T'Pring worked James to the bone. She exhausted him. The more tasks she gave, the more mistakes he could make, the more opportunities she had to use this new weapon against him. The more tasks she gave, the more the lesson washed into his mind and remolded him to her use. At the end of the day, she had him kneel and wait for her verdict.
When he set his mind to it, he was an exemplary slave. The change was remarkable. There were whole weeks where the child was allowed to go without a mark on it.
She had Elvira keep track of James and the child. Her handmaid reported that the human often visited the child, asked it questions, played with it when he had the time or energy. They were becoming attached to each other.
Good. T'Pring used that.
But she was a Vulcan of her word and by the time T'Pau summoned Spock back from space, she determined that James had earned the child's freedom. What's more, she was certain he had learned his lesson.
Thus, before Spock's ship reached Vulcan, she set the child free. She arranged for the child's parents to be brought to her estate, made a ceremony of the whole affair, an elaborate display of her power. T'Pring made him bow before her and James did so, without hesitation.
He didn't think about humiliation or principles. The only thing he thought about was being flawless, so T'Pring wouldn't have an excuse to change her mind. For that child's freedom, he did anything and everything T'Pring wanted, face blank, eyes blank. Jim didn't let himself feel anything. He held his breath during the entire ceremony, and only when they kid and parents boarded the ship did he feel something unravel inside him.
She'd made her point. And the threat hung over him that if he acted up again, she'd do it again. With the same child, a different child, it didn't matter. She'd fucking do it again until he understood.
Jim was smart. He read between the lines and didn't need to be taught that kind of lesson twice, not when it came at another person's expense.
When the family finally left, shuttle launching into the sky, she watched the human's eyes, blue and bleak, smolder with a fire she could not name.
--
Winona did her duties with a new kind of fervor and urgency. Every Vulcan ship she destroyed was for Jim, every informant she questioned ruthlessly. So ruthlessly that she might have done some things that, in the beginning of her career with Starfleet, she had vowed she would never do.
It was different when it was personal. Win found herself breaking all her own rules when it came to Jim. She'd break all the rules for George too, but Jim was her baby. The baby she bore in space, at the end of a battle when everything was lost but George wasn't going to let them finish everyone off. George kamikazied into that Vulcan ship, gave them the chance they needed to survive. Win counted that as her first victory. Fuck if she was going to call it a loss.
There were so many whispers of Jim, things screamed recklessly by the prisoners to stop the pain. She followed up on every single one. Some of them panned out to lead to something valuable, but not Jim. Others were never real to begin with. Half the people had never heard of James Tiberius Kirk to begin with. Win didn't care.
Her First Officer, Nyota Uhura, kept her in check. Stopped her from going off the deep end, even if she was burning with the thirst for vengeance too. You serve in Starfleet long enough, and everything becomes personal. Every battle, every POW, everyone KIA, MIA. And every betrayal. Vulcans paid a premium for traitors. Their own ring of informants spread like a tight net across the galaxy. Lots of people were tempted, drawn to the prospect of wealth, status, power, being on the winning side.
Win, no one on the Enterprise, had any tolerance for traitors.
In war, everything became personal. And they hadn't even gotten started. This was the warm up, the clown show before the big act. If humans were going to have a chance at winning, they needed Win. And Win needed Jim. Everything hinged on him.
He was alive. She knew it. There was no way he was dead. Deep down inside, she knew that she wasn't doing anyone a favor by clinging to this hope. But she couldn't help it. She had to believe it, just like she had to believe they could win against the Vulcans, just like she had to believe that Vulcan Commander was mortal, fallible, human—even if he was a Vulcan.
--
Spock stepped off the shuttle, his feet touching Vulcan's sands. The familiar sight of the Council greeted him, except—the human? T'Pring had brought the human with her as her attendant. The Terran had perfect posture. Even his eyes did not wander.
T'Pau came forward. Spock knelt.
"Thou hast returned glorious. Vulcan honors thee."
"I am honored by Vulcan."
Spock stole a glance to the Terran. He had not moved. T'Pring looked at Spock, her facade silver and triumphant.
"Thou hast defeated our enemies by the might of logic."
