Title: Home (Multichapter fic with 35 parts)
Beta: un-beta'd D: D: D:
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.
I think it's better to post this now, even if it's un-beta'd. I'll probably upload a beta'd version some time, so don't read on now if you don't like unbeta'd stories XD - you can come back to this when it's beta'd. Sorry if the writing isn't as clear for the next few chapters as it has been.
– Home-Part 21 of 35 –
"Captain, I calculate that it will take us approximately five point three days to reach the pirate base."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock." Jim drummed his fingers on the metal surface in the cockpit that he was leaning on; Chekov and Spock waited on him for instructions.
"In that case I suggest we set up a roster. Mr. Howard will remain down by the engines keeping an eye on Quol. Mr. Chekov, you'll take over the helm. Spock, get some rest now."
Spock didn't protest. He relinquished his seat to the ensign. On his way out of the cockpit he brushed against Jim's body with his own. There'd been room enough for him to walk past easily, and Spock wasn't clumsy. Jim stared after him. When he turned his attention back to Chekov, the ensign snapped his head around to study the controls.
"Ay, ay, ay," he muttered.
Jim wasn't sure if he was referring to the interaction he'd just witnessed between his commanding officers or the Romulan controls in front of him.
He took the seat next to Chekov and continued his quest to find some useful information on the pirates in the ship's memory banks. After five minutes he turned the console off again.
"Sir?"
"This is pointless. I'm going to talk to Quol," he said and left the cockpit.
Although the ship's layout and size were utilitarian and pipes and electrics were out in the open for easy access, the main deck had been carpeted with a soft, springy material that looked very expensive. It would feel good to walk on it barefoot, Jim was sure, but it was an odd luxury. He ducked so he wouldn't hit his head on a crystal chandelier. Quol was a strange man, he decided.
He approached the ladder that would take him below deck to the engine room when he heard a faint beeping sound coming from the ship's small living quarters. There was no door to the quarters, just a heavy satin curtain. He pulled it aside—Spock was on his knees, but he moved quickly to turn away from Jim. Had he been scanning himself with a tricorder?
Jim remained in the doorway. "Spock? Is everything okay?"
"I am preparing a sleeping pallet for each of us," Spock replied, indicating two that he had already set up on the floor.
"Okay," Jim said quietly.
He left Spock to whatever it was he was really doing, but he wouldn't forget—they'd talk about it later.
Later came when it was Jim's turn to take some rest. Spock wasn't due to wake for another few hours, but this was probably the best chance to talk that they'd get without Jim having to worry that Chekov or Howard would walk in on them.
"Hey Spock," he said softly, kneeling by his side.
The Vulcan stirred, opened his eyes and at once fixed Jim with such an intense stare that Jim's mouth went dry; the lust he saw in it made his heart stutter. Jim leant forward. Spock didn't pull back. Maybe they could sort through this mess they'd gotten themselves into? Jim couldn't think of anything to say so instead he kissed him.
Spock jerked his head back, his whole body flinching at the touch. A slight twist of the upper lip, a narrowing of the eyes … those were the only signs of emotion Spock's face gave away though.
Jim could feel the blood rushing to his ears.
"Care to tell me what game you're playing?" he said in a low voice. "You act like that kiss came out of nowhere, but you've deliberately stepped into my personal space more than once, Spock-while on duty! And that's just not on."
"I apologize, Captain. It will not happen again."
Spock's face went completely blank, as Jim saw him win the battle to keep his emotions hidden. The fact that his Vulcan control had been disturbed enough to allow him to feel any emotions at all was proof enough to Jim that Spock was going through a hard time. His anger cooled. Clearly this wasn't easy for Spock.
They sat in silence or a while. Jim's mind worked hard; Spock had ended things once Jim had pressed him for something more serious. His friend still cared about him though, even if he hadn't fallen in love with him the way he had with Spock—and on top of it all he'd just seen that Spock still desired him. Was Spock really so sure that he could never love Jim in return? That they couldn't give this a chance?
"I can tell you're not alright," Jim said. "I'm sorry if I've caused you pain, I never meant for that to happen. That's the last thing you need any more of."
He felt like such an ass pressing Spock to answer any questions, but he needed to know, didn't he? And if he didn't ask now, then when?
"Spock, I should have asked you this a week ago, I know. But … are you sure we can't have a serious relationship?"
