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.

– Home-Part 30 of 35 –

The pirates had been forced to haul Jim up out of the questioning chair and drag him halfway across the room before Jim had been able to cooperate and use his own legs. The bone deep helplessness he'd felt had paralyzed him. Thanks to Dr. Barau he was strong enough—physically at least-to walk through the corridor towards the chamber of frescos unaided, but his whole body was still shaking.

In the light of the guards' torches he could see an opportunity up ahead; a narrow passageway to his right. Ten steps, five, two, now! He threw his weight sideways and for a moment he was free of the guards, but strong hands grasped his upper left arm and he was pulled back into the main corridor.

"I wouldn't try that again," the pirate who'd held him back said.

There were no further possibilities to escape on their march back to the fresco-lined room. They'd soon be there. His stomach turned uneasily; he just couldn't get the sight of Spock covered in blood out of his mind.

"Welcome back, Jim. I hope you enjoyed the mind-sifter," Isamb said with a nasty grin, before they'd even stepped over the threshold.

Instinctively Jim struggled against his restraints; if he'd been able to he would've punched Isamb in the teeth as hard as he could. But since he couldn't, he spat at Isamb's finely scarred face instead. There wasn't a torture technique that came to Jim's mind that he wouldn't rather have endured than the mind-sifter. He saw the light of the torches reflected as a glint in Isamb's narrowed eyes-yes, he thought, he'd even rather have suffered that.

"So that's a 'yes' then, right?" the pirate replied, using his sleeve to wipe himself clean.

If only he'd taken the possibility of Kroth owning a mind-sifter seriously, Jim thought, he could've looked for a way to prevent them from using it. As it was, he'd made a run for it the minute the guards had brought the Klingon machine into the room. Kroth had shot him, but the weapon must have been set to 'stun', because he'd awoken again to Dr Barau standing over him-his captors had already hooked him up to the mind-sifter.

He understood now why the pirates didn't routinely use it to test their recruits' background stories. If they did that, they'd have to look on as those men and women jumped onto the nearest ship and sped away at warp 7 without even stopping to check whether the ship's hatch was closed or not.

Isamb stepped to one side; behind him he saw that Spock was still in the same place as before. But now his first officer was awake, his bangs sticky with drying blood, his dark eyes below them fixed on Jim. Whatever the pirates had done to Spock, he'd weathered it. Jim broke their eye contact.

Spock had suffered to keep what he knew of the Ark secret from Kroth; the cuts, the blood ... all evidence that he'd offered up resistance. Jim had done nothing, though, as the pirates tore the information right out of his mind, thought by thought. The device had been far more powerful than he'd ever imagined a mind-sifter could be. More than a lie detector, though less than a direct line to his thoughts. He wondered if Kroth had gotten one of the Vulcanoids to modify it.

He was thrown to the floor, right next to Spock.

"Captain, are you alright?"

How typical of Spock to only worry about him, his Captain, he thought, when the Vulcan's own wounds were far worse than his; the blue uniform was completely green.

"Jim, answer me."

There was an urgency in the whispered words that was made more touching through the strangeness of hearing it disrupt the even tone of the Vulcan Standard speech pattern. Of course Spock couldn't know he was fine, Jim realized-he'd not said a word since entering the chamber.

He continued to avoid the dark eyes. "I'm okay."

Spock shuffled closer, an action that must have been excruciatingly painful, so that he was almost resting his head on Jim's shoulder.

His voice was little more than a rough breath. "Kroth was irate that the Vulcan Katras were not communicating with him. I do not believe he fully understands the functioning of the Katric Ark."

"He didn't," Jim replied in an equally hushed tone. He took a shaky breath. "But I answered every question he put to me. Every single fucking one."

"It was not your fault."

"I told him what he needed. I told him he needed a Vulcan telepath, Spock. I told him that if he want to talk to them somehow, that he needs to use you."

Jim groaned; all he could taste was blood. When Kroth had ordered Isamb to beat up both him and Spock, the pirate had not needed telling twice. Although Kroth hadn't stayed to observe, they'd been under the watchful scrutiny of Kroth's guards the whole time. Those same guards were now dragging them gruffly through the corridors. Finally the one holding Jim let go and he fell unceremoniously onto the floor, face first. He tasted dust and sand. When he opened his swollen left eye a crack he recognized the place immediately: they were in the Katric Ark.

