A/N: Six days between updates! Crazysauce.
You will think, reading the first part of this chapter, "Ohshit, did I skip a chapter?" No. You didn't. You'll see.
(Don't forget to Google "Cannae.")
For Nina, who is going to kick ass on her finals today.
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Enterprise High
being a high school AU of ST: XI
with many hijinks
and much angst
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Chapter Thirty-Nine: Return of the Archons
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Actions lie louder than words.
—Carolyn Wells
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Kirk watched the cop reach for the communicator. Any number of wild ideas spun through his head. He could whip around and front-chop the cop holding his arms. Kick her in the ankle. Smash her jaw with a headbutt. Or maybe, a distraction instead—a faked reaction; a shout or a scream.
Instead he twisted a little in the cop's grip, so that his wrists wouldn't hurt as much, and watched as the other cop dialed.
"Winona Lawrence? You're the guardian of James Tiberius Kirk? This is the San Francisco Police Department, Officer Hao speaking…"
x
Kirk had never been arrested in San Francisco before. It was kinda fun, if he ignored the core of ice glowing uncomfortably in his stomach. The jails were much larger here than in Riverside, and the walls were covered in really interesting graffiti. Also, the inmates were ten times more intriguing. Kirk was tossed into the minor's cell. An eight-foot tall Klingon wiped blood out of her eyes so that she could glare at him better. Kirk tried not to gulp.
"Your mom's gonna be here soon, but I'm sure the paperwork will take a while," growled Officer Hao, who held a grudge against him. Evidently it didn't do to make cops run. "Kal'ayan, don't beat him up too badly."
The Klingon nodded grimly and popped her knuckles.
"See you in a few, Mr. Kirk," grinned Officer Hao, activating the field.
Fuck, thought Kirk. This very not good.
He looked around the cell. The Klingon was taking up an entire bench, but nobody was arguing with her, which was understandable. The other humans were crowded into a corner, avoiding both the Klingon and another female in the cell: a Romulan, with curly blonde hair and very black eyes.
"Kirk?" she said.
Kirk frowned at her. She was vaguely familiar.
The Romulan stood up, smoothing out her dress. She had pale skin and small, dark tattoos along the bones of her face. She was incredibly elegant.
"Mandana," she said, proffering her small hand sweetly. "It's nice to finally meet you."
Kirk took it blankly. Mandana had a strong grip. He tried not to seem afraid, or worried. It was just that he didn't expect to see her, not after what had happened.
"What are you doing here?" Kirk said hesitantly.
"Funny you should ask," Mandana said, smiling in a way that made it clear she didn't think it was funny at all. "Remember how I was implicated in the alleged Pride High plot to cheat at last year's state UIL? Well," she fluffed her skirt and walked a circle around Kirk, showing her teeth, which were, oh dear, quite sharp, "the board decided that, in light of my past record—which I will be the first to admit is not… unstained… that I should do community service."
Mandana paused to inspect her perfect nails. "I don't like community service, Kirk. So they told me that if I didn't want do to my community service, I had to spend a total of forty days in jail."
"You're very stubborn."
"You could call it that." Mandana smiled again. Kirk wished she would stop. "So what are you in for?" She gave a sharp laugh. "It's fun saying that."
"Oh, you know, public intoxication," said Kirk, scratching his neck uncomfortably.
"You seem fine."
"Well, they gave me an injection. Also, it's been a while."
"An injection, huh? Anti-alcohol hypospray?"
Kirk didn't like to lie, but this was Mandana he was talking to. "Yeah."
There were footsteps in the passage. "Kirk," said an officer, sticking her head into the room. Kirk went over to the magnetized bars. "You've got a visitor," she said. "Go to the door and I'll buzz you in." She nodded to a piece of wall that looked a little more metallic than the rest.
Avoiding Mandana, who was watching him, Kirk headed for the door. "I get visitors?" he said.
"Yeah, as many as you want during your first time." The cop grinned. She had extremely white teeth. "Actually, we're just not busy right now, so why not?" There was a faint metallic sound and the door slid open.
Kirk walked into the room. It was only a few feet wide and deep. There was a chair in front of a pane of glass.
On the other side of the glass was Spock.
Kirk froze.
"Jim," said Spock, clasping his hands in front of his stomach. "We need to talk."
x
They held each other for a long, long time.
