Chapter 1: The Arrival
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
How humans ended up on Vulcan. Second chapter (longer) will be up today as well....
Chapter One: The Arrival
The city of Sha’Kir on the planet Vulcan was unique. While is was not particularly large, nor was it a center of government or culture, it did possess one feature that no other city on the planet could boast.
It had humans.
More than 300 years before, a ship had crashed on Vulcan, just outside of Sha’Kir. Those of the Ruling House of the province, the House of Surak, had feared that the downed ship, filled with an odd, alien species, was perhaps the first scout ship of an invasion force from an unknown race. Another ruler might have simply killed the crew of this ship, but the Head of House, a young woman named T’Pau, was wise for her years and not inclined to make hasty decisions. She had simply confined these odd aliens and thoroughly investigated the ship, its contents, and its databanks. T’Pau’s people had quickly confirmed that these—humans, they called themselves—were not warlike; they were explorers, adventurers looking for life on other planets. Well, they had found that life.
T’Pau was a just ruler, but she was not soft. She had informed the leader of these 214 humans that he and his people were now her property, to serve her and her House for the rest of their lives. She had granted them a settlement in Sha’Kir, allowing them to build houses and gradually organize themselves into family units, which they did over time. The adults worked in farming, in domestic settings, and in handicrafts of various kinds. A few even came to serve their overlords in more—personal—ways. The lords of the House of Surak had soon discovered that humans, both male and female, were highly responsive and interested in the sensual arts.
The children (and there were children fairly soon after the crash; these humans were prolific) were given a basic education and aptitude tests. When they were old enough, they were assigned work as well. The original humans resented being made into ‘serfs’ as they called themselves, but within a generation or so, they no longer resisted. Humans were fairly fragile; most lived only seven or eight cycles of years, but they were good workers, and they were treated fairly, so over time, they and those of the House of Surak grew—accustomed to each other.
So it was when a young human and an heir to Surak’s House met for the first time....
Chapter 2: The Choosing
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
A young human named James makes a brave choice.
For those of you who may be worried, this is technically a slave fic, but there will be no whips, chains, auction blocks, etc. The whole existence of slavery in this piece is just a plot device to get Jim and Spck together. Also, a cycle of years in this story is about 10 years, so Jim is approximately 20 years old, or 2 cycles of years.
Chapter Two: The Choosing
James Kirk put away his pottery tools for the day, carefully cleaning his work space and implements with as little water as he could use. Here in Sh’Kir, water was precious, not to be wantonly squandered. James had lived only two cycles of years, but he knew that those-who-ruled were always concerned about the water supply.
James looked around his workshop, feeling a sense of deep satisfaction as he examined his wares on the shelves. He was glad that when he had been taken for testing, those-who-ruled had discovered his artistic talents and his ability to work with his hands. Unlike many of the People, James was fair of skin and light-eyed; it was difficult for him to stand the fire of the Vulcan sun. Field work would have been extraordinarily difficult for him. Fortunately, those-who-ruled were wise, and they allowed the People tasks that suited their bodies and minds. James had been trained in pottery work for five harvests; now he had his own workshop and supplies. He crafted both everyday items such as plates, bowls, and goblets for the People to purchase, and fine glazed and decorated pieces for the tables of those-who-ruled. In fact, he had just received a commission for a wine pitcher and goblets from Sarek, the lord of the province. James was thinking about inlaying the deep red cups with a faint tracery of silver; he would sketch some ideas tonight. He absently tucked one brown-gold lock of hair behind his ear. Those-who-ruled almost never cut their hair; it was a mark of their position that they could lavish time and water on caring for long tresses. Most of the People kept their hair chin-length or shorter, but James secretly liked the way his hair waved around his face. Still, I should get this cut; it is too hot, he thought absently.
“Son?”
James looked up. His mother, Winona, dressed in the soft beige robes worn by most of the female workers, stood in the doorway.
“Mother!” He rose to greet her. “What are you doing here?” He looked at hr more closely. She looked somewhat upset. “What is wrong? Come, sit down.” He guided her into his workshop and to a chair. “Are you thirsty?”
“No, Jim; I’m fine.” Her hands twisted together in her lap. “I just...I heard some news today in the kitchen of the lord’s house.” Winona was part of the lord Sarek’s domestic staff, a job she had held ever since she was old enough to work. She had started as a simple maidservant and had worked until she was now the seamstress for the lord and his family.
“What’s wrong?” James felt cold for a moment. “Is there a war?” Those who ruled often fought with other clans. The House of Surak was more powerful than most, but a war could still be a serious danger for the People, who did not fight and would be easy targets for trained warriors.
She shook her head. “No, nothing like that, thanks be to the gods. But this news may concern you.” She looked at her younger son. “The lord announced that his son has again requested a...companion.”
James felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cool, stone-walled workshop. Sarek, lord of this province, had two sons, all knew that. The elder, Sybok, lived within his father’s compound, as was tradition. He was a hard, cold man, but a just one. He was being trained to someday rule after his father had gone to the gods.
The younger son, however, did not live within his father’s estate. Little was known about this younger son. His name was Spock, and he lived isolated in a lavish villa in the hills outside of Sha’Kir. He was never seen in the city; indeed, no one Jim knew had ever seen him at all. His servants were nearly all Vulcans, not of the People, and the few who came to Sha’Kir for provisions and supplies were tight-lipped about their master. However, rumors followed Spock’s servants like carrion birds followed warriors on raids. Everyone seemed to have a theory as to why the lord’s son was kept in luxurious confinement—or why he chose to live in an elegant cage.
And now, each spring for the past five, Spock had sent a message to the Prefect of Sha’kir, signed with his father’s chop so that all might know it was a command. Each time, Spock had requested a companion of the People, a young man, no older than two cycles, a man who had not yet taken a mate. Each time, the Prefect had gathered such men of the People together and conducted a lottery, with each youth drawing a number from a drum. The one with the highest number had been dispatched to the lord Spock’s villa. None had returned. None had been heard from again.
James looked at his mother, seeing her pallor and fear. “Mother, do not worry so.” He leaned forward and gently patted her hand. “There are many of the People who are the right age. I may not be chosen. And even if I am, perhaps the lord simply desires more workers. We do not know that he has hurt anyone.”
Winona shook her head. “They say he is mad,” she whispered. “They say that is why his father confines him to that villa alone.”
“Well, what ‘they’ say and what is true may have nothing to do with each other,” Jim replied firmly. “There is no reason to fear without cause.” He glanced out the open doorway. “Come. It is almost dusk. We should go home.”
Spock of Vulcan, child of the House of Surak, stood on the wide balcony outside of his chambers, looking out into the night. The evening was cool, and Spock was wrapped in a hooded cloak of rich sapphire velvet. However, even if the night had been as hot as the fire god’s forge, Spock would still have worn his hooded cloak. He never left his rooms, not even to step out on the balcony for air, without donning a cloak and hood to hide his—disgusting deformity.
Spock stood on his balcony and looked down into the city, seeing the distant lights, hearing, quite faintly, the sounds of music and laughter carried on the night breeze. His mouth thinned, and his eyes were bitter. There was no laughter in his life, and no music anymore. Further, Spock knew his time was running out. How many more seasons did he have—three, four, none? And so far, no one had been able to help him, not his father and his expensive Healers, not the humans he had brought from the city one by one. Another would be arriving shortly; he would most likely fail as well. Yet there was nothing else Spock could do. He had to try. He had to hope, as illogical as hope was, that one day he would find the one who could set him free.
Three dawns later, James stood in the courtyard of the Prefect of Sha’Kir, along with those who also met the lord Spock’s requirements. Whenever the People gathered, there was usually conversation, laughter, the joy of being together. Those who ruled were solemn and quiet in their demeanor; the People were much more open. Today, however, there was no chatter, no laughter. The young men, their families gathered nearby, stood quietly, each awaiting his fate, each wondering if he would be the next one to disappear into the lord Spock’s home.
“Jim?”
James turned around, seeing his close friend, Leonard McCoy. Like Jim, the slim, dark-haired man with the deep blue eyes had not been sent to the fields when he was chosen for work; instead, he had been apprenticed to the local Healer. He greeted his friend with a handclasp.
“Len, why are you here?” Jim asked. “You are too old to be part of the choosing.”
McCoy shook his head. “The lord Spock, our benevolent master’s son,” McCoy’s voice was carefully devoid of sarcasm, but Jim knew him well enough to hear it anyway, “has expanded the pool of candidates to include those who have as many as three cycles of years.”
James frowned. “But you are to be married; the lord did not want any who had mates.”
McCoy frowned. “I told the Prefect this, but he says the marriage has not yet been solemnized, so I am still eligible.”
“But she carries your child,” Jim said in a low voice. Leonard had told him just three days before.
“And no one knows that; Jocelyn did not want to be shamed before the ceremony took place. Once we are wed, the fact that the child will come ‘early’ will be of no interest to anyone.”
“But it is still not fair,” James frowned.
“Tell that to the Prefect,” McCoy groused. With that, both men quieted as the Prefect, dressed in his robes of office, stepped forward.
“All know why they are here,” he intoned. “Each male will step forward and withdraw a number.” He motioned to the carved hollow drum that had been used before. The eligible males, James and Leonard among them, lined up and each took a number, as directed. Jim looked at his. It was fifteen. Since there were at least forty-five men in this group, Jim felt his chances of being the one chosen were slight. For some reason, that knowledge caused a faint pang deep inside. Jim frowned. Why would he feel so...disappointed that he was not to leave his workshop and join this unknown lord’s household? Next to him, James heard McCoy gasp, just as the Prefect spoke.
“The chosen number is thirty-seven,” he announced. “The one with that number must now step forward.”
Jim could hear Leonard’s soft moan of despair. In a flash, Jim remembered seeing Leonard and his intended at the last public dance, how happy they’d looked. He imagined Leonard’s pain at being separated from her and from their child. Before Leonard could even move, Jim grabbed his hand, snatching the slip of paper from him and pressing Jim’s own slip into his palm. Then James stepped forward, hearing his mother’s soft cry, knowing this would hurt her, but there was no time for that now.
“It is mine,” James announced as he approached the Prefect, his head held high, no fear in his green-gold eyes. “I hold number thirty-seven. I will go to the lord Spock’s home.”
Chapter 3: The Meeting
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Jim and Spock meet....
Chapter Three: The Meeting
“Jim, you can’t do this!” Leonard McCoy paced back and forth as he watched James pack his belongings. “Let me go to the Prefect, tell him the truth.”
Jim shook his head. “No,” he replied firmly, “and if you go to the Prefect, I will simply tell him you’re lying to help a friend. After all, I had the number; the Prefect saw it in my hand. I am going.”
“But Jim....”
“Len,” James said kindly, sitting in a chair and motioning McCoy to a seat as well, “you cannot leave Jocelyn and your unborn child. It would break both your hearts, and it would shame your family that the child would be born without your name. I am pledged to no one; I am free to go. Besides, the lord Spock might be angry if he received a companion who did nothing but pine for those he left behind.”
“But you don’t even know what he wants of you! What if he takes pleasure in pain, merely wants a companion in order to torture him?”
“And that’s supposed to make me want to let you go in my stead?” Jim asked. “I would not trade my skin for yours. Besides, I do not believe that is his purpose. He has granted me a day and a night to say my good-byes; he is allowing me to bring my possessions with me. He is the lord’s son; if he wished, he could simply order warriors to truss me up like a parcel and deliver me to him. I do not believe he will harm me.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” McCoy said frantically. “You can’t know what he wants!”
“Nor can you.” James hesitated. He could not explain the feeling he had, the feeling he’d carried ever since the lottery had been announced, the feeling that had compelled him forward to take McCoy’s number. “Len, I appreciate your fear for me. But, please. Do not worry. Somehow, I know I will be all right.” He rose. “I would ask one favor of you, if you would grant it.”
Leonard looked at his friend, the blue eyes shining with the tears that he would not allow himself to shed. “Anything, Jim; you know that.”
“Take care of my mother,” James replied quietly. “This will be very hard on her. Try to keep her from worrying as well.”
“Yeah, we’ll sit around and ‘not worry’ together,” McCoy said. He rose as well, hugging Jim close. “Be safe, my friend,” he said quietly. “Please be safe.”
At dawn the following morning, James Kirk stood in the courtyard of the Prefect’s home, his mother and McCoy by his side. An air-car had been sent for him from the lord Spock’s villa. Jim turned to his mother, who was fighting back the tears, not wanting to make this any harder on her son that she had to.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” he said quietly. “You work in the lord Sarek’s house; perhaps there will be a way for me to let you know I am well. Maybe one of the lord Spock’s servants will carry a message. Until I return...”
“You will never return,” Winona choked, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes.
“We do not know that,” Jim said gently. “Until I can return, Leonard will look after you. If you need anything, please let him help you. I have also made you the trustee of my earnings from my work. Draw upon those funds if you need to do so.”
McCoy put a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, Winona, I will do whatever I can for you; I swear it.”
She nodded. “I know,” she whispered, “but it will not be the same.”
Jim hugged his mother close, kissing her cheek. “I’ll be all right,” he soothed. “Do not fear. No matter what they say, I do not believe the lord Spock is a monster. He will not hurt me.” He stepped back and offered them both a smile, even as his own eyes filled with tears at the sight of their grief. “Be well,” he said softly, “until we meet again.” He turned and entered the air car, which lifted off and headed north to the mysterious villa. McCoy stood with his arm around Winona’s shoulder, watching his best friend disappear from his life.
Gods, he thought, if there are any gods who hear the words of a serf. Take care of Jim. Do not let this Spock hurt him.
The air car touched down in the courtyard of the white stone villa that overlooked the city of Sha’Kir, the villa where the reclusive son of Sarek lived. The car’s driver, a quiet middle-aged Vulcan male, turned to Jim.
“Your belongings will be placed in your quarters,” he said. “You are to enter there.” He pointed to a door at the top of a shallow flight of stairs. “You will be met.” He popped the door on the air car, and Jim unfastened his safety harness.
“Thank you for bringing me here safely,” he told the driver politely, who stared at him in astonishment. He’d brought all of the lord Spock’s companions to this villa; this was the first one who thanked him for it. This young human might prove very...interesting.
Jim looked around as the air car effortlessly rose from the pavement and flew away. Like most of the residents of Sha’Kir, he had seen this villa only at a distance. Now he could see just how lovely it was—all cool white stone, with gardens carefully planted to surround the main house. If this was a prison, the lord Sarek certainly wanted it to be a comfortable one for his son.
I guess I should not keep Lord Spock waiting, Jim thought. He climbed the stairs the driver had indicated and opened the door, stepping into a large, square room, some kind of reception hall, Jim guessed. Halls led off in several directions, and there was an open staircase that led to a second floor, which had a balcony running around four sides, letting those on the second floor look down into this entrance hall. Jim heard a noise and turned, just in time to see a large, spotted cat, a splendid gold collar around its neck, loping across the floor. It was a cha-ta-ka, a hunting cat used only by those who ruled. For an instant, Jim was startled, but then he relaxed, seeing the creature’s tail waving in the air and hearing the rumbling purr. He knew from his readings that a purring cha-ta-ka would not attack, and indeed, the animal bounded up to Jim and began to rub against him, the volume of its purr increasing. Jim chuckled and reached down to scratch the soft-furred head, which came nearly to his knee.
“Well, hello there,” he said quietly. “Are you the reception committee?”
“His name is Malkana,” a voice spoke. Jim looked up to see a tall, distinguished-looking Vulcan descending the main staircase. With a final pat to the cat’s head, Jim stepped forward and bowed his head respectfully.
“You are the lord Spock?” he asked.
The Vulcan lifted one eyebrow. “You should not make assumptions, human—especially in this house,” he said coolly. “I am Stonn, the lord Spock’s estate manager. I assume you have a name?”
“I am James Kirk,” Jim replied quietly. This Stonn was not exactly friendly. Jim hoped the master was more kindly than the servant.
Stonn jerked his head. “Come with me; I have been ordered to escort you to your quarters.” He turned and started back up the stairs. Jim hurried across the hall and joined him, Malkana padding along behind, obviously interested in his new friend.
Once they reached the second floor, Stonn stalked down the hall until he reached a door, which he opened. “In here,” he said with another jerk of his head. Jim stepped inside and looked around in amazement. This was not just a place to sleep; it was an entire apartment. The room they stood in was furnished as a sitting room, with deep couches and chairs in rich bronze velvet and brown leather, with a hand-woven carpet in brown, cream, gold, and rust stretching across the pale gold marble floor. One wall was nothing but windows, with a beautiful view of the distant mountains.
“These are your quarters,” Stonn informed him. He gestured to his left. “Your bedchamber is through there, with a bathing room beyond. You are required to bathe every day; the lord Spock cannot abide dirt or foul odors.” Stonn’s nostrils quivered as if he expected Jim to smell of dung. “I assume you know enough to keep yourself clean?”
Yes, and I wipe my nose before it drips, Jim thought, but he was not going to begin by antagonizing this superior servant. Therefore, he simply nodded respectfully. “I understand, sir. I will do as you suggest.”
“It is not a suggestion,” Stonn sniffed. “I will leave you now; you may unpack your belongings and settle in. Dinner is at seven bells; you will meet the lord Spock at that time.” With that, he turned and was gone, all but slamming the door behind him. Jim looked at Malkana, who had followed them in and promptly curled up on one of the sofas.
“I think I have made one friend and one enemy,” he said quietly to the cat. He looked around. “I had best go wash and change my clothes, so I do not offend the lord’s fastidious nose.”
Spock stood in his quarters, listening to the timepiece chime seven bells. He had arranged for a table to be set with a simple meal here in his rooms; the formal dining chamber was large and somewhat overpowering in its décor. Spock hoped to make this new human feel at ease. He waited, standing in a shadowed corner, his eyes fixed on the door. He hoped this human was at least somewhat resigned to his situation. Most of Spock’s previous companions had been angry at their fate; one or two had been terrified when they arrived, and Spock had been forced to spend valuable time and energy calming them. He hoped this one was at least resigned; there was little time to lose.
The door opened and Stonn motioned to the figure behind him. “In here,” he said curtly. The human walked through and Stonn shut the door behind him. The human stood quietly, looking around the room. Spock breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. At least this one was not weeping or raging.
“You are my new companion.”
Jim started slightly. He hadn’t seen anyone when he walked into the room, but now, looking across it, he could see a tall shadow in the far corner.
“You are the lord Spock?” he asked.
“Yes,” the shadow replied. “Would you step into the light?’
Jim did as he was told, taking four or five steps until he was standing near the hearth, the firelight and the lamps illuminating his features. Spock took another breath. This human was—extraordinarily compelling. Unlike almost all Vulcans and many of the humans, this young male was fair-skinned, his hide only lightly touched with golden color. His hair, worn almost to his shoulders, was wavy and an intriguing golden-brown in color, almost the hue of ripe triticale. His eyes were fascinating as well, not brown or even blue, but a rich green-gold color that caught the light. He was perhaps an inch or so shorter than Spock, his body firm and well-made without being overly-muscled. His features were strong yet sensitive. He looked calmly in Spock’s direction, waiting for his new master to speak.
“What is your name?” Spock asked.
“I am James Kirk,” the human replied in a mellow tenor voice. He smiled slightly. “My friends just call me Jim.”
“I am not your friend.” The words came out more harshly than Spock had intended, and he saw the human take one quick step back. But he stayed calm.
“I am sorry, my lord.” He bowed his head. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” He looked back in Spock’s direction. “However, you may still call me Jim, if you wish.”
“I...very well.” This human was almost unsettling in his demeanor. “You were chosen by the lottery to come here,” Spock continued. He stopped abruptly as another smile flickered across the human’s face.
“Actually,” he said quietly, “I volunteered.”
“What?” Spock’s voice again crackled harshly across the room, but this time, the human didn’t flinch.
“I volunteered,” he repeated. “The high number was drawn by another, but I took it from him and told the Prefect I would come here.”
“You...came here willingly?” Spock was almost dazed by the thought. No one had ever come here of his own free will. “Why?”
The human shrugged. “The simple answer is that my friend, the man who did draw the high number, plans to wed within the next moon, and his betrothed is with child. I didn’t want Leonard—my friend—to have to leave his family.”
Spock stared at him. “You sacrificed yourself for a friend?”
This human—Jim—shrugged. “In part, yes,” he said. “Surely you would prefer a companion who came willingly to one who was filled with grief and rage.”
“Indeed,” Spock managed to say calmly. “But you said, in part?”
Now it was the human’s turn to look confused. “Yes,” he replied softly. He took one step closer. “But I also felt...I do not know how to describe what I felt, my lord. I simply felt that you—that it was right for me to come here.” Seeming shy for the first time since he’d entered the room, James looked down at the rug beneath his feet. “I know that sounds ridiculous, my lord, and perhaps presumptuous, but here I am.”
Yes,” Spock said slowly. “Here you are.” This was—extraordinary. For the first time in a very long time, Spock felt a faint glimmer of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, this human would be the one.
Jim was still looking toward him. “My lord,” he said, “I know I have no right to question your will, but I cannot help but wonder. Why am I here? What do you wish of me?”
Spock took a deep breath and stepped forward out of the shadows. Jim stared at the tall, slim figure, swathed in a long velvet cape the color of new leaves, a hood drawn up so that the features were completely obscured. As Spock moved closer, only his large, dark eyes, caught by the flames on the hearth, were visible. Spock took another step or two closer and stopped, standing in front of Jim, who looked at him inquiringly. Slowly, cursing his shaking hands, Spock pushed back the hood and unfastened the cloak, letting it drop to the floor. He looked at the human, who stared back at him, sucking in his breath at the sight of the Vulcan without his shielding garment.
“I need you to heal me,” Spock said quietly. “That is why you are here.”
Chapter 4: The Explanation
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Because it's Saturday and I love you all, bonus chapter!!!!
Chapter Four: The Explanation
Jim stared at the Vulcan, pity warring with horror at he gazed at the figure in front of him. Like most of his kind, the lord Spock was tall and slim, deceptively so, since Jim knew he was much stronger than a human. He was dressed in a long-sleeved tunic and pants in dark green silk; that was unusual, since most Vulcans wore sleeveless clothing to show off their beautifully-sculpted arms and elegant hands. Like many of those who ruled, Spock wore his hair long. The dark, glossy mane hung almost to his waist, tucked back behind one pointed ear but hanging loose over the right side of his face, shadowing—but not completely hiding—his injury. The face, with its high cheek bones and strong mouth, was dominated by those expressive dark eyes, burdened with pain and weariness. This Vulcan lord would have been breathtakingly beautiful, except for the—scars.
They were most likely covering much of his body, Jim suspected, although he could only see them on Spock’s right hand, his wrist up to the cuff of his shirt, his neck, and the side of his face under the curtain of ebony hair, stopping just under the right eye. They were not new scars, but they were inflamed and painful-looking, marring the ivory flesh with savage slashes of olive and sap-green, ropy and raised, disfiguring the skin wherever they touched, one even drawing back the corner of Spock’s mouth in a painful grimace.
“My lord!” Jim’s pity won out over his fear. He took one step forward, his hand raised before he could stop himself. “What...”
Spock stepped back. Jim stopped. “I am sorry,” he said softly, coloring slightly. “I did not mean to presume. But...”
“I know.” Spock’s voice was again harsh. “They are disgusting.” He turned his back, bending to pick up his cloak.
“No,” the voice behind him said quietly. “They are not.” Spock spun around to face the human again.
“Do not lie to me!” he snapped, advancing on Jim. “I have eyes; I can see.” The human stood his ground.
“My lord, they are not disgusting,” he reiterated softly. “I am sorry for them; I can only imagine the pain they cause you. But you have been injured; you did not deserve whatever has happened to you. There is nothing disgusting about one who has been wounded.”
Spock shrugged his cloak back over his body, once again raising his hood. “You know nothing,” he said wearily, slumping into a chair before the fire. “You do not understand.”
“Most likely,” the human agreed gently. “I have spent all my life in Sha’Kir, mostly among my own people. I know little of the lords who rule us, but I do know that among my own kind, your scars would be reason for sympathy, but nothing that would need to be hidden.”
“You do not understand,” Spock repeated. Jim regarded him thoughtfully.
“Well,” he said, “since I am here, perhaps you can help me to understand.” He nodded to the chair opposite Spock’s. “May I sit, my lord?”
Spock nodded. “You need not ask to sit in my presence,” he said quietly. “I do not expect you to behave as a pet.”
“Very well, I will sit and stand at my own desire,” Jim replied, a hint of a smile coloring his tone. He sat down and once again looked at Spock. “If you wish to wear that cloak, you may,” he continued quietly, “But you need not do so for my sake.”
Spock considered for a moment and then pushed back the stifling hood. He noticed that the human’s eyes stayed steadily fixed upon him, neither obviously ignoring the scars nor staring at them.
“Now,” Jim said kindly, “you told me I did not understand. Why are these scars so...so shameful to you that you must hide here?”
“Because I am the only one of my people to bear them.” Spock leaned his head against the high back of his chair. “Vulcan warriors are frequently wounded; there is no shame in that. However, they can enter a trance and heal themselves of anything short of a death wound. For my people, scars are a sign of—inferiority.” Spock could scarcely make himself say the words; he could still hear the jeers of the other warriors, his so-called friends.
“I am sorry.” Jim’s voice was very gentle. “So you cannot heal your wounds?”
“No.” Spock opened his eyes. “You see—I am not only of my people, but I am of yours as well.” He paused. “My mother was one of your kind—a human.” His lips tightened. “I am not pure Vulcan; I am a half-breed. And I am—flawed.” He gestured towards himself.
“I am sorry,” Jim said again. “I did not know that any of my people had given birth to a Vulcan child. And I am sorry as well that this human blood is so irksome to you. But, my lord, you said you needed me to heal you. I am an artisan; I know very little of healing.” For an instant, Jim thought of McCoy; perhaps he should have been the one to come here.” And I am sure that your own healers...”
“My healers do nothing,” Spock replied bitterly. “I was injured six harvests ago, and they only poke and prod me, tell me that they have no knowledge of how to heal an injury in one who cannot trance.” He looked at the human sitting across from him. “My father has consulted every healer, wise woman, and priest in a thousand leagues. Only one has offered any hope.”
Spock looked down at his hands, the flawless one laid over the scarred one. “I was told long ago, before I was...injured...that because of my mixed blood, I would...I cannot be matched with a Vulcan.” He forced himself to meet the human’s gaze. “I must have a human...mate.” He watched Jim narrowly. The human seemed slightly taken aback but not shocked.
“You...wish me to share your bed, my lord?” he asked slowly.
Spock shook his head. “It is not that,” he replied. “The mind healer who finally told me that I could be cured said that simply...coupling with a human will not heal me.” There was a faint green blush on Spock’s face; he suddenly looked very young, and Jim wondered if they were of an age. Vulcans aged more slowly than the People; it was hard to tell.
“The mind healer told me that only if I meet one who is compatible with me in mind, body, and spirit, can I be cured,” Spock continued. There was more to it than that, but Spock would not, could not speak of that other—not yet, not now.
Jim looked at Spock thoughtfully. Somehow, he supposed he should be more unsettled by what the Vulcan was telling him, but he was not. Jim had known since he was very young that male partners appealed to him far more than did women; it was neither uncommon nor remarked on among the People. Perhaps it is a good thing that I came instead of Leonard, he thought with some small humor. He has no interest in males.
“So this is why you request companions from among my people,” Jim said at last. “You are seeking one who can—complete you.”
Spock breathed out, relieved that the human was taking this calmly. “Yes,” he said simply.
“My lord, I...” Jim hesitated.
“Spock, please,” the Vulcan said quietly. “You need not call me my lord.”
“Very well, Spock.” The human gave him a small smile. “I do not know you; you do not know me. If you truly need a compatible mate, I have no way to know if I am that person.”
“But you would be willing to try?”
Now it was Jim’s turn to blush. “I....if I could help heal you, I would do so gladly,” he replied with gentle sincerity. “I simply cannot promise the unknown.”
Spock nodded. “The mind healer told me that it might take up to four seasons for a true bond to form,” he said. “I only ask this—will you stay, bear me company for that time, and see what our fates bring?”
Those extraordinary gold and emerald eyes looked into his. “And if I am not what you seek?” Jim asked quietly.
“Then I will freely release you,” Spock replied. “I swear it on my ancestors.”
As you released your previous companions? Jim thought, but he did not say it. This lord seemed gentle and reasonable, but perhaps it was nothing more than an act. Jim would wait and learn more about Spock before he risked provoking him.
“Then, I will stay willingly,” Jim said. “I will keep company with you, and we will see what comes of it.” He hesitated a moment, and then he reached his left hand across the table.
“Among my people,” he said quietly, “we shake hands upon reaching an agreement. It is usually done with the right, but I think this would be more comfortable for you.”
Slowly, Spock’s hand reached out and clasped Jim’s. As their eyes met, Jim felt—something, a sensation similar to the one that had compelled him to take that slip of paper from McCoy’s hand. Spock’s hand, warm and dry, pressed Jim’s briefly before gently releasing it. For a moment, the two regarded each other. Already, the scars on Spock’s face were fading from Jim’s mind. He could only see those dark eyes, sad yet hopeful, fixed on his. He smiled, breaking the tension.
“Now,” he said, “I would guess Vulcans get hungry, too, and I am quite frankly famished.” He gestured at the table between them, laden with bread, cheeses, fruits, and wine. “Since I am allowed to sit without your permission, may I assume I can eat at will as well?”
The dark eyes lightened, a half-smiled flickering across that ravaged face. “By all means, Spock said. “Let us eat.”
