Happy New Year! Yeah took me a long time to get this out. In my defense, I've been working on this sice my last post. I just had serious writer's block until three days ago. Worked on it since I woke up this morning.
In other news, I was reminded that Nimoy died last year on New Years eve. In his memory, I watched these two youtube videos, Star Trek || A thousand Years- [Kirk/Spock] by Bellizaria and Kirk/Spock - Us Against the World by Mortal Secret. It really incorporates the TOS ad Reboot series well. And yes, it was Spock's casket that was shot out into space. Both are really touching. I recommend.
The word love is meaningless.
As I sit here, contemplating my death and knowing that tomorrow will be the last day I draw breath, I think of him. I think of cold blue eyes that once sparkled with life, with mischief, with kindness for those who gather around him, and it destroys me little by little, knowing that I could be the last straw. The once strong man, now more fragile than glass yet harder than steel, is doing everything he can to soften the blow to his psyche, to keep himself falling into madness, and I might be the last push that breaks him.
To love is to have the beautiful and the ugly. It can build us up only to destroy us. It can make us rash or brave, make us laugh or cry, bring unparalleled joy or crushing despair. Such a complicated emotion cannot be put into such simple words. It would take a life time to cover the surface. A life time I do not have.
If I were to tell that man those three words, it would fail to covey an inkling of its true depth, and sound shallow in comparison. Furthermore, such words are not what he needs. In the long run, they would prove to be insincere as I know I am about to die. Because it is selfish to impose my feeling onto him, knowing of the world he already carries on his back. "I love you," is nothing more than a superficial bandage for those whose feelings are just that, superficial. Those who talk instead of act.
Pushing my body to sit up, I struggle to stand. The fever has already consumed my body. My joints ache, and the world spins, and I grasp the stone wall before I lose my baring. I refuse to fall. To show weakness. In my last 24 hours, I intend to keep him ignorant of my condition. I wish to give him my love the only way I know how, by easing the pain that is swallowing him whole and soothing his worries if only of a short time.
As I approach him, he looks at me with those too blue eyes, smiling that smile he always saves for me despite how he is feeling inside. My heart aches every time I see it. I wonder who would bring that smile back to him after I am gone, when he finally breaks from losing yet another person he could not save, and I feel raging jealousy that it will never be me. But I still smile back at him softly, taking the skinning knife from his trembling hands.
Tomorrow I will die, but he will remain. If I had to say, I could not ask for anything more.
If I were to say "I love you" now, he would only reject me. Someone who had never been told they were loved, had never experienced it, was afraid of it, would only recoil from such a declaration.
Given the situation we have found ourselves in, I cannot blame him. We have seen lovers turn on one another, and parents who abandoned their children. We have watched civilized men degrade into nothing but savages. We know, as we have fallen from grace as well. We have stained our hands to keep the innocence in the civilians we saved. We know how frivolous words are. How easy it is to lie, to cheat, to kill. He would push me away, thinking it to be a lie, until I pass and he is filled with regret.
But I do love him. I love him more than my own life which I will give to him. So I will tell him. I will tell him in a way that also shows my commitment, how deep it runs. In simple words that hides its complexity and true worth. When he reads my entries that I will leave behind for him, he will know then. For now, I will ease his worries and sorrows with these words, so I can see his smile one last time.
"Let me help."
Spock turned the page and frowned. That couldn't be the end. He turned to the next page, and it was just another blank white page before a short biography on the author. He felt a tear roll down his face and another before he clamped down on his emotions once again.
The book had not been what he had expected. It was indeed about two soldiers, John and Daryl. On a routine mission, they became stranded on a planet when a civil war destroyed their communications and way home. The tale did talk about the fall of civilization, about survival, but Spock was more invested the characters. Daryl reminded Spock of himself while John reminded him of Jim. Reading Daryl's struggles, his love he kept hidden, the pain of watching John fall into the demons of that world, and he dark emotions he kept suppressed inside, depicted every struggle Spock had now. So close to the man he loved, but never quite touching.
Given the ending, he was sure Daryl died the following day. It was a incredibly unsatisfying ending, but logical. He continued to the biography, curious of who could have possibly imagined struggles so similar to his current situation.