"Our enemies are defeated. May Vulcan live eternal."
This had been one of his shortest campaigns. He had never particularly cared about what had happened on the planet in his absence. Regular updates from the Council took care of all official business.
Now, for the first time in a long time, he was burning to know what had transpired in T'Pring's household, that his gift was standing thus.
"Thou art the sword of Vulcan. Thy blade is sharp."
"I am the instrument of order. My life I dedicate to the protection of our Way."
He felt T'Pring's touch on his mind. It was a touch he knew, but this—there was something changed. An sharpness that had always been there, but never drawn before.
"Thou has returned victorious. Vulcan honors thee."
"I am honored by Vulcan. My life I lay down in her service."
And for the first time, he wondered if he regretted gifting the human to T'Pring, instead of keeping him for himself.
--
With Spock's return came access to his estate again.
Jim spent as much time as he could there, away from T'Pring. She assigned him regular duties now, instead of loading an impossible amount of work on him. He got it done with the quick efficiency Vulcans prized, then immediately went to Spock's estate.
He spent a lot of time in that closet full of junk, tinkering away, not thinking about the past months.
One day, Spock joined him.
Out of habit (fuck T'Pring), he stood in deference.
Spock looked at him. He motioned for Jim to relax, resume what he was doing.
"I have asked T'Pring if I might arrange permanent quarters for you in my house. She has granted permission. You may stay here tonight, if you so wish."
There was an angle. There was always an angle. In his experience with T'Pring, she never did anything for just one reason.
But Jim didn't ask.
"My steward will show you your room."
Silence. Jim learned to play that game really well.
"I have also informed her that I have opened my house to you when I am away. You may come and go as you please."
What the hell was this, some sadistic game of good cop, bad cop?
"Why?"
Spock seemed to shrug.
"It is my wish. I regret—" he stopped himself.
T'Pring was to be his bondmate. He would not undermine her authority with her own slaves. He did not sanction her methods on this human and was not aware that she was capable of such actions. But then, she did not know what he was capable of in the field of war.
No, he would not undermine her so directly. It was unseemly. Tradition demanded respect.
"It is my wish."
In the months under T'Pring's regimen, Jim learned to read between the lines. It was essential. So he heard what Spock wasn't saying, the loaded meaning behind those two words, "I regret."
He could use that.
Spock left.
Jim sat, surrounded by a pile of oddities. Something that he had submerged stirred inside him. Not hope. He wasn't that naive.
But, the knowledge that he wasn't alone. Spock wasn't an ally—alliances were made freely. Jim refused to call him protector. Jim fucking looked out for himself. And not a friend—friendships were given between equals, not taken from the slave by the master.
He wasn't alone. Jim settled on that, something stirring inside him.
--
Old habits die hard. Jim learned his lesson with T'Pring, but with a new space came new possibilities. In the space of Spock's estate, he found his old habits reemerging. He didn't bow, didn't kneel, didn't take up those stupid positions T'Pring said were traditional for slaves of high households. And Spock didn't say anything about it.
When T'Pring was there, Jim followed every rule, dotted his i's and crossed every fucking t. When she wasn't, he lounged in the library. Slouched. He censored the things that came out of his mouth, but didn't silence himself. Spock let him talk back, on the few occasions that he and Spock had any interaction at all.
Spock's silence was a double edged sword. He would stand silent when T'Pring ordered Jim around. He would stand silent when he caught Jim breaking into his study. Jim couldn't figure out if the Vulcan was ignoring him, encouraging him, permitting him, or maybe even letting Jim make whatever choices he wanted. Giving him a false sense of freedom.
But fuck it, Jim's freedom was never something anyone had the right to grant to take away. T'Pring made her authority clear to Jim. Spock carried that power in his silences. Jim hated the situation he was in, hated the slavery, the fact that the only two places he could go was to T'Pring's hellhole or Spock's estate. An entire world was closed to him when they took him and made him a slave and Jim found himself wishing every day that he had mutilated himself so that the Interrogators would have executed him. So that he would have died free.
