Living And Dying
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, but I do play in its sandbox.
A/N: So. Ahem. I AM SO SO SO SO SO VERY SORRY I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON AND I KNOW MOST OF YOU THOUGHT I ABANDONED THIS FIC AND I DIDN'T AND I HAVE NO EXCUSE EXCEPT FOR LIFE AND I BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS!
I know how insufferable it is when a fanfic goes on hiatus like this, and I am so sorry. I know my fic isn't as important or amazing as some of the other stuff out there, but I know I have a few followers and this absence was inexcusable. I wish I could promise that it won't happen again, but I'll be heading to college in the fall, so I can't honestly say. I will say that in the event that I give up on this fic, I will post a note telling you so, and I will tell anyone who wants to know what I had planned to do with the story.
Some of you may have noticed that I re-uploaded the last two chapters. That is because I decided to rewrite Into Darkness the way I did the first movie and had to reconcile a few differences.
This chapter is dedicated to the people who kept reviewing and favorite-ing during the break. I love each and every one of you. Most especially, though, it is for AgentStorm007, who in addition to having a badass name, kicked my butt into gear by telling me how much I suck. Thank you!
Chapter Seven: Wink of An Eye
Running through a godforsaken jungle (he'd accidentally stunned their ride), pursued by a bunch of primitive natives, intent on the scroll in his hand. Jim had to wonder why this felt a little familiar when he knew he'd never done it before. Sardonically, he thought that it was probably due to the manifold times when he had been running for his life after doing something ill-advised.
"What the hell did you take?" Bones shouted over the screeches of the natives.
"I have no idea, but they were bowing to it!" Jim replied. He flipped open his communicator. "Kirk to shuttle one. Locals are out of the kill zone, you're clear. Repeat: Spock, get in there, neutralize the volcano and let's get out of here!"
And then his first officer was reminding him of the Prime Directive.
Jim snapped that he already knew that, and "Which is why I'm running through the jungle, wearing a disguise! Now drop off your super ice cube and let's go! Kirk out."
Spock was suited up and ready to go. Ready to leap heedlessly into an active volcano. Jim was trying not to think about it. Annoying as he could be, Spock had quickly become one of the people he most relied on. Jim had begun to think of him as a friend, and more than that, one of his best. He didn't like the thought of his friend going into a volcano, protective gear or not. Especially considering that Jim was currently in no position to help him should things go amiss.
Jim was also trying not to think about the fact that in their short tenure as a command team, something nearly always went amiss. But that wasn't what he should be focusing on. Spock was more than capable of handling himself, and this was his plan which made it more likely to work than one of Jim's by design.
McCoy yelled that they weren't going the right way to get to the beach; Jim yelled back, "We're not going to the beach," as he hung the scroll from a tree branch. With relief, he heard the pursuit stop as the locals resumed their rituals.
Even though he couldn't hear whether or not McCoy replied, Jim could feel him cursing. And he and McCoy were currently approaching a cliff.
"I hate this!" McCoy shouted from behind him.
Jim would have sighed if he hadn't been breathing so heavily. "I know you do!" He called back in a resigned tone.
And then there was the leap off the cliff, the painful landing and the long swim down the Enterprise. Scotty met them as they entered, looking like a (furious) drowned cat as he started ranting about the effects of being underwater on a craft built for space. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous it is to hide a starship on the bottom of the ocean?!" he demanded. He continued on but Jim cut him off.
"Scotty. Where's Spock?"
Scotty's face became grim. "Still in the volcano, sir."
Jim pushed past him, sprinting up to the bridge in his wetsuit. McCoy was hot on his heels. He burst into the bridge and he knew something was wrong the second he saw Uhura and Sulu, both suited up, standing there. "Lieutenant," he said to Uhura. "Do we have an open channel to Mr. Spock?"
"The heat's frying his comms but we still have contact," she reported. Jim held her eyes for a moment, seeing that she was on the verge of panic. He leaned over the console and pressed the comms button. "Spock!"
"I have activated the device, Captain," came the staticy response. "When the countdown is complete the reaction should render the volcano inert."
"Yeah, and that's gonna render him inert," McCoy stated.
"Do we have use of the transporters?" Jim demanded.
Chekov shook his head. "Not wis zese magnetic fields."
"I need to beam Spock back to the ship, give me one way to do it."
Spock was alone, inside an active volcano with a device that would render everything within blast radius inert. They couldn't transport him without a direct line of sight.
"Hold on, wee man, ye're talkin' about an active volcano," Scotty cried. "Sir, if that thing erupts I cannae guarantee that we cud withstand the heat."
"I don't know that we can maintain that kind of altitude," Sulu said.
Then Spock jumped in. "Our shuttle was concealed by the ash cloud; the Enterprise is too large. If utilized in a rescue effort, it would be revealed to the indigenous species."
Jim bent over the console, grinding his teeth in frustration. "Spock, nobody knows the rules better than you but there has got to be an exception!"
"None," the Vulcan replied quite calmly. He reiterated the details of the Prime Directive, as though Jim didn't know.
"Shut up, Spock. We're trying to save you, goddammit!" McCoy hissed.
"Doctor, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."
"Spock, we're talking about your life!" Jim shouted desperately.
"The rule cannot be broken—" Spock's voice was lost in a burst of static.
Jim called out, "Spock!" When there was no answer he turned to Uhura, who had a hand pressed to her mouth. He wished he had the time to reassure her. "Try to get him back online." She dove for her station.