He found out the author was only 15 at the time the novel was written. He was raised by his grandfather and hunted for a hobby. A peculiar hobby as hunting was frowned upon in advanced society as it was no longer needed to procure food and not typically done for sport. As it turned out, the skill was useful for him as he had been trapped on a planet, the same place where the book was written. Leading a group of children, his hunting skills provided food for them. One of those children had stepped forward and published the book in his stead. He apparently died a few days before rescue.
Spock paused, looking at the book in a new light. It was no wonder it was familiar. He could see the parallels between Tarsus IV and the story. It was unlikely anyone else would. Without Jim's stories of Tarsus, he would not have known.
He returned to the beginning of the book, rereading the first few paragraphs.
On a bright sunny day, amongst the dying spring flowers, I shot my grandfather from behind. I'm a murderer. It's the cold bitter truth. So is everything else written in these pages. If you are looking for a charming story, a story about human triumph, about love conquering all, about humanity being a guiding light, put this book down and look elsewhere.
This story is one I can never tell in person for I would be executed for the crimes I had to commit. It's about survival, about the darkness that dwells inside every living thing, about the things you would do, the people you would kill, in order to survive.
But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.
The first day I met John Peterson, he laughed when he shot an arrow near my head...
Spock reread the first two paragraphs again. Perhaps this book was not a work of fiction after all. If he switched a few things around…
The door opened, and Spock didn't look up from the book, knowing it was someone bringing him food as the smell of meat permeated the room.
"I see you helped yourself to my personal library," Shelby commented, dropping the plate on his wounded leg. Spock merely glanced up, while the woman seemed to withhold a scowl when Spock didn't show any signs of pain. Not that it didn't hurt. Her aim had been quite accurate, but as Jim would say, don't give the enemy satisfaction in knowing that they had succeeded.
Spock shut down the pain receptors in his brain, though he found himself clenching his jaw, and placed the book face down on his lap, careful not to bend the spine. Gingerly, he placed the slab of meat that had fallen off the plate back onto it and set it aside.
"It is quite an impressive selection. There are many noteworthy pieces of literature and scientific articles," Spock replied, nodding to his completed pile of books.
"I'm proud of my collection. I spent most of my salary on antique books the moment I started earning credits in high school. I love them." The woman walked over, tilting her head to read the titles. "An interesting selection you've chosen there. Very . . . human."
Spock considered his options. He sensed a trap, but not answering could have been just as dangerous depending on what she was looking for. "My mother enjoyed these authors very much. I too find the books intriguing."
"Intriguing… I see. These books are quite famous for their depth in human behavior. Obsession. Tragedy. Fear. Loss of faith. Rage." She looked at the book in Spock's lap. "Especially that one. Fitting you should read it given where we are. I personally used to love Daryl."
She wandered to the book shelf, pulling off hardbacks. "What do you think of him?"
"I do not understand your query."
"A lot of critics think of Daryl almost as a saint. Sacrificing so much for the man he loved, supporting him and being a shadow." She turned back to Spock with an armful of books, and spread them out on the desk. "I think differently. Many overlooked Daryl's true feelings. The obsession he had for the man he loved. The rage, the hatred, that saturated his being whenever John took another lover. The blood he willingly spilt for him, always trying to please him, always trying to have him."
"It is human nature to feel strong emotions under stressful environments. What makes the species an advanced race is to withhold from acting on those urges and do what is civilized."
She considered the books she had spread out and picked up three. "And what is civilized, Vulcan? The morals advanced species have eventually settled upon are settled by the victors of the many wars. Those who wanted peace. But take the Klingons for instance. We are on bad terms with them because their morals and beliefs differs from ours. Fundamentally, the Federation believes that the Klingons are the bad guys as do the Klingons believe we are weak-willed with no honor."
She looked up at Spock with dark eyes. "It was about human nature. Daryl was the embodiment of it. On the surface, he was a gentleman, but inside he was anything but.
"Those stories are intriguing you say? Reading humans' darkest moments and reading their downfall after witnessing it firsthand is fascinating? You sure have a sick sense of humor."
