Title: Home (Multichapter fic with 35 parts)

Beta: un-beta'd D: D: D:

Warnings: bondage, torture, prostitution, explicit sex, drug use, attempted rape

Themes and Tropes: exploration/adventure, outlaws, bottom!Spock

Summary: Jim is heading towards a personal crisis. Their mission is vitally important: to find a new home world for the Vulcan race in the face of alien opposition. Soon it is clear that there is only one planet that will do. To secure the mysterious planet Jim must play his hand perfectly, but guilt at not having been able to save Vulcan and the responsibilities of captaining the Enterprise are wearing him down. Determined to be professional, he forces loneliness upon himself until a kiss he shares with his first officer changes everything.

"Life is short," Spock said.

Those words brought the tight feeling back to Jim's chest and he hugged Spock again. If he'd lost Spock … the idea that he might never have seen those eyes again pained him beyond belief. The excitement he felt paled in comparison to a sudden wave of raw urgency that broke over him.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters, Paramount does, and didn't create them either, Roddenberry did.

Author's note (please read! Very important!): I've added another warning, so if you have any triggers then you might want to check that out (above or in the header of the first chapter). Right, you can skip the rest of the note and go straight to reading the fic now.

Just wanted to apologise for the long wait, but now I'm settled in Korea now with internet sorted out at last. I still seem to be a bit jetlagged though :-S. Hope you all enjoy!

– Home-Part 29 of 35 –

The back of Jim's eyeballs felt like they were bruised and his skull was pounding along in time with his heartbeat. The wall against which his limp body had been resting was cold and rough to the touch-he knew that because his hands were bound tightly behind his back and were raw where they'd scraped against the stone. A short-lived struggle to bring himself into a slightly less uncomfortable sitting position taught him that his feet were also restrained.

"Awake? Good," someone said.

People were laughing. Jim opened his left eye a fraction; his right one hurt too much. The light was dim and at first he couldn't recognize any of the people in the room as his vision was blurry. Then one of the figures kneeled down next to him and moved right into his personal space.

The man was so close that Jim could now make out his features. They were unmistakable—it was that red shirted pirate. He was wearing black now, but his eyes had the same glint in them as when they'd last met.

Jim turned his face away from him and craned his neck to look past him-who else was in the room, and most importantly, where was Spock?

"The 'pointy eared bastard' isn't here, Jim. Should've know he was Vulcan the minute you called him that. No Romulan would've stood for it, but Vulcans just turn the other cheek, don't they? And to think I let him intimidate me."

Ignoring the pirate Jim continued to look around. The man was right, Spock wasn't with them, though three other pirates were. It gave him some hope that they thought it necessary to post four guards; Spock had to be nearby. Assigning even one person to guard him in his current condition was one person too many.

He studied the room. They were in a small chamber with illustrated walls-not the Katric Ark, where they needed to be.

"Interesting murals, aren't they?" He could hear the grin in the man's voice.

When Jim focused on the walls, he saw that it was the chamber with the ancient frescoes.

A warm hand touched his cheek. Jim cringed away from the touch, but the man grabbed hold of his jaw firmly and brought his lips to Jim's. The pain in his still tender jaw-bone eclipsed every other sensation and was all he could think of.

"You're a pretty one."

Jim was left gasping for air, tears stinging his eyes.

The hand moved from his jaw, down his neck, to his thin medical gown, which put up a fight that it ultimately lost, the material ripping at the seams and coming undone from the collar to his shoulder joint. Jim shivered; not only because of the cold air that more of his skin was now exposed to, but also because the pirate's intentions were unmistakable.

The man yanked him away from the wall and then threw him face down onto the floor, pressing his jaw to it until Jim let out a pained howl.

"Don't struggle."

Jim closed his eyes tightly and wished he could do the same for his ears as the sound of a belt being unbuckled reached him.

"Isamb, stop it!" one of the other three pirates said.

"Too much for you to stomach? Go step out of the room then. Anyone else can join in if they want to. But he's mine first. I still have a debt to settle with Jim and his pet Vulcan after what they did to me."

"He's not your sex toy, you perverted fuck," a deep voice said.

That was good. So now he had at least two pirates who were on his side. He didn't have a clue how Spock had actually gotten rid of the guy after they'd left the table together, but unless it involved the pirate suffering excruciating pain, he found he didn't care.

