FIC: Divergence 4/?
Title: Divergence
Rating: Mature (violence, language, adult themes)
Pairing: pre-slash nu!K/S, kid!K/S
Cast: ensemble, plus Pike, W. Kirk, A. Grayson, and nu!versions of TOS random crew
Warnings/things to look forwards to: long multi-part fic, kid!Spock, kid!Kirk, time travel, badass!crew, epic friendships among crew
Notes: as a fill for this plotty PROMPT from the kink meme.... and yes I'm focusing on mini-Spock and mini-Kirk, lots of stuff happening for them, there's a reason for that.
BETA status - done by jademac2442 - thank her for me!
back to: part one / part two / part three
USS Enterprise, Deck Ten, year 2260
Admiral Barnett’s sign off on the personal communiqué jarred him badly, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. The Admiral had always been a pain in the ass - oh it was always respectful ribbing, but it still annoyed the shit out of him. Deep down Jim knew that if Admiral Barnett was harder on him than usual, it was because the man had higher expectations of him. No, what disturbed Jim was that Admiral Barnett hadn’t been himself; if the man had been himself, it would have ended with “Don’t screw up, Kirk, or I’ll bust you down to Ensign” or “I’m watching you, boy” or his personal favorite “I have Doctor McCoy’s number, rascal, don’t make me use it” but this time -this time…
You have my word, Jimmy, good luck...
Jim wondered if he did the right thing, asking Admiral Barnett to tell his mom about the mission, explain why he won't be on Deep Space 4, and basically wimping out on sending a message. The man had been his mom’s Commander at her first post, and had kept an eye on him. Barnett had been annoyed by the Kobayashi Maru fiasco. Of course, post-Narada, the man had also fought for Jim to be taken off academic probation, for his Captaincy, and wrangled with other Admirals to be the one to present him that medal. Jim appreciated it - at least he knew that the man wasn’t doing it for the good publicity of standing next to “James Kirk, hero.”
Which brought him here, heading off to dinner with a weight hanging over him; frankly the chummy sign-off made Jim feel like he was never coming back. Jim shuddered and mentally shook it off. No, thinking like that helped no one.
Passing through the Rec Area, he noticed there were a lot of people around, more than usual. Despite the usual eating, drinking, games of poker and chess and whatever else was going on, there was an unspoken tension in the air. Conversations were few, and quieter than normal, with small groups of threes or fours scattered around at the outer perimeters. Most were cheerful, but some didn’t even try to hide their anxiety. Jim supposed this was to be expected; their arrival at Starbase Alpha 3 was scheduled to be in four hours time, where one in three would disembark. He forced himself to walk past the entrance to the main Rec, keeping his expression neutral and let himself into the Officer’s Lounge. Jim could think of a hundred other places he'd rather be than here, having a mock-up of a formal dinner with the three other commanding officers but Bones’ powers extended even this far - the Rec department reported to the CMO.
‘Ah, you finally made it, Captain,’ said Scotty, beaming from the end of the table, mid-sip of his scotch. Jim could tell that he’d interrupted something; the last remark he’d caught coming through the door had been that ‘a real man drinks Scotch…’
Bones took a breather from the chick drumstick he was working on, ‘About time, Jim - you’re late.’
‘You forget, Bones: I’m the Captain - I’m never late.’ Jim grinned at the irate eyebrow raised in his direction and picked up the doctor’s toc of Yadalla ale as he passed, draining it in one gulp without the slightest guilt. He didn’t want to be here, and he wasn’t going to hide that, and if he could piss Bones off then hooray to him. It went down bitter and heavy. Going red from the intensity of the ale, he barked a cough, almost doubling over when it hit his upper stomach in a painful burn. Jim nodded frantic thanks as a glass of water was handed to him. That was the nice thing about Spock, he mused between hurried gulps, always on duty.
‘For a doctor you sure like your poisons.’ He choked out after draining the glass.
Bones gave him a smug look, and gestured with his knife at Jim’s plate. ‘Eat your food, Jim, before it gets cold.’