“Are your rooms to your liking?” Spock asked as they finished their meal. He glanced at the bowl of tavapplas, wishing he could have one but unwilling to struggle with a peeling knife in front of James. He could use his right hand, but the scars had stiffened, making fine motor functions difficult. The human saw his glance and amazingly divined his thought. Without saying a word about it, Jim picked up the fruit and a knife, quickly stripping the inedible peel away, quartering the fruit, and quietly laying the plate within Spock’s reach without ever indicating that he had even noticed Spock’s dilemma.
“My rooms are lovely,” Jim said, peeling another fruit for himself. “Truly, they are much too fine for me.”
“Not at all,” Spock replied quietly. “And I wish you to know that you have the freedom of my house and grounds. I wish you to feel at home.”
“I understand, and I thank you,” Jim replied. “I will look forward to exploring when I have time.” He hesitated for a moment. “My lord—Spock,” he corrected himself when he saw the Vulcan raise an eyebrow. “What tasks do you wish me to perform?”
“Tasks?” Spock echoed. “I do not expect you to do any tasks, Jim. I have a full staff.”
“Yes, I met one of them,” Jim grinned. “I do not think that Stonn would wish me to be idle.”
He got another raise eyebrow. “Stonn is not master of this house,” Spock replied firmly. “And if he is discourteous to you, I wish to know it at once.”
“No, I’m sure we’ll get along fine,” Jim said hastily. “But truly, Spock, I would like to earn my bread while I am here.”
“What do you do?” Spock asked.
“I am an artisan—a potter by trade,” Jim explained. “I also draw and paint.”
“Well,” Spock said thoughtfully, “I have all the household utensils I need. However, I would enjoy some new artwork, perhaps a picture of my hunting cha-ta-ka?”
“Malkana? We’ve met.” Jim grinned.
“I hope she did not alarm you,” Spock said.
“Oh, no. I love animals. I would be happy to create a portrait of her,” Jim assured him.
“Good,” Spock replied. “I will give orders for supplies to be purchased for you. Simply give Stonn a list of whatever you need.”
For a time, they sat in front of the fire and talked. Jim had a thousand questions, but he was still wary. Spock seemed perfectly calm and rational, but any lord who spent years auditioning potential mates—Jim shook his head to himself. He still doubted that he would be able to help Spock in that area.
At last, Jim yawned, and Spock caught him at it. “I apologize,” Spock said, rising from his chair. “I forget that humans need more sleep than I do.”
Jim rose as well. “It’s been sort of an eventful day,” he admitted, that quick smile flickering across his features.
“Of course. I will bid you good night, Jim.” Spock opened the door; Jim’s rooms lay just across the hall.
“Thank you,” Spock said quietly as Jim turned to leave. “I am—pleased that you are here.” Greatly daring, he placed his hand on the human’s arm for just an instant, feeling the firm cool, flesh beneath his own.
Jim smiled at him. “Good night, Spock.” He disappeared across the hall. Spock closed his door and made his way back to the fire, sitting down and staring at nothing. His hand tingled where it had touched Jim. Spock slowly closed his fist, holding in the sensation of Jim’s skin.
Across the hall, Jim sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at his arm, which still carried the feel of Spock’s hand on his flesh. Jim put his other hand over the spot, holding onto the feel of Spock’s skin.
Chapter 5: The Friend
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
We meet a young human named Sulu, and there are several arguments...
Ok, who wants a bonus chapter? Beg, little monkeys.
Chapter Five: The Friend
James woke early the next morning from a very sound, restful sleep. As the early light streamed through the windows, he blinked, confused for just a moment as to his surroundings. The bed was huge and covered in fine silken sheets and blankets woven from sehlat fur—nothing like the contents of his linen press. While humans in Sha’Kir were allowed to keep half of what they earned, the other half went to their overlords, which means that most of the People lived simply; none lacked for necessities, but there were few luxuries.
Luxuries! Oh gods!
Jim sat up in bed, his memory returning in a rush. He was not in his modest home; he was in the lord Spock’s villa. They had met; Spock was...damaged, both physically and emotionally, it seemed to Jim’s inexpert but discerning senses. But he wasn’t a monster; he was...kind, for lack of a better term, and terribly lonely. And now Jim was living in a suite of luxurious rooms and sleeping on silk. It was impossible to guess what might happen next.
Jim lay in bed for a few minutes, wondering what he should do. He was hungry, but he wasn’t sure how meals were handled in this elegant home. Was he supposed to cook for himself? No; Spock had said he had a large staff and that he didn’t expect Jim to do domestic work. Was he supposed to simply go down to the kitchen and tell them he wanted to break his fast? Jim grinned to himself at the thought of him asking the supercilious Stonn for eggs and toasted bread with honey. Jim decided he had best wash himself and dress first. Then he could venture out and find some food. Perhaps he would see Spock again. Jim’s spirits rose inexplicably at this thought, and he started to get out of bed, just as there was a knock at the door. Jim started and drew the sheet up to his neck. He doubted if Spock would knock, and he certainly didn’t want Stonn to see him bare-chested, dressed only in a pair of sleep pants. “Come in,” he called.
The door swung open. “Good morning,” said a cheerful voice, and a very young man walked in, carrying a large tray. “I’ll just put this down here, all right?” he asked, placing the tray on a round table by the window. He turned to Jim with a smile.
“You’re James, and I’m Sulu,” he said. “Hikaru Sulu, but the master just calls me Sulu, and I’m fine with that. Sorry if I woke you, but I thought you might be hungry.”
Jim looked at him. This Sulu was obviously one of the People, although his hair and eyes were dark as a Vulcan’s. He was slightly shorter than Jim and very slim, dressed in a neat crimson tunic and pants.
“Um...hi,” Jim said. He got out of bed. Sulu turned to a nearby chair and handed Jim a robe that certainly hadn’t come out of his luggage; it was silk.
“I brought eggs, fruit, bread, and tea,” Sulu said. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but if you have favorites, just say so. My mother runs the kitchens here; she’ll make you whatever you’d like.”
“No,” Jim said slowly, sitting down. “This will be fine.” He gathered his wits together, looking up at Sulu with a smile. “Um...this is all new to me,” he confessed. “You work here, right? Can you stay, talk to me for awhile?” He gestured towards the tray of food. “There’s way more here than I need; would you like something?”
“Thanks.” Sulu sat down opposite Jim and reached for a bunch of grapes. “Actually, that’s why I’m here.”
“To eat breakfast?”
Sulu chuckled. “No; I’m here because the lord thought you would like a servant of the People and one close to your own age, that you’d be more comfortable with me.”
“No doubt about that,” Jim replied. “But really, I don’t need a servant; I’ve waited on myself for years.”
Sulu shrugged. “The lord Spock wants you to have someone to do for you; I’ve been drafted, and that’s fine, better than picking weeds out of the fountains all day. I don’t need to wipe your behind and tuck you in at night, but I’ll tidy your rooms, take care of your laundry, and bring you meals.” He nodded at the tray. “You don’t have to eat here, of course, but I figured you’d be more relaxed than in the main dining hall with the Vulcan staff. You’ll be eating your evening meal with the lord, or so he informed me, but you can’t go hungry all day.”
“Thanks,” Jim said again, applying himself to his morning meal. “So,” he said after a moment, “you said your mother works here?”
Sulu nodded. “My family has worked for lord Sarek’s family for five generations,” he explained. “When the...accident happened, my mother came here to cook for the young lord. I came here two moons ago, to work in the garden, as I said. However, for now, I’m tending you instead of the plants.” He grinned at Jim, who smiled back.
“I’m glad, not that you’re tending me but that I have someone to talk to,” Jim admitted. He looked around the large room. “It’s so...quiet here.”
Sulu nodded. “You probably won’t see the lord Spock much during the day,” he said. “He manages the estates for his father, which is a lot of book work. Then too, he...well, he doesn’t like daylight much.” Sulu looked at Jim seriously. “And we don’t talk about that or his injuries,” he warned quietly.
Jim nodded. “I understand: he doesn’t like gossip.”
“Right, especially if it concerns him,” Sulu replied. “And truly, I wouldn’t gossip about him even if he didn’t care. He’s...he’s a fair and generous master, and not all of those who rule are so benevolent.” Sulu glanced around for a moment and then leaned closer to Jim.
“The one you need to step carefully around,” he murmured, “is Stonn.” Two sets of eyes locked, each acknowledging what the other knew—some masters were fair, even kind—and some were not. It was the way of things, and the People had learned over the centuries how to protect themselves from the dangerous ones, how to walk softly and bow their heads until danger passed.
Jim nodded. “Thanks. I spotted that from a great distance, but thank you for warning me.”
Sulu nodded back. “No problem. We of the People must guard ourselves. The pain of one is the pain of all.” This was a proverb among the People, and like all proverbs, it carried great wisdom. It was how the People had survived on this strange world, so far from their real home.
Sulu got to his feet. “Enough said, I think.” He picked up Jim’s pants and tunic from the chair where Jim had folded them the night before.
“Lord Spock asked that I see to getting you some better clothes,” he said. “I’ll borrow these as a pattern, if that’s all right. We don’t have a seamstress here, but there’s a good one at the lord Sarek’s home; she will make you some new items in just a few days.”
Jim heart leaped. Mom. If she saw these clothes and was asked to make others, she’d know Jim was alive, know that Spock was treating him well.
“Sure,” he managed to say casually. “That’s fine.”
After Sulu had gone to complete his other tasks, promising to return with lunch, James washed and dressed, remembering Stonn’s lecture about cleanliness. Like most of those who ruled, the lord Spock had self-come hot water, no need to start a fire, just turn a knob and warm water gushed from a pipe. And of course, a lord did not have to worry about water rations. Jim wandered around his suite for a short time, wondering what he should do. He really couldn’t picture sitting here all day, waiting for nightfall so he could eat a meal with a diffident, unhappy, lonely Vulcan. Jim remembered that Spock had told him he had the freedom of the house and grounds. He decided he might as well explore a bit. He left his rooms and followed the corridor down to the main stairs. He met a couple of workers along the way, both Vulcan, but they simply nodded to him and moved on. Apparently the lord Spock had told them he was to be left to his own devices
Jim went down the stairs to the main floor. For a moment, he considered going outside, but it was late morning, and the sun was strong; Jim saw no reason to court heatstroke. He walked down one of the hallways that led off the center court, stopping at an open door, his mouth falling open in simple amazement.
It was a library. There was a public library in Sha’Kir that the People were allowed to patronize, but Jim had read every book there before he’d turned fifteen harvests. This...this was incredible. The walls were filled with bookshelves that stretched almost to the ceiling, and the shelves were completely filled with books, row after row. There were deep, comfortable chairs and reading tables scattered around the room, which was illuminated with light panels set into the wall, not the old-fashioned lamps and candles still used in many homes. Best of all, on a low table at one end of the room, there were musical instruments, a lyre and a cithritha, a stringed instrument Jim had learned to play when he was younger. A nearby case plainly held sheet music.
Jim walked into the library and began to browse, finding books on every subject—history, art, the sciences, literature and poetry; oh, it was wonderful. Jim knew he could spend many happy hours in here. He finally chose one volume, a book of stories of magic, and gently removed it from its place on the shelf.
“You!”
Jim whirled, the book still in his hand. Stonn stood in the doorway, glaring at him.
“What are you doing?” Stonn stalked into the room and snatched the book from Jim’s hand. “Do not despoil these items with your filthy human hands!”
Jim stood his ground. “The lord told me that I was welcome to...”
“Lord Spock never told you that you could handle his possessions, items that are more expensive than your miserable shack in Sha’Kir, books you do not even comprehend...”Stonn was all but raving.
“But I did.”
Stonn turned toward the door so quickly he almost fell. Jim looked up, seeing the lord Spock standing in the doorway, several books in his arms, his face like a storm cloud, the dark eyes flashing angrily, his scars flushed with blood as he advanced on the two men.
“I told James that he was to treat my home as his own,” he informed Stonn, drawing closer until the other Vulcan was merely inches away. “I told the staff he was to be made welcome. Now, I presume that you do not mean to contradict my orders, do you Stonn?”
“My lord, I simply meant...”
“I have no interest in your meaning,” Spock snapped back. He glanced at Jim. “I expect a guest in my house to be treated with the utmost courtesy and respect, whether or not I am in the room to witness it,” he added.
Stonn’s face was angry and sullen. “My lord, your indulgence is not suitable, not for one who...”
Spock cut him off again. “Do not tell me what is suitable; that decision does not lie in your hands. Now, I am certain you have tasks, and if you cannot find the time to complete that work, perhaps I need a new estate manager. Do I, Stonn?”
The Vulcan lost all color. He stepped back quickly, bowing his head. “No, my lord. Your house will be cared for.”
“Good.” Spock looked at him. “And Stonn? Do not insult my guest again, or it will be your last day here.”
The look Stonn gave Jim made his stomach churn, but the other Vulcan bowed again. “Yes, my lord.” He hurried out of the room, and Jim looked at Spock.
“My lord, I do not wish to cause trouble.”
Spock shook his head. “You did not. And my name is Spock, not my lord. We agreed on that last night, did we not?” He set down his books and picked up the one Jim had chosen, which Stonn had dropped onto a table when Spock had entered the room.
“I apologize for that,” Spock said quietly. “Stonn is a good estate manager, but he is sometimes...intemperate.” He handed the book to Jim. “I meant exactly what I said; my home is yours, and you may make free use of whatever items you wish.” He nodded towards the book. “I see that you enjoy the tales of S’Kharen. He is one of my favorite authors as well.”
“I do enjoy him,” Jim said quietly. He looked at the book in his hand. “I will return this when I am finished.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Spock replied. “I wish I could stay and talk more about our favorite authors, but I have my own work to do. Perhaps at dinner?’
Jim smiled. “I’d like that.”
“Good; I will see you at seven bells.” Spock began to leave but then turned back to the human, placing a gentle hand on Jim’s wrist.
“Jim,” he said quietly. “If anyone in my house is unkind to you, I wish to know. Do you promise to tell me if that happens? I want you to be happy here.”
Jim nodded. “Very well,” he said, privately resolving that despite Spock’s words, he was not going to bear tales. He’d just have to be careful to avoid Stonn. No good could come from antagonizing one of those who ruled.
At seven bells, Jim crossed the hall and knocked on Spock’s door. It opened to reveal his host, dressed in black silk.
“Good evening, Jim,” Spock said, opening the door wider. “Please join me.”
They enjoyed an excellent dinner. By unspoken mutual consent, they did not mention Stonn. Instead, they spent the evening discussing literature and music. Spock was plainly delighted that Jim knew how to play the cithritha.
“I used to play often,” he said. He glanced down at his scarred and stiffened right hand, and the animation left his face. “I...cannot...now.”
“I’m sorry,” Jim said gently. “You must miss it.”
“Yes.” For a moment, Spock was silent but then he made himself meet Jim’s gaze. “However, now that you are here, I can hear all my favorite music again.”
“Now wait a minute,” Jim said, laughing slightly. “What makes you think I am any good?’
“I have no doubt you do well at everything you attempt,” Spock replied, a sudden look of warmth in his eyes that made itself felt on Jim’s skin. He looked down at his plate, suddenly feeling shy.
“I will...do my best to please you,” he said quietly. “But I do think I need to practice first. It has been some time since I played.”
Spock inclined his head. “That is only fair.” They finished their meal.
“Tell me, what else did you do today?” Spock asked Jim.
“I met Sulu, the servant you assigned to me,” Jim said.
“Do you like him?”
Jim nodded. “I told him I didn’t really need to be waited on, but he’s very kind, and he’ll make sure I don’t go hungry or naked.”
“Good,” Spock replied, pleased. “I wanted you to have someone you can talk to; I know this is all very strange to you.”
Jim shrugged. “A bit overwhelming,” he admitted. “Truly, my lord—Spock,” he amended, “I do not need so much, such lavish rooms, new clothes...”
“I wish you to be comfortable,” Spock said simply. “Please do not deny me.”
“All right,” Jim replied, smiling shyly. “I guess I’ll let you spoil me.” For a few minutes, the two sat in silence. Jim watched as Spock rubbed his right hand, his face drawn with obvious pain.
“Your scars still hurt you,” he said quietly.
Spock dropped his hand. “Yes,” he admitted. “The pain is not unbearable, but it is...always there.” Jim heart ached at that quiet confession. It must be terrible to be always hurting, he thought.
“Spock,” he said softly, “I know you said that your healers could not help you.”
Spock nodded. “Yes, they have no experience with this kind of injury, since my people can heal themselves with the trance.”
Jim hesitated. “Then, perhaps you should try a human healer, one of my people,” he said in a rush. “They know much about wounds, and even if they can’t heal your scars, one might be able to soothe the pain, make you more comfortable...” he trailed off as he got a look at Spock’s face. The kindly dinner companion was gone. An offended master sat in his place.
“How dare you?” Spock breathed. “Expose my injuries to a human healer? Let one of your people poke and...”
“Spock, if they can help you...”
Spock was out of his chair so quickly that it banged against the wall and fell over. “How dare you?” he hissed again, looming over Jim, his hands curled into fists. For just an instant, Jim feared that the Vulcan might strike him, but Spock drew back. “Get out!” He pointed to the door. “Go to your rooms and do not leave them tonight.”
Jim rose, extending a hand towards his host. “Spock, I didn’t mean to...”
“Get out!” The voice was a hoarse shout. “Get out, you presumptuous serf, and don’t dare to mention this again. I am not a...a human!” He spat the word at Jim and backed him towards the door, opening it and all but shoving Jim into the hall. The door slammed behind Jim, who stood in the hall, feeling desolation, but not his own. He turned and slowly walked into his own rooms, softly shutting the door behind him.
“Human is not a dirty word,” Jim murmured sadly to his absent host. “But I guess you think it is.”
That night, no one on the second floor slept.
Chapter 6: First Healing
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Because I have the very best begging stalkers in K/S fandom, here is a bonus chapter.
Chapter Six: First Healing
James did not see Spock the next day or the one following. Sulu, his face quiet and serious, brought Jim meals and told him that the master was ‘unavailable.’ Jim spent much of the time in his rooms, slipping out once to walk in the gardens just before the sun set, joined (much to his pleasure) by Malkana.
“Well, hello, pretty one,” Jim said, scratching her ears and receiving an ecstatic purr in return. “I’m glad to see you; I could use some love.” He spent more than an hour with her, dragging his scarf through the grass and allowing her to pounce on it, sitting beneath a tavapplas tree, the giant cat sitting next to him, her head in his lap, one huge paw on his thigh, pinning him gently in place so he would stay and pet her. While he stroked the soft fur, Jim looked up at the villa, up at the windows to Spock’s rooms. He thought he saw a flick of one of the curtains but decided he was imagining things. Spock was no doubt not in the mood to admire his garden.
The afternoon of the second day, Jim went down to the library, returning the books of stories by S’Kharen and choosing two more books to read.
“Do not bother.”
Jim stiffened as he heard that voice and slowly turned around to face Stonn. “I believe we have already discussed whether I can use the library,” he said quietly.
“You will not be here long enough to read those volumes, human,” Stonn replied. “The master is sending you back to Sha’Kir.”
Jim felt a sick pang at the Vulcan’s words, why, he did not know. Surely returning to his old life was better than being a ghost in this cold, expensive villa. However, for whatever reason, he did not want go leave. “Did the lord Spock tell you to inform me of this?” he asked instead, his face as still as a Vulcan’s.
Stonn hesitated for just an instant, but Jim caught it. “It is obvious,” Stonn snapped. “He has tired of you.”
No, Jim thought. Whatever’s wrong, he’s not tired of me; he’s frightened and in pain, but not fatigued. “Then I will wait until I have received word from him,” Jim said, head held high. He bowed politely. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will return to my rooms, where my presence will not offend you.” He quickly left the library and almost ran up the stairs, feeling truly safe only when he was in his own rooms again.
It was very late. Jim had spent the evening sitting in front of the fire in his sitting room, one of the books he’d chosen held open in his hand, reading the same page over and over again, his mind replaying the conversation with Stonn. His earlier feelings of confidence were gone; Jim was now sure the Vulcan was right. Spock would soon send him away.
There was a knock on the door. Jim rose, placing the book carefully on a table and walked to the door, swinging it open. He could not hold back the gasp that rose in his throat.
Spock stood on the threshold. He looked—ravaged was the only word Jim could use. His scars were more prominent than ever; indeed, it looked as if he had been tearing at them; one or two were weeping green-tinged fluid. His eyes were sunken, surrounded by bruises as dark and deep as wells dug in the desert. He looked at Jim.
“May I enter?” His voice was hoarse, as if he had not used it for days.
Jim hesitated for a moment but then stepped aside. “It is your house, my lord.” He could not keep the coldness from his voice, but he saw Spock flinch, and he immediately regretted his tone.
“No.” Spock shook his head. “This may be my house, but these rooms are yours. I will not enter without your permission.”
Jim felt the same twisted, unhappy feeling he’d received when Stonn told him he was to leave soon. No matter what happened, he could not turn Spock away. “I give you permission,” he said quietly, letting Spock walk through the door. Jim gestured to the chairs near the fire. Would you like to sit down?’
Spock shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I....” He looked at Jim, the torment in him as visible as a storm cloud. “I should not have come...I told you that no one in my house would be cruel to you, but I...my words were contemptible...I...”
All of Jim’s anger and resentment melted before Spock’s agony. Greatly daring, but somehow knowing it was the right thing to do, Jim took Spock’s left elbow and coaxed him to the long couch near the fire, sinking down next to him and taking Spock’s good hand in both of his, feeling Spock shudder as Jim’s warm grip closed around his cold hand.
“Spock,” Jim said, very softly. “I do not completely understand what I did, but please believe me. What I said to you, it was not to make you angry.” Jim swallowed hard. “I can feel your pain, such agony, such...shame, such loneliness, all tied to your injuries. I only wanted to help you.”
Spock bowed his head. “How can you look at me?” he asked, his voice filled with hopeless despair. “How can you endure to touch me, to be kind to me? I am....a monster.”
“No,” Jim corrected gently. “You are in torment.” He looked at the angry, weeping scars on Spock’s face. “Please, if you will not see a healer, let me help. Let me try.”
“I...deserve nothing from you,” Spock whispered hoarsely. “I wronged you.”
Jim shrugged slightly, squeezing Spock’s hand. “Then make amends by letting me help,” he suggested. After a moment, Spock nodded. Jim laid Spock’s hand down and rose.
“Wait just a moment; I will return.” He went into his room and rummaged in his luggage. Then he went into the bath, thoroughly washed his hands, and soaked a cloth in cold water. He returned to find Spock where he had left him, head lying back against the sofa, eyes closed.
Jim stepped behind him, laying an object on a small table. “Stay still,” he requested quietly. He reached out and gently drew back the long, glossy hair that covered the right side of Spock’s face, carefully tucking it behind the aristocratic pointed ear. He gently laid the cool cloth against Spock’s skin, smoothing it over the raw, bleeding scars. Spock didn’t move, but Jim saw him bite his lower lip.
“I’m sorry,” Jim said quietly. “I know it hurts.”
The dark eyes opened, looked up at Jim. “No,” Spock replied just as quietly. “Your touch will never hurt me.” He closed his eyes again as Jim gently cleaned the sore stripes. Then he took the tube he’d brought from his luggage and smoothed a bit of the cream it contained onto his fingers.
“This is salve my people make for all kinds of skin ailments,” he explained. “I do not think it will hurt you; our women even use it on their infants.” He began to softly daub the ointment on the worst of the scars, smoothing it along the ridged flesh, feeling the fevered skin almost burn against his fingertips. “There.” He wiped his hands with the cloth and sat back down next to Spock, who opened his eyes and looked at Jim. “That feels better, doesn’t it?”
“How do you know?” Spock murmured.
Jim looked down at his folded hands. “My people do not have the mental gifts of the Vulcans,” he said quietly. “We do not possess telepathy, or the touch that paralyzes an enemy, or the trance that can heal. However, some few of my people are born with what we call empathic abilities—they can feel the emotions and sometimes the physical pain of others.” He looked up at Spock, meeting his eyes. “I am one of those,” he continued. “I can feel your pain, all of it, both your body and your soul. I know you...you feel shame at your heritage, your human blood. That is why you reacted so...so violently. I did not mean to anger you; I only want to help. I...I cannot bear your pain. I do not know how you bear it without going mad.” His eyes dropped to his lap, unable to stand the sight of Spock’s anguished eyes.
“I...I sometimes think I am mad,” Spock whispered. “You are right, Jim. I am in pain, all the time. I cannot escape it; I cannot find peace. I know I should honor she who bore me, but my human blood has condemned me to agony; I cannot heal it; I cannot ease it; they were right, all of them; I am a freak, a defective, a monster, I...” he broke off, and Jim could feel the tears rising. He could not stand it. He pulled Spock into his arms, no longer seeing a master, seeing only a beautiful soul, tormented to the point of breaking but still trying to hold on.
“Oh, please, don’t; don’t,” Jim begged softly. “It’s all right; you are not a freak, not a monster.” He felt Spock’s arms go around him, hot and hard, holding onto him with a grip that might have hurt if it hadn’t been so desperate. Jim held him close as well, fighting both their pain, Spock’s unmarred cheek pressed against Jim’s neck, Jim’s hand rhythmically stroking that feather-soft curtain of black hair, trying to comfort, trying to ease the pain for one instant, feeling Spock’s body shaking against his own, tasting the tears Spock would not shed in his own throat.
At last, Spock quieted, his body resting against Jim’s, his breathing soft and even. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I came here to apologize to you, not to burden you.”
“It is all right,” Jim replied. “I am so glad you came. I worried about you these last two days, and Stonn...” He stopped. Spock raised his head. The ebony eyes, calmer now, looked into Jim’s.
“What did he say? Please, Jim,” as Jim hesitated.
“He said...you had tired of me, that you were going to send me back to Sha’Kir.”
Spock shook his head. “No, Jim. I promise, I have no intention of doing that.” He looked at this extraordinary human. “But, you did not want to go? Why not, after I was so terrible to you, so cruel?”
“I do not know,” Jim murmured, “just as I don’t know why I felt I had to come here. All I know is I want to help you. I want...I want to be with you.”
“Jim.” Spock drew him closer, again resting his head on Jim’s shoulder. After a long time, Jim spoke.
“Spock, could you tell me, how were you injured? How did you receive those scars?”
Spock sighed. “Yes,” he said in a low voice. “You should know.” He stared into the fire, seeing that night in his mind.
“I was at my father’s summer home near T’Wir,” he explained. “It is on a lake; it is much cooler than the area around Sha’Kir. My...my mother was there as well. She was like many humans; the heat of our sun, especially in high summer, was difficult for her to bear.”
“So you were there together,” Jim said. “It sounds nice.”
“It was—until one night.” Spock mouth tightened. “There was a lightening storm. The house was struck. There was a fire. I woke; I...I heard her calling me, screaming my name. I tried to get to her; I tried to reach her. If I had been faster, if I were a pure Vulcan, I...”He broke off, unable to continue.
“She died.” Jim’s voice was very soft.
Spock nodded. “She died. I saw her fall as the floor gave way, saw her face as she reached for me. I was burned, as you have seen, burned all along one side of my body. I almost died; perhaps it would have been better if I had. I should have saved her; I should have been able to reach her in time.”
“Oh, Spock.” Jim’s hand smoothed his hair. “You can’t know that. No one can. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to die with her. I know that; I know how mothers are.”
“Perhaps.” That word held all the weariness in the world. “But my father, he blames me for not saving her, for not being fast enough or strong enough. And now that I am scarred, wearing my human blood in visible blemishes, he loathes me. He wanted to send me to the monastery at Gol, immure me away from the world, hide his shame by hiding me, but my grandmother, our matriarch, would not let him do so. She was the one who found the mind healer who told me I could be healed.” He looked at the human, whose face will filled with pity and grief. Spock had always hated pity; that emotion was offered to the weak, the useless. But this human’s pity was like a cool balm on Spock’s lacerated soul.
“You came here with such courage, such openness,” Spock said. “You offered me friendship and understanding. And I repaid you with cruelty. I am so sorry, Jim. I deserve nothing from you. I will understand if you wish to leave tonight. I will send you home.”
Jim shook his head. “No,” he replied gently. “I do not wish to leave. I still want to help you if I can. I still don’t know if I’m what you seek, but I want to try.”
Spock closed his eyes, feeling the relief wash through him, so strong it almost overwhelmed him. “Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you.” He opened his eyes, looking into Jim’s golden gaze. “I cannot promise you that I will never be angry again,” he admitted in a low, shamed voice. “My human blood occasionally rises in me, driving me to rage.” He reached out his good hand and gently laid it against Jim’s cheek. “But I promise you this; I will never raise my hand to you. I will never harm you. I swear by all my gods.”
Slowly, Jim nodded. “I believe you,” he said. “And I will hold you to that promise.” For a time they sat together, both exhausted, yet neither willing to leave the arms of the other.
“Jim,” Spock said at last.
“Yes?”
“Can you find me a...very discreet human healer?”
Jim smiled into the fire’s glow. “I believe I can,” he said. “I am certain I can.”
Chapter 7: The Doctor
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
McCoy makes house calls, and Jim begins the healing process for Spock.
Chapter Seven: The Doctor
Leonard McCoy opened his office just after sunrise in Sha’Kir. Now that he had completed his apprenticeship, he had been able to choose what kind of medicine he practiced. He’d had offers from the large healing centers, but McCoy wanted to help people with their everyday problems, not spend his time patching up miners and field workers who got their hands mangled in equipment accidents.
The day was routine, a few mothers with children who needed vaccinations, some elderly patients who were fighting off the lung-fever that was making its way through the city, one or two patients with other minor ailments. He had just about decided to take a break for mid-meal when his door opened again. One of those who ruled stood on the threshold; he looked vaguely familiar.
“You are McCoy?” he asked brusquely. Leonard rose slowly from his chair.
“I am.”
“I have orders to bring you to the lord Spock’s villa,” he man continued, and now McCoy recognized him. He was the driver who had taken Jim away.