Jim's heart started beating faster because they'd finally made it to their destination, this whole ordeal hadn't been for nothing. At the same time, though, it sank when he took in the scene. All around him the pirates had tipped over statues and hauled stone relics into the centre of the chamber, only to smash them to pieces. He hoped they hadn't destroyed too many of the tribal stones-that they weren't too late.

A booted foot moved to block out the view; it was only inches from his face. He tried to look up, but his neck wouldn't twist that far.

"Lift him up."

As pirates jumped to the command immediately, Jim was pulled up onto his knees in an instant.

"Kroth," Jim spat out. "Why?"

He looked over to Spock. Green blood dripped onto the floor of the Katric Ark. He didn't know if Spock was mentally still with them or already putting their plan into action and talking to the Vulcan spirits. Kroth laughed mirthlessly and knelt down so that he was closer to Jim.

The Klingon lowered his voice, so it was barely above a whisper in the loud room. "As you know, I'm aware that there's no gold, no latinum, no dilithium to be found here. I'm no fool. I know what this place is. That it holds the secret to immortality."

Jim frowned and looked at Kroth sideways. Immortality? That's what he was after?

Kroth smiled a toothy grin. "Now I already knew about mind melds, but I had no idea that telepathy might hold the secret to unlocking the value of this chamber. I'd sure like to see if I can't win the Vulcan's co-operation after all-so that he can help me towards my goal."

Kroth stood up again in one fluid movement. "So as you can see, my dear Jim, you're not really of any use to us anymore. Although, maybe you can help me to persuade the Vulcan here to do my bidding?"

Isamb dragged in a girl on her knees and dumped her in front of Kroth's feet. She looked even more beaten up than Spock. Her fingers were at odd angles, as if they'd all been broken.

"T'Gallachea!"

Jim snapped his head around to look at Spock who'd just shouted out to the woman. He studied her. Was it possible she was the same one that he'd seen on the pirate base? Her battered face was unrecognizable to him, but she was Vulcanoid. He'd thought she was unconscious, but she lifted her face and fixed her eyes on Spock. Jim wasn't sure what she said, it sounded Vulcan, but she said it in such a pleading tone, that Jim winced in sympathy for her. When she repeated it, over and over again, he realized that it sounded a lot like a name he'd seen before in the ship's records—Spock's full name. He'd never even tried to pronounce it himself, sure that he'd mangle it with his human tongue. Now he regretted that. He swallowed past the knot in his throat.

"Spock," he whispered and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again the Vulcan's attention was still on his wife, rather than on the spirits as it should have been; he should be focusing on talking to them, to rally their help so they could drive out the pirates. A cold band coiled tightly around his stomach. Had Spock already tried and been rejected? If so, there would be no future for a large portion of the Vulcan survivors—for those who needed the stones Kroth was destroying.

It was so senseless that the Klingon was shattering the chances of so many Vulcans simply to get the Katras' attention, whiled the pirates were smashing the stones in their search for some non-existent treasure they'd been promised by Kroth. Damnit, he hated Klingons! Hated their guts. Kroth couldn't be allowed to get away. It would be disastrous for Saketh to have such a ruthless enemy lying in waiting, ready to strike out brutally against the colony at any time. Jim's mind ran through all the possible scenarios.

Kroth grabbed Spock's wife by her hair, twisting her head so she was facing Jim.

"Is he the one?" The pirate leader asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" she screamed in pain.

Kroth let go of her; she collapsed back onto the floor.

He turned to address Jim. "I think maybe you should tell your friend not to engage in so much pillow talk next time." He laughed. "So you and the Vulcan are lovers? How very un-Vulcan of him to give a fuck about anyone or anything but his precious logic. He didn't talk earlier when we broke his wife. I'll have to do a little experiment to find out whether he cares about you or not. Men!"

The guards picked Jim up, getting him off his knees and onto his feet. They held him securely by his arms and stood on his feet in such as way that he couldn't move at all. Another pirate walked up to Kroth and handed him a dagger-or maybe it was a simple knife, Jim wasn't sure. It didn't really matter.