That's how he found himself staring at a knife he took from the kitchen, tracing the line of his femoral artery, thinking of a possibility. He put it down, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. There had to be another way. That was the last option. Win always said to be patient and wait, wait for an opportunity. It was all about timing. Vulcans were defeatable. She had proved it in battle. He would prove it here.
Jim stared at the knife, a plan coalescing in his mind. He had a snowball's chance in hell that it would work.
It's all about the timing, Jim. Plan and wait for it. With patience and a little luck, you can take on anyone.
Win was able to do impossible things with a starship. This plan that was coming together—he's never been very patient. It was one of the things he really had to learn, training to become an intelligence agent. Little things that Jim could use fell into place, contingency plans and possibilities.
This really had a snowball's chance in hot flaming temperatures-suitable-for-fusion hell that it would get him out and away. He was crazy to even be considering it.
But Jim remembered T'Pring, remembered the child, remembered his anger and Win's voice. Remembered Spock's indulgence. He could use that.
Besides, the Kirks always had a reputation for being crazy anyway.
--
"Win."
"Nyota, what do you have?"
"I think we've got a tip."
Win's breath caught. They got tips all the time. Her breath caught every time.
"Where?"
"It's in the Empire."
"We'll risk it. Rescue ops, shuttle based, follow the SOP."
Nyota nodded, steel behind her gaze.
"Any news on Sulu or Chekov?"
"No."
Win git her teeth. She'd sent them out on recon too. They'd been silent for six months now.
"Conference room, 1300. Bring the regulars, tell me what you know."
--
Spock was sitting in his study when found himself facing the end of an archaic Tellarite weapon, one that he had picked up from his campaigns and stored in the Object Room. It had not been in working condition when he obtained it. Apparently, the human found a way to fix that.
"Don't move," Jim said.
Spock raised his eyebrow and followed Jim with his dark eyes.
"What do you expect to gain from this gesture?"
"What the fuck do you think?" Jim bit out.
Spock made a motion.
"Don't fucking move or I swear to god I'll blow your head off."
There was a good chance the human would do so.
"I want a ship, a crew. I want codes, I want safe passage out of Vulcan and all your colonies."
"I can provide a ship, and possibly give you a Terran crew. I will grant temporary codes. However, I cannot guarantee safe passage. I can only direct you to routes where discovery is unlikely."
The Vulcan was completely nonchalant about it.
He had to be, if he was Vulcan's best. Jim couldn't deny that Spock had the cool confidence of someone who'd invaded and smashed scores of worlds.
"I want a Vulcan ship."
"That, I cannot do. The technology on board is strictly classified."
He said it like it was something he regret. What, conquering a galaxy wasn't challenging enough for him? He wanted to give away some secrets? Jim was all for that.
Focus, Kirk. You've got the weapon.
Jim didn't think about the guards outside and a house full of loyal servants. He focused on his weapon and the fact that Spock clearly didn't want to kill Jim. Maybe he should've just asked or something.
Focus, Kirk.
"You're not the one in a position to fucking negotiate."
He knew those were the wrong words as soon as they left his mouth.
"On the contrary," Spock rose. "I am."
"Stay the fuck there."
Timing and patience, Kirk. Don't get jumpy. Hold your ground.
"If you desire escape, you need me. You need my authority, you need access to resources only I can provide."
Jim already knew that. It was one the many reasons why he was pointing his weapon at Spock, not T'Pring. Even if he did want to kill her more.
"If you desire death, then discharge your weapon. I assure you, it makes no difference to me what you choose."
"What?"
That was not in the script. At least not in the ones he imagined.
"You want to die?"
Spock shrugged.
"I do not fear death. I never have."
"Bullshit. Everyone's afraid to die. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar."
He said it just to say it. He said it to get a little more intel on Spock, create a better psychological profile.
The Vulcan looked at him strangely.
"I would make a poor officer if I did. As would you."
Don't lose focus, Jim. Don't lose focus.
"Ship. Crew. Codes. Routes."
"It will take time to make the necessary arrangements."
"Do it now."
"Jim, put the weapon down."
"Don't call me that. And no fucking way."
"You have already calculated the logistics of this plan. You know that it will take at least four hours for me to have everything in order."
