"Where'd you pick this one up?"
They were in the Object Room. Jim held up the two dimensional vid player and turned on the music. It grew on him, the opera. He liked the second act best. The tune of the parade was familiar.
"It was intended as a gift to T'Pring."
Jim laughed at the irony of that.
"What, she didn't like it?"
"The music is distinct from the traditions of Vulcan."
"It's not your 'way'," he said sarcastically.
"It is not," Spock agreed.
"Then why'd you keep it?"
Spock didn't answer.
He did that a lot. Jim was learning how to gauge the thousand qualities of his silences. He looked around the room again, the sight familiar. The whole room was full of stuff.
"I used to tinker around with machines," Jim said.
Spock nodded.
"That is how you were able to fix the Tellarite weapon."
He shrugged.
"It's come in handy once or twice."
Spock was staring at the vid player as though it held all the answers to a thousand questions. The Triumphal March was unfolding on the screen, slow and spectacular.
"Tell me about your planet."
"Earth?" Jim couldn't help the surprise in his voice. "You want me to tell you about Earth?"
"Yes."
"Look, you're not going to get any kind of useful intel from me. The Interrogators took all of that anyway."
"I am not asking for tactical information. I have all the maps and coordinates of the Terran system that I need."
Whatever. Jim rolled with it.
"What do you want to know? It's your average class M planet, three quarters of the surface is covered with water, most of the land is on the northern hemisphere. I've been a few places, but mostly I've been in space. Was born there."
Win. Was she looking for him? Was she okay? Jim pushed that thought away.
"I don't know. Earth's a lot greener than Vulcan. There's more water everywhere, in the air, in the ground. I was planetside mostly when I was a kid, then joined up with Starfleet when I was fifteen."
"I was not aware that Starfleet allowed recruits that young. You were not yet a legal adult."
"I had the aptitude for it. They put me in a training program, packed me off to space," he kept his speech deliberately vague. The Interrogators might've taken everything, but he wasn't going to spill his guts just because Spock asked. Old habits die hard.
And turnabout's fair play.
"What about you? Has this always been your home?"
"It has been in my family for three thousand one hundred and forty-one years."
Jim blinked.
"That's longer than Earth's Common Era and post-Warp combined."
"It is."
"So your family's been conquering planets for Vulcan all three thousand years?"
"No. Only in the past seven generations did we begin to serve Vulcan in a military capacity."
Jim whistled.
"My family's been in Starfleet for four generations. Seven's a lot. Does everyone go into the family business? You don't have any brothers or sisters?"
"I had a half brother who died in campaigns. My father also died in battle against the Klingons."
"And your mom?"
He watched Spock carefully. He'd heard T'Pring talk about Spock's Terran blood—that came out of fucking nowhere and left his head spinning with the implications, ways he might be able to use that, if he could at all. If Spock was part human, he didn't show any of it. Vulcan owned him, one hundred percent.
"The woman who contributed her genetic material to my conception was a Terran."
The fact that Spock didn't bother to hide it surprised him.
"You didn't know her?"
"No. Neither did I know my father. I was trained according to the plan of the Council and the dictations of the priests."
No wonder Spock was so single minded about Vulcan and his duties. Then again. Jim had practically lived and breathed Starfleet since he could crawl. He wasn't one to talk.
"When'd you captain your first ship?"
"At the age of thirteen."
Holy shit. Holy shit.
"You mean when the Klingons surrendered—?"
"I was seventeen. T'Pau thought it prudent that I gain experience before I finished my father's war."
Jim tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. The Vulcans were thorough. Everyone in the galaxy knew that. He hadn't realize just how thorough they could be.
Then he remembered T'Pring, her ways of conditioning Jim. Did they do that to Spock? Did he ever rebel? He was part human—there had to be some part of him that hated this grip they had on his person, on his mind, on the path of his life. There had to be some part of him that wanted to be free as much as Jim wanted to be back in space, coming and going as he pleased.
He looked at the opera, music sounding from the weird little speakers.
"What's this opera about anyway? I don't understand any of it."
Spock looked at him, eyes dark.
"It is about conquest and love," Spock paused. He stared at the little figures on the screen.
"Sounds interesting."
He'd figured as much.
Spock fixed his eyes on Jim once more. That look. It was... disturbing. Jim found himself staring back.
"It is about betrayal."
--
T'Pring watched Spock, gaze silver. He was reading a report in front of her, completely composed and unremarkable.
Desire blossomed in her. Her own datapad lay idle in her hands while she took in his every feature. It was said that his father Sarek was a handsome Vulcan, and that the human was a beauty. Spock had been gifted the same angular features of Sarek, yet his face was not harsh. The sharp lines were tempered by soft curves. T'Pring thought there was a quiet magnificence to him. The knowledge of his power and the weapon that was his mind enhanced his physical features.
Hers. Spock would be hers.
If only the priests would set a date for their bonding. T'Pau was, for reasons T'Pring vehemently disagreed with, hesitant to bond them. She had some irrational fear that after the bonding, Spock would no longer be an effective Ang'jmizn. It was a stupid superstition, one of the few that T'Pau held. The High Councilor had lost Sarek after he took the Terran as a consort. She illogically blamed his death on the death of the human.
T'Pring had thought many times of the night of their bonding, how it would be. She imagined what it would be like to finally be joined with Spock in both mind and body. That glorious intelligence and blade-like body would be hers, and she would be his. Vulcan's power—her power and Spock's power—would only grow after they were bonded. It was written. The prospect of the universe at their feet, T'Pring standing like a beacon of silver at Spock's right hand, the awe of that vision thrilled her. Spock's fleets would order the planets, T'Pring's laws would order their lives.
Spock sat perfectly still before her, dark eyes absorbing the texts with cool efficiency.
She wanted to reach out to him, trace her fingers to his face, share in that intimacy and know the complete meaning of the dark look behind his eyes.
In time. It would all come in its time. It was enough that he was on Vulcan at all. She couldn't remember the last time they had been able to sit in each other's presence like this, quiet and knowing. All that was written would come true, and T'Pring would have her prize, their dreams, Vulcan's glory.
"James," she called.
He came immediately.
Spock looked up from his reading.
"I attend," James said, words enunciated exactly as she taught him.
"Have Yttries bring tea. Spock?"