Spock raised an eyebrow-he seemed surprised at the question. He propped himself up on the sleeping pallet.
"Jim," he whispered, "I am sorry. We cannot … because I do not wish to give you my heart."
The last words were said so quietly, Jim could hardly make them out. They may have been said softly, but the force of their impact left him reeling. He felt like he'd taken a punch to the gut. A ragged breath escaped his mouth.
When he had his breathing under control again he lay down on the sleeping pallet next to Spock's. He turned his head to look at him. His mind had gone oddly blank, but he remembered his encounter with Spock earlier, when he'd caught him scanning himself with a tricorder.
"How are you feeling?" Jim whispered. "Bones was a bit unsure about your scans. Are you okay?"
"I am sure the doctor's report will be ready for you to read upon our return."
Jim looked up at the ceiling. This was not how he wanted it to be; Spock could play the evasive Vulcan trick on everyone, but he shouldn't be playing it on him.
"Are you ill?"
"Captain, I am not a doctor, McCoy, however, is."
Spock got up. "I do not require any more rest."
The curtain was left swinging gently once he'd left the room. Shit and shit again. Spock was worried about what had happened to him down on Saketh. Jim cursed himself some more. All this time he hadn't noticed. A great support he'd been to Spock, no wonder all his relationships failed.
Jim closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing so he could try to empty his mind of all conscious thought. It was a futile exercise. His mind refused to shut down-it was looking for another explanation why Spock had given himself a once over with the tricorder, but without success.
Although they were all stuck on a small ship together, Jim thought he was doing a remarkable job of avoiding Spock, while not making it obvious. The routine he'd set up whereby he hardly had to see his first officer was interrupted when they finally drew close to the pirate base. He ordered everyone to dress in the clothes they'd bought in P.L.K. and then he asked Howard to eject all their Starfleet technology and their uniforms into space; he wasn't going to risk leaving any evidence that might compromise their disguise. There were plenty of weapons on board, but now they no longer had a tricorder.
Jim stood in front of a mirror in the living quarters. The frame was intricately carved out of wood and was gilded in gold leaf. He shifted his focus to his reflection; he was satisfied that he looked the part of the rogue now that he'd changed clothes.
As far as acting the part went-all he had to do was think back a few years. If he wanted to trick the pirates, he'd have to be like one of the dangerous people he'd met in prison. He knew if he was on his own that he could trick the pirates, but he couldn't imagine Spock acting well for just one second, nor Chekov and Howard for that matter, though at least they should do a better job than Spock.
And Spock easily had the hardest job of all-what was a Romulan criminal like? What was Romulus like or a prison there? Spock had informed him that he didn't know. And how could he? The Federation had fought against them and yet except with Nero visual contact had remained elusive. When things were starting to look bad, the Romulans hit the self-destruct button.
Uhura was one of the few who knew Romulan. Their language and dialects had only become known very recently after much effort from Starfleet intelligence; the key had been the interception of some one hundred civilian subspace messages that had not been correctly encoded due to a fault on a Romulan ship. Pure luck really.
If even one of Kroth's men was Romulan, they'd be in trouble.
"Captain," Spock said, pushing the curtain aside, "you wished to be informed when we had all changed so that you could inspect the disguises."
"Yes. I did," he replied.
He had to repress a sigh. He longed for Spock to call him 'Jim'. He'd hardly ever called him Jim before they got together, only when the conversation was very personal or they'd been in extreme danger or something like that-although the older Spock had called him 'Jim' easily. Was that future ever going to happen in this universe?
He turned around; he'd avoided looking at Spock long enough. When he did his jaw almost fell off its hinges: Spock was wearing the jacket he'd chosen for him, and the rest of the outfit was very much in keeping with the jacket. Spock wouldn't have looked out of place at a hardcore drug addict convention.
"I was unsure how to style my hair."
"Well since you're a Romulan who wants to blend in with humans ... here, I'll make your hair more human."
He rummaged in his duffle, pulled out some hair gel he'd picked up at the shop and squirted some into the palm of his hand. It felt cool and smelt of alcohol. He reached for Spock's hair.
Jim didn't complete the motion. Spock was holding his breath and his eyes had widened by a small fraction. By now he knew Spock's well enough to judge that he was alarmed at the thought of Jim touching him, even though it was just his hair.