"On the contrary," Spock said, keeping his gaze steady with her. "I believe reading these stories during a crisis such as this give a frame of reference about what to do, what not to do, what is possible and what is not. As I am largely restricted to the bed, I would prefer to spend my time contemplating the situation I am currently in."
"Is that so, then tell me, why are you here, Vulcan."
"I have told you my purpose," Spock said stiffly.
"How many are in your party?" She asked, picking up three heavy books.
"And what would you do with that information?" he asked.
Shelby stood beside his bed. "I must protect my people."
"As must I," he said unwavering.
"Then we're at an impasse." She dropped the books right onto his injury. Spock inhaled sharply, making the woman quite smug. "Perhaps I can get Luca to speak. He spent quite a bit of time with you."
"Luca is an intelligent child. If he has not disclosed information to you, he has a reason to believe he should not."
"A Vulcan may be resilient against pain and able to resist a mind sifter, but a child not so much."
Something primal raged in Spock, and it took every ounce in his being to resist jumping out of the bed and strangling her, but he could not stop the anger that stained his features as he glared at her and his voice dropped to dangerous levels. "Do not harm him."
Shelby only looked at him. Spock could tell she knew how dangerous an angry Vulcan was. She was provoking him on purpose, and she was not afraid of the consequences. People who had seen hell could not afford to be afraid or show weakness, but they weren't reckless about it either. She truly thought he was a threat she could handle.
She picked up the empty plates on the nightstand. "You have a day to decide his fate. Until then," she smiled innocently as she drifted to the door, "I'll send you a bottle to piss in."
Spock waited for her to leave before moving the books. It seemed she picked them just for their weight. His leg was throbbing, and his shields were failing him. She was aware of that, and she was pushing to see how far she could.
And Spock had given her more information than he had intended.
If Jim was honest with himself, he was losing faith. He talked a big game, had spent all yesterday talking their plan over with the others, but he was struggling with himself. His being, the instincts he developed on that godforsaken planet, kept telling him that it was too late. Spock and Luca were dead and he needed to move on. The more he talked and went over the plans, the more apparent the risks he was taking and the danger he was putting his friends in for going through with it.
The only reason he didn't call the entire thing off was because of something inside him, something extremely small buried in the back of his mind, a feeling really, told him that Spock was alive, and he was clinging to it desperately.
It scared the shit out of him.
The last time he clinged onto hope, foolishly believing against all odds that he could save someone, Jabari died in front of him. Since Spock's fall, his dreams and waking thoughts were plagued with the past. Of regrets. If he had moved faster. If he had noticed sooner. If he hadn't attacked the mansion. Spock's face kept appearing where his should be.
He had accepted all this long ago. There was no point in dwelling on regrets. He couldn't change any of it. They would remain dead. All he could do was learn. Jim buried the pain down deep and continued on with life. There was no talking about it, no airing out his feelings. He kept them to himself and put on a smile. He would want him to.
The problem was he wasn't ready to face the pain again. No, it would be worse. Jim had never said that he was a friend. Not out loud. He never admitted it to himself. And when he died, he did almost everything to avoid hearing and saying his name if he could help it. But Spock was different. Not only did Spock remind him of the past, Jim had admitted to himself that he was a friend. Someone he would die for even. But it wasn't the realization that he would die for him that unnerved him. It was the fact that he was willing to risk others dying to help him. He was emotionally compromised by Spock's disappearance.
Spock's disappearance left a gaping hole behind that left Jim reeling, lost. Spock had been his point of reference. He could trust Spock to keep him from falling too far into himself, into his nightmares.
Jim sat by the fire, staring into the flames with an intense focus, noting every ember that drifted into the night sky. He froze at McCoy's approach, his muscles coiling and readying for attack before he could stop it. His friend paused for a moment, recognizing the threat, and then continued forward, taking a seat beside him. "You alright?"
Jim didn't answer. He didn't feel like he had the right. He was risking his friend's life for what was probably a lost cause.
"I guess that was a stupid ass question. What I wouldn't give for some good old fashioned whiskey." The older man sighed sprawling out on the ground. Neither man said anything. It had been some time since they had been left alone together; Uhura had gone to the river to wash off the dirt and grime. McCoy and Kirk were only 10 meters away, but it felt like their own little world.