The Enterprise burned behind them. Spock glanced around a few times to make sure that Romulans weren't sneaking up on them, or that the fire wasn't creeping towards other cars. But mostly he held Kirk, whose flesh crackled under his hands.
After a while (it was only a few minutes, but it seemed like longer), the track fire crew showed up and put out the Enterprise. Then the ambulance came and Spock had to let go of Kirk, which was easier than he thought it would be because Kirk had fainted in his arms and Spock hadn't even realized, since he'd been holding Kirk so closely that he couldn't see Kirk's face. The paramedic let him in the ambulance (mainly, though Spock didn't know it, because of the expression on his face), and they left for the hospital, lights screaming.
He forgot completely about telling the hoverclub what had happened and missed about ninety calls from them as he watched the paramedics run the same machines and medicines over Kirk's skin that they had over his own, when his back had been burned after his mother—Spock shook his head. After homecoming last year. The paramedics worked in surprising silence, stripping Kirk down to his ashy skin and moving scanner methodically across him.
At the hospital, after the paperwork nurse asked for Kirk's information and after Kirk looked more peach than steak, Spock remembered that he should tell people what was going on, so—navigating past exactly 93 missed calls—he phoned Uhura.
Which was, at that point, his wisest move, because Uhura was the calm one. Of course, that meant she was only screaming a little.
"WHY THE FUCK," she shrieked, "IS THE ENTERPRISE A SMOLDERING HEAP OF SCRAP METAL RIGHT NOW? IS JIM ALIVE?"
"Yes," said Spock, trying to speak soothingly. "We are at the hospital. I realize, in hindsight, that I should have contacted you immediately—"
"YOU FUCKING THINK?"
"I apolog—"
"THAT WILL COME LATER, I ASSURE YOU. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED."
Spock explained as best he could. Uhura had to stop him periodically to tell the others (who were also making lots of shocked noises—this was an understatement, to be clear) what Spock was saying. Eventually they had everything almost straight.
"Is Nero still there?" Spock asked.
"They packed up," said Uhura shortly. "We have exactly no proof that it was them. Again. We—"
There was a noise, and Spock heard extra voices, one very high. Uhura went quiet. "Nyota?" Spock said.
"Wait a sec—"
The voices kept going. Spock strained to hear them, but there was so much background noise that it was impossible.
After a while Uhura said, "You're not going to believe this. They found casings from a micro-explosive. And it has Romulan script on it. I've got to go; they're questioning all of us. And they're sending a police officer up to you, so don't leave."
And she hung up.
Spock stared at his communicator for a long time, then went back inside to see about Kirk.
x
Seven hours later, Spock and Kirk were standing outside of a hospital in downtown Long Beach, feeling completely run through the mill.
"Can you believe it?" said Kirk, stuffing the last few medications the doctor had given him into his hospital bed. "A standoff? And then—"
"I do not want to talk about it," said Spock sharply.
"Alright," said Kirk, grinning improbably. "But hey, you gotta admit, as soon as they capture him—I mean, this was very incriminating."
Very incriminating. The police had gone to Nero's house and encountered a phaser bank trained on their transport. No lives were lost, but the standoff had lasted for five hours before Nero and his compatriots had been beamed away.
"I can't believe it," Kirk went on. "Like that. They're gone. Without any—I don't know, any kind of runup, or preamble—"
"I would say that blowing up the Enterprise was plenty of runup," said Spock, rather coldly.
"Do you think they'll resurface?" said Kirk. "I mean, all of this had to happen for a reason."
"How illogical of you," said Spock. "To think that things happen for a reason." His shoulders shook, as if he were laughing. "Why would you say that, Jim?"
Kirk bit back a smile, which he had been doing since Spock had started calling him "Jim" instead of "James." "Because—come on. People don't just attack other people for no reason. He had to have been trying to kill me for some purpose we don't understand yet."
"Or maybe," said Spock, as if Kirk were slow, "Nero is simply insane."
"Well, he's not logical," said Kirk, grinning a bit. "But who is, right?"
Spock apparently didn't get the joke. "Quite," he murmured. "I assume that Nero is mad. This is the only way that his actions make sense."
"Oh, come on," said Kirk impatiently. "Give the guy some credit."
"I will not," said Spock strongly. "He has done nothing subtly. When he killed my mother, he left glaring traces of arson. When he has tried to kill both of us, it has not been elegantly. When he attempted to push me from the balcony at Scotty's house last summer, it was after he had provoked a physical fight." Kirk tried to ask about that, but Spock went on. "When Ayel tried to shoot me, after the first race, with a phaser, you were able to disarm him easily. And just now—you escaped the explosion. Not enough firepower was used. An amateur mistake."