He was still looking at James. The human kept his focus on T'Pring. The change really was remarkable. T'Pring knew power—she had grown up learning to wield it for the good of Vulcan. But this power was different. She toyed with the idea of obtaining herself another slave like James and finding new ways to discipline such rebellious creatures. Other Vulcans had spoken of the satisfaction they experienced punishing an errant slave. Perhaps their perspectives were not without merit.
Spock flicked his eyes to her, then back to James.
"I require nothing."
He resumed his reading.
T'Pring waved her hand and James left the room.
Of course, she had visited households that beat their slaves excessively. T'Pring thought it uncouth that the marks of punishment should be so visible. Besides, while docility was important, there had to be a certain amount of agency intact in the slaves so that they could perform their necessary tasks without constant supervision. A totally broken slave was an inefficient one, and therefore of little use or value. She sometimes envied the management of Spock's estate. It hardly needed his oversight and the stewards made considered, if somewhat conservative, decisions with respect to finances, investments, development of properties on colonies, dealings with various tenants. His estate was a self sufficient kingdom, the slaves had served the family for generations, the trade passed down from elder to younger.
No, it was not true that Spock's estate was completely self sufficient. T'Pau and T'Pring often made decisions on Spock's behalf when he was on his campaigns. T'Pring already had extensive plans on how she and Spock would integrate their households and combine their assets.
Yttries entered and poured the tea. T'Pring idly continued her thoughts.
James had proved to be a surprisingly good steward. With additional training, she might increase his responsibilities. And there was the fact that he was attractive. She could pair him with one of her handmaids. They would produce valuable children, some of which she might sell.
"Yttries, a glass of port."
She took her tea and glanced at Spock. He suddenly looked tired.
"Is everything all right?"
He regarded T'Pring strangely.
"It is nothing."
Yttries returned with Spock's glass. T'Pring watched as he drained the glass.
"Tell me. Something weighs on your mind."
Silence.
A dark gaze.
"When did you become so calculating?"
"I do not understand."
"Your mind, T'Pring. It is like a silver machine."
Emotions rose inside her with such intensity that it surprised her. She did not know why she should react this way.
T'Pring regarded Spock coolly, eyes flashing with emotion.
"As long as it is an efficient one."
--
T'Pring stared at herself in the mirror.
A silver machine. What could he mean by those words?
She looked at her own features, hair loose and flowing.
She resented those words, though she did not know why.
In the reflection, her eyes glinted with emotion, desires submerged. She remembered once, early in her training, longing to join Spock in space. He would have adventures while she was to remain on Vulcan, dealing with the circuitous politics that ruled the Council and the priests. T'Pring asked Spock to take her along on his first campaign and he solemnly swore he would.
T'Pau prevented them from executing the plan.
"It is not thy place, T'Pring. Thy path is written in the sands of Vulcan, and Spock is bound to the stars. Together, thou shalt serve the honor of Vulcan."
She had protested, but T'Pau fixed an immovable stare on her.
"It is our Way, child."
A thousand emotions burned inside her.
"It is our Way."
--
The more time Spock spent with Jim, the more he noticed things about him. There was the light in his blue eyes—Spock had always seen that. The fierce intensity had compelled him.
No. Other details struck him now. The light of his smile. The fullness of his lips. The strength of his hands. The shape of his fingernails. The curve of his shoulder. The tapering of his neck.
Jim's mind was as brilliant as ever, a force of its own. Now, it was Jim's body that Spock began to appreciate. His eyes lingered. He looked on the Terran longer, gazed wandered over Jim's body.
This was the quality for which Jim was not executed. His physical appeal, the desirability. That is why he was sold. Perhaps it was a reason why Spock bought him twice.
Jim wasn't an idiot. He saw the way Spock was looking at him. In some ways he was flattered. Vulcan's Ang'jmizn, seduced by a human slave. And not just any human slave, but Jim. It was about time Spock realized how attractive Jim was.
In some ways he was flattered, but mostly he was angry. Because he was a slave, and Spock thought he had a right to look. Took for granted that he had a right to enjoy Jim's body, whether it was in looks or fucks. What should have been freely given and received was twisted.
And Jim would be damned before he let Spock touch him.
--
"You want me."
Jim looked at him, blue eyes like ice.
Spock could not deny it. Did not want to deny it.
"I am drawn to you."
Jim positioned his body just so, gold armbands prominently displayed.
"Then why don't you take what you want."
"Do you truly believe I would do that?"
After all the time they had spent together, both in silence and in sound, could Jim truly believe that Spock would force him? He regretted that the Interrogators did not kill Jim immediately the day they captured him.
"I'm a slave. You can do anything you want. No one's gonna stop you."
The words jarred Spock, coming out of Jim's mouth so softly and viciously. He had never entered into such interactions before. Spock knew consciously that beings were coerced into performing sexual acts, that some Vulcans and other aliens had many such slaves to indulge their pleasures. He had never faced it before, never sought to look deeper into the practice. What happened in other households did not concern him. He was planning his next campaign, he was satisfied with his bond with T'Pring. His destiny was in another way.
"I can't stop you. So why don't you do it."
Jim would make him see. He'd wrench the knife in as far as he could. Spock finally wanted him sexually, and fuck it if he'd just lie down and let the Vulcan do what he wanted.
He walked towards Spock slowly, somehow managing to exude erotic sensuality.
"You like what you see? Want to take it?"
It didn't matter, whatever understanding they'd managed to build. None of that mattered in the face of the reality, the systematic removal of Jim's rights to anything, including his body. He threw the fact that he was slave in Spock's face because it was nothing compared to being a slave. It was nothing compared to the knowledge, the fear that he could be used any way Spock or T'Pring or any Vulcan wanted, and he had no say. No rights. No protection. All of it, the degradation and cruelty, the injustice and evil, legally sanctioned.
"You want me. You can fuck me any way you want and no one can stop you."
The fact that he had it pretty good in T'Pring's estate didn't make it any better. It made it fucking worse. It made it a hundred times worse. And the way that she used that child, the way that she manipulated Jim was nothing compared to what others did. Jim had never seen up close and personal, but he knew. And he could imagine.
Spock just stood there. Stood there with dark eyes, taking in Jim's every movement.
That fucker. That motherfucker.
Jim whispered into the Vulcan's curved ear.