Then Kroth stepped up to him and stabbed him with the blade. It pierced the flesh of his right shoulder. He choked out a muffled cry. Warm blood from the wound soaked into the clothes Kroth had given him.

"Do you see this, Vulcan?"

Kroth drew the blade straight down from Jim's shoulder to his chest, slicing open his shirt, his skin, and cutting into the underlying muscle. Jim bit his teeth together, but the wound was deep and the pain so excruciating he thought he might pass out. Every breath he took seemed to widen the cut.

"Talk, Vulcan! Or all that will be left of your lover will be strips of bloody meat. Or is that all he is to you? A piece of meat? The secrets of this chamber! Will you agree to share ...?"

Jim couldn't make out any more as his hearing failed him, while grey sparks peppered his vision. It seemed his other senses were in overdrive though, but only to focus on his own body and the blade that was buried in his flesh.

Kroth continued his work and over the course of a small eternity he drew the blade all the way down, cutting Jim's abdomen, thigh, and legs until finally he drew it away. Jim was starting to feel light headed. Maybe it was the pain, maybe the blood loss.

Kroth next used the blade to cut Jim's clothes off him. Scratching him as he worked, he left long red ribbons behind, but the Klingon worked fast and the cuts were neither as deep nor as painful as the first one. Jim closed his eyes. The cold of the underground city took his breath away as Korth finally stripped him of the last piece of clothing.

A blood curdling scream cut through the haze clouding Jim's perceptions. He opened his eyes to see what was going on. He could still hardly hear, but at least he could make out some sounds again. Spock was writhing on the floor, clutching so tightly at his head with his hands that Jim could see the tendons stretched tight over the knuckle bones of the pale skinned hands. Clearly he was in agony-Jim remembered what he had said about the ancient, pre-reform Katras, that they might cause him some mental scarring … Jim couldn't bear to think about it further.

The pirates all jumped at least a step away from Spock, their eyes wide, their hands either searching for their weapons, or if they were already holding them, then their fingers hovered dangerously over the buttons. Kroth gave a nervous laugh that wasn't picked up by any of his men. He growled at them, but they were still spooked by the scene. While Spock hadn't let out another scream and was silent now, he was still writhing around on the floor, hands not leaving his head even for a moment.

It had been cold before Kroth had stripped Jim of his garments, but now he was freezing; the blood drying on his skin was not helping him retain any body warmth. He was beginning to shake uncontrollably, although whether it was from the cold or from seeing his lover suffer he wasn't sure, but his guards continued to hold onto him, keeping him standing upright.

"Who said that?" Kroth demanded of the room.

Jim wasn't sure what the pirate leader was talking about, but he was thankful none the less as it diverted attention away from him.

"No one said anything," Isamb replied.

"Don't bullshit me, someone said something. In their own language, not in Standard, I heard it. Who was cursing me behind my back?"

Kroth's face was contorted in anger when he turned around again to face Jim. Suddenly Kroth looked towards the ceiling and stretched his hands wide either side of himself. The dagger dropped to the floor with a clang.

"Identify yourself," he bellowed.

The pirates started murmuring and Jim could feel the grip of the pirates on him loosen-although he was in far too bad a state to take advantage of that; he still wouldn't be able to fight them off. But if they actually let go of him … Jim gathered his strength. He took a few deep, shaky breaths, but those only cooled him down further. Only a few flesh wounds, he told himself over and over again. You can't risk Kroth getting away, the future of Saketh, the future of the Vulcan people depends on you eradicating the pirate threat now, once and for all.

It seemed Kroth was still the only one who could hear the voices, and he was so engrossed in listening to them, that the pirates found themselves momentarily leaderless and at a loss for what to do without someone like Vig to step up and take control. The panic was rising up in them, he could see it in their faces; their eyes darted from Kroth to one another. They were not sure anymore if their fellow pirate was friend or foe.

Jim briefly wondered whether Spock may have given in to Kroth's demands and put him in contact with the ancient Vulcan spirits, but he doubted it.

As if in confirmation Kroth shouted. "Get out of my head!"

To his right, out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw a pirate back away from Kroth towards the wall of the chamber. She brushed one of the large statues behind her. At that moment she jerked her head back, opened her mouth and didn't stop screaming.

