A/N: So- first order of business. Kudos must go to my reviewer BlackTithe, who figured out the meaning behind my hint! *claps* If you don't like spoilers, don't check their review.
Second: I've realised that the dates I've been using from the Kobayashi Maru test onwards are slightly off. Having done some calculations, according to the stardate Spock gives on his acting captain's log in the film, the events take place in late May, early June- the third of June being the exact date of the log (assuming that 2258 isn't a leap year- and yes, yes I did think of that). So my dates were off by about three weeks. Considering I dated it on an approximate guess originally, though, that's not terrible. It also gives me a few extra weeks to play with, before the Enterprise leaves on its maiden twelve-month mission- which I think I'll place as starting at the start of September, since the scenes of London in Into Darkness seem to be at around about mid-autumn; and I figure the crew arrives back on Earth and has three or four weeks of leave before Kirk gets called out by Pike, making it October when 'Harrison' attacks Starfleet. So, three months after the end of the incident with Nero for Pike's recovery, reparations to the Enterprise, graduation and organisation of its new crew, plus… other stuff. Eheehee.
Also, in case you missed the implication above- yes, I am British, born and raised (though I have never actually visited London; but will be, in a matter of weeks, to see the Alexander McQueen fashion exhibition)- if that wasn't obvious already. (*waves cheerfully across various oceans to all her American, Australian, Swedish, Romanian, Austrian, French, Canadian, Irish, Malaysian, Sri Lankan, Singaporean, South African, Croatian, German, Philippine, Finish, Indian, Italian, Brazilian, Chilean, Spanish, Thai, Danish, Kiwi, Dutch, Algerian, Portuguese, Belgian, South Korean, Mexican, Icelandic, Russian, Albanian, Greek, Chinese, Arabic, Slovenian, Czech, Puerto Rican, Polish, Swiss, Indonesian, Moroccan, Uruguayan, Pakistani, Hong Kongese, Bulgarian, Israeli, Kuwaiti, Argentinian, and Barbadian readers*)
Also, as you can see from above, I looked at the manifesto of people who have viewed this story, and from where- and you span the entire globe! That's- insane! Thank you all so much for your support. You have no idea how much it means to me.
Anyway- without further ado, and because so much happens in this chapter- let's begin.
IX
Impact
The world was breaking around him. Ancient stone was cracking, buckling and subsiding. Sheets of molten rock erupted from the mouths of volcanoes whose extinction had long predated his birth, the volcanoes that had given the planet its name in Federation English surging up anew and spewing sulphurous clouds of smoke that darkened the skies. In the distance, mountains that had stood for millennia crumbled like sand.
Spock did not wait- only for the prescribed amount of time it took for his body to fully rematerialize- but in that moment, the sight of the destruction of the planet he had grown up on was burned into his mind, seared into his memory, etched upon his heart.
There was no stopping it now.
He turned and sprinted up the mountain, boulders breaking away and tumbling down the steep rock face, his eyes fixed on the winged entrance to the ark.
"A singularity? You're sure?"
"The readings are unmistakable," Chekov confirmed, pale but steely in his conclusion; sometimes, he hated being right. The surviving members of the task force were gathered around the chief navigation officer behind the translucent panel that separated the technicians from the recently emptied transporter pad. "The technology that created it is- something that should not even exist. But the energy signatures are clear. As I told the acting captain before he left, we have less than minutes."
"How far are we from minimum safe distance?" Sulu asked.
"Far enough that we would have leave within the next two hundred and fifty seconds to avoid the pull of the event horizon," Chekov said, checking the data transferred from his station on the bridge to the screen before him.
"Too close to Vulcan and we will be destroyed with it. Too far from the surface and we won't be able to beam Captain Spock and the Vulcan High Council on board," Valravn summarised, meeting Kirk's eyes, coolly expectant. Kirk had long since become fluent in the nuances of Valravn's glances, to the point where he would argue that it was the one and only language in the galaxy that he knew, and would always know, better than Uhura.
"Contact the bridge. Tell them to get us to the maximum distance where we still have transporter capabilities to the surface of Vulcan." Kirk suddenly found himself issuing orders as confidently as though he had been doing so for years. "The second that Spock and the Council beam aboard, notify the helm to haul ass out of here as fast as they can push the engines."
Chekov automatically drew up the appropriate communication channels on the screen before him. "Aye, si- ah," he cut himself off, glancing up cautiously at the Starfleet cadet that he had last seen walking off the bridge with Pike, and who apparently wasn't even supposed to be aboard the vessel in the first place.
"First officer," Valravn supplied dryly from beside Kirk's shoulder.