"No one can stop you. You like that the feeling of absolute power. Taking anything you want from me or anyone else. You love it."
Had Spock ever really seen? On his campaigns of glory, in his Processions of honor, parading slaves and captives in front of everyone gathered, had he ever understood?
No. Spock was a conqueror, through and through. He lived his life totally free. And in that total freedom, he never even considered what it meant to be a slave.
It was their Way.
Slavery had never looked so intoxicatingly tempting before. To hold Jim and subject him to whatever he desired. To own all his pleasure and pain, wrenched from the human's body. A slave, unable to do anything to prevent whatever acts performed on its body, compelled to do whatever it was ordered, utterly dominated and forced into submission. Absolute power had a dark appeal, its song a sweet siren. It held out every possibility, the fulfillment of his every wish and whim.
At the price of the total and involuntary degradation of another.
Coerced, unwilling.
That was the fact that Jim threw in Spock's face, the immutable reality he flaunted with every movement of his body. His will, his uncompromised claim to freedom burned in his blue eyes and would not let Spock go. Jim's gaze measured him, judged him, and found him absolutely wanting.
Spock recoiled.
Slavery had never looked so ugly before.
And he knew with startling clarity that before this slave, before this human, before Jim, he could never do it. He could never take what was lawfully his because what was lawful was not right, and what was right was impossible, in this context. The taint of slavery would always hang between them. Whether that taint was strong or weak, it did not matter. It would always be present.
Asking Jim, assuring Jim of Spock's intentions, was meaningless. It was not a concession, only a reinforcement of Spock's power, for he could choose to deal with Jim in that manner. Jim had no choice but to obey Spock on whatever terms were set. The form could never compensate for the underlying content of the interaction.
That knowledge shook him. No matter how much Spock desired Jim or was drawn to him, he could not, he would not do it. Vulcan had already taken what was never theirs to take.
Spock stepped away from Jim.
Any other person, Spock might not have seen. Any other person and he might have been able to justify himself by the manner in which he executed those actions. Justify himself by his right as a Vulcan, as a conqueror.
Jim made slavery an absolute. He put it between them and laid out to Spock that nothing mitigated the fact that he was a slave, that Spock held mastery over him. He made it clear that as far as he was concerned, sex could never be about anything other than power, and anything deeper was out of the question. Submission by either side was meaningless if the initial terms were unequal in the first place. Another time, another place, where he and Spock were both free, he might consider it. But not here. Never here.
"Why. don't. you. just. take. it."
Spock had no answer to that.
Jim sneered.
This is where he drew the line. This is where they could never cross to meet each other.
"James," T'Pring's voice called. "Attend."
Jim got up and left.
When he was gone, Spock closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.
Slavery had never looked so ugly before.
--
Spock was suddenly eager to go back out to space again. T'Pring did not need the bond to see it. He spent most of his time away from his estate, going through inspection routines, reviewing the plans drawn up with a new intensity. The priests also reported that he was with them much of the time, undergoing rituals of purification. He delayed their attack on Terra, claiming that their intelligence was not sufficient for an assured victory. Instead, he would go deep in space to reinforce their borders. Reports indicated that the Cardassians were stirring talks of rebellion. He would go there and strengthen their position, expedite the construction of their bases.
The priests consulted the Scrolls and found that Spock's decision was logical. Conditions for an attack on Terra would be more favorable at a later date.
T'Pring tried to speak to the priests and T'Pau about the matter of bonding, but they would not hear her. The bonding must come after grand victory, during an auspicious occasion. T'Pau's influence was great in this matter. Her silly belief had infected some of the other older council members, those who remembered Sarek and his sudden death. It frustrated T'Pring to no end. Nevertheless, she bowed to their will.
It was their Way.
She noted that Spock also spent a considerable amount of time with Khart-lan Stonn, one of his deputies. Spock had mentioned him a few times to T'Pring, stating that Stonn showed much promise. He was a steady commander and solid tactician. T'Pring saw the measure of Stonn in one silver glance. He was an excellent officer, but he was not Spock. No one could ever be Spock. No one, except perhaps the child T'Pring hoped to bear one day. She pushed that thought aside, instead focusing on assisting Spock with his Cardassian operations.
All conversation and almost all contact with James ceased. T'Pring did not think it odd. Spock had no need of his services or any information the human might provide. He was away from his estate for most of the time in any case. In truth, she was relieved that Spock was no longer in the company of the human. Not only was such an association improper, but she could not help but think that some form of attachment had been developing between them. Likely Spock recognized that as well and took the right and prudent course of action.
But... something was lacking in her interactions with Spock.
He paid her every attention. When he was not occupied, they spent the time together. T'Pring told him of her day and he replied in all the appropriate places and recounted the state of his affairs in turn. He attended every dinner with her, she even convinced him to make an appearance at several political functions. Spock usually shunned them as he found them tiring. Politics was her realm, not his. Yet it was as though his mind was now occupied by a machine. He operated by the age old tenets of duty, honor, logic, Vulcan, but what was once his source of inspiration and the substance of his dreams was a rusted sword.
For reasons unknown, T'Pring thought of that strange little box Spock had brought from Altair. She knew it was a machine and knew that she might be able to take the box apart, put it back together, study its components.
But inside, she feared there might be a sound. Alien music wholly corrupted, disturbing yet compelling in its own dark way.
--
"It is our Way."
Spock took what solace he could in those words. They had guided and upheld him all his life. The Way represented everything he fought for, protected, believed in. He had come this far following its tenets. It was all he had left.
He repeated to himself the ritual of honor, the words he spoke whenever he came back to Vulcan after a successful campaign.
"Thou hand returned glorious. Vulcan honors thee."
Glory. Vulcan. Honor.
"I am honored by Vulcan."
Honor. Vulcan. Service.
"Thou hast defeated our enemies by the might of logic."
Might. Logic. Conquest.
"Our enemies are defeated. May Vulcan live eternal."
Life. Vulcan. Conquest.
"Thou art the sword of Vulcan. Thy blade is sharp."
Sword. Blade. Vulcan.
"I am the instrument of order. My life I dedicate to the protection of our Way."
Order. Life. Way.
"Thou has returned victorious. Vulcan honors thee."
Victory. Vulcan. Honor.
"I am honored by Vulcan. My life I lay down in her service."