“You need not fear,” the Vulcan added with one eyebrow raised as he saw McCoy’s face. “You will be returned to your proper place.”
“Can you at least tell me why I’m being summoned?” McCoy asked. “Is Jim—the human you took with you—hurt?”
The man shrugged. “I was only told to bring you,” he replied. McCoy turned to his nurse.
“Put together a basic kit, Christine,” he said, “and tell my patients I am out until tomorrow.”
Like Jim, McCoy was impressed with the scope and elegance of Spock’s villa as he landed in the main courtyard. He climbed out of the air car, case in hand, wondering what in the nine hells was going on, hoping that Jim wasn’t sick or hurt. On the other hand, if he was, at least this Vulcan lord cared enough to send for help.
“Len!”
McCoy looked up at the glad cry to see Jim bounding down the stairs towards him. His friend looked both healthy and...happy. McCoy was relieved at the first and surprised by the second. The two met in the courtyard and Jim gave his friend an enthusiastic hug.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said.
“I’m glad to see you, too, Jim; I was worried when the driver insisted I come. He wouldn’t tell me a damned thing, of course, so I was afraid maybe you were in trouble.”
Jim’s smile faded. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m fine. You’re not here for me.” He led the healer into the villa and upstairs to his apartment.
“All this is yours?” McCoy looked around Jim’s quarters in frank astonishment.
“Yeah.” Jim shrugged. “This house is amazing. But all of this, Len...it’s so much more than this.”
McCoy looked at his friend quizzically. “Okay, I’ll bite. What exactly are we dealing with here?”
Jim shook his head. “I can’t tell you much,” he said quietly. “But what the town thinks—it’s not like that at all.” He glanced at his door. “Look, I need you to meet the lord Spock. He’s in his quarters across the hall, and I’ll take you over there in a moment.” He looked at his friend, eyes serious. “But you cannot tell anyone about what you see or hear; I have to be able to swear to him that you will be silent.”
“Jim,” McCoy said kindly, “I’m a healer. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
Jim nodded. “I know; I just had to be sure.” He rose. “Come on.”
“Wait a second,” McCoy said. “What am I supposed to do for him? I’m not even licensed to treat a Vulcan.”
Jim stopped. “That’s part of the problem, Len,” he said. “He’s not precisely Vulcan. He’s half-human.”
Jim opened the door to the lord’s quarters (without even knocking, McCoy noted with amazement). “My lord?” he called. “I have brought the healer I spoke of, Leonard McCoy.”
There was movement in the far corner of the room. “I can see you have,” Spock said quietly, coming forward a step or two, swathed in his green hooded cloak. McCoy bowed his head.
“My lord Spock,” he said, keeping his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “My friend James says you need my help.”
The head inside the hood tilted as Spock examined this strange human, noting his calm eyes and capable-looking hands. “I do not know if you can help me,” he said frankly, “but Jim persuaded me to see you.”
Jim, huh? McCoy thought, but he didn’t comment. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “unless you want me to treat your cloak, I am afraid I will have to see you before I can make any kind of a diagnosis.”
“Len!” Jim hissed, but much to his surprise, Spock didn’t seem upset.
“Your request is...logical,” he said. He pushed back the hood on the cloak, revealing his facial scars. They were not as bad as they had been the night Jim had treated them, but they were still raw and angry-looking, deep and disfiguring.
McCoy didn’t seem fazed. “Burns, huh?” he asked quietly. “Are they confined to your face?”
Spock hesitated. “No,” he said, almost too low for the humans to hear. “They cover much of the right side of my body, more on the torso and arm than on the leg., although there are some scars there as well. I was...pinned beneath a beam, which protected my lower back and legs to some extent.”
“How old are the scars?”
“I was injured just over six harvests ago,” Spock replied.
“I see.” McCoy stepped forward, raising a hand. “If I may?” Spock hesitated for a moment but then bowed his head. The healer’s fingers carefully touched the facial scars.
‘These have been recently aggravated,” he noted.
“Yes,” Spock said quietly, not looking at either Jim or McCoy. “I had an...accident.”
McCoy gave him a shrewd look but forbore to comment. “Well, as my mother would have said, if you don’t leave them alone, they’ll never heal.” He stepped back, looking Spock in the eye.
“Have your healers treated these scars?” he asked.
Spock nodded. “They have tried, but such injuries do not happen to those of my people, so the healers have had few suggestions.”
“Well then, sir, your healers are not trying hard enough,” McCoy replied. “I cannot heal these; that is beyond my abilities. However, I can certainly ease the pain you must be suffering.”
“I am a Vulcan,” Spock said proudly, head raised high. “Pain is nothing to me.”
He got an eyebrow that if it wasn’t slanted was certainly mobile. “My lord,” McCoy said patiently, “I have never met any sentient creature who enjoyed being on pain all the time.” He turned and walked to a small table where he had laid his case of medical supplies. He opened it and pulled out a large jar.
“This is the gel from the aloekea,” he said. “It is used among our people for burns and sun exposure.”
Spock frowned, plainly puzzled. “That plant grows wild on my lands,” he said. “it is no more than a common weed.”
“Well perhaps, but that weed has excellent skin-soothing properties,” McCoy replied. He set the jar down on the table. “Now, this should be thoroughly rubbed into the scar tissue twice a day every day, and do so for at least the next two moons. And stay out of the sun; I assume you are doing that already, but continue to do so. Further exposure to light that intense will only aggravate the tissues. As I said, this will not remove the scars. However, it will make them more pliant, less prominent, and considerably less painful.” He glanced at Spock’s right hand. “That in turn will help with motor functions in that hand; I have no doubt it is stiff and difficult to use freely.”
“That is all?” Spock asked.
“That is the best treatment I can offer,” McCoy replied. “You can either send for more gel when this is used or simply have your servants pick and crush the leaves from the aloekea, boiling down the juice into a gel and straining it through some thicknesses of butter muslin into a jar. Wait until it cools before you rub it on.”
“Thank you, Len.” Jim spoke up. “I’m sure it will help.”
“Yes,” Spock said. “I am grateful for your counsel.” He reached into his tunic and withdrew a pouch of coins, which he placed in McCoy’s hands.
“Really,” Leonard said, embarrassed, “I don’t need...”
“No,” Spock replied. “I have taken you away from your patients, and I appreciate your efforts on my behalf.” He hesitated. “There is just one thing...”
“I know; no talking.” McCoy actually smiled. “I promise you, my lord Spock, my healer’s oath covers what we have done here today. I will not be regaling my friends with the details of my visit.”
“Thank you,” Spock spoke quietly. “My father...he does not wish our enemies to know of my shame.”
“There is no shame in being injured,” McCoy said firmly, before Jim could even open his mouth.
The uninjured corner of Spock’s mouth curled up slightly. “I can see why you and Jim are friends,” he replied. “However, I must honor my father’s wishes.”
“Len, if anyone asks, tell them you came to see me,” Jim said. “Tell them I had a bad allergy attack, and the lord’s servants didn’t know what to do.”
McCoy nodded. “Yeah, considering all that you’re allergic to, that is believable.” He looked at Spock.
“Send for me again if you need me, my lord,” he said.
“I will,” Spock replied.
“Come on, Len,” Jim said. “I’ll take you to your air car.”
“Do you really have serious allergies?” Spock asked Jim over dinner.
Jim nodded. “Yes, I’m allergic to a pretty impressive list of substances, mostly food,” he said. “I’ve learned to deal with it over the years.”
“You should have told me; I would not want anything from my table to harm you,” Spock noted.
Jim shook his head. “It’s all right,” he reassured his host. “I know what to look for, and if there’s something I don’t recognize, I just won’t eat it.” He took another mouthful of the dish of wild fowl and rice Sulu’s mother had prepared. “This is delicious, by the way.”
Spock nodded, toying with his own food. “Mariko is gifted,” he agreed. “Jim.” he hesitated as Jim looked at him. “When you greeted the healer McCoy, you...embraced him.” Spock raised his eyes to Jim’s. “Is he...a lover?”
Jim looked up sharply, alerted by something in the Vulcan’s voice. It wasn’t jealousy; it wasn’t even curiosity. It was a note of loneliness, of longing.
“No,” Jim replied gently. “As I told you, McCoy has a wife now and a child on the way. I did hug him when he arrived, but I hug many of my friends and family, and Leonard is like a brother to me. We humans are a tactile people; I know that is not always true for Vulcans.”
“No, it is not.” Spock’s voice was very low, and his face was...sad. “Jim, I have no right to ask, but...have you had many lovers?” Spock seemed to be forcing himself to speak.
“I would not say many,” Jim said, still gently. “I have had a few, both male and female; again, that is common among the People. As long as no one is hurt or betrayed, we believe that giving and sharing pleasure is a good thing.”
“I have never had that,” Spock whispered.
“I am sorry,” Jim replied softly. “That is something that I believe all should enjoy.” They sat across the table from each other, both lost in their thoughts. At last, Jim rose and walked to the table where McCoy had left the jar of healing salve.
“Come,” he said. “Leonard said you needed this rubbed in twice a day; we may as well start tonight.”
Spock looked at him, a faint green blush washing across his cheeks. “I can do it myself,” he said in a low voice. “I do not intend to turn you into some kind of...body servant.”
Jim moved back to his side and dropped to his knees next to Spock, putting a gentle hand on his wrist.
“My lord...Spock,” he said softly. “Caring for your injuries does not make me a body servant. I will not insist, but I am sure you cannot easily reach all of the scarring yourself, and you should not have to twist and contort yourself” He offered Spock a tentative smile. “Besides, I do not wish to make you angry, but I believe that part of your pain has nothing to do with your scars,” he continued. “I believe that because of who you are, because of your...”
“Human blood,” Spock said, with none of the anger he’d showed before.
Jim nodded. “Yes, I believe that you need to be touched, to be taken care of. Please believe me; I would be proud to give you some comfort, some ease.” James knelt, looking up at the stern profile, his own face lit by the fire, his gold-green eyes large and tender. At last, Spock stirred and sighed, looking down at the human by his side.
“I am not sure I deserve such comfort from you,” he said, “but I cannot make myself refuse.”
Jim gave him a luminous smile. “Good,” he said simply. He rose to his feet. “Shall we?”
Once inside his chamber, Spock froze again. Jim looked at him inquiringly.
“What is it?”
“Jim, my scars.” Spock gestured towards his torso. “They are...grotesque.”
Jim’s gaze stayed steady on Spock’s face. “No,” he said quietly but firmly, “they’re not. They are simply scars.” He gestured toward the huge bed, even bigger than the one in Jim’s own quarters, draped in crimson velvet.
“Take off your tunic and lie on your side,” he requested. Slowly, reluctantly, Spock did as the human had asked, drawing off his tunic and lying down on his left side, his back to Jim. Jim knelt on the bed behind him, the jar of ointment in his hand.
“Just relax,” Jim said gently. “I will try not to hurt you. He looked at the body lying before him, pity welling inside him.
“How you have suffered,” he murmured. He took some of the gel into his hands, warming it slightly. Then he reached for Spock’s arm, which was lying along his body. He began to carefully work the gel into the scarred, crippled hand, letting his fingers rub strongly but gently along Spock’s palm and the back of his hand, along each finger and between, massaging the hand between both of his, hearing Spock’s breathing quicken, feeling the faintest tremor in the long body lying beside him.
“Am I hurting you?” Jim asked quietly.
“No,” Spock murmured. “Vulcan hands...they are...sensitive.”
Jim bowed his head to hide a smile. He had heard rumors about the sensitivity of the masters’ hands, and apparently the rumors were true. He continued to rub until all the gel was absorbed, caressing now as much as he was massaging, feeling Spock’s body began to relax. He took more gel and moved up the arm, soothing every inch of crinkled, damaged skin, trying to undo the pain of fire and loss.
“Here,” Jim said softly, leaning over Spock. “Let’s do this.” He grabbed a pillow and propped Spock’s arm on it, moving it out of the way of the torso and back, which bore their own burden of scars.
Jim coated both hands with the soothing gel and began to work in long, smooth, careful strokes, his healing touch covering the inflamed skin and bringing sweet relief from pain. Even with the scars, Spock’s body was beautiful, strong and lean, the unmarked skin like creamy vellum, the muscles firm, the chest covered in a light scattering of soft black hair. Jim gently moved the long curtain of hair away from Spock’s face, loving the feel of those silken strands as he smoothed them. Spock relaxed even more as cool, firm fingers softly stroked his damaged cheek, slowly moving up to rub his temples in gentle circular motions.
“Rest,” Jim whispered, putting all of his tenderness into the suggestion. “Rest and heal. The pain is fading; the pain is gone.” He whispered that over and over again until he felt Spock’s body go limp, until he saw that the huge dark eyes were closed. Jim stood and stretched, found a light blanket and covered the sleeping figure, looking down at the Vulcan lord as he lay across that ridiculously lavish bed.
Greatly daring, Jim bent down and brushed the lightest, airiest kiss across the Vulcan’s forehead. “Sleep peacefully,” he whispered.
Jim turned and left for his own rooms. Behind him, the sable eyes opened and Spock raised one wondering hand to touch the skin where Jim’s lips had rested.
Chapter 8: The Kiss
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
This story finally earns its adult rating....
Chapter Eight: The Kiss
Over the next weeks, the human serf and the Vulcan lord gradually became closer. Jim continued to tend Spock’s scars, and as McCoy had promised, they improved markedly. Spock’s pain eased almost magically, and the scars became much lighter in color and less prominent. As the healer had told Spock, they would never disappear, but even this partial recovery was extraordinary to Spock, who had been tormented by his injuries for so long.
There was another kind of healing going on as well.
“Spock?” Jim stood in the arched doorway that led from Spock’s quarters to the balcony overlooking the garden. It was almost two hours after sunset, and Spock was lying on an oversized chaise lounge, looking up into the night sky.
“Jim.” Spock’s usually somber face lightened, as it always did when he looked at his human companion.
“Would you like company?” Jim asked.
“Of course.” Spock expected that Jim would take one of the chairs nearby, but to his surprise, Jim walked over and slid into the spot to Spock’s left side on the lounge, the warmth of his body contrasting deliciously with the cool night air.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Jim murmured. Even in the dim light, he could see Spock’s blush.
“No,” the Vulcan admitted in a low voice. “I...enjoy your touch.”
Jim gently took Spock’s good hand in his. “As I do yours,” he replied simply. ‘There is no shame in that, Spock.”
“I know,” Spock replied softly. “But even now, I find it hard to accept your affection, your caring for me.” He looked at their joined hands. “This simple feeling...it overwhelms me at times.”
Jim nodded. “I know; I can feel it in you, both the longing and the hesitation.” He gently squeezed the hand he held. “I suppose those who raised you never offered this kind of touch.”
A slight, sad smile flickered across Spock’s face. “My mother did,” he said quietly. “Even after I completed my first cycle of years and began my training as a warrior, she would embrace me when we met and...kiss me good night whenever I was under her roof.” Spock could still remember the feel of her lips on his cheek.
“I’m sorry.” Jim felt sorrow that he had opened the subject, but Spock shook his head.
“Do not be; it is a memory I treasure,” he replied.
“She must have been an exceptional person,” Jim noted. “How did she meet your father?”
“She was a member of his household,” Spock replied. “She was a musician; she used to play for him when he was tired or troubled, and he...grew fond of her.”
Jim was surprised; he had suspected that Spock’s mother was a pleasure girl. Equally surprisingly, Spock seemed to pick up on his thought.
“No,” he said quietly. “She did not grace my father’s bed, not at first. She told me once that when he realized his feelings for her, he courted her as if she were a maiden from a High House. And when she agreed to be his, he married her, despite his own father’s opposition.”
“Really?”
That slight, sad smile was on Spock’s lips again. “Yes; my great-grandmother, T’Pau, she who rules our clan, told my grandfather that my father’s feelings were honorable and his actions should be as well. So Sarek and my mother, Amanda, were wed. She was his second wife but always first in his heart.”
“Your great-grandmother sounds like an exceptional person as well,” Jim observed quietly.
“She is,” Spock agreed. “Of all of my family, she is the one who has always accepted me fully, even when my father had had...trouble doing so.” Spock looked at his companion. “My father does love me; I know that. But the obligations he carries are many, and there are those in our Clan who were not best-pleased that he brought human blood into our line.”
Jim sighed. “I know that my people are...less than yours in many ways,” he said. “We are not as strong; we do not have the powers of the mind that you possess. But I have never felt that we are inferior simply because of our differences.”
“You are not,” Spock replied gently. “Indeed, I begin to think that your people are better than mine—more intuitive, more courageous, and more loving.” He gathered his courage and slipped an arm around the human by his side, thrilled when Jim nestled against him, laying his head on Spock’s shoulder.
“If that is true,” Jim murmured, “then that is why you are so wonderful, for you carry the blood of both my kind and your own.”
“I do not think I am the wonderful one,” Spock said softly. They sat together for a long time, content to simply be close. At last Jim stirred.
“Perhaps we should go in,” he said. “The night air is cool, and I need to treat your scars before you retire.”
‘Very well,” Spock agreed. He rose and offered his hand to Jim, pulling the human to his feet as well. He turned to go inside but stopped when he felt Jim’s hand on his arm.
“Spock...”
“Yes, Jim?” Spock turned back to his human, an inquiring look on his face. Jim took two steps forward, until he and Spock were close together.
“If you would allow me,” Jim murmured, “I would like to kiss you good night.”
Wordlessly, Spock nodded. The human leaned closer, cupping Spock’s face in his hands. He gently, carefully pressed his lips to Spock’s, feeling the silken skin beneath his own, feeling the flash of heat that went through them both. He drew back, fingers gently stroking Spock’s cheek bones, seeing the intense dark eyes soften with feeling.
“Shall we make this a nightly tradition?” he murmured.
“Yes,” Spock whispered. “Oh, yes, please.”
Jim sat in a shaded part of the garden, drawing materials in hand. He was sketching Malkana, or trying to at least, in order to eventually create a portrait of her as he had promised Spock. But the big cat wasn’t always cooperative; this morning, she was enjoying rolling over and over again in a patch of dust, refusing to sit still and pose regally as Jim wished. He finally put down his materials, laughing at her.
“I can see you are in no mood to be immortalized,” he said.
“James.”
Jim looked up. Stonn stood a few feet away. Wary, Jim rose to his feet and bowed slightly. Spock had told him he did not need to pay respect to his estate manager, but Jim felt that it was best to be polite.
“My lord.”
“May I speak with you?” Stonn asked quietly.
“Of course.” Jim watched while the Vulcan moved to a nearby chair and sat down. Jim re-seated himself as well.
“You have perhaps noticed that I was not...friendly towards you,” Stonn said at last.
Jim kept his face expressionless. “I am a serf, my lord,” he said quietly. “You are one of those who rule. You are not required to be friendly towards me.”
“Perhaps not, but the lord Spock ordered me to be courteous, and I was not,” Stonn replied, just as quietly. “That was wrong of me.” He took a deep breath and looked a the human sitting before him.
“I have known the lord for a long time,” he said. “Our families have been allied for generations; he has been more like a friend than an employer. I did not want him hurt or disappointed, as he has been before. But now, seeing you together, seeing how...kind you are to him...” Stonn bowed his head.
“I do not deserve your forgiveness for my attitude,” he said in a low, shamed voice. He raised his head, meeting the human’s gaze. “But I do ask it.”
“I give it freely,” Jim said quietly. “We both want only the best for the lord Spock; there is no reason for us to quarrel.”
“Thanks you,” Stonn said, rising from his seat. “I...thank you.” He hurried away, obviously overcome. Malkana padded over to Jim, pushing her head into his hand, obviously wanting to be petted. Jim obliged, his heart lighter than it had been since he’d arrived at Spock’s villa. He was glad that he and Stonn did not need to be enemies.
“There.” Jim smoothed the last of the gel over Spock’s scars in their evening ritual. He looked inside the jar before replacing the lid. “I am glad Mariko is cooking up some more of this; we are nearly out.” He wiped his hands on a clean towel and rose, bending to kiss Spock good night as had become his custom.
“I will see you tomorrow,” he said, straightening up and preparing to go to his own rooms.
“Jim...”Spock sat up. Jim paused.
“Yes, Spock?”
The Vulcan hesitated but then looked up at Jim. “Would you...stay with me for a time?” he asked quietly.
“Oh course,” Jim replied gently, sinking down crossed-legged on the bed, facing Spock. “What do you wish?”
Spock’s face bore that look of shyness that Jim had seen before. “I....” Jim laid his hand on Spock’s wrist.
“Tell me, please.”
“You have touched me,” Spock said softly, looking down at Jim’s hand. “Your hands have caressed my flesh; your lips have met mine. But I have scarcely...”
“But you wish to?” Jim asked, very gently. Spock nodded, the onyx eyes meeting Jim’s golden gaze.
“But I do not know how,” Spock whispered.
Jim smiled, feeling the joy run through him. “That is easily remedied,” he murmured, moving closer. He slipped off the silk tunic he was wearing, part of the wardrobe Spock had purchased for him. His smooth, golden-skinned body glowed in the soft light. Spock caught his breath at the human’s beauty. Jim moved closer still, taking Spock’s hand in his and guiding it to Jim’s bare shoulder.
“See,” Jim murmured, feeling Spock’s hand smooth along his skin. “It is easy.” He moved closer yet, feeling Spock’s arms go around him. Spock shivered slightly as their bodies pressed together, as he felt the human’s skin against his own.
“You feel so...so amazing.” Spock’s hands smoothed gently up and down Jim’s back as he buried his face in the human’s neck, breathing in that cool green scent that seemed to cling to Jim’s skin.
“So do you,” Jim whispered, his own hands busy exploring, losing themselves in that incredible silky fall of hair that flowed down Spock’s back. “You do,” Jim repeated firmly as he felt Spock shake his head. He eased back, giving Spock a tender, reassuring smile. “I crave your touch,” he whispered, “just as you crave mine.” He bent and let his lips capture Spock’s, pressing gently, letting his mouth linger, thrilled beyond measure as he felt Spock shyly return his kiss. Jim pressed Spock back gently onto the bed, following him until they were lying together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“Jim, I...may I see you, all of you?”
‘Yes,” Jim whispered. “Yes.” He easily slipped off the soft pants he was wearing, kicking free of the material and lying back, letting Spock’s gaze move over him hungrily.
“Ohhhh,” Spock breathed, seeing the human’s nakedness for the first time. “You are...like me.”
“Like you?” Jim inquired. “What do you mean?”
Spock’s eyes dropped as that flush spread over his face. “I am...other boys always told me I was...deformed, unnatural...”
“Ah.” Jim suddenly comprehended. He dropped his hand and let his fingers gradually trail along his pale gold shaft, the crown flushing rosy-red as he stroked himself, his organ already rising proud and eager beneath Spock’s gaze, hearing Spock’s soft intake of breath. “So you are like me,” Jim murmured. “May I see you as you see me?” He waited for Spock’s shy nod before letting his hands go to the waist of Spock’s sleep pants, gently loosing the tie and carefully drawing Spock’s penis into view. It was similar to Jim’s, although it carried a double-ridged frill of flesh near the head, tender flesh that quivered beneath Jim’s careful caress, drawing a moan from Spock.
“Oh, Spock,” Jim breathed, feeling the Vulcan’s maleness pulse in his grip, “you are not deformed. You are beautiful.” He continued to gently stroke Spock’s hardness, letting his palm slide up and down that eager length, before moving his other hand to Spock’s and placing the Vulcan’s hand on his own organ.
“Touch me,” Jim murmured. “Touch me, please.’ He closed his eyes as the fever-hot hand curled around him, achingly gentle, stroking and exploring, at first hesitantly, then more firmly as Spock felt Jim respond. They moved together, each exploring the other, each learning which touches brought gasps and soft moans, both feeling the other respond, each touch feeding the hunger, until, almost as one, both men cried out softly and came, the hot, fragrant juices spilling over their hands, their bodies moving together until at last, they lay in each other’s arms, still caressing each other, Jim’s lips moving along Spock’s jaw, scattering tiny kisses over the flesh.
“Yes,” Jim murmured, lying content in those strong arms. “So very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Spock whispered. “Oh, Jim. I never knew. I never dreamed.”
Jim kissed him again. “There is more,” he promised softly. “There is so much more.”
Chapter 9: The Crisis
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Okay, something very bad happens in ths chapter; it had to for the sake of the plot. I handled it as carefully as possible, but it is a bit rougher than I usually do, so be warned but not discouraged; better times are coming.
Chapter Nine: The Crisis
“Jim, it is stunning.” Spock looked at the painting of Malkana that Jim had finished from his sketches.
“I’m glad you like it,” Jim chuckled. “I wasn’t sure it would ever be done; Malkana is not the most cooperative of models, are you, sweetheart?” He patted the sleek head, which was pressed against his side. The great hunting cat had taken to following Jim almost everywhere.
“Well, it is obvious that you coaxed her into good behavior.” Spock gave Jim a loving glance. “Just as you have me,” he murmured. He turned back to the painting, which was placed on an easel in the library. In the picture, Malkana lounged on the marble terrace that led to the garden, her beautifully-striped and spotted brown and gray fur shining in the sunlight, the green gems in the collar around her neck echoing the brilliant green eyes.
“I will hang it in my rooms, with your permission,” Spock said. “It is lovely.”
“Hang it wherever you wish,” Jim replied. “It’s all yours.”
“And I thank you for it.” Spock looked at the young man at his side. “What is your next masterwork to be?”
Jim looked up at him, all teasing gone from his face. “I would like...to paint you,” he said quietly.
“Jim,” Spock said, startled.
“Jim put a hand on his arm. “Not like you are now,” he reassured Spock, “although I would be proud to paint you that way. But as you were before the accident, to remind you of just how beautiful you are.” He took one step closer. “I know you will never believe that your scars don’t matter, so at least I can give you another image to hold before your eyes, until the time that the mind healer spoke of, the time when you are fully healed.”
Greatly moved, Spock took his human into his arms. “Thank you,” he murmured into one delicately rounded ear. “Thank you for your faith, for your vision, for your....” He hesitated.
“Love?” Jim finished softly. “Yes. I love you, Spock. Perhaps it’s presumptuous for a human serf to love a master, but there is precedent, you know.” He blinked back the tears that had risen. “And I won’t lie to you, ever,” he said softly. “I do love you.”
Spock held him closer, the joy—and the fear—rising in his heart. Was this right? Did he dare? Spock didn’t know. “I cherish thee,” he murmured. “I cherish thee, Jim, my Jim.”
Later that evening, Jim found Spock on his balcony, once again lying on the chaise and looking up at the night sky. Jim joined him, still feeling somewhat let down by their discussion earlier in the day. True, Spock had said he’d ‘cherished’ him, but Jim had hoped for so much more. Perhaps he really does view me as some kind of a...diversion, Jim thought sadly. Yet he couldn’t believe that. They’d grown so close. And no matter how Spock truly felt, Jim couldn’t stay away. He craved Spock, longed for him, wanted to be with him all that he could. He silently joined the Vulcan, his spirits lifting slightly when Spock put his arm around him. Jim laid his head on Spock’s shoulder with a sigh, and they both looked at the stars for a time.
“Jim,” Spock asked at last, “may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you ever...think about your people, about where they came from?”
“Of course,” Jim replied, surprised. He smiled slightly. “Indeed, among the People, I am the most likely to consider our history.”
“Why is that?” Spock asked curiously.
Jim chuckled. “I forgot; you could not know. You see, the People have always passed our history along, one generation to the other. My many times great-grandfather, George Kirk, commanded the ship which crashed here.”
“Truly?”
Jim nodded. “Yes. So I have always been interested in the stars.” He looked up again. “I often imagine it, what it would be like to travel through space as easily as one travels from here to Sha’Kir. I often wonder what George Kirk saw, what he discovered before he came here.”
Spock hesitated for a long moment, but it must be asked. “Do you...ever think about your people, that they are...”
“Slaves?” Jim asked quietly. “Oh, I know; we don’t use that word, but that’s what we are. It’s what we’ve been since my people crashed here.”
“I am sorry,” Spock said. “I did not mean to upset you.”
Jim shook his head. “You haven’t,” he replied softly. “And I don’t mean to upset you, Spock. The fate of the People is not in your hands. And matters could have been much worse; I know that. Your people could have killed mine when the ship crashed. Those who rule could abuse my people and make their lives a misery, but we are largely treated fairly. But do I wonder what it would be like to be truly free? Of course I do. Do I wonder what our home planet is like, what the lives of the People were like on that world? Always.” Jim looked up into the sky. “I do not even know which star is mine,” he murmured. “And I will never know.” He looked back at the silent figure at his side.
“I cannot regret that I came here to you,” he said quietly. “I cannot regret that I know you. But I wish...I wish we were equals.”
“We can be.” Spock turned and took Jim’s hand in his. “Jim,” he said tenderly, “earlier today, you told me that you...love me. Do you mean that? You did not say it because I am a master you hoped to please?”
“Of course not,” Jim whispered, letting his free hand stroke Spock’s cheek. “I love you, Spock, with all my heart. Perhaps I should not; perhaps it will only cause me pain. I know that you do not feel the same; you cherish me, nothing more. But I find I do not care. I am willing to face your people’s scorn and my people’s disappointment. If you wish, I would gladly stay with you—forever.”
“Jim.” Spock pulled him into his rms. “I do love you,” he whispered. “I do, so much. But there are...truths about me, about my people, which you do not know.”
“Then tell me,” Jim said gently, greatly moved, happy to the depth of his soul to hear Spock say those three words.
Spock shook his head. “I do not know if I can, at least, not now,” he murmured. “Will you trust me? Will you let me tell you in my own time?”
“Of course,” Jim whispered. “I do trust you, Spock, and I always will.”
“Thanks you.” Spock held him closer, feeling the human’s warmth. “Thank you.” He gently eased back, placing his hands on Jim’s shoulders, looking deep into those extraordinary eyes.