It was a while before McCoy spoke again. "Spock is alright, Jim. You're doing the right thing."
"I don't think I am, Bones. You don't know how dangerous it's going to be."
A snort escaped the doctor as he propped himself up on his elbows. "More dangerous than the missions we've been on?" Jim didn't answer. "Jim, you've gone after Spock as many times as Spock's gone after you, disregarding regulations and risks to yourselves, and we have always followed you both no matter how much you protested. We aren't kids. We have training. It may not match your experiences, but it's something, and we do know the risks."
To the doctor's surprise, Jim chuckled at his little speech, looking at him for the first time since rejoining the group. "That's quite a pep talk coming from you." His chuckle faded and insecurities flitted across his face. "I'm scared, Bones."
The admittance made the doctor pause. Jim never admitted fear. The only time he ever recalled such vulnerability from the young man was during the video of Jim's death, and it was to Spock and only for Spock to hear. "Of course you are, kid. You're reliving your worst nightmare."
The captain shook his head lightly, wrapping arms around his knees. "No, I'm scared I'm too reliant on Spock," he whispered. He looked at Bones only for a second but it was enough.
"Jim . . . Are you in love with Spock?"
"What?" Jim's eyes widened. "No. Of course not!" he protested quickly, his face turning red.
The reaction was so . . . normal. It threw McCoy's mind for a spin as he processed that information. With all the girls his best friend had slept with, dated, and used, he never seen such an honest reaction from him, until now that was. A wicked smile grew on his face. Spock may not have had anything to worry about after all.
"I mean he's not bad looking or anything, but he's a guy. Not that there's anything wrong with guys liking guys, I'm just saying that I'm not into that kind of thing. I mean if I was gay then I totally date him, but I'm not. I guess I could be bi, but you'd think I'd figured that out by now if I was. But then again─"
"Breathe, kid," he said with amusement lacing his voice. Suddenly, it didn't seem like Jim was ever distant from him. Like they were still sitting in his office drinking after a long shift. "Never seen you freak out over a question like that."
Jim's blush darkened, and he decided it was probably safer not to answer.
"So, do you?" the doctor asked more seriously, watching his friend's face carefully.
Aware of the scrutiny he was under, he didn't dare look back, carefully considering his answer. "I don't know. He's a good friend, but he's different from you. He's…" he's what exactly. He didn't even know himself. It couldn't be romantic feelings, that's all he knew. He didn't fall in love, he didn't get attached. And Spock was a man. He had never been attracted to men. Even if he strived to make Spock smile with his eyes at least once a day, or if he wanted to know everything about him, James Kirk did not do love. "Doesn't matter," he finally said. "He's dating Uhura, and I'm not that much of a douche to steal him away even if I was gay."
"We aren't dating, Kirk." Uhura said, braiding her long dark hair. It was beginning to frizz from being wet. "We haven't for three months now."
Jim tried to ignore the lightness he felt in his heart, squashing it down with reality. "We should get some sleep," he whispered, lying down onto his side, facing away from them. He was distancing himself again now that he ended the conversation.
McCoy and Uhura shared a glance which ended with the Lieutenant rolling her eyes and settling down for sleep.
Adults were morons.
Luca kept a hawk-like attention on the adult who had entered his room until the door closed behind her.
He was kept in what looked like a child's room. It was painted a bright, warm yellow and had a bright, red metal-framed bed. Distractions littered the floor from building block, action figures, and remote controlled hover cars, to movies and videogames, but Luca didn't touch a single thing.
While they didn't specifically lock him in the room, he was accompanied by an adult anytime he left, and hi s whereabouts were restricted. He wasn't an idiot as they made him out to be. He knew they were hiding something.
Of course there were other children there as well, and if Luca was straightforward with himself, he hated every single one of them. All of them ran around smiling, laughing, and playing around with toys and other children. They were thinner than what was probably healthy, but not as much as he was. Some even had the gall to actually complain about being hungry. The whining, complaining, and utterly carefree attitude pissed him off to no end. None of these spoiled kids knew what was going on outside the compound.
And he detested them for it.
