and encouraging him to
come back down on his knees.
Jim allows it, sinking gracefully back down against Spock’s. He pushes his
hands into Spock’s hair and tips their mouths together again. Spock retrieves
the disk and snaps it, feeling the lubricant spill down his fingers. “For the
rest of your long, long life,” he whispers against Spock’s lips, “you will
never think of anyone but me. You’ll never crave anyone but me.”
“I accepted that curse nine years ago,” Spock responds as he presses the first
of his slick fingers to Jim’s body. He lets it drift along the muscle, gentle,
teasing. “Even your death could not end it.”
“Do you love me still?” Jim wonders, and there is no cruelty in his tone for
how cruel the question is itself.
Spock answers this easily, honestly. “I do not know you.” And he eases his
finger inside of Jim, slips it in with no resistance, and revels in the
pleasure that spirals through his hand and up his arm.
“You do. You just don’t like that you still love what I’ve become,” Jim
counters. “It’s a bit of a thrill, isn’t it? Wanting to stick your dick in a
monster like me? Do you think it’ll save us, when you do?”
“No. I do not believe anything will save us.”
Jim stares at Spock for a few beats of Spock’s heart, hips rolling once as
Spock’s finger loosens him. “You’re far too honest,” he decides on a breathy
hum then kisses Spock again.
Jim’s heat is a temptation, calling for Spock to plunge the rest of his fingers
inside until Jim’s a writhing mess in his lap from pain and pleasure. He
briefly considers pushing, pushing, pushing until Jim’s body widens enough to
fit the breadth of Spock’s fist. The idea hardens him, dampens the constricting
material of his pants. He will not, though. He savors taking his time, working
Jim open on each new finger until Jim -the Jim /before/- would have been
begging for more. Not this Jim. Only once does Jim demand that Spock cease his
teasing. His cock is flushed red and caught up against his belly. It drools
precum down his stomach, pooling in his navel like an invitation to Spock’s
mouth.
Spock resists, but only just. Jim’s will is too strong to squirm and beg, but
the dark color on his cheeks and the glittering anger in his gaze is enough for
Spock to know that he’s pressing his very strained luck with his actions. Not
that he’s concerned. He spreads all four of his fingers inside of Jim, lost in
the clench of Jim’s muscles, the pull against his hand to take him deeper. He
could spend the rest of their journey this way, soaking in the pleasure of
having Jim like this, surrounding him, making him feel in some way, even if it
isn’t in all the ways he wants.
He withdraws his fingers, catching the rim of Jim’s hole with the tip of his
index. He listens to Jim’s breath stutter then eases his cock inside of him.
Jim’s back arches as the ridges under the flared head of Spock’s dick pop past
the fluttering ring of muscle, and even without his ability to feel their
connection, he knows there is no unaccounted for stretching, no burn or spark
of pain. It’s easier to tell when Jim deliberately yanks Spock’s head back
against the pilot seat, teeth bared in reluctant pleasure.
“I am not fragile, Vulcan,” he warns. “If you do not give me what I want, I
will take it from you.”
Spock’s mouth ticks up at the corner, and he palms Jim’s ass to stall him long
enough for Spock to not lose himself in the overwhelming realization that he is
finally, finally a part of Jim in a way he hadn’t been in years. He
desperately, abhorrently, wants to give into the emotion and give Jim exactly
what he wants. He wants to gather Jim close and bury himself inside of him,
burrow down until he can hide in the void of their bond. He wants to break him
some more, bruise and bleed him, mark him until Leonard, until others, would
rather cut their own hands off before touching Jim again.
“You will not,” Spock asserts, unable to stop the arousal from coloring his
tone. He slides his palms up along Jim’s back, guiding him closer despite Jim’s
irritation. He stops when their foreheads meet and he meets that anger straight
on, bracing his heels on the floor and flexing his hips slow and steady to
tease their bodies with the gentle motion. He feels Jim’s body tighten
reflexively as he drags his cock against Jim’s prostate then drags against
Jim’s hole as he relaxes his hips again. “You are welcome to try.”
Jim’s breath punches out from behind gritted teeth as Spock hits that spot
again, but to Spock’s surprise, he doesn’t attempt to force him faster, harder.
He leaves their foreheads together, holding Spock’s gaze, and begins to rock
down against each flex of Spock’s hips. It’s maddening, how slow they fuck. The
space is confined, their lips brushing with each softly-panted breath. The
sounds of their sex is trapped between them, and the quiet dissolves into the
background as Spock’s whole world, his whole focus narrows down to the pulse of
Jim’s heart and the clench of heat around his cock.
“You still love me,” Jim whispers roughly. Spock’s gaze lifts from Jim’s mouth,
and Jim rubs his thumb along Spock’s cheekbone, tracing the muted green flush
tinging his skin. A moment later, that thumbnail is digging into the
subcutaneous fat between his cheekbone and jaw. “It’s so fucking obvious that
it’s pathetic to think you actually believe you’ll walk away from me.”
