Hey, so we're doing this. I just wanted to let you guy's know of a few things before you get into it.
1) Most of the dialogue in this first chapter, not that there's much of it, is in Vulcan. The translations are rough, because I don't actually know Vulcan. I had to rely on a few different translators. If anyone does happen to know Vulcan and finds my translations cringe-worthy, I don't blame you. Don't crucify me.
2) This is an actual chapter story, not a series of oneshots. Every chapter will take place in a different reality, with a different version of Spock, but Jim will remain the same and remember everything from past chapters.
3) There will some semi-graphic sex in later chapters, maybe even in the next chapter, so be prepared for that.
That's all, folks. Hope you enjoy, review if you did.
I. So You Do Feel
Jim woke with a heart-bursting start, utterly confused. His eyes snapped open, and he immediately closed them at the assault of stabbing light. He groaned, trying to turn his face away from the unrepentant beams. He felt sand scrape into his tender cheek, and sand was quick to fill his mouth. He sputtered at the uncomfortable feeling of grit over his tongue and teeth. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, struggling slightly to do so, and attempted opening his eyes again. More prepared for the unobstructed sun, he squinted at the hot grains sifting between his fingers. With a plethora of caution, for the sake of his sensitive corneas, he looked around himself. He seemed to be in a desert, though there was no immediately recognizable flora or fauna to determine the planet. He sat back on his ankles and expunged all the air from his lungs with a hard sigh. Scrubbing over his face rather viciously with the meat of his palms, he tried remembering what circumstances might've stranded him here.
For the life of him, he couldn't recall the past twenty four hours. The last solid memory he had was of sitting on the bridge, surrounded by his cherished crewmates. Admiral Barnett's paternal visage took up the main display as he relayed the details of a new mission midst their prolonged five year exploratory one. Nor could he recall those mission details. That was at least a day and a half ago, so it stands to reason that whatever went wrong on that mission was the reason for his current marooning. He got to his feet and shook the sand from his hair. He was still wearing his standard golds and black tactical pants, both shockingly still in good shape. His phaser and comm, however, were missing in action. "Well, nothing to do but start walking." And he did just that.
After an hour or so of trekking through the foreign landscape, Jim could say with absolute certainty that he was not on Earth, nor was it a planet he'd ever visited before. The heat was severe, and he could feel his face sting with the beginnings of a punishing sunburn. If he didn't carefully regulate his breathing, he became lightheaded. Mountains were starting to sprout in the distance, he estimated about sixteen kilometers from his current position, and sinister looking clouds were gathering at their peaks. They crackled faintly, before spitting out violent pops of electricity. Jim frowned, the faint dip that'd been developing between his browns since waking up deepened into a prominent furrow. If he didn't know any better, he'd liken this planet's environment to the original Vulcan. He immediately dismissed the idea; in an infinite universe, there was absolutely going to be other planets with extreme heat and electrical storms.
Despite the worrying appearance of the distant firmament, Jim made for that general direction. The prospect of finding respite from the sun was too tempting. It took him two more hours of walking, in which time he became very aware of a couple new blisters, before reaching the aperture of a small valley. The storm was directly overhead and in full swing, electricity slapping the ground every few minutes. Jim kept tight to the mountainside as he traversed further into the valley. His best chance at survival now was discovering a cave or crevice to take shelter in until the storm had passed. He didn't fancy going down in the history books as unidentifiable DNA singed into the ground. The mountains rose up around him like waking giants of old Earth epics, and the valley opened up into a desolate canyon. Sand was kicked up from the ground and whipped through the air at dizzying speeds, to Jim's distress.
He pulled his shirt collar over his nose and mouth. His hand was an ineffectual shield against the silt trying to slice into his eyeballs. Visibility was soon nonexistent, and Jim cursed his way through every stumbling step. He heard more than saw the snaps of deadly electricity, and they sounded blessedly far away from where he was huddled. By some miracle or stroke of luck, he came upon a narrow opening. He squeezed himself into the crevice, allowing his head to sag bonelessly against the rock. The break from storm and sun, temporary as it might be, filled him with relief. He took stock of his current shelter. The entrance was tight, leaving him only enough room to crouch. However, the cavern ran deep, and he was able to unfold himself completely the further he ventured into it.
