Title: Home (Multichapter fic with 35 parts)

Beta: Lissaea at Livejournal

Warnings, Themes and Tropes, etc.: bondage, torture, prostitution, explicit sex, drug use

Summary: The Vulcans need a new home planet, so the Enterprise and her crew set out to find one for them.

"They'd come all the way for this? Which mad astronomer had sent them out here? Whose twisted idea had it been?"

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters.

– Home-Part 8 of 35 –

Maxime watched Captain Kirk walk away. For a moment he thought he might get up and follow him secretly until he reminded himself that he was not an investigative journalist from one of the holo flicks. But he wanted to be. His press pass was still lying on the table in front of him. He scowled at it—yes, he'd got his promotion, but he was still stuck at UE News 24! There was no way he wanted to end up like any of his superiors; people who'd wasted their lives at the station. No, he wanted to make something out of himself.

He stared at the Captain's half-finished drink on his table. If he wanted to make something out of himself, he would have to be more like Captain Kirk. He needed to take risks. If he didn't leave the network now, would he ever have the courage to quit his job and go hunting for a really big story? What about his family?

Up above, Verna VI's blue sky had turned a deep shade of purple and the first stars were starting to come out. Jim pushed the planet's chief of police up against a wall in a small alleyway, leaving her just enough space so that she could move away if she wanted to. In this light her dark green lips looked almost black.

He felt her soft chest against his; it was rising and falling ever faster. A niggling thought was pushing itself to the front of his mind.

"I'm sorry," he said, backing off a little, "I feel I'm not all too clued up on your people's culture. Am I being too forward?"

"Not forward enough," she hissed and pulled him closer.

She moaned into his mouth as they locked lips.

"Take me here, right now," she growled into his ear.

He nibbled her neck gently, trying to give himself time to think. They were in a public place-and the head of police wanted him to take her here? Was this normal behavior on this planet? Jim felt all the joy of the moment escaping him as the questions raced through his mind.

He slowly kissed his way from her neck down her arm; his lips brushed the back of her hand while he slowly extricated himself from her grip.

"Your hands are very soft," he murmured and wondered how the hell he'd get himself out of this without offending her and causing an even bigger incident than he risked by obliging her.

Already his head was hurting. He'd never had to sabotage his own date on purpose. He chewed on his lip. Hell, just throw your pride out of the window and imagine you're Harvey Curtis from tenth grade.

"Well, I've had the most wonderful time tonight," he said.

She ceased rubbing herself up against him and looked him in the eye.

Jim smiled. "You're so beautiful."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's no wonder you're so highly regarded on this planet," he continued.

She closed her eyes and groaned. "If you've changed your mind and I'm not what you're looking for just spit it out."

He gulped. "It's just not my custom to have brief encounters with people I respect highly."

"And my position as chief of police was not made clear to you when the governor introduced us?"

"Oh, it's not about position, it's about an individual's qualities and their inner beauty. A person's standing in the world, at least on Earth, is not always an accurate portrayal-."

"I'm not interested in a boring essay on cultural misunderstandings. Come, I can catch a transport back to my flat from over there."

Well, he now knew for sure he was good at impersonating a certain annoying highschool acquaintance, but he felt neither relief nor triumph at that.

When he saw her off at her transport spot he didn't feel like it was much of a loss; there was no way she could have satisfied him-alright, maybe sexually, possibly intellectually, but certainly not emotionally.

Jim was walking back to his quarters when he bumped into Bones.

"You look god-awful," his friend said. "Get yourself down onto the planet for some shore-leave!"

Jim looked down at his attire and up again at Bones with a raised eyebrow. "Where do you think I've just been?"

"Why were you taking shore-leave in your dress uniform?"

"I arranged for a meeting with the governor, I had to wear something smart."

"The governor? Is the governor by any chance a beautiful alien lady who just happened to fall for you instantly?"

"No, he isn't. Though your description does fit Verna's chief of police."

"She shoot you down?"

"No," Jim said and tried to walk past him.

"What happened?" Bones asked, but Jim stepped around him.

He could hear Bones' footsteps following him.

"Yes?" he snapped, looking back over his shoulder.