Honor. Vulcan. Service.
Service for conquest, honor won in victory, glory in the might of logic, the Vulcan blade granting order to life, the Vulcan way granting life to the sword.
His entire life, dedicated to a Way he did not question, fighting for an order he never doubted, glorying in honor he thought untainted, victorious in conquest he thought unblemished.
And the vision of one Terran standing before him, challenging his blade of absolute power armed with nothing but his bare hands unshackled, staring at him with blue eyes burning with freedom.
"It is our Way."
Spock reined himself in and prepared for his next campaign.
--
Spock entered his quarters, exhausted after a long day inspecting the ships and overseeing the assembly of the various crews. He stripped off his robes before he realized that someone was in his quarters.
"Show yourself," he commanded.
A man stepped out from where he stood.
Spock was silent.
Blue eyes took in his naked form. Spock simply stood in place as Jim walked around him. His eyes met Jim's and he could not read what he saw there.
He did not know what to make of this Terran, physically or mentally. His dreams tortured him with images, sensations he could never have and would never allow himself to take. His thoughts hounded him with questions of his entire upbringing, the destiny that priests, the Council, T'Pau, T'Pring, Vulcan, his father, his family had written into him. The fate that he had once accepted and believed.
In eight days he would be back to his Way. The only Way he knew, the Way he was taught. The Way he could no longer desire. The Way he could never give up.
Jim broke the silence.
"I make one pass at you and you avoid me for weeks afterwards? And run away to your fiancée? I think I should be insulted."
This Terran. Spock did not know what to make of him.
"I have been occupied making plans for—"
Jim put his fingers to Spock's lips.
Spock watched him with dark eyes.
Watched as Jim stepped back and took off his clothes. Watched Jim fumble picking at the clasps of his gold armbands.
Spock stepped forward.
"If I may?"
Jim nodded and held out his right arm, then his left, and felt the bands slip off.
It was a fucking good feeling.
He kissed Spock, hand to hand, mouth to mouth.
It was—Spock felt he might fall apart—he did not understand how this sudden reversal came about and without that understanding, he couldn't. Jim had made his position clear the last time the confronted one another and he could see no reason, no logic why Jim should suddenly come to him in this manner. It made no sense. His worldview had suffered enough upheavals in the past months that he could not accept this without knowing the motivation, the justification.
"Jim," he gasped and stepped away. "I cannot—"
Jim was dragging his thumb along the back of Spock's hand, making him shudder—
"Jim, I cannot. I will not take—"
"You're not," Jim stepped forward. "I want this too."
He kissed Spock again, tongue to tongue, wrists to wrists.
Spock broke away again.
"Why?"
Eyes dark with desire but he could see Spock reining everything in.
He had an answer. The right words.
"You're too sexy for your own good. Can't I want you and act on that, if you want me too?"
Because isn't that how it is, when the terms are equal?
Spock didn't say anything.
No yes or no, no permission granted or revoked, nothing. Just looks and comprehension.
He kissed Jim, lips to lips, thumbs to thumbs.
And in the new space of Spock's rooms, Jim found new possibilities, and reclaimed a part of freedom.
--
They met in Spock's quarters every night before he had to leave.
Eight nights was not nearly enough for Jim. Months had passed since he became a slave and T'Pring's conditioning had seeped through the cracks, eroded away at his memory. He hadn't forgotten what it was like to be free—he would never forget that. But he had forgotten the sting of it. The exhilarating bite wanting something and being able to act on it exactly as he pleased, instead of clamping down on desire.
Eight nights was an entire world for Spock. It was a rush, a dam crumbling after water pounded away and widened the cracks year after year. He felt things, wanted things, thought of things he had never felt, wanted, or thought before. The time with Jim opened another spectrum of possibilities, beyond the Way of duty and honor. He was overwhelmed by the surge and the freedom of the experience.
"Don't go," Jim said to him the last night.
Spock looked at Jim with his dark eyes.
"I hate it here. I hate those," he pointed to the gold armbands. "Don't go."
Spock kissed him.
"I will return."
It was his Way.
--
"Be victorious, Spock," T'Pring pressed her fingers against his.
He regarded her, eyes solemn and grave.
A thousand emotions rose inside her. Desire, memory, sudden longing to rid herself of her politics and silver facade, to take him by the hand and go with him into the dark reaches of space. The bond between them was fading. She could feel it.
T'Pring wanted to touch her hand to his face, wanted to give him assurance, wanted to be the silver light to his darkness. But she did not. Time, space, silver machines and silver honor, a thousand different things she could not name stood between them.
He held up the ta'al.
She mirrored his action.
And then he was gone.
--
When Spock returned from his Cardassian campaigns, he had two gifts—one for T'Pring, and one for Jim.
To T'Pring, he gave a bolt of delicate silver cloth that she might have fashioned into a garment of her preference. She was pleased with the gift, pleased with Spock's quick return, and pleased to see his dark eyes warm and alive again. She had feared that the time away and the distance between them would lead to Spock's further withdrawal, but it seemed to be the opposite. Perhaps Spock truly was a Vulcan bred for space. He must return there to be revitalized. He dined with her, spoke with her in pleasant tones, asked after her household. It was almost like the days when they were children.
He asked her no more questions about the Way and seemed reconciled to his destiny. All was proceeding as it was written.
To Jim, he gave, in the privacy of his quarters, a look, a touch, a kiss, a smile. And a set of completely Terran civilian clothes. T-shirt, leather jacket, jeans, and boots.
Jim gave him a weird look.
"When would I ever wear these?"
"If you ever get a chance to escape."
"Don't you think it'd be a huge giveaway?"
"The clothes you wear right now are even bigger giveaway."
"Huh. Good point. I could just steal something from your closet."
"All of my robes are tailor made and carry my insignia. I assure you, it would not assist you in escaping."
Jim fingered the leather jacket.
"Okay," he said softly. Then smiled. "Come on."
He slipped out of his clothes. Spock quickly did the same.
In between kisses and moans, Jim managed to whisper
"I've missed you."
In between touches and tastes, Spock managed to reply
"And I you."
--
"Why do you have the Object Room at all?"
"T'Pring started the collection, when we were children."
Jim shifted at the mention of T'Pring. Things hadn't been bad while Spock was away. But Jim would never accept what she did. Never stop wanting to be free of her silver gaze.