He knew if he went any deeper, there was a good chance of getting lost in a potentially vast network of caves. He let himself drop to the ground, too weary to arrange his extremities neatly. The rock was pleasantly cool on his flushed skin, the sun having taken its toll. "No communicator, no food, no water, and no old Spock from an alternate timeline." He laughed bitterly. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, reviewing the few details of his dilemma, before sleep overcame him. Though, there was no mistaking the sense of danger that once again woke him. He jerked. His heart lodged in his throat and choked off his next breath. His confusion lasted mere seconds. Deep growls shook the ground beneath him and animalistic, snuffling breaths were close enough to move his hair. Approaching from the unexplored depths of the cave, was a fucking Sehlat.
It's bear-like paws disturbed the sand across the cave floor. The first details Jim picked up on were its protruding fangs, not unlike the saber-toothed cats of Earth's Paleogene period, and the sheer size of it. It was certainly as big as a bear, but moved with the fluidity of a cat. Jim knew what a Sehlat was, but reading about its aggressive tendencies and six inch fangs was altogether different from facing up against one. The implications about the planet were immediate, but an investigation would have to wait. Getting his feet under him painstakingly slow, he kept his gaze fixed on the circling predator. He knew that whether or not the storm still raged, he stood a better chance in more open space. He took a slow step back, towards the slit he entered from, eliciting a thunderous roar from the Sehlat.
No more prompting was needed. With all the speed and agility he could summon, Jim tore out of the hollow and into the canyon, the Sehlat snapping at his heels. The storm had stopped, and dusk had the sky awash with blood and bruises. He already knew he wasn't fast enough, and his scream was cut short by the Sehlat smashing into him with its entire weight. His attempts at defending himself were feeble and ineffective, and it wasn't long before claw and fang ripped through clothing and flesh. He screamed, his upper arm suffering the brunt of a vicious chomp. With teeth still locked in place, the Sehlat yanked Jim to and fro as though trying to dismember him. Jim tried using his legs to kick the massive beast away, but couldn't get the necessary leverage. God, Winona was never going to get over this.
Suddenly, the Sehlat slackened. Jim heard a sickly, wet crunch; warmth dripped over his face and into his hair. He tasted metal. He cracked a single eye. The Sehlat was dead, the crude spear pushing through its gullet being a good indicator. He watched the life blink out of its eyes, and his own went large with shock. "What the...?" He croaked. The spear was yanked from the limp animal by someone he couldn't yet see. It was then lifted off of him, seemingly with ease, and tossed aside. Jim gripped his bleeding bicep and made to scramble away, should his savior turn into another predator. Upon meeting the fevered gaze of his rescuer, Jim knew true stupefaction. Standing over him was someone with the face of a dear friend, but the expression of a stranger. "Spock...?"
He was definitely Vulcan; the tapered ears, perpetually angry brows, and verdigris flush were all irrefutable signs of said heritage. His face - he...well, the resemblance to his first officer was uncanny. Jim would go so far as to say this man could be Spock's clone, or perhaps his barbarian twin. His body was mostly exposed to the elements. Jim took note of the aggravated scarring and smattering of bruises, some colored like summer grass and others almost a memory, decorating his torso. What looked to be the remnants of a thick cloak hung around his thighs, held up by little more than a prayer and some frayed rope. The dorky bowl cut he'd grown fond of was gone, replaced by a bedraggled mop pulled together loosely. He was barefoot and armed with nothing but his spear, which he'd clearly crafted himself.
His expression, or maybe that he had one at all, hit Jim harder than anything else. He looked torn between hostility and curiosity, his upper lip pulled back in the beginnings of a snarl. His level of openness was so unlike any Vulcan Jim had ever met. His eyes shone with their own strange light, and the raw heat he discovered there had Jim flushing for reasons other than the heat. When he finally spoke, it was Spock's voice, albeit roughened, but -
"Ra nam-tor du?" what are you.