"Exactly, this!" Bones replied. "What's wrong with you?"

He rolled his eyes at Jim. "Fine if you don't want to talk, but you know where I am if you change your mind."

Jim didn't feel like going back down to the planet so he downloaded a chapter from a Tri-D chess strategy book onto his PADD and headed for the rec room. He had expected it to be empty and, apart from Chekov who was sitting in a corner reading, there was not another soul in sight.

In no time he'd set up the chess board, and allowed himself to brood over the complex exercises. Two hours later, when he'd solved all the problems and put the pieces back in their box, he looked around the room, finding Chekov still sitting on his own.

Jim got up to leave, but before he reached the exit he turned around. "You alright, Chekov?"

"Yessir." The reply came fast as lightning. "Perfectly fine. I just don't feel like going to down ze planet."

Jim nodded and left, but his shoulders felt heavier and he studied the floor intently.

"Captain, is everything in order?"

Jim looked up. It was Spock, of course-who else talked like that? And as Jim considered how ironic it was that he was being asked the same question he'd asked Chekov not five minutes previously a rueful smile spread across his face.

"All okay here," he replied.

Spock gave him a quizzical look.

"During the last mission … for once there was laughter in the ship's corridors. Now I fear we're back to square one."

The Vulcan remained silent.

"Come," Jim said.

He wasn't really sure he knew how to talk to Spock about this, or even if he should, especially when it was Spock who had the most reason to be depressed. When he entered his quarters his attention was caught by the starlight streaming in through the window behind him, which reflected off the silver surface of a small picture frame on his shelf. He walked over to it and picked it up.

For a moment he studied his own reflection in the glass–tired. As he tilted the frame his reflection moved out of the way to reveal the details of the photo.

"Spock," Jim said, and waited until he felt him close the gap to stand at his shoulder.

Jim ran his finger over the face staring back at him. The photo inside the frame was creased and worn at the edges.

"This was the only memento that I took with me when I left home to join Starfleet," Jim began his narrative.

He'd been seven and it had been an unbearably hot summer's day, too warm to play outside, so he'd decided to explore the attic. There'd been several old chests of drawers to rummage through, dusty furniture to play on and mountains of cardboard boxes. In one old duffle bag he'd found some great Halloween costumes-a pirate outfit that was far too large for him, a cowboy hat and a plastic gun. Hours of fun had followed up in the attic on his own as he'd acted out the adventures of the daring 'Captain' James Tiberius Kirk.

He was standing on the deck of his ship on a crate of fish, face to face with his mortal enemy Captain Dread. Waving his sword around he demanded that Dread surrender.

As he jumped off his crate, the cardboard box he'd been standing on tipped over, spilling its contents all over the ancient floorboards. Jim put the barbeque fork he was holding aside, then knelt down to gather up all the junk so he could put it back where it belonged. There was a small white blanket, a blue comb, a pair of old-fashioned sunglasses, a bottle of aftershave, some guitar picks, a metal box and a shirt.

He picked up the shirt and stood. As he held it spread wide between his arms to refold it, the light from one of the small attic windows shone through the black fabric. Just under his right hand there was a dark patch that blocked out the light.

Lifting the shirt up higher he saw the outline of a small dark-gray insignia there-a Starfleet insignia. For a while Jim didn't move a muscle. As he folded the shirt up and placed it back in its place he blinked away a tear.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there just staring at the box and its contents. Finally he reached for the metal box.

"Jimmy!"

He dropped it.

"Dinner time, get down here right now!"

He breathed in heavily and looked down. The box hadn't opened. His eyes darted to the trap door and he could already hear his mother's footsteps in the hallway below. With slightly shaking hands he grabbed the box, the smooth metal feeling cold to his touch.

"Jimmy, come down!"

Quickly, he opened it-inside were photos. He grabbed the first photo and stuffed it in his pocket, before placing the metal box on top of the shirt. Then he threw himself towards the other side of the attic.

His mother had climbed up a few rungs of the ladder. "What was that noise? What're you doing?"

"Nothing," he replied and reached for the barbeque fork.

"Give that to me, you shouldn't be playing with that," she said.

He handed it to her and came down without a fuss. Sitting through dinner was torture. All he wanted to do was to leave the table and look at the photo in his pocket.

