A/N: I just hit the halfway mark for writing this story….and I have boggled myself. The longest thing I've ever written – which was HUGE for me, and I never thought I'd go any further – was around 30k words. it's only a little baby 27 pages long… and this GIANT THING that I have undertaken is already 80k words, with around 140 pages. At halfway. I HAVE ASTOUNDED MYSELF. Needless to say, Herman is a really really persuasive Plotbunny. Of doom, death, and destruction.
Chapter Seven
It is several days before he notices her presence. He had felt – someone – watching him, a shape at the corner of his eye as he made his way through the worksite, helping wherever he can. But she is a quiet shadow, and Kirk doesn't want to draw attention to her as long as she doesn't do anything that requires it.
The first time he gets a clear look at her, it catches him completely off guard. Gangly stick-limbs too thin for the body, like a foal with a shaggy mane of dark dark hair falling into dark dark eyes. Eyes that are too large in her pale face, as they bore into his. Startled, he involuntarily backs away a step, and she dashes off like the foal she resembles.
It takes a moment to calm his heart as her face is frozen in his mind. He can't help but recognize her, and guilt overcomes him. She is one of the two children he almost murdered their first day on the planet. He looks around, searching for her, but she has disappeared as completely as if she never existed.
But he still feels her eyes upon him, even though he never catches sight of her again. And even though he is sure she must have some purpose in tailing him, nothing ever happens and she never presents herself to him.
The next day, the first of his crew comment on his little tracker. He is talking to one of his engineers about a machine that is giving them problems, and brainstorming on possible solutions.
The eyes of the engineer fix on a point over his shoulder, where he's been feeling his tail's presence for the last several minutes. Kirk turns, trying to catch sight of her again, but the young Vulcan has already disappeared.
When he turns back to the engineer, she is smiling mischievously at him, "It seems someone has an admirer. Apparently, your appeal knows no bounds, even cross-species."
He grins, his ego puffing up at the compliment, but unable to deny the truth; "I really don't think she's following me for that reason."
Her eyes turn knowing, her smile unabated, "If you want to think that, I can't change your mind. But just you wait, you'll see! I know that look when I see it."
Kirk's smile turns contemplative, as he glances back again at the place she was moments before. At a flash of inspiration, his follower is forgotten. He scrambles up the side of the machine like a monkey, explaining his idea to the engineer as he works on fixing their problem.
Slowly, ever so slowly, over the next few days she makes her presence evident. The crewmembers that Kirk interacts with smile indulgently, fond of his little dark-haired shadow. Instead of trying to catch sight of her, he lets her come to him.
And it seems that right when he's gotten used to feeling invisible eyes upon him, she steps out into the open. Following a dozen feet behind, she is no longer a shadow but an obvious presence as he goes about his duties with the work crews.
He has noticeably relaxed, as nothing malicious seems to be in her intent. She is simply observing his movements, her large eyes unblinking as she soaks up the sight of him. It makes him uncomfortable – she looks to be only about twelve or thirteen – but as long as she means no harm, he can indulge his own curiosity. And so he watches her as well.
Five days after this all began; he is eating lunch by himself back at their fire pit. Kirk glances up from his meal – a nondescript, congealed mass made from leftover bits as they wait for resupply from the ship – and meets her gaze across the fire.
She doesn't squirm, or try to escape his regard, as a Human child would. She simply blinks once, slowly, and continues to watch him. The beagle, lying at his feet, finally registers that they are not alone in their section of camp. Yipping, he rises to his feet – but does not advance on the girl.
Instead of pulling away, she leans towards the puppy, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. Kirk grins at her reaction, and ushers her forward.
"If you want to pet him, he doesn't bite."
She hesitates for a moment, staring into his eyes again. Then she seems to make up her mind, and crosses around to his side of the fire. Seats herself beside him, a quiet shuffling of robes. Again unexpectedly, she doesn't reach down to pet the dog, instead just sitting and observing. The puppy is not nearly as shy as she, and begins furiously snuffling her shoes and the hem of her robes.