Jim knew fragments of Vulcan, from what little he'd picked up in the academy and snippets of conversation with his comely communications officer. He was surprised. Vagrant or otherwise, how did this Vulcan not know what a human being looked like? Never had he been more grateful for the few scraps of knowledge he did possess. Jim sounded out the words slowly, his unfamiliarity with the language apparent in every syllable. "Kom...ihn. T'nash-veh ahm...tor Jim?" human. my name is Jim.
Jim was thrown by the imposter's expression of profound confusion. "Komihn?" He repeated awkwardly. Jim knew it was the first time he'd said it.
He simply had to ask, "du've worla...puzhu-tor t' wuh komihn?" you've never heard of a human?
Spock's look-alike regarded him tensely, thoughts flipping across his face too fast for Jim to pin one down. He let his spear drop to the ground, and moved towards Jim in a crouch. Jim startled at his approach and tried to scoot away. Spock's look-alike stopped him with a firm grip around his uninjured arm. "Du're dash-tor." you're injured.
Somehow, Jim's unease was not immediately put to rest, but he let the unkempt Vulcan inspect his injuries. Jim found their closeness embarrassing, not that he was willing to analyze why. Spock's look-alike kneeled between his legs and turned his bitten arm this way and that, his time-toughened hands surprisingly gently. He watched from beneath shuttered lashes caked with drying Sehlat blood. Warmth settled in a few key places, which only embarrassed him further. The weird intimacy to suddenly envelope them was puzzling, but not unwelcome. Soon, Jim started to feel...sleepy. Feelings of calm and yuk were flooding into him, bogging his limbs down. He recognized the signs of a surface meld all too late. "Rai...peh...kaya..." The words were hardpressed to come out, even as a bare whisper. no, stop.
He fell asleep to the feeling of being gathered and cradled, and his traitorous mind decided it wasn't the worst.
For the third time in a mere twenty four hour period, he woke disoriented and alarmed. His head was pillowed by something softer than the ground, and his mangled arm felt cold and numb. He managed the strength to raise his head and gauge his surroundings, as well as his current state. He was in a cave much bigger than the previous one he'd inhabited. It was barren of any plant life, barren of anything save for a small fire sputtering a few feet away. His arm had been cleaned of the blood and dirt, as far as he could tell. It was wrapped in a fibrous leaf, possibly the greenest plant Jim had seen since waking on this planet. He could smell some sort of aloe or natural numbing agent emanating from beneath the leafy bandage. His head had been resting on what he recognized as the imposter's only clothing.
As if sensing those thoughts, his kidnapper appeared, unashamedly naked. Jim first felt awkwardness at how unperturbed Spock's look-alike was regarding his total exposure, but quickly got over it when he remembered the unwarranted mental assault and seizure from earlier in the day. "What the fuck is your - !" He started, before remembering the Vulcan wouldn't understand him. Inhaling angrily through his nostrils, he started over in his broken Vulcan. "Po did du tor ik?" He snarled. why did you do that?
Spock's look-alike wasn't bothered. "Ha." He said, unrepentant. yes.
"Ish-veh kashek nam-tor vaksurik." He continued. Jim flushed to the roots of his hair. your mind is beautiful. Such flattery in a voice so like that of his first officer's had his body readily betraying him.
He mustered a weak glare. "Ish-veh tvai na' du." it isn't meant for you.
Spock's look-alike frowned at his caustic reply, finally showing a fraction of the emotion he displayed before. As if trying to prove something without words, he put himself in Jim's personal space. While maintaining heady eye contact, he snatched up Jim's hand and twined their fingers. He massaged Jim's palm with his thumb and rubbed the pads of their fingers together. It was overtly sensual. Jim knew what that brand of contact meant to a Vulcan, and he couldn't fathom any one of them initiating such with a stranger. Pleasant sparks seeped through their joined skin, settling in his groin. Jim was mortified by these reactions.
Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Spock's look-alike dragged his opposite hand up the taut column of Jim's neck. His spindly fingers made to settle over Jim's psi-points. Jim jerked his face away. "Spock, stop!" He instinctively barked his friend's name, only realizing his mistake a second later. Regardless, it stopped this Vulcan in his tracks. He pulled back, allowing his probing digits to fall away. He studied Jim's face with familiar intensity. "Ik's wuh dahr wak du've tar-tor t'nash-veh ahm." He murmured, tightening his grip on Jim's hand. that's the second time you've said my name.