He detested them because it made them ignorant to what was going on, useless when it came to figuring out more about the compound, and therefore made them untrustworthy to conspire with them.
He also hated them because he was jealous. Unbearably so. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that they didn't worry about starving, or being cold, or watch people kill each other. It was cruel that he had to endure being raped repeatedly, just so he could live. He hadn't even known what the word meant until then. He wanted to be able to sleep without worrying about nightmares. He wanted to be able to look at himself in a mirror without seeing the fading traces of what had been done to him. He despised not being able to be near males over fourteen without almost collapsing into a panic attack, and he could not reign in the animosity he felt towards the people who took away his innocence.
And the only reason for any of it was because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was probably the hardest thing to reconcile with. That it was because of shitty luck that all this happened to him. He understood it could be worse. He knew there were at least two kids who were still with those men at their camp, or he could be dead, but he wondered if maybe it would be better than to live with the pain.
There was a light in the darkness. Meeting Jim was a godsend. He was like the father he never really had. He had a dad. And a mom too. They were just never around, always working on their science experiments. He was thrilled when they had brought him to the colony. He thought maybe he could finally show them things or that they would play with him. They hadn't.
They said they loved him. Gave him hugs and kisses before rushing off to their next big discovery, promising to come to the next recital or the next game. He spent more time with the sitter than his own parents. He never doubted they loved him, up until they died protecting him from the faction that took advantage of him. He just never knew them too well. It figures all hell would break loose when they decided to take him on an excavation for the first time.
Jim was strong, kind, and warm. He was the only man Luca had immediately trusted after what happened to him. Without saying a word, Jim knew everything that had happened and knew exactly what to do or say to make him feel better, to feel needed. In the few days he had spent with him, Luca had grown to trust him more than he had ever done with his real parents. He was direct, never condescending because of his young age, and had never once lied to him. Because of this, Luca trusted and listened to him when he told Luca that Mr. Spock would take care of him.
Mr. Spock was an unusual case. At first, the Vulcan scared him. He couldn't read Spock. The people he couldn't read were more dangerous than the ones he could. It made them unpredictable. However, during the time spent in Jim's care, he saw Jim interact with his first officer. The trust they had in each other, the need to reach out yet not quite making it, the frustration between both of them but the clear need to stay by one another. Luca was young. He didn't understand it all but knew it reminded him of the movies his baby sitter liked to watch. According to her, it was part of being in love.
So Jim was in love with Mr. Spock, and Mr. Spock loved his Jim. So obviously if Jim was like his dad, then he should get to know Mr. Spock in case they do in fact start a relationship, as soon as he managed to dissuade Jim from the ludicrous thought that Mr. Spock was with Ms. Uhura for some reason.
So he watched Mr. Spock after being put in his care. It was apparent that Mr. Spock had been uncomfortable around him, and it was evident that he had never taken care of a child before, but it was the little things that won Luca over: Mr. Spock not making eye contact with him, ensuring that he had food to eat before he partook of the food himself, keeping his distance physically yet never leaving him alone.
With the increasing need to be near someone, Mr. Spock opened his arms, metaphorically and physically, and allowed it despite his discomfort. Luca tried not to touch him. He had learned about Vulcans after all, which made it that much more touching and painful that Mr. Spock had allowed it. Mr. Spock gave Luca a different type of comfort. If Jim made him feel needed, grown up, and stronger, then Spock made him feel like it was okay to be a kid. Whenever Spock touched him, he drove away the fear and pain and brought forth calm. It was okay to cry and just be held. It made Luca fight for someone else besides himself. He ran to protect Mr. Spock instead of running away to protect himself. But in the end, Mr. Spock did the protecting.
When he saw Mr. Spock again, he was relieved. He had thought the worst and demanded to see him, dead or alive. It was a shock when his aunt had come to bring him to the Vulcan. He had never liked her much. She had always been cold and efficient. The colony's deteriorating social and governmental structure appeared to do little to change that. She told him to follow her and he did, but he thought she was lying when she told him Mr. Spock was alive. Something about her sent him on edge, and Luca had learned to trust that instinct.