The same photo he was holding right now, which as a boy and later a teenager he'd carried around with him at all times in some jacket or trouser pocket.

"Your father?"

The photo showed a man in his late twenties wearing relaxed clothing and a pair of aviator sunglasses; he was sitting on the bonnet of a classic red sports car. Jim nodded.

"My mother blamed herself for surviving when my father died. I saw what it did to her and I know what it did to me. It's not logical, Spock, but as I grew up I felt more and more guilty that I was alive when he wasn't. Maybe I was picking up on my mother's feelings, but all the same, that's how I felt."

He placed the photo back on the shelf, the flash of reflection from the glass showing Spock's hand just above his shoulder-a heartbeat later he felt it; gently Spock coaxed him to turn around.

"You realize your own worth now?"

Jim smiled. "Of course."

But in Spock's appraising gaze he saw … concern? Spock was still holding onto his shoulder firmly, but Jim didn't mind, he found that on the contrary he didn't want Spock to loosen his grip.

"You are, however, worried about some members of the crew," Spock said eventually.

"I saw Chekov in the rec room earlier. We need to get out of this system, we need to be out there doing some good, to give everyone a chance to understand how important and useful they are."

"Agreed," Spock replied.

Jim met his even gaze and lifted his right hand up to cover the hand on his shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze. They needed another mission, for the crew, their Captain and, most importantly, for Spock.

Jim was alone in the briefing room, turning his PADD in his hands. Slowly the senior staff started trickling in. Jim forced himself to stand behind his chair and hold onto it with at least one hand to stop himself from pacing.

When Spock entered the room, Jim found he couldn't focus on anything apart from the Vulcan. He looked, well, not happy, but at least he looked rested. Jim started fumbling with the PADD in his hands again. He hated delivering bad news to Spock, it was not something he wanted to become a habit. He regarded Spock's face, unable to suppress the memory of the stone faced look Spock had worn when he'd informed him of the inquiry's verdict regarding his former relationship with Uhura.

"Right." Jim coughed politely to get everyone's attention.

Then he straightened and continued in a strong voice, "I've just received the latest update from Starfleet. The USS Excaliburwas investigating the planet HUY-98-6 for its suitability for Vulcan colonization. Unfortunately -," and here Jim swallowed.

He tried to see if he would pick up on any changes in the Vulcan's stoic appearance.

"-in the final report the planet was found to be unsuitable for colonization."

Spock's expression didn't change. Not one bit! He knew he cared though, he wasn't going to forget the mind meld with his older counterpart anytime soon. He wished he could read Spock, to know what he was feeling.

"There are still some issues with the Klingons. The Federation Council feels that in the current climate it would just be irresponsible to settle the Vulcans there."

He wanted to say more. Wanted to say 'sorry' to Spock, for one. The planet had sounded perfect. Not an exact copy of Vulcan, but as close as any of the planets so far investigated by Starfleet had come-harsh desert climate, no moons, a powerful sun … . Jim spun around and activated the view screen. He'd talk to Spock later, drop by his quarters maybe to tell him in private how sorry he was.

"There are still many unexplored planets that might be suitable of course." Silence was the only reaction he got from his staff at this announcement.

He pulled a start chart up onto the screen.

"Over here in this relatively unexplored patch of space, far from the Klingon border," he said, zooming in on one area, "is the Calder star system. Calder IV, also known as Saketh, is around the same mass as Earth, class M from what we can tell and apparently a very hot contender."

He turned around. Everyone was looking at the map, apart from Spock, who was staring right at him.

"Of course, it's also really far away from the centre of Federation territory," he went on, glancing back at the map. "Orion pirates may be running some operations in that area, though we don't really have much intelligence to back that up."

Now all eyes were on him again. "Our orders are to proceed there. It will take us a while to get there, especially since we're to keep a look out for any more planets that might be suitable. There's a lot we don't know about that sector of space."

Spock nodded.

Jim felt his shoulders relax. Finally a reaction! He hadn't realized just how tense he'd been. Hopefully it hadn't been too visible. Well, what if it was? Everyone here understood what this meant to their Vulcan.