The seconds were counting down. Detonation imminent. Jim stared at the screen, his loyalty to Spock warring with loyalty to Starfleet. McCoy was standing silent next to him.
"If Spock were here and I were there," Jim said, in a voice for McCoy's ears alone. "What would he do?"
There was a pause, but there was no hesitation or uncertainty in McCoy's voice. "He'd let you die."
Jim thought about that for the briefest moment. Do I really believe that? He thought. And then: Does it matter? I won't let this happen.
"Take us up, Mr. Sulu," he ordered. "Mr. Chekov, have the transporter room standing by, I want our Science Officer back on board as soon as you can get a lock."
"Aye, Captain," they said together.
Jim stared at the screen breathlessly, watching the sea fall away, the volcano rise to eye level. Less than ten seconds.
"Transporting now, sir!" Chekov cried.
Jim didn't wait. He took off running down the halls of the ship, toward the transporter room. His heart was pounding in his throat and despite all of the exertion, he knew it was more from worry than exercise. After less than a year of traveling together, was he really going to lose his First Officer and friend to a goddamn volcano?
No, Spock would be beamed aboard. Jim refused to allow any other outcome. This was the only acceptable result.
Jim flew into the transporter room, out of breath but relieved beyond words at the sight of his first officer, standing up and looking as stunned as a Vulcan can. "Spock!" he couldn't help shouting as he came to a stop. "You all right?"
"Captain, you let them see our ship," Spock said, scandalized.
Jim heaved a breath, not sure whether to laugh or sigh. He shook his head slightly in disbelief. "Aw, he's fine," said McCoy disgustedly, waving a hand.
For a moment, Jim wasn't sure if Spock was okay; in the months they had been working together, he had never known Spock to state the obvious.
"Bridge to Captain Kirk."
"Yes, lieutenant."
"Is Commander Spock on board, sir?" Uhura's voice demanded desperately through the comms.
"Safely and soundly," Jim reported.
"Please notify him that his device has successfully detonated." Judging by the tone of barely controlled anger in her voice, Jim thought that Spock was in for an earful, but he couldn't help grinning. They'd saved another world.
"You hear that? Congratulations, Spock," he said. "You just saved the world."
"You violated the Prime Directive," Spock said again. Was he really okay? Repeating himself also wasn't something Spock did very often.
Jim shrugged. It was worth it, he thought. "Ah, come on, Spock, they saw us. Big deal." Spock breathed heavily through his nose as he took his helmet off. His eyes were wider than usual, his pupils dilated. Jim looked him over and relaxed a fraction. Spock seemed fine, so his out of character behavior was probably due to shock and adrenaline.
They had violated the Prime Directive. Jim knew that was a big deal, despite what he'd said. But as he watched Spock remove the suit piece by piece, slowly regaining his calm, Jim knew he'd do it again gladly given the same circumstances. Spock's alive, he thought. That's worth it.
"We have to do this now," Sulu said, releasing his belt and moving toward the bay. Spock stood still, allowing Uhura to make the final adjustments to his heat- and radiation-proof suit. "I told the captain the shuttle wasn't built for this kind of heat."
Spock couldn't help inquiring if the natives had seen the captain; though they had a good plan, in his experience, things involving Jim rarely went according to plan. "The Prime Directive clearly states there can be no interference with the internal development of alien civilizations—" Even as he continued, the captain interrupted breathlessly.
"I know what it says." He gave them the go and hung up.
"You're good," Uhura said, going to get his helmet as he checked the device.
Uhura checked him over one last time, locking his helmet in place. "You sure you don't want me to go instead?" she asked.
"That would be highly illogical, as I am already outfitted—"
"Spock," she interrupted. "I was kidding." She kissed his visor, which he found even more illogical but supposed gave her comfort. "You got this."
Sulu stood in the cockpit. "Guys, we have to go! Now!"
"I'll see you in ninety seconds," Uhura promised.
She left the bay, closing the doors behind her. As she sat back down, Sulu ran through the flips and switches. Spock attached the cable to his suit. Uhura put her hand on the release switch that would send Spock spiraling into the volcano's heat. At Sulu's word, she pulled it and Spock dropped out of the shuttle, the high-tensile cable keeping him anchored and ready to reel him in at a moment's notice. Spock held on calmly, surveying the volatile landscape of lava and rocks that was barely visible through the smoke. His sharp eyes searched for a safe place to land and detonate the device.
Before he could find one, Sulu commed. "Spock, I gotta pull you back up!" The shuttle engine was overheating.
"Negative," Spock said firmly. "This is our only chance to save this species. If this volcano erupts, the planet dies."
But Sulu must have ordered Uhura to reel him in anyway. Just as he was swinging toward a large, stable-looking rock formation, he felt the cable tension reversing, drawing him away from his destination. He shoved down the frustration welling in him ruthlessly.
And then the tension was gone completely, jolting a grunt out of him. Looking up, he saw the end of the cable dangling uselessly, burned through from the lava.
Fascinating, he thought distantly, the heat from the volcano must be more intense than we had anticipated.
He hit the rock, rolling painfully end over end. The device was knocked from his hands, clattering away over stone, and he spared a thought to hope it remained intact and out of the lava. When he came to a stop he registered Uhura's voice in his comm.
He clambered to his feet, assessing his injuries. Minor, nothing incapacitating. "I am—surprisingly—alive," he replied dryly. "Standby."
Spock moved quickly and efficiently to gather the device, which had survived but had had a few pieces knocked loose. He heard his companions abandoning the destroyed shuttle as he worked.