Once the relief faded, he knew, Mr. Spock was not okay. His face was drained of color, pain laced his features, his movements felt weak, he felt too warm, and he was too easy to read. Perhaps for someone who did not know Mr. Spock, they would not notice his poor condition, but Luca knew. Spock needed a doctor, and when Luca requested it, she said that she would send him one. Luca glared at her retreating back and thought to himself that she was a lying bitch.
She hadn't let him see Mr. Spock since, and she had only visited him once afterwards, telling him to eat the food they were giving him when he refused to eat. Something wasn't right. He needed Jim to come save him and Spock, but how could he when he wasn't even sure Jim knew where they were?
So that lead to the present situation of Luca leaving his room and walking around the available areas of the compound with some woman (he couldn't care less about her name) beside him. He just needed to disappear and make a commotion somehow.
Turning the corner, he eyed the trash chute.
Jim restrained a shiver as he came up to breathe, the cool night air, touching his wet face. This was probably one of the most dangerous rescue attempts he had ever tried. It was dark, and the river had a swift current. Add to the fact that the water was cold, making his movements stiff and sluggish, losing the feelings in his limbs, and sapping his heat, it could kill him long before he arrived at his destination.
He could hardly see anything due to the lack of light and was relying on the compound having their lights on to see his exit. It was the only way to approach the compound with the wasteland surrounding it. Like most colonies, it was built near a water source which in this case was the river that eventually emptied out into a large lake before continuing on the other side. Beside him, he could hear Decker swimming beside him. The man had asked to be a part of the rescue attempt, claiming to feel responsible for Spock's capture.
Jim was calling bullshit on it, but he wanted Decker to be near him instead of his crew. McCoy and Uhura were heading to the settlement Jim and Spock had entered the day after their arrival, looking for a vehicle that could transport them quickly if need be. Jim had seen them before, but it was too loud to use practically when one was trying to hide their location. Jim would signal for them to come get them when the time came.
A part of him wished they had come with him. They were trying to enter the compound, the place where the planets shields and communication disruption originated from. Uhura would have been useful for figuring out what was causing the disruption. Bones' presence was self explanatory given that they were trying to rescue an injured Spock, but they needed a quick getaway more.
The shields, communications, and anti aircraft guns were conveniently located in the same place Spock was being held. If anyone asked, he would say that was what swayed his opinion to go rescue Spock. He was a Starfleet captain first and foremost, and he had a mission. But he was going to search for Spock first. It was wrong for him to do so. It was not the priority. Completing his mission was. He always protected his crew, he told himself. If it was anyone else on a different planet and different circumstances, he would try his best to do both, but the mission would take precedence if it was important enough. This mission was important, and he was intentionally putting it at risk.
He allowed the current to carry him a kilometer until he saw the faint light in the compound. Jim had almost missed it as the external lights were turned off. The compound was made up with one large building in the center, smaller ones surrounding it, and a two meter high force field covering the perimeter. Jim was betting that Spock was being held in the central complex.
If the mission debriefing was accurate, the central building was the central hub for this settlement and the four surrounding settlements surrounding it. It was tall, at least seven stories with a spire perched atop it where the planetary defenses were generated from. The invisible fence was created to keep out the natural planetary predators. If strengthened, touching those force fields could result in a lethal blow. Even if it was only to stun him, being stunned in the water would lead to his demise. The fence covered a small portion of the river, but it didn't extend all the way to the bottom. Jim could swim underneath it, but the window between the end of the force field and going too deep and enter the stronger currents that would pull him either to the bottom of the river or far away from his target was dangerously slim. To complicate matters, Jim would be practically blind doing it. The most he had was naturally soft glowing rock obtained from one of the quarries nearby to light his way and a handful of pebbles to test the barrier.
A dangerous mission indeed and a part of him hoped Decker wouldn't make it. It was a selfish and ugly wish. He needed Decker. He had been inside the compound, would know his way to the control room, but the Commodore's behavior was unforgivable. If Spock was indeed dead, Kirk wasn't sure he wouldn't kill his superior.
Seeing the light, he used the pebbles to locate the barrier. Once located, he swam until he was less than half a meter away from it. Diving back under, holding the rock in his left hand, he watched the distortion the barrier made due to the rushing water around it. He swam about four meters down. His lungs burned, clearly tired from his journey, and his body fought not to convulse from the cold, but he finally found the end of the distortion. He forced his limbs to move though he could no longer feel them and he wasn't sure they were even moving at that point.