“Jim, will you join with me? Will you exchange vows with me before the altar of my people, promise to stay with me for as long as our lives shall last?”
“Yes,” Jim whispered. “Oh, yes, so willingly. But...but I have not healed you. You still carry your scars. Perhaps...perhaps I am not the one the mind healer spoke of.”
Spock shook his head. “No,” he replied tenderly. “You are all I could ever want, and you have healed me...here.” He pressed Jim’s hand to his side; Jim could feel the Vulcan’s heart thrum against his palm. “Never doubt yourself, ashaya, my love.” Spock drew him close again, letting this lips meet. “You have healed me,” Spock whispered against Jim’s mouth. “You have saved me.”
Mariko Sulu looked up as Stonn entered the kitchen. His face wore a puzzled frown.
“Did I just see the lord Spock leave here?” he asked.
Mariko nodded; she could understand the estate manager’s surprise; the lord Spock seldom concerned himself with the preparation of foodstuffs. “The lord asked me to prepare a special meal for him and James this evening,” she explained. She hesitated for a moment, but the news would soon run like a wildfire through the estate; there was no reason for Stonn not to know.
“The lord told me that he and James are to be joined,” she said. “He wishes a special dinner to celebrate the fact.”
Stonn’s normally solemn face lit with a quiet joy. “He has proposed?” he asked. Mariko nodded. “Indeed, and James has accepted him.”
“How wonderful,” Stonn breathed. “The lord has suffered so; I am gratified that he will finally be at peace.” He looked at the rotund cook. “Be certain to prepare your finest dishes,” he said. “Everything must be perfect for this joyous occasion.”
Jim walked into Spock’s quarters, stopping in the doorway and looking around in wonder. The room was full of urns of hammered copper, each filled with white flowers. The table before the fire was set with an elegant cloth with an intricate openwork border, and the table was laden with dishes. Malkana lay purring before the fire; Jim could hear her from where he stood.
“Jim.” Spock came forward, dressed in a new robe of crimson silk, which set off his night-black hair and sable eyes. His scars, thanks to weeks of treatments, were ivory-pale instead of green and inflamed. They would always be with him, but they were no longer so disfiguring. Best of all, at least to Jim’s eyes, Spock looked happy and relaxed, free of pain and anguish.
Jim took the hand Spock extended and allowed him to lead Jim to the table. “Spock, everything is so lovely,” he enthused. “You did not need to do all this.”
“I did,” Spock countered gently. “This is our betrothal dinner; it must be worthy of you.”
“Well, it looks wonderful,” Jim said, sitting down. “Mariko is an artist.” He smiled as Malkana rose from her place by the fire and padded over to lay her head in Jim’s lap, plainly hoping for her own share of the bounty spread before them. Jim patted her and spoke sternly.
“Go lie down,” he said. “No eating from the table.” The plumed tail swished, but with what sounded remarkably like a human sigh, she returned to the rug before the fire and lay down, the green eyes regarding Jim balefully.
Spock’s face wore its half-smile. “How stern you are,” he said with mock-reproach.
Jim grinned. “There will be plenty of leftovers.” He reached for a platter. “May I serve you?”
“No,” Spock replied. “I will serve you, ashaya.” He picked up a bowl.
“You called me that before,” Jim said. “What does it mean?”
“Beloved,” Spock said gently.
“Ashaya.” Jim smiled at his love. “I like it. No, thank you.” He shook his head at the proffered bowl. “Those are shiktana mushrooms, aren’t they? I’m afraid that’s on my allergy list.”
“Jim, I am sorry.” Spock hastily set the bowl aside. I did not know.” His face grew stern. “Mariko should not serve such items if they will harm you.”
“Spock, it’s all right,” Jim chuckled, picking up the bowl and handing it back to the Vulcan. “I know they are a delicacy, and there’s no reason for you not to enjoy them. Besides, there are plenty of choices for me,” He nodded towards another bowl. “I cannot east rozla-berries, either, but the very sight of them will not give me a rash.” He gave his love a look of promise from beneath his long golden lashes. “And kissing me after you eat them won’t make me sick, either,” he promised.
“One eyebrow arched slightly in that quizzical look Jim had grown to love. “I am...relieved,” Spock said, helping himself to the mushrooms.
“I have a surprise for you,” Jim said, one dinner was completed and the two of them were curled together on the sofa, watching the flames flicker on the hearth.
“Indeed?”
“Yes; let me go and get it.” Jim got up and hurried across the hall to his own rooms, returning in a few moments with a familiar item in his hands.
“My cithritha.” Spock sat up, plainly delighted.
“Yes, I know you said you could not play it after your hand was scarred, but you also expressed a wish to hear me,” Jim said.
“And you promised, once you had practiced.”
Jim smiled at his love. “I have.” He sank down on the hearth rug next to Malkana, sitting cross-legged with the stringed instrument on his lap. He tuned it for a moment and then began to play a traditional love song. Spock leaned back on the sofa and listened, enjoying the sight of Jim, his hair gilded by the firelight, his beautiful features intent as he bent over the instrument, his strong, graceful hands moving over the strings, the music drifting through the air. Spock relaxed, feeling for the first time in many seasons like someone whose life had meaning. And that meaning was Jim.
“Hey,” Jim chuckled softly, looking up after he had played several songs, seeing Spock with his eyes closed, his head leaned back against the cushions. “You’re falling asleep. Am I that good or that bad?”
Spock forced his heavy-lidded eyes open. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “I seem to be exhausted for some reason.”
“That’s all right, love.” Jim set the instrument aside and rose to his feet, crossing to the sofa. “Do you want me to help you to your bed?” he asked gently.
Spock shook his head. “No, I am quite comfortable here,” he said drowsily.
“All right,” Jim replied. He decided they could skip the treatment of Spock’s scars for one night; he was obviously quite tired. Jim went and got a pillow and blanket from Spock’s bed, helping him to lie full-length on the couch. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” he asked.
“I am...certain.” Spock’s eyes shut. Jim bent down and kissed him gently on the forehead. Spock’s skin felt rather warm, but then it often did, and he had spent much of the evening before the fire.
“Good night, ashaya,” Jim said softly. “Sleep well.” He turned and left Spock’s quarters for his own, quietly closing the door behind him.
Jim had been asleep for perhaps an hour when he woke upon hearing the door open. That’s odd, he thought drowsily. Maybe Spock needs something...He sat up, peering into the darkened room.
“Spock?” he called softly. “Is that you, my lord?” He rose, staking one step forward as his eyes picked out a shadowed figure. “Spock? What...”
In a flash, the figure was across the room, moving with Vulcan speed and stealth. The body slammed into Jim, knocking him back onto the bed, knocking the breath from his lungs.
“Spock, I...”Jim got no further. The body pinned him down, leaning heavily on him, making it almost impossible to breathe. Hot, hard, strong fingers tore at Jim’s nightclothes as Spock leaned over him, his breath hot in Jim’s face, his eyes burning in the dimness.
“Spock, love...” Jim tried again, tried to get a hand free to touch his love’s face. “What...” he cried out as a hard hand slapped him, wrenching his head on his neck.
“Silence!” Spock hissed. “Be still. Mine. Mine.” He bent and kissed Jim, but not gently, not tenderly, his lips and teeth grinding against the human’s flesh, splitting the skin. Jim could taste his own blood as Spock ravaged his mouth, as his hands roamed over Jim’s body, bruising his flesh with hard, possessive touches. Jim bit back another cry as the Vulcan found and twisted a nipple.
“Yes,” Spock hissed. “Yes. You like that pain, that sweet pain. I will give you pain. Mine. Mine...” His skin was burning hot, his voice hoarse. Jim struggled against the iron grip, truly frightened now.
“Spock! Let me go; you don’t want to do this, not like this...” His voice was cut off as Spock’s hand went around his throat, tightening hard enough to bruise, hard enough to choke off all utterances, just barely leaving Jim’s windpipe uncrushed. Jim tried to breathe, tried to think, but it was impossible. There was only the darkness, the heat, the pain in Jim’s body and worse, the agony in his heart.
With easy strength, Spock flipped Jim over onto his stomach, ripping away his sleep pants and settling on top of him, Jim’s arm twisted behind him in an unforgiving grip. “Spread yourself,” Spock hissed into Jim’s ear, biting at the tender cartilage, making Jim gaps with pain again as he yanked on Jim's arm. "Submit, human, submit.” His hand brutally spread Jim’s legs apart, groped, tried to force itself into Jim’s body.
“I...I will,” Jim choked out, “but, you are hurting me...ashaya, please, you are hurting me...” Jim closed his eyes, determined to endure, even as his heart bled.
Spock froze on top of him. “Ashaya?” he whispered. The pressure of Spock’s body on Jim’s lessened. “Ashaya?” Spock whispered again. He turned Jim over, the tortured dark eyes staring into Jim’s tear-blinded gold-green eyes. Now Jim could feel it, the agony roiling through Spock as he looked at Jim’s battered face and bruised neck.
“No.” Spock breathed. “Oh. NO!” He shoved himself off Jim, staggered to his feet, backed away, horror written in every line of his face. “NO!” he screamed. “Lock yourself away, hide, Jim, hide!” With that, he was gone. Jim heard the outer door to his quarter slam. A moment later, he heard Spock’s door slam as well.
“Spock,” Jim whispered. He staggered off the bed and out into the hall, desperate to reach the Vulcan. “Spock...” Jim collapsed just outside of Spock’s door. That was the last he remembered for a long time.
Chapter 10: The Flight
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Bonus chapter, but I'm not sure it helps much. There MAY be a bonus bonus chapter; we'll see.
Chapter Ten: The Flight
Jim opened his eyes and groaned as his bruises made themselves felt. He looked up into the frightened gaze of Sulu, who pressed Jim down when he tried to rise.
“Lie still,” the young houseman said. “Rest. You are hurt, although nothing is broken.”
“Spock.” Jim struggled up, ignoring Sulu’s attempts to make him lie still. “Spock...I must see him.”
Sulu shook his head. “He left early this morn,” he replied. “He told us to care for you, to give you all you need, but he left. He looked as if he had spent the night in the nine hells.”
Jim sank back against the pile of pillows, the tears coming to his eyes. “He did,” he whispered. “We both did, but it wasn’t his fault. I know him. It couldn’t have been his fault.”
Spock flew the air car unseeing, grateful for the auto-pilot feature, knowing that even with that, there was at least a chance that he would crash, that he would die...he almost hoped that he would. Suicide was not the Vulcan way, but Spock no longer cared about the Vulcan way, or his family’s pride, or his scars. He deserved those scars; he deserved all the pain Jim had tried to take away. Jim...Spock moaned aloud as he remembered the sight of Jim collapsed on the floor of the hallway, bleeding from bites and scratches, his face and neck bruised, unconscious for hours before Spock had found him. Spock had picked him up in his arms, feeling that precious weight pressed against his body for the last time, and had taken Jim to his bed, laying him down and summoning Stonn and Sulu to care for him. Spock could still feel the fever simmering in his veins; he knew that he would soon lose control again, and this time he might not stop. There was only one place he could go, one person he could talk to. He would make his way to his great-grandmother, the matriarch T’Pau, throw himself at her feet, and beg her to let him go to Gol, embrace the non-emotion that the priests there could teach him. He would never see Jim again, and with that thought, everything in Spock rose up to demand he crash the air car into the nearest outcropping of rock. But he could not shame his Clan so; he was already a disgrace. Jim would heal; he would go back to his people. His friend McCoy would help him, and Jim would find someone else. Who could not love Jim? Spock moaned, burying his head in his hands. He loved Jim; he always would. But it was too dangerous. He was a menace to the one he loved.
There was a knock on Jim’s door, and his heart leaped. Spock! Spock had come back. He rushed to open the door, ignoring his bruises—to see Stonn standing on the threshold. The older Vulcan’s face was pale, his eyes sad.
“James,” he said quietly, “may I come in?”
Wordlessly, Jim stepped aside and led Stonn into his sitting room. Jim sank down into his favorite chair, gesturing for Stonn to seat himself as well.
“Are you well?” Stonn asked him.
Jim shrugged. “Some bumps and bruises; I’ll be all right.” He didn’t want to talk about his injuries. “My lord, where is the lord Spock? Is he all right?’
Stonn lowered his eyes. “He has gone,” he said gently. “I believe he has fled to his great-grandmother’s homes—as he has done before.”
“Before?”
Stonn nodded, making himself look up and meet the human’s eyes. “I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I...I feared that this would happen, but I had hoped...you seemed so compatible...”
“Stonn, what happened?” Jim demanded, no longer worrying about titles of respect.
The Vulcan swallowed hard. “What has happened before.” He looked at Jim. “Five times before,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“The...other human companions?”
Stonn nodded, misery plain in his eyes. “The lord Spock—he is ill,” he said in a low voice. “He suffers from a brain ailment, a fever known as the plak tow. His emotions are out of control. He had hoped that finding a compatible mate would give him the strength to find his balance. We had all hoped that.” He looked at Jim compassionately. “But each time, he failed. Each time, he....” Stonn lowered his eyes again. “I cannot speak of their fates,” he whispered. “I cannot shame my lord’s house in that way.”
Jim felt the pain and fear go through him. “They’re dead,” he whispered. Stonn gave a jerky nod.
“I fear so.”
“But...but Spock and I, we...”
“Yes,” Stonn said sadly. “And I thought that this time, he would be cured. However,” he gestured towards Jim, wordlessly indicating his injuries. “He will flee to the clan matriarch; she will attempt to restore his balance.” Stonn bit his lip. “But I fear she will fail—as she has before.”
“What can I do?” Jim made himself ask.
Stonn looked at him, sudden determination showing in his eyes. “I will help you,” he said. “I will not stand by and be complicit in the death of another. You must flee, James. And I will do all I can to keep you safe.”
“Lady.”
T’Pau of Vulcan looked up from her correspondence. Even at the age of 350, she still kept a finger on the pulse of her province, even though she had retired to her villa and let her son take over the day-to-day affairs of the House.
The maidservant in the doorway bowed low. “Your great-grandson has called, lady, and requests to speak with you.”
“Which one?” T’Pau asked. This maid was irritatingly vague. After all, she had more than 40 great-grandsons.
“The lord Spock.”
“He may approach.” T’Pau wondered what had brought this wounded fledging out of his nest, but she was pleased to see him. Secretly, for reasons she would never share, T’Pau favored this child. He bore human blood, and the only man T’Pau had ever truly loved had been a human. She could still see him in her mind, as plainly as if he stood before her, though he was long dead. She had never had him, of course; she had been Head of House and married to an honorable man; the human had been a proud ship’s captain facing an alien enemy. But she had never forgotten the golden beauty of that human who called himself George Kirk. Her longing for him had never faded, even after 300 years.
“Revered One.” Spock was before her, kneeling, his face pressed to the floor, his shoulders shaking.
“Spock?” She questioned. “Rise, my child. Let me see thy face.”
He rose obediently, pushing back the hood of his cape. T’Pau noticed at once that the scars from that tragic fire had progressed remarkably; apparently, the news she had heard about this latest human was accurate. But she also saw the wild grief and fear in Spock’s eyes.
“My child,” she said gently, “Calm thyself. What has happened?” Spock threw himself to the floor again, burying his face in the hem of T’Pau’s robe.” It is...my Time,” he choked out. “I have hurt the one I chose. I cannot...I am not worthy...I beg thee, let me go to Gol.”
“Spock.” T’Pau spoke firmly. “Rise. Give me thy thoughts.”
Obediently, Spock made himself stand, let his Clan Mother place her fingers on his temple, see what he had done. The shame was almost more than he could bear, but it was no more than he deserved for his crime.
T’Pau took his hands away. She raised her fingers to her nostrils, taking in the scent of the sweat that clung to her great-grandson’s skin. “Spock, thee is not in thy time,” she told him. “Thou was poisoned, given a dose of t’lkaia in thy food or drink.” T’Pau’s anger ran deep as she saw the ravaged face of her great-grandson, drawn with grief and guilt. “It makes a fire in the flesh, but not like that of Pon Farr. Someone had drugged thee, hoping for this result, hoping to force thee to hurt thy chosen one.”
“Ancient lady,” Spock breathed, “is this certain?”
She nodded. “I cannot mistake its scent.”
Spock dropped into a chair, his face once again in his hands. “It does not matter,” he whispered. “I still laid hands of violence on my chosen.”
“Spock, he will forgive thee when he knows the truth,” T’Pau assured him. “Thee must find and punish who has done this, and thou must beg the forgiveness of the one who holds thy heart.”
Spock looked up. “But, lady...my Time will soon come.” He shuddered visibly. “It will be as it was with this drug. I will...hurt him. He is human; he cannot withstand...” He trailed off, his face flushing a brilliant green.
T’Pau moved to sit next to her great-grandson. “Child, thou does not understand the truth of Pon Farr, since thou has not experienced it,” she said quietly. “I promise, if the bond between thee and this human is a true one, he will not be harmed. Thy minds will be joined, and his pain—as well as his joy—will be as thine. Thou will not harm him, lest his pain rebound onto thy own flesh. Do not let the malice of whoever poisoned thee interfere with a true bond.” She rose. “Now, go home and seek out this human. Make matters right between thee. And find the one who wishes thee harm.” Her expression darkened. “There will be payment for this outrage.”
Spock rose as well, light-headed with relief.
“Thank you, Clan Mother,” he said, softly. “I will obey.”
Spock pushed the air car almost past its capacity, needing to get home, needing to see Jim. What could he say to him? How could he approach him? He only hoped that somehow, Jim’s capacity for love, his ability to feel Spock’s emotions, would help Spock convince him that he had not intended to hurt Jim, that he would rather have died than lay a hand on his beloved’s body in violent need. And if he would not believe? What if Jim’s love had died when Spock’s hands closed around his neck? Spock fought down his fear. He would not believe that until Jim told him. And if Jim did indeed feel that way, if he no longer wanted anything to do with Spock, the Spock would free him—and slit his own throat. There would be nothing for him if Jim was lost.
Spock landed the air car in the courtyard and flung himself from the car, running up the stairs into the villa, thinking only of Jim, praying that the human would at least see him.
He was met by Sulu.
“My lord,” the houseman said, “he is gone.”
Spock stared at him, all the desolation he had suffered once again welling up inside. “Gone?”
Sulu nodded. “Yes. The lord Stonn...” he hesitated. Spock grabbed his arm.
“What did Stonn do?”
“He...insisted; he said that Jim would be in danger—from you, my lord,” Sulu said softly. “He helped the human gather provisions, urged him to take one of the riding beasts. Jim left, headed towards the mountains.”
Spock felt a slow, dull anger burning inside him. “And where is Stonn?” he asked softly, too softly.
“He...took the other air car, my lord,” Sulu replied. “He fled as well, towards Sha’Kir.”
Spock nodded grimly. “Ask the garage staff to re-fuel my car,” he said. “And contact the authorities in Sha’Kir, on my authority. Tell them Stonn is a thief and a suspected poisoner. Ask your mother to pack travel food, as much as she can, as quickly as possible. Ask her to make up a kit of bandages and salves as well.” He hurried up the stairs to fetch more supplies.
Jim rode through the stony, arid hills, both his bruises and his heart aching. Fortunately, the riding beast was mild-tempered and had an easy gait, because Jim was not a skilled rider. Jim’s thoughts whirled around inside his head. Had he done the right thing? Was he really in so much danger? He still couldn’t believe that Spock would hurt him, not seriously. Hadn’t he stopped when Jim cried out? Hadn’t he begged Jim to lock himself away, to keep himself safe? But then there were the others, the ones Stonn was so upset over. If Spock had really killed them, then what choice did Jim have? He would have to hide, to stay in the mountains until he could find out if Spock had indeed gone to Gol, the monastery where his family had wanted to immure him before. Stonn had promised to seek Jim out when it was safe to come home, when Spock was no longer around to threaten him.
Jim’s eyes flooded with tears. He almost wished he’d stayed at the villa, risked Spock’s irrational behavior, even let Spock kill him. Surely, it would have hurt less than this.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, my love. I thought I could save you. I thought I could heal you.”
Jim rode on, blind with tears, never seeing the stealthy le-matya as it stalked its juicy prey.
Chapter 11: The Rescue
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Okay, bonus, bonus chapter. See how much I love you all.....
Chapter Eleven: The Rescue
Spock flew the air car through the foothills, forced to keep it on manual, because the cross-currents of the winds in this area were dangerous and unpredictable. Spock was exhausted—the mental and physical strains of the last day and night were taking their toll. But that didn’t matter. He had to find Jim before the human was hurt or killed. The mountains were treacherous, home to many large predators. Spock’s eyes tracked back and forth between his control panel and the ground below, desperately seeking some sign of Jim’s passage through the sand and brush. Then he spotted it, a sight which made his heart go cold in his side—a le-matya, feasting on the corpse of a riding beast. Even from the air, Spock recognized the tack that had once adorned the body. He swooped lower, the roar from the air car’s engine enraging and frightening the predator, which rose into the air and flew away, perching on a cliff, waiting for a chance to reclaim its meal.
Spock landed the car next to the beast, quickly searching the ground. There was no sign of Jim, no sign of his—body, but perhaps the la-matya had already consumed it. Perhaps—no, there. Spock’s keen eye spotted the faint, bloody tracks leading away from the beast’s corpse.
“Jim,” Spock breathed. He ran to his car and climbed back in, once again taking off and heading north as behind him, the le-matya returned to its feast.
Jim had run as far as he could, having barely survived when the le-matya had attacked his riding beast. Jim had been thrown clear, but not before the predator had raked his claws down one leg. Now, staggering, with no food, no water, and no supplies, his leg still bleeding sluggishly, Jim fell to his knees, knowing that this sandy bit of land beneath a giant rock would be his death bed. He slumped to the ground, his mind still on Spock.
This will break his heart. I’m so sorry, ashaya... Dehydrated and still losing blood, Jim fainted.
Spock almost didn’t see him. Thanks all the gods he was wearing one of the tunics Spock had given him, of a soft green that accented his eyes, rather than the drab fawn homespun he’d once worn. Just as the sun was about to set, Spock spotted the patch of green huddled in the lee of a large boulder. He set the car down again, scarcely waiting for it to stop before he was out of the driver’s seat, running towards Jim.
“Jim!” Spock fell to his knees by the human’s side. Jim was breathing but unconscious, his leg badly gashed, cuts and bruises—some inflicted by the le-matya, some, to his eternal shame, put there by Spock—marring his flesh. The eyelids fluttered slightly when Spock said his name, but Jim didn’t wake.
Spock stripped off his heavy velvet cloak, gently wrapping Jim’s body in the plush cloth, headless of bloodstains. He carefully picked Jim up, cradling him in his arms, and turned to the air car, stopping as he looked towards the horizon.
“No,” Spock breathed. “Oh, gods, no.”
There was a long, low dark cloud creeping towards him. Spock knew what it was—a sandstorm. He also knew that no air car could outrun such a storm, and if they were hit by it while in the air, the car would crash.
Spock turned and scanned the hills above them. There, quite high up—it looked like a cave. Spock could only hope it wasn’t home to a nest of le-matyas; he’d had all of those who could deal with for one day. Jim still in his arms, Spock ran to the car and grabbed the packs of supplies, slinging the straps over his shoulders and back. Carrying his precious burden, Spock scrambled up the hillside and to the cave. He gently laid Jim down right outside the entrance, grabbing a light-stick from his pack and illuminating it to check for predators. But his luck was finally turning; the cave was dry and empty. Spock picked Jim up once more and carried him inside, moving far back enough so the inevitable spray of sand would not reach them. He gently laid Jim down against the back wall, still wrapped in Spock’s cloak. Spock dumped his packs and placed the light-stick on a natural rock shelf, rummaging in one bag for first-aid supplies. He turned back to Jim, unwrapping the cloak and examining his injuries. The leg was definitely the most serious. Using the items Mariko had packed (and blessing her thoroughness) Spock carefully cleaned and wrapped the long gashes. They were painful, but none had apparently sliced into any arteries. Le-matya scratches could be poisonous, but Spock had the right ointment to smooth over the cuts. Jim was shivering, so Spock pulled out a thermal sleeping sack, opening it and placing Jim’s body inside. He rolled up the cloak and used it as a pillow, lowering Jim’s head onto it, his hands gently caressing the bruises Spock had left, his heart bleeding anew as he saw them.
“Oh, Jim,” he whispered. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
They had been sheltered in the cave for more than an hour. Outside, the wind was howling, but fortunately, the direction it was blowing was carrying more of the sand away. Equally fortunately, as long as the storm raged, the le-matyas would be in their dens, not out prowling for fresh meat. Spock had organized the supplies, starting a small fire with some compressed fuel cells inside a ring of stones. It provided some warmth, and the faint light was cheerful. When Jim did wake, Spock didn’t want him to be startled or frightened—although he was prepared for Jim to be both. How could the human possibly accept being trapped in a cave with the being who had abused him so badly just a day before? Spock had to face the fact that despite the storm and Jim’s injuries, the human might try to fight or flee Spock.
Spock settled down near Jim, leaning against the back wall of the cave. He decided to try and rest—not sleep, but simply allow his exhausted body to doze. He closed his eyes, summoning his mental disciplines, trying to find a calm place deep within.
A faint gasp woke Spock. He sat forward, looking around. The fire still burned dimly. Next to Spock, Jim was staring at him, his eyes filled with pain and grief. Spock’s very katra reeled beneath the impact of those eyes.
“Spock?” Jim whispered, his voice scarcely a thread. “You’re here?’
“Yes.” Spock flung himself on his knees next to the human, not daring to touch him, but wanting to be as close as possible. “Oh, Jim, please; believe me, believe me; I never meant for this to happen; I was drugged; I had to try and find you, to save you before you were hurt but I failed...” he broke off, seeing Jim’s pale face still staring at him in bewilderment.
“You...you came after me?” Jim shifted slightly, wincing as his wounds made themselves felt. “You...you saved me?”
Wordlessly, Spock nodded. The green-gold eyes filled with tears.
“I...I ran,” he choked. “I didn’t want to; I knew I shouldn’t. I stole from you; I ran from you. Oh, Spock, I’m so sorry...”
Spock could stand no more, the pain in Jim’s voice slicing through him. He gathered Jim into his arms, carefully avoiding the bruises, not gripping him too closely but holding him to his breast. “Oh, no, ashaya. It was not your fault. It is all right; I am not angry with you, never with you, oh my love, my love...” He held Jim, rocked him, stroking his hair and raining soft kisses on his face, kissing away the bright salt drops. Jim fought his way out of the sleeping sack, wrapping his arms around Spock’s neck, burying his face in the Vulcan’s shoulder.
“You’re all right,” he whispered. “I can feel it; you’re you again; you’re safe, you’re not sick...”
“Shhh,” Spock soothed. “It is all right, ashaya. I am safe, as are you. Do not cry, my love; do not grieve so. I will explain everything when you are stronger, but you are exhausted and injured; you must rest.” He tried to lower Jim back into the bedding, but the human held on.
“Don’t leave me, please,” Jim murmured. “Hold me. I...I longed for you so.”
No power that Spock possessed could have resisted that plea. He nodded, settling them into the blankets, pulling the open sleep sack over them, gently holding Jim so the human’s body was protected from the rough stone floor. Spock pressed Jim’s head to his shoulder, brushing his lips across that soft, tangled blonde-brown hair.
“Rest, ashaya,” he said tenderly. “Rest and heal. I will not leave you. I will guard you with my life.”
“I know,” Jim whispered sleepily, eyes already closing. “I knew you would...come...for me.”
Jim woke abruptly, stifling a moan as his various injuries, now stiffening as such wounds do, made themselves known. His smothered gasp was not smothered enough; Spock’s eyes popped open at once.
“Jim? Are you all right?”
Jim tried to move, but he was wrapped in both Spock’s arms and layers of blankets. “I’m just a bit sore,” he replied quietly, “And thirsty, I’m afraid.” He looked around the cave. “Do we have anything to drink?”
“Of course. Lie still.” Spock laid him down and rose to his feet, making his way to the pack of supplies, pulling out an insulated container and returning to Jim’s side. He carefully held Jim’s head as he let him take small sips from the canteen. “Is that better?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jim closed his eyes, still exhausted and a bit disoriented. He heard Spock drink and then felt the Vulcan ease down beside him, putting one arm around Jim and letting him lean against that strong, warm body.
“Where are we?” Jim asked at last.
“In a cave in the foothills of the S’talken Mountains,” Spock replied. “There is a sandstorm raging; we cannot leave until it subsides.”
“Spock, I’m so sorry; I got your riding beast killed, and...”
Spock laid his fingers gently across Jim’s lips. “Do not apologize, ashaya, I beg thee. You ran because you feared for your life. I hurt you and frightened you—and I would be willing to wager that Stonn lied to you, urged you to run, told you I was dangerous.”
Jim looked at him, wide-eyed. “But Stonn...he said he wanted to help me.”
Spock looked grim. “Yes, help you right into the belly of a le-matya.” Even as he thought of his, his arm tightened around Jim. “I came so close to losing you, my love. Stonn will pay for what he did to you—and to me.”
“To you?” Jim asked softly.
“Yes,” Spock replied. “That...terrible night, I was drugged with something called t’lkaia. It has been illegal for many years, but it can still be obtained on the black market. It...fires the blood, provokes one who takes it to a frenzy that some find appealing, especially those who enjoy pain as part of their bed sport.” He looked at Jim, stroking back the hair from his brow, his fingers caressing a bruise. “It was almost certainly put into a dish that Stonn knew you would not eat because of your allergies. His plan worked perfectly; I...when I think of what I tried to do to you...” Spock shuddered. Now it was Jim’s turn to place gentle fingers to his lips.
“But you did not,” he said quietly. “You heard me, and you stopped.”