"You don't know anything."
"You have been using my terminals to research, you have been speaking to my slaves, you have been reading my books. The attempts you made to disguise your actions were excellent, and I must admit that I had not anticipated that you would find a weapon. It is clear you calculated the costs and benefits."
"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. I want is a ship, crew, codes, and routes."
"Your plan was well thought out, though the execution has something to be desired—"
"Shut up."
Spock walked towards him slowly, until the weapon was pressed against his chest. Jim squeezed his finger on the trigger.
"I will find you a ship, or arrange for transport. It was a mistake for me to bring you here. It was a mistake that they allowed you to live."
Focus, Kirk. Don't look at his eyes. Don't fucking look at his eyes.
"Jim, put the weapon down. I will find a ship."
Don't do it. Don't do it.
It's all about timing. Red flags were going off and his brain was spinning, but Jim's instincts were telling him to put the weapon down. He'd gotten what he wanted. Spock would do it. He was really going to do it.
Jim put his weapon down slowly, half expecting Spock to disarm him.
The Vulcan didn't. He simply stepped away from Jim, though he didn't turn his back to him.
"Stay in this room. I will return."
Jim snorted.
"You do not trust me."
"I don't have a choice."
Spock nodded.
"I will return."
And true to his word, four hours later, Jim was being smuggled onto a ship, his passage to the edge of the Vulcan Empire bought and paid for by Spock. It wasn't a crew, but it was still escape. Jim was taking it.
"Swallow this." Spock gave him a tiny device the size of a fingernail. "If anything happens, regurgitate it and press this button. Can you do that?"
He looked at the device, eyes narrowed.
"What'll it do?"
"It sends a signal directly to me. Press the button, and I will come for you."
Like he was ever going to come back to the Fortress. No fucking way. As soon as Jim was at the edge he'd find his contacts and get back to Earth. This thing might come in handy, for setting a trap. The Vulcan High Commander was the Vulcan High Commander. Didn't matter that he was letting Jim go and confusing as hell.
"It does not work outside of the Vulcan network."
There were ways of testing that, or getting around it. It might not be what Spock said it was at all. It could kill Jim.
What the hell. If Spock was planning on killing Jim, he could have done it a lot easier and faster than this. Jim stuck the thing in the back of his mouth and swallowed. He was pretty good at throwing up.
He turned to go into the ship.
Spock held up his hand in that Vulcan salute.
They left each other without saying a word.
--
"He's not here, Win. The computer logs're a mess. I think he was here, but bought by a Vulcan. Dock records have Vulcan Fleet here at the same time. Some Vulcan warrior probably got him, took his back to the Fortress."
"Shit," Win kicked the ground.
At least there were definite records. She discharged her phaser on one of the bodies twitching on the ground. It stopped moving.
"You really think it's the Fortress?"
"Yeah."
Nyota looked at Win. Her Captain had that thoughtful look on her face, that crazy glint in her eye. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Win was thinking.
"Admiralty won't go for it. They never will, Win. You know that."
"Admiralty doesn't win battles," she smiled. "I do."
"They still won't go for it. Not after losing Sulu and Chekov. They think you're being reckless with Fleet resources."
Win's face softened. Sulu and Chekov were really good officers. Her crew was still hurting, losing them.
Lt. Cornwallis came out of the building.
"Got everyone transported out of this hole?" Win asked.
"Yes ma'am. I can't believe how many slaves went through this place. Must be hundreds a day."
"Welcome to the Vulcan Empire."
"Captain!" Nyota pulled Win down.
Oh fuck. Things were going sideways.
Win began discharging her phaser.
"Run run run!"
--
Jim couldn't throw up fast enough. Couldn't hit the button fast enough. Spock couldn't get to him fast enough. He had no idea if thing actually worked, if Spock was actually coming for him. He had to hope, though. He had to hope, because the situation he found himself in was fucking unbearable.
He was on the auctioning block again. And this time, it was only for sex. Guaranteed.
Self mutilation. He needed to get around to doing that. Jim was entirely too handsome for his own good.