A hand stroked his left thigh. "He's a Starfleet Captain, use your brain, Manni. Kroth is going to torture him for information and I'm just softening him up."

"Knock it off, Isamb. Like you said, he's a Starfleet captain, not a usual prisoner. So he's not ours, he's Kroth's. Even if this prisoner was ours to deal with, you still can't decide on your own what to do with him. You think you're special, that you somehow deserve more of a say in things than everyone else—and you think you can get away with that, but you can't."

A quiet click followed by the whirring sound of a plasma rifle being turned up to maximum power sounded through the cold air of the chamber. Jim had realized during his short visit that Kroth had organized the pirates, that they were more than just a lumping together of thugs—they followed one leader loyally. And right now, he was thankful for that. Jim opened his eyes again, but he wasn't able to make out what was going on.

"So what are you going to do? Report me to Kroth for messing with his prisoner? Shoot me?"

"I have a mind to do so."

"What? Not a single one of you has some backbone? You're all so scared of Kroth and his cronies-."

"We arehis cronies and have been for some time. And if you can't deal with that and want the old days back when it was just you, me, and Fist, then you're out of luck—there's no return to them there days."

There was silence for a while and Jim wished he could make out what was happening. Then he heard a snort, a rustling of fabric and then the sound of a belt being done up again. The relief he felt was short-lived, though, as his mind churned through what he'd learnt—that he was going to be handed over to Kroth for questioning.

He was under no illusions that he'd be able to stay completely silent under torture. The last official command track Academy lecture he'd sat through had been delivered to him by Pike himself from his hospital bed. 'If they have you and you can't tell them what you know under any circumstances,' Pike had said in a hoarse voice, 'then it's your duty as a Starfleet captain to look for ways to end your life before they can get the information out of you'. He doubted Kroth had the kind of expertise needed to break him, though he couldn't rule out that the Klingon commanded men who were well trained in torture techniques.

An icy dread crawled over his skin. Was Spock being questioned right now? Was he alright?

Footsteps echoed through an adjoining corridor, growing ever louder until a group of people entered the room. He looked up and through the blurriness he was able to make out Spock. It had to be Spock. Severe dark hair and … green. Jim closed his eyes, but the color wouldn't go away. Bright green filled his vision. He opened his eyes again, but still. Green. That was all he could see. The blood was everywhere, staining Spock's clothes, face and hands. Jim felt the bile rise in the back of his throat.

Manni and the other pirate who'd kept him from being raped walked over to him and manhandled him back into a sitting position against the wall. Spock was dumped unceremoniously next to him, his eyes closed and head slumped to one side.

"What did you bastards do to him?" Jim spat.

Isamb came forward, kicked Spock in the side, inches below where the Vulcan's heart was, and when that got no response he slapped him across the face.

"I guess they used the mind-sifter at a high setting. Probably nothing more than mush left inside that Vulcan skull."

Jim clenched his jaw. Liar! Spock would be fine. There was no Klingon mind-sifter. Kroth didn't have one or Vig would've used it on them when Quol had told him they were Starfleet spies.

Green, green, green, everywhere he looked. What had they wanted to know from Spock anyway? Surely they already knew everything from the prostitute? He took a couple of shaky breaths. Mind melds probably didn't leave you with a complete set of the other person's memories and experiences, that would be ludicrous, wouldn't it? So she might not have known much, just enough to lead them here.

But what did Kroth think he could achieve? Jim tried to block out the voices of the pirates as they talked amongst themselves so that he could focus on that one thought. Clearly Kroth didn't like the idea of an increased Federation presence so close to his sector of space—but how did he intend to stop the re-colonization of Saketh? He must've come here with a plan. Spock had known the Katric Ark was important, of course, and what its purpose was. But he hadn't grasped its full significance, as he hadn't known about the clan stones, had he?

Isamb kicked Jim hard in the groin. "Well, I guess you'll soon know what they did to your Vulcan, as it's your turn now."

The kick wasn't well aimed, so although it hurt like hell, he knew from experience the pain wouldn't last more than a few minutes. As he was picked up and dragged out of the chamber, he tried to look back-Spock. His heart ached at being parted from him again, but he was in no fit state to fight his guards. Damnit, this plan wasn't going well. How much did Kroth know? Were they purposefully being kept out of the Katric Ark? Or had Spock been taken there, but failed to rally the ancient spirits in defense?