And then the captain was in his ear, demanding that he be saved. Spock closed his eyes briefly. It would seem illogical, but he could hear the barely contained fear in Jim's voice. Even as he argued, he could tell that Jim feared for his life, that Jim was desperate to save him. They had become closer over the past few missions, with the chess games, the sparring, and the occasional late-night conversation when neither of them could sleep. Spock had been surprised to discover how much they had in common, and how much he liked Jim.
It could not be denied that no one had ever infuriated Spock the way Jim did; the captain just had a way of getting under his first officer's skin. Jim was impulsive and emotional, but from these traits stemmed indomitable courage, remarkable adaptability, and unshakeable loyalty.
All traits prized by Vulcans since the days before Surak.
Jim had also demonstrated a stubborn sense of right and wrong, a keen intuition, and seemingly endless optimism. He was witty and intelligent and good at reading people. He had a dry sense of humor and somehow, he always knew when Spock was making a joke. He always laughed, even when it was a joke at his own expense. And though he continued to protest that he did not joke, Spock had found himself doing exactly that more often than ever, now that he had found someone who recognized his witticisms. Even Nyota, for all her quick intelligence, sometimes failed to pick up on his attempts at humor.
Spock had come to admire all of these qualities in his captain, human though many of them were. In fact, he believed that Jim's human nature was one of the most admirable things about him. He believed they had come to be a very effective Captain/First Officer team.
And now his Captain was asking him to find an exception in Starfleet's most iron-clad rule, so that he could live. Jim was asking him to do the impossible in order to save his own life and Spock could not. Illogically, Spock felt the overwhelming urge to apologize. The Prime Directive was completely free of loopholes. There was no way to save himself.
For a moment, Spock thought of the people he would be leaving behind—his father, who was still grieving for Amanda; Nyota, who had begged him to be less reckless; Jim, who had never lost a crewman and who would see Spock's death as his own fault.
But he couldn't abide such thoughts, so he pushed them back, and closed his eyes. He could hear the roar of the volcano around him. It almost sounded alive, angry and violent and destructive. Utterly god-like in its power. The Vulcans had once believed that their gods lived in the volcanos of their planet. He could feel the heat even through his suit, hotter than the desert winds of Vulcan. The wind buffeted him, trying to send him into the molten lava. This was nature at its purest. Elemental, destructive, immeasurably powerful. Beautiful.
Spock was on his knees, head tilted back and arms spread, embracing the power that was surrounding him. Beautiful, he thought again, and he surrendered to it.
Mother. He pictured her, and although Vulcans did not believe in the afterlife, he hoped illogically that he would see her again. If he was to leave behind his new family, he wanted nothing more than to rejoin the one he had lost. Mother.
It was at that moment that he felt the familiar tingling of the transporter. His eyes opened and he stood, amazed to find himself unharmed in the transporter room. He reeled slightly at the shock of being alive and no longer immersed in the chaos of the volcano, but before he could reconcile himself to the stark order of the transporter room, much less the fact that he would live, Jim was dashing through the door, Dr. McCoy close behind.
Jim hadn't even bothered to change out of his wet suit and his hair was dripping. Dimly Spock noted that the pale blue of the suit emphasized the brilliant color of Jim's eyes. Much more pressing, however, was what Jim had just done to save his life.
"Spock!" Jim cried, the relief evident in his voice. He was panting, clearly having run all the way down from the bridge. Was his worry for me so great? Spock wondered. He didn't have to think about that. Yes, it was. He ran all the way because he could not wait for others to give him the news of my survival—or demise. "You all right?"
"Captain, you let them see our ship," Spock stated, disbelieving.
Jim heaved out a breath, not bothering to respond as he assessed Spock, presumably for any damage. McCoy, on the other hand, snorted. "Aww, he's fine." It would seem he judged Spock's health based on his words. An unorthodox practice for a doctor, he thought in the back of his mind, even as he continued to advise Jim on the consequences of his actions.
I did not thank him, Spock realized as Jim finally departed to dry off.
Several hours later, after they had left Nibiru behind and Alpha shift was over, Spock was sitting in his quarters, drawing up his report on the incident. However, though he mechanically went through the motions, he couldn't help dwelling upon what had happened.
"I did not thank him," he said quietly. In the echoing silence of his rooms, the words reverberated back to him and they sounded even more wrong aloud than they had in his head. He shook his head slightly as if to shake off the uncomfortable thought. A human gesture he had unconsciously picked up from his mother.
Mother would be disappointed. Spock knew this.
"Will you hand me that?" she asked brightly, pointing to a spade on the shelf across the greenhouse.
Eight year old Spock complied, bringing her the tool.
"Thank you, Spock," she said.
"You requested something logical of me and I fulfilled that request," Spock said primly. "Gratitude is unnecessary."
Amanda sat back on her heels, wiping sweat from her brow. "I disagree," she said simply.
She knew that her son would never accept such a statement without an explanation. He cocked his head. "Why, Mother?"
Amanda looked at the spade and then at the rosebush she was tending. "See this bush?"
Spock nodded silently, surveying the prickly plant that his mother so loved. "It is a rose," he confirmed. Privately he wondered why his mother had asked his father for this on his most recent trip to Earth. It was small and covered in thorns. It was markedly different from the brown and red plants of Vulcan. It had no use that his mother had told him of, and it was not aesthetically pleasing like the lilies and daffodils his mother also grew in the small greenhouse.