But they were bidding for him, the auctioneer talking a mile a minute, the bids going up on the board. And when he was sold, it was to a name he didn't recognize.
Spock hadn't come for him.
What the fuck did Jim expect? What did he expect? That the Vulcan would come in like some sort of legend and rescue Jim?
He would find a way out of this. He found a way out of the last one, he would find a way out of this one. He had more experience now, more weapons he could use. Jim would survive and he would find his way back to Earth. If he could survive T'Pring's games and charm Spock into letting him escape—Jim doubted he had charmed the Ang'jmizn, but he could pretend—if he could do that once, he could do it again.
When they put a black cloth over his head and took him out with a pinch, Jim was hit with a sense of déjà vu. No way. No fucking way. That bastard.
And this time, Spock visited him in the holding cell.
"It took some effort to track you down."
He had nothing to say to that. Spock's dark eyes were on him, thoroughly taking in the sight of him.
At least he had clothes on now.
Spock was tempted to reach out his hand to touch Jim's face, but he stopped himself before he could act on that impulse.
"T'Pring was displeased to learn you had been kidnapped from my estate."
Jim jerked his head up.
"You will find that the security has been strengthened considerably."
He stared. This Vulcan. No fucking sense. They said Kirks were insane. Vulcan's Ang'jmizn took the cake. There was no reason, no logic in any of this that Jim could see.
"It is fortunate that you thought to construct such an ingenious device. Your intelligence must have been a valuable asset to Starfleet."
What in the world could he possibly hope to gain from helping Jim like this? And why Jim? Why not someone else? Not that he was complaining, but Spock was either crazy or Jim was really lucky. Or both.
"T'Pring has vowed to make an example of those who forcibly removed you. The smugglers will be executed without trial."
If they brought in the Interrogators, they'd figure out everything anyway.
"We will arrive on Vulcan in a few days. Rest. This has been unpleasant for us all."
It occurred to Jim that Spock might have arranged all of this as some elaborate show, a piece of mind fuckery bigger than T'Pring's.
But... that didn't seem like Spock. The Vulcan might be insane from Jim's point of view, but he wasn't calculating. No, he took that back. Spock was calculating. The most calculating bastard on the battlefield. Jim didn't think his mind bent to this kind of calculation though.
The rest of the trip, Spock visited him periodically as they made their way to Vulcan. Jim must've gotten far before his situation went sideways. The smugglers Spock had hired mutinied against their captain and decided to sell Jim off to a sex trader. He had been so close to escape.
Was it all a set up? Wasn't it too convenient? The ship Jim happened to be on happened to mutiny, Spock happened to give him a device that would let him know Jim was in trouble.
He couldn't decide. Slavery, T'Pring, the months that were passing were making him paranoid.
Whenever Spock visited, he didn't stay long or say much. Jim didn't say much either.
And despite his suspicions, whatever notions he had about Spock changed. Maybe it was Jim, maybe it was Spock, maybe it was the lighting. He saw things differently.
And he had a feeling that this was only the beginning.
--
T'Pring was puzzled.
This was the longest period of time that Spock had stayed on the planet, and she felt nothing of his usual restlessness through the bond. In fact, the she felt nothing at all.
It was as though something had settled inside him and he was satisfied with the state of things. He went to the priests regularly and was purified, he met with the Council to plan the grand attack against Terra. Spock insisted on looking over each plan and scrutinizing it with a fine tooth comb, arguing over the most mundane of details. If T'Pring did not know Spock, she would have said that he was purposely delaying his next campaign.
And then there was the slave. He returned with T'Pring with little protest, carried out his former duties. He resumed his habit of visiting Spock's estate often, but now that the security has been totally overhauled, T'Pring was satisfied that no such insult to herself or Spock would be perpetrated again. The smugglers protested their innocence, but that was nothing new.
She was puzzled by this new order of things.
Perhaps she should not be puzzled at all. After all, this is how it would likely be when she was finally bonded with Spock. He would go out on fewer campaigns, sending out his subordinates. The obedience of a formerly rebellious slave was a new sensation and T'Pring found that she rather liked it, seeing the evidence of her power manifested so thoroughly in another person. Spock's household and hers were linked and running smoothly.