Kirk sits back, also observing. He doesn't want to push her too hard, and he's sensed this Vulcan is abnormally quiet, even by their standards. He watches as she leans forward, following every movement of the little form beneath her. Curiosity is evident, if he looks closely for the signs. He is one that knows that Vulcans actually do feel, and he is watching for the tell-tale evidence to see how to continue with her.
The puppy manages to get underneath the skirts of her robes, and has poked its head out to grin up at her with a lolling tongue. She blinks down at the little head, her hand reaching forward tentatively before she pulls it back, "What species is this lifeform?"
A solemn voice, far too reserved to belong to someone so young – at least to Kirk's ears. "He's canis familiaris, and his breed is Beagle. They're a popular dog back on Earth. You introduce yourself to dogs like this –" and he reaches forward himself, letting the puppy sniff and lick his fingers, "so they know that you're a friend."
She follows his example, wonder evident in her eyes as the pink tongue explores her fingertips. "He feels like nothing else. He is full of…happiness." Her dark dark eyes turn to look at Kirk, "And he is full of love for you."
Kirk grins at her, encouragingly, "Yup. Dogs are known as 'man's best friend' because they unconditionally love their masters."
Her attention is riveted on the puppy again, as he bumps his head under her hand for rubbing, "Fascinating."
"Here," Kirk says, demonstrating a hand motion, "Go like this, and tell him to sit."
She mimics the motion perfectly, and the puppy responds immediately by planting his round little bottom on the ground. His tail begins wagging furiously. This time, she strokes his head without prompting.
"What is he called?" she asks Kirk, not taking her eyes off the warm form before her.
"That's my problem. I haven't decided what I'm going to name him yet. I've only had him for a little while." At his words, her eyes dart up to his, then back down.
"Perhaps I could assist you in determining what he should be called." She offers, refusing to look at him as she speaks.
Inside, he cheers at his success. It looks like the young Vulcan could use a friend, and it certainly provides a perfect excuse for him to be one, "I'd like that very much. But of course, you'd have to get to know him better, so you could give me your best opinions." He pauses, debating, then continues, "What's your name?"
Now she shifts uncomfortably – it's minute, but it's there – and refuses to look at him, "I am called Surel."
"Why aren't you angry at me, Surel?" he asks quietly, not wanting to scare her away, but needing to know. The Vulcan stares up at him, signs of confusion evident on her face.
"Why would I be angry at you? If you are referring to the circumstances surrounding the first time I saw you, those were not intentional and you did not see what was going to happen. And we are Vulcan…anger does not rule us, nor do we acknowledge its existence in ourselves." she responds, "The only one that appears…unsettled…at previous events is that one."
There is no need to say his name. Spock still has not responded to his attempts to apologize, and make things better. The half-Vulcan seems to be turning into a constant source of frustration and confusion where Kirk is concerned.
"I'm glad. If you were angry, I wouldn't have gotten the chance to meet you."
Her huge eyes are staring at him again, and then she nods once, and returns her attention to the dog, "Does he have any other abilities that are not immediately obvious?"
And, gladly, he shows her the tricks he's been teaching his puppy.
(*)
After his breakthrough with Surel that morning, his day should have gone blindingly well. Unfortunately, it seems as if the Vulcan High Council is intentionally trying to make his afternoon devolve into nothing but an angry tension headache.
They are going over the foundations of the city together, trying to determine what types of adjustments are to be made before the real building can begin. There is nothing but the hints of buildings in the dust, and already the Council is finding fault with Starfleet's work.
"The corners of each building must line up perfectly to the cardinal direction points on the planet's surface. This structure is facing slightly northeast."
"Perfection must be attained in their form. This structure has a foundation that is not geometrically square. The north-south set of walls is exactly 2.5 millimeters too short."
"This surface is not even. There is an angle of precisely .17 degrees that must be corrected before building can move forward."