"That's right," she nodded, smiling. "It's been my favorite plant ever since I was a child." She cocked her head, gazing at it fondly. Intrigued, he crouched beside her for a closer look, but it seemed no more interesting than it did from a distance. "Roses are not easy plants to grow. They require certain kinds of soil, large amounts of water but too much can kill them, and sometimes despite best effort they refuse to prosper. Different kinds of roses have different needs, too. Tending them and keeping them alive is hard work in most climates."
"Like on Vulcan," Spock concluded.
"Yes. So I work hard to make it grow healthy and strong." Amanda turned to look at Spock. "Do you think this plant ever thanks me for my work?"
Spock shook his head. "As plants are incapable of feeling or of speech, I cannot imagine that it does."
Amanda smiled. "It does not thank me with words. But it thanks me by blooming. Look, see that bud? In a week's time that will be a flower, bright pink and sweet-smelling. And that is my reward."
"Why have you told me this?" Spock inquired.
"I guess because I am a human, and humans think in metaphors," Amanda laughed after thinking about it. "Spock, think about it this way. I asked you to give me that spade and you declared it logical. Why?"
Spock answered promptly. "I was closer to the tool and you were still busy pruning the bush."
"And yet, I was perfectly capable of getting up and retrieving it myself with no negative impact to myself or the plant. It was logical that you retrieve the spade, but it wasn't necessary. You could have easily ignored my request with no detriment to me. That is why I find gratitude important. If we remember to express gratitude, we remember that no one is obligated to do anything for us. The rosebush doesn't have to thrive, but my expert care allows it to and my work is rewarded with flowers that I find pleasing. Recognition of any effort on another's behalf is never amiss."
Spock looked at the tightly closed bud and then into his mother's open face, which was smiling at him in that kind, gentle way that always comforted him. "I understand, Mother," he told her.
She put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. A decidedly un-Vulcan gesture but one that Spock nevertheless found comforting. "Of course you do. You're very smart, even for a Vulcan." She kissed his temple and then let him go so that he could return to his homework and she to her gardening.
"Thank you, Mother," he said. Amanda smiled up at him.
"I love you, Spock," she said.
"Thank you, Mother," he repeated. "I love you as well."
Spock shook himself out of memory, but could not help recalling that it wasn't long after that he had stopped telling his mother he loved her. He had thought it too emotional a sentiment. Now he regretted having let that stop him.
I must thank him, he decided. Somehow it seemed like an insult to his mother as well as to Jim to hold back his gratitude.
Setting aside his PADD, Spock stood. A glance at the chronometer showed him that it was late, but not so late that Jim was likely to be asleep. Spock went to the connecting door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. "Captain?" He knew Jim was in his quarters and unlikely to be asleep. Worry was illogical.
It is logical to make sure he has not suffered any adverse effects from the mission today. With that in mind, Spock pressed the button. It was unlocked and slid open with a whoosh. "Captain?"
Again there was no reply, but this time it was easy to see why. He was slumped in his computer chair in his pajamas, head tipped back, a PADD on his lap, and soft breaths coming from his throat. Spock's curiosity got the better of him, and he walked over, looking down at the PADD.
It was a personal log about the mission. Spock looked away quickly to preserve the captain's privacy, but not before he inadvertently read bits of it. "…Spock nearly died…" "Nick of time" and "…lose a friend…" were all phrases that caught his attention.
He had known, objectively, that Jim considered him a friend and had been worried for his welfare, but it was another thing to see the evidence before his eyes. When he turned his eyes to Jim's face, he saw the signs of weariness, the dark circles and furrowed brows. He wondered how much of that fatigue was his own doing, but quickly dismissed his thoughts as arrogant.
Spock lifted the PADD out of Jim's limp hands and saw a few more details as he set it aside. "Really scared when I thought…" "…Become good friends, I'm glad he's here…" "…Couldn't let him die."
He felt a strange upsurge of respect, bordering on admiration. He is exceptional, Spock observed. Such an unprecedented level of loyalty and devotion, from this man of all people. Spock cocked his head, studying his commanding officer critically. It now seems unthinkable that I once regarded him as irresponsible, immoral and self-serving, he mused. Now that I know that in fact, he is so determined to get what he wants because what he wants is to protect everyone around him.
Jim shifted slightly, a small frown on his face, and Spock started out of his thoughts. He admonished himself sternly for allowing his mind to wander when he was just standing in front a man who was sleeping in what had to be an exceedingly uncomfortable position. He reached out and put a hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Captain," he said quietly. Jim groaned slightly but didn't wake. "Jim," Spock said, shaking his shoulder. Jim's eyes snapped open and he gasped, sitting straight up with an intense expression. Spock leaned back a little in surprise at the violent reaction, but then Jim slumped and rubbed his eyes. He lowered his fists and blinked in confusion.
"Spock?" His voice was thick with sleep but aware.
"Yes, Jim."
"What're you doing here?" he mumbled, trying to stand and stumbling.
Spock caught him with a hand at his elbow. "I came to tell you that I am…grateful to you, for electing to save my life. It was not logical, but nevertheless, I thank you."
Jim blinked and smiled. "You're welcome, Spock." He yawned widely, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to hide it. He sank back into the chair sleepily.
"Jim, do you intend to continue sleeping at this juncture?" Spock inquired.
"Mmm." Jim yawned, settling deeper into the chair.
"It would be logical for you to relocate to your bed," the Vulcan pointed out to the partially-comatose human. Jim only nodded sleepily. Spock sighed internally—funny, how often Jim seemed to provoke that reaction—and grasped the captain by the shoulder. "Come, Jim."