"But he was trying to kill us," said Kirk. "No matter how bad he was at it, he was attempting murder. He had to have been trying to do that for a reason!"
"I think that Nero's actions are not premeditated. They are premeditated only in the sense that he wants us dead, presumably because of our parents. But nothing he has done has proven his mental stability."
"Listen, just because we don't know—"
"Think about his actions. On Romulus, he hired an assassin to kill his adoptive parents, but ultimately did the job for her. Does that make sense?"
"He's part of a big movement, Spock. The Rihanh, remember? They're organized. They've probably got a plan."
"If they do, then he is not accomplishing it. Why would they keep him on?"
"He's Rihanh royalty. They disbanded after his parents died, and they started back up because of him." Kirk snapped his fingers. "Hey, maybe that's it—Nero is the leader!"
Spock actually scoffed. "Nero? The leader? Of a dangerous nationalist organization that had Section 31 concerned? I highly doubt it."
"But like I said, they disbanded after his parents died and started back up because of him."
"Meaning that they now have a figurehead. I am sure that during the years in which they were disbanded, they were not inactive."
"You think? Special Services was pretty sure that they were over."
"Special Services does not know everything," said Spock darkly.
Kirk felt a thrill of fear. "What makes you say that?"
"They do not have the information that could successfully capture Nero," snapped Spock. "What did you think I was talking about?" He glared at Kirk, who struggled to keep his face calm. Spock's own expression changed. "Jim, did you—"
"Just for a second," said Kirk, blushing and looking away.
"Jim," said Spock softly. "I am not involved with the Rihanh. How could I be? Nero killed my mother."
"I'm not saying it was a logical fear," hissed Kirk. "And I feel really fucking bad about it, okay? Just—shut up for a second."
To Kirk's surprise, Spock went quiet.
"I'm sorry," said Kirk after a while.
"It is perfectly fine," said Spock. "It is not as if I have not suspected you." Kirk stared at him, and Spock did that maddening thing where he almost smiled. "Again, it was 'just for a second.'"
At which point the transport, piloted by Pike, pulled up, and fourteen hands reached out to pull them inside.
x
The ride home was less terrifying than Spock had expected it to be. Everybody was nice to Kirk since nobody reasonable could blame him for what had happened (so, of course, Bones lectured him for a while), but only Uhura would speak to Spock. He was still in the doghouse for not immediately informing them of what had happened.
Spock felt this was quite reasonable. He wouldn't have spoken to any member of the hoverclub who held back this information, so he spent the ride staring quite happily at the back of Kirk's head as Kirk talked with the team members.
x
Kirk was riding his motorcycle home from the school when something snapped.
He'd been completely fine until now. He hadn't suspected that anything was wrong. His skin was doing well, he didn't hurt, he wasn't worried. But he realized, out of exactly nowhere, that there had been a moment back at the hospital when a doctor with red hair had leaned over him, and Kirk had had had a strong, clear sense of déjà vu—mixed with memory. He saw the doctor's gloved hand reaching towards his arm and inserting hypospray into the crook of his neck, and for a moment, the doctor's entire lab coat was stained with blood—not Kirk's blood.
Kirk gasped and swerved.
It was darker in the first hospital room. He hurt more. He was nothing but a shiver of spirit. The doctors were streaming around him. His mother was nowhere, Sam was nowhere. He was all alone and just the red-haired doctor was there to touch his cheek sweetly, between pushing hyposprays into him.
The image flickered. The doctor from today was taller, swarthier; his red hair was less red. Their lab coats flashed in front of his eyes. One, outlined by matte hospital lights, covered in blood, strong in the midst of chaos. The other, a flat image, one doctor of many, his coat bleached crisp.
Kirk made a noise. The wheel slipped, and he skidded along the road for a moment, the magnetized rails tugging to halt his course. Robotic arms snapped out of the ground and made grooves around his tires, and he righted himself, and kept going.
He missed his turn. He kept driving.
He was breathing hard. The images kept coming. It was all blood, blood like there had been fire. Blood boiling around him—he swerved into another lane, the magnets reaching after him to correct him. Boiling, like flames. He felt sick. He felt like his head was tugging itself apart.
He made it to the right house, a rundown duplex in the northern Sunset District. He went inside, trying not to tremble, and came out with a packet of birch.