Chekov looked mildly startled. His gaze flicked to the helmsman momentarily for confirmation.
"Pike promoted him." Sulu explained succinctly.
Chekov turned with a slight twitch of an eyebrow and began carrying out Kirk's orders.
"Until then," Valravn suddenly stripped her glove- her hand startlingly pale in comparison to her smoke and blood-spattered black EV suit- and pressed her hand against the wall. It scanned her palm and fingertips with a razor of light, gave an affirmative beep, and the panel next to it slid aside to reveal a standard emergency medical kit. "The med-bay will be swarmed. Neither of you look like you are on the verge of collapsing, but we should check you both over as a precaution- or else McCoy will have my head. Well, he could try to take it- then again, I don't trust anyone with a range of powerful sedatives at their disposal-"
Kirk began to protest. "V, we're fine- couple of bruises, nothing broken, and I'm sure they need us-"
"All we can do for now is wait," Valravn sliced through the honey in his tone with frost, selecting the standard medical tricorder and turning to face them, biting down on the cuff of her remaining glove and ripping off with her teeth. She let the flexible fabric drop once it was free of her fingers, kicking it back against the wall, holding the instrument aloft with a hitched brow. Kirk gaped at her slightly, never able to force himself to expect her rare shows of audacity- or feel less turned on by them. "And neither of you will serve any purpose on this ship if you die of organ failure. So are you both going to cooperate with me and let me make sure your insides are intact," her tone darkened, "or must I find a way persuade you?"
Kirk sighed, before exchanging a glance with Sulu, feeling a fresh wave of comradeship that felt inevitable after almost dying and risking their lives to save each other.
"She means that, by the way."
"Thought so, somehow," Sulu said mildly, and wisely stepped forwards for examination without resistance.
The chamber was cool and shadowed, dominated by beautiful towering stone sculptures of Vulcans who had long since departed their physical lives; on his periphery, Spock caught sight of one with its hand raised in an elegant Vulcan salute, another bearing a polearm that he knew but could not put a name to- but his attention was focused on the effigy at the centre. The figure was cut from the same rock as its fellows, gently weathered like copper ore and exquisite in its detail, and one that a human might have been forgiven for mistaking for an angel at first glance. Its head was tilted heavenwards, arms opened and slightly upraised in a universal gesture of benevolence and peaceful acceptance.
Gathered around its base were the Vulcan elders, joined in a singular mind-meld.
Spock vaulted the flight of stone steps, the ancient walls quaking, fragments of stone cracking and falling from the vaulted ceiling all around him. The single incongruous figure on the perimeter of the circle stood at the sight of Spock- a feminine form draped in thick robes of teal and bronze weave, hair wrapped in a golden headscarf, a necklace of pitted amber at her throat.
Amanda Grayson stared at her son in shock, her gaze edged by a flicker of irrepressible maternal fear.
"Spock -?"
"The planet has only seconds left, we must evacuate," Spock announced as soon as he was close enough to be heard over the rumbling of rock grinding upon breaking rock.
He watched, as though through a lens, as the elders jolted from the collective mind-meld into the physical realm- Spock saw his father glance urgently at his fellows, their collective reaction sharp and stoically swift- and immediately they began to make for the circular tunnel entranceway of the katric ark.
"Mother, now," Spock urged, reaching for her.
She took his outstretched hand, and Spock anchored himself upon its firm warmth, his grip strong with adrenaline and the fierce maelstrom churning in his chest, the floor beginning to shake ever more violently, a dislodged statue toppling like a column, massive skull cracking as it crashed behind them, beheading the figure.
They wound through the tunnels in a blur, the sound of the destruction outside crushing in on them, and Spock kept an arm wrapped around his mother, leading her out, her right hand still clasped tightly around and inside his, his father and the other elders close at their backs. The dust was invading his lungs and the passageway was on the verge of collapsing in on itself but Spock kept running, ignoring the gaping plunging hollow inside his chest and grappling instead onto his mission to get those he could out alive.
They burst from the mouth of the tunnel and stumbled to a halt on the cliff shelf outside, the blue skies of the dying Vulcan shrouded beyond reach with billowing clouds of taupe smoke- the apocalyptic sight that might have been twistedly beautiful, had it not inspired such crushing dread.
Spock snapped open his communicator, his mother's shaking, tightly gripping hand tucked safely into the crook of his elbow, and almost shouted into the receiver, fingers trembling. He told himself that it was adrenaline, a biochemical quirk due to his human genes.
"Spock to Enterprise! Get us out now!"
It was Chekov's voice that replied, confident and sure. "Locking volume! Don't move- stay right where you are."
