Rating: K+ for preslash and, um...really bad innuendo?
A/N: Hehehe. Turians. The first contact war. I am such a nerd.
SPECIAL NOTICE: I will be out of town for my cousin's wedding from the 25th through the 31st, which means I will probably be unable to write or post new chapters for that period. If I get a chance to write, and I have access to ff dot net, I'll post Chapter 5 on the 28th. If I can write, but do not have internet access, Chapter 5 is going up on June 1st. If I can't write, and writing Chapter 5 has to wait until I get back, then Chapter 5 is going up on June 5th. If I have a vision of the Virgin Mary and decide to become a nun, Chapter 5 will probably never be completed.
I mean—er, what was I saying?
—In Soviet Russia, Death Cheats You—
or
—Cheating Death Was Inwented In Russia—
or
—Don't Get Excited, There's No Chekov In This Chapter, Despite the Misleading Title—
(Whichever You Prefer)
—
The second time it happened was Spock's fault. If he had not been so unaware—but it did not matter any more.
Spock had been with Dr. McCoy, discussing the sappelin-like substance secreted by the flower that killed Hendorff. Unknown to him, he and the doctor had been standing in front of another of the same plant. It had been about to launch its deadly thorns against them when the Captain noticed the flower turn, shouted, and pushed Spock and the doctor to the ground.
Except only Spock fell to the ground; the doctor remained frozen in midair.
Spock rose, brushed the mentally projected dirt from his mentally projected uniform, and looked around for a hole in the air and/or an anthropomorphic personification of Death. He was not disappointed.
"James Tiberius Kirk. Born the day named by your people as 2233.04; allotted twenty-seven years and two hundred twenty-nine days of life; died this day, named by your people as 2260.67. It is already done." Death paused, its voice leaving echoes like a granite contrabass. "I did not expect to see you again, Spock, first officer. You know why I am here."
Spock glanced at the Captain. Time had caught him just as the thorns struck his chest, directly above his heart; if Spock, whose heart was situated in his right side, had been the one to take the thorns, perhaps the poison—
He stopped that thought immediately. Kaiidth; what was, was.
"I see that when the Captain pushed the doctor and myself out of the way of the plant, he took the thorns himself; presumably, you have come to take his life again."
"Presumably."
"It is likely that I hit my head when I fell to the ground and am hallucinating due to the injury, as I did last time."
"Quite likely."
"Any choices I make within the hallucination can have no effect upon reality."
"Of course not."
"Whether I challenge you or not can have no effect upon the Captain's life. The idea is ridiculous."
"Very much so."
"Nevertheless, there is a 0.00175% chance that this encounter is actually taking place. It would be unwise of me to risk the Captain's life upon even such a small chance; therefore, I am obligated to challenge you."
"It is only logical."
"Thank you. I name three-dimensional chess as the challenge."
"Naturally."
Death summoned the board. Spock won in ten moves.
Dr. McCoy said afterward that he couldn't understand why the thorns had been fatal for Hendorff, but not for the Captain; he ascribed the Captain's survival to "being too damn stupid to know when something's supposed to be lethal."
That statement would have been more appropriate if it had been applied to Spock.
—
The third time it happened, Spock nearly prevented it. A sudden, strange lightning storm had sprung up over the jungle; unfortunately, the Captain who was standing in a relatively clear area, did not hear Spock's warning over the thunder. Spock was too far distant to do what the Captain had done earlier and push him out of the way. But he tried anyway—and so, when lightning struck the Captain, and the shock caused every muscle in his body to tense simultaneously, Spock was close enough to see his jaw jump, close enough to see the Captain's red, human blood trickle from his mouth when he bit his own tongue.
He was also close enough to see the trail of blood freeze, like a streak of old red paint upon the Captain's chin.
"James Tiberius Kirk. Born the day named by your people as 2233.04; allotted twenty-seven years and two hundred twenty-nine days of life; died this day, named by your people as 2260.67. It is already done."
Without turning around, he said, "I was quite close to the discharge. Large electric shocks produce abnormal brain activity in many humanoid species."
"Your kind is quite fragile in that respect."
"However, as before, it would be prudent to behave as if this hallucination is real, though the probability is small."
"Flawlessly reasoned."
"I challenge you. I name three-dimensional chess as the challenge."
"Of course you do."
Again, Death summoned the board. Spock won in eleven moves, and no one wondered how a shock large enough to cause the Captain to nearly bite through his tongue had left no burns.
—
The fourth time it happened, Spock did not bother with rationalizations. He had not been anywhere near the force field when the Captain encountered it; in fact, he had not even been looking at him.
—
"That's true, you weren't. It was kind of weird, I thought you were avoiding me. Not like I want you to watch me all the time or something," said the Captain hastily.