“Not soon enough.” Spock bent and let his lips ghost across the ring of bruises around Jim’s neck. “I can never earn forgiveness for this,” he whispered against Jim’s skin. “Never.”
Jim’s hands cupped Spock’s face, drew it to his. “You do not need to earn it,” he murmured. “I give it, freely.” He let his lips touch Spock’s a gentle promise for the future.
‘Thank you, ashaya.” Spock’s eyes were filled with wonder. “I do not know if I could have been so gracious if our places had been changed.”
“But Spock,” Jim settled into the Vulcan’s arms, “why did Stonn do that?” He shivered. “I knew he didn’t like me. At least at first, but he seemed so happy for us, like he ws pleased that you'd found someone...”
Spock shook his head. “It was not because of you, ashaya,” he explained. “Many years ago, before it was discovered that I needed a human mate, Stonn petitioned my House for my hand in marriage. His family is lesser than mine; he was refused outright.”
“He loves you?”
Spock shook his head again. “He never cared for me,” he said positively. “He saw me as a tool. But I thought that had all ended long ago. But it has not. He drugged me, and then he frightened you away, hoping, I am sure, that you would die out here.”
“Spock, I never wanted to ask this, but...” Jim hesitated.
“It is all right, ashaya,” Spock said gently. “You may ask me what you will.”
“The others—the humans from Sha’Kir who came to be your companions—what happened to them?”
Spock looked bewildered. “I...set them free,” he said slowly. “Once I knew that we were not compatible...”
“As we are,” Jim murmured. Spock stooped to kiss him.
“As we are,” he agreed tenderly. “But once I knew they were not, I let them go back to their homes, asking only that they not talk about my deformity. I had no need to keep them.” He looked at Jim, suspicion dawning in his eyes. “You are telling me that they never returned?”
“Jim nodded. “That’s right,” he said softly. “None of them have. We were told not to gossip about you, of course, but we couldn’t help but wonder.”
“Oh, gods,” Spock breathed. “I have been so blind, so stupid.” He shivered, holding Jim close to him. “He killed them. Stonn killed them.”
Jim nodded. “I fear so, love. I think Stonn is quite mad.”
Chapter 12: The Return
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Life is better....
Chapter Twelve: The Return
Spock checked Jim’s bandages again and gave him more water, as well as a protein bar that had been packed with the other supplies. Spock ate one himself, even though he wasn’t truly hungry. He might need his strength for later.
Once they’d eaten, the two settled in together beneath the blankets. Spock could tell from his restless movements that Jim was still in some pain, so he arranged himself around the human’s body, laying the injured leg across his lap and trying to provide both warmth and comfort.
“It’s all right.” Jim leaned his head against Spock’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried, love, but I’ll be all right, truly.” He looked towards the cave entrance, where the sand was still blowing.
“How long will we be trapped here, do you think?”
Spock looked out into the storm. “Most storms of this sort pass within two sunrises,” he replied. “We should be able to leave in a few more hours.”
“I’m sorry,” Jim said softly. “I never meant for us to be trapped here.”
“I care not,” Spock replied tenderly, holding the human close to him. “I am only glad I found you in time. I was so worried about you when I realized you had gone.”
“I did not mean to worry you so, either.” Jim sighed. “I did so much wrong.”
“Please, ashaya, stop blaming yourself,” Spock told him. “It is my fault.”
“No,” Jim corrected gently. “It is Stonn’s.”
“Jim, I need to know what he told you,” Spock said quietly. “What did he tell you to make you flee?”
Jim closed his eyes, not wanting to see the pain on Spock’s face. “He...he told me you were insane,” he admitted softly, “that you had no control because you were suffering from some kind of a fever—plak tow, I think he called it.” He felt Spock’s body stiffen, and Jim opened his eyes, looking up at Spock, concerned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Spock pressed his lips to Jim’s brow. “Go on,” he requested.
“He said that...that he had hoped this time you would be well, that you and I would be compatible, and you would be healed. But that since you’d attacked me, he knew that it was happening again, that you would hurt me as you did the others.” Now Jim looked angry. “He lied, didn’t he?’
“Yes,” Spock replied gently. “I swear to you, I never hurt any of my companions—less than I hurt you.” Spock again kissed one of the bruises he’d left on Jim’s skin. “I know you say you forgive me, but I am not sure I can forgive myself.”
“You must,” Jim murmured. “You could not have known that Stonn would drug you.” He gently cupped Spock’s chin in his hand, his eyes meeting Spock’s. “And you stopped,” he whispered. “When I begged, when I called you ashaya, you heard me, and you stopped. You never wanted to hurt me, and even through the fog of the drug, you fought yourself; you told me to save myself from you; you let me go.”
“Yes, but...” Spock hesitated, but there must be truth between them. “Ashaya, there is something you need to know.”
Jim simply looked at him, the trust in those golden-green eyes nearly breaking Spock’s heart. “All right, love; tell me.”
Spock took a deep breath. “Like most effective lies, Stonn’s story contained one fragment of truth,” he began. Slowly, searching for his words, he told Jim about pon farr, and the plak tow, the blood fever, that accompanied it.
“It affects all adult male Vulcans,” Spock said quietly, “and our women, too, although to a lesser extent.”
“So you will...go through this?” Jim’s voice was very quiet.
“Yes,” Spock’s voice was equally quiet. “That is why I have been seeking a mate from among your people, because no one of my Vulcan blood can match with me. Once I am in Pon Farr, I must mate, again and again, until the fevr eases. I thought I wuld be all right, that I would be able to mate safely. But when...when I lost control, I feared that my Time had come. I fled to T’Pau, my Clan Mother and great-grandmother. I begged her to have me locked away at Gol, to have me removed so I would not hurt you again. But she discovered I had been drugged, and she assured me that when my Time does come, as it will within the next few harvests, I will not hurt my chosen, so long as our minds and hearts are joined.” He smoothed his hand over Jim’s hair. “If...if you do not trust that, if you are afraid I will hurt you again, I will...let you go. I will personally return you to your home, Jim, and I will never see you again.”
“But if you do that, what will happen to you?” Jim asked softly.
“I will die,” Spock replied simply. “I will burn until the fever kills me. There can be no other for me than you; I know that in my heart. But if that is the price I must pay for the pain I have caused you...”
“Oh, Spock.” Jim could stand no more. He reached for Spock’s hand and held it to his lips.
“I love you,” Jim said. “Even when I feared you, I loved you. That night, I...I would have submitted. I did not wish to be violated; please understand that. But I could not have turned you away, my love, not if you needed me. And if you need me for this pon farr, I will be there.” He felt Spock’s arms tighten around him. “We will face it together,” Jim murmured.
Overwhelmed, Spock could only hold Jim close, relief and love swirling through him in a dizzying mixture. “I swear,” he whispered at last, “I swear you will not regret your trust. May the gods deal with me as I do with you.”
Spock woke to a faint shaft of sunlight making its way into the cave. He looked towards the entrance. The sand storm was over.
Spock looked at the human lying next to him. “Jim,” he said softly, putting a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Are you awake?”
Jim rolled over carefully and blinked sleepily at the Vulcan lying by his side. “Almost,” he replied with a small smile. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Spock assured him. ‘The storm has passed.”
“Oh, all right. Then we need to leave.” Jim tried to rise, catching his breath in a gasp as his injuries once again made themselves known.
“Are you all right?”
“Just stiff as a board,” Jim assured him. “I’ll stretch a bit, and...” He trailed off as Spock wrapped his arms around the human and began to slowly, carefully massage his back and neck, feeling Jim relax as the muscles began to ease.
‘Oh, that’s better,” Jim murmured, arching as Spock’s capable hands hit a particularly sore area. “Thank you, love.”
“You stretch like Malkana,” Spock observed, the faintest hint of humor in his voice.
“Maybe, but I’m not as limber.” Jim stretched again and then began to rise, Spock standing with him, one arm around Jim’s waist as he found his balance, the le-matya-clawed leg still weak.
“Are you ready, ashaya?” Spock asked, and Jim nodded. “Then let us go home.”
“That’s a beautiful word,” Jim said softly as they began to make their way to the cave’s entrance.
“Ashaya?” Spock asked.
“Yes,” Jim smiled into those deep brown eyes. “ but I meant home.”
Jim had tried to walk down the steep slope to where Spock’s air car was waiting, but his leg was too weak. Spock simply picked him up and carried him, placing him gently into the back of the car and checking the systems for sand and damage before starting the vehicle and getting them safely back to Spock’s villa. He landed in the courtyard and opened the top of the air car to see Sulu running from the house.
“Jim, my friend!” Sulu cried. “You’re all right.” He stopped abruptly, looking at Spock, blushing slightly. “And you as well, my lord,” he said hastily.
“No, you are correct,” Spock replied. “Jim is the important one.” He turned and helped Jim out. “Sulu, in the morning, please send a car for McCoy, the human healer in Sha’Kir. Ask him to come and look at Jim’s injuries.”
“Of course, lord,” Sulu said, even as Jim protested.
“My lord, they are healing well; there’s no need to bring Leonard all the way out here for a few scratches.”
“I will let him decide how well they are healing, ashaya,” Spock murmured. With Sulu watching wide-eyed, Spock simply picked Jim up and carried him up the stairs and into the villa.
“My,” Sulu murmured to himself. “I think this house now has a second master.”
It was very late. Jim and Spock had eaten a light meal in Jim’s quarters, and then Spock had insisted that the human go to bed. Jim was still quite pale, and his various lacerations and bruises were obviously bothering him, as hard as he tried to make light of them. The feelings of guilt still choked Spock when he looked at Jim’s bruises; he still could not believe that the human freely forgave him for the terrible things Spock had done. Spock knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness.
“Spock,” Jim had said as Spock gently settled him into his own bed, “are you certain you will be all right? I can stay with you if you wish, or you can stay here. Truly, I don’t mind.”
Spock had bent and kissed his human. “You need your rest,” he’d said gently. “I will see you tomorrow. Call out if you need me in the night; I will hear.” He had left Jim in peace, left him alone so his wounds could heal.
Now, freshly bathed and dressed in silken night garments, Spock sat on a backless padded bench by the window and looked out into the pitch-black night, the sky no darker than his despair. Despite everything that Jim had said and done, Spock could not rest. How could Jim forgive him? How could he accept him when his Time did come? What if T’Pau was wrong; what if Spock’s hated human blood overwhelmed his controls, caused him to take instead of letting Jim give? If he placed one more bruise, one more mark, on that golden flesh...Spock buried his face in his hands, knowing what he should do. He should let Jim go, insist that he leave, in fact. He should go and bury himself in the mountains of Gol, make sure Jim was safe...
Spock’s mind was so full of his terrible thoughts that he heard nothing, knew nothing, until the tender hand gently stroked his hair. “Hush,” Jim’s voice said softly. “I can feel you from across the hall, my love. It is all right. You must not do this to yourself. We will survive this. I will not leave you, not for Stonn, not for pon farr.” Jim’s hand fell on Spock’s shoulder, a brush began to move along those glossy, waist-length strands of black silk.
‘Jim,” you should not...” Spock began to rise, but the hand pushed him back.
“Relax,” Jim murmured. “I can stand perfectly well.” The brush kept moving, the soothing rhythm causing Spock’s eyelids to droop despite himself. “You’ve got some tangles here; I guess sleeping in a cave isn’t good for your hair,” Jim’s voice said with gentle teasing. “I love your hair,” the soft voice continued, a hand following the path of the brush, losing itself in the silky strands. “I love all of you,” Jim whispered, brushing and caressing until he felt Spock relax, felt the chorus of self-hate in Spock’s mind fade away. He laid the brush aside and limped around the bench until he could sink down next to Spock. He melted into Spock’s embrace, burying his face in that newly-tended glossy fall of hair.
“Now,” Jim whispered, “we’re both tired, and it is a long way back to my bed, too far for me and my poor wounded leg.” He nestled closer to the long, warm body. “I think I should stay here and rest,” he whispered. “Please,” looking up into Spock’s eyes.
Silently, Spock rose, lifting Jim with him and crossing the room to lay his precious burden down, crawling in next to him, pulling Jim close.
“Good night, love,” Jim whispered.
“Good night, ashaya, and thank you.”
That night, both men slept peacefully.
Chapter 13: More Healing
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Bones finds out just what's been going on, and Jim and Spock both try to heal their wounds...
Chapter Thirteen: More Healing
Spock woke just after dawn, seeing the sunlight creep across the bed until it kissed the face of the sleeping human at his side. Its warmth caused Jim to stir and murmur faintly. He opened his eyes to see Spock propped on one elbow, watching him. Jim smiled, rivaling the day’s early light.
“What a wonderful sight to waken to,” he said sleepily. He moved closer, snuggling into Spock’s embrace. “Did you sleep, beloved?”
“I did.” Spock felt Jim’s lips on his throat and shivered. “Please,” he said faintly. “Do not.”
Jim lifted his head, surprised. “Why not?” he asked gently. “Do I displease you?”
“Of course not, but when you touch me...it makes me...hunger for you,” Spock confessed in a low voice, still filled with shame over the events of the past days. “And I...I will not harm you again.”
“Oh, my poor love.” Jim laid his hand on the scarred cheek, fingers stroking softly along the ridged flesh.
“We need to discuss this, my lord,” he said quietly, “but perhaps not now. If I remember, you asked Sulu to send for McCoy; he will no doubt be here soon.” Jim gently released Spock and sat up, realizing that his leg was throbbing dully.
“I need to bathe before McCoy gets here.” He tried to rise but found himself again off-balance from the le-matya-clawed leg. Spock rose easily and picked Jim up, surprising a chuckle from his love.
“If you don’t quit carrying me everywhere, I’ll get lazy,” he murmured.
“I doubt that,” Spock replied. With no further ado, he carried Jim into the bath and sponged him clean, dressing him in a fresh sleep shirt and carrying him back to his own rooms, tucking him into bed just as Sulu showed McCoy into the bed chamber.
“Jim!” The healer charged into the room, scarcely sparing a glance for Spock. “Are you hurt? Sulu said you’re hurt. What in the nine hells is going on around here?” He turned to Spock, standing on the opposite side of Jim’s bed. “You said you’d take care of him—my lord.” McCoy’s tone dripped with icy disdain.
“Len, stop it!” Jim spoke sharply. “I’ll be fine. Besides, nothing that happened was my lord Spock’s fault.”
Spock sat down at the edge of Jim’s be, reaching for his hand. “That is not entirely true,” he said quietly, startling both men. “Because of me, Jim was placed in danger.”
“Because I was an idiot, I ran away,” Jim corrected firmly. He gestured to his leg. “This is the worst injury Len. I got swiped by a le-matya.”
“Nasty vermin,” McCoy murmured, unwrapping the bandages and examining the gashes. “Could have been worse,” he said thoughtfully. He glanced up at Spock. “Did you tend him, my lord?”
Spock nodded. “I did all I could.”
“You did well; I see no signs of infection.” McCoy looked at Jim. “I’m willing to bet, however, that it’s stiff and sore.”
Jim nodded. “Yes,” I’m having trouble walking.”
“Le-matya venom is a nerve poison,” McCoy explained. He looked at Spock again. “I’m indebted to you for treating his wounds quickly,” the healer said, no mockery in his voice. “He could have lost the leg otherwise.”
Spock bowed his head solemnly. “I am gratified that you find my medical skills adequate.” He rose. “I realize you may wish to speak with Jim unobserved,” she said to McCoy, “to ensure I am not forcing him to make false statement.” He laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “I will see you later, ashaya,” he said softly and then he was gone.
“All right,” McCoy said, sitting down, “what’s been happening? There are rumors all over Sha’Kir, and the authorities are looking for Stonn, the lord Spock’s estate manager.” Leonard gave the faint bruises on Jim’s neck a pointed glare. “And you didn’t get those from a le-matya,” he added.
Jim leaned back against his pillows and sighed. “I can’t tell you everything, Len. But I will tell you this.” He laid his hand against the bruises. “This was not the lord Spock’s fault; he was drugged with something called—I think he said it was called t’lkaia.”
“And I suppose Stonn gave it to him.” McCoy’s face was grim. “No wonder.”
“You’ve heard of it?”
The healer nodded. “A few of the People have experimented with it; it’s very dangerous. So, how does the le-matya come into it?”
Jim explained. “Spock came after me,” he said. “He saved me. He...he loves me, Len, and I love him.”
Instead of reacting as Jim had expected, his friend merely sighed. “I know,” he replied quietly. “A blind man could see it. Jim, have you thought about this? Oh, there have been a few matches between the one of the People and one among our rulers, but can you truly be happy? Can he accept you as an equal partner? Right now, you’re like a cherished pet; oh, I don’t doubt that he loves you, but the same way I might love a puppy. Can you be content with that for the rest of your life?”
Jim shook his head. “I know it seems that way, but it’s not, truly,” he told his friend. “I won’t pretend there are no problems, and I know we will have to face more. But Spock—I know him, Len, and I’m learning more very day. Deep inside, he does love and accept me as his equal. He’s been hurt so often, terribly damaged, but that doesn’t matter. He needs me and I want to spend the rest of my life making him happy.” Jim shrugged. “And if that means my people and his see me as a pet, I can’t do anything about that. I can’t leave him, Leonard, and I wouldn’t, even if he set me free tomorrow.” Jim placed his hand over his heart. “I gave him this,” he said softly. “I won’t take it back.”
“Well, then.” McCoy gently patted Jim’s knee and rose. “I’d best make sure you’re healthy for your new life.” He opened his bag. “Let’s see what more we can do for that leg.”
Over the next few days, Jim’s leg healed, thanks to the additional medicines McCoy had left behind. His bruises faded to nothing as well, for which Jim was profoundly grateful. Spock had been so tender, so loving and attentive, but he still shied away from any true intimacy, still wore a haunted look whenever Jim tried to touch him in love. Jim didn’t push Spock; he didn’t want to make him feel pressured or any more guilt than he already did. Jim hoped that once the bruises were gone, perhaps the bad memories would fade as well. In the meantime, he spent as much time with the Vulcan as possible, still tending his scars and bearing him company, hoping to continue the healing process for them both.
The authorities had not had any luck finding Stonn. Upon hearing a (carefully edited) account of what had happened to his son, the lord Sarek had offered a reward of a thousand silver coins for Stonn’s capture, but the Vulcan seemed to have vanished. Part of Jim hoped that he would never be found. Another part feared that he had not seen the last of Stonn.
“You seem drawn to the stars, my love,” Jim observed one evening as he and Spock curled up together and watched the night sky.
“I am,” Spock replied. “I do not know why, but they have always seemed to speak to me.”
“Spock, may I ask you a question?” At Spock’s nod, Jim continued. “My people came from those stars, many years ago. I know that the ship crashed, and your rulers took my people as serfs. But what I don’t understand is why have your people, those who rule this world, never gone to the stars?” Jim shrugged. “If my people could unlock the key to such travel, surely yours could.”
Spock laid his head back and looked up at those tiny lights. “Your people were wiser than mine, ashaya,” he said softly. “We do not admit it, of course, but it is true.” He looked at the human lying by his side. “My great-grandmother has told me that when the ship crashed, our best scientists took it apart, seeking the key to its marvels. Many of the features were ones we have been able to re-crate; for example, much of the technology of our air-cars is based on what your people’s ship showed us. But at the very heart of the ship were four large crystals, like this.” Spock made a fist. “They were of a material we had never seen, and the leader of your people, the Kirk who was your ancestor, told my people that those crystals powered their craft.” Spock shook his head. “We have nothing like them on this world, nor have we been able to create them. So, we have never been able to build a ship like the one that brought your people here.”
“Hmmm,” Jim said thoughtfully. “I had always wondered about that.” He looked back up into the sky. “I suppose they will stay out of reach always,” he said sadly. He felt Spock shiver slightly. “Come,” he said. “We need to go inside. This wind is too chill for you, my love.”
“That is another way you are superior,” Spock said, rising from the chaise. “The wind does not seem to touch you.”
“No,” Jim murmured, talking one last look at the brilliant night sky. “It is fresh and free.”
As he had done for weeks, Jim tended Spock’s scars, pleased that they continued to fade and were no longer painful, grieved that they did not completely disappear. However, Spock was feeling better, and that was an important gain.
Once he finished for the night, Jim sat down on the edge of the bed. “My love,” he said softly. “My leg is healed, and my other—injuries are gone.” Jim knelt on the bed, staring into Spock’s eyes. “Will you not share love with me?” Jim asked softly. “I long for you.”
“Jim, I cannot,” Spock said. “If I hurt you, if I frighten you...”
Spock.” Jim reached out to stroke that gorgeous hair he loved so dearly. “I can feel your longing, your hunger,” he said. “It grows sharper and deeper every day, every night. I know you don’t want to hurt me again, but think. If you are hungry, when is the best time to feed—when you can control yourself or when you are so starved that you gorge?” He moved closer, slipping his arms around the Vulcan’s waist. Almost of their own volition, Spock’s arms came around him as well, and he pulled Jim into a close, tender embrace.
“I do want you, ashaya, but I cannot hurt you again.”
Jim kissed him, letting his lips tease at Spock’s, feeling the faint shudder as the Vulcan relaxed some of the control he had held over himself for so many days.
“Come,” Jim murmured. “Touch me. Heal me with your caresses, and let me heal you.”
Spock nodded. “I will try,” he whispered. “Oh, Jim. You are so much to me, all that I ever desired.” They lay down together, kissing and gently exploring each other’s bodies, Spock shivering slightly as Jim gently drew his tunic aside, the cool breeze from the balcony teasing the Vulcan’s nipples into tight, aching points.
“Are you cold, love?” Jim murmured teasingly, his fingertips circling those nubs. “We cannot have these getting cold. We must keep them warm.”
“Ohhh!” Spock breathed as Jim’s head bent to its task, as the warm wet mouth found first one nipple and the other, tenderly bathing them both as Jim’s hands moved over Spock’s chest and belly, caressing both firm, smooth skin and the ropy scars that still remained.
“Am I...hurting you?” Jim asked as he stroked his hands down the old burns.
“Hurting me?” Spock gasped, arched against Jim’s palm. “Oh, if this is pain, please, Jim, hurt me again.” He moaned as Jim’s lips followed his hands tenderly laving and loving every inch of skin. Spock stroked Jim’s neck and shoulders, pressing closer, feeling his penis hardening as Jim’s hands and mouth worked magic.
“Jim...I want...”
“Yes?”
“I want to...to taste you,” Spock whispered, feeling his cock throb even as he said the words.
“Oh, yes, love.’ Jim easily freed his body from his clothing and lay back, the soft moonlight now bathing the golden skin with a frost of silver, the nipples tight and proud against the muscled chest, the belly smooth and inviting to the hand, the human’s organ shyly raising itself from the bed of soft golden hair. Spock let his hands reach and stoke, feeling Jim arch into his touch. He buried his head in Jim’s stomach, kissing and mouthing all that firm, satiny flesh, letting his tongue timidly explore Jim’s navel, feeling the shiver that went through Jim’s body as he licked, letting his mouth browse lower, feeling Jim’s hands thread themselves into his hair, moaning as the human’s fingers found and stroked the tender upswept points of his ears. Spock could now breathe in the scent of the human’s warm body, his mouth watering as he imagined the taste of Jim on his tongue. He lowered his head, and now it was no fantasy. He gently lipped and licked just the head of Jim’s organ, feeling the heat and moisture, savoring the moment before he slid his mouth over the hard shaft and began to softly suck and caress it with his mouth, moving first slowly and then more quickly as he felt Jim swell in his mouth, as he felt his own cock throb against the human’s hard thigh, Spock rubbing against him, unable to stop even as his mouth continued to pleasure Jim, moaning aloud as Jim’s hands tightened on his hair, pushed his face into the human’s groin even as Jim arched up yet again, his excitement cresting, the salty juices bursting forth into Spock’s grateful mouth as his own organ spilled its hot, creamy tribute down Jim’s thigh, both men crying out softly as they shared their joy.
“Are you all right?” Jim asked softly as they lay entwined.
“Of course,” Spock murmured. “Why would I not be?”
“You had never done that before, had you, love?”
“No, but I wanted to, so much.” Spock shivered again as he remembered the feel of Jim’s hard flesh between his lips. “And it was wonderful,” he said softly. “So very wonderful.”
“And there is still more,” Jim whispered sleepily. “So much more. And we will know it all...together.”
Chapter 14: The Mistake
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Jim meets Sarek, but that's not the problem....
Chapter Fourteen: The Mistake
For many moons, Spock had hated the dawn—ever since he had been injured. The dawn meant another day of hiding in the shadows, of closing himself off to the world so his deformity would not excite pity—or worse, scorn and contempt. It meant another day closeted by himself in dark rooms, skulking and lurking until nightfall, when he could at last emerge and at least stay hidden in the merciful darkness. It meant long, long days filled only with pain, regrets, grief for his mother, and soul-deep loneliness.
Now dawn meant another day with his love. It meant the sunlight on James’ hair, the same light that shone in his eyes. It meant another day free of pain, another day of love and happiness, of sharing the present and planning for the future. Perhaps all of his scars would never fade; certainly the loss of his mother would always pain him. But Spock would never fear the dawn again. He looked at the human sleeping in his arms, the golden-brown head on his shoulder, Jim’s hair waving softly around those strong yet tender features, those long-lashed green-gold eyes closed, the face peaceful. Spock gently tightened his arms around his treasure and laid his scarred cheek against Jim’s hair, smiling as Jim stirred slightly and rubbed his own cheek against Spock’s shoulder. The topaz eyes opened.
“Good morrow, my love,” Jim said softly.
“Did I wake you?” Spock asked, bending to kiss Jim’s temple, feeling the pulse of life beneath the skin. “I am sorry; I did not mean to disturb your rest.”
“It’s no matter,” Jim assured him. “I am happy to wake to you.”
“As I am to you,” Spock whispered back. Jim snuggled closer with a pleased sigh, and Spock slowly, sensuously ran his hand up and down the human’s back and flank, rejoicing at the feel of the flesh firm and smooth beneath his touch, no trace of the wounds the le-matya had left.
“Mmmm.” Jim shivered slightly as Spock’s hands worked their magic on his flesh. “If you do that for long, my love, we will not be rising from this bed.”
“And is that so very bad?” Spock bent to claim Jim’s mouth again, feeling the immediate response from his love.
“Truly, I can’t say that it is bad, ashaya.” Jim gladly put away any idea of rising and set to caressing Spock as well. Their loving this dawn was slow, gentle, almost playful in their soft caresses, teasing kisses, and slow writhing against each other’s heated flesh. Jim moaned softly as he rolled his hips, feeling his shaft rubbing against Spock’s, feeling the Vulcan’s hot lips on his neck and jaw, Spock’s fingers softly teasing Jim’s pouch, his own hands kneading firm buttocks, pulling his love closer as they came together, the pleasure rolling through them both almost as one.
His breath still coming fast, Spock kissed Jim’s temple yet again. “I cannot believe I lived so many years without you,” he murmured. Spock felt a sudden chill go through him. “I...I do not think I could do so now,” he said softly. He shivered again.
“Love, what is it?” Jim hugged Spock closer. “You will not need to live without me; I have promised myself to you. I will not leave you; I swear it.” Jim shifted slightly, pulling Spock’s head to his shoulder and letting his fingers play in Spock’s silky hair. “Truly, you need not fear,” he murmured tenderly, still stroking the dark head that lay against his breast. “I am here, where I belong, and I will not disappear with the dawn.”
“I am sorry,” Spock whispered. “I do not know why...” He stopped.
“Love, what is it?” Jim shifted again, gently lifting Spock’s face to his gaze. “Tell me, please. What is wrong?”
“I fear...” Spock took a deep breath. This had to be said. “I fear my Time may be approaching,” he said in a low, voice, unable to meet Jim’s eyes. “Sudden feelings of fear and insecurity, these are common, I have been told.”
“Your Time? You mean the pon farr, the mating fever?” Jim asked gently. Spock nodded, still unable to look at his love. “Oh, ashaya.” Jim’s embrace became fiercely protective. “Do not worry so. Please, love, look at me.” Spock forced himself to once again meet Jim’s eyes. They were shining with love, not fear. Jim’s lips curved in a tender smile.
“It will be all right,” he said softly. “I can feel it in you; you are strong and stable now. We are connected in a way that we have never been; I can sense it deep inside myself. All will be well. You will not harm me; I will not fear you. I promise you, my love, we will take this journey together and our love will only grow stronger.”
Spock looked at him, wonder in his eyes. “You truly believe that,” he said softly.
“I truly do,” Jim replied reassuringly. He gently pressed Spock’s head to his shoulder once more.
“I do not deserve you,” Spock whispered, “but thank you, ashaya, and thank all the gods who brought you to me.”
“Will it happen today?” Jim asked quietly, continuing his gentle caresses. “Is it happening right now? How do you feel?”
“I am simply...anxious, I suppose would be the word,” Spock replied thoughtfully. “I have been told that the true fever takes several days to develop, so I am in no immediate need.” He kissed Jim’s shoulder. “However, I will no doubt crave your presence, even more than I do now.”
“Then I will not leave your side,” Jim promised him.
Spock shook his head. “You are not my possession,” he said gently. “I will not treat you as such. You must know, my love, you are so much more to me than simply a...a vessel for my need.”
“While you need me, I’ll be there,” Jim replied firmly. “Do not worry so, I beg you; I know what I mean to you, for you mean the same to me. Let me serve you as you need; let me ease your pain and see you through this time.”
Spock gave a relieved sigh. “Very well,” he said, so softly that Jim could scarcely hear. “But when this is over, when I am well...”
“Yes, love?”
“Jim, before Stonn’s evil touched us, I asked you to be mine,” Spock told his love. “I meant that; I wish you to be my mate, my equal, not some toy I keep here for my amusement. Will you honor me so? Will you be mine, in the eyes of both my people and yours? I would honor you as you deserve, my love.”