It was a surreal dream, or a nightmare. The mountains, the planes, even the lava heaving upwards from deep underground was crumbling and falling away, collapsing like a wave, nothing beneath to support it any longer, swallowed into the singularity forming underneath their feet. Amanda looked on in horror- and Spock, who had always been so starkly aware of the cosmic scale of measurement of a single life, had never felt the fragility of it so strongly before that moment.
"Transport in five… four…"
Amanda turned towards her son. Her dark eyes- the eyes she had given to him- swirled with a blend of tender warmth, overwhelming love, a sudden realisation, reflecting the wisps of light wrapping around her-
"- three-"
- and Spock was suddenly remembering an event years past, stood in front of her while considering purging the last vestiges of emotion and completing the discipline of Kolinahr, hearing his mother passionately defend his freedom to choose who he wanted to be in her unabashedly emotional human way and why did he think of that-
"- two-"
The shelf of the cliff was slipping away.
Amanda Grayson was yanked away by gravity, and Spock's heart lurched with her.
"Mother-!"
Light enveloped his vision.
And then he was standing safely on the transporter pad of the Enterprise, arm still thrown out desperately and reaching for something that wasn't there, something ripped away from him.
No one spoke.
Spock lowered his hand slowly, his breathing thick, stippled and smudged in the dust and dirt of his dying (dead) home planet. Taking a shaking step forwards, loud in the stillness, his eyes- his mother's eyes, a common yet gentle, warm shade of distinctly human brown- fell to the curved of glass installed into the floor of the pad, next to his own, a blinding light glowing underneath, where she should have been standing.
Spock felt- felt so strongly, he could barely breathe- bereft and hollow, something torn and shaking violently inside him with shock.
When Spock finally forced himself to look away from the light, unblinking, his eyes burning, he somehow found himself looking directly at James Kirk.
In that moment, steady blue irises looked back into Spock, containing nothing but pure compassion.
May 16, 2258 – U.S.S. Enterprise
Valravn understood grief intimately.
It was a bitter adversary that she had battled many times over, bearing countless invisible scars where it had driven its blunt knives between her ribs. Valravn had lost plenty in her short life. People who were close to her knew some pieces, fragments of her past that she had let slip- but no single person knew it from start to finish. Even she didn't know the entirety of it.
She had barely had the luxury of a childhood. It was the curse of being too smart too young, of being noticed and recruited- unofficially, of course, up until her enrolment in Starfleet in her teenage years- before most children had learned to spell three-syllable words. She had lost the woman who had loved her unconditionally to a wasting disease that had been caught too late by the doctors. She had grieved for her dead mother, and with it she had grieved for her homeland of verdant cathedrals of woodland and glass-steel towers and ornately carved stone and cool rain that Valravn had simply had to leave behind, no less forced than if someone had held a phaser to her temple. And then she had mentally dragged herself, kicking and screaming, into accepting the loss of her heart to someone who might never know that they possessed it and would never feel the same way about her. It was melodramatic, and that disgusted her, but Valravn could never see her way to feeling the way she did about James Tiberius Kirk- that, given the opportunity, she could fall in love with him very, very quickly if only he let her- about anyone else in the galaxy. And now, even now, she was preparing herself to feel the loss of the only family she had left.
Valravn was accustomed- too accustomed, she was beginning to realise, or maybe she had been spoilt by peace and prosperity for too long- to loss. She understood grief, and she knew its scent like a wild animal knows the scent of blood- cooling saltwater of tears, the strange blurred tang that invaded, the metaphysical hollow ever present at the corners of the mind.
And so, as the survivors of Vulcan mourned, she understood.
The Enterprise rescued every refugee they could. Despite their reserve- and, Valravn had thought uncharitably upon occasion, their hypocrisy in the espousal of staunchly logic-centred philosophy when they could rationalise any emotional lapse and call it logical- the Vulcan people were beloved of humans, who felt so openly and unashamedly in contrast. Spock, for his part, continued his newfound duties with an efficiency that might have been mistaken as mechanical, perhaps even callous, in light of his personal loss.
Valravn knew that sometimes it was better to decide not to feel.
She had wondered on more than one occasion if anything she could say would help, before realising that her words could hardly penetrate whatever walls the commander, now acting captain, had erected around himself. It would take a certain weapon to pierce through his exterior, one designed specifically for that purpose- more of a key to a lock that a blade- and Valravn knew that it was not her. She left Spock instead in Uhura's hands, hoping that her limitless patience and the bond she had witnessed between them would be enough.