At that his stomach growled and painfully reminded Jim that the last time he had a meal was a sandwich snuck out of the Kitchens. Bones pointed at him with the knife, and waited with a look of mock patience. To shut the man up, Jim quickly sat at his place round the table and picked up a strip of meat, jamming it into his mouth and chewing enthusiastically with a broad grin. With one final disgruntled hmph, the doctor went back to chatting with their chief engineer about exotic liquors.
Jim glanced at Spock, who was neatly cutting up what appeared to be some kind vegetarian rissole. ‘So…’ He exhaled, flashing a casual smile, ‘How is our pet project going?’
‘On schedule,’ was Spock’s succinct reply.
‘Great. How many of them can we make?’ Jim neatly skewered a piece of what looked like purple broccoli and examined it suspiciously; he didn’t know what he did to get on Bones’ bad side that his food was turning out like this.
‘Captain...’ Spock murmured, giving him an odd look, ‘Jim… I believe Doctor McCoy will be displeased if we discuss ship matters.’
‘And you’re suddenly listening to him?’ Taking a cautious bite of the purple broccoli, Jim chewed slowly before grabbing his napkin and discretely spitting it out. OH heck no - it tasted like stewed cabbage with Tabasco sauce and really sharp smelly cheese. Glancing around, he noticed that Spock had it on his plate as well - where it had been pulverized and ignored. Ah… right…
Spock poured him a glass of lemonade. ‘This will help.’
Jim took a deep drink and felt the foul taste/texture drain away under the sharp sweetness of the drink. Neatly scraping the foul alien vegetables to the side, he put down his cutlery and picked up one of the strips of chicken; nothing he couldn’t recognize for him tonight… ‘Spock, next time some warning would be nice.’
‘I wasn’t certain that you would also be adverse to the food.’ Spock murmured, before putting down his utensils to check his PADD which began to flash insistently.
Jim craned his neck, frowning. The chicken was not bad, he thought as he chewed in a hurry, wanting to get the meal over and done with as soon as possible. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Officers Morgan and Kipst’zn have been assisting me with replicating the cloak technology on a small scale as you recommended…’ Spock said distractedly, ‘It appears… that your suggestion of a tuning algorithm program to neutralize shield polarity… has been successful in simulations. Additionally, we will be able to fit twenty remote detonators and ten warheads with the modified cloaking devices.’
'Yeah?' Jim ate another strip of fried chicken, licking his fingers. ‘How would you scrounge up the material? The stuff Alpha 3 is giving us isn’t nearly enough for all that.’ He asked, perplexed, since originally Spock had been adamant they didn’t have enough tretonium, heavy base metals, or silicon to build the tetryon compositors or the old-fashioned missiles he’d suggested against the Narada’s unique ship structure.
Spock gave him another odd look. ‘I was able to… its...'
Jim swore the man was almost guilty.
'Furniture, Jim; all disembarking personnel quarters are being cleared as we speak.’
Jim blinked in shock. Spock was scraping all the bunks and chairs and tables in empty quarters? He didn’t know if he should laugh that Spock truly had been spending way too much time with him or if he should be freaking out about how final that seemed - that those crew members leaving were not going to resuming their posts. Jim nodded slowly, holding Spock’s gaze. The mini-cloaks and the missiles would improve their chances, and he supposed... he supposed they could always refit the quarters…
-----
The Narada: location unknown, year 2246
Spock opened his eyes to overwhelming darkness, the last light cube having long since run out of power. Someone was coming. He shifted, intending to stand when a weight over his legs made him look down. Of course, James; Spock shook the boy by the shoulder gently, rousing him. Just like before, the large heavily-bearded Romulan guard who appeared to be assigned to them dropped down in the cell, a rope ladder was let down and they were taken through the underbelly of the ship to the bridge.
‘Captain Nero. They’re here.’ A slender Romulan with austere features gave them a cool glance from behind a console he was monitoring.
The Romulan Nero turned in his chair to face them. He looked solemn, chin propped on his knuckles, resembling much like the replication of Auguste Rodin’s The Thinker in the foyer at the Xenoculture Museum on Vulcan. Behind him on the viewscreen was a celestial body shadowed by a much larger planetary body, in a dark shade of ochre.
Spock recognized the planet with a shock. It was Vulcan, it was home.