"It was not intentional. It was—difficult to look at you."
"Really?" He leaned forward over the forgotten chessboard, blue eyes wide and curious. "What d'you mean, Spock? Did I have something funny on my face?" The Captain grinned.
"...As a matter of fact, there was still blood upon your chin," Spock said stiffly. He stared fixedly at a point above the Captain's head; and because of this, he missed what happened next.
"Oh. What—oh." The Captain turned red, and then, strangely, he grinned. For a full four seconds, his face was transformed into something brilliant.
—
Though Spock had been busy taking readings from the native flora, he was still listening to the Captain.
"Mallory, go scout around that ro—" The Captain's voice abruptly cut out.
Spock straightened up from the plant he had been examining. Its leaves had just stopped swaying in the breeze.
He turned around—and there stood Death's billowing black form next to the Captain, whose body hung above the ground like an insect in amber. Evidently he had just been thrown into the air by some unknown force.
"James Tiberius Kirk. Born the day named by your people as 2233.04; allotted twenty-seven years and two hundred twenty-nine days of life; died this day—"
"What was it this time?" Spock interrupted.
"—named by your people as 2260.67. It is already done." Death paused. "You would do well to remember, Spock, first officer, who holds the power in your hallucinations."
Spock sighed. "I challenge you. I name three-dimensional chess as the challenge. In addition, should I win, I request additional information upon the nature of these encounters."
"That is your right."
It took fourteen moves this time. Before checkmate, Death managed to take Spock's white bishop and two of his pawns, though Spock could not tell how.
—
Though Spock asked Death many questions after his victory, he did not ask why he did not see Death when Hendorff was killed.
Spock had not been lying when he told the Captain he would do the same for anyone; that had been perfectly true. Anyone who valued life would be willing to play a simple game against an inexperienced opponent to preserve it, even if that opponent could bend the fabric of space and time.
But Spock had not seen Death come for Hendorff. He only saw Death when it came for the Captain.
—
The ninth time it happened was in the sixth month of their mission.
Before the Narada was destroyed, Nero had contacted his wife's paternal family. The fact that she would not be born for more than one hundred years did not matter to them; the fact that the Spock of this universe had nothing to do with her death was irrelevant: as far as they were concerned, Spock had killed one of their own, and so he had to die.
Nero's wife's paternal family was a family of chemists.
It was unfortunate for them, then, that the Captain tried Spock's turian ale before Spock did.
—
"I remember that stuff," the Captain muttered distractedly. "It was pretty good. Tasted a little like snake spit, though..."
Despite his flippant words, the Captain had not moved in any way for the past twenty-six minutes, and there were deep lines set around his mouth.
Spock disregarded this, and continued.
—
The diplomatic team, which consisted of the Captain, Lt. Uhura, Lt. McGivers, Lt. Gardener, and Spock, had all been seated around a circular table, along with two turian Primarchs and three turian scientists. Lt. Uhura was deep in conversation with the linguist Lantam, discussing turian name theory, Lt. McGivers was hanging onto every word of the charismatic Primarch Eriax, Lt. Gardener was telling the two turian biologists about her first childhood freezing, and the Captain was 'talking shop' with Primarch Nehrkil.
"It's a good thing our first contact wasn't with you guys," he said to the Primarch. "There might have been a war. As it is, I think we could have done a lot worse than the Vulcans." He looked at Spock, who sat next to him, and winked. "Those guys really know how to make first contact, if you know what I mean."
Primarch Nehrkil seemed to find this statement hilarious. While the Primarch roared his laughter, the Captain leaned over to Spock.
"Can I have some of your ale? I'm all out," he said, and grinned.
"I have no use for it, Captain," he heard himself say, as if he had no control over his own mouth. A strange, cold, twisting feeling came over him as the Captain reached for his ale, and 0.004 seconds before it happened, Spock knew the glass would freeze against his lips—
And it did.
"It was poisoned," he said softly to himself.
"James Tiberius Kirk. Born the day named by your people as 2233.04; allotted twenty-seven years and three hundred fifty-three days of life; died this day, named by your people as 2260.93. It is already done."
"You always say it is already done," said Spock, not looking behind him. "Yet it never is."
"Every beginning holds its own end, Spock, first officer."
"Your words are trite and unoriginal."
"That does not mean they are not true."
Spock rose from his seat and turned. Death had already summoned the chess table, but he spoke the words anyway, for by now he knew that form required them.
"I challenge you. I name three-dimensional chess as the challenge."
This time, it took 42 moves and the sacrifice of five pawns, a knight, and both rooks to defeat Death. If Death had moved its white bishop just one more square—
It was a fool's mistake. Spock got the distinct impression that Death had made it on purpose.