Valravn, on her own part, was well versed in compartmentalising things. She locked her personal thoughts away neatly, and remade herself- concerned for the safety of her captain, not her family; protecting comrades, not friends; trying to prevent the destruction of a nameless planet, not her homeworld. Fear is a luxury I cannot afford. She knew the uncontrollable strength of her moods, how volatile it made her, how it could easily detonate if she let so much as a crack show- so she worked tirelessly, preventing self-destruction by blocking out everything but the mission. Not a single crewmember questioned the Enterprise's chief of security, who they were all quickly learning was to be trusted and answered quickly when she asked something. Valravn walked from hull to nacelle, fore to aft, unimpeded, seeming to be everywhere at once, keeping her entire department running as smoothly as possible around the other sectors, orchestrating the many reparations and weapons checks that had somehow fallen to her, all the while burning to personally hunt down those who had dared to attack her vessel. A starship and her crew might be under the protection of her captain, but her captain was under the protection of the chief security officer- my champion, Kirk had once called her. Nero, his crew, the Narada, they had killed George Kirk- nearly killed his wife and newborn son; Valravn's throat sickened at just the thought of never meeting James Kirk, but she quickly garrotted the thought and stowed it away alongside everything else- slaughtered billions of innocents with an air of smug superiority, almost as though it was justice.
Valravn decided that, whatever their insane motivation, it wasn't enough to justify this- an eye for an eye, and the world goes blind.
She didn't sleep for two days. And she avoided Kirk- for his sake, and her own.
"Where is she, Bones?"
"The hell should I know?"
"Bones," Kirk ground out.
His tone made the doctor pause momentarily. McCoy turned from the screen where he had been verifying medical data in the system- a task that should have been taken on by one of the doctors below him, since he had inherited the position of chief medical officer by virtue of capability, but casualties were still being counted and posts left to be reassigned, leaving Bones as the only one who had current clearance to do so. Though frustrating, McCoy had to admit that a certain chief officer and her department was carving impressively through the mess left by Nero's attack, their work making things considerably easier in the other divisions.
With that starkly appropriate thought at the forefront of his mind, he looked at Kirk. Aside from the bruise echoing his cheekbone- blood clotted underneath the skin in stippled red, the flushed colour marking rapid healing, accented by two small, ragged lacerations- Jim was, as ever, relatively unscathed, still dressed in ambiguous black. He worked his bandaged hand reflexively, testing the wrapping around his palm that was supporting the healing bones, shattered from when he had landed awkwardly on the transport pad.
"I don't know, Jim," McCoy repeated slowly. Kirk glared at him balefully, and McCoy heaved an exasperated sigh. "She's the head of an operations division that happens to cover the entirety of the ship. Raven is a busy woman and, believe it or not, I'm a busy man. I'm not her supervisor or her mother, and if I tried to act like it she'd have me in a headlock faster than you could say one woman army."
"Where did you see her last?" Kirk pressed him stubbornly.
"Here," McCoy replied with emphatic irritation. "She got a message on her PADD from operations requesting her presence and assistance on the weapons deck, and she left." He hesitated for a second too long, and McCoy saw Kirk's expression change, like a predator noticing a limp in the prey it had been patiently stalking. "Alright, fine. I told her to get some sleep as soon as she was done. I had to break out the warnings about making a mistake on duty because of sleep deprivation, but I got her to agree. Raven's stubborn, not stupid- a good patient for the most part. She knows the risks. She promised me that she would be done with an hour, maybe an hour and fifteen."
"How long ago?"
McCoy checked the clock on his PADD. "About an hour and fifteen."
Kirk turned and all but sprinted for the doorway, his stride so powerful that McCoy felt a kick of air against him. Honestly, he was surprised that Kirk hadn't simply ploughed straight through the wall.
"Jim!"
Kirk halted with a groan. "Oh, what?"
"You feeling alright?"
He rolled his eyes at the question. "Yeah, fine, look, I've gotta-"
"Jim." McCoy adopted his authoritative doctor's voice to force his friend to pay attention. "I mean it. Are you okay? Or- as okay as you can be considering that the people responsible for killing your father have crawled out of the woodwork?"
Kirk deflated slightly. "I'm honestly fine," he reassured him with a weak smile. "I'm- dealing. You know."
McCoy levelled him with a careful, evaluating glare, before nodding, content. "In that case- give Raven some breathing space."
"What?!" Jim said incredulously, staring at McCoy as though he had lost his mind.
"She's got a lot on her plate right now-" McCoy continued, turning back to the translucent screen and slotting a few files into place in the digital organiser.
"And you think me staying away from her will help that?!"
McCoy glared at Jim, jerking his head towards the wards warningly, silently telling him to lower his voice.
Kirk glowered, simmering down into silence.