Yes, this was the order of things. This was the stability the priests spoke of when they said her destiny was written with Spock's.
There was no doubt that Spock and James were conversing more. She often saw them together, looking over some text or diagram. It was right and fitting that Spock use the human's intelligence to his advantage. One could never be too prepared when facing an unpredictable enemy and humans were, as T'Pring well knew, unpredictable. Nonetheless, they were supremely teachable, as James proved.
She mused on what the Council would do with their new territory. A portion of the people would be displaced, of course, as it was standard procedure. Most of the displaced would go into slavery. A government would be established, the planet opened for colonization. Yes, Terra would be an excellent addition to their collection of planets.
The priests might even consider allowing Terrans status in society, out of deference to Spock. He was half Terran, after all, and they were greatly indebted to him for bringing such victories to Vulcan. Without him, they might still be warring against the Klingons for dominance of the galaxy.
T'Pring decided that she was satisfied with this arrangement. She had even reconciled herself to the presence of the human. He was not an unprofitable addition to her household. She had had her doubts when Spock presented the human as a gift, but it taught her that she should be more trusting of Spock's instinct. Instinct—that compulsion he once spoke of—caused him to purchase the human and everything resolved itself in her favor. On the balance, it was worth the insolence and petty looks James had initially directed at her. Look at him now. He was the perfect example of subservience. His intelligence, when trained correctly, was an asset to her household.
Destiny written was unfolding as it should, and T'Pring was pleased with its contents.
--
Things were going okay since he returned to Vulcan. It could be better—he could be free. If the transport had worked out, he might on Earth right now, planning an attack on Vulcan with Win. But he knew it could be much, much worse.
That knowledge was neither here nor there. Jim was learning to tolerate slavery, put up with what was once an abomination to his being. It horrified him sometimes, the way he was getting used to the Vulcan order of things.
Their Way. That mantra T'Pring and Spock repeated to each other. It terrified him that their Way would become his way.
He kept the dream of freedom alive as fiercely as possible, but Spock was making it really hard to do.
Ever since that incident when Spock helped Jim go free, then brought him back and lied for him to T'Pring and everyone else, things had changed between them. The taint of slavery still hung between them, but it wasn't so pronounced. Spock treated him—not like an equal, because Jim was beginning to see that Spock had no equal in Vulcan society—Spock treated him differently. Like a companion, maybe. Spock didn't seem to have any of those, despite his power and status. With the exception of T'Pring, of course.
But it still didn't make sense to him, what Spock did. There was no reason why Spock, who represented everything that Vulcan stood for, who was raised firmly in the Vulcan way, should and could stand apart from the evil and unjust things of Vulcan society. Jim didn't believe for a second that Spock would ever regard him as an equal and an individual with a right to his own life and his own freedom. Spock grew up with slaves around him. He was taught, from his first conscious moments, that Vulcan was superior to all others. There was no way a person could get away from attitudes written that deep.
Yet it seemed like maybe he had.
Jim asked him about it. Confronted him. They had had confrontations before, with Jim raising his voice and Spock mostly silent. Or speaking even, neutral tones.
"Why'd you do it?"
Blue eyes were looking at him suspiciously. Spock turned his attention to Jim fully.
"To what are you referring?"
"Everything. Why'd you buy me? And then let me use your place? And free me, then offer to help me?" Jim's voice got louder and more agitated as he went on. "Was it all a set up? Do you feel guilty about something? What am I, your pet project?"
Defiance was written into every line of Jim's body.
"You are not a project."
"Then what the fuck am I?" he yelled, fully aware that Spock was letting him yell, that if he wanted, Spock could have him tied by his thumbs for this display and no one would question him, no one would stop him, no one would say it was wrong.
"I do not know."
He truly did not know. It was a question he had often asked himself on restless nights. He did not know why he was delaying the campaign to Terra, why he was spending so much time in the Terran's company. Why he had partially closed the bond to T'Pring. He did not know.
"You are whatever you desire yourself to be," Spock said.
"Bullshit. Bull. Shit." Jim only had to point to the gold armbands he was wearing and he won his argument. "I'm whatever you want me to be. So tell me, who am I to you? What do you want me to be?"