"Take off them there restraints and leave us both alone," Kroth said from behind a stone table.

They were in a small room which was located a few meters off the corridor that led to the Katric Ark. The guards followed Kroth's orders, but when they let go of his upper arms Jim swayed on his feet. To stay upright he widened his stance—but it was no use. He was too cold and too weak; within seconds he'd collapsed onto his knees.

"Wait," Kroth said, before his guards could leave. "Fetch Doctor Barau and some decent clothes for him to wear."

Jim heard their footsteps retreating and once their sound died down, he was left in silence, only his own heartbeat and breathing audible. Was Kroth still in the room? He looked up. A tall figure loomed in the darkness behind the stone table. Jim was weak, but he knew if necessary he had some reserves he could tap into—he always had some additional energy somewhere. The question was if it would be worth getting up now. He could run, or he could attack Kroth. If the Klingon had a weapon, which he most likely did, he'd be dead in an instant. Maybe that would be for the best though.

The guards returned with hurried footsteps and dumped a pile of clothes on the floor in front of his knees.

Another man knelt down next to him. "I'm Doctor Barau, I'm going to treat you."

Jim struggled with the garments, but eventually he got them on over the top of his own, far too thin, clothes. They reeked of a cocktail of drugs, though Meekon was the dominant smell. But they were warm, and his body appreciated that. The minute he'd finished wrapping himself up in them, the two guards each took hold of one of his arms, holding onto them with a bruising force.

"Just a few hypo-sprays. Try not to move," Barau said.

Jim didn't like those on the best of days, but he knew that no amount of struggling would change that he would receive those hypos, and he couldn't afford to waste any energy now, not when he might still need it later. The cold hypos were pressed to his neck with a sharp hiss one after another.

"What drugs're you giving me?" he asked.

Was it truth serum? A sedative?

"Something to keep you going. You're on the verge of collapse," Doctor Barau replied.

Kroth strode around the table. "It's quite hard to question people when they're unconscious. Learnt that lesson with the Vulcan, so we're not going to repeat that mistake with you." He turned to his men. "Thank you. You can go."

When they left he pulled a plasma weapon from its holster on his belt and aimed it at Jim's chest.

"See, our doctors are professional. I don't just have the dregs here—I'm trying to build up a new society."

Jim grunted. "One that's based on piracy?"

His vision was slowly coming into focus and he felt his strength returning; the drugs were working, but he still didn't trust Kroth.

"I don't call it stealing, I call it collecting tribute."

"I heard you destroyed a Romulan ship. That was just collecting tribute, was it?"

"They were far too proud to pay us anything, and that's their choice, a regrettable one for sure. But we will take from everyone who passes through our space and destroy those who stand in our way. Humble beginnings maybe, but all great empires start off small—and with aggressive leaders."

"The Federation didn't."

Kroth ignored him. "What about history's great personalities? Monsters or conquers they might be, but still, they are remembered for the greatness of the empires they created. Doesn't everyone on Earth learn about Alexander the Great? He's never called Alexander the Gruesome, even now. You humans are delusional if you think that as a culture you don't still admire these people."

Jim was glad for the hypos Barau had given him, even if their function was only to keep him conscious for the questioning; his mind was sharper, his thoughts coming together more easily. Now was his chance to derail Kroth's monologue.

"If Alexander were here, even he would advise anyone with your size fleet against taking on the Federation. I know you're not stupid, so why are you here? What do you really want?"

"What do I want?" Kroth hit Jim across the face sharply. "You just said I wasn't stupid and yet now you're trying to take me for a fool, you know what I'm here for."

"The Federation will never let you take this planet."

"Well, I'm scared of the response so far, I'm nearly shitting myself. A Vulcan and a half-dead human? Very threatening. Hmmm, can you tell me what the captain of Starfleet's flagship is doing letting himself be captured while too ill to function without medication?"

Jim didn't answer.

"I reckon whatever it is you were attempting you didn't have your superiors' approval or you wouldn't have come down in this state, at the very least you'd be wearing a uniform. I know what you want. You want the same thing I do. Admit it!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Kroth."

"We'll see about that."

The Klingon walked over to the exit, mindful to keep his weapon pointing at Jim, and called for his guards to bring the rifle.