"Look, Jim. We both know that whenever she's under pressure or she's dealing with personal issues, Raven closes herself up tighter than a clam. You go prodding away at her, she'll only close up tighter- or bite your fingers off. It's a defence mechanism." Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, annoyance inundating the air around him like an aura. McCoy snorted derisively. "Yeah, I know you like to think that you're the beginning and end of all knowledge of Raven Winter, but the rest of us pick up on stuff too, you know. If you don't believe me, just ask Uhura. You try and coddle her now, Jim, and she'll only push you away, and I know you don't want that."
Kirk's internal conflict showed, his eyes caught somewhere between frustrated- signalling that McCoy was telling him something he had already known, but tried to ignore- and despairing. "Then I don't know what else to do. I can't do anything."
"Yes you can: you can be patient with her. You're good at that- you've been in love with her for long enough," McCoy said firmly, but not without some gentleness- he could see how besotted Jim was with Valravn, desperately trying to wrap her up in cotton wool and shield her from everything that the barely-fledging crew of the Enterprise had been hurled into while simultaneously flirting with her at every opportunity, and it was- bizarrely sweet, if he was honest. But Valravn was fiercely proud, independent, aloof- McCoy suspected that it was part of the reason that Jim had been so infatuated with her, at the start, almost delighting in her coldness and in trying stubbornly to thaw her. Opposites attracted, after all. "This is her way of coping- and she needs to cope with this, because she has responsibilities that won't wait for her to be ready. When this is over and she's not focused on making sure that the ship doesn't get blown up, you'll probably be the first person she comes to."
Kirk set his jaw, and nodded stiffly.
"I- I do love her, you know, Bones," he confessed tightly. "Really."
A smile twitched at the doctor's mouth. "Yeah, I know. I think the whole damn galaxy knows, except for her."
May 17, 2258 – U.S.S. Enterprise
"Have you confirmed that Nero is headed for Earth?"
"Their trajectory suggests no other destination, Captain," Uhura replied, turning to face Spock where she was seated at the illuminated terminal built against the back wall, by now widely considered the de facto chief of communications.
Valravn watched the measured exchange, her seat swivelled away from her station, one leg crossed nearly over the other and her ankle straightened, braid gathered over one shoulder, the wings of the charm on her hair cuff skimming along blood-red fabric of her clothes, freshly changed after several hours of deep, aching sleep in her quarters. The ambiance on the bridge was reminiscent of how Valravn imagined that it would have been when the legendary knights of Camelot were gathered around the Round Table- almost every senior officer had turned their seats inwards, each on an equal standing regardless of actual rank for the purposes of planning their counterattack. Yet Valravn couldn't help but notice that the person who commanded a natural magnetic pull expected of their personal King Arthur was not, as it logically should have been, the acting captain and science officer thanking Uhura for her report- but rather the young man currently slouched in the captain's chair as though it were a throne, crowned in golden hair.
Kirk had said nothing to Valravn. He had acknowledged her when he stepped onto the bridge with a brief glance of warm solidarity- no more and no less.
"Earth may be his next stop, but we have to assume that every Federation planet is a target," Kirk said, eyes piercing into the distance, constructing thoughts and plans that no one else could see.
"Out of the chair," Spock commanded as he passed.
Startled and mildly annoyed, Kirk rose from the seat and walked away from the sculpted white and supple black leather, McCoy behind him, standing off to the side with a grimly contemplative look that Valravn had rarely, if ever, seen before.
"If the Federation is a target- why didn't they destroy us?" Chekov asked, looking over his shoulder at Sulu, positioned at the station beside him, and Spock, gliding around the navigation terminal inscrutably. "Why the other ships but not the Enterprise? They clearly had the ability to do so."
"It makes no sense strategically speaking," Valravn added in agreement, and was both amused and pleasantly surprised when she sensed the atmosphere change, the attention of the bridge shifting towards her- the senior officer present who, admittedly, as security chief and the combat and hostile missions specialist, had the highest level of authority in the debate. "Starfleet may be a peaceful exploration and research institute at heart, but in the event of a threat to the security of the Federation or its interests, it's still the first line of defence. The survival of the Enterprise ensured that we could contact the rest of Starfleet about the potential attack, meaning that the crew of Narada has automatically lost the element of surprise. No matter which way you look at it, it was a horrible tactical mistake on their part."
"But why would they bother destroying us?" Sulu interjected thoughtfully. "Why waste a weapon? We obviously weren't a threat. If they had greater goals in mind, finishing off a single seriously damaged starship it would have just been wasting time."
"That is not it," Spock said decisively. "He said he wanted me to see something- the destruction of my home planet."