As he swam a good couple meters forward to make sure he cleared the force field, his struggled to continue holding his breath. He swam frantically up, the air expelling from his lungs before he was even half way there. It was so dark, he wasn't even sure if he was actually heading up, but he took an involuntary breath in, choking on water. He fought the urge to cough and swallow more, but it was a losing battle and he tried to swim faster as the inhaled water made his lungs feel a different type of burn. His vision was beginning to black when he finally resurfaced, forcing himself to cough up the water and breathe.
Shore was close now. Only 100 more meter. That normally short swim felt like an eternity. He barely remembered to check to see if Decker had even made it. The bastard did. By the time he made it to shore, his body was frozen, and he wasn't shivering anymore. He frantically tried to warm himself up, pulling off his wet clothes and rubbing his chest to bring back the warmth.
He could barely begin to feel the biting, painful pricking back in just his limbs when he had to move, heading to the first house in sight.
It looked empty, so he overrode the security and entered. The power hadn't been on in some time. The house was just as chilly as it was outside and everything had a thin layer of dust on it. The first thing Jim grabbed was some clothes. He grabbed a colonist jumpsuit that was too big for him and pulled it on with haste, Decker doing the same.
"I'm going to look for Spock," he stated, restraining every emotion he felt towards the older man. "Disable the shields and communication block."
"You're not coming?" Decker asked.
"I don't leave my people behind." His eyes narrowed. "And only do what I told you to. Your revenge can wait until after."
It looked like Decker wanted to contest against the order, but in the end he capitulated. For now.
Decker left first, heading into the night. Jim waited about a minute before going off himself. He stayed to the shadows, trying to dispel the sense of déjà vu about the situation. It wouldn't end like it did last time. He wouldn't let it. He refused to be powerless to save someone again.
The closer to the center he got, the more security he saw, mostly in the form of patrols. Though there were security cameras as well, they were scarce on the outside of the building and mostly at the entrances. Simple security which was expected given that it was a small community and everyone was pretty much acquainted with one another. The main settlement was only recorded to have about 10,000 occupants while the four smaller settlements had about 3,000.
He circled the building, staying out of sight from the cameras, looking for a way in. Upon his third circuit, he eyed a newly opened basement window, hidden just behind a bush. Jim jumped for it. He listened carefully for movement, before using his phaser to remove the rest of the window. Sucking in his stomach, he squeezed through the small opening, dropping two and a half meters on the other side.
His boot slipped in something wet, causing him to lose his footing and fall into the puddle. The room he had decided to enter smelled stale and the scent of iron filled the air. Jim recognized the smell. He must have dropped into a butcher's work space. It was strange though, Jim thought, usually it wouldn't be a part of a building like this. It would normally be located in a place like that small farming community they had run across. Then again, maybe it wasn't too strange. It appeared the remaining colonist who had stayed behind had moved into the central building.
Jim looked down and cringed when he realized that he had slipped in blood. He wiped the blood on his clothes and eyed the lumps of meat on the wooden butcher's table. Where did they get the meat from? Did they bring domesticated animals into the compound too?
The meat looked ordinary enough. That was until Kirk's eyes landed on the bloody Starfleet uniforms discarded in the disposal bin. Kirk's blood ran cold. Using his phaser, he nudged the meat aside. Bile rose at the back of his throat when a pale hand peaked out from underneath.
Looking around, he recognized the shape of the beheaded bodies dangling in the back draining of blood, of discarded bones in the disposal bin with the uniforms.
Jim felt numb. He placed his phaser on the table and reached into the bin, pulling out its contents, searching frantically. He pulled out three science blues, checking the cuffs for rank. On one of the three shirts was the commander's rank insignia.
He's mouth went dry, and his legs gave out from under him. He was too late. Spock was dead. His eyes drifted to the hanging bodies. Was one of them Spock's? No, none of them matched Spock's body type, either too broad or short or dripping red instead of green. Perhaps they had already eaten him. He gripped the shirt tighter in his hands. He had failed again. Spock was dead. Spock … was dead.