Jim blinked back the quick tears that rose at the note of tenderness in Spock’s voice. “Of course,” he replied. “I will be yours, with or without rites. I do not care what my people think; they are not the guardians of my conscience. I know what I am to you, my own, and I will swear whatever vows you wish.”
“Then as soon as I am well, all will know just how I honor you,” Spock promised him. They lay together for a time, Jim’s hands still gently moving over Spock’s flesh, soothing and reassuring him. There was a soft knock on the door. Both sat up, Spock drawing the blankets over Jim’s body. “Come,” he called.
Sulu opened the door. “I am sorry to disturb you, lord,” he said, “and you, Jim, but lord Spock’s father, the lord Sarek, has called. He awaits you both in the library.”
Jim looked at Spock, who nodded to Sulu. “Please ask the kitchen to prepare a first meal for my father and serve him,” he said. “Tell him we shall attend him as soon as may be.” Sulu bowed and closed the door. Jim turned to Spock.
“What does your father want?” he asked.
Spock shook his head. “He wants to see us,” he replied simply. He rose, offering a hand to Jim. “Come ashaya. Let us bathe and go meet with my father.”
Jim nodded and rose as well, not without a little fear. He headed towards the bathing room, stopping when he felt Spock’s hand on his shoulder.
“Ashaya.”
Jim turned back. “Yes, love?”
“When we meet my father, be mannerly but not subservient,” Spock said quietly. “You are my beloved. You have no reason to feel lesser than any other man.”
Jim smiled gently. “I never have, love.” And Spock knew that was true. James knew and was proud of who he was. It was only one of the reasons Spock lvoed him.
“Father.” Spock paused in the doorway of the library, offering a deep bow. Jim, standing at his right shoulder, bowed as well. At Spock’s insistence, Jim was richly dressed, the blue silk tunic and darker blue velvet cloak setting off his hair and skin, a fire-ruby glowing at his shoulder.
“Spock.” Sarek of Vulcan crossed the room to greet his son, taking hold of Spock’s shoulders and looking at him closely. “My son,” he said in a rich, melodious voice, “I am pleased to see you looking so well.” He regarded the scars thoughtfully. “T’Pau spoke truly; you are greatly healed.” His eyes went to Jim. “And you are James,” he continued. To Jim’s shock, he held out a hand in the human fashion of greeting. Jim took it, shaking Sarek’s hand before releasing it. “I owe you a great debt for your care of my son,” Sarek said kindly.
Jim bowed his head slightly. “What I have done for your son is less than I wish to do, my lord,” he replied. “And anything I have done, your son has repaid me a hundred times over.” For a heart-stopping moment, Jim wondered if he had said too much, and he cursed his heart, which insisted on speaking its truth. But then he saw Sarek’s face, and he relaxed.
“So T’Pau spoke true,” Sarek said to his son. “You have found love.”
Spock laid one hand on Jim’s shoulder. “I have, father.”
The dark eyes, so like Spock’s, moved back to Jim’s face. “And you as well, James?” Sarek asked. “I know that there are those among my people who would argue that one of your people should do as he is told, with no thought for his feelings. However, I see no logic in that. For my son to be truly happy, you must be happy as well.” He glanced at Spock and then back to Jim. “So if you cannot be content with Spock, I ask you to tell me truly now, without fearing my anger or my son’s disappointment.”
“I do not fear either, lord,” Jim replied quietly. He reached up and laid his hand over Spock’s. “I love your son as well, and I freely confess that I wish to stay with him for all my life.” Jim felt the faintest, almost unnoticeable lessoning of Spock’s grip on his shoulder, and he knew that Spock had feared, even now, that if given a chance to leave, Jim would do so. He gently pressed the hand beneath his, offering all the wordless love and reassurance he could through a simple touch. Much to Jim’s amazement, Sarek’s face relaxed as well.
“I am pleased,” he said quietly. “It is well.”
“I do not understand your father,” Jim said that night when they were once again lying in Spock’s bed, the moonlight washing over them. Sarek had spent the day with Jim and Spock, and throughout the visit, he had been kind, considerate, and pleasant company.
“What puzzles you, beloved?”
“He...he locked you away; he was ashamed of you, and now he acts pleased...”
“Ashaya, he is pleased,” Spock replied gently. “And you should not judge him too harshly. He does love me; I never doubted that. But he has many enemies, those who would point to his ‘deformed’ son as proof that Sarek’s blood was weak, that his House was in decline. I understood, and truly, I wanted to hide away as well.” His lips found Jim’s. “I no longer wish to hide,” he murmured. “You have brought me back to the light, beloved. My father is right. We both owe you a great debt. I will spend the rest of my life paying my share, I promise you.”
The next morning, Jim woke alone. He hurried to bathe and dress and then went to find Spock. To his relief, Spock was sitting in the library, plucking out a simple tune on his cithritha. Jim’s assiduous tending of Spock’s scars meant that his right hand was much more supple and flexible than it had been. It would take time, but someday, Spock would be able to play freely again. He looked up as Jim hurried into the room.
“Good morrow, Jim.” Spock set his instrument aside and rose. “Are you all right, beloved?”
Jim nodded, suddenly feeling foolish. “I woke and you weren’t there,” he explained. I was worried that perhaps...I did not know if your fever...”
“Ah,” Spock replied with a nod. “I am sorry; I did not mean to worry you. I am quite well, ashaya, simply rather restless. I did not feel like lying abed this day.”
Jim smiled. “Good,” he replied, slipping an arm around Spock’s waist. “Love, promise me one thing.”
“Anything in my power, ashaya.”
“When you do feel the fever rise, do not withdraw from me, hoping to spare me,” Jim told him gently. “Come to me; let me ease you as best I can.” He let Spock draw him into his arms. “There has been too much hiding already,” Jim murmured. “Please promise me we will not do it again.”
“I promise, love,” Spock whispered, his cheek against Jim’s.
“My lord?” A house servant, a young Vulcan whose name Jim did not know, hesitated on the threshold.
“What is it, S’Dorn?” Spock asked.
The servant nodded towards Jim. “There is a message for the young lord,” he said. Spock had insisted weeks before that the household staff, both Vulcan and human, address Jim with the title of respect. The servant held out a sealed parchment. Jim stepped forward and took it. Hs eyes scanned the message quickly and his face grew pale.
“Jim?” Spock took a step close. “What is it?”
Jim looked up. “My mother is ill,” he said quietly. “She begs me to come to her.” He looked up at Spock, worry in his eyes. “I know you need me to stay with you, but...”
“Do not worry about that; my need is not yet urgent,” Spock assured him gently. He took the parchment and read it as well. “I simply want to be sure this is not some kind of a trap.” His eyes went cold. “Stonn has still not been found.” He looked at Jim. “Is this your mother’s hand?”
Jim nodded. It’s her writing; I recognize it.” The young servant spoke up.
“My lord, the lord Sarek sent a vehicle from his house to bring you,” he added. Spock went to the window and drew back the curtain. He could see the air car in the courtyard, emblazoned with Sarek’s crest, a driver Spock recognized in the pilot’s seat.
“That is well,” he said with a sense of relief. He waved the servant from the room and turned to Jim. “You must go to your mother, ashaya.”
“But will you be all right?” Jim asked anxiously.
Spock nodded. “I feel sure the fever will not rise for another day or so,” he replied. He drew Jim close, gently kissing his forehead. “I would only ask that you not be gone more than a day and a night,” he murmured. “After that time, I know I shall need you.”
Jim hugged him hard. “I will be back before then,” he assured Spock. “I swear.”
“Then go quickly and safely and return the same way,” Spock said, giving Jim a final tender kiss.
Jim smiled. “I will be back before you can miss me, ashaya.”
“That is impossible, love. Spock held him close for one more moment, breathing in his scent. “For I miss you already.”
The air car moved quickly through the sky. Jim had never been to Sarek’s house, but if the driver was a trusted servant, surely he knew the way. Jim sat back and tried to relax, tried not to worry about his mother or Spock, hoping both would be well.
The air car banked abruptly, circling and then landing in a small canyon. Jim looked out, confused. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where is the lord Sarek’s house?’
“We have to make this stop first, young sir,” the pilot said calmly. He popped the hatch on the car. “I have been promised a great reward for delivering you for this interview.” Even as he spoke, even as Jim, alarmed, struggled free of his safety belt, the weapon was pointed into the hatch and fired. The pilot slumped in his seat, obviously dead.
“Yes,” a hated voice said. “A great reward, freedom from want for all eternity.” Sick, Jim looked up. He knew what he would see. Stonn’s face wore a feral grin as he waved the weapon. “Come, young sir,” Stonn sneered. “We have much to discuss.”
Chapter 15: Great Danger
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
We find out just what Stonn's been up to.
There may be a bonus chapter today; I'm pretty busy, but Jim's in a pretty bad spot....
Chapter Fifteen: Great Danger
Jim went cold, both with horror at the callous, casual killing of the driver and fear of what Stonn was about to do. Stonn jerked the weapon at him.
“Out,” he snarled. “Now.”
Slowly, Jim rose from his seat as Stonn backed away from the hatch, the weapon in his hand never wavering. Jim climbed out of the air car and dropped lightly to the ground, still keeping his eyes fixed on Stonn, looking, praying for a chance, a moment’s inattention, an opportunity. Jim was frightened, but not truly for himself. His fears were for Spock. He knew that Spock would be frantic. He knew that soon, Spock would be burning with fever. And Jim, who had promised to be there for him, would not be by his side. Spock would be in agony, and Jim would not be there.
Oh, love, hold on, please, Jim prayed silently as he backed away from the air car at Stonn’s low-voiced command. Try to be well. I don’t want to leave you; I don’t.
With another twisted grin, Stonn turned a dial on his weapon and pointed it at the air car. With a flash of light, it was gone. Stonn laughed aloud at Jim’s dismayed expression.
“I cannot leave any evidence behind,” he said calmly. “I would not want your master to know where to look for you. Besides, you will not need a car; your journey ends today, young lord.” He spat out the title.
Jim backed away a step or two, holding his hands out, palms up, before him. “Stonn,” he said quietly, reasonably, trying to reach something inside this twisted soul, “you don’t need to do this.”
“Oh, but I do,” Stonn hissed. “It is the last step, you see. I know Spock has fallen in love with you; he is weak; his human blood makes him so. I know his Time is upon him; I have spies in his house as well as his father’s. You will die, and so will he. Losing his son as well as his wife will break Sarek, and if he does not take his own life, I will kill him as well, just as I did his human slave-wife.”
Jim’s breath stopped. “You....you set the fire? But Spock said it was a lightening storm?”
Stonn grinned proudly. “And what better time to set a fire than during a storm? Spock should have died, too; he was supposed to die. But this is even better. He has had to live with his scars, his pain, and his guilt. Now he can die in the plak tow, knowing that you have abandoned him.”
“But why?” Jim pleaded. “If you loved him...”
“Loved him?” Stonn laughed hysterically. “I loathe him, as I do all his clan! I only asked to wed him because I hoped to get close enough to kill him!”
“But why?”
“Because he is a mongrel,” Stonn spoke calmly, but there was a wild light in his eyes. “Sarek brought shame on my people by breeding with his slave. Humans are animals, nothing more than beasts of burden. Sarek and his half-breed freak should have been dragged into the public square at Sha’Kir and stoned to death, but T’Pau has always been too soft. I will complete her work; I will do what needs to be done to save my people from this pollution.” He jerked the gun at Jim again.
“Enough talking,” he said. “Walk. Do not worry; it is not far.”
Spock wandered restlessly around his house, trying to find something to occupy his mind, wishing he’d gone with Jim to Sarek’s house, hoping that Jim’s mother was not too ill, hoping that Jim would be home soon. Spock could feel the first, faint tendrils of fever licking at his nerves, could feel the longing building inside him for Jim’s touch, the coolness of his flesh and the warmth of his love. Spock finally settled in the library, resting in the window seat, staring out into the courtyard, imagining he could see Jim’s air car landing, could see his beloved running up the steps and into his arms again.
The communication device on Spock’s desk chimed softly. He rose and answered it. “This is Spock.”
“Spock?” His father’s voice answered. “My son, I sent an air car to your home this morning. James’ mother is ill; she asked to see him. The car has not returned. Did you refuse to allow James to go?”
“No,” Spock breathed, feeling the cold fear go through him. “No, I let him go freely. I knew he would want to see his mother. The car has not arrived?”
“No.” Sarek’s voice was grim. “I will begin a search.”
Prodded by Stonn, Jim marched through the canyon where they had landed. He had no idea where they were; it could be anywhere within a hundred leagues of Spock’s homes. It was obviously an uninhabited area; that was all he could tell.
“Here we are,” Stonn said, sounding almost merry, as they arrived at the foot of yet another cliff. Jim turned to face his captor.
“So you’re going to kill me here,” he said, trying to speak quietly, trying to face his fate bravely. If he had to die, Jim was determined to show Stonn that the People did not lack courage.
“Oh, no; that would be far too easy,” Stonn sneered. His weapon still pointed at Jim, Stonn stepped forward and tapped along the rocks, searching for something. He found it, a lever carefully hidden, and a section of the flat sandstone slid aside, revealing a space within.
“My family’s long-abandoned crypt,” Stonn said proudly. That crazed grin flickered across his face once more. “But do not worry. You will not be the only human there. You have plenty of company awaiting you.”
“The other companions,” Jim said dully, still trying desperately to figure out what to do.
“Precisely,” Stonn replied. “Five more animals put down, never to tempt one of my people again. The crypt has a limited amount of light and air, but those in there now will not fight you for it.” He grinned tightly and glanced up at the sky. “The rainy season is coming; you may even get occasional water, I would expect you to last at least a ten-day, more than enough time for Spock to die in the fever. You may feel that as well; it all depends on how closely linked you are.” He motioned with the weapon. “Enough talking; your destiny awaits, human.”
Jim tensed, refusing to move. “If you want me in there,” he said, “you will have to put me there.”
“Very well, coward.” Stonn stepped forward and gave Jim a shove. The human hit the ground and rolled, slamming against Stonn’s legs, knocking him off-balance. Jim made a desperate grab for the weapon, knowing he had only one chance.
McCoy looked up as the chime rang on his door. His heart sank as he recognized the air car driver who had brought him to Spock’s villa twice before.
“What is it?” he asked, rising from his seat. “Is James ill?”
The driver shook his head, his features etched with worry. The young lord Spock had been a good master.
“It is the lord,” he said quietly. “James is missing, and the lord Spock is ill. His father, lord Sarek, asks you to come.”
McCoy nodded. “I’ll get my bag.”
Jim groaned softly as he regained consciousness. He was lying on a hard, rough surface, pebbles or small rocks digging into his cheek. He raised his head, trying to remember where he was and why his head hurt so badly. He raised one hand to his forehead, feeling the cool stickiness of blood drying there. He had no idea how long he’d lain unconscious, but it somehow seemed like many hours had passed. Jim’s memory returned in a rush. Stonn.
Jim scrambled to his feet, looking around, ignoring the pain pulsing through his skull. He remembered jumping Stonn, trying to fight him off, trying to reach his weapon. But the weapon had come down on Jim’s head in an explosion of black pain. And now...he was in the tomb. Stonn had left him here to die.
Jim slumped back to the floor. He was sealed into the crypt, mere cracks around the door and in the ceiling offering the only light and air. He could dimly see other slumped figures against the walls, one still pressed up against the door, his face, mummified by the desert heat and dryness, still frozen in an expression of agony. The crypt went further back into the mountain’s darkness, but there was no reason for Jim to go there. He would only meet more of the dead, both Stonn’s ancestors and his own predecessors at Spock’s villa.
Spock. Oh, love, how worried you must be. Jim’s heart ached worse than his head as he thought of Spock, alone, the fever creeping into him, no knowledge of Jim’s whereabouts, no assurances that he would ever see Jim again. Maybe...perhaps he even thinks I ran away, Jim thought. Maybe he thinks this was all a ruse, a way for me to escape before the fever struck. Oh, love, believe me. I would not have left you alone. Oh, gods, if there are gods, please, please hear me. Do not let him suffer. Please, save him somehow.
McCoy gently smoothed the cool, wet cloth across Spock’s brow. The Vulcan had fallen into delirium hours before, ever since Sarek had arrived and reported that after a thorough search, there was no trace of the air car, no trace of Jim. Spock was burning with fever, his skin painfully hot, those cursed scars once again swelling angrily, the skin splitting. However, Spock did not seem to notice that pain. He lay quietly, burning, occasionally moaning Jim’s name through cracked lips, his eyelids fluttering but no other indication of awareness.
“What can you do for him, Healer?” Sarek sat on the other side of Spock’s bed, his gaze fixed on the face of his tortured son.
McCoy shook his head. What I am doing,” he replied quietly. “I can try to keep him comfortable, administer medicines to dull the pain, but the fever burns beyond my control.” He glanced at the Vulcan healer who sat the foot of the bed. That man gravely shook his head as well.
“I am also helpless, my lord,” the man said with regret. “Your son suffers from the plak tow. No drugs or herbs can help him. He must mate or die.”
“He cannot,” Sarek said, gently smoothing the coverlet over Spock’s body. “His mate is gone.”
“McCoy looked at the Vulcan. “My lord, I do not believe Jim fled,” he said urgently. “I saw them together; I know how happy they were. Whatever has happened, Jim had not abandoned your son.”
“I believe you, healer,” Sarek replied sadly. “But it matters not. Jim is missing, and my son is—dying.”
Chapter 16: The Link
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
To prevent riots, a bonus chapter...
Chapter Sixteen: The Link
Jim jerked awake. He was afraid to sleep, afraid that his head injury might be worse than he knew, and afraid he would drift off and never wake again. He wanted to hang on for as long as possible. He wanted to cling to Spock for as long as he could. Jim could just ‘feel’ Spock in the back of his mind. Spock was fevered now; Jim could feel the heat and discomfort on his own skin. Spock was also unconscious, calling out for Jim with his mind and his heart, alone and lost and in terrible pain of the soul. Jim caught his breath as his eyes filled with tears. May all the gods damn Stonn to eternal agony for what he’s doing to Spock.
Jim had explored his prison more than once; there was no way out except through that solid rock door. He was unsure of how long he’d been unconscious that first time, but the sun had rose and set at least twice since Stonn had left him here. There was a tiny, almost invisible tickle of water running down a crack in one wall, so Jim had slaked his thirst as best he could. He supposed he was hungry, but food was the last thing on his mind now. Jim tried to stay focused, tried to think of a way out, but there was none. He was isolated, locked up, with only the dead to keep him company, and many leagues away, his love was dying too. Jim could feel it, and it was enough to break his heart.
At least, Jim thought wearily, slumping to the floor again, at least we’ll be together. I hope so. I hope we can find each other... He drifted off again as the sun set over his prison.
The Vulcan healer looked up from his examination of Spock’s still form. “He is sinking, my lord,” the healer said quietly, sadness in his eyes. “A few hours, perhaps, no more.”
Sarek turned away from the bed, the better to hide his expression. His eyes met those of McCoy, who was just coming into the room. The human was haggard with worry for both his friend and his patient.
“He’s failing, isn’t he?” Leonard said quietly.
“Yes,” Sarek replied, just as quietly.
“Gods.” In utter frustration, McCoy went out onto Spock’s balcony, staring into the night, knowing that his friend might be anywhere, might be hurt—might be dead.
Jim woke again. It was completely black inside the crypt; there was no moon tonight. His heart hammered with panic; he could feel Spock fading from him. There’s got to be a way to get out of here; I’ve got to reach him, I must...
Jim stopped. Reach him. If I can feel him, maybe he can hear me.
Jim knew very little about the mind abilities of those who ruled. There were rumors of powers, but Spock had talked very little about his, and Jim had not asked. But Jim’s own connection with Spock, nurtured these past days, was real and strong within him. Cursing himself for not thinking of this earlier, Jim sat up, composing his mind and heart, focusing on that faint warmth inside that still said ‘Spock.’
Spock, love, hear me. I’m in a crypt, Stonn’s family’s crypt. It is in the desert; I don’t know where. But Stonn said it had been abandoned. It’s Stonn’s family’s property; it’s a crypt in a hillside, a crypt hidden in a cliff wall. There’s a lever hidden in the rocks. Oh, Spock, please ashaya, hear me. Do not fade, my love; do not give up, please, hear me...
The night wore onward. Jim didn’t notice. He simply kept his mind, his heart, his entire soul, focused on that tiny flicker of love. He kept calling, kept reaching, kept hoping.
“Jim.” Spock’s cracked lips moved for the first time in hours. Those sitting in vigil around his bed jerked alert as the sound broke the deathlike stillness.
“Jim,” Spock whispered again. “The crypt. Stonn’s crypt. Stonn...Jim, no. Pain. The desert...the crypt....the lever, hidden in the rock...Jim...”
McCoy looked across the bed at Sarek. “Stonn,” he said. “That bastard.”
Sarek bent over his son’s body. “Spock, where?” he asked urgently. “Can you see where?” But it was no use. Spock was completely unconscious once more.
“A crypt,” McCoy said. “My lord. Does Stonn’s family have a crypt for their dead?”
Sarek frowned. “They did once, but their House has fallen in power and numbers. I believe they simply cremate their dead now.”
“But if they did have a crypt once, where would it be?”
“The desert,” Sarek said. “The Canyon of Souls, near Shar-kira.” He hurried to the door and opened it, yelling for servants. In moments, Sulu and Sarek’s own driver came pounding up the stairs.
“Take the car and go,” Sarek said hurriedly. “James may be in a crypt in the Canyon of Souls. You must find him, quickly.” He told them what Spock had said.
The driver looked worried. “My lord, there are hundreds of crypts in those walls. How can we...”
“Wait,” Sulu said. He looked at Sarek. “I have an idea, my lord. Do not worry. We will find him.” He turned to the driver. “Come.” They ran down the stairs and out the front door of the villa. Sarek and McCoy stood on the landing and watched them go.
“Now what?” McCoy asked.
“Now we wait,” Sarek replied, wearily turning back to his son’s bedside. “Now we wait.”
Sulu and the driver, T’Sorkin—with a very special passenger—drove the air car as fast as the currents would allow to the Canyon of Souls. The driver set down the car just outside the narrow entrance to this land of the dead.
“I cannot imagine this will work,” he said doubtfully.
“Hey, she’s trained to hunt; let her hunt. Besides, she loves Jim.” Sulu climbed out of the air car, Malkana’s leash in his hand. He gently coaxed the unhappy hunting cat from beneath the seat where she had spent most of the journey.
“Come on, girl,” he said softly. “Nasty trip is over. Let’s go find Jim.” As he’d expected, the tufted ears pricked forwards at the sound of Jim’s name. “That’s right, sweetheart,” Sulu said. “You need to find your friend, Jim.” Malkana emerged from the car and stood at Sulu’s side, sniffing the air. He handed her leash to T’Sorkin and turned back to the car, rummaging for an item he’d grabbed from the laundry. He pulled out one of Jim’s sleep shirts, holding it out for Malkana to sniff.
“Come on, girl,” he said. “We’ve got to find Jim. Go hunt.” He took the leash and unclipped it from Malkana’s collar, pointing her into the canyon’s entrance. “Hunt,” Sulu said firmly. “Hunt Jim.”
Malkana bounded into the canyon, Sulu and the driver in close pursuit. The cat raced up and down, bounding along the narrow pathway between the cliff faces, as Sulu and the driver began to search, calling Jim’s name, stopping and waiting to hear an answer. There was nothing, nothing but the wind and the sound of carrion birds overhead. He might not even be here, Sulu thought in despair, after they’d been there more than an hour. All we have to go on are the lord’s fevered ravings, and...
Just then, Malkana froze on the path ahead of Sulu. With a low ywol, she suddenly bounded forward, throwing herself up against a rock cliff, tufted paw poking at a particular spot. Sulu ran forward, his heart in his throat.
“Jim!” He yelled. “Jim! Can you hear me?” He picked up a rock and began to bang on the cliff wall near Malkana, causing the big cat to growl and flatten her ears. “Jim!”
Then he hear it, faint, barely a croak. “Sulu? Sulu, are you there?”
“Yes, Jim, yes!” Sulu hurried along the cliff face. “Keep making noise. Grab a rock, pound on something. We’re here. We’re here!”
“Sulu?” And now Sulu heard the voice right in front of him. He stopped.
“Jim, did you see Stonn open this crypt? He yelled. “Did you see where the leer is?”
The faint, hoarse voice came back through the cracks in the rock. “To the right, just above an outcropping of rocks.”
Sulu looked around. “Found it.” He reached and tried to move the lever, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Here, let me.” T’Sorkin grabbed the hidden bar and pulled hard. Slowly, the door slid back. Jim stumbled out, exhausted, dusty, scraped and bruised, with a nasty-looking gash on his forehead. Malkana rushed to him, rubbing against his legs and purring.
“Jim.” Sulu took his arm. “Can you travel?” he asked urgently. “The lord, he’s sick.”
“I know,” Jim whispered. “I can feel him. Let’s go.” Together, they ran out of the canyon as fast as Jim’s tired legs could carry him, and loaded themselves into the air car for the trip home.
“Here.” Sulu held the canteen to Jim’s lips. “Just a few sips; you don’t need to be sick.” When his friend had drunk, Sulu passed him a protein bar, watching anxiously as Jim took a few bites and then put it aside.
“I can’t eat,” he said, his eyes haunted. “I can feel him—Spock. Oh, Sulu; he’s dying.”
T’Sorkin glanced back. “I will increase my speed,” he said, “but the currents are rough. It will do none of us good if I crash.”
Jim nodded and leaned back, Malkana sprawled over his lap. “Thank you,” Jim whispered. “Thank you all...” He fell asleep as the great cat purred and the car raced through the night.
McCoy checked Spock one last time. His body was still burning with fever; his vitals almost non-existent. McCoy sighed; he knew that the next time he checked Spock’s pulse would almost certainly have ceased. He bowed his head.
“I’m sorry, lord,’ he said to Sarek. “It is almost over.”
“I know,” Sarek replied softly, his eyes burning with the tears he would not shed. “It is not your fault, healer.” He reached out and gently stroked the tangled, matted hair. “Go in peace, my son,” he whispered. “May the gods treat you with honor, as you deserve.”
McCoy’s head jerked up. “Wait.” He got to his feet and turned to Sarek. “Do you hear...”
Sarek did. There in the courtyard, the roar of an air car. Before either man could move, they heard running, stumbling steps coming up the staircase. In moments, the door flew opened and James staggered across the threshold. He didn’t see McCoy or Sarek. He didn’t see the Vulcan healer in the corner. He only saw the silent figure on the bed. Jim threw himself across the room, collapsing on his knees beside Spock’s bed, reaching for the limp, hot hand, cradling it in his, tears pouring down his face.
“Spock,” he whispered. “Ashaya, please.” He pressed the hand to his cheek, feeling the limp unresponsiveness. “Love, hear me. I’m back. “It’s all right....” Spock didn’t move.
“James.”Sarek’s voice was gentle. Jim looked up at Spock’s father. “James, it may be too late. He is deep within the blood fever. I do not know if he can hear you; I cannot say if he can feel you.”
“No.” Jim shook his head. “No. It’s not too late. It can’t be.” He looked at all of them. “Leave us,” he whispered. “Please.”
Sarek looked to McCoy and the healer. Both shook their heads.
“We can do nothing for him,” the healer said. “If Spock can be reached, only his mate will be able to do so.” The Vulcan looked at Jim.
“You take a great risk,” he said seriously. “If you try to reach Spock’s mind, he may grasp you and pull you down with him. You may both die.”
Jim looked at Sarek and the healers. “I don’t care,” he said, still caressing Spock’s hand. “If he dies, I want to go with him.”
Sarek bowed his head. “Be it as you desire—my son.” He turned to McCoy. “Come. We will wait downstairs.” They filed out. McCoy hesitated in the doorway.
“Jim...”
Jim never even looked up. “Go, Len. We’ll be all right.” The door closed softly. Jim rose and stripped off his filthy, dusty clothing. He slipped into the wide bed, gathering Spock into his arms, feeling the heat of the Vulcan’s flesh burn him, feeling the limp heaviness of a body disconnected from its mind. Jim stroked back the long dark hair and pressed his lips to Spock’s temple.
“All right, ashaya,” he whispered into one upswept ear. “We’re alone now. Come. Let us heal together—or let us die.”
Chapter 17: The Bond
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
And it's about time...
Chapter Seventeen: The Bond
There had never been such darkness. Spock curled upon himself inside of it, careful not to touch the ‘walls’ that surrounded the darkness, the barriers that kept the darkness pressed against him. The walls hurt; outside them the pain was even worse. But as long as he huddled in here, nothing could reach him, not the pain of his scars, not the burning of the fever, not the ache of un-slaked desire, and not the agony of Jim’s loss. Vaguely, Spock thought he remembered hearing Jim cry out, call for him. But no. That was a mirage, a fantasy brought on by the fever. Jim was gone. He had lied to Spock, told Spock his mother was ill, promised to return, but fled to leave Spock to die. Jim had never loved him; how could he? Spock was a monster. And now, the monster was caged for good. Something in the very heart of Spock knew he would die here, in this hot, fevered darkness, but that didn’t matter. There would be an end to pain. When he was dead, his love for Jim would no longer burn.
“Oh, love, please,” Jim murmured, cradling Spock’s head in his hands, gently combing his fingers through the night-dark hair, his lips pressing tiny kisses to Spock’s jaw, the corner of his mouth, his temples. “Please, ashaya, hear me; I’m here; I didn’t leave you; it was Stonn; I came back; oh, gods, don’t leave me...” He broke then, the stress of the last days tearing his control away, the despair of feeling Spock’s body lifeless beneath his touch tearing his heart to pieces. The pieces of Jim’s heart turned to liquid and flowed down his cheeks, raining onto Spock’s face, running like tiny streams along the ragged, newly-inflamed scars. Jim held his unconscious love in his arms and wept the tears of a lifetime, knowing that when the tears stopped, he would die, and he didn’t care.
