A/N: For those of you that have been waiting patiently (or not so, in some cases XD) I thank you from the bottom of my heart! I'm so sorry for the delay, but it was necessary. I have undertaken, with the help of my phenomenal new beta, awarrington on Livejournal, a massive re-write of Part Two. There were a lot of things I wasn't happy with, and I'm so very very grateful to her for offering to help me. Her assistance has been invaluable!
What does this mean to you, dear readers, besides the delay? It means that I have had to rewrite quite a bit of Part Two, Chapter One. If you would please re-read the chapter before this one, than carry on to Chapter Two.
As apology, this chapter (I hope) makes up for it? :D
Chapter Two
"This place scares the crap outta me," Bones hisses under his breath, checking carefully to make sure that his comment is hidden under the soft hum of Uhura conversing with their hosts.
The city towers around them, testimony to the skill of the Quakels. The alien beings have created delicate buildings suited to their fairytale landscape. Spires and towers abound, the constructed edifices made out of some substance that resembles blown glass, crazy pastel hues swirled in unrecognizable fashions on the smooth rounded surfaces. The buildings, combined with the improbable candy landscape, combine to make Kirk feel like he's stepped into a scene sprung from a little girl's imagination. And he agrees with Bones, wholeheartedly – their surroundings terrify him to his core.
Clapping his friend on the shoulder, Kirk gives a rueful grimace. "I know, Bones, it scares the crap out of me, too! It's just too cheerful – I'm kinda waiting for the monster to appear and steal the princess."
They have been touring through this seemingly imaginary city all morning, and have stopped by a beautiful fountain for lunch. Instead of water, there is a frothy lavender substance erupting from it that has the consistency of mousse. Suspiciously, it resembles one of the dipping items in the meal provided by their hosts.
They are supposed to be on the planet to negotiate a trade agreement – but there's the tour and a banquet scheduled for the first day, and then they'll be able to get down to business the following morning. Until then, Kirk doesn't really have to take an active part in conversations and has gladly faded into the background, leaving Uhura to charm the Quakels. The security team is spread out around the perimeter, keeping alert for any threats.
The look sent his way then is grateful, on so many levels. "The Monster's already here, kid – they just haven't kidnapped anyone yet!"
He can't help the grin that slowly spreads across his face, as he nods his agreement. His brain can't quite juxtapose the thought of their escorts being native to this candy-land planet. But there is no time to joke further, as Uhura is beckoning them over – back to the group where she and Spock are talking quietly with their hosts. Not wanting to keep them waiting, the two men hurry to rejoin the cluster of people.
A moment as Uhura finishes her comment to the Chancellor, and then she turns to him. The lines of her mouth are still taut with anger, but her voice when it comes out is pleasant and politic.
"Captain – the Chancellor wishes to inform you that after the meal is finished, they have nothing else planned until the banquet this evening. He did not know if you wanted us to stay here and explore, or to beam back to the ship," she explains, then waits expectantly for his response.
Quickly, he considers their options. It's a good sign that their hosts are allowing them the option of exploring by themselves, but – the possibility of something going wrong while they're wandering is too high, especially considering that Uhura is the only one with a decent grasp of the language. And it'd be beneficial to remove themselves for a while, take advantage of the unexpected free time to properly go over the mission brief and any new information, and return fully prepared for the banquet.
"Tell the Chancellor that while we appreciate his offer to allow us to remain, we will beam back up to the Enterprise and return before the banquet begins." He glances at his second with a grin. "You'll be able to adjust for the time differences, and make sure we're not late, won't you Spock?"
The Vulcan nods, his hands still grasped loosely behind his back, but his expression softens minutely when he replies, "Of course, Captain."
Mirroring his nod, hers somehow stiffer, Uhura turns back to the Quakels and passes his message along. Even though her demeanor is purely professional, she is obviously still annoyed over Kirk's perceived slight earlier that morning.
Frustration rolls in his belly, and he runs his hand through his hair as he considers his options. He'll have to have a talk with her –
His hand flutters to a stop at the base of his neck, as he notices the Quakels have stopped listening to what Uhura is saying – and are staring at him instead.