And it continues. Every foundation has something wrong with it that must be immediately addressed before anything else can be done. Kirk can understand that this is their home, and they want it to be perfect and up to their standards. If his people were not trying he would understand the criticism. But they are doing their best, measuring each step out multiple times before finalizing anything. So much attention to detail. His people want everything perfect for the Vulcans, too. They care about rebuilding their ally's home.
And it seems, at least to Kirk, that the High Council is intentionally finding fault with details that at any other time would be perfectly acceptable. Admittedly, he had not been to Vulcan before its destruction, and cannot compare New Vulcan to old; yet Spock has not complained about the work they have been doing. In fact, the only time the half-Vulcan has seemed happy is when he is working alongside the rest of the crew in making a home for his people. Not once has he complained about a line not being perfectly straight, or anything else that the High Council keeps bringing up.
Come to think of it, the Starfleet crew has been working side by side with their Vulcan counterparts. And the Vulcans on the work teams have also not found any fault in the Humans' – and sprinkling of other species' – building abilities. His anger sparks, as his suspicion is confirmed.
"I don't know why you insist on making my people feel like they have failed miserably." he interrupts the Council Chairman in the middle of another long-winded rebuke of Starfleet's abilities.
The Chairman stops speaking, giving Kirk his best how-dare-you look, while refusing to show any emotion at all, "I beg your pardon. Captain. But if we have fallen short in our attempt to detail what is acceptable and what is not, then we must commence from the beginning again."
Somehow, without any undertones at all, the Council members have been able to convey with perfect ease and clarity just how idiotic they believe Kirk to be. And he's sick of being made to feel like he's stupid.
"Well, then you might also want to have a long talk with your own people. In case you have forgotten, Vulcans have been working side by side and hand in hand with my people the entire time we have been building. And the Vulcans that have been creating the structures believe they are made correctly, within specifications, and building can continue as it stands. And also, in case it slipped your memory –" he comments, even though he knows they have eidetic recall and can't forget a single thing, "you're accompanying me today as a simple formality, and even if you found something to disapprove of that was actually legitimate, we have leave to continue without your approval. All we needed your input on was the initial planning stage, which was finished weeks ago. All approvals now are headed by the construction teams themselves – teams you appointed to their positions."
The Science Minister, who has been a particular thorn in Kirk's side, gets about as visibly ticked off as Kirk has ever seen a pure-blooded Vulcan become. Good. It's about time they got as frustrated as Kirk is with this whole insulting process.
"So unless you gentlemen," and here he pauses, making quite sure they understand he means exactly the opposite, "have anything constructive to add that is not intended as an insult to my people and their abilities, I would…appreciate...if you would keep your thoughts to yourselves."
Turning swiftly on his heel, he continues the tour. He dictates what each building's purpose is, and indicates which plan it was built off of. The High Council follows after him, sullen, but no longer lashing out with bitter words.
(*)
Almost as soon as he is free of the Council, he regrets his actions. They have every right to want everything to be perfect, and he should not have taken their commentary as personal. And yet…they make it so hard to feel sympathetic for them, especially when they are so damn condescending.
Sighing, he releases some of his bone deep weariness as he makes his way back into the heart of the camp. The tent city is starting to feel like home, and one fourth of the way through their stay, it doesn't surprise him. He is beginning to realize that the permanent homes for these last, lost Vulcans will not be completed by the time they leave. This sea of tents will outlive them, and the Enterprise will be leaving them behind to continue providing their shelter. Kirk enjoys toying with the idea of some part of them staying here, if only as an added way to help the Vulcan people. The resentment he first felt when hearing of their assignment is gone completely, slowly being replaced by sorrow at their predicament.
Which makes his sense of regret even worse. It is going to take months for this place to even start feeling like a permanent home, and blowing up at the High Council only makes it worse. Just another thing he'd have to make up for, in time. He was trying now.
He stops by his own tent to pick up the puppy. Chronos? Tempest? Too big and omnipotent. The little fat thing might grow into a name like that, but highly unlikely. Beagles just weren't…impressive. Great Danes on the other hand…and he shakes his head to clear it of reverie, bringing himself back to the task at hand. Kirk kneels on the heated ground, indulging the puppy in its greeting ceremony, before putting the harness on.