Before he could completely process it and let his turbulent emotions make themselves known, a warm comforting feeling flickered in the back of his mind.
Do not give up hope, Jim. I am here.
It was like a whisper, calming his fears. A subconscious thought brought to the surface. He didn't dwell on the strange phrasing at all and instead examined the shirt in his hands. It was fairly clean. It couldn't have been Spock's. If it was, there would have been a large green bloodstain in the chest area, and he doubt they would attempt to clean a shirt they would just have thrown out. There was still a chance.
The door to the room opened, signaling the entrance of someone, probably the butcher. Jim was thankfully out of sight, hidden behind the table. He waited until the new occupant was standing next to the table before, grabbing the man's shirt, and slamming his head against the sturdy piece of furniture. The man was knocked unconscious, and Jim continued out the door.
He was assaulted by loud shouting as soon as he climbed up the stairs to the first floor. He thought his cover had been blown when he overheard the conversation by stern looking woman, speaking into a comm.
"I don't care if it's difficult. Shove someone into the chute after him if you have too. I want Luca back."
"He's setting traps, Dr. Emmett," the voice cackled through the comm, clearly exasperated.
"He's a child. It's not hard to capture a child. I want him found before morning." She snapped the comm closed, huffing with irritation.
Jim however found himself smiling. Luca couldn't have planed his escape with better timing. Any trail he might leave would be automatically assumed to be Luca. They wouldn't expect it to be an intruder.
The woman, apparently named Dr. Emmett, started to walk away, but then halted. Opening her comm she connected to the head guard. "Is the Vulcan still there?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"Keep an eye on him. My nephew might be trying to see him again. I'm heading there now."
"Yes, Doctor."
So Spock was alive, and Jim had run into someone who actually knew where he was. His luck was finally kicking in.
He followed her down several corridors. He managed to grab a lab coat and put it on, covering the blood on his clothes. He kept his head down and walked with purpose, trying to blend in amongst the chaos. She took the turbo lift and Jim managed to hear which floor was her destination before the doors closed. He ran up two floors, coming out just as she turned left at the end of another corridor.
He power walked to the corridor she turned down, hoping he didn't lose her. He caught sight of her entering a room.
He hurried before the door closed and locked, slipping in just barely. He almost didn't dodge the phaser shot, tripping in his haste to get away. Dr. Emmett, stared at him, her held tilted in curiosity as she watched him scramble to his feet. "You're here for the Vulcan I take it."
"How did you know I was following you?"
"Almost anyone who's been outside these walls would figure it out. Now how many more of you are there?"
He smiled darkly. "Just me. Captain James T. Kirk."
The woman returned his smile with a wry one. "Of course, Captain James T. Kirk. And the Vulcan must be the famed Mr. Spock."
"You don't believe me." Jim stated matter of factly, staying low.
"Do you think I'm a moron? A captain and his first officer in a landing party? You certainly weren't ship wrecked. I saw no constitution class vessel falling out of the sky."
"Well that's all I'm telling you. Take it or leave it."
"I think I'll leave it. First I'll kill your little Vulcan. Then I'll torture the information I want out of you," she pulled out her comm to call for the guards. Jim rushed her.
Spock heard the commotion outside. At first he thought it would pass, but the shouting only seemed to get louder. It might be his chance to escape.
He quickly threw the covers aside and forced back the pain and nausea as he stood. It was a small window of oppertunity, but he would not allow his captain time to stage a rescue. The odds were substantially against him even by Kirk luck standards. Not that Spock ever agreed that was a real thing.
He made it two steps when he noticed someone standing in his room. He was about a head taller than Spock, had pale skin, a faintly enlarged cranium, irises a cloudy grey, no hair, and wore long silver robes.
"S'chn T'gai Spock," he said with perfect Vulcan pronunciation.
Spock had only opened his mouth when he felt the familiar tug on his molecules and a white light.
So yup. End of this dreaded chapter that took forever to freaking write. I actually wrote Jabarai's entry like two chapter's ago. I was really excited to write it. I hope it sounds like a real piece of literature and less like a fanfic.
Please Review!