Jim groaned slightly, almost petulantly. "Jim." With difficulty, Spock managed to hoist Jim to his feet and, with a hand under his elbow to keep him from falling, guided him to the edge of the bed. Jim plopped down, clearly struggling to remain awake.
Spock pulled back Jim's blanket and Jim rolled under it helpfully. Spock brought the edge up to Jim's chin as his own mother used to do for him. He paused. He almost had to stop himself from smiling. In many ways, Jim reminded him of Amanda. As he was drawing away, a cool human hand caught his wrist. Spock looked down in surprise. He had assumed Jim to be asleep and he was unused to physical contact from people other than Nyota. "Yes, Jim?"
Jim met his eyes. "I'm glad you're alive, Spock," he said simply.
"Thank you, Jim," Spock replied.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Jim."
Thomas Harewood and his wife were silent as they dressed and prepared to leave. Thomas watched as his wife hesitated, took a shuddering breath, and then entered the other bedroom.
It was blue and green, decorated with stars and astronomy charts. Even the bedspread had an image of a nebula on it. The room was quiet and still. The bed was made, untouched, and toys were lined up neatly on the low shelves. It had been months since anyone had inhabited this room.
When Rima came out again, she had a worn stuffed bunny in her arms and tears streaming down her face. Every week, she did this, and every week she cried. Thomas gently closed the door to the child's room and wrapped his arms around his wife. She clung to him tightly, shaking. Thomas closed his eyes, desperate to keep in his own sobs.
Finally Rima pulled back. She took his face in her hands, wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes. Their foreheads pressed together and she kissed him chastely.
Composing themselves, they clasped hands and left the apartment.
The train ride was long and still neither of them spoke. These days, they didn't seem to need words. Both knew what the other was thinking of.
At the hospital, they listened to the doctor as he briefed them. No worse today, but no better. Never better.
And there, in the hospital room, was their beautiful daughter. His little Lucy, so still and calm, nothing like how she had been before the illness. Lucille had been full of life and intelligence, and she dreamed of following in his footsteps and joining Starfleet. Lately she had been determined to become an officer on the Enterprise, under Captain Kirk. But the illness had eaten away at that life, until, just a week ago, she had fallen into a coma. The doctors believed she would never awaken.
Rima carefully removed the stuffed goat from Lucy's grip and replaced it with the bunny. Then she leaned over to kiss Lucy's cheeks, her trembling hand clutching the small, limp one where it rested on the bed. Thomas heard his wife's soft sobs and his hand clenched on the end of Lucy's bed. His eyes were burning with the tears he couldn't shed.
Lucy looked so much like her mother, but she had her father's spirit. Where Rima was serene and patient, Lucy and Thomas were eager, stubborn, and determined.
Thomas kissed her on the forehead, his body shaking with frustration and anger. His wife was stricken with sadness, but Thomas felt the fury of helplessness, the absolute impotence of his situation.
His baby would have been an unparalleled Starfleet scientist. But she would never get the chance. She would never get the chance to do anything, ever again.
Thomas dragged a hand over his mouth, staring at the tiny body of his Lucy. It was more than he could bear. He had failed his little girl.
Consumed with his failure, unable to stand there looking at his daughter's still form, Thomas strode out of the room and down the hall to the balcony where patients and visitors could survey the London skyline. He gripped the railing, watching his knuckles whiten in morbid fascination. The skyline had once been one of his favorite things about London. It was why he and Rima had moved into an apartment on the 35th floor of their building. Now it held no pleasure for him. Nothing did, anymore. He suspected nothing would again.
"I can save her."
Thomas's heart skipped a beat and he fought to breathe, not daring to hope that the deep voice was speaking to him.
He turned around and stared at the stranger. "What did you say?" he asked hoarsely.
"Your daughter. I can save her."
The stranger was tall and striking. Coal-black hair, expertly slicked back, contrasted sharply with pale marble skin and brilliant eyes that hovered somewhere between blue and gray. He had high, sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders that emphasized his aura of power. Even more than all of that though, was the way he carried himself, with absolute confidence and authority bordering on arrogance. As though people should be bowing before him.
And he claimed he could save Lucy. From anyone else, Thomas might have called bullshit, but with the way this man spoke, it was impossible not to believe. The cunning look in his eyes said that there would be a price to his help.
Thomas already knew that he would pay it gladly.
So, his desperation clear in his voice and his face, he approached. He didn't feel the need to ask why; he was sure that answer would come in time. So he simply said, "Who are you?"
The man smiled.
Thomas knew he had been sought out, that he was walking directly into a trap. He knew that whatever this man wanted from him in return for Lucy's life would be a steep price. But the alternative was allowing his baby to die, knowing that he could have saved her. And that was no alternative at all. With his head up, Thomas walked into the trap. For Lucy, he would do so much worse.
Being Earth-side again felt strange, even though it had only been four months since Jim had last been down. The open sky, the smell of real fresh air, rather than the processed stuff they pumped through the vents, all seemed surreal. As nice as it was to feel the grass under his shoes, he already missed his ship.
The best thing about being planet-side and on shore leave was that he was able to pick up a pair of twins at a bar and take them back to his place. Jim was many things, but he wasn't actually a dick (usually), so he kept a strict policy of celibacy while on the ship. Having a one-night stand with someone was only advisable when you could be reasonably certain you'd never have to see them again. Also, as the captain of the ship, he felt it would be irresponsible—he didn't want anyone to feel pressured into anything. So, though he made it a priority to flirt with Uhura as much as possible, he hadn't had any action in nearly six months, two missions ago. He was determined to enjoy himself.