"She was not always as she is now."
He didn't say anything to that. There was nothing Spock could say that would change Jim's mind.
"There was a plant—a white desert plant she had found one day in her excursions outside Shikahr—that T'Pring wanted to hide from her father and mother. I provided a location. The Object Room became a place we hid anything that was disapproved of."
"How much of that stuff is T'Pring's?"
"None. She has no need to use my space any longer. T'Pring has built her own garden. Have you not seen it?"
"No."
And he had no interest in seeing it.
"It is quite remarkable, the collection of species she has managed to cultivate."
"Can we stop talking about T'Pring? I want to know why you've got all that stuff in there."
"Most are objects I found during my campaigns. I do not know why I brought them back. They are obsolete."
"So? I told you I used to tinker around. Not everything useful is new."
A pause.
"Some are pieces of hybrid technology."
"Really?"
"Failed and successful attempts to cobble together two disparate technologies to create something new. I was interested in which designs were effectively integrated and which were not, and the reasons for those outcomes."
"Found anything?"
"No," Spock shrugged. "Each case was different. Generalizations could not be applied."
"And the other stuff? What about the vid player?"
"It was a gift to T'Pring—I believe I already informed you of this."
"I know it was a gift, but why that one? Why'd you keep it?"
Spock gave a half shrug.
"It was the music, wasn't it?"
"Perhaps. I do not know."
"Here's a question," Jim grinned.
Spock raised his eyebrow.
"Yes?"
"Why'd you buy me? Why'd you let me go? And why'd you come back for me?"
A pause.
"I do not know. Perhaps the same reason why I kept the vid player and its music."
Spock shifted his position.
"Enough," he kissed Jim, hands wandering on his body. "I must meet with the Council soon. I have a little more time, and I will make use of it."
Jim smiled, blue eyes brilliant.
"Fine by me."
--
Spock couldn't remember a time in his life like this.
Perhaps in his early years, when he and T'Pring snuck away from their numerous teachers, went outside the city walls and explored the unknown vastness of the desert and canyons. T'Pring had led, skipping along the sands, her hair coming free of its elaborate setting, silver jewelry scattered along the way. Spock ran after her, getting dust on his robes, ripping holes into the delicate fabric as he climbed over rocks. They discovered caves and pretended they were on planets far away, facing monsters and bringing order to the galaxy.
Spock fought imaginary enemies, T'Pring crowned him with imaginary wreaths of honor. They spoke the ritual of honor together, solemnly repeating the fated words and then bursting out into helpless giggles.
They were also always found and promptly returned to their estates. T'Pring's mother and father looked on sternly and did not need to express their disapproval for the wild state of her hair, the silver ornaments lost. It was evident. T'Pau also looked at him with heavy silence, taking in the sight of scraped elbows, torn knees, red smeared all over his hands and dusting his face. T'Pring once said it made him look more Terran, the dust of the red desert.
"Do you find it disturbing?"
"No," she smiled, trying to control the intensity of that expression and failing. "I like it."
But T'Pau made it clear that Spock had no time for games or play. His duty was to Vulcan, his life was upholding its honor. He did not protest, nor did T'Pring. She had rebelled once, objecting openly, and was severely punished for it. It was their Way.
It was their Way and it was written, but none of the Scrolls, nothing in logic dictated that this would happen. That Jim would come into their lives and change everything.
He felt as though he was in the desert again, chasing the wind, discovering a cave, cautiously exploring all the contours of a once familiar place. He felt the same wonder as he had the first time they took him out to space and he looked out to that vastness. The Khart-lan of the vessel had seen his expression of wonder. The Khart-lan pointed to the stars and the pinpricks of light, naming each one. He told him which were part of the Vulcan territories, which lay outside, which ones had Vulcan warriors stationed to guard them, which ones they were fighting for. Spock imagined briefly it was what his father would have told him, had he lived to see that moment.
"All this and more, will be yours," the Khart-lan said.
Spock thirsted after those lights, that black space.
And he remembered T'Pau taking him to another part of the view and pointing.
She pointed to Vulcan.
"Thy life thou givest to the service of Vulcan. Thy life thou dedicatest to the honor of our Way."
He nodded.
She touched his shoulder and in a moment that would never be repeated, her voice grew soft and gentle.
"Is she not beautiful, Spock?"
Spock looked up at T'Pau, but she was staring at Vulcan, an inscrutable expression on her face. She gripped his arm tighter in the closest gesture T'Pau would ever come to a caress.
"That is our home."
He said nothing, the silence between them deep.
"That is our Way," she whispered.
Spock looked out at the blackness.
"It is our Way," he repeated.
And for reasons he could not fathom, he suddenly saw the image of a girl in the middle of the desert, the sky black above them. She was staring up at the stars, her feet unshod, skin touching the fine sand. Her arms were bare and she felt the subtle stirrings of the night air. She stared up at the stars, feet planted in the ground, arms spread to catch the wind.
Remembering the image of the girl, Spock could not distinguish if she was T'Pau or T'Pring.
--
Jim was falling, and falling fast. Freefalling down from amazing heights kind of fast. He'd felt it before, he knew the signs. This was bad. This was really fucking bad.
He hadn't planned on it, hadn't seen in coming. Like everything else about Spock, this hit Jim out of left field and left him spinning. When he went to Spock that night, he seriously didn't meant for it to escalate like this. It was a statement, he was proving something to himself and to Spock. It was an impulse. It was the fact that he hadn't been laid for a while and Spock was available. Spock was dark, hot, powerful, compelling. That was a heady combination for anyone and it turned Jim on like nothing else.
It was the fact that Spock treated Jim differently from the beginning, the fact that Spock let Jim make rules, make space, define himself, find a measure of freedom. Seriously, that night and the nights that followed were a lot of things, but they were not about falling. Not like this.
But Jim was falling, and falling bad.
He couldn't stop it. Didn't know if he wanted to. He knew he should, because with Spock back, the plan to attack Earth was back on track and they were getting ready. Spock was planning, looking over intel, meeting with his officers. The Fleet was getting outfitted with updates. Politicians were jockeying for position to become the next governor of what they anticipated would be the next Vulcan colony. He should not be falling, he should be looking for ways out, looking for ways to escape and warn Earth, way to contact Win and tell her everything he knew.