It's difficult to read their body language, but it seems as if their postures have hardened. And then he's certain of it, as that scintillating membrane flashes over their faceted eyes once again, almost in unison. He looks to Uhura for an answer, only to see confusion flashing across her face – and she shifts away from them, infinitesimally, at the display.
Whatever it was, their hosts recover quickly, the Chancellor responding to Uhura's comments in their clipped language. Then, as one, they stand – addressing the four of them as a whole.
"They are saying their temporary goodbyes, and that they will meet with us at the designated time," Uhura translates, her brows still slightly furrowed after their strange reaction. "And that the coordinates for the transport will be given to the ensign on duty."
After a suitable comment by Kirk, the three aliens depart, leaving Kirk, at least, wondering at what had just occurred.
(*)
After the door closes behind him, he pauses for a moment, tapping his fingers lightly against the bulkhead. Her gentle hum helps him think, as he considers what little information was gleaned through the away team's hurried meeting. Archie appears at his feet, his tail thumping gently against Kirk's shins as he watches his master intently.
Kirk glances down at the puppy with a grin, and then his eyes return once again to the piles of data PADDs stacked on his desk. He should have several free hours before duty calls again, and he wants to use them as effectively as possible.
Walking over, the puppy following behind, he begins sifting through them. Every moment not otherwise occupied has been spent working through these stacks, yet they seem to be getting taller instead of dissipating. He never quite comprehended how much paperwork was involved with being a Captain – until now.
He just hopes he won't be buried beneath it all. Kirk believes he's come across an organization technique that will work – partly by importance, partly by deadline; so far it's been keeping him ahead of the curve. But just barely.
Finding what he was searching for, he pulls out the dossier on the Quakel mission, then toes off his boots as he makes his way to his bed. It's so much more comfortable, and he is used to studying there.
Flopping onto his belly, his hand automatically scratches the head that settles next to his arm. He grins to himself as a soft pink tongue leaves a trail of saliva up his arm – sloppy puppy kisses – as he uses his other hand to bring up the data in the PADD.
His hand stills above Archie's head, pausing mid stroke, eliciting a pleading whimper. The Enterprise is not Starfleet's first choice for this mission, he discovers. The U.S.S. Firefly, a light cruiser, was given the task of forging a treaty with the Quakels. The Firefly ran into a Romulan Warbird on the way to the planet, and after engaging it, barely made it to the nearest Starbase for repairs.
The Enterprise was subsequently given the mission because they were the only ship close enough to make it to Quakel before the timeline ran out for the negotiations to begin. Not because Starfleet believes them the best crew for the task; not because any of the Admirals believe he and his crew have the capability to pull the treaty off successfully.
He realizes it was naïve to believe they were past this, now – that he's proven himself, that his crew have proven themselves capable of pulling off the impossible. His hand grips the PADD tightly, white-knuckled in his aggravation. Apparently, Barnett, Pike and the others are only willing to go so far when it comes to handing him responsibilities – and simple milk runs are all they think him capable of.
This only serves to harden his resolve, and he shakes off the feelings of frustration that their lack of faith engenders. He will take this opportunity for what it is, and prove to them that he's capable of taking anything they throw his way.
With that in mind, he bends himself to his task, reading through the rest of the information contained within the PADD. Out of habit, his hand begins massaging soft ears. He trusts his intelligence knowing that if he devotes this unexpected free time, now, to reading the specifics of the Quakel culture, he'll be able to remember – and won't repeat the mistake of the morning.
He's been focused for about an hour when the door chime sounds, letting him know that someone is requesting entrance. Knowing who it most likely is, he gets up from his bed. Archie shifts as if to follow, but he gives the signal for the dog stay in place. If he's correct, he doesn't want the beagle distracting his visitor.
Once Uhura's inside his quarters, he walks over to his desk, making a conscious decision to lean his hip against it – subtly bringing attention to the stacks of PADDs still waiting for him to go over. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waits.
"You wanted to see me, Captain," she says, not mincing words. Her head is held high, her pony tail neat and straight and heavy down her back.
He sighs, forcing his hands to stay where they are – instead of rubbing the back of his neck, like they want to.