And then his comm went off.
He popped up out of the covers, scrambling, even as one of the twins (Kellie?) whined his name and trailed her hands over him. The other (Katie?) sat up, her tail twitching in irritation. "You're not actually gonna answer that, are you?" she purred.
Jim slid off the bed and dashed into the bathroom. "Kirk here," he said as he flipped the communicator open.
"Captain Kirk, this is Admiral Pike's assistant," said a cool female voice.
"Hey, Number One, how's it going?" Jim asked cheerfully.
"I am well. Pike has ordered you to report to his office immediately. Commander Spock will also be reporting."
That's Number One, all business, all the time, Jim thought fondly. "Yes, ma'am, please inform the Admiral that I am on my way."
"Yes, sir. On a side note, Captain, I believe it would be best if you did not leave the girl in your quarters, as it is not permitted by regulation for civilians to be unsupervised on Starfleet premises unless they have been checked in by the proper authorities. I shall tell Admiral Pike to expect you."
Jim winced as the connection went dead. How the fuck does she do that? He wondered irritably. He knew for a fact she was one hundred percent human, but she had the mind-reading abilities of a Betazoid, and she didn't even have to be in the same room.
Sighing, Jim reentered the bedroom. At hearing the purring noises the girls made at his return, Jim almost rejoined them in the bed. With Herculean effort, he forced himself over to the closet, tossing their clothes at them as he went. "Sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short."
"Seriously?" Katie huffed. She zipped up her dress.
"We could…wait for you to get back," Kellie suggested coyly, propping her chin her hands. "We didn't even get to the fun yet."
Jim was sorely tempted. "I really am sorry, but I have to report in and civilians aren't allowed in Starfleet buildings. I tell you what though," he said, an idea dawning on him. "I'll send my friend Bones to pick you up. He's a doctor."
"Oh?" Katie asked, interested.
Jim grinned. "Very handsome, too. I'm sure he could…show you a good time."
Katie seemed to have forgotten her previous anger. "Fine with us," she agreed, wrapping her arm around her sister's waist and following Jim out.
Jim commed Bones while buttoning up his jacket, trying not to drop the hat clenched under his elbow. McCoy grumbled a bit, but eventually agreed to pick up the twins. Jim smirked at the hint of interest hidden in his friend's Southern drawl.
Hopping on the nearest Starfleet shuttle bus, Jim tried to guess why Pike would be calling him in along with Spock. He discarded half a dozen ridiculous thoughts before landing on one that was both more ridiculous than any of the others, and twice as likely.
When he hopped off of the shuttle, he saw the sleek black hair and ramrod straight back of his First Officer. In spite of himself, he grinned. "Spock!"
Spock turned, hands going behind his back. He paused to let Jim catch up to him and inclined his head slightly. "Captain."
"Jim, Spock, for Pete's sake." Before Spock could reply to the oft-repeated demand, Jim began striding toward their destination. "So what do you think Pike wants?"
"I cannot presume to say," Spock replied coolly.
Jim was practically bouncing in anticipation. "Do you think they're going to give us that deep-space mission everyone's buzzing about?"
"I very much doubt it," said Spock, making Jim want to groan.
"Spock, I'm telling you, this is why he called. I can feel it!"
"Your feeling aside, I consider it highly unlikely that we will be selected for the new program."
"Why else would Pike want to see us?" He gestured with his hat in hand. "Forget about seniority. They gave us the newest ship in the fleet. I mean, who else are they going to send out?"
"I can think of numerous possibilities," Spock said tonelessly.
Jim moved in front of him, walking backward as he cut him off. "A five-year mission, Spock!" he crowed. He slapped his sometime-friend on the chest. "That's deep space, that's uncharted territory! Think how incredible that's gonna be." He turned to watch two women walk past. "Hey, ladies. Jim Kirk." Some things were just reflex at this point.
Spock did not reply, but Jim could feel his exasperation. Jim rolled his eyes and continued to wax poetic about the possibility of getting assigned to the longest single mission in Starfleet history all the way up to Pike's office. A woman with shoulder length dark brown hair and a no-nonsense attitude was sitting at the desk before his office.
"Captain Kirk, Commander Spock," she greeted them. "I shall inform the Admiral of your arrival."
"Good to see you, Number One," Jim said, shaking her hand.
She smiled slightly. "It is nice to see you as well, Captain."
In moments they were standing at attention in front of Admiral Pike's desk. Pike was looking at PADD thoughtfully. "Uneventful." His voice was even and betrayed nothing.
A bad feeling built in the pit of Jim's stomach. "Admiral?"
"It's the way you described the survey of Nibiru in your captain's log," Pike continued.
"Yes, sir. I didn't want to waste your time going over the details." The excitement of before was entirely gone.
"Tell me more about this volcano," Pike said. His tone was deceptively pleasant. Jim knew that tone and had good reason to fear it. "Data says it was highly volatile. If it were to erupt, it would wipe out the planet."
Jim held his hat under his arm, affecting nonchalance. "Let's hope it doesn't, sir."
"Something tells me it won't," Pike shot back.
Jim paused, the feeling of impending doom tying his stomach in knots. His face betrayed none of this. "Well, sir, volatile is all relative. Maybe our data was off."
"Or maybe it didn't erupt because Mr. Spock detonated a cold fusion device inside it right after a civilization that's barely invented the wheel happened to see a starship rising out of their ocean!" Pike's voice rose steadily, his anger now evident. He gestured to Spock. "That is pretty much how you describe it, is it not?"