He tried. He tried a thousand different ideas to get a message out, anywhere. He tried a thousand different ways to not fall for Spock. Listed a thousand different reasons why this was not going to happen, why it could never happen, why Jim could never let it happen.
Nothing, nothing, and nothing.
Despite his best efforts, nothing panned out and Jim felt like a traitor in so many ways. Felt like somehow, Vulcan had finally reached in and grabbed his soul and instead of fighting against that grip, he was melting into it. He was quiet, compliant, fucking obedient. This was unacceptable.
But when Spock looked at him with those dark eyes of his, when Spock said Jim's name like it was the key to something, he forgot. Forgot about betrayal, pushed aside his worries about Earth. Jim forgot he was a slave, forgot Spock was Ang'jmizn getting ready to lead Vulcan ships to Earth. Forgot Spock was the enemy.
When Spock looked at him and said Jim's name like it was Jim's name, not anyone else's, not a mark of Spock's power, not anything greater or smaller but just a name, a mark of his identity and personhood, Jim could feeling himself falling faster and faster.
What's more, he could tell that Spock was falling too.
And what was once a statement, a declaration, an impulse, a desire to reassert his power and his rights turned into something completely different. Something that scared the shit out of Jim.
Because it was wrong. Everything he believed in, everything that he stood for went against what was happening to Jim right now. Jim burned for freedom. He joined Starfleet, he and Win fought for Earth because they believed that no species had the right to dictate to others how life should be lived, how civilizations should be developed, how laws should be written, or how technology developed. No one had the right to speak for another person, choose for another person, take from another person what was not willingly given.
Everything he believed in said that love is impossible in slavery. Because love required equality, and it required that those equals give up a part of themselves for another. In slavery, there were no equals, no giving, no parts. Everything was taken. It was an absolute. That's what slavery meant, and whatever the interactions between master and slave, love could have no place in it.
Jim was falling, and falling hard. Crashing. Trying to press the brakes but still being pulled in, still hurtling to something he thought was impossible and couldn't really exist. Something he thought could only be a perversion of the real thing, a twisted parody wearing a sick smile.
Spock only had to say his name and he was a free man giving up that freedom to betray everything he held dear.
He was a traitor. A slave. A fool, deserter.
He was free. He'd dared to set his own terms and refused to let anyone compromise them. He was alive, standing, unbroken. Changed.
Assumptions reconsidered, rules rewritten, feelings transformed by his own free will.
Because isn't that how it is, when the terms are equal?
--
"It is not necessary to use such tactics against them. Terra will not be a profitable or peaceful addition to our territories if we so totally ravage the land."
T'Pring grew irritated. Spock been arguing with her and the Council's decisions more often and more vigorously of late. She understood his distaste for the utilization of such brute force, but he had done it before. There was no reason to protest now.
"Indulgence will only lead to further rebellion," she replied. "It is best to strike hard and fast, break their military and all infrastructure so that there is no hope for turning the tide with a late victory."
"Slashing and burning can do nothing but wreak senseless destruction and breed resentment."
"Mercy accomplishes nothing but increased efforts to prevent us from taking what is our right. They will perceive us as weak and unwilling to take the necessary action, and they will take advantage of that."
Spock's expression was dark.
"I am not speaking of mercy, T'Pring. I am speaking of enhancing our position in the region and reducing the cost of reconstruction by allowing key areas of the planet to remain intact."
"The cost of rebuilding and establishing our presence on the planet is secondary to the psychological impact we must impress on their population."
"Slash and burn in no way is a means to shock and awe the Terrans."
"It is a demonstration of our power and makes clear the full measure of our capabilities."
"T'Pring you have not seen—"
Spock stopped himself abruptly.
"What have I not seen?" T'Pring demanded. "I have seen it visiting our colonies. I have read it in the reports. What have I not seen, Spock?"
He was silent, dark eyes unreadable.
"This is our Way and it is our right. The Council has decided it," she said, silver facade firmly in place. "Will you disregard their ruling? Will you disobey their order?"
He stood silent.
"Spock, why do you do this? I thought your doubts and troubles were resolved."
"They are."
"Then why these protests? Buildings can be rebuilt, we will improve their infrastructure, introduce beneficial changes to their governments. It is our Way."
"T'Pring, have you never thought that their way might be true as well? That it is possible to have many truths and many ways without contradiction?"
His voice was quiet and his eyes searching, as though he sought from her some sign. T'Pring held herself in her Councilor's posture.
"There are many truths and many ways, but ours is best."
Spock's expression closed.
"This is the Way," T'Pring said.
Something folded in her mind. Spock looked at her, an unnamed emotion behind his eyes.
"It is our Way."
--
Spock was taking off Jim's armbands. Blue eyes watched as able fingers unlocked the clasps and neatly pulled the pieces of gold away.
"I love you," Jim blurted out.
That... came out of nowhere. He hadn't planned on saying anything to Spock.
Spock put his hand to Jim's face and kissed him, the kiss growing passionate. This Terran.
Then stepped away.
"I should never have brought you here."
Wait.
"What?"
That definitely wasn't what Jim thought Spock would say. He didn't have an idea of what he thought Spock would say, but that definitely wasn't it.
"These should never have touched your arms," Spock threw the armbands to the floor, where they fell with a dull clatter. He traced his finger along Jim's psi points. "They should never have Interrogated you and marked your mind."
Jim took Spock's hand in his.
"I should never have brought you here. You should be free."
He kissed Spock's fingers.
"I'm not yours to free. You gifted me, remember?"
"I will speak with T'Pring—"
"No," Jim said, voice sharp. "No. My freedom isn't something you win for me. It's not something you give to me. You didn't take it away—"
"I am Vulcan—"
"Were you the one who put the chains on me? Were you the one who dragged me to the auction block?"
Spock was silent.
"My freedom isn't something you took away, and it's not something you're going to give either. It's mine.," he drew Spock close to him. "Never anyone else's. Mine."
"But if you could be free—if you could go to Terra—you know I am Ang'jmizn and will lead a campaign—"
Jim put his fingers to Spock's lips.
"Don't think about it."
He felt Spock's mouth open to respond. Jim slipped his index finger between Spock's teeth.
"Don't think about it. You live and breathe war and all this shit about duty. You've been fighting since you were thirteen. Don't think about it."
