Just as the blade of L'T'Freja's dagger made contact with the exposed flesh of Nyota's throat, Spock turned, Vulcan speed rendering him a blue black blur to the naked eye, but Arrienne could see with crystal clarity the stretch of his neck just beneath the pulse of an artery, into which she stabbed her syringe with a satisfying pop.
"Spock!" Kirk shouted, his voice drowned out by the various crashes and ululations in the background. Watching Spock fall to the floor was like watching a silent movie; the jerky bursts of movement interrupted by and spotted with patches of black, either other inhabitants blocking his line of sight, or his own mind stuttering in the wake of moderately severe head trauma.
He watched numbly as Uhura was restrained by the girl who clubbed him, not really seeing her. Just Spock; falling over and over again, as a explicable sense of dread rose in his stomach like a tidal wave of anticipation.
He would chalk up to the head trauma later, but watching a complete stranger dispatch Spock so easily elicited a far stronger response from him than he had thought possible.
It's probably why he pulled his phaser and vaulted himself over the bar without waiting for back up.
"Spock!" Uhura screamed, instinctively reaching for her lover, before the cold press of steel at her jugular made her reconsider. She winced as she felt the weapon nick her; a single crimson bead rolling down her neck to mingle with the sweat now flowing free. "You bastards. You'll never get away with this." She snarled, her fists bunched at her sides, her neck straining as far as she dared to try to catch a glimpse of her captor.
"Probably," L'T'Freja agreed, and Uhura felt the knife at her throat twitch as the girl flicked her wrist, the bi-product of her shrug of indifference. Another red pinprick welled beneath the rusty blade. "But we don't need to get 'away' with this," The stray hairs tucked behind the Lieutenant's ear stirred as her attacker's breath ghosted over her shoulder. "We just need to get far enough,"
Nyota snorted in forced disbelief (don't let them know you're scared don't give them the satisfaction), her dark eyes rolling skyward. "Right. You've obviously never messed with Starfleet before. Doesn't matter, James T Kirk will teach you a lesson you'll never forget." She said blithely, hoping against hope that her Captain's influence extended to even the most secluded corners of the galaxy. She feared she could do little else to save Spock.
L'T'Freja cocked her head to one side, her headscarf tickling the base of Uhura's neck. "Who, Goldie Locks? Yeah, yeah, we know him. We've met, actually. That goes for his Doctor, too. Met a few Starfleet officers, actually. None quite as ... Plucky as your crew, though." She paused, flexing her grip on her knife, her other hand snaking out to grab Uhura's wrist and wrench it upwards, pressing her forearm along the line of her spine. Over the cry of pain muffled by the table her face was crushed into, Nyota heard L'T'Freja say one more thing before her world went blissfully black.
"I hope Spock upholds such high standards,"
Arrienne was smiling.
She had dreamed, no, fantacised about this moment. And, like all dreamers, could scarcely believe her wish finally had been granted.
The syringe she had seconds before plunged into Spock's neck seemed to tingle in her hand. Perhaps burn was more accurate. After all, how could something so insignificant and yet also capable of disabling a Vulcan not radiate power? Some sort of secret, radioactive core able to override even the most resilient of immune systems; an intangible aura of strength. Leftovers from the potent poison itself.
The needle was a millimeter thick, the body of the syringe not much broader, its contents less than five milliliters, and yet First Officer Spock of the infamous Starfleet Enterprise lay at her feet.
However, despite being injected with a generous does of an illegal Class A sedative, Spock had collapsed with an annoying amount of dignity. Even sprawled on the filthy floor of a back street bar he exuded an air of quiet elegance. Not one sheeny shiny hair out of place.
Well. We'll soon see about that.
Kirk sprang over the bartop, glasses flying like hand grenades and exploding like bombs around him as he landed directly behind Arrienne. He pressed the nose of the phaser to the back of head, the cold metal nudging dreadlocks and beaded plaits aside to press firmly against her skull.
He motioned to the two red shirts who'd followed him over; not only had they quelled the worst of the fighting, but were now about to take on Bonnie and Bonnie here.
"Lower your weapons immediately," Jim was unaware of how quiet the bar became as his smooth baritone cut through the smoky air like a scalpel. If he hadn't been in the process of rescuing two of his most prized officers, he would've savored the moment. "And nobody gets ... Hurt," Killed.
"Held at gunpoint by a Starfleet Captain," Arrienne tilted her head over so slightly to the side, one amber eye seeking out Kirk's baby blues to lock in a stare. "To what do I owe the honour?"
Jim had met Arrienne before.
Not her specifically, but people like her. Renegades. Rejects with a grudge to bear and a gun to wield. All angry, in varying degrees. Reckless, and often unintelligent. Typically cowardly and easy to bride, but almost always impossible to negotiate with. It wasn't that they were unreasonable per se, just untrustworthy; prone to lying and adept at cheating.
He didn't see why these two would be any different.
L'T'Freja withdrew a phaser from its holster, grabbed a fistful of Uhura's hair and pulled the unconscious officer to her feet, before pressing the nose of her weapon to her right temple. Her knife clattered to the floor and span out of sight, but the noise it made echoed in the now quiet bar. The remainder of Kirk's team had evacuated the premises and were now radioing the Enterprise for assistance. The two armed security officers eyed L'T'Freja with a mixture of wariness and incredulity.
"Nice to see you up and about, Jimmy. Though I'd knocked you out for the count back there," She bantered lightly, shuffling forward until she and Arrienne were less than three feet apart. Spock, unnaturally still lay between them.
Jim didn't trust himself to answer; he could feel the bubbles of rage fizzling in his veins and blackening his heart. His startlingly blue eyes flicked from L'T'Freja's cocked weapon to the hand clenched in Nyota's raven hair. His Lieutenant's legs were slightly bent; her feet dragging on the filthy floor. He swiftly deemed her unconscious. He dared not look at Spock, for fear of giving L'T'Freja an opening, but also because a small, dark and frequently ignored part of him whispered that he didn't know what he'd do if he saw him lying there. Just thinking about his First defenseless and at the mercy of two pirates did things to Jim's heart he didn't have the time to analyse. He felt his jaw clench at the thought and unconsciously tightened his grip on his weapon.
"I am James T Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. I am placing you both under arrest. Release my Commander and Lieutenant and you and your partner will not be harmed. If you don't co-operate I --" Jim's sentence (protocol one of his specialties something familiar he was in control) was interrupted by an explosion. In the split second he took to duck from both the ear shattering sound and flying debris, he abandoned all hope and forgot all protocol.