"How in the hell did they do that, by the way?" McCoy finally spoke up, unable to contain himself, directing the question at the acting captain. "I mean, where did the Romulans get that kind of weaponry? If something like that kind of destructive power was out there, we should have heard something about it through Starfleet Intelligence."
"It is self-evident that a vast technological leap such as this cannot take place over a short period of time, even if the exact parameters are left to speculation due to a lack of sufficient data. However, the engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer," Spock replied evenly, and suddenly Valravn found her spine straightening with realisation, something snapping into place: the advanced technology, the unrecognizable design of the Narada and its bizarre first appearance, even the cryptic manner in which Nero spoke. Not yet, he had said to Spock when he had said that they had never met- a promise and a prediction and an old grudge combined in two short words. "Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time."
Kirk narrowed his eyes in disbelief, and McCoy gave an incredulous outburst.
"Damn it, man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist! Are you actually suggesting they're from the future?"
"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Spock recited evenly.
"How poetic," McCoy grumbled, even as the implications settled over the bridge like a layer of ash.
Future. Time travel. A tear in space-time.
"Then what would an angry future Romulan want with Captain Pike?" Kirk drawled sceptically.
"He does know as much of Starfleet's defences as any admiral," Sulu pointed out, glancing towards Spock. Valravn noticed Uhura hovering in front of her station, mouth pursed with increasing uncertainty.
Kirk ignored this comment. "What we need to do at this point is catch up to that ship, disable it, take it over and get Pike back."
"I'm in," McCoy muttered.
Valravn sighed, index finger at her throbbing temple, thumb braced at the edge of her jaw, and swivelled slightly to face Jim with a look of profound boredom. "And how exactly do you propose we do that? We are outclassed by the Narada in every way."
"Lieutenant Winter is correct," Spock agreed, standing with his back to the viewing screen, hands clasped behind him. "A rescue attempt would be illogical."
"Nero's ship would have to drop out of warp for us to overtake them," Chekov commented.
"Then what about assigning engineering crews to try and boost our warp yield?" Kirk asked, thinking admirably quickly.
"Remaining power and crew are being used for repairing radiation leaks on the lower decks-" Spock began immediately.
"Okay, alright-" Jim attempted to cut him off as he strode down from the platform towards where Spock was stood with mounting aggravation.
"- and damage to subspace communications, without which we cannot contact Starfleet-"
"- well, there's got to be some way-!"
"We must gather with the rest of Starfleet to balance the terms of the next engagement," Spock said resolutely, staring Kirk down.
"There won't be a next engagement," Kirk argued. "By the time we've gathered and redeployed, it'll be too late. You say that Nero's from the future, that he knows what's going to happen? That he knows you? Then the logical thing is to be unpredictable."
"You are assuming that Nero knows how events are predicted to unfold," Spock countered solidly. "The contrary, Nero's very presence has altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on the U.S.S. Kelvin, culminating in the events of today, thereby creating an entire new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party."
"An alternate reality," Uhura concluded with a hint of awe.
There was a slight collective intake of breath on the bridge.
Apparently, things could get stranger.
"Precisely," Spock said, throwing Kirk a sharp stare before walking away. Valravn could read the annoyance in the way Kirk's shoulders were set. "Whatever our lives might have been, if the time continuum was disrupted, our destinies have changed."
Spock halted before the captain's chair and took his seat.
"Mr Sulu, plot a course for the Laurentian system, Warp Factor Three."
"Spock. Don't do that," Kirk was quickly at his heels, at the arm of the captain's chair, his calmly persuasive tone slipping. "Running back to the rest of the fleet for a- a confab is a massive waste of time! How many planets are you willing to risk before we catch up to him?"
"These are orders issued by Captain Pike when he left the ship-" Spock shot back.
"He also ordered us to go back and get him, and we have a duty to him- look, if we can stop them from getting the information out of him in the first place-"
Valravn dropped his head with a noiseless exhale, the argument raging on with escalating fierceness. So like you, James, to be so focused on the best possible outcome that you forget the logistics and end up improvising your way there. One day, you'll have to realise that you're not infallible.
"Spock, you are captain now, you have to make-"
"I am aware of my responsibilities, Mr Kirk-"
And yet James still has a point, Valravn amended with a bitter smile. A captain cannot blindly follow protocol. They have to make their own decisions, often acting beyond what is prescribed by guidelines- and that is something that Spock cannot see. Just as James can't see the merit of Spock's logic. To think, if they could get over themselves for two seconds and work together-
"Every second we waste, Nero's getting closer to his next target!" Kirk erupted, the acting captain's taciturn demeanour finally grating on him enough to reduce him to open defiance.