The darkness was thinning. Spock clung to it desperately, knowing that if it faded, the overwhelming pain would return. But the darkness could not stand against this light, the cool silvery light that crept in like a ribbon, like a stream, the moist coolness soothing wherever it touched, easing the agony, washing away the scorching heat. It was accompanied by a voice, a soft, beloved voice, whispering Spock’s name over and over, calling to him, pleading with him, asking him to stay.
Spock could not deny that voice. He could not ignore the light. He forced his eyes open to see Jim’s face, cheeks wet with tears, golden eyes looking into Spock’s with hope and dawning joy.
“Jim?” Spock’s voice was almost gone, but Jim heard. “You...you left me. You ran...”
“No,” Jim soothed his love. “No, ashaya. It was Stonn. He kidnapped me; he tried to kill me. But you heard me, ashaya. You helped them find me and bring me back to you. I would never leave you, not for the world.” Jim’s voice broke as he buried his face in Spock’s neck, holding on with all his strength. “I came back,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me now.”
From somewhere, Spock found the strength to lift his heavy arms and envelop Jim in his embrace. “Ashaya,” he whispered. “My love. I will not leave thee.”
Utter exhaustion overcame them both and they slept, wrapped in each other’s arms, the moonlight bathing their flesh.
Jim woke first. It was nearly dawn. He was still in Spock’s arms, their bodies pressed tightly together, Jim’s head on Spock’s shoulder, his hand beneath the Vulcan’s head, his fingers tangled in that luxuriant hair. Jim shifted and laid his lips against Spock’s brow, feeling the fever banked low within his beloved’s body. Spock slept on, exhausted, still gaunt and drawn, but more peaceful than he had been the night before. Jim eased himself from Spock’s embrace, rising from the bed and grabbing the nearest post as his head swam. He slowly and carefully moved across the room to the wardrobe, wrapping himself in a robe and staggering to the door of the chamber. He opened it to find Sulu sitting cross-legged on the floor. He got to his feet when he saw the door open.
“Jim!”
Jim quickly hugged him hard. “My friend, he said gratefully. “Please tell Spock’s father that he is weak but alive. I’ll stay with him; he’s still fevered. Ask someone to bring up a pot of tea and some buttered bread, if you would.”
“No sooner said than done.” Sulu sped down the stairs to carry the good news to the anxiously waiting group.
Back inside Spock’s quarters, Jim poured fresh, cool water into a basin and quickly washed. Dumping the water off the balcony, he re-filled the basin and took it to the bed, sitting on the edge and tenderly bathing Spock’s face and neck, his chest and arms, noting that the scars were still inflamed but not as badly as they had been. Spock sighed softly as the cool cloth passed over his skin, but he didn’t stir. There was a knock at the door.
“Come,” Jim said in a low voice, covering Spock once more and passing his hand along the wounded cheek in gentle reassurance. The door opened to reveal McCoy, a tray in his hands.
“Len.” Jim rose and met his friend, taking the tray and setting it on the round table. McCoy caught his arm.
“Sit down,” he ordered gently. “Let me examine you.”
“Look at Spock first,” Jim requested, sinking into a chair, leaning back against the high-cushioned back, still feeling the pain of his bruises and lacerations.
“Somehow I knew you’d say that.” Leonard crossed to the bed and quickly examined the sleeping Vulcan.
“You were right; he’s still running a fever, but it’s lower.” McCoy straightened. “Has he regained consciousness at all?”
Jim nodded and walked over to the bed. “He spoke to me last night; he recognized me. He...he thought I’d left him.” Jim felt the tears come to his eyes. “He thought I’d run from him.”
“Well, I’m guessing you set him straight about that.” McCoy sat Jim down on the bed and examined him as well. “That gash in your head is nasty; let me put some salve on it.” McCoy did so and finished checking Jim over. “Just bumps and bruises,” he noted. He put a comforting hand on Jim’s arm. “Stay with him; get some rest yourself. Try to get some liquids into him if you can. Beyond that, we’ll just have to see, but somehow, I don’t think he’ll leave now.” McCoy looked down at Spock’s sleeping face. “I think he knows he has something to live for.”
Once McCoy had left, Jim forced himself to eat a slice of bread and drink a glass of the cold, sweet tea. He still wasn’t hungry, but he knew he needed something on his stomach. Then he poured some into another glass and went back to the bed, setting the glass on the night stand. He reached out and once again stroked his hand lovingly over Spock’s cheek.
“Ashaya,” he murmured. “Can you wake up? You need to drink.”
The dark eyes opened, still dazed with fever, but sharper than they had been. “Jim.” Spock whispered. “You are still here.”
“Forever, beloved,’ Jim replied, a tender smile on his lips. “Here. Let me help you.” He slipped an arm behind Spock’s body, helped him to sit up, and then reached for the glass of tea, holding it to Spock’s lips. The Vulcan drank obediently, but his eyes never left Jim’s.
“Good.” Jim set the glass back on the stand and laid Spock back against the pillows. “Here.” Jim slid into bed, once again pulling Spock into his arms, feeling the low fever that still lingered in the Vulcan’s flesh.
“Oh, Jim.” Spock arms tightened around his human. I dreamed...I dreamed you were gone. I needed you so, and you were gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered, kissing Spock’s throat. “I didn’t want to leave you; Stonn captured me. But it’s all right; Sulu and Malkana found me. I came home to you, beloved. I will always come home; I swear it.” He raised his head and kissed Spock deeply, hungrily, feeling the answering hunger in his beloved, feeling Spock tremble against him even as Jim’s body shivered with the slow fire of arousal.
“Jim, I...I burn for thee,” Spock said in a low voice.
“I know,” his love answered. “It’s the fever, It’s all right, beloved; I’m here now. I will not leave. Take what you need.” Beneath the blankets, Jim’s hand slid down the lean torso until he could gently rub his palm against Spock’s shaft, swollen and fever-hot with his pent-up juices. He heard Spock moan aloud as those cool caressing fingers closed about his hardness. “Let me help you,” Jim murmured. “Let me give you what you need. Quench yourself in me, love.” Jim pressed even closer, his hands and mouth beginning to work together to soothe Spock’s flesh. The Vulcan moaned and arched helplessly as Jim’s lips found a nipple, suckling so gently, so tenderly, that it was almost like a languid dream, his other hand softly rubbing the nipple’s twin as Jim’s thigh slid between Spock’s and began to rhythmically press against his hard cock, the smooth skin and faint dusting of copper hair providing delicious friction against the velvet-soft skin of Spock’s hard, longing cock. Jim’s hands gently pressed Spock onto his back as Jim’s head disappeared beneath the blankets, his mouth exploring Spock’s chest and belly muscles, licking and softly nipping occasionally to drive Spock even higher. The Vulcan cried out as the human’s cool, moist mouth found his fiery shaft, plunging over it like a cool water fall, drawing it into the human's mouth and throat, sucking strongly yet gently as Jim’s hands continued to seek and caress, as Spock’s hands tore at the bedclothes and he cried out, the fever rising in him until he was sure he would ignite, but he was safe; Jim would put out the fire, Jim would indeed quench his flames. Spock exploded into the human’s mouth in sobbing surrender, Jim licking and nuzzling as Spock’s creamy essence flowed into him, the human’s own cock engorged and aching with desire. Spock’s arms, suddenly strong, pulled Jim up and into a close embrace, the Vulcan shuddering with renewed desire as he felt Jim’s shaft throbbing between them.
Oh, Jim. I burn for thee,” Spock whispered. “Take me, please. I want...I want to feel you inside me, part of me...oh, please...”
“Yes, love, yes,” Jim soothed him with hands and voice, gently positioning Spock, reaching to massage that knot of muscle, the natural slipperiness of Spock’s juices easing the way for Jim’s fingers to carefully enter and stretch Spock’s passage, the Vulcan shuddering anew as he felt those tender, exploratory touches.
“Please, ashaya, please,” Spock begged, thrusting his hips upward, trying to force more of those wonderful, tormenting fingers inside him, his shaft once again dripping with foamy moisture. “Please, now...”
“Yes,” Jim moaned. “Yes.” Slowly, realizing that this was all new to his love, Jim pushed into his, the human’s hard, sturdy cock gently stretching and delving into the Vulcan’s heat, Jim choking back a sob of pleasure as he felt himself encased inside that tight, silken channel.
“Are you all right, love?” Jim paused to tenderly kiss Spock’s face, to stroke back the long curtain of black hair, letting his hips rock ever so slightly, letting Spock grow accustomed to the feelings that were running through him.
“Yes,” Spock moaned, tightening his legs around Jim’s hips, pulling him even closer. “Oh, please more....harder, more...” His head thrashed back and forth as he felt Jim throb within him, as Jim’s hardness rubbed against a spot that made Spock’s breath catch, tremors coursing through him.
Jim needed no more assurances. He began to move, stroking deep into Spock’s body, pulling back, then plunging in, feeling Spock convulse around him, the Vulcan’s cock spurting its hot cream again as Jim rode him, pleasured him until they w ere both screaming, their bodies wracked as one with the sensations, both coming again and again as their bodies and minds moved together, as their very souls melded into one being.
Again and yet again, Jim took Spock, and Spock plundered Jim’s body, first one and then the other, taking and taken, loving and loved, until both collapsed together, their mingled breaths coming quickly, both hearts pounding, both bodies still shaking from the intensity of their joining. Jim cradled the dark head that lay against him, kissing and touching, unable to stop, savoring the sweet-salt taste of Spock’s flesh, the silken slide of his body against Jim’s.
“I love you,” Jim whispered. “I will love you forever.”
“And I you,” Spock murmured, as the fever finally eased, curling into Jim’s embrace as sweet exhaustion swept through them. “Forever, ashaya.”
Chapter 18: The Miracle
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Something wonderful happens, and we tie up some loose ends. But the story's not over....
Chapter Eighteen: The Miracle
“I will kill Stonn for this,” Spock murmured, his lips soothing the gash in Jim’s forehead with their tender pressure. “How dare he touch you? His heart’s blood will pay for every mark on your flesh, beloved.”
“I’m all right, love.” Jim snuggled more deeply into Spock’s embrace. The room was very dark; Jim had no idea how long they’d been together. They had loved and slept and awakened and loved again in an endless cycle of fire and joy. Nothing else mattered; it was just the two of them alone in the universe. Occasionally, Jim had crawled out of bed just long enough to find a tray of cold food and drink left outside the door (and the gods bless Sulu for that). Otherwise, he had scarcely left Spock’s arms in all this time, nor did he wish to.
He deserves to die for ever laying hands on you.
Jim raised his head. “I heard you,” he murmured, confused. “But you did not speak.”
Spock pressed Jim close to him again. “That is the bond between us,” he explained softly. “Now that we have mated in the fire, our link has grown and strengthened. You will always be able to hear me now, and I you, although I will teach you the disciplines to block it when you wish.” Spock’s hands moved caressingly up and down Jim’s spine. “I would not ever want you to feel trapped within my mind, beloved.”
“Never,” Jim sighed and stretched, once again giving himself up to the pleasures of Spock’s touch. “Never trapped...I want to be with you always...”
The sun was rising, and the fever was gone. Spock was certain of it now; the burning within him had cooled, the flames washed away in the flood of Jim’s love and devotion. He lay filling his eyes with the sight of his love, who slept deeply, exhausted from their journey through the fires of pon farr, but unharmed by Spock’s feverish passion. Spock smoothed back the golden-brown waves of hair from Jim’s brow, loving the way the early sunlight played across his features. With a sigh of contentment, Spock laid his head back down, preparing to doze until Jim woke. Just then, however, Jim’s eyes blinked open. He smiled his hand instantly reaching to touch Spock’s cheek.
“Good morning, love,” Jim murmured. “I think that...” He stopped, looking closely at Spock, the sleepy green-gold eyes becoming wide as he sat up, still staring. Spock sat up as well
“Jim? Ashaya, what is it?”
“Your...scars.” Jim’s voice was a whisper.
Spock had totally forgotten he’d ever had such a thing as scars. Now he looked at Jim, concerned. The scars had never bothered his love, not from the very beginning.
“What is wrong?” Spock asked. “Are they worse?”
“No,” Jim breathed. His hand, shaking slightly, reached out to trail across Spock’s cheek. “They’re gone, ashaya. They’re gone!”
“Gone?” Spock felt as dazed as Jim looked.
“Yes. Look, love. Look here.” Jim grabbed Spock’s right hand and raised it to their joint gazes.
Jim was right. The scars were gone. Spock’s skin glowed with health, not so much as a line marring it anywhere. Spock looked at Jim. “My...my face as well?” Spock had scarcely been able to admit to himself just how much he hated knowing that every time Jim looked at him, he would see those scars crossing his face.
“Yes, love.” Jim’s fingers stroked his cheek. “They’re gone. They’ve vanished, as if they never were.” He pushed aside Spock's sleep shirt, seeing the moosth, muscled torso, also free of any scars.
“The healer,” Spock whispered, “the one who told me I could be healed. He told me that only love, true love, love without limits or reservations, would cure me.” Spock pulled Jim into his arms, hugging him fiercely, feeling Jim’s tears of joy on his unmarred skin. “You healed me, ashaya,” Spock whispered reverently. “You made me perfect.”
“You were always perfect, beloved,” Jim whispered back. “But now, all will see. Everyone can see it.”
Jim and Spock bathed together, eventually managing to keep from touching, caressing, and kissing every inch of each other’s bodies. They dressed and descended to the main level, hoping that Sarek had waited to see his son. They found him in the main dining room with McCoy and the Vulcan healer, T’solin, all seated and eating a meal as equals. Sarek rose when he was his son walk into the room, his face uncovered, his eyes shining.
“My son,” Sarek breathed. He quickly crossed the room to clasp Spock in his arms. “The healer spoke truly. Your pain is gone. Your scars have disappeared. I rejoice with you.” He turned to Jim, who stood next to Spock, reaching out to clasp the human’s shoulders in his grasp.
“I can never repay you for what you have done, James,” he said. “The honor of my House is yours.”
Jim was at a loss for words, but Spock spoke up quickly. “Then I ask thee as the head of my House, to grant permission for us to bond,” he said.
“Gladly,” Sarek replied at once. He smiled slightly at his son’s hidden astonishment. “Did you think I would gainsay you?” He shook his head. “I wish for you to be happy, Spock, and I can see that this is your destiny, and the one who has brought you so much will be an ornament to our House.” He clapped Jim on the shoulder. “We will make arrangements for the ceremony as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, father.”
McCoy came forward. “I think both of you should sit down and eat a hot meal,” he said. He grinned at Jim. “As far as I can tell, you’ve been living on love and cold tea for the last four days.”
“Four days?” Jim blushed. “Were we...four days?” He glanced at Spock, who was blushing as well. McCoy just grinned.
Healer’s oath,” he said. “I won’t ask for details.” They all sat down together at the table, Sulu coming in with plate settings for Jim and Spock and fresh platters of food.
As they ate, Spock looked at his father. “Has there been any word on Stonn’s whereabouts?” he asked quietly.
Sarek shook his head. “I have men out looking, and I have increased the amount of the reward, but nothing. It is as if he has disappeared from our world.”
“May the gods grant that he has—and is occupying the pits of the night demons for all eternity,” Spock replied.
“Yes, but we cannot rely on that.” Sarek looked at Jim, his face somber. “I would ask that you be especially careful, my son,” he said. “Stonn’s malice seems most focused on you.”
“I know.” Jim shivered. He looked at Spock and his father. “There is something I need to tell you both,” he said quietly. “It is unpleasant, but necessary for you to hear.”
Sarek looked at McCoy and T’Solin. “Will you both excuse us?”
T’Solin rose. “I must return to my practice.” He glanced at McCoy. “I would expect that you need to do the same.”
“Leonard nodded. “Yes.” He looked at Spock. “If I could borrow one of your cars and a driver?”
Spock nodded. “I will send a guard with you as well,” he said. “I do not want you to suffer at Stonn’s hands, and as Jim’s friend, you might.”
Once the healers had gone, Jim, Spock, and Sarek settled in the library. Sarek noted with an inner smile that Jim and Spock chose to sit together on a couch, close enough to touch, even if they managed to restrain themselves in front of him. He was willing to wager they would not restrain themselves for long.
“Jim, you said you had a grave matter to discuss,” Sarek said quietly.
“Jim nodded and took Spock’s hand in his. “This will be hard for you to hear, love,” he said quietly, “but you need to know.” He told the two about the crypt with the bodies of the other humans. Spock stiffened in shock; Sarek merely nodded sadly.
“Sulu told me of this,” Sarek said. “I am grieved at Stonn’s evil. I have offered restitution to the families affected; it is poor justice, but all that I can offer until Stonn is caught.”
“There is more,” Jim said softly, “and it is worse. I do not know if it’s true, or if Stonn simply bragged on it to frighten me, but he said that he set the fire, the one that killed your mother, Spock.”
“No,” Spock breathed. “It was an accident, a storm...” he looked at his father, despair in his eyes. “Was it not?”
Sarek shook his head. “I never told you; your pain was already great enough,” he told his son. “But those who looked at the ruins suspected that the fire might have been set deliberately. There was no proof and no suspects.” His face was grim. “Now there is.”
“Love, I’m so sorry.” Heedless of Sarek’s presence, Jim put his arm around Spock’s shoulder. “I’m so very sorry.”
Spock shook his head. “It is done,” he said quietly, “and accident or no, she is still lost to me. But this is...very bitter.” His face grew cold. “And it is one more reason for me to carve out Stonn’s liver and roast it before his eyes. I will feed him to the carrion birds, I swear it.”
“James,” Sarek continued quietly, “there is something you should know as well. It is about your mother.”
“Oh gods.” Jim felt the blood drain from his face. “How could I have forgotten? She was ill.” He got to his feet. “I must go. Is she worse? Oh, how could I have possibly...”
“Peace, James.” Sarek held up one hand. “Your mother is in no danger.” He paused. “She was never ill,” he told the human. “Stonn had...contacted her. He persuaded her that you were in terrible danger here, that my son would slake his lusts on your body and kill you.”
“Just as he tried to tell me,” Jim murmured, face darkening. He looked at Sarek. “And she believed him.”
Sarek nodded. “Yes,” he said. “She sent that message, not because she thought Stonn would kill you, obviously, but because she believed Stonn when he said he would spirit you away from Spock and keep you safe.”
“Oh, gods.” Jim put his head in his hands. “The air car driver Stonn killed...his blood is on her hands.”
“Jim, no.” Spock gently stroked the bent head.
“I agree with my son,” Sarek said. “He was working with Stonn—for the hope of gain, no doubt.”
“Jim nodded. “He told me just before Stonn killed him, that Stonn had promised him a great reward. But Stonn simply killed him and destroyed the car.”
Sarek nodded. “He earned his fate. But your mother, James—she was only trying to protect you. I assure you, I will not turn her over to the authorities, even though she was a spy in my house.”
“Thank you,” Jim said, relief running through him. “Thank you.”
Sarek rose. “You must both be cautious,” he said. “Stonn may still have spies to watch your movements, and he wants to feel your blood on his hands. I have posted extra guards here on the estate, and do not relax your vigilance over each other. Please, keep each other safe.”
“I promise you, Sarek. I will guard your son with my life,” Jim said.
“And I will protect Jim with mine,” Spock added.
Still exhausted from the last days, Jim and Spock ate a light evening meal and retired early. They lay together, passion temporarily sated, but love flowing strong between them, through their link, their bond.
“I will not let you out of my sight until Stonn is caught,” Spock vowed softly, pressing his lips to Jim’s throat.
“Nor I you, love,” Jim said sleepily. He curled up in Spock’s warmth. “Love,” he asked quietly, “when we are formally joined, what will I do?’
“What do you mean, beloved?”
“I mean, I must have work. I cannot simply let you support me, care for me, and love me—as much as I adore all that you do for me.”
Spock kissed him gently. “What do you wish to do, ashaya?” he asked. “I would deny you nothing.”
“I don’t know—not yet.” Jim yawned, feeling Spock’s hand rubbing his neck soothingly.
“You need to decide tonight, ashaya,” Spock whispered. “But whatever you wish to be, I will be there for you. You will find your path.”
“Yes,” Jim murmured. “We will find it—together.”
Chapter 19: The Evil
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
And all Hell breaks loose.
Chapter Nineteen: The Evil
Spock sat on the bench in front of his dressing table, frankly lost in the sight that greeted him. He was not normally a vain individual, but the miracle of his healing was still so fresh that he could not help but gaze into the glass, seeing himself whole, healed, happy. A moment later, he saw something even more important, as Jim wound his arms around Spock’s neck, leaning down with his cheek against Spock’s hair, smiling into the mirror.
“You are breathtaking, love,” Jim murmured, “but then, you always were.”
“You truly mean that,” Spock replied softly, marveling.
“Of course I do,” Jim replied, gently kissing Spock’s temple. “I am glad for your sake that the pain of your injuries and the reminders of your mother’s death are gone from you, but I love you no more or no less than I did before.”
“I do not deserve you.” Spock covered Jim’s hands with his own.
“Well, that’s too bad, because you’re stuck with me,” Jim replied. He straightened and turned to the dressing table, picking up a brush. “Now, since you no longer have reason to hide your face, I would love to see you with the traditional braids.” He gently stroked the brush through Spock’s hair, caressing the glossy strands with his free hand. “May I?” he murmured. “May I adorn you as you should be adorned?”
Spock was surprised that Jim knew of the tradition. A Vulcan who had not yet chosen a mate wore his or her hair loose and flowing. Once a mate had been selected, the hair was braided and held back with an elaborate clasp. By tradition, only a mate could create these braids of hair.
Spock leaned back, his head resting against Jim’s torso. “I would be honored, beloved,” he whispered, deeply moved. He closed his eyes as Jim moved the brush rhythmically through his hair then picked up a comb and divided the shining mane, creating two thin braids, one on each side of Spock’s face, which he drew back and up, fastening at the crown with a filigreed silver bar that Jim had found in a drawer. The braids held the rest of Spock’s hair back, revealing the sculptured lines of his cheek bones and jaw, the high, broad forehead, the elegantly slanted inky brows and pointed ears.
“There,” Jim said softly, caressing the sleek head. “Just as it should be.”
“Indeed.” Spock rose and took Jim’s hand, gently leading him to the bench and pressing his hand down on Jim’s shoulder, urging him to be seated. “Now you.”
Jim twisted on the bench and looked up at Spock in surprise. “But...I am not one of you...”
Spock bent and kissed him tenderly. “You are,” he assured Jim softly, “for you are mine, and I am yours. Just as I share your people’s heritage, I wish you to share mine.” He picked up the brush and smoothed back Jim’s waves of gold-brown hair, now grown past his shoulders. Spock brushed Jim’s hair to one side, fastening a golden bar on one side of his head, taking the heavy waves and weaving them into one braid that fell over Jim’s right shoulder, fastening it with a matching golden cord. When he was finished, Spock bent so that their faces were reflected in the mirror, side-by-side, each braided by his mate.
“There,” Spock said softly, “this is how it should be.”
“Spock,” Jim said hesitantly. They were sitting on the terrace eating first meal. “I need to see my mother, talk with her.”
“I presumed as much, ashaya,” Spock answered. “I understand; she is your mother and you love her. However, I do not wish you to leave the estate while Stonn is still free. I will have your mother brought here.”
“Thank you, love,” Jim said, relieved. “I was afraid you might not want me to see her.”
Spock shook his head. “I would never isolate you or separate you from those you love,” he said gently. “I only ask that you be cautious until I have Stonn’s throat in my hands. Losing you would kill me, ashaya; I say that freely.”
“And I promise to be careful, as long as you do as well,” Jim replied softly, caressing the hand that lay on the table next to his. “Stonn hates you fiercely; he wants you dead.”
“Yes,” Spock agreed, “but I fear he wants to kill you first so I can feel that pain. Please, beloved, be wary.”
“Jim!” Escorted by Sulu, Winona ran into the library where Jim and Spock were waiting. Jim stepped forward and caught his frantic mother in a hug.
“It’s all right,” he soothed her. “I’m fine.”
“I was so worried; I tried to...”
“Your trying almost got me killed,” Jim said softly. He stepped back, keeping his hands on his mother’s shoulders. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He nodded over Winona’s shoulder. “This is the lord Spock, Mother, my betrothed.” Jim’s voice was soft with love, warm with pride.
Winona turned, staring up at the tall, handsome Vulcan, dressed like a prince, who inclined his head to her. “I am pleased to meet you,” Spock said gravely. “Your son is very dear to me.”
Winona looked at him, her eyes wide. She turned back to Jim. “Betrothed?” She whispered. In an instant, her hand flashed out, striking Jim full across the face.
“Betrothed?” She cried. “You are going to give yourself to one of them?”
“Mother!” Jim was horrified. He glanced at Spock. “Love, please; she doesn’t know what she’s saying, she...”
“Oh, I think she knows.” Spock’s voice was calm, but Jim could see the anger and hurt in his eyes. Spock looked at Jim again, and his face softened. “It is all right, ashaya,” he said tenderly. “I would never ask you to stand by and allow your mother to be punished for her words. I will not report them to the authorities.” He gave Winona a stern look.
“I love your son,” he said quietly. “I cannot change who I am. I cannot change my whole world. But I will care for Jim, protect him, and love him to my last breath. I can make no stronger vow.”
Her lip curled. “Yes,” she hissed, “love him like a pet, like a toy.”
“Mother!” Jim grabbed her, shaking her slightly. “That is not fair or true. I brought you here because I wanted you to know that I am well and happy. I wanted you to meet Spock because he fills my whole world. But if you cannot be civil, if you cannot be happy for us, then we have nothing more to say to each other. But I will say this. You are wrong, wrong to the depths of your soul. Stonn, who you trusted, wants me dead. He tried to kill me; he did kill five others of our people. Spock loves me; he would rather die than see harm come to me.” Jim shook his head. “I can’t understand what more you could want for me,” he said more quietly.
Tears began to streak Winona’s face. “I want you to be true to your people,” she said.
With a sigh, Jim let her go. He stepped back and his hand found Spock’s.
“He is my people now, Mother,” Jim said quietly. “I’m sorry if that grieves you, but I cannot and will not change it.”
She stared at him, the tears still dropping from her eyes. “Then we are finished here.” She turned to Spock and swept him an ironic bow. “Do I have the permission of those who rule to retire?”
“Yes.” Spock’s voice was sad, not for himself, but for the pain he knew Jim was feeling. He gestured to the door. “If you will return to the courtyard, I will have a car take you back to my father’s estate.”
“Mother,” Jim said desperately, “Can’t we find another way?”
She looked at him, the tears gone now. “There are only two ways,” she said. “The way of the People, and the way of those who rule. You have made your choice—my lord James.” She bowed to him; Jim flinched as if she’d slapped him again. Then Winona was gone. Jim stared after her, heart aching as he saw her figure disappear from view.
“Ashaya.” Spock’s arms encircled him, drew Jim close. Spock’s fingers gently stroked his neck. “My love, I grieve with thee.”
“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered. “She had no right to speak to you that way, no right...”
“Hush,” Spock replied tenderly. “I am not angry, beloved, not for my sake, only for yours.”
“Why is she so hateful, so spiteful?” Jim asked, leaning his head against Spock’s shoulder. “Why?”
“I often think that my people made a mistake when your ancestors landed here,” Spock said gently. “I think that if we were to let them stay, we should have done so with them as equals, not as serfs. That wound has never healed, and some of your people, like your mother, still feel it most keenly.”
“So...is she right, Spock?” Jim looked up at his love, his eyes tearless but burning with grief. “Am I a traitor? Does my love for you betray my people?”
“No.” Spock drew Jim over to the couch, where they sank down together, Spock’s arms still wrapped around his love. “No,” Spock repeated softly, kissing Jim’s forehead. “Love is never a betrayal. Your love has worked miracles, Jim; I cannot believe it is wrong, any more than I can see that my love for you is a sin against my people.” They sat together for a long time in silence. Spock could feel Jim’s anguish, and he responded by sending warm waves of love and reassurance through their tender new bond. At last, Jim sighed and raised his head from Spock’s shoulder.
“Well,” he said quietly, “I guess that means one less at the ceremony.”
Spock drew him close, kissing him softly on the lips. “But those who truly honor you will be there,” he reassured Jim.
“And you’ll be there,” Jim replied, smiling for the first time in hours. “That makes it all worthwhile, ashaya.”
At dawn three days later, Spock, son of Sarek, and James Kirk were formally joined as mates, the ceremony presided over by the matriarch T’Pau and witnessed by a small group which included Sarek, McCoy, Sulu, and Malkana, who sat at Jim’s feet, purring loudly, throughout the ceremony.
“I apologize, Elder,” Spock said once the ceremony was concluded. “Malkana, like all of her kind, has a will of her own, and if she is to be an effective huntress and guard, that will cannot be gainsaid.”
T’Pau waved it away. “Her presence was welcome,” she replied surprisingly. “There is a very old proverb which says a bonding attended by a cha-ta-ka is a bonding to be blessed.” She bowed her head to James. “I wish that for thee and my Clan child.”
Jim, dressed for the first time in a formal Clan robe of sapphire blue silk, bowed to her in return. “I thank you for your good wishes, Elder,” he said. He glanced down at Malkana, who was still shadowing him. “And for yours too, my lady,” he said, evoking laughter from the guests.
“May she always guard you so faithfully, ashaya,” Spock said softly, looking at his new mate with both love and fear.
“I will trust her loving care—and yours,” Jim replied with a smile. He looked around. “Come, love,” he said. “Everyone looks hungry. I believe we need to lead them into the villa for the reception.”