Jim was unceremoniously dropped; he collapsed on top of his shredded clothes-only a few meters away from Spock, who seemed to be suffering from seizures, although Jim couldn't be sure, as the pirates dropped their torches.

Jim had to get up. If this was the Katra's way of helping them, then Spock had managed to complete his task (and at no small cost). Now it was up to Jim to take out Kroth while the commotion lasted, and there was no knowing how much time he had left.

Get up! He commanded his body. One last stand, you don't have to hold on much longer. He tried to bring up all the urgency he felt for the Vulcans ... For Spock's people, for his friend's sacrifice! If Kroth got away, if the voices stopped now without Jim having acted, then the pirates might destroy more stones. If the Klingon got away, he would come back, he'd be a constant threat to this colony. He wouldn't give up, if he got away he would gather a stronger army and one day he would unleash it on Saketh and the few Vulcan survivors.

Jim pushed himself onto his knees. His head spun from the sudden movement and then he too started hearing the voices. There were hundreds, no, thousands of them. A rush of noise: loud, invading, all pervasive. There were no echoes. The Katras, dead Vulcans, Jim thought, but he couldn't hold onto the words in his mind, his own thoughts swept away from him in a tidal wave of mental assault. He couldn't think coherently, he had only emotions, actions, reactions, and instincts. The foundation of every thought was swept away before it could form. He collapsed back down onto the floor of the Katric Ark again, his skin burning like hell as he rolled around naked in the dirt, which worked its way into his wounds, as his blood soaked into the dried mud beneath him.

Jim, can you hear me?

The thought appeared in his mind, overpowering those of the Katras, but he could not react to it. Then the voices grew quieter around him, a roaring in the distance.

Spock?

Yes, I am here. I will shield you, but I will not be able to do that for long.

Why not?

But because Spock was all around Jim's mind, standing guard over it, Jim could feel Spock's mind and thoughts, so he knew the answer the instant he'd thought the question: Spock was taking a massive battering. This was the last of his strength; soon he would be carried away by the tide.

Jim opened his eyes. The torches that were still working that the pirates had dropped were haphazardly pointing at the bases of the statues that lined the Katric Ark, casting only a reflective glow off them which barely illuminate the chamber. In that faint light though, Jim could make out that all around him people were groaning and whimpering, curled into fetal positions on the floor, or were angrily banging their fists and sometimes their heads against the nearest hard surface. Others looked like crazed animals in pain, running around without a thought, looking for an escape.

He got up, grabbed a torch, dropped it and then tried again. His fingers were numb and stiff. Finally he was satisfied his grip was tight enough to hold onto it. He shone the light in a wide arch around the room. Isamb lay lifeless on the floor a few feet away. Jim rolled him over and stole his coat. The warmth made his skin prick. Then he bent down and took the man's weapon. He should have been in far more pain, he was sure, Spock must be helping him with the worst of it.

His fingers still felt numb but he held onto the light tightly and darted around the room, from body to body, looking for Kroth. But he wasn't there.

The light fell on Spock, curled up, bleeding out of his eyes and ears. He swallowed. No, he had to go on—had to find Kroth. What would he have done if it hadn't been for Spock? If he'd have run? He would only have had his instincts to guide him, but he was sure he would have tried to get out of the mountain.

Jim headed down the passageway that lead towards the main entrance, retracing the very steps that he'd taken with Spock all those weeks ago. A time that now seemed like a different life. One in which he hadn't known what it was like to fall in love. Tears pricked his eyes. But Spock was still alive, he knew. As long as the voices stayed out of his mind, Spock lived.