"Explain your behavior this morning, Lieutenant."
Her mouth firms into a hard line, as one eyebrow raises in an eloquent arc. "I thought you were going to do your work, as Captain, and read the dossier. Instead I found you left it all to me and I feel like I'm being taken advantage of."
Kirk lets his eyes harden as he slips further into the role of her commanding officer. "Lieutenant, our friendship cannot get in the way of our duty. Your behavior towards me on the planet was highly unprofessional. While we are on a mission, you do not question my decisions, especially not in front of alien dignitaries – not to mention other members of my crew. When I ordered you to give me a summary of the contents of that dossier, I was making the best Command decision I was able, under the circumstances – giving myself time to deal with other paperwork that had urgent deadlines.
"I expected to be able to depend on you, as part of my command team, to do that job thoroughly."
Uhura's eyes widen in shock and she lifts her chin defensively. Then she glances down at the piles and piles of paperwork he's so very carefully not tumbling over. He sees her eyes soften and the hard lines of anger smooth out of her shoulders.
"If an incident like that happens again," he continues, knowing she's listening now, "I will write you up on charges of insubordination. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?"
She nods, looking him in the eyes. "Yes, Captain. It won't happen again."
"I'm glad to hear that, Uhura," he responds, letting the muscles of his own shoulders relax now, "because I need to be able to depend on you."
He lifts the PADD he brought with him from the bed, pulling up the pertinent entry. "Now, I've been going over these details, and I think I'm missing the significance of this entry here. Can you explain it to me in more detail?"
Uhura pauses for a heartbeat, then comes up next to him, also leaning carefully against the desk. After reading the custom, she nods with a hint of a smile.
"Oh, yeah. I know the guy who wrote up this report, and his wording can be confusing sometimes."
Kirk lets a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. "You're telling me!"
She glances up at him from the corner of her eyes, and a genuine smile appears. "Well, what he meant was…"
(*)
After several discrepancies get explained, Uhura excuses herself, stating that she has a few more responsibilities she has to complete before they beam back down for the evening.
Satisfied that both their professional and personal relationship will remain intact, Kirk allows himself to finally run his hand through his hair once again. Then he nods to himself and takes a couple minutes to change into his dress uniform, so he can work right up until they need to head back down to the surface. He then rummages around in his bureau, finally locating his Medal of Valor, which he proudly pins to his chest.
Now that that's taken care of, he can devote the next few hours to reading the rest of the dossier with focus and intent. Not wanting to get his uniform rumpled, he sits at his crowded desk, whistles the puppy over to lie at his feet and gets back to work.
Hours later, he's deeply involved in his task when the door chime goes off once again. Without looking up from the PADD so as not to lose his place, he instructs the computer to open the door. It slides into the wall with a whir, and his visitor enters his quarters. Kirk doesn't have to look up to know it's Spock – he can tell by the measured tread on the carpet. He spends a moment marking where he's got to before giving his First his full attention.
"Captain, we must depart at this time. The Quakel dignitaries are due to meet with us in nine point three minutes, the security team has been assembled, and the feast is about to commence." Spock crosses the threshold into Kirk's private quarters, then stops just inside the door.
"Okay, okay." He murmurs in response, standing as he finishes up the last part of the section he's been reading. "Just let me finish this bit, and I'll be ready…"
Silence reigns, the Vulcan ever polite as Kirk scans the last words on the page, devoting them to memory.
Allowing himself to grin, his eyes lift from the PADD. "Finally done! Now I shouldn't have another blunder like I did this morning! I'm just glad I got the time this afternoon to…."
His voice trails off, the words disappearing from his mind as he is captivated by the vision before him, his eyes widening in amazement as he drinks in the sight of his First in full dress uniform.
Rich, deep black and midnight blue – it's tailored to fit the Vulcan's form like a second skin. The colors, somehow, perfectly match the shade of Spock's hair – the blue flashing highlights as the light dances across the straight, silken strands.
Somehow, the combination only serves to heighten the depth of his eyes. And Kirk is lost again, unable to look away from those dark, dark orbs. He could drown in the hints of brown washed in the black, could lose track of where they are or what he is doing – and the time constraints that are placed upon them.