As soon as he feels the touch of the harness, the little beagle – Admiral? Herman? Porthos? – becomes all business. All traces of casualness are gone, and he is focused. Pride flows through Kirk – the puppy is learning quickly.
"Hup hup, you!" he says, and the dog attaches itself to his side, in perfect heel position. For that, it earns a treat, which it eagerly accepts. Even replicated dog biscuits are, apparently, delicious.
They have all made a habit of these, the evening walks. His Bridge Officers are dispersed throughout the camp, enjoying the company of the crew spread out in the night. Kirk is even beginning to notice a sprinkling of Vulcans in the midst of the Starfleet members they work with during the day. He is heartened by the sight, and hopes it means they are getting along better in their teams. Kirk can understand how hard it is for the sometimes overly-emotional Starfleet officers to get used to the closed off nature of the Vulcans.
The puppy and he begin with the campfires farthest from their own, the security teams at the very edges of the encampment. So far, there have been no alarms raised by the watch, but that does not mean they are relaxing vigilance. When not taking a shift on guard duty, the security officers have been instrumental in helping the work crews accomplish some tricky maneuvers. The engineers know what they are doing, but sometimes some old fashioned elbow grease will work better than any complicated plan.
They no longer key up the moment they see their captain coming towards them, knowing by now that it is purely a social visit. He goes from campfire to campfire, getting a feel for the different segments in the camp, and making sure everything is still running comfortably and smoothly. There are still awkward interactions between him and the crew, as to be expected, but whenever that occurs he gives the puppy a covert hand signal. This signal he's named "random cute things" – the perfect ice breakers. The puppy is always waiting expectantly for that particular sign, as it means much petting and gushing over him by the crew.
The puppy loves gushing. It works better than any treat could to reinforce the behavior that Kirk is trying to elicit from him. The ladies especially enjoy his antics, cuddling the puppy to them when he's being especially adorable. That's the main reason that Kirk keeps the harness on. The little boy is well behaved, and would stay by his side without the restraint – but the harness is the only thing stopping the puppy from being abducted by well meaning admirers. And Kirk can't have that.
This evening, after he's finished with traversing the Starfleet tent-network, he decides to travel to the Vulcan side and see how they are faring. It's the first time he's been willing to go over, but thinks it is wise. It also will abate some of the regret he is still feeling, following his blunder this afternoon.
And so he and his loyal companion cross the invisible line onto the quiet side of the camp. Whereas the Starfleet sections are loud and boisterous and full of laughter, the Vulcan campfires are calm and subdued. There is the murmur of hushed conversations, but no raucous cheers and occasional arguments. The stillness is unsettling, and yet Kirk forges ahead. Makes his way from campfire to campfire, talking quietly with the small family units. They seem…unsure…of what to make of his intrusion, but he is never turned away.
After several stops at the fires, he is comfortable with the quietness of the Vulcans. He is embraced by the solitude in their places; the stillness is pleasant, and pleasurable, in its own way. There is no clashing of minds and loud noise, just smooth and quiet and peaceful.
The perking of the puppy's ears is the first sign that something interesting is happening. He looks up at Kirk with a curious expression on his face, and a slow wag of his tail. No anxiety, nothing to warrant worry on Kirk's part. Curious himself, he gives the puppy his head and is led deeper into the tent city.
A few moments later he begins to hear what got the beagle's attention: the soft sound of music floats on the breeze. It is beautiful, but strange to his Human ears. Now that he knows what he's searching for, he takes the lead again, threading closer to whatever is making the music.
They come upon a fire surrounded by silent groups of Vulcans, and Kirk stops before he reaches the cluster. He stays in the shadows cast by one of the tents, at the very edge of the crowd. His intention is to avoid drawing attention to himself, so that the music is not interrupted and he doesn't ruin the atmosphere for the rest of the participants. His puppy lies down quietly at his feet, and he's able to focus wholly on the musicians.