He kept running. Up ahead he could hear shouting. When he burst into the next room he ran straight into a fist. The fight was bad, hands, feet and teeth were being used equally, while plasma rifles were doubling up as clubs. There were no less than ten people. Everyone had a crazed look in their eyes. The light from Jim's torch was making him a target and as they started to advance as one on him, they took no notice of the weapon in his hand; they were no longer able to understand that it was dangerous. A pirate threw herself at Jim and he barely had time to leap out of the way. He lost his balance, fell to the ground, and rolled on his shoulder. He jerked up his right hand, which was holding the plasma weapon, took aim, and shot. There was a thud as the first attacker went down, but a second pirate grabbed his leg. They kept on coming at him, like a pack of wild animals, and he could barely keep up defending himself despite the firepower of his weapon. After he had just shot down the fifth pirate, he was shoved to the ground from behind. The pirate was strong, and wrenched the weapon from his grip with ease and flung it aside. Jim looked up and in the dim light of the torch on the ground he saw that it was Kroth. But the spark of intelligence had left the Klingon's dark eyes, replaced with a terrifying madness. Jim cursed himself that he'd not been able to shoot him first!

The voices in his head had been kept to a low murmur but now they rose in strength again. Not now, he thought as he wrestled with Kroth. He was losing badly, but fear shot to his heart. Hold on Spock! Don't give up! Don't die on me, you can't die!

Jim knew that he was physically weaker than the Klingon and that he had to put his only advantage to good use-that he could just about still think! He scanned the floor. The weapon wasn't lying too far away from him. Jim didn't aim, he just punched as hard as he could upwards and hit something soft. The man screamed. Jim reached for the plasma gun-he could feel the cold metal. He closed his fingers around the handle and pulled his hand back. Kroth was crushing his ribcage, had his hands around Jim's neck. He … kill damned Klingon of if he ... his thoughts were being swept away, as the voices, foreign voices rushed through his mind. Bright red light filled his vision.

Uhura, put her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes at Ensign Baron, from the USS Excalibur. They were both standing opposite each other at the edge of the forest on Saketh, near the entrance to the underground city. Behind her she could hear people step up behind her. She swung around to check who it was—Sulu, Chekov, and some security officer—then she focused her attention back on the Ensign.

"Why's she down here?" she heard the security officer behind her ask Sulu.

Although his voice was quiet, he was clearly not making any effort to prevent it from carrying.

"Well," Sulu replied nonchalantly, "I hear that she's quite good at getting people to talk. You know, she is the ship's communications officer after all."

Uhura concentrated on the ensign in front of her again and cross her arms. "I don't have all day. I want a full witness report from you right now. I don't care if you think you should be asking your Captain for permission to give me one or not. This is a Starfleet investigation launched by the acting-Captain of Starfleet's flagship. You will tell me what happened down here, and you will tell me now."

"See," she heard Sulu whisper, "wouldn't want to be in her bad books."

In front of her Ensign Baron nodded slowly.

"Good," she said. "I'll just patch in acting-Captain Scott and Chief Medical Officer McCoy."

When she'd done that and both Scotty and the doctor had confirmed that they could hear both her and Baron she smiled at the ensign, inviting him to start giving them his account of the events he'd witnessed.

"Well, um," he said, "there's not too much to say really. Commander Spock came running past me so fast I could hardly make out that it was him. He was dragging Captain Kirk along with him, holding his hand tightly and not letting go of him at any point, even when the Captain stumbled. As I said, they rushed past me-they were about ten meters or so away from where I was standing with crewman Jackobs-and we shouted out to them to stop and come back. They didn't listen though and headed straight for the entrance to the mountain city."

He turned slightly to indicate the direction in which they'd run with a wave of his hand.

"I thought they were going to go in. But they didn't. They just stopped in the middle of the field. Just over there."

Uhura followed the line of his arm with her eyes. It was a fair distance from here to the entrance of the city.

"Where exactly?" she asked.

"About half-way from here to the entrance."

"Go on," Scotty said.

"Then the pirates noticed them. We couldn't shoot though. From where we were posted, we would've risked hitting either the Captain or the Commander instead of the pirates and we didn't know what their plans were, so we did nothing."

A slight sheen of perspiration was forming on the ensign's brow. Clearly he wasn't so confident that he'd acted correctly.

"They didn't do anything. Didn't defend themselves against the pirates at all."

"They did nothing, they just stood there?" Uhura pressed.

"Um. I … I think they kissed. But I'm not sure of that."

"Could have been a Vulcan mind-meld," McCoy cut in. "It's an ancient ritual. I've been reading up a lot about Vulcans recently. They have some telepathic abilities which they can use when they touch certain points on others' faces with their hands-though I've not read anything about them being able to perform it with humans."