He drove straight to a club and took all three tabs in the restroom.
x
Gaila may have been an Orion, but she knew something about Terran communication systems. One of her first acts upon arriving to Earth was to set up a gossip network. So, an hour later, beginning a night that none of those involved would ever forget, she texted Uhura, saying, "So you're back?"
Uhura was hanging out with Scotty when she got it. "Yeah," she replied. "Why?"
"I heard through the grapevine that Jim Kirk was getting seriously wasted at a club in the Avenues—I was surprised. Wasn't there, like, an explosion?"
Uhura typed furiously, "Yeah, a really bad one and Jim got burnt—I'm going to call him."
Uhura didn't get an answer the first three times. She gave up for a while, not thinking it was a big deal. Then she texted him. "Jim—what's up?"
"Clearin' the sharp, Nyota," he replied after a while.
Nyota went cold.
x
"Ah don't know if tha's a good idea," said Scotty, his hand light on Uhura's arm. "If yeh consider what yeh know—"
"Then I get worried," snapped Uhura. "I'm calling, okay? I can't let Bones deal with this, and I don't want you to come because you don't know him as well as—Spock! Hey."
"Greetings," said Spock cautiously. "I assume you are aware of the time, Nyota?"
"Yeah," said Uhura, glancing at a clock. "Sorry. It's—well, it's about Jim."
Spock tried not to perk up obviously. "Yes?" he said coolly.
Uhura wasn't fooled. "Listen, remember when he broke up with Leo? There was that bad incident at the club? With the birch?"
Methylphenylpropanimine, thought Spock. "Yes," he said—an entirely different "yes" than the last he'd spoken.
"Well, I think he's on it again… Did something happen today?"
"Other than the explosion?" said Spock dryly. He sat up in bed and snapped for the lights.
"Smartass. I'm going to get him. You're in?"
"Of course," said Spock, wrestling some pants on. "Where is he?"
"Gaila says this club in the Avenues—Cannae."
"Cannae?"
"Yeah. I'll pick you up."
"I will see you shortly," said Spock.
x
The ride was conducted in relative silence. Spock was busy worrying about the connotations of the club's name and Uhura was busy voice-messaging Gaila, When they reached Cannae, ten minutes later, Uhura took Spock's arm.
"You haven't seen him like this," she said. "He may be fine—well, not fine, but nothing we need to worry about. Last time, he wasn't incredibly bad—he was really lucid. But if he's not, get him outside and call me. If he seems okay, get me—or I'll get you, if I find him—and we'll see if we need to do anything."
Spock nodded in agreement. Uhura, surprisingly, hugged him, then took his hand and pulled him inside.
Spock had never been to a club before. This was not the ideal situation in which to lose one's club-virginity, but it was the best Spock had at the moment. He waded through the people, losing Uhura immediately when she pointed, yelling something he couldn't hear, and went right, leaving him to go left. There were people everywhere in nearly nothing, with Sahora paint all over their bodies and sanik spikes in their ears. They jangled their thin bracelets and their bodies and Spock was, for a wild second, entranced by the scene—the wildness, the abandon of it.
Time moved strangely. Spock didn't know how long it had been when he saw Uhura, scooting between two six-foot tall girls. She shook her head, and he shook his. They went opposite directions again.
His legs were starting to feel numb when somebody wrapped their arms around his neck.
He jumped a little and turned, and sure enough, the owner of the arms was Kirk, who looked a hundred times more normal than the other people at the club, and by virtue of that, totally out of place and more than a little crazy.
His pupils were huge, Spock saw as a light flashed across them. Kirk blinked, his lids slow-moving. He put his forehead on Spock's shoulder and held him. Spock was touched for a moment. Then he realized that Kirk couldn't stand up straight without assistance.
Spock didn't even try to speak. He draped Kirk's arm around his shoulder and made his way slowly through the people. He realized, by the time he reached a wall, that he'd gone the opposite direction of the entrance. Luckily there was a back lounge, which Spock quickly paid the cover for. He propped Kirk in one of the chairs and sent a message to Uhura.
When he looked up from his communicator, he saw that Kirk was slumped over the chair's arm, his eyes half-shut and his mouth half-open. Spock panicked for a moment: Kirk looked dead. But then Kirk blinked and shifted, the tip of his tongue darting out to touch his lips.
Spock had no idea what to do. He moved his own chair closer to Kirk's and shook him.