A group of younger Vulcans – appearing around his own age – are seated near the campfire, surrounded by their peers. They are playing many different instruments, including many Kirk cannot hope to identify. Even the tone of the music is different from what he is used to; instead of trying to elicit feeling and emotion, like most Earth music, this is beauty for beauty's sake. Stark, and glorious, and wonderful in its complex simplicity.
He is entranced, mesmerized…intrigued. The musicians are sunk deep into the spell that creation instills, their fingers sliding across their instruments from memory and a sense of rightness more than intention or design. The listeners in the crowd seem as mesmerized as him, silent in small groups, singles, or pairs. Somehow, Kirk never imagined that the Vulcans would be an artistic people. On first impression, art would be the exact opposite of logic, and yet…there is a structure beneath their songs, complex patterns in the cycles that twist around each other.
And it is beautiful. A soft smile whispers at the edges of his lips as he closes his eyes and devotes himself to listening. As one song winds to its close, another is lifted up, twisting on and together. He is lost in the spell until the soft sound of fabric on fabric announces a presence beside him in the shadows. With a sigh, he pulls himself up from the near-trance state he was in, and slowly opens his eyes.
To gaze at Spock's profile, the half-Vulcan beside him. His attention is seemingly on the musicians before them, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. He is limned in starlight, the stark lines of his profile softened as the light falls upon his features. Kirk is amazed at how the dark dark eyes fairly glow in the light of the two moons, contrasted brilliantly by the paleness of Spock's skin.
After a moment's hesitation, he registers that Spock is indicating they should move away. Kirk follows silently, and is led to a secluded spot between campfires. They can still clearly hear the music on the wind, and yet they are far enough away not to interrupt the peace of the other listeners.
Kirk, still wrapped in that same peace with the music threading through him, waits patiently for Spock to speak. His First Officer is not looking at him, instead gazing again at the stars in the huge, vaulted sky. He is still in a way only the Vulcans have mastered, not even a shift of weight to indicate that he lives.
"I did not expect to see you here, Captain." He murmurs into the quiet stillness.
"You know that we've been going through the camp each night, making sure everything is going smoothly."
Here, a glance at him; "Yes. But it has always been the Starfleet camps that are visited. To my knowledge, no one has attempted to visit the Vulcans."
Kirk stiffens a bit at this, but it is the truth and he cannot deny it, "That's true. But…I wanted to see how your people were doing. Their opinion and contentment is important, too. I just didn't realize how important, until today."
"I must admit, your behavior has caught me off guard. I did not surmise that anyone would have the foresight to inquire as to the wellbeing of the Vulcans" this time, the eyes stare straight at him. "I must also admit, I did not expect such diplomacy from one such as yourself."
A contrite half-smile, "Yeah. I can be pretty bad sometimes." He pauses, feeling the moment. This is the first time Spock has willingly spoken with him, and he's hoping that his instincts are right, "I wanted to apologize, Spock. What almost happened last week was unforgiveable, but if you can believe me, it's not going to happen again."
He looks squarely into those dark eyes, letting his sorrow and remorse, his conviction, show clearly on his face, "I care about your people. For themselves, and not simply because they are yours. I want them to survive, and more than that I want them to prosper. Anyone that can create something this beautiful," and here he indicates the soft sounds that are still engulfing them, "Should never, ever, be removed from the universe."
Silence, as dark eyes bore into his, considering. Weighing the words against what is known of his nature. He stands straight and tall, not hiding anything from that gaze. Finally, Spock nods, and turns back to the stars above them.
"Apology accepted, Captain. I must profess a preference to return to the sight of the musicians, if you would not be averse to accompanying me?"
He smiles, softly, as part of what's weighing him down is lifted. A trickle of happiness flows through him at the invitation, "I'd love to, Commander Spock."
A/N: Okay. So. Hint not enough. Let's see….. The series of books it comes from features snow white horses with the bluest of eyes? Or is that even too broad? I don't wanna give it AWAY but there's so many chapters before it actually comes up!!