Uhura raised her eyebrows at Baron when he remained silent. "Could it have been that, Ensign?"

"Possibly," he said woodenly.

"So maybe the Capt'n was under Commander Spock's influence?" Scotty said.

"And if he'd snapped, lost his mind somehow, there's no telling what his actual plan was-if he even had one," Bones replied.

"Did you-," Uhura began, but was interrupted by Chekov.

"Look out!" the young man shouted. "Pirates!"

Uhura shot to cover behind a tree. She reached out and pulled Baron along with her.

"Thanks," he said, when they were, both of them, standing with their backs pressed up against the rough bark of the wide trunk.

Around them the others had all sought cover too, but there was no weapons' fire as they'd all expected. Instead there was a lot of shouting. There had to be a whole group of pirates charging right at them, like Vikings from a holo-flick adventure when first disembarking from their ship. She pulled out her phaser and peered around the trunk. One of the pirates was running straight for the tree behind which the security officer from the Enterprisehad taken refuge.

"Look out," she said and leapt away from the trunk, throwing herself to the forest floor as she took aim and fired.

The pirate stumbled and then went down. Unintelligible shouts reached her ears from all around—the other pirates had not been far behind the one she'd taken down. She stayed low amongst the dead leaves until she was as sure as was possible in the chaos where the pirates were heading. Five were going straight for Sulu and Chekov. In one leap she was up and sprinting towards them, firing her phaser at the approaching pirates whenever a tree or friendly person wasn't in the way.

Chekov ran towards the entrance to the mountain, from which ever more pirates were emerging. The ensign dodged the enemies skillfully. Uhura locked eyes with Sulu, who waved her to follow Chekov.

'I'll be fine', he mouthed, as three pirates came careering around a group of trees in front of him.

She set off and was soon head to head with Chekov.

"I do not understand zis! They have all lost their minds!"

"What is that? Do you hear it too?" she said, panting as they drew closer to the mountain.

But Chekov was no longer next to her. When she looked back she saw he'd dropped his weapon and was holding a hand to his temple as if he had a bad headache.

Then she could resolve the sounds she was hearing. They were voices—Vulcan voices. She stopped in her tracks. The pirates coming out of the passageway ahead ignored her and ran past her, just trying to put as much distance between themselves and the mountain as possible.

She concentrated, then took a few more steps forward-and a few more, until she could clearly hear the thoughts in her mind, but without being overwhelmed by them. There were too many for her to be able to pick out and listen to individual voices, but they were definitely Vulcan and she had no doubt they were the cause of the panic amongst the pirates.

"Lieutenant!" Chekov choked behind her.

He'd fallen to his knees, unable to move, his face contorted in pain.

She closed her eyes and formed the word clearly in her mind in High Vulcan.

Stop.

The intensity of the voices didn't lessen, if anything it increased and she took a step backwards. The voices were quieter again.

Stop what you are doing. Enough.

Ghosts of images, concepts, and thoughts flooded her mind and she was thankful that she was outside of the mountain or the invasion would have overpowered her. But as they were but wisps of information she was able to analyze everything and make some sense of it. She heard Spock's voice, pleading for help. And he'd received it, evidently, but it was not the kind of help he'd wanted, she could tell from the … thought, the pattern, she picked up, that their reaction had shocked him. Clearly, he hadn't been able to stop them. Maybe he'd had to concentrate too hard to keep out the flood of voices to be able to talk to them again without risking being overwhelmed. After all, if she as a non-telepath could hear them, how loud must they have been to Spock? Or maybe, she felt her throat tighten, maybe the Spock she knew no longer existed, his mind swept clear of everything that made him Spock.

Spock, the Vulcan you talked to, did not want you to react like this. You will be harming him. You must stop.

The current of thoughts in her mind changed. Collectively the sound of the voices sounded darker now, suspicious and distrustful. She wasn't Vulcan, they could sense that. Why should they listen to her?

She dug deep and brought up memories that she'd tried to bury and ignore in the last few months. Memories of herself and Spock, of the love that they'd shared before the destruction of Vulcan; the trust and familiarity.

Spock trusts me, trust me too.

The telepathic storm calmed, the voices retreating gust by gust.