Jim was quiet at dinner that night, mostly listening to Pike and Sarek discussing the Federation and its problems. He rather enjoyed it when Sarek used logic to destroy the defense of Starfleet's failure to properly enforce anti-trafficking laws on certain members.
"I can't argue with that reasoning, Sarek," Pike said at last. "But I'll have to convince a room full of stubborn admirals that it's worth losing some friends in order to stop this vile trade. Some of them need a proverbial smack to the head to show them how bad this has become."
Jim knew he should go and testify, but that would mean endless annoyance and condescending pity from people who couldn't care less about him beyond his last name. He held his tongue and listened to Bones chatting with Amanda in the background, telling her what supplements and foods would be helpful for Jim's continued recovery and expounding on the treachery of space travel.
He was greatly amused by the cantankerous doctor and almost hoped they'd stick around for a while so he could hang out and get to know him. Most of his friends were either dead or still enslaved and he had missed having that camaraderie, even though it happened because of shared misery.
After the guests had left for the night, he found himself restless and unable to sleep. What would he do with the rest of his life? He couldn't hide here forever, much as he'd like to. If only he could save his friends from being worked to death, but how could he unless he joined the organization that he'd vowed never to touch with a ten-foot pole.
Then, there was that creepy memory that kept intruding of Andromeda's hands crawling over his teenaged self as she whispered "my beautiful pet" and toyed with him. Some days, he'd been forced to go all day wearing nothing but a collar and then how he'd hated his good looks.
He was almost grateful for his now marked up back which would likely turn off all but the most greedy and sadistic of illegal slave dealers.
Jim ran his hand through his hair in discouragement and got up to take a walk. Maybe he'd get out his math books and do some more studying to get his mind off his problems. He picked up his books and a small lamp and strolled quietly through the silent house, careful to be as silent as possible.
He must have failed somehow, because partway through the problem he was working, he heard a swishing sound and looked up to see Spock in the doorway.
"Jim, are you unable to sleep?" She was standing there in a loose robe, looking quizzically at him. "I can provide you with an herbal tea that may help your insomnia."
"That's very thoughtful, Spock. But I just need to distract myself from my own thoughts right now. A little algebra and history should do the trick." He held up the books he had. If the math didn't help, reading the complete history of the Klingon wars should put him right to sleep.
"Did the conversation today agitate your unpleasant memories of captivity?" She asked, dark eyes sensing his unrest. Jim shrugged.
"You could say that." He sighed. "It's been a few years since I got out of her clutches, but sometimes I all too clearly remember being a scared sixteen year old letting her use me because I was terrified the husband would retaliate if I tried to resist. He was a pretty powerful Orion leader and nobody, least of all the slaves, dared cross him. What Andromeda wanted, Andromeda got."
"And you managed to survive years under their control? Remarkable," Spock said. "Such abuse would break the spirit of many individuals subject to it for as long as you were." Her tone showed respect that Jim didn't feel he deserved, but appreciated, nonetheless.
"As I got older, I learned to cope by playing along and got thoroughly into my role which ended up with the whole Stockholm Syndrome and a load of guilt. Then she died, I got sold off again and I had different problems to worry about."
"Malnutrition, overwork, and physical abuse?" Spock guessed, her eyebrow doing the funny thing again where it lifted so high it disappeared under her bangs.
"Correct," Jim confirmed grimly. "That's what generally comes with being an unpaid laborer."
"It is despicable that such atrocities are allowed to continue, but perhaps you will be the catalyst for great change in the Federation," she said with conviction.
Jim made a skeptical sound. "If they won't listen to their own admirals, why in the heck would they listen to me?"
"Partly because of who you are, Jim, much as you dislike that fact. The son of a well-known hero spending years in slavery on supposedly safe Federation territory will be a ugly legacy for them and if you were to somehow publicly reject them while explaining the suffering their indolence has caused for so many species, it would perhaps cause some real changes to be set in motion."
"I'd hate to think it would take that," Jim sighed thoughtfully, toying with the stylus in his hand. "But history says differently. I'll think that over for a bit, Spock. See if I can come up with a plan to tell all without getting dragged back to earth."
"I trust your intelligent mind will be able to enact a sound scheme, James." It almost looked like she was smiling at him, the way the corners of her mouth turned up.
Jim found himself grinning back at her, finding a Vulcan smile particularly striking on Spock.
It wasn't until after he'd said goodnight and returned to his cool basement bedroom, that he realized he'd been sitting there talking to Spock shirtless and she'd had a perfect view of his ugly scarring the moment she'd walked in the room since his back had been turned towards the door.
His felt his face growing warm with embarrassment, but also deep appreciation as he thought how her face hadn't shown a single indication of mortification, disgust, or pity the whole conversation and she'd only vaguely referenced physical abuse without pointing out the obvious. Perhaps her cheeks had been slightly more green than usual, but that was understandable when one encountered a half dressed person.