Jim balked. No, that...that didn't make sense. None of this made any sense! He was stranded on a planet that bore a painful resemblance to Vulcan, the very planet he couldn't save. He sat across from a Vulcan that bore painful likenesses to his first officer and closest friend, but said Vulcan didn't recognize him or speak English. "Wilat tor nash?" He whispered. where is this?
"Vuhlkansu." Vulcan.
Jim was at a loss. He wracked his brain for answers, but none were forthcoming. He wanted to believe the missing link was locked away with his memories of the last mission, but what could have possibly transpired on that mission - on any mission - to cause such phenomena? Was he even here, or could it all just be an extremely vivid dream? Perhaps he was lying in sickbay at this very moment, trapped in his own mind. A nude, rugged Spock complimenting his "beautiful" mind and bestowing him with Vulcan kisses was par for the course when it came down to his subconscious, he could admit that much now. Jim buried his face in his hands, partly to hide his thoughts from Spock. If the man before him truly was his Spock.
Unless - !
He snapped his head up. His eyes flickered over the expressive face of his friend. "Tor du...fai-tor Surak?" do you know Surak?
Shades of confusion and thunderous jealousy played havoc with Spock's expression. Again, he snatched at Jim's wrist and gripped it far too tightly for his human bones to withstand. "Tor au nah-tor ki' du?" does he think to have you? The 'before me' was heavily implied. Jim winced, but was otherwise preoccupied by his own abyssal introspection. Spock did not know Surak, and all Vulcans - whether they respected his teachings or rebelled against them - knew Surak. The man was their prophet, their revolutionary, a household name on par with the Jesus Christ of Judeo Christianity. Jim worried his bottom lip sore and swollen. Perhaps...Surak had yet to share his message? But even if this were the past, what would Spock be doing in it? "Alternate...reality?" His face slowly began to light and loosen in realization.
Spock jerked him forward in a childish bid for attention. Jim was inches away from cozying in the man's naked lap. "T'nash-veh!" mine.
Jim was unsure on how to proceed. While he'd had many a wet dream involving similar scenarios to this, what he knew of pre-Surakian Vulcan had his nerves on the fritz for an altogether different reason. Vulcans felt deeply, often uncontrollably, and the teachings of Surak had allowed them to harness logic as a defense against their own wild hearts. This version of Spock had no such barrier and was totally at the whims of his tempestuous emotions. Jim felt the bones in his wrist scrape together under Spock's tightening vice. "Du dash-tor! Ri spo' du, ri u' karik." He hissed in pain. you hurt. not like you, not as strong.
Spock's greedy grip immediately loosened, but he was by no means appeased. "Kal-tor zahvan ish-veh kashek." let me taste your mind. It came as a demand, and God, did Jim find that hot. Jim wanted to let him, as he knew there was little chance of experiencing such intimacy with his own Spock, but there was no telling how this primitive Spock might react to the memories contained there. He also proved himself no stranger to manipulation. After knowing him for all of twenty seconds, he'd slipped over Jim's mind and inserted suggestions without a hint of guilt present. This Spock was many things, dangerous being at the top of the list. Jim decided to do a little manipulating of his own. He climbed fully into Spock's lap.
Their groins were closely nestled, and Jim had never been so grateful to still have his pants. He was doing his utmost to keep an honorable train of thought, though he did distantly note Spock's physical 'protrusions' weren't too different from his own. He imitated Spock's advances from earlier, sliding his hands up the sides of a pale throat and teasingly ghosting over the Vulcan's psi-points. There was a zing of electricity at the brief contact that both men felt keenly, before Jim settled his roaming extremities in tangled tresses. He massaged Spock's scalp in skillful patterns, and pressed his open mouth to the underside of his jaw. Spock's arms circled him like he'd done it a million times before, and Jim nearly moaned at those scalding hands finding purchase on his back. "Sanoi, Spock, aishan aitlun tor hal-tor ha-kel." He whispered. please, Spock, just want to go home.