"That is correct, and why I am instructing you to accept the fact that I alone am in command."
"I will not allow us to go backwards-" Kirk began fiercely.
"Jim, he's the captain-" McCoy interposed, sensing that things were spiralling beyond all semblance of control.
"- away from the problem, instead of hunting Nero down!"
It was then that Valravn heard the words she had been bleakly anticipating.
"Security, escort him out," Spock commanded, standing abruptly.
The order was not aimed in her direction, but rather at two of her subordinates assigned to the bridge, red-shirted and solidly built, materialising at either side of Kirk and grasping each of his arms as he glared at Spock with darkly frightening intensity. They began steering Kirk away forcefully as Valravn watched tensely, feeling the fissures creeping through her veneer.
Jim caught her eyes. There was something soft there, almost akin to an apology.
Then he punched the officer on his left in the stomach.
Damn it, James! Valravn yelled internally.
The inelegant brawl broke out between Kirk and the two security officers, with the latter holding his own impressively despite the uneven numbers, wresting himself out of their grip. Valravn snapped to her feet before any of the bystanders on the bridge could intervene.
"James, enough!"
Her voice stopped Kirk instantaneously- long enough for a hand to calmly clamp down from behind on the juncture of Kirk's neck and shoulder, the pressure and precision of its fingers lethal. Jim dropped, unconscious, to the gleaming floor, sea-green eyes fluttering back into his skull.
Spock impassively observed the result of the effortless Vulcan nerve-pinch, and turned a gaze as hard as granite on Valravn.
"Get him off this ship," he said, low and cold.
Valravn felt something cold seep through the cavity of her chest.
"Captain?"
"Prepare a deployment capsule," he clarified, striding back to the thick pane of translucent aluminium that overlooked the void of space before them. "Mr Sulu, redirect our course to bypass the nearest planet Class M planet with a functioning Starfleet or Federation base. Delta Vega should suffice."
The helmsman lowered his fingertips to the console, deftly reprogramming their course, but not before Valravn caught sight of a flicker of hesitation- a sentiment that seemed to be creeping across the officers on the bridge, doubt taking root.
Valravn inhaled deeply.
Spock glanced at Valravn, and noticed that his chief of security had not moved. Turning back towards her, he raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"
"There is, Captain," she replied equably. "By your orders, I can infer that you intend to maroon Cadet Kirk on Delta Vega in direct violation of Starfleet Security Protocol 49.09, governing the treatment of prisoners aboard a starship- which entitles the accused to a detention consisting of a standard holding cell aboard a starship with minimal amenities as prescribed by the Human Rights Directive of the United Federation of Planets, and the right to trial for their accused crime before any disciplinary action is carried out."
"Such procedure is disregarded in the case that said prisoner is an active and imminent threat to the security of a starship," Spock replied, willing to concede an acknowledging nod, his reasoning as perfectly Vulcan as ever, perfectly logical, without any trace of vindictiveness.
"Something that is to be decided at the discretion of the chief of security," Valravn reminded him sharply, feeling a deep stab of indignation in her stomach. Even the insinuation that she was anything less than exemplary in her station rankled, whether it had been intentional on Spock's part or not. Pride had always been her greatest sin, and her most justified shortcoming.
"And the captain reserves the right to make that decision personally-" Spock continued, eyebrows rising infinitesimally.
"-in the event that the chief of security is declared medically incapable, or is otherwise indisposed and the situation requires an immediate decision," she finished, feeling the ice in her tone thicken, turning from mirror-glass to jagged. "Captain, marooning is too drastic a measure, and the brig is more than secure-"
"Lieutenant," Spock said, a warning in his tone, "I have judged Cadet Kirk to be a significant threat to the safety of this vessel."
"I am capable of ensuring the confinement of one cadet, as are my teams."
"Cadet Kirk has proven himself to be resourceful, his very presence on this ship being proof of that. He presents an ongoing threat to the chain of command."
Something snapped in her, like a thread pulled too tight. She was suddenly calm, too calm, centred at the eye of an arctic storm- the cause of a storm, untouched by it.
Valravn glanced down at Kirk, unmoving at her feet, and wondered what he might say.
"You have made your position quite clear, sir," she said, dangerously serene; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Uhura stiffen, recognising the warning signs, but it was too late. "Allow me to do the same."
Valravn unsnapped the utility belt from around her waist.
"I resign."
The entire bridge stared at her in shock, punctuated only by the soft constant beep and whirr of the terminals.
Valravn felt a sting of vicious satisfaction.