‘I’ve decided to punish you,’ Nero said.
------
USS Enterprise, Deck Ten: Rec Area, year 2260
Uhura wandered through the corridor on her way to the Mess, disquieted by the lack of personnel. It was evening meal time and as such, it should have been crowded this close to the Mess. They had thinned the crew down to basic requirements needed to maintain battle stations. Many of the crew had beamed off-board in what was more or less a full-scale emergency evacuation. They were now right alongside the singularity waiting for the DTI officers onboard the Copernicus to give them the go-ahead. She had immediately been dismissed from duty after translating the messages for the warning beacons and had been since resting in her quarters. Despite sleeping all day, she didn’t feel rested, her mind preoccupied with the short and woefully inadequate clip she had recorded for her parents.
Suddenly all the lights in deck corridor flickered. Uhura steadied herself against a wall, and looked up in surprise. Something was happening, and it was happening without her. Cursing under her breath, she turned and ran back in the direction of the turbolift. She needed to get back to the Bridge. The red alert klaxon started to wail.
“Attention crew of the Enterprise, we’ve been given the go-ahead by the Copernicus! All hands, brace for impact!”
------
Planet-side: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246
Spock woke, disorientated by the intense light. Pushing himself off the ground, he brushed the sand from his face, shocked at the texture. He realized that he was naked, except for undergarments and a large rough cloth wrapped around him. In the sky, the scorching sun had already risen. His hand flew to his throat - the subcutaneous tracker was barely noticeable, only a small painless lump under the skin.
‘I think my escape plan worked too well...’
Spock turned, startled by the soft voice.
James shielded his eyes from the sun and waved tiredly, perched on a large rock. He was missing his usual garments as well and wrapped in the same rough cloth, albeit modified and draped around him to look like a robe.
‘Yeah, I’m here... so this is Vulcan... huh? Nice place...’
The rugged wilderness stretched in every direction, the uneven terrain barren except for hidden pockets of vegetation taking shelter from the harsh sun around rock formations. There was no sign of civilization as far as the eyes could see.
‘Hey,’ James breathed weakly, ‘Think we can get out of the…’
Spock looked on in alarm as James’ eyes rolled up in his head and he fell. Discarding dignity, Spock dashed forwards just in time to catch him, preventing his head from knocking against a nearby rock. In the stillness that followed, Spock could feel his heart, beating hard and erratic against the human boy’s hip. James opened his mouth, lips pale and gasped for air.
‘Do not try to speak.’ He murmured, reminded of the words he had heard so many times from Father or Father’s aides, as they tended human visitors who had collapsed in their presence, having arrogantly or ignorantly passed on warnings for them to take tri-ox while planetside. ‘You are unused to the atmosphere and gravity of Vulcan.’
It was foolish for James to waste energy climbing up onto the rock in the first place, but Spock forcibly put aside his frustration and reminded himself that he should be focused on ensuring that his human friend did not suffocate. He held James and slowly, after several minutes, a little color came back into the boy's face. Spock settled James against a boulder rock, and satisfied that the human would not asphyxiate, quickly collected his piece of rough cloth and draped it around his form as a makeshift desert robe.
Finally, James sat up. ‘Spock,’ He rasped, ‘The sun… too strong… I can’t…’
He hoisted the boy up by slinging one arm over his shoulder and wrapping an arm around the waist, quickly walking around the rock formation and into the shadows of a cliff which hung over them curved like a suspended ocean in the midst of a rage. Under any other circumstances he would have admired them, but for the moment, they seemed ominous, hanging over them like an animal’s claw.
Spock laid James down and though he wished to stand guard, he forced himself to scout the surrounding areas for any plant or vegetation to provide moisture. He suspected that James was already dehydrated, for as a native from a water-based planet, James’ basic biology was in his opinion excessively dependent on water. Unfortunately, Spock thought darkly, he could not tell James to stop being human. His companion began once again to breathe heavily, eyes unfocused as his hand reached reflexively for his throat.
‘Breathe.’ He said loudly, not sure if James could hear him or indeed comprehended all that he was saying, ‘Breathe slowly and steadily. Focus on it.’