Spock stilled, but didn't react violently. Jim considered that a small victory.
"Wilat nam-tor ha-kel? Sos ri nam-tor ha-kel?" where is home. could I not be home? He sounded completely gutted, and it left a bitter taste in Jim's mouth. He had to remind himself that this wasn't his Spock, this wasn't the right Spock.
"Du ri tor fai-tor." He tried weakly. you don't know me. Spock tugged him closer and took to nuzzling the sensitive dip of his collar bone.
"Zahv-tor nahp, du zahvan spo' t'hy'la." I tasted your thoughts, you taste like home. Primal and throaty, he delivered this admission through a groan. The meaning of that word wasn't lost on Jim, though he wished it was. It hurt beyond words for this Spock to desire him so openly, to hold such fierce regard for him, when his own Spock was hopelessly out of reach.
"Ha-kel nam-tor irak sad. Fai-tor ri uf tor zaprah." home is far away. I don't know how to get back.
"Yi ri tor trasha, nam-tor t'hy'la!" then stay, be t'hy'la.
They shared many things in the next moment. Skin, breath, desire, and very nearly their minds. The temptation was real and living; it wriggled between their chests like a sentient thing. Jim couldn't stifle the full-body shudder. He'd never been great at squashing impulses, and he wasn't about to start now. He didn't know when he'd ever get the opportunity to do so again. One tiny kiss wouldn't do any harm. He smashed their mouths together with all the pent up fervor coalesced over the length of his captaincy. Spock responded in kind, and it was just as life changing as Jim imagined it to be. So caught up in their melding of lips, it was easy for Spock to initiate the melding of minds he'd been aching for. They slipped into each other so seamlessly, Jim barely noticed, let alone cared enough to stop it.
It wasn't his first mind meld, but this connection was hardly comparable to its predecessor. It was not knowing the beginning or end of one mind from the other, yet recognizing and appreciating their stark differences all the same. This Spock lacked any form of control or desire to learn it. He stampeded through Jim's head with all the subtlety of an elephant herd, lapping at every childhood bruise and photoemission formula. He took care, at least, not to alter or erase anything. Jim similarly explored the depths of Spock's conscious and subconscious. It was utter chaos, whole strings of thought based solely on want and feel. Yet, the layers of complexity were apparent. Even in his current primal state, Spock's brain functioned like several thousand programs running on top of each other. It was both intoxicating and overwhelming.
It was a learning experience, but a sexual one too. They were hungry to know one another, but also hungry to feel close. Jim thought he might be moaning and gasping like some of his wanton bedmates from the past, but was too far away to tell for sure. If he had to guess, Spock's mouth was grinding insistently against his throat and shoulders, was his shirt ripped? Missing? Their shared mindscape was natural darkness, and every cognition a natural burst of chroma lighting their path to each other. Jim could already see himself forming an addiction to the feeling.
When they finally ripped themselves from the meld, it could have been minutes, hours, or even days later. Their positions had shifted to a supine one, Jim on his side and Spock thoroughly draped over him. As he suspected, his shirt had been reduced to a pile of shreds barely clinging to his waist. Their breathing was noisy in the quiet of the cave, the fire having long died. Spock was unbearably hot where the cave floor was frigid, and it was a pleasant mix for Jim. They took several minutes to calm their pounding blood and flailing lungs. When he next spoke, Spock was more composed than Jim thought him capable, especially given all that he now knew.
"Ish-veh ha-kel nam-tor maut irak." your home is very far.
Jim laughed without any mirth. "Ek' du tun tor tar?" is that all you have to say?
"Ri tvai na' t'nash-veh bezhun." it wasn't meant for me to see.
"Hi du've gla-tor ish-veh." but you've seen it.
"Glazhau maut...flekh." I looked very...strange.
Jim's chuckle was a little more genuine. "Vel nam-tor maut natya wilat s'." things are very different where I'm from. It was liberating to say it out loud.
"Weh-rom do ish-veh." I'm better than him.