Spock expects Jim to further goad him into violence, but he keeps their pace
the same. He continues to dig his thumb in until Spock feels his skin split
under the nail.
“You can’t walk away from me,” Jim growls thickly, as if it were a demand, an
order, but Jim says it, so Spock is simply to accept it. Their polemic nature
is to begin and end at Jim’s words.
“Jim-”
“When this is done and you kill me, you won’t walk away.” Jim drags his thumb
against the cut, widens it, and Spock feels the blood bead down his cheek. His
cock twitches inside of Jim and the groan is pulled from his throat. “Bonded or
not, your place is here.”
Spock can only watch as Jim draws his hand away to eye Spock’s blood sliding
down his thumb into the crease of his palm. He wraps that hand around his cock
and uses it to stroke himself.
“Jim,” Spock groans, dropping a hand to curl his arm around Jim’s waist. He
lifts Jim only slightly, enough to give him room to thrust up properly. He
hears Jim’s breath stutter, feels his body clench, and he does it again, and
again. He lowers his head, stares as his blood spreads across Jim’s cock with
the blur of his fingers.
“Come on, Spock,” Jim growls further, the words harsh without enough breath.
He’s panting as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge, blood and
precum joining sweat to become a sticky mess in their laps. The scent is
powerful, intoxicating. Spock’s thoughts are blown apart.
He feels flush all over, overheated and overwhelmed. He thinks, again, that
somehow Jim does still have sway over him beyond the emotional, because he
knows that Jim is right. He will do as Jim says; he will remain here when all
tasks are complete. He belongs here; he belongs with Jim. It tries to not make
sense, tries to ask how Spock could be tied to a place where Jim no longer
exists, but he loses that train of thought in Jim’s hoarse moan.
“I want to hear you say it,” Jim demands, and he’s flushed just like Spock,
lips bitten red and shining from his tongue. “Tell me you love me.”
Bidden to the tip of his tongue so forcefully, Spock nearly bites into the
words as his jaw slams shut around the admission. Jim shoves himself down onto
Spock sharply, locking his knees to keep himself in place as he leans forward.
He sweeps the flat of his tongue along the shallow, bloody cut on Spock’s
cheek, drags the tip to Spock’s ear and says, ‘Tell me,’ once more before he
bites down on the sensitive point.
Spock is swallowed up by Jim, losing himself in a starburst of sensation. Along
the way, he feels the vibration of his voice and knows he’s given Jim the
truth, knows it further when Jim spills his orgasm over his fist. His pleasure
is almost quiet, contained, until he presses his filthy fingers to Spock’s
mouth and gives a rasping groan when Spock accepts them easily between his
lips.
Jim’s expression is sated and exceptionally smug, as Spock knew it would be. He
may have not gotten the pain that he wanted, but Spock’s admission has given
him something infinitely more powerful. At the moment, Spock is too loose-
limbed to care.
They waste a few minutes to calming down, and Jim spends the time rocking
absently against Spock. It sends shivers along Spock’s nerves from
oversensitivity, and he sits pliantly, enjoying the stimulation. Eventually,
though, the discomfort of the mess sets in, and he politely shoves at Jim’s
leg.
“I wish to clean up,” he states, and he regrets that his tone is soft from sex,
but Jim doesn’t call him on it. He simply smooths the hair on the back of
Spock’s head before stretching one leg then the other until he stands from
Spock’s lap and does a full-body stretch. “Come shower with me while the
cockpit is sterilized.”
“I do not believe a second round of the same activity is advisable,” Spock
responds with an arched brow. Especially not, considering that Leonard sleeps
in the room.
Jim’s look plainly calls Spock on that. “It’s just a sonic. Not much room in
those for one person, let alone two attempting to fuck.”
Spock has the sudden desire to see Jim pinned to wet tiles. He imagines Jim’s
tanned skin pressed against the white porcelain of his shower on campus, and
when he blinks, he’s standing on the other side of Jim’s bedroom door. It’s
closed, and Leonard is peacefully sleeping in the bed on the right. Jim has
already dropped his clothes on the floor and is fiddling with the sonic on the
left side of the room. Spock simply sighs and goes to Jim’s side.
Later, they’re back in the cockpit, albeit in separate seats this time. Jim’s
feet are propped on the console as he devours an Orlesian dessert consisting of
baked, sugared fruit and whipped cream.
“No, that’s not it at all,” he’s saying, food pushed to one side of his mouth
to speak while he chews.
“But you killed the remaining crew on Deneva, did you not?” Spock asks,
watching Jim eat in morbid fascination. “Is that not where your name derived?”
“It’s not my name,” Jim replies with a shrug, a shadow of memory crossing his
features. “It’s Bones’.”