Suddenly his eyes were drawn to something shining in the distance to his right, less than thirty meters away. He recognized the item as a medical satchel, slightly larger than the usual they received during their times of confinement in the dark cell. Ignoring his physical discomfort at being barefoot and inadequately covered, Spock scrambled over several boulders, ignoring the fleeting burn under his soles and retrieved the satchel.
The contents scattered over the orange dirt ground, his hands trembling as he sorted them in his usual efficiency. Water, basic nutrients, more water, bandages, antiseptic, a small blade, a very basic tricorder - Spock stared at them blankly. No. They couldn’t. They didn’t. Nero needed them alive! Not a single hypo-spray or vial of tri-ox compound. It took every bit of discipline and sense of propriety in him to rein in his distress. Even Mother, with her many years upon the planet, well-adapted to Vulcan conditions required the occasional treatment - but someone weakened by inadequate nutrition and physical abuse… Spock glanced to his companion.
Lying underneath the jutting sharp edge of the smooth rock surface reaching into the sky, James Kirk’s mouth moved silently to form words, his eyes staring at Spock like beacons of blue light. Spock curled his arm around the boy’s shoulders, bringing him up so he could give him a sip of water.
‘Drink,’ He said harshly, almost shaking James to keep him coherent, ‘Drink!’
But what James really needed was air, not water.
A sense of being overwhelmed flooded him, leaving him uncertain and weak. He put the water down and touched his friend’s throat, wishing that he could indeed gift James with even a third of his lung capacity.
‘You will be light-headed, nauseous, and fatigued - please, don't exert yourself. There is something similar to the Terran aloe plant which grows abundant among rock formations - they're nutritious and assist hydration. Lie here while I'll find some.’ His words were uncharacteristically rushed, his voice thick with some strange tone. Spock laid James down and pulled the cloth around him more securely, covering his face as one might a newborn.
‘There is radiation, dust and other elements in the atmosphere not present upon Earth, which could be harmful to you.’ He told James firmly, ‘Keep your face covered -especially your eyes.’
The image of his mother’s eyes, red from a primitive human condition - conjunctivitis - flashed through his mind in graphic detail. She had bore it with grace, completely veiling herself for any outdoors engagement for the days while she suffered from the condition and all due to the lack of a nictitating membrane in her eyes. Spock ran a hand across his eyes and closed his inner eyelids.
----
USS Enterprise, time unknown
Jim grabbed the armrest of the Captain’s chair and pulled himself up off the floor, coughing from the smoke and exhaust choking up the air. One of the Operations officers welded a fire extinguisher and there was more than one crew down from the impact of passing through the singularity. Everything was bathed in red and orange lights, the klaxon still ringing in the background.
‘Someone turn that thing off!’ The klaxon died unexpectedly mid-ring, ‘Damage report!’
‘Shields at 53%; medical emergencies on decks seven through to thirteen, as well as Engineering; hull integrity is holding; long-range sensors offline, weapons system functioning and at your order, Captain.’
He pulled himself into his chair with a grunt, feeling woozy - woah, he hadn’t felt this bad since having all those shots on that planet with the overgrown teddy bears. He touched his forehead, trying to dispel the fog over his thoughts. ‘Time, date! What’s the Stardate! Did we make it?’
‘- we have confirmed casualties in decks ten through to eight!’
‘More reports coming in sir! Engineering reports loss of coolant in sections 4D and 5A!’
The turbolift door opened, admitting a disheveled Uhura who ran onto the bridge and stopped in surprise at the carnage. Right behind her was Bones, and a full medical team, who efficiently panned out along the Bridge perimeter and attended to the crew. Jim attempted to wave away the nurse holding a medical tricorder in his face.
‘Evacuate and seal off the contaminated areas! Get Security to do it if you have to - I want damage control, now! Emergency protocols Sigma-Nine-Alpha for all able crew members and immediate - I’m fine, I’m fine, only a bruised ego from falling outta my chair.’ He snapped at the nurse, frowning as she persisted, ‘Oh for - someone find out the damn year!’
Bones glared at him and took over from the nurse, cursing under his breath about belligerent command officers and their disrespect for procedure and personal safety. Jim didn’t spare the CMO a grin for his usual heartwarming repertoire.