"Captain?" Spock says, bringing him back from the brink of…wherever he had been.
"Sorry," he responds, blinking as he shakes off the strange sensation, then looks down at the PADD clutched in his hands. "Nevermind. Got distracted for a second."
Setting it down on the desk, he joins Spock at the door. A glance at his First Officer has his heart doing strange flip-flops in his chest as Spock raises an eyebrow eloquently.
He plasters his customary grin on his face, trying to shake away whatever makes him feel disconcerted in Spock's presence.
"Are you with me, Commander?"
"As always, Captain."
(*)
He's slowly dying – very painfully – of boredom.
It's driving him mad. He's at the head table in the dining hall, with the Quakel Chancellor on his right, and Uhura at his left. Spock, as his second in command, is seated across from him, with Bones further down the table.
Kirk feels as if he is alone in a sea of sound – the Quakels and Uhura are engaged in a conversation in the alien language, and even though he's able to pick out a few words now, he can by no means follow along. The music playing from hidden speakers around the hall is full of discordant tones which don't draw him.
For some unknown reason they sat Bones too far away to carry on a discussion, but Kirk can see as his friend gestures animatedly with his fork to punctuate a story. The Quakel beside him watches, enthralled – it cannot understand the words accompanying the gestures, but the display is certainly astounding.
And Spock – Spock is silently absorbed in his meal.
To release some of his tension, Kirk lets loose a sigh and stares at his own plate. The delicately carved dishes do not resemble anything he's ever seen before – even vastly different from the meal they'd had at lunch – and he's not quite sure where to begin.
Kirk's eyes dart over to Spock's plate, across the wide table from him. Everything that can be safely identified as vegetarian has disappeared, and the Vulcan's hands are manipulating one of the utensils to eat something vaguely gelatinous in nature. His long, tapered fingers gently grasp the handle of the instrument, his movements so full of unconscious grace and beauty.
Distracted, he no longer cares about how strange the food is, and fumbles one of the utensils into his grip. He recognizes one of the dishes as the same semi-gelatinous goo that Spock is currently eating, and lifts a scoopful to eye level so he can inspect it properly. The texture certainly doesn't look appetizing, but it should be safe if the Vulcan is eating it. Kirk has to resist the urge to stick out his tongue for a tentative taste first, instead sliding the whole utensil-full into his mouth.
Soft, and buttery smooth, it has a riotous expanse of flavor that bursts on his tongue. Interesting, even if he can't identify the flavors that envelope his taste buds. Not delicious, no – too strange for that – but certainly edible.
Grateful for life's small gifts, he carefully begins sampling the rest of the dishes on his plate. Most of them fall into the same category as the gelatin, palatable but not appetizing. A few of them he wouldn't want to taste again, but some of them are genuinely scrumptious.
Like the crumbly sweet cake-like creation he's nibbling on with fervor when he feels a soft hand resting on his bicep. He turns to Uhura, giving her a smile as he licks the crumbs off his lips.
The smile disappears when he sees her face shadowed by sadness. His brows pull together as he looks at her questioningly, but she shakes her head softly in denial.
"No, just. They want to know what it was like – when you 'gloriously defeated Nero'."
And the table stills around them, as the Quakels wait anxiously to hear his translated response. He can feel the excitement running through them, and he has to crush his immediate reaction – which is of regret and loss. Memories flood him, of hallways echoing emptily, a lost generation of bright futures – and countless generations of Vulcans that will never be, a home that the survivors will never see again.
But, he has to remind himself that the Quakels are a very warlike race, and to them the battles would have been glorious instead of heartbreaking. And he knows that the petitioners wanting entrance into the Federation have not been informed of exactly how debilitating Starfleet's losses have been.
Gulping, he gives Uhura the reassurance of a smile, then turns to address the being who asked the question. He paints a story with his words, pausing frequently to give Uhura time to translate for him. Glossing over the loss of the five ships, he focuses instead on the valiant actions of his crew and how his skills as Captain brought them through the tragedy – important to illustrate, considering that trade negations will begin the next day.
He can feel Spock's eyes on him, but avoids returning the gaze. He knows, from being let in on that last night at the new colony, how deeply affected Spock still is from the loss of his planet and his people.