He knew he shouldn't let something like that get to him, but he couldn't help it.
"Come here." Jim's voice broke slightly when he talked; he winced. "I'll show you how you can do it. You'll have to get your hands messy though."
Spock nodded.
When they'd finished they left the quarters to find the others.
"The pirates are never going to accept you as their own. You aren't, either of you, in the least bit convincing," he heard Quol say to Howard and Chekov just as they approached the cockpit.
Jim looked at Spock. "Do they really look that bad?"
"I believe it is not their attire Quol is criticizing," Spock said.
"You're right there," Quol replied. "Yes, your men look like pirates, but you'll need more than that. This is my life on the line too you know. I can't be seen to be helping Starfleet! Either get your men in order or abandon the mission now while you still have a chance to keep us all from being killed. You don't even have a plan."
Jim nodded. "We're taking this seriously. We know what we're doing."
It was true that they didn't have a plan. A plan was useless, he'd explained to Spock. Instead he'd briefed them all to play along with whatever he decided to do once they were there-and what that was depended very much on whether they could keep Quol from stabbing them in the back or not.
"I'll try and make sure you get past most checks if not all," Quol said, "but I can't guarantee anything. They won't be expecting documents, but there'll be a lot of questions and you bet they have the equipment to check up on what you say."
Absently Jim scratched the back of his neck.
"They have acquired Klingon mind sifters?" Spock asked.
"Maybe," Quol replied.
Jim held Quol's gaze. The man was bluffing, he was sure.
"Ve haf entered their perimeter," Chekov announced.
Quol looked over his shoulder at the readout. "Then they should contact us any time now."
Right on cue a light on the dashboard started blinking. Jim nodded and Chekov accepted he call.
The man, whose face was now plastered across the main screen had reptilian skin and deep-set eyes.
"Spacefarers?" he asked.
Before Quol could answer Jim pulled out a plasma gun and pressed it firmly to the merchant's temple. None of his team flinched at his unexpected action, he was proud to note, not even Ensign Howard.
"No, Quol is our passenger," Jim said, his grin wide. "It surprised me when I found out you people trade with such a profiteering merchant, but then I suppose this far out some goods can't be stolen on a regular basis."
There was no change to the man's expression, although it was never easy to tell with aliens.
"I've seen the contraband he has in the hold," Jim went on. "I know you need it all … intact … so don't even think about attacking us. I want to talk to Kroth-now, if you'd be so kind."
"I'm Vig, his Deputant, I can speak for him in them here matters."
Although Vig's Standard was heavy with dialect, the inflection was near perfect.
"You don't want to lose this merchant's trade," Jim said pressing the tip of the gun into Quol's skin.
Quol nodded carefully.
"What do you want?" Vig asked.
"To talk to Kroth; to join up. I realize stealing this one shipment of cargo would get me quite a lot of latinum."
Although the rest of the face remained impassive, Vig's lipless mouth twisted into a snarl.
"But I also appreciate," Jim continued, "that then you guys would hunt us down and kill us. And you'd do that no matter who we stole from; this is your region of space. We'd rather live, so we want to join."
"So why risk your lives abducting our contact?"
"Thought we'd give you a little demonstration of our skills."
Jim grinned again; he hoped his smile wasn't getting repetitive. Someone off screen laughed and stepped into the picture—a Klingon.
"Welcome to my little kingdom. I am Kroth. And who might you be?"
"Jim."
"Well, Jim, I'm afraid I'll need to know you can do more than hold a plasma gun to someone's head. I need people who know how to work the decks of a spaceship, not wastrels. Everyone on board one of my pirate ships is an equal—life here is better than on your standard military vessel-everyone works hard and receives a fair share of the bounty with some going to me, of course, for the upkeep of this base."
"All of us can work a spaceship," Jim replied.
The tone of Kroth's voice dropped to a growl. "We'll judge that—once you deliver the goods to us."
The screen went blank.
"Oh, I'm so royally screwed," Quol moaned.
Jim glared at him.
"I hope you have fun being part of one of his 'fair' crews," Quol continued.
Spock took the helm and guided them down onto the base, which was on the surface of a large, rocky asteroid.
"If they want demonstrations of our skills once we land, then focus on showing them some piloting and mechanical skills," Jim addressed his men.
Chekov and Howard nodded.