Jim's voice was low, hypnotic.
Escape. This was their escape.
"Don't think about it."
Escape and dream of another place, another time, away from these elaborate lives and elaborate lies. Escape and play the part, believe in freedom burning, look into his eyes and find a space. Find gold bands thrown aside, shattered like glass, find music singing of love, duty, country, betrayal. Escape into each other and forget.
( Ohime! di guerra fremere
L'atroce grido io sento,
Per l'infelice patria,
Per me... per voi pavento.
Ah!—no, sulla mia patria
Non geme il cor soltanto;
Quello ch'io verso e pianto
Di sverturato amor! )
--
T'Pring entered Spock's study. The odd little machine was present, softly playing its music. A man was singing, voice full of longing.
Se quel guerrier
Io fossi! se il mio sogno
S'avverasse!... Un esercito di prodi
Da me guidato... e la vittoria ... e il plauso
Di Menfi tutta! E a te, mia dolce Aida,
Tornar di lauri cinto...
Dirti: per te ho pugnato, per to ho vinto!
Celeste Aida, forma divina.
Mistico serto di luce e fior,
Del mio pensiero tu sei regina ,
Tu di mia vita sei lo splendor.
Il tuo bel cielo vorrei redarti,
Le dolci brezze del patrio suol;
Un regal serta sul crin posarti,
Ergerti un trono vicino al sol.
She shuddered slightly at the music, but kept her expression neutral.
"Do you know what he is saying?"
"Yes."
"James, attend," she called into the corridor, then settled into a chair. "Tell me."
Spock hesitated, then nodded. He turned the music back, pushing buttons restart the music from the beginning.
"T'Pring, you called?"
"Have you finished the accounts?"
"They are in my quarters, I will go—"
The singing began, and Spock with it. His gaze was directed to some inner space, thoughts opaque to T'Pring.
"What if 'tis I am chosen,
and my dream be now accomplished.
Of glorious army
I the chosen leader—mine glorious victory—
by Memphis received in triumph!
To thee returned, Aida, my brow entwined with laurel,
tell thee, for thee I battled, for thee I conquered.
"Blue-eyed Aida, beauty resplendent,
radiant garland blooming and bright;
thou reignest o'er me transcendent,
bathing my spirit in beauty's light.
"Would that thy bright skies once more beholding,
breathing the soft airs of thy native land;
round thy fair brow a diadem folding,
thine were a throne next the sun to stand."
The opera continued playing, but silence reigned between T'Pring, Spock, and Jim.
"I'll—" T'Pring heard him swallow. "I'll go get the accounts."
Spock turned his gaze to her.
She rose from where she was sitting and extended two fingers. He met them, eyes dark.
James returned with the datapads. He put them to the side and exited the room.
--
Weeks passed. The time was drawing near. T'Pring did not see Spock very often, so occupied was she with her duties and he with his. It was always this way before he launched a campaign.
Yet the distance between them was growing rapidly and she could not understand the cause of it. She had become accustomed to his blade-like presence in her mind, and took comfort. She always had. But the bond was weakening, slipping away, somehow splintering despite the fact that he was on Vulcan. It should be strengthening. They were working towards their common cause, their united ambition. What was written would soon be true. T'Pau was amenable to her suggestions that she and Spock bond after he returned to Earth. Surely that was an auspicious occasion and grand victory.
It would not snap, she knew. Nor could the bond be severed. Nonetheless, it worried her, the distance. He had not been this far from her since his long and arduous battles against the Klingons.
"Spock? Is there anything the matter?" she would ask. She couldn't help but asking. This should concern him too.
"No," he always replied. "Does something worry you?"
He said it with such confidence, such calm. Perhaps it was only her anxiety.
"No," she exhaled. "No, it is nothing."
--
This was it. Fuck. Everything was in place. He had no idea when, but he knew it was soon. Spock was going to the temple to purify himself every other day. T'Pring had him working out some kind of logistical calculations. He was tempted to sabotage half of them, but didn't. Because of Spock. What if one of Jim's errors cost Spock his life? Sometimes the stupidest things meant life or death out in space. Jim knew. He'd lived it, after all. Though that life seemed like it was an eternity away.
This was tearing Jim apart.
They were going to attack Earth.
They were going to attack Earth.
He found himself wishing a thousand different things. That he'd never gone to follow up on that tip, that he'd mutilated himself, that he'd killed himself in that cell or that the Interrogators killed him, that Spock had never bought him, let him go free, that the crew of that smuggling ship never mutinied, that Spock had never come back for him, never given him space, never looked at him, never kissed him, never touched him.
It was easier to blame it on Spock. Otherwise he'd have to admit that he was the one who drew the lines, he was the one who went to Spock and started this whole thing in the first place, he was the one who found himself missing Spock, made up fifteen different excuses to spend time with him, got caught up in those dark eyes, let Spock touch him. Fell in love with him. Of his own free will. Of his own free will.
And now Spock was going to Earth on that fucking Vulcan mission to dominate the Milky Way Galaxy.
They were going to attack Earth and Jim couldn't help but want Spock to come back safe to him, whatever the cost.
His throat closed, chest clenched.
They were going to attack Earth and Jim couldn't help but hope that Spock would die, Earth would stay safe and free, and Vulcan would fall.
His gut twisted inside.
They were going to attack Earth.
--
They were going to attack Terra.
The time was set. The ceremonies completed. The ships ready.
A thousand emotions flashed in T'Pring's eyes. Her silver facade trembled.
Spock had totally closed the bond to her. Even when she sought entrance and gently touched his mind, he refused, giving the excuse that he was preparing himself for battle.
She did not need the bond to know that was a lie. Spock was lying to her. He had never lied to her. Certainly he withheld things, certainly there had been times when he was silent rather and answer her inquiries. But now he lied to her without hesitation, blocked her out.
He did not block her all the time. Only selectively. T'Pring jealously tried to find a pattern, but there was none. He blocked her when he was in the temple. He muted their bond when they were debating tactics in front of the Council. He blocked her in the privacy of his estate. He closed his doors to her, when he had promised he never would!
It burned against her, this knowledge.
And she knew, by the look on his face, the glow in his eyes, that he was sexually sating himself, often and regularly. She did not know when and with whom, but she knew, with the sense that all Vulcan women had, that he had another partner stowed away. Hidden. His interest in her was fading, had already faded.