His hands fist under cover of the table, angry that he's forced to talk about this – but he really should have expected it. The crew was sheltered while on New Vulcan, and prior to that in the Academy, where the press were kept well away from them. Kirk has forgotten he will have to speak about the Narada battle on occasion. Many they are going to come in contact with will want to hear the story…with the notable exception of the Vulcans who lived it with them.
When he's done twisting his words into the semblance of a tale, he sighs. Only then does he risk a glance at Spock – and sees sorrow in those dark, but expressive eyes. The lump of emotions tangled in Kirk's throat gets even tighter; and it's hard, but he manages to pull his eyes away. Turning instead to Uhura, his hand runs through his hair to settle at the muscles of his neck.
Other than the music playing quietly in the background, silence reigns again, this time hot and tense as the Quakels, who were listening so intently to Uhura's words just moments before, radiate righteous anger.
He freezes, confusion replacing his surprise as he glances around the room, watching as that scintillating eyelid flickers across hundreds of pairs of eyes, all staring directly at him. And even though his back is turned, he can feel the Chancellor seated to his right shifting behind him.
His eyes slide back to Uhura, and he raises an eyebrow in question. She looks as confused as he feels, her eyes also roaming the crowd to try to find out what triggered their response. Her eyes travel back to his, and she shrugs eloquently – she still can't determine why they're upset.
Whatever the cause, it seems to be directed at him. Everything that's happened has been well within the "safe" conduct described in the dossier, and he can't tell what he did to make them blink their eyes in such a way. But, based on their reactions, he determines that the best course of action would be for him to disappear for a while.
Excusing himself quietly, he escapes from the dinner table and slips onto one of the many quiet balconies lining the dining hall. He's grateful the clashing sounds of their music don't reach him through the glass door he closes behind him, the silent emptiness a welcome relief. He uses the balustrade for support as he stares out at the orange waxing moon hanging just above the strange-looking city stretched out before him.
He draws some comfort from the fact that the stars are the same ones he's used to seeing, although the shapes of the constellations that are so familiar to him, the ones he remembers flying in the sky above Iowa, are not evident, their configuration different at this angle.
Out here, he can empty his mind of thoughts crowding far too close, and allow his intellect to tangle in the welcome puzzle of the Quakel's latest anomalous behavior. A niggling idea, dangling just out of reach. Maybe it was Uhura and him speaking together. Or, something as innocuous as his hand on his neck, perhaps –
A sound as the door creeks open and closed behind him and he knows he's no longer alone. Expecting Bones – his friend would never leave him to linger too long on thoughts of the Narada after living with him through the aftermath of it – he's about to turn to face the doctor with a witty comment on the tip of his tongue, but it immediately dies when he recognizes the soft, measured tread on the floor and turns to see Spock standing, bathed in the soft light that falls through the glass door.
"Spock!" he says in surprise, his tone earning him an expression of mild curiosity.
"Had you assumed it would be someone else?" Spock asks, continuing forward until he, too, is standing against the railing. Not leaning as Kirk is, but brushing it nonetheless; and merely an arm's length away.
Kirk resumes his original position against the banister, joining Spock in looking at the moon, as he replies honestly, "Bones. He's usually the one running after me to make sure I get fixed – if fixing's necessary."
"Indeed," is Spock's only response, and Kirk glances at the Vulcan suspiciously from the corner of his eye. He senses a decided hint of grief, perhaps in the usual smoothness around Spock's eyes, reminding him of the look that was thrown his way earlier.
Turning, he gives the Vulcan his full attention, waiting patiently as Spock observes him for several moments, silently, before his lips part.
"They should not have asked," he comments, quietly, the low words barely a murmur.
Kirk blinks. He thinks he knows what reason lies behind Spock's unusually candid remark, but asks anyway. "Why?"
"It is not polite to ask, with the destruction of a planet so recent," Spock replies, his brows moving fractionally closer together.
Considering the words, he wonders how much his account, though he kept it brief and factual, brought up unwelcome memories for his friend. Of its own volition, his hand automatically reaches out towards that arm so close to his to offer silent comfort – but he pulls it back when he remembers who this is.