Blue eyes blazed at Spock with fury and indignation, with a burning desire to be free.
Spock did not know. He did not know what he wanted Jim to be, only that he recoiled at the thought of changing Jim at all. The way that T'Pring had disciplined him while he was away—he had not sanctioned it, but still thought it cunning of her. It was distasteful, but if Jim ever asked, Spock would have to admit that he objected to the person on which she exercised her power, not the method itself. Spock objected to Jim enslaved, not slavery itself.
But what was special about this Terran that he should make an exception at all? Spock understood that this was the question burning in Jim's eyes. Why him? Why did Spock go through those lengths for him when clearly, he had never done so in the past and it was doubtful that he would ever do so again in the future? In Jim's eyes, if one should be free and able to do as they pleased, then should not all others able to have that freedom?
That kind of logic went against everything Vulcan was founded upon. For conquest by its very nature was a matter of superiority, that one civilization had a right to dominate another by virtue of its superior might, technology, philosophy, development, a multiplicity of reasons.
And here was a single Terran, asking Spock in single statement, what gave Vulcan the right to wield that power at all.
He did not know.
He had never questioned.
It was their Way, and he had always bowed to it.
"I do not know."
Jim refused to accept that answer.
"Then figure it out," he spat.
Anger rose. What right did this Terran have to speak in that tone, after all Spock had done for him? What right did this human have to challenge his authority, look at Spock with that gaze in his own house? None. He was a slave who had never known the Vulcan Way, an alien who could never understand the truth. He spoke thus only because Spock allowed it, he was clothed and sheltered only because Spock had bought him. T'Pring was right. He had been altogether too indulgent with the Terran.
"I will not allow you to question me in this manner."
So this is where Spock drew the line. Jim knew it wasn't real. That deep down inside, Spock was just like every other fucking supercilious oppressive bloodthirsty tyrannical Vulcan. What was it his mom always said about absolute power?
"Yeah?" Jim got up in Spock's face. "Then why don't you try and stop me."
Vulcan's finest Ang'jmizn, commander of entire fleets, conqueror of worlds, trained and dedicated to the service of the Vulcan Way, destined to rule the galaxy, challenged by a Terran slave. It was unthinkable.
Spock was about to lash out, take this insolent human and squeeze the very breath out of his life. No one would question him, no one would stop him, and no one say he was in the wrong. It would be his power, absolute, over an individual who dared to claim he was Spock's equal in every way, who dared to challenge his perceptions of the world and force him to reconsider the whole of his upbringing. The power to kill, the power to silence that voice and eliminate it forever was intoxicating. And it was his right.
But something inside him fought against that impulse. Something compelled him to control himself, to resist the calling, the sweet song of absolute power.
It was his right. It was his right.
No. It was not his right. It never had been his right, and never would be. With other slaves, he could claim his power without qualm, without doubt. With other slaves, he commanded total obedience.
With this slave, he could not. He did not know why.
Spock made a decision.
He stepped back, dark eyes on Jim.
"Leave," he said, voice hoarse.
Jim remained where he was, amazed that he was still standing.
"Leave!"
He had no idea what went on in Spock's mind for those few seconds, but he didn't need to be told a third time. Jim left.
--
"Spock, will you not dine with me tonight?"
"I must meditate."
"It is the third night of your meditation. What are your questions, that you so fervently seek answers?"
"T'Pring," Spock turned her to her, eyes dark. "Have you ever—was there ever a time when you doubted the sanctity of our destiny? The destiny of Vulcan?"
"What doubt can there be? We have the Enlightenment, our Way is that of truth and justice. It is right, Spock."
T'Pring's gaze was silver.
"But I have seen, in my campaigns, the way that others live. I have met the mind of our opponents and could it not be that their way is true as well?"
Spock's thoughts alarmed her, but they were not wholly unexpected. T'Pau had warned that Spock would enter a time of doubt. Every Ang'jmizn in the past had done so, when the weight of all the wars and the thought of all the casualties sank in. It would pass. T'Pring had only to guide Spock through this valley of darkness.