Malice and jealousy flared inside her.
Spock was hers. His mind was hers, his body was hers. They were betrothed, meant for each other. It was written. It was to be their Way. She would not share him with anyone else, and the thought that he turned to another made her burn with a thousand emotions.
She would find this rival. She would destroy them.
Her mind worked, sought, calculated, compiled facts and observations, thought of ploys and stratagems to coax a confession from Spock, to find the answer. She thought of all the ways she could torture her rival, strip them of power, dignity, wealth, position—whatever it was they held most dear, she would devastate them by destroying both it and taking Spock. He was hers. No one was meant to touch him but her. No one was allowed to capture his attention like that but her. It was written.
Malice like mercury oozing, thoughts behind her silver facade yet a thousand emotions flashed in her eyes. Doubt, rage, jealousy burning.
When did it happen? When did his mind turn away from her? Why had she not seen before?
She should never have bent to the will of the Council. They should have been bonded long ago, then this would never happen. Now Spock going to Terra and no one could guess how many months, years, it might take. What if it was his last? What if he died, frozen in space? She could murder T'Pau for it, for standing in the way of her right. Spock was her right.
No. Spock would return victorious. He always came back to her victorious. It would be as it was. It was written. No matter her unknown rival, what was written could not be denied and T'Pring would have her Way.
She would still find her rival and destroy them. Kill them with a thousand cuts. Her mind calculated, silver plots flashing.
T'Pring tried reaching out over the bond once more.
And was met with a wall of silence.
--
"Don't go. Don't do it," Jim whispered. "For me. For you. You're half human. They're your mother's people. Earth's your home too."
They were lying together in bed. Tomorrow at sunrise, Spock would leave for his campaign to Earth.
It tore at Jim. He wanted Earth free. He could never want Spock to be victorious. But Spock defeated meant Spock dead. And he couldn't want that either.
Spock shifted beside him.
"Don't go. Don't do it."
His words were useless, he knew. Spock was Vulcan's Ang'jmizn. Desertion was death. And Spock could not betray the principles on which his entire life had been founded. He was a creature of duty. Vulcan must always come before all else, including love. Including himself.
It didn't stop Jim from trying. He held a lot of sway over Spock. Spock gave him that power when he allowed himself to be changed by Jim, when he tried to see the world in Jim's light. Jim had a lot of sway over Spock, but wasn't enough to override the Vulcan teachings, washed into him over the years. Jim's only power was love, and young love at that. Vulcan had a whole arsenal at their disposal. T'Pring had a whole arsenal at her disposal.
But if Spock could remember Jim's words, he might show mercy. Spare Earth. Or something. Jim had to grasp at something. He had spent the past nights imagining Iowa up in flames, seeing humanity scattered and shackled.
Fuck. When had he become so fucking defeatist? Win would think of something. It wasn't like Earth was defenseless. They'd been spending years building their defenses, preparing for this moment. They had a fighting chance. If they were patient and had a little luck, they could take down even Spock. Vulcans were defeatable. He had to believe that Vulcans were defeatable.
Defeat meant Spock dead. That was the only way he was defeated. If he was killed.
It tore at Jim. He wrapped his arms around Spock tighter, not sure if he was grasping for Spock or grasping for Earth.
Spock could feel through telepathy the emotions burning in Jim. He caught glimpses of what must have been Jim's childhood home. The scenes were all unfamiliar to him, the expanse of green and the abundance of water completely alien. Jim claimed that Terra was Spock's home.
There was only one place that Spock would ever call home. It was this estate, the place where he held his first lirpa. The place where T'Pau had guided him through all the necessary disciplines. The place where he met T'Pring and spent time in her silver company, the place where he returned, without fail, after every campaign. The blue water of Jim's planet could never be home. Home was the red desert, T'Kuht and the galaxy above, the deep hidden reservoirs of water below. Spock could never abandon it, despite its failings and its flaws.
That was what remained of the Way. It was not merely the Vulcan Way, but Spock's way. With Jim, he had navigated his doubts and questions, seen old things in new lights. But Vulcan, the planet, its people, would always come first. No matter his fervent love for Jim, no matter the intoxicating blue of Jim's eyes.
He pressed his fingers against Jim's psi points, kissing him.
"I am sorry."
Anger surged. Rage. Burning. Freedom.
Fine. Fine! Spock could die, for all he cared. Spock could blow his own head off in the firefight. Jim didn't need this. He didn't need this.
"I will return to you," Spock promised.
Jim didn't want him back. He didn't want him, if it meant the total destruction of Earth.
"I will see to it that Terra is not destroyed. You have my word, Jim."
Jim didn't want his word. Didn't want anything from Spock. Didn't want anything but freedom and that wasn't something Spock or anyone could grant. It was his, and his alone.
He had nothing but that dream of freedom now. Nothing. Because Spock would always choose duty over him, would always uphold Vulcan's honor than do what Jim asked. Jim gave himself up to this Vulcan, found that love had somehow sunk into his skin and latched deep into his soul, and Spock would never choose him first. He had nothing. No dignity, no choices. And soon, he might have no home. Only a dream of freedom.
"I hate you," he whispered into Spock's skin, still holding him. "I hate you."
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not. You're not."
--
They were standing, the three of them. T'Pring in front of Spock, James attending behind her. They were standing at the entrance of Spock's palace, arranged in a triangle.
Spock raised his hand and extended two fingers. T'Pring mirrored the motion.
The contact between them was as it always had been. No, she thought. It was dulled. Spock's did not look at her as he once did. It was as she feared.
But she did not know who could be the object of his affections. There was no one who was her equal, no one who would dare challenge the bond between her and Spock. It was written. It was destined. They were meant for each other.
Spock ended the contact between them and with crisp motions, walked to his escort. He was Ang'jmizn, face set in the cold neutrality of his command. His campaign for Terra had begun, starting from the moment he stepped away from his ancestral home.
T'Pring watched as he climbed into to the escort and disappeared behind tinted glass. She watched the car glide away to take him to the transporter. He would be on the Buk within minutes.
She turned.
T'Pring turned and saw James, blue eyes burning, expression open on his face.
She saw and she knew that this, a human slave, was her rival.