Spock looked vaguely apprehensive. "Admiral…"
The bad feeling grew into disbelief as he realized what Spock had done. "You filed a report?" he asked incredulously. He knew the hurt was evident in his voice. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Spock looked uncomfortable for a brief second. "I incorrectly assumed that you would be truthful in your captain's log."
"Yeah, I would have been if I didn't have to save your life," Jim said quietly. Anger was quickly replacing disbelief. Spock had filed a report, leading to this meeting, which, it was now clear, was to be an official reprimand.
"A fact for which I am immeasurably grateful and the very reason I felt it necessary to take responsibility for the actions…" the Vulcan was saying, but Jim chuckled humorlessly.
"Take responsibility, yeah," he chortled, cutting his First Officer off. "That's so noble, pointy." It had been awhile since he'd degraded Spock and it left a sour taste in his mouth alongside the acrid bite of betrayal. "If you weren't also throwing me under the bus."
"'Pointy?'" Spock repeated, clearly surprised and maybe even hurt. "Is that a derogatory reference to—"
"Gentlemen," Pike interrupted, standing. He walked around the desk, leaning on his cane. "Starfleet's mandate is to explore and observe, not to interfere."
"Had the mission gone according to plan, Admiral, the indigenous species would never have been aware of our interference," Spock pointed out.
"That's a technicality," Pike growled.
"I am Vulcan, sir. We embrace technicality."
Holy shit, Spock is giving a superior lip! Jim thought in amazement. I thought he only did that to me.
"Are you giving me attitude, Spock?"
"I am expressing multiple attitudes simultaneously, sir; to which are you referring?" His tone was cold, almost mocking, and Jim had to wonder why he would show such disrespect to one of the people he respected most.
"Out," Pike ordered. "You're dismissed, Commander."
Spock looked over at Jim. Jim's eyes darted toward him and then away as soon as he saw Spock looking at him. He stared forward stonily, unwilling to see the man he'd thought a friend. Spock hesitated for a moment, seeming to want to say something. But after a drawn-out moment, he simply turned on his heel and walked out.
Pike stood for a moment, and Jim waited with bated breath. "You have any idea what a pain in the ass you are?" he asked finally.
"I think so, sir."
Spock stood outside of the door for a moment, trying to reconcile himself to what he had just done. Though he didn't know it at the time, it would seem that the report he had written could very well be costing Jim his career. It was an…unpleasant thought.
"What's the lesson to be learned here?" Pike was demanding.
"Never trust a Vulcan," Jim decided. Spock raised an eyebrow. He did not like the idea that Jim no longer trusted him.
"No, see, you can't even answer the question!" Pike fumed. "You lied! On an official report, you lied. You think the rules don't apply to you 'cause you disagree with them."
"That's why you talked me into signing up in the first place," Jim said. "It's why you gave me your ship." Spock could hear the uncertainty in his captain's voice. He raised an eyebrow at the words, suddenly curious as to how exactly Pike had recruited Jim Kirk.
"I gave you my ship because I saw greatness in you. And now I see you haven't got an ounce of humility."
"What was I supposed to do?" Jim asked, voice suddenly low and intense. "Let Spock die?"
"You're missing the point."
"I don't think I am, sir! What would you have done?"
"I wouldn't have risked my First Officer's life in the first place!" Pike told him. Spock wished he could explain that the whole thing had been his own idea. "You were supposed to survey a planet, not alter its destiny. You violated a dozen Starfleet regulations and almost got everyone under your command killed."
"Except I didn't! You know how many crew members I've lost since I took the captaincy?"
Pike spoke over him. "That's your problem, you think you're infallible!"
"Not one!" There was pride in Jim's voice, as there should be, but Spock worried that their success so far had made Jim overconfident. He knew Pike undoubtedly thought the same.
"You think you can't make a mistake. It's a pattern with you! The rules are for other people."
"Some should be."
"And what's worse is you're using blind luck to justify your playing God!"
Spock wanted badly to protest this. Jim was reckless, impulsive, but every decision he made was made with the ultimate goal of saving lives. At the same time, he knew many of Pike's accusations to be accurate. Jim had displayed an irrational faith in his own invincibility.
Pike was saying that the Nibiru incident had been brought to the Admiralty. Spock realized with a start that it was highly inappropriate for him to be listening to this
conversation when he had already been dismissed. Hat in hand, Spock tore himself away and strode off. He couldn't help wondering, though, how Jim would be punished. And will he ever forgive me?
Dazed, Jim staggered out of Pike's office. He walked, not sure where he was going until he reached his apartment. He pulled off his uniform jacket and went to the closet with the intention of getting pajamas. He stopped dead. Pristine from the laundry, there was his gold uniform, his Captain's stripes gleaming gold at the cuffs. Stripes he was no longer permitted to wear.
Because he wasn't a captain. His ship was gone, taken away by the admiralty. Jim had been demoted and sent back to the Academy. His cheeks burned with shame and he sat down hard on the floor. He stared up at the Captain's stripes, the stripes he'd thought he'd earned. Clearly he'd been wrong. Bitterness and anger and shame mixed a foul taste into the back of his throat.
They took the Enterprise away, he thought again.
The stripes were blurring, and Jim was horrified to realize that tears were dripping down his cheeks. He buried his face in his hands. He didn't know how long he sat there until he heard the door sliding open.
"Hey, kid," said a gruff, familiar voice.