"If their way were true, why do they not stand conqueror? If their way were right, why is it Vulcan that rules the galaxy?"
"Might can never make right," Spock shook his head. These were all arguments he had considered before, and arguments that insufficiently answered his questions.
"Might does not make right, but right will always aid force that is just."
"That argument is circular."
"What other argument can there be, Spock? You and I have already traced the history of our ancestors. You know the grandeur of their cause, you know the state of the barbarian worlds. Our destiny is written, Spock. It has been, and it always shall be, thus. The supremacy of logic will triumph over chaos, we bring order to that which was nothing."
T'Pring touched Spock's face. His expression was troubled, but she would be the surety that he sought. She would be the guiding silver light that he looked to in this time of questioning.
"It is our Way."
Spock looked at her.
"It is our Way," he repeated.
The doubt lingered. She knew it would not leave in one day, but T'Pring would see that his mind was eased. He would dine with her that night.
"Spock, these doubts are logical."
"They are?" he asked, surprised.
Doubt had never been included in his education. Only the surety of duty, honor, victory. Vulcan.
"It is natural. Soon, you will be on the Buk, waging war against the Terrans, yet you are half Terran yourself."
"I am Vulcan, trained in our Ways."
T'Pring nodded.
"But blood is blood, and you know well that it has a mind of its own."
Spock shuddered. Of course. Blood called to its own.
"T'Pau has said that your father, before he began the campaign against the Klingons, had similar doubts."
T'Pau told her of the endless days that Sarek had meditated, tortured by questions to which he had no answer. He never told T'Pau the nature of his questioning. The only person he would admit into his presence was the human, the woman from which Spock's Terran heritage was formed.
"He died in that struggle."
"He conquered his doubts. You took up his mantle and finished the fight."
There was a time when he took comfort in T'Pring's surety, her confidence in their Ways. But she had not seen as he had seen, she did not feel the same compulsion. What answers could she give to his questions, to his doubts? Spock wasn't sure there were any answers to be found.
"Do not fear. Our Way is true and certain, and you will return to it," she pressed her fingers to his. "It is written."
"It is written," Spock whispered.
Nothing was written. This human, Jim, was not written. He was compelling, he was pulling.
Spock shook his head. He would never give up his honor and duty. It was his life, his very katra. He served Vulcan, and was honored to be chosen in that service.
"Come, Spock. Leave these questions and dine with me tonight."
He followed.
And on the other side of the wall was Jim, blue eyes glowing. He'd heard everything.
--
"Is your name symbolic or something?" Nyota grabbed Cornwallis's hair and yanked his head back. "Cornwallis. He was a traitor too, did you know? The American Revolution. Know any history, Cornwallis?"
She put her arms around his neck in a chokehold, her lips right by his ear.
"Maybe it's a family trait. Runs in the blood."
The guy was about to pass out. Nyota let go and he gasped for breath.
"How much did they pay you?"
His chest was still heaving, inhale exhale.
She twisted his elbow just so and he started screaming.
"How much!"
Screaming and screaming.
Nyota was losing it, his screams mixing with the memory of Win's screams, telling them to run, get back to the shuttle, run and the yells of pain.
Jim, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
And Win. There were no words. Nyota was still numb from the shock.
They couldn't afford this. Not now, not when there were rumors that Vulcans were getting ready to send their pride and prowess to Earth.
I'll find him, Win. I swear I'll find him.
But she had other priorities now.
Captain Nyota Uhura.
She shook her head, realizing that she'd snapped the lieutenant's elbow.
Anger surged. Fucking James Tiberius Kirk. If he'd never gotten caught. If Win weren't so obsessed. They needed Win. They needed her. Entire battles could hinge on her decisions, but Win couldn't let go of Jim.
Everything had hinged on Jim. Jim, lost to the Fortress. And now Win with him.
Captain Nyota Uhura. She had other priorities. Sobs and heaving pants mixed with memory. She couldn't afford to lose it. She couldn't afford to lose it. Nyota looked at the security officers next to her.
"Take care of this piece of shit."
They nodded.
No looking back.
Captain Nyota Uhura.
No mercy for traitors.