"Yeah, it's not very politic of them to bring up the incident with a Vulcan in the room – they know you lost your home." He's reminded of the reasons he answered their questions in the first place and his own brows draw together. "But, come on Spock – you gotta admit that if Vulcan hadn't been involved, your people would have asked the same questions."
The wing of an eyebrow rises as Spock gazes at him for a long moment. And then says, grudgingly, "It is possible."
Focused in his intensity, he leans in a little bit, all of his attention on the Vulcan before him. He is struck again by Spock's beauty – the clean line of his jaw, the delicate ears coming to perfect points. A warm flush of – something – suffuses Kirk, relaxing him enough that he's able to view the circumstances from his normal, cocky perspective.
"You know it's true. Maybe not right away, but they would have wanted to hear the story – and no amount of Vulcan logic can hide the fact that you guys are curious about everything. Including heroic spaceship battles."
The eyebrow rises still further, and then lowers with a flutter.
"You are correct, Captain. The pursuit of knowledge is always a worthy endeavor, and we would have been unable to resist requesting further information."
Knowing he's won the argument, he leans back in contentment. Then he continues the line of his thinking, aloud. "Besides, I need to get used to the questions. They aren't going to be the only ones to ask. And you should be prepared to answer them, too," he adds. "You're half of the heroic duo that pulled off the daring rescue plan."
He watches as Spock turns to the darkened sky, pondering for a moment, as a definite crease line appears between his eyebrows. Any trace of sorrow is gone completely, replaced by annoyance – and a curling of humor, though how he knows that, he's uncertain.
A glance his way, and then Spock's eyes focus again on the stars. "Once again, you are correct. Although given how loquacious you have a tendency to be, it is highly improbable I will be asked anything."
Kirk's eyebrows rise in surprise, as he contemplates the multiple meanings of that statement. "Hey – are you calling me a blabber mouth?"
Spock's head tilts to the side as he regards his captain once again, the humor in his eyes evident as the luminescence from the interior lights make his pale skin glow. "I believe that is the term in Standard ascribed to such a proclivity."
His grin appears, not in full force but definitely evident as he responds, "If you're trying to be funny, it's working."
The Vulcan's eyes sparkle for a second, before he turns away to study the sky once again. His sharp profile is highlighted in the starlight, striking and accented flawlessly by the dark blue of his dress uniform. "Perhaps that was my intention."
It's a soft admission, completely unexpected and therefore precious. The warmth inside spreads, making Kirk stand up straight once again. He tightens his grip on the balustrade, physically restraining himself from reaching out to turn Spock so he can see the expression in the Vulcan's eyes again; from the urge to simply touch the one before him.
He no longer sees the backdrop of stars, his sight stolen completely by Spock's elegant form; captivated, undone. And then it's as if the floor disappears beneath him, as he realizes he hasn't been able to stop staring at Spock. Not since their last night on New Vulcan, when –
He swallows hard as the implications cause a flood of adrenaline to course through him and looks down, mortified, so that Spock cannot get a hint of what must surely be visible on his face. Now that it has been exposed, there's no turning back – he can no longer hide the truth from himself.
He's falling for his First Officer.
He's left tense with the reverberations of this revelation as the first wave of sensation recedes. Now that it's been acknowledged, it does not fade completely. It coils and makes a spot of warmth in his chest, a compass needle that is unerringly oriented on the lean form beside him.
It feels as if eternity has passed in the space of those few heartbeats, but Spock would tell him that time is still ticking at its relative rate. The Vulcan beside him, entirely oblivious, continues to stare at the stars as Kirk emerges from his epiphany.
"Captain? If you have had sufficient time to recover your equilibrium, our presence is still required in the banquet hall. They will begin to question our absence shortly." The low words, though completely innocent in context, send a soft shiver down his spine.
Trying to separate himself from the new emotions coursing through him, Kirk focuses for a moment on the cold stars sprinkled through the vaulted sky.
He takes a deep breath, and nods. Once he's fairly certain that most of what just happened won't be clearly written on his face, he turns to follow Spock back into the fray.
The whisper continues to sing through his veins.