"Raven-" She heard Uhura speak first from behind her, urgent and pleading, as Valravn dropped her belt into the cavity below her terminal. "Don't do this- this isn't-"
"If I cannot be entrusted with the internment of a single cadet aboard this starship, it hardly seems sensible to suggest I am qualified to serve as its chief of security. Simple logic," she replied, flawlessly composed despite the cold rage surging through her blood. It was as though someone had placed a sniper scope over her ire. "Therefore the only responsible course of action for me to take would be to defer my responsibilities to someone more competent," Valravn stressed the words delicately, arching an eyebrow in a subtle yet effective show of scathing sarcasm. She and everyone else knew perfectly well that there was no one aboard the Enterprise that was more suited, more dedicated, or simply better in their station than her. "Ensign Chekov is more than equipped to take on the position of solo tactical officer. And the sector officers should be able to distribute duties amongst themselves until a new chief is selected."
Valravn walked towards the closest exit and paused, turned to Spock, and feeling slightly petty, said, "Good luck, Commander."
She breezed out, as unforgiving as the season that had given its name to her, leaving a disbelieving silence in her wake.
"Dr McCoy- I'm sorry, but- there's- sh-she came down here and- well, she's quite forceful-"
"It's fine, Nurse Chapel."
The nurse skittered out, more than content to leave the situation to the CMO.
Valravn was standing in the small office, leaning her hip against the steel desk, the bold red of the operations department covered by a sterile white laboratory coat, the hem skimming the back of her knees. Her dark braid rested over her shoulder, hair-cuff flashing, crisp and clean and beautiful in her distantness, like driven snow.
"Tell me what I can do."
McCoy sighed heavily- but he was not about to dismiss a volunteer with medical training considering the state of his department and the number of patients he was attending to. Opening the closest cabinet drawer, he extracted a PADD and quickly programmed it.
"Inventory. We're still swamped, and I need to know how much functioning equipment and supplies we actually have."
Valravn extended her hand to take the device. "Done."
McCoy paused. "Tell me that you did this for the right reasons."
"I did this because I had my abilities questioned without good reason, my authority unfairly overruled, my advice dismissed out of hand, and was ordered to do something that I did not believe was right, either morally or under Starfleet protocol," Valravn said without blinking. "And I executed my resignation with a modicum of bitchiness because, yes, I am pissed off because of James." Her fingers flicked upwards at the PADD. "Give."
McCoy couldn't resist a wry smile. "If you stand for nothing, you'll fall for anything," McCoy quoted, offering her the PADD.
"Truer words," Valravn agreed, finally taking the device and skimming through the screen, deftly customising its layout to her preference. "I won't compromise myself for anyone or anything."
"Not even for Jim?"
Her eyes flicked up to his. "He would never ask me to."
McCoy nodded.
"Uhura's going to come down here the moment she gets the chance, you know," he informed her.
"Lieutenant Uhura can do as she pleases," Valravn said dryly, giving a nonchalant shrug, never raising her eyes from the screen of the PADD. "Though I expect your poor nurses will be bemused by two forceful human women in red operations uniforms and long black hair invading your medical bay on the same day. I'm afraid that I made quite the entrance earlier."
"Eh, don't worry about it. As long as you didn't break anything, I'm sure they'll recover. Medical staff are tough-skinned," McCoy said dismissively, turning towards the door. "Anyway. I'm sure you can find your way to the storerooms just fine- there are five in this ward- so just send me a message with the inventory details when you're done here and you can start in the next bay-"
"Are you going to prepare James' pod craft?"
He froze, closing his eyes briefly, damning that he had almost escaped.
"I'm not blaming you," Valravn added neutrally. "It was just a question."
McCoy turned back to look at her. The PADD was tucked under her arm, pressed to the right side of her chest, and she was levelling him with a calm look that he wasn't entirely sure was genuine. You could never tell, with Valravn; the moment before her resignation from her post, he was convinced that she was about to shut her mouth and do as she was told.
"Yeah. I'm gonna do it personally. Make sure the idiot doesn't catch hypothermia out there."
It seemed to be the answer she had been expecting. Without a word, she took something from the left pocket of the white coat she wore, flipping it up into the air and back into her free hand, offering it to him on the open palm of her hand.
McCoy approached cautiously. He knew relatively little of manmade weapons aside from the effects they had on living organisms, but the combat knife looked finely crafted; the blade was the length of his hand, wrapped in a sheath of black leather embossed with silver filigree, its hilt smooth and perfectly sculpted to her fingers. McCoy took it, turning it over in his fingers cautiously, before looking up at Valravn.
She was as impenetrable as ever, sealed off behind steel and ice.
"He'll know what it means," Valravn said cryptically.