"No," said Kirk, very clearly.
"Jim, it is me, Spock," said Spock. "Please—wake up. Sit up."
"your shores area too pretty," Kirk slurred. "ijstuut want tosatare ta them. pleasespock. jstlook ign makes thingasdoso muchbeter. canimagne, that wayw aht thins woud be like f iwre oaky and didnt ahvethe sharp harngning over em."
Spock barely understood. Kirk's speech was completely unclear. He had said something about Spock's shoes, and imagining that things were better, but beyond that, Spock wasn't sure. He stroked Kirk's cheek without any hesitation, feeling the roughness of his jaw.
"Jim," said Spock, his voice tiny. "Stop this. Stop. Please."
Kirk blinked.
"I—you cannot do this," Spock continued. "Jim, I care about you too much to let you—"
"You care about me?" Kirk projected, sitting up unexpectedly and staring Spock right in the eye. "You care? Then you are th' first, that is what you are. Because nobody fucking else has ever, and it is getting tough to do this on my own, okay."
"Jim, of course I care—"
Kirk bit out a harsh laugh. Another light flared across his eyes, and Spock was alarmed to see how cloudy they were. "Caring is stupid," snarled Kirk, and to Spock's alarm, he stood, legs locked in place. "You're stupid and I don't like you. The sharp is—it takes care of all of that, and it makes everything go, and you have to—" He turned away and started stumbling towards the door to the club. "I listen! I am doing so well, aren't I, I mean, you like me and shit, so'at's good. But then I get this little thing and boom! Sharp back. Bonus blood. Great. Real fun."
Spock tried to grab his arm but Kirk shoved him easily off—Spock wasn't expecting it, and Kirk, holding onto the wall, had more pushing power. "Don't follow me!" he shouted, and disappeared into the crowd.
Spock plunged in after him.
For a long while, all of Spock's existence consisted of glowing skin and a bass beat that pumped his heart for him, of flashing teeth and splashing drinks and sharp elbows in his side, and the ever-retreating back of James Kirk, always just out of reach. By the time Spock realized that the air was cool, now, on his prickling flesh, and the blackness he saw was created by the hollow dome of the galaxy, not the flat tiles of the club, Kirk was moving away, his limbs responding sluggishly.
Spock, totally out of breath, had to stop for air. He took in a big, cool lungful, then let it out with noise attached: "JIM!" he yelled, so loudly that a car blocks away flashed its brake lights.
To Spock's huge surprise, Kirk came to a complete stop. But then Kirk whirled around with more agility than Spock expected from him. "What," Kirk said back, his voice a hiss.
In that moment, Kirk's anger and the chaos of the club and the events of the day filled up Spock's throat, and all of his anxiety and anger and concern came screaming out of him.
"WHY?" Spock roared. "Jim, why? Why are you doing this? I have problems—Ta'lak knows, I have problems. What do you have? I would never do this, Jim—"
"Bullshit," Kirk screamed back. "You killed yourself! You tried! That's fuckin' something. You're fucked up too, Spock, but you keep it the fuck back and shit like this happens—"
"Shit like this?" Spock gasped in reply. "You, Jim, are the one that took drugs and—and you have sex with everything that moves, and you say to me that I am repressed—"
"YOU ARE," Kirk yelled.
"No," snarled Spock. "You do this to yourself, and—people care about you, and you do this anyway."
"They don't give a shit. Nobody does."
"You're wrong," said Spock, leveling his pointer at Kirk. "Your mother cares. Your brother. Bones. Nyota. Scotty. All of our friends. Pike. You're betraying them."
The gusto had gone out of Kirk. He stood there, staring at Spock, his eyes huge and hollow, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He raised his hands, slow as a glacier, to his head.
"The sharp," he said, never taking his eyes from Spock's. "Spock. None of it matters."
"I matter," said Spock, in a tiny voice.
There was a huge, ringing silence.
Kirk opened his mouth once. Twice. He passed his hand over his eyes. He looked at Spock, his lips imploring. Spock reached out his hand. They were far away, but all of a sudden the distance did not seem so great.
"I want to tell you," said Kirk.
There was a noise like a DJ stand falling down. A police car had flicked its sirens, and before Spock could so much as consider a reply, two cops were striding over to them.
Spock started to move towards them, though he didn't know what to say. But Kirk, like a wounded animal, backed away, snarling, then turned his back and dashed away.
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