It was just past dawn. Neither Jim nor Spock had slept much; it was, after all, their first night as legal mates, not a night to be wasted in sleeping. They lay drowsily in each other’s arms, still kissing and caressing, still lost in the glory of their bond.’
“I am not sure I will ever get enough of you.” Spock’s voice was soft with wonder as he traced Jim’s features with his fingers, finding and exploring new tender hollows.
“Never? Even when I am old and bald, wrinkled and deaf, you will still want me?” Jim teased gently.
“Even then. You shall still be as you are today, the most beautiful sight in my world,” Spock promised his new mate. He captured Jim’s lips, just as there was a soft knock on the door.
“What in all the gods?” Spock raised his head from the pillow as the knock came again. “The villa had best be in danger of being swept away with the tide,” he grumbled, gently unwinding himself from Jim and shrugging into the robe that lay at the foot of the bed. “Come!” he called.
The door opened to reveal Sulu. “Your pardon,” he said. “I knew you would not want to be disturbed. But your father insisted. He is waiting for you downstairs.”
“My father?” Spock and Jim exchanged bewildered looks. “Love, do you want me to come with you?”
Spock bent and quickly kissed Jim. “No, ashaya, rest. I will let you know what is going on as soon as I know.” He left the room and Jim lay back, tired but curious. What could be happening? He puzzled for a time, but his body was tired, and the bed was warm, so Jim finally dozed off, waking when Spock sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Love, what is it?” Jim sat up. Spock looked grim.
“There has been a call by the High Council for a meeting of the Heads of all the Houses,” he said. “My father must go, of course, and he needs a trustworthy aide. My brother is on the other side of the planet, so I must go, my love. I wish I could take you with me, but you have not yet been formally presented to the Council as my mate, so etiquette requires that I leave you behind.” He felt both Jim’s disappointment and his own wash through him. “I am sorry,” he continued softly. “I hate this.”
“I know,” Jim replied. “I can feel it in you. It is all right, my love. Go as your father requires you.”
“I will not be gone for long, only a day or so,” Spock promised. He cupped Jim’s face in his hands. “Guard yourself, my love, my one,” he said urgently, brushing Jim’s lips with his. “I have doubled the guards here at the villa, but keep yourself safe. Promise me or I will defy my father and stay with you.”
“No.” Jim shook his head firmly. “No, you must go, love. I promise. I will stay right here until you return.”
“Right here?” Spock murmured, gathering Jim close for one last embrace.
“Right here,” Jim whispered seductively.
Once Spock had left, the day dragged for Jim. He tried not to be restless, but he missed his mate. He hoped that whatever the Council wanted, it would not take Spock away for too long.
At the end of the long, lonely day, Jim decided to go to bed early. He’d gotten very little sleep the night before, and without Spock’s companionship, there was little reason to stay awake. Besides, Jim thought with a smile, I promised him I’d be right here. His spirits rose. Perhaps Spock would be back later tonight, and he would find Jim waiting for him in their bed, his eyes warm with love and his body relaxed and drowsy. Jim curled up in their bed and fell asleep.
Even in the depths of slumber, Jim heard the door open. He heard the soft, almost silent footsteps cross the floor. He felt the mattress shift as his love sat down on the bed.
“You needn’t tip-toe,” Jim murmured with a smile. “I’m waiting for you, just as I promised.”
“How thoughtful," the voice purred. It wasn’t Spock.
Jim opened his eyes and sat up, horror running through his veins in a cold stream. Stonn smirked at him.
“Hello, little human,” he said softly. “Time for you to pay.”
Chapter 20: The Killing
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Someone dies....
Chapter Twenty: The Killing
Jim opened his mouth, ready to shout the house down, but in a flash, Stonn’s blade was at his throat.
“If you scream,” he hissed, “I will kill you and any who come in answer to your call. The guard beneath the balcony is already dead; the one who patrolled the boundary at this end of the estate was mine.” Stonn’s teeth glinted in the moonlight as he grinned; his eyes glowed hot and wild. “He, like that fool of a driver, has already received his award.” He pressed the very edge of the knife against Jim’s throat, just breaking the skin. Jim could feel a thin trickle of blood flow down his neck. “If you scream,” Stonn continued in a quiet, deadly voice, “your little human friend Sulu will no doubt be the first to respond—and the first to die.”
Jim’s heart sank. He knew Stonn was right, and he wouldn’t risk Sulu’s life to try to save his own. Jim took a deep breath. Spock, love; I’m glad you’re not here; I’m glad you’re out of his reach.
“What do you want?” he asked quietly.
“You,” Stonn replied. “I want to bathe in your blood, leave your entrails strewn across this room like a lady’s hair ribbons. I want to see Spock’s face as he clasps your lifeless body in his arms, as he weeps and wails for the loss of his bed warmer, and then I want to see his eyes as my knife rips the life from him, as his blood spurts out to mingle with yours, and I am finally avenged for the insults done to me.”
Gods, he’s completely insane, Jim thought. I knew it, but somehow, seeing it like this...He took a deep breath.
“You may kill me,” he informed Stonn. “Indeed, you may kill us both, but you will never separate us. Spock will never lose me. I will come for him from my grave if needed. You cannot destroy our love. So go ahead and strike. It will seal your doom. Spock will not weep for me until he has your blood on his hands.”
“Oh, what a brave human whore.” Stonn’s lip curled. “Do not bother; I know you for what you are. Sucking your lord’s shaft does not give you the courage of one of my people.”
“Courage?” Jim stared straight into those mad eyes. “Such courage as yours, my lord—the courage to kill those who worked on your behalf, the courage to creep like vermin into my lord Spock’s home and threaten an unarmed man with a weapon?” The golden eyes met Stonn’s fearlessly. “Is that what you call courage?”
“Filthy human whore!” Enraged, Stonn backhanded the human. That was what Jim was waiting for. He let the momentum from the blow knock him back on the bed—away from Stonn’s knife. Fighting the pain and dizziness from Stonn’s blow, he rolled off the bed and onto the floor, scrambling to his feet and dashing out onto the balcony, hearing an inhuman bellow, an animal roar of rage, behind him. Without hesitation, Jim vaulted over the balcony railing, dropping fifteen feet to the grass below, landing hard, feeling something snap in his ankle. Ignoring the shooting pain, Jim staggered to his feet, only to be slammed back to the ground as Stonn dropped out of the sky and landed on him. Jim felt something give in his rib cage, but he fought, fought desperately, punching and twisting, even as Stonn’s hands closed around his throat and began to squeeze, as Stonn’s mad face loomed over him, and Jim knew this would be the last sight he ever saw...
Oh, love, I’m sorry, Jim thought. He kept fighting, but it was no use; Stonn was stronger; Jim’s strength was fading as those iron hands tightened around his neck.
There was a snarl, a primal scream of fury, and a striped blur hit Stonn, knocking him away from Jim. Jim lifted his aching head, consciousness coming and going in waves, as he saw Malkana, transformed from loving pet to mighty huntress, 200 pounds of savage furry, leap onto Stonn’s back as he tried to run, dragging him to the ground as he beat at her head, to no avail, pinning him, tearing bloody gashes in his arms and shoulders as the wicked retractable claws flashed. Jim tried to find breath to cry out, to order her away, but it was too late. There was a terrible scream from Stonn, an arching fountain of green blood, and a yowl of triumph from the big cat as she ripped out Stonn’s throat.
Jim tried to get to his feet but collapsed, the pain of his injuries and the lack of air from his partially-crushed windpipe combining to drain all his strength. Dimly, he heard the pad of Malkana’s paws on the grass, felt the cold, wet nose nudge his cheek.
Good girl,” Jim whispered hoarsely. “Injured. Get...help....”
He knew no more.
It was warm. Jim’s body was warm, covered to the neck by a silk-stuffed coverlet. Somewhere, very far away, was pain, but it was being held at bay, Jim guarded from it by a force as ferociously loyal as Malkana. Jim could feel the warmth in his mind and soul as well as his body, his entire being wrapped in the glow of his bond mate’s love. Jim sighed. The only coolness was the bright liquid drops that fell on his hands, drops that were first warm and then chill. He forced open his eyes, to see Spock, Jim’s hand clasped in his own and pressed to his cheek as the slow tears fell on it. The tortured dark eyes met Jim’s, grief and fear retreating as from somewhere, Jim found the strength to smile at his love.
“Spock.” Jim’s lips formed the word, but his voice was all but gone. That didn’t matter; Spock heard him.
“Ashaya.” He laid Jim’s hand down on the bed, bending over Jim and tenderly smoothing back his hair. “Beloved, you are here.”
“Yes,” Jim managed to whisper hoarsely. “Do not fear, love. I won’t leave. I swear.”
Spock bent and gently kissed his forehead. “I will hold you to that promise,” he whispered back. “Rest now, ashaya. Rest and heal.”
Jim closed his eyes and gratefully obeyed.
Jim woke abruptly, disoriented. It was dark; Stonn was here in the dark. Jim gasped, tried to rise, but fell back again as pain stabbed him. Then strong, arms came around him gently, careful of his bruises, his cracked ribs, his aching throat. The beloved voice spoke soothingly on his ear as he was tenderly lifted and held close to Spock’s body, the curtain of dark hair brushing against Jim’s cheek as Spock held him.
“Do not fear, ashaya,” Spock murmured. “It is over. He is gone.”
Jim relaxed in Spock’s embrace, the pain once again being washed away in a tide of warmth. “I thought he had come back,” Jim whispered, voice slightly stronger than it had been ten hours before. “I thought he was coming for you.”
“No, beloved.” Spock’s lips brushed Jim’s temple, the faintest of caresses, but it moved through Jim’s body and mind, replacing fear and pain with love and comfort. “No,” Spock whispered again. “His body lies in the carrion pits; his soul freezes in the afterlife. He will never touch you again. He will never threaten us again.” The warm, gentle voice murmured reassuringly as Spock felt Jim relax once again. “Sleep, ashaya. You are safe. We are safe.”
When Jim woke again, brilliant light was streaming across the bed. The first sight that meant his eyes was McCoy leaning over him.
“Len!” Jim croaked, trying to sit up. McCoy’s hands gently pressed him back down against his pillows.
“Rest easy, my friend,” McCoy said gently. “You’ve had a busy time of it.”
“How...am I going to be all right?”
McCoy nodded. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got a broken ankle, three cracked ribs, and a nasty ring of bruises around your neck, but everything will heal in time.” He turned to the small nightstand and lifted a glass, which he held to Jim’s lips. “Fruit juice and honey,” he explained. “It will help your throat. Take small sips; don’t force it.”
Jim sipped, feeling the dreadful raw pain in his throat ease slightly. He looked around. “Where’s Spock?” he asked.
McCoy set the glass aside and patted Jim’s hand. “He’s been with you constantly, ever since he returned,” the healer explained. “He left just a few minutes ago; his father is here and needs to speak with him.” McCoy glanced at the door. “There’s something going on,” he confided. “Those who rule are all very—agitated.”
Before he could say more, the door opened. Jim felt the wave of love and concern sweep him up as Spock hurried across the room and sat down at Jim’s bedside, taking the human into his embrace once more. “Ashaya,” Spock breathed against Jim’s temple. “You are awake.”
“Awake and on the mend,” McCoy said. He rose. “If you will excuse me, I could use a meal and some rest. I’ll check on Jim in a few hours.”
“Of course,” Spock replied. “My home is yours. Thank you for watching over James.”
McCoy nodded. “He was my friend before he was your love,” he reminded Spock. He winked at Jim. “Please reassure your mate that you’re going to live, and I’ll see you later.” He left, closing the door behind him. Jim turned back to Spock, putting his arms around him.
“Oh, love, I’m so glad to see you,” he murmured. “I was so afraid...”
“I can understand that; Stonn was a madman and a danger to you.”
Jim shook his head. “I wasn’t scared for myself,” he replied seriously. “But when I thought of your pain...” He shuddered as Spock’s arms tightened around him, still careful of his ribs.
“Your love humbles me,” Spock said softly, kissing Jim’s temple. “To think that you were worried about me...” He settled onto the bed, still holding Jim in his arms. “Do you remember what happened?” he asked gently.
Jim nodded. “Stonn got onto the estate,” he replied, voice still hoarse. He said that one of the guards was his spy; he killed him, as well as the guard below the balcony. He was going to kill me, but I got away and jumped off the balcony.”
“You what?”
Jim nodded. “I thought that if I could make it onto the grounds, maybe another guard would spot us or maybe Malkana would find us.” He shivered slightly. “She did find us,” he concluded. “I can’t be sorry Stonn’s dead, but it was horrible, love.”
“It was less than he deserved,” Spock replied. “I was coming back from the meeting when I felt your pain and fear. I broke every air car speed record getting here, and I was still too late.” Now it was Spock’s turn to shiver. “I found you lying on the ground, unconscious, Malkana still guarding you, Stonn’s worthless carcass nearby.” Spock laid his cheek against Jim’s head. “I will never forgive myself for not being here,” he said quietly.
“It’s all right, love,” Jim replied. “I’m glad you weren’t here, glad you were safe from Stonn’s madness. And it’s over now; he’s gone.” He looked for a way to change the subject, to lift the worry and guilt he felt coming from his mate. “Why did the Council need to see your father?” he asked. “Can you tell me, love? McCoy said that something’s wrong, that your people seem—edgy.”
Spock nodded, kissing Jim’s cheek and then settling him back against his pillows. “You should eat—as should I. I will fetch us a meal and tell you what is happening. You need to know. Rest; I will be back soon.”
Spock left but true to his word, he quickly returned with a tray, setting it down and feeding Jim a bowl of soft cooked grains with milk and honey, as well as more of the fruit juice McCoy had left for him, destpire Jim’s protests.
“Love, I don’t need to be spoon fed,” Jim gently scolded his mate.
“Yes, you do,” Spock replied, “at least today.” He set the empty bowl aside and picked up a piece of fruit, peeling it and biting into its tart flesh. Jim waited until Spock had swallowed and then asked quietly, “Beloved, what is going on? What do I need to know?”
Spock put down his piece of fruit and took Jim’s hands in his. “The Council met because—we have received a message.” He took a deep breath. “There are two very large ships orbiting our world, Jim. Their leader says that they are looking for their people, who were lost here a long time ago.”
Jim’s eyes were wide as he took in that information. “You mean, they’re...”
Spock nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “They are humans. They are looking for their lost ship and its crew, the one that crashed on my great-grandmother’s lands more than 300 harvests ago.”
Chapter 21: The Reunion
Chapter Text
Author's notes:
Final chapter--Jim meets his people and makes a decision. As always, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.
Chapter Twenty-One: The Reunion
For a moment, Jim simply stared at him. Then he slowly nodded.
“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” he said. “I have wondered for a long time if others of my people would someday come here.”
“They have,” Spock replied, “and the Council is unsure of what to do next. So far, the representatives of your people have communicated with us but have not landed; however, the Council is certain they will not simply leave. They apparently have some kind of instrument that can ascertain that there are humans here on the surface, and they are asking for permission to meet with them.” He rose. “Beloved, do you feel well enough to talk with the Council?”
“I’m not sure I can walk, but other than that, I’m all right,” Jim replied. “Why?”
Spock smiled at him. “Because the Council wishes to meet with my mate, the human member of my House. They want your help.”
Spock helped Jim bathe and dress, working around the bandages and walking cast McCoy had fitted Jim with. Once Jim was clean and dry, Spock sat him down at the dressing table and combed out his hair, swiftly and neatly re-braiding it. Spock then walked to a cabinet against the wall and opened a drawer, returning to the table with an object in his hand. He leaned over Jim and gently fastened the object around his neck. Jim looked at it. It was a golden medallion on a fine chain.
“My Clan’s badge,” Spock said quietly. “It is appropriate that you wear it, ashaya, and show the Council that you are indeed a member of my House.”
Jim looked at the piece, which was finely worked and depicted a hunting cat, very like Malkana, green gems for its eyes and a collar of tiny diamonds around its neck.
“Thank you, love,” he said softly. “It’s beautiful.”
Spock dropped a kiss on the top of Jim’s head. “Then it is fitting that it lie around your neck,” he responded gently. “Now, I will dress, and we will contact the Council.”
Jim looked at the stair case. “I think I can walk, love, you simply...” He got no further. Spock simply picked him up and carried him down the long flight of stairs. Once they were on the main floor, he gently set Jim on his feet, one arm around his waist until the human found his feet.
“I would gladly carry you everywhere, ashaya,” Spock said, “but it would hardly give the Council the right message.”
Jim chuckled. “No, I think I’d better face this on my own two feet.” Leaning on Spock, he made his way to the library, where Sarek was already waiting. The older Vulcan rose as Jim and Spock entered the room.
“My son,” he said warmly. “I am pleased you are recovering.”
“Thank you,” Jim replied. He glanced at Spock. “I assume we are going to speak with the Council on your communication system?”
Spock nodded. “It is faster than taking you halfway across the planet,” he replied. “The Council feels that time is of the essence. We do not know how long those ships will wait.”
Jim nodded. “Well, then, I guess I’m ready if the Council is.” With Spock and Sarek on either side of him, Jim settled into a chair in front of Spock’s view-screen. Spock activated the system, and from the other side of Vulcan, the chambers of the High Council appeared. Sarek spoke.
Councilor T’Lara,” he said formally. “I present thee with my son, James, son of George, mate of my son Spock.”
T’Lara, a woman perhaps ten years older than Spock, inclined her head to the three. “We recognize the legal bond between Spock, son of Sarek, and James, son of George,” she said. She looked at Jim. “Has thee been told of the ships that orbit our world?” she asked.
Jim nodded. “I have, Madam Councilor,” he replied. “As I understand it, they are human ships, similar to the one that crashed here on your world many generations ago.”
“Indeed.” Another Councilor spoke. “Solnek,” Spock murmured in Jim’s ear. “They wish to speak with a representative of your people. They have indicated that they wish to take your people back to their home world, if they so desire. They also wish to establish diplomatic relations between our world and what they call their Federation of Planets.”
“Since thee now belongs to both peoples, it has been suggested that perhaps thee would be an appropriate spokesman,” T’Lara continued.
“I see,” Jim replied. He thought for a moment. “Madam Councilor,” he said, “have the people on these ships threatened our planet?”
T’Lara shook her head. “Not a threat,” she said. “However, the one who commands theses ships, a human named Matt Decker, has been quite...firm in stating that they will not leave until they have ascertained the well-being of their distant cousins, as he put it.” She glanced around at the other Councilors before continuing. “There is another issue to consider as well. Some of our people have the gift of far-seeing; they can catch glimpses of events that may happen in the future.” She looked suddenly grave. “Those with that gift have foreseen that a danger threatens our planet, not from your people but from another empire. An alliance with the humans who possess the knowledge to travel among the stars may save us from this other threat.”
“Then I can understand why you are anxious to establish good relations with these visitors,” Jim said thoughtfully. “If their offer is genuine, it would appear that they have much to give the Vulcans.”
“So, are thee willing to speak with the, bargain with them, for the good of all?” T’Lara asked.
Jim thought for a moment. This was an extraordinary opportunity—if he could use it properly. “I am,” he said at last. “I wish for this planet and its people to be safe. I can easily see that these humans who have come here have much to offer. So I will speak with them and represent the interests of the Vulcan people to the best of my poor ability.” He paused. “On one condition,” he added quietly.
T’Lara looked at him, one eyebrow rising in a very familiar way. “And that condition is?” she asked.
Instead of responding to her, Jim looked at T’Pau, who sat to T’Lara’s right. “Elder T’Pau,” Jim said, “a long time ago, my people’s ship crashed on your lands. You chose to allow us to stay, but under the yoke of serfdom. Like all my people, I am grateful that you did not destroy us out of hand. However, if a serf may become a member of your House, if a serf may become the savior of your people, then that man—and those of his kind—should never have been a serf at all.” Jim raised his head proudly. “In return for my help, in return for my negotiations with the others of my kind who have traveled here, I would ask that the burden of serfdom be lifted from my people, all the humans here in your domains.”
Jim felt Spock stiffen beside him. He did not dare look at his love, afraid of what he might see in Spock’s eyes—disappointment? Anger?
For a moment, the entire Council was silent as they considered Jim’s words. Then T’Lara turned to T’Pau.
“Cousin,” she said, “the humans are on thy lands. Thou has been their overlord for all their time here. They are thy responsibility. It is for thee to decide if James’ petition is just.”
T’Pau looked out of the screen at Jim. Then she nodded.
“Thy words are fair and true,” she said. “For the sake of our people, it will be as thou wishes. Those of human kind will be granted equal status in my domain. If they wish to leave and return to the stars with their people, it will be allowed. If they wish to stay in the homes they have built, they will do so as free citizens.”
Jim felt a great wave of relief wash through him. He bowed his head to T’Pau. “Then I will meet with the humans who orbit our planet,” he said.
T’Lara nodded. “We will contact them and set a time and place for the meeting,” she replied. “Hold thyself ready.” She broke the transmission, and the screen went dark.
Spock was silent as he once again carried Jim upstairs to their rooms. Jim was silent as well. He couldn’t read Spock; his mate’s face was expressionless. But somehow, Jim felt that something was very wrong.
Once inside their rooms, Spock gently laid Jim down on the bed, arranging pillows to support his wounded leg and drawing a light coverlet over him. “You should rest,” Spock said quietly. “You are still healing from Stonn’s attack. I will see you later.” He turned to go, stopping as Jim reached out and caught Spock’s wrist in his hand.
“Spock,” he said gently. “Love, what’s wrong? Are you angry with me?” Jim swallowed hard. It was difficult to say, but it must be said. “Do you...do you believe that my people should not be freed?”
“No,” Spock replied, his face still averted from Jim’s gaze. “No, of course not, ashaya. You spoke truly. There is no reason for your people to be under our control. You were right; if one human can be a member of my House, then all humans should be.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Jim could feel the tremor in the wrist he still held. “I...I did not think you would wish to leave me,” Spock admitted in a whisper. Jim felt the sudden surge of grief go through Spock. “It is your right, but...”
“Oh, love,” Jim said softly, understanding now. “Spock, no. Ashaya, please, come here.” He tugged gently on Spock’s wrist, urging him back to his side. Spock raised his head and looked into Jim’s eyes, the pain visible.
“Come here,” Jim repeated, pulling Spock into his arms. “Love, I would never leave you. I promise. I did this for my people, not for myself.”
Spock’s arms went around him, still careful of his ribs, but tightly nonetheless. “I...”Spock choked, his face buried in Jim’s neck. “I thought perhaps you wanted your freedom as well.”
“Hush,” Jim said gently. “T’Pau could not free me, my love. I gave myself to you; my heart is yours and no decree by your Clan mother will change my status. I am yours, ashaya, forever.” He softly passed his hand over Spock’s head and neck, soothing his love, feeling Spock relax against him. Jim drifted off to sleep with his mate held close to him, even his dreams guarded by Spock’s protective love.
Two mornings later, Jim stood with Spock on the lawn of his villa, Sarek, T’Pau, and T’Lara beside them, all dressed formally. Even Malkana, crouched at Jim’s feet, had a new collar for the occasion. Jim tugged at the collar of his robe for the tenth time.
“Ashaya, stop fidgeting,” Spock said lovingly. “You look magnificent.”
“Perhaps, but I’d rather be comfortable,” Jim murmured back. He looked lovingly at his mate. “You’re the one who looks magnificent, love.” Spock was dressed in a robe of green and silver, his long hair brushed until it shone in the sun, his bonding braids woven with silver cord, his eyes bright with curiosity to meet the humans from so far away.
Suddenly there was a low hum. Before them on the grass, six figures—materialized, Jim guessed was the best explanation for the process. One moment, there was just grass. The next moment, the air was filled with sparkling light, and humans appeared, dressed in strange tunics of gold, blue, or red, with black trousers. The human in the center, a man with a noble, craggy face, stepped forward, the braid on the sleeves of his golden tunic catching the morning light. Spock at his side, one hand beneath his elbow to help him balance, Jim took a step forward as well. The older man looked at Jim, a smile creasing his face. He held out a hand.
“I am Captain Matthew Decker, of the Federation Starship Enterprise,” he said. He spoke the tongue of the People, strangely accented, but Jim supposed his accent would seem odd as well. He took one final step forward and grasped the hand held out to him.
“I am James Kirk cha’Spock,” he replied. “Welcome to Vulcan—cousin.”
In the weeks to come, Jim met with Captain Decker and his representatives for many hours, discussing various matters with them and the High Council, learning of the Klingon Empire, which threatened the Federation and possibly Vulcan as well, learning of Earth, the planet from where Jim’s ancestors had set out in their ship, the Kelvin, working through various points of the treaty to be signed by Decker as a representative of the United Federation of Planets—and James Kirk cha-Spock, as a representative of Vulcan. It was agreed and announced that all humans on Vulcan could choose to leave and travel to Earth if they wished, there to be helped by the Federation to assimilate into human society, to learn about and claim their heritage. As Jim had expected, the news created a frenzy among his people. Some decided to return to the planet of their ancestors; others, now assured that they would be free citizens, were planning to stay on Vulcan, where they had lived their lives. Jim had been surprised to learn that his mother had refused to leave. She still hadn’t spoken to him, but he heard from others that she had decided to stay on Vulcan as a free citizen. He hoped she would be happy at last.
“I’m going,” McCoy announced one morning. He had come to the villa to remove the cast from Jim’s leg, which was now mended.
“You are?” Jim was surprised.
“What, you think I’m that fond of the pointy-eared hobgoblins?” McCoy grinned. “No, thank you. I want to see where my great-great-great-great grandfather came from. I want to learn more about the technology of the human race. We must be a pretty smart group if we can fly through the universe and dissolve our atoms at will and then reassemble them again. I want to study medicine with human healers. I’ve been told they’re called doctors, and I want to learn their skills and their methods for treating the sick.”
Jim laughed. “If you’re going to go, you’ll have to get used to that atom re-assembling,” he chuckled. Then he sobered. “I will miss you, Len, and Sulu, too.” The young houseman had announced that he too was going to go to Earth.
“You should come with us, you know,” McCoy said quietly. “All of this is your doing; you should reap the rewards.”
Jim shook his head. “No,” he replied gently. “I’m sure Earth is a wonderful place, but my life is here.” He looked out the window to where Spock was exercising Malkana. “My heart is here.”
Jim was curled up in his favorite spot in the library’s window seat, reading another book of tales by S’Kharen. He looked up and rose as Spock, followed by Sarek, came into the room.
“Hello, Father,” Jim said, pleased. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I have business with you, son,” Sarek replied. He looked at Jim’s leg. “I am gratified to see you are healed.”
Jim wiggled his leg slightly. “Yes, it’s all better.” They moved to a grouping of furniture, and Sarek seated himself in a chair, watching as Spock and Jim, as if attracted to one another by magnets, settled on the couch close together.
“My sons,” Sarek said, “I need to speak with you both. James, T’Pau asked me to come and talk with you about this matter, but understand, no pressure will be put on you to comply unless you wish to.”
Jim and Spock exchanged puzzled glances. “Comply with what?” Jim asked.
“Now that we have signed a treaty with the Federation, their representative has informed us that it is customary to each allied planet to send an ambassador to Earth, there to sit on a Council similar to our High Council and speak for the interests of the member world,” Sarek explained quietly. He looked at Jim, pride shining in his eyes. “Since you are both human and Vulcan, my son, T’Pau and the Council feel you would be the very best choice to be our ambassador.”
Jim reached for Spock’s hand and held it tightly. “Father, I cannot go,” he replied. “I cannot leave my bond mate. Surely you know that.”
Sarek nodded. “Indeed, you answer as I expected you to.” He glanced at Spock. “But no one is asking you to leave one another. Spock would go with you. He could study on Earth; I understand that the humans have many famous academies where all can learn about their science, as they call it. I believe Spock would benefit greatly from this opportunity, and after all, he too is both Vulcan and human. He has the right to learn more about his mother’s people.”
Spock and Jim exchanged glance. “Father, we must speak on this,” Spock said quietly. “May we give the Council an answer in another day’s time?”
“Of course.” Sarek rose. “I would miss you both,” he said quietly, “but I believe you should take this chance to see the stars.”
After he left, the two sat in silence, hands still clasped. “Do you want to go?” Spock asked at last.
Jim thought about it. “Truly? Yes, love; I do, but only if you are with me.” Jim caressed the hand he held. “I love you, and I love our home, but...”
“But the stars are up there,” Spock finished softly.
“Yes.” Jim smiled at his mate. “The stars are up there, waiting for us.”
Spock raised Jim’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Then let us go,” he said quietly, “together.”
All was prepared. Jim and Spock stood on the lawn, waiting for the signal from the Enterprise, which was about to ‘beam them up,’ as the humans called the transportation process. McCoy and Sulu stood with them as they said good-bye to Sarek.
“We will be back in five years, Father,” Spock noted. “It seems like a long time, but...”
“The time will pass,” Sarek finished for him. He looked at his two sons, Vulcan and human. “Take care of one another,” he said. They nodded.
“And I’ll take care of them both,” McCoy added. “I wouldn’t trust the two of them to stay out of trouble without me.”
Sarek chuckled. “I agree, Healer.” He raised his hand in the traditional salute. “Live long and prosper, my sons.”
“Peace and long life, Father,” Spock replied.
“And take care of Malkana,” Jim added.
Sarek nodded. “I will.” He stepped back as Jim hit a button on a small device Captain Decker had given him. He spoke into it.
“James Kirk to Enterprise,” he said. “Four to beam up.”
In a moment, sparkles of light filled the air. Sarek watched until James Kirk and Spock of Vulcan, their companions by their sides, disappeared, lifted into the stars, ready for a great adventure.
The End
CelestialVoyeur on Chapter 21 Sun 10 Nov 2024 07:21PM UTC
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zevbaldwin on Chapter 21 Wed 05 Feb 2025 08:39AM UTC
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isabol on Chapter 21 Thu 10 Jul 2025 03:15AM UTC
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