Jim raised both brows in surprise at the vehemently possessive tone. He turned in Spock's arms so they could be face to face. The Vulcan met his scrutinous stare head on, and Jim knew he was neither embarrassed or regretful over his words. "La' il tra'. Nash shi nam-tor ri t'nash-veh, du fai-tor ik." here nor there. this place isn't mine, you know that. Jim tried to express the wrongness of his presence in this reality with painfully insufficient translations. Spock deigned not to acknowledge, and Jim didn't mourn the loss of the conversation.
A week went by, not that Jim paid the passage of time much attention. He and Spock kept mostly underground due to Jim's sensitivity to the sun, but Spock's familiarity with the labyrinth kept them from getting lost. To the contrary, Spock treated him to several pockets of magic within the extensive subterrane. A lot of their time was devoted to an underground watering hole; tire-size holes in the rock overhead allowed natural light to warm the water and brighten the chamber. Much of the rock touched by moisture and sun was carpeted in soft moss. They waded in the temperate water free of modesty or concern and often caught small prey from the deeper parts of it for sustenance. There was much impromptu touching, this Spock was very comfortable using his hands, and impassioned melding. Spock seemed to initiate a meld whenever the urge struck him, not that Jim expressly objected. They took to learning as much about each other as possible, whether through melds or conversation. Jim's Vulcan improved in leaps and bounds, and unsurprisingly, Spock gained a rudimentary understanding of English.
When they came upon other Vulcans, Jim was jarringly reminded that they were not in fact the only two people on the planet. They were scavenging for fruit above ground, as Jim had grown a fondness for soltar - an hourglass shaped, red fruit that reminded him of pomegranate. As they endeavored to knock the dry fruits from their respective branches, a group of Vulcans approached. They read as soldiers, with their reinforced garb and armaments. Spock snarled at the sight of them and shoved Jim in the direction they'd come from. His tone hard and no nonsense, "go now, Jim." Jim balked at being told what to do, but also at the idea of leaving Spock on his own with a potential threat on the horizon. "Spock -" He started to say, but Spock cut him off with an even harsher "go!"
Jim took a hesitant step backwards, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the caves. The converging party must've known of their location and meant to trap them, because a small group of warriors blocked Jim from escaping to their shared refuge. "Oh, fuck." He whispered, and in a slightly louder voice, "we've got a problem, Spock."
Spock whipped around, a loud growl ripped from his gullet. He held onto Jim like he feared the human would be ripped away. The Vulcans had them surrounded in a matter of minutes, each nearly as wild and open-faced as Spock was on their first meeting. They reached for their weapons, but didn't unsheathe or raise them. Their eyes raked over Jim brazenly, bringing Spock to shiver with rage. "Du nam-tor ri Vuhlkansu." One finally spoke, clearly referring to Jim. you are not Vulcan. Spock ripped any reply out from under him.
"Au's t'nash-veh, trasha etek!" he's mine. leave us.
The Vulcans jeered, becoming increasingly rowdy at the possessive declaration. The same one to speak up earlier did so again, clearly holding a leadership role within the group. "Tan-tor ish-veh, ni au mokuhlek nam-tor t'nash-veh." give him to me, so he can be mine. He leered at Jim, his voice ripe with lewd suggestion. Jim suspected he said as much just to get a rise out of Spock. If that were the case, it worked spectacularly. Unable to control the rage frothing in every cell of his body, Spock lunged for the implied leader of the gathered troupe. "Spock, no -!" Jim cried, because it was such obvious bate. It only took precious seconds for three other Vulcans to descend on Spock and deliver a systematic beating. Two others came from behind Jim and made to seize him, but he was no stranger to a fight. In the realm of strength, the odds were stacked against him. He used speed and cheap tricks to give him an advantage.
Ducking low and splashing handfuls of sand in the air, he used the distraction to duck between his pursuers. They were seriously outnumbered. Jim decided to lead the meat of the group on a chase, to hopefully give Spock a fighting chance. He whistled loudly, alerting the aggressive bunch to his position. When they rounded on him, he took off into the canyon at full speed. To his relief, a great many of them followed. He figured his best bet was to lose them in the caves, praying all the while that Spock was hot on their heels.