Jim looked up. He vaguely recalled sending Bones a message on his way back from Pike's office, but he had no idea what he had said. He didn't say anything.
McCoy saw his tearstained face and sighed, sitting down next to him. "Now, your message was a little garbled so let me see if I have this straight. Spock squealed about you saving his green-blooded ass and all that Prime Directive shit. You lied about it. Pike thinks you're going to kill everyone. And…they're sending you back to the Academy and giving the…ship to someone else." His voice softened as he reached the end, and silently Jim thanked him for not saying the Enterprise's name. He didn't think he could handle it.
Without a word, Jim nodded. "Well, shit," McCoy whispered. He wrapped an arm around Jim's shoulders and leaned back against the closet wall. Jim buried his face against McCoy's shoulder, unable to speak but no longer crying. This was why Bones was his best friend. He always knew exactly what to say and what not to say. And he was always there to hold him up.
After about half an hour of companionable silence, McCoy slapped his knee. "There's only one thing to do in a situation like this," he announced. Jim, who was now slumped against the opposite wall, looked up. "It involves good southern whiskey."
He held out a hand and hoisted Jim to his feet. Business-like, he shoved the gold uniform to the back of the closet and began tossing civvies at Jim. Obediently, Jim pulled off the rest of his ground uniform and began to dress. Bones had just handed him a leather jacket when the doctor's comm beeped. McCoy pulled it out scowling ferociously, and Jim spared a thought to feel sorry for the person on the other end of the line. "What?" McCoy snapped.
"We have an Orion being brought in. She is in critical condition and we aren't sure why. Please report to Medical Station Two immediately."
McCoy cursed profusely. "Jim…" he said uncertainly.
Jim took a deep breath and managed a semblance of a smile. "You go. It's all right."
The doctor put his hand on Jim's shoulder and shook it slightly. "Don't go doin' anything stupid, now," he ordered. "Doctor's orders."
"You got it, Bones."
McCoy gave him a last searching look and then hurried off to deal with the Orion.
Jim sighed, pulling on the jacket. Getting drunk wasn't a bad idea. It didn't hold the same kind of appeal it once had, but tonight, with this fate weighing on him, the idea of getting too drunk to remember his own name was irresistible.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and went to find a dive.
In London, people were going about their lives. On the subway, Thomas looked around at all of the people who were going to work or getting off, heading to parties and meetings, sitting with friends or lovers. In his fist, in the pocket of his coat, was the case.
The vial and the ring. One, the most precious thing he had ever held. The other, the most repulsive. The train stopped smoothly and he and Rima got off as they did every day. They walked the blocks down to the Royal Children's Hospital and took the lift up to Lucy's room. She was worse today, her fever spiking. Thomas knew that Rima would insist on staying the night. He would have to wait.
All night, he sat by Lucy's side, holding her tiny, fragile hand in his own, praying he wasn't too late. All night, he whispered to his daughter how much he loved her and how proud he was of her. It wasn't until after dawn, when he would soon have to go into work that Rima finally succumbed to her exhaustion and slept.
Working quickly, Thomas took the case from his pocket and placed the vile into Lucy's IV. The clear liquid in the bag began to turn blood-red in clouds.
It couldn't have taken more than a few seconds as he stood there watching the blood in the IV and the numbers on her readout. But it felt like a lifetime between the blood dripping down the tube and the vital signs returning to green.
Relief made his knees feel weak but he did not have time for more than a brief moment of joy. He kissed his daughter gently. He sent the message he had written to the PADD Rima had left at home, and with a last lingering look at Lucy's face, he slipped out of the room.
He felt numb as he strode down the streets in his Starfleet grays. What he was about to do was unthinkable, but he had no choice. This was the price.
Finally, he reached his workplace, Starfleet's Kelvin Memorial Archive. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He turned and his blood turned to ice. Across the street, watching him with a cold smirk on his face was the stranger who had saved his daughter's life and demanded such a price. He had introduced himself as John Harrison.
Upon seeing him, the numbness leached away, and Thomas was suddenly sweating all over. He could feel his hands shaking. Lucy, he told himself, picturing her face. Do this for Lucy.
Turning his back on his puppeteer, Thomas tried to put on a façade of confidence. As he was scanned and permitted to enter the turbolift that would take him into Section 31, he tried to control his breathing.
He had worked for years to gain the clearance necessary to work in this autonomous intelligence section. He wondered how a man like Harrison had managed to gain access to one of the most closely guarded Federation secrets.
He picked up a glass of water and bid his coworkers good morning. He tried to smile as he left them. If it didn't come out well, they would assume that Lucy had worsened. He hated that he could feel their pity when he was about to betray them all. Thomas's feet took him to his workstation without any guidance from him, which was good, because Thomas was incapable of thinking about anything but his current, sickening mission.
Finally, he sat down, grateful that his knees hadn't given out. Gathering his courage, he sent a pre-composed message to Starfleet brass, confessing to the crime he was about to commit and explaining his circumstances. He hoped that his information would help them apprehend the true villain.
Then, with shaking hands, he pulled off the ring and dropped it into the water. It began to fizz and quake. Thomas closed his eyes. Lucy, he thought.
Just down the block, John Harrison watched the Kelvin Archive closely. Waiting.
BOOM.
An explosion rocked the London air, causing people to scream. Harrison's lips curled into a smirk as flames and smoke rose from the Archive.
Everyone around him was running away from the blast, panicking at the unprecedented attack on a civilian street. Harrison turned, picking up his duffel bag, and walked away calmly.
Let the games begin.