Spock blinks then tilts his head and blinks again, clearly confused. “Leonard
is the Devil of Deneva? I do not understand. All rumors point clearly to the
leader of the Silence.”
Jim rolls his eyes and sucks a bit of sugar from his thumb. “Of course they
would. That’s what we want. The crew coined the term before the massacre. They
weren’t… Mm, they weren’t very thrilled with Bones using voodoo on their base.
I guess Witch Doctor was too on the nose even for them.”
“You,” Spock realizes aloud.
“Got it in two,” Jim quips. “‘Unnatural.’ ‘Abomination.’ ‘The Devil’s work.’
Blah blah blah. He didn’t care; he’d succeeded. And I didn’t care until I did.”
“Is that why you killed them?” Spock asks.
“No,” Jim spits. “I killed them because they deserved it. After everyone that
died in the red matter explosion, the orphans… They still dared to bring
another group. Denobulans. Barely old enough to have had their ceremonies.
‘They don’t require as much sleep’, they said. Like that was some sort of
achievement on the children’s parts. ‘They can help us rebuild faster.’
I...snapped.
“The next thing I know, I’m locked in a cell on a ship in the Neutral Zone.”
Jim pauses to slurp some of the juices out of the plastic dish. A drop slides
down over his chin before he wipes it away with the sleeve of his night shirt;
it stains the gray cotton.
“The official reports state there were no survivors within the charred remains
of the atmosphere dome,” Spock says after a moment. He sees the columns of data
scrolling past before his mind’s eye, recalling the most important facts that
were pulled from the investigation; the second for Deneva following the initial
mining explosion. The ‘experts’ had decided it was simply another, overlooked
pocket of red matter that had detonated after delay. “The Denobulan children
were not in the report.”
Jim picks apart a baked pear without answering, and after a moment, Spock
thinks he understands.
“I see,” he says softly.
“I used to blame my mother for a long time,” Jim says, seemingly apropos. He
continues to focus on the pear, destroying its shape with diligent fingers.
“Everything that’s happened to me just felt like a domino effect from all of
her shitty choices, you know? Dad dies and she suddenly decides that raising a
kid is too hard? I get saddled with an abusive, drunkard uncle. She decides
that that wasn’t enough to get her to stay and sends me to stay with Auntie Em
on Tarsus-” Here, Spock’s hands curl into his fists, his nails biting sharply
into his palms. “-and we both know how that turned out. If it hadn’t been for
that, maybe I wouldn’t have antagonized Rehannon so much. Maybe Deneva never
would have happened. Maybe we never would have met.”
He shrugs and leaves the story there. Spock is left in silence to calm himself
down from the reminders of Jim’s past, of their past.
“I do not believe that to be possible,” Spock comments, pushing the words
through the barricade of his teeth. “Regardless of our current situation, it is
a universal constant that you and I are t’hy’la. We will always be drawn to
each other, no matter where or when first contact occurs.”
Jim’s entire body language had changed as Spock spoke, reorienting itself to
Spock’s direction, proof to the truth of his words. Despite the vicious twist
of his scars, Jim’s face is almost serene as he ponders what Spock is saying.
It’s easy, if Spock doesn’t look at him, to imagine that they’re not monsters
and murderers. They are simply Jim and Spock, and an entire universe lies
before them filled with the promise of the unknown.
“What if all of it had never happened?” Jim asks, leaving the plastic dish in
his lap to fold his hands behind his head. “Where do you think we would be
now?”
“‘What-if’s are illogical, Jim,” Spock states solemnly. He does not say that he
was thinking along the same lines. “You should put them from your mind, because
it does neither of us good to dwell on improbable things.”
Jim glances at him, mouth quirked and a look of fond amusement hinted at in the
depths of his blue gaze. “Improbable, but not impossible, Mr. Spock?” he
teases.
Spock ferociously shoves down the swell of adoration and inclines his head.
“Indeed.”
Jim sighs through his nose, turning his attention back to the space ahead of
them, and Spock follows his gaze.
“He’s been out there this whole time,” Jim says quietly, fiercely. “When I kill
him, I wonder if I’ll even feel relief at this point.”
“We will know soon enough,” Spock replies.
Jim hums and doesn’t respond. A few minutes later, Spock glances at Jim again
only to see that he’s fallen asleep, one foot leaning to the side as his body
had relaxed. The dish is threatening to fall from his lap, but Spock reaches
out to retrieve it, setting it on the console in a less precarious position. He
doesn’t attempt to move Jim, knowing that any contact would do little more than
just disturb him. He lets Jim sleep and hopes that it will be enough rest to
see them to the other side of this mission.
Chapter End Notes
     The Bhagavad Gita - Hindu Scripture
     Kalo’smi loka-ksaya-krt pravrddho - a line from the scripture, where
     Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty
     and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and saying the
     line that has most popularly been translated as: 'Now I am become
     Death, the destroyer of worlds.'
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