"Du fam yehat stron!" you cannot escape. Similar taunts rang out one after the other. Jim marvelled at their obnoxious and threatening behavior, never in a million years expecting to witness it from Vulcans. He ducked into an alcove that was barely big enough for him to huddle in. One wouldn't notice its existence unless they were looking for it. He listened for his pursuers to charge past, and only crept from his hole when the sound of shouting and laughter disappeared completely. He backtracked through the grotto until daylight once again spilled over him, quietly calling for Spock as he went. As luck went, his had never been great. A pale hand snagged him by the throat and slammed his back to the mountainside. It was the nameless leader who'd bated Spock so effortlessly. Jim clawed at the hand holding him hostage. "Spock -!" He gasped, wondering what had become of his friend.
The fingers at his fragile, human windpipe clamped down. Distantly, Jim wondered at the throat-grabbing habits shared by so many baddies; he wasn't thrilled about the necklace of bruising left behind. The Vulcan put his face close to Jim's, and it was then Jim noticed the hostile presence lapping at the edges of his mind. "Au skil-tor't nam-tor coming na' du." he isn't coming for you. The malicious whisper turned Jim's stomach.
He projected as loud and hard as his psi-null brain would let him, "stay out of my head!"
The Vulcan reared back, noticeably stunned. His hand loosened, and Jim knew he wouldn't get another opportunity as good as this. Bringing both legs up and into his chest, he pushed the Vulcan back with a mighty double kick to the stomach. He stumbled and fell several paces away. Jim didn't wait around for him to gather his bearings. He took off down the sloping base of the infant mountain, his feet slipping over shifting rocks and sand. "Spock!" He screamed until his voice was riddled with cracks.
He was slammed into from behind. He and his determined assailant tumbled to the ground in a pile of thrashing limbs, and Jim quickly lost the upper hand. He was forced onto his stomach, the weight of an adult Vulcan more than sufficient to keep him pinned. Fingers fisted cruelly in his hair and yanked. He groaned weakly.
"Du nah-tor tor stron?" you think to escape me. The Vulcan above him snarled, smashing his face into the ground repeatedly. Jim felt his nose break on a particularly hard meeting with the canyon floor. He cried out hoarsely. When that brutal grip disengaged from his hair, leaving him to pant in the dirt and drip blood over his teeth, Jim wasn't allowed the time to feel grateful. His psi-points were immediately sought out. Jim knew the intentions were not merely to probe, but to alter and erase. "Stop!" He wriggled desperately under the unyielding body keeping him captive. Very little in his life had Jim filled with such consuming panic and terror as those first inky tendrils to touch his psyche. His head, everything that made up James Kirk, so easily penetrated and spoiled by the liquid hatred of another mind.
When the oil slick filling his head and the weight bowing his back vanished, Jim could've cried. He didn't care who or what came to his rescue this time, just that a rescue happened at all. The relief bloomed around his heart, and a lump sat solidly in his throat. After a few steadying breaths, he pushed himself up and searched for the sounds of struggle. Spock was delivering a vicious beating to the face and upper chest of the other Vulcan. It was gut-wrenching to bear witness to, but Jim couldn't rip his eyes away. A small, dark part of him wanted Spock to kill that Vulcan. Fortunately, the rest of him was better than that. He staggered to his feet. "Spock, stop." His voice crackled weakly.
Nearby whooping drew his attention, and his stomach clenched at the sight of the remaining soldiers storming from the mouth of the cave he'd lead them into. "Spock!" He tried again to grab his friend's attention, but the man was lost to an uncontrollable madness. Scrambling towards the dueling pair, he made to stop Spock's next blow. Enraged at the interruption, Spock shoved at him blindly. The crazed, glazed over stare of his friend, brother, and tentative lover caught in a bloodrage was his last glimpse of this reality. Jim was knocked to the ground by the mindless jostle. His head cracked like an egg over a rock. He was dead before his eyes could slip shut. It wasn't quite the noble demise he'd imagined for himself, nothing like the selfless last act of one George Kirk. Little did Jim know, all cliches aside, death was only the beginning.