Chekov turned with a grim look on his face, ‘From astrometric readings, we are approximately fourteen years and three month in the past, sir - estimated Stardate… 2246.01…’
Shit. This was almost six months after the official disappearance of the USS Umpqua. Six months that Nero had on them. God, who knows what he’s managed to do in that time…
‘Captain,’ Spock said, turning from his station, ‘I am detecting minute traces of the USS Umpqua’s distinct engine signature and there is no presence of USS Lockwood or Copernicus. Unfortunately the muon trail of the escape pod is too dispersed for a precise lock - I have provided what data I have to Ensign Chekov.’
‘Aye sir…’ Chekov muttered, hands flying across his console, ‘Am calculating trajectory now…’
He gave Spock a nod and a quick sly smile. See Spock, told you it’ll be fine…
‘Captain.’
Jim turned, ‘What is it, Uhura?’
‘Subspace chatter places us at Stardate 2246.01.02, sir - we also have incoming, two commercial freighters and a Vulcan science vessel.’
He wanted to laugh till he cried. The James T. Kirk of this time was just barely thirteen years old, a little kid - he was probably still grounded for the car thing even though that was like over a year ago, and Frank - he swallowed thickly - was probably still busting shit up, killing his liver and boxing Sam and him around the ears. Last night’s two shots weren’t nearly enough. He glanced at Chekov, who had a bleeding cut on his forehead - oh crap, Chekov would only be four!
‘Sulu, evasive maneuvers until we know where we’re going. Spock?’ He caught the Vulcan’s eye and gave the man a humorless smile, ‘Let’s try out that cloaking device and violate some treaties.’
Spock inclined his head and handed over his station to his relief, already heading for the turbolift. Jim stood and followed, ignoring Bones who sputtered at him to come back here.
Inside the lift, he hit the intercom button. ‘Kirk to Engineering. Scotty, my man, tell me the good news.’
--------
Planet-side: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246
Spock woke, startled at the cool flesh pressed against his shoulder. Sometime during the night, James had thrown an arm around him and moved progressively closer till he was sleeping pressed against Spock’s side, forehead wedged against his shoulder. Raising his head slightly, Spock attempted to remove himself from this uncomfortable arrangement but James only tightened his grip, murmuring something unintelligible under his breath. Frowning, he realize the grit underneath his back was still faintly warm but the loose dry mix of sand and dirt around him had gone cold - it was little wonder that James had sought him out.
He rested his hand carefully atop James’ head, shifted into a more comfortable position and looked up at the night sky. The stars sprinkled across the darkness with no particular pattern or goal. He had never viewed them from this part of the planet before, and was surprised by their brilliance. Mother always thought them beautiful, often commenting on them seated on their wide stone terrace. At the thought of her, Spock felt an awful yearning inside - she was so close and yet so far away; they were on the same planet and yet, she did not know he was here.
They had been here for days, wandering the harshness and struggling to survive. With no supply of tri-ox compound, James was weak, able to only walk slowly for at best two, three hours before needing to rest, even though they were not at a particular high altitude. Without medical assistance and more supplies, they could not hope to cover the distance needed to reach any populated areas or even a science outpost. Spock was certain this was what Nero wanted - they were no longer on the ship to cause trouble and yet, here in the middle of the deep Vulcan desert, they were as trapped as they had been in their dark cell.
He supposed he should be grateful that Nero had at least beamed them to a fairly benign if desolate stretch of desert. The first three days, he had rested little except during midday when the heat was at its worst, keeping alert for predators well into the night, till it became apparent that there were none. The only fauna he had discovered was a fairly common lizard and a few species of native birds that occasionally passed by overhead. The worst that could happen to them was injury, or that Nero would reconsider his need of them alive, not activate the trackers he had injected them with and leave them here to die.
Uncertainty rose in him at the thought, but he dismissed it abruptly. Death was not an option. Most beings in the known galaxy could only ever dare to know as much about the future as he did, to know that his life had mattered, his actions had reverberated across time and space to touch thousands of billions of lives. He had to live, and James had to live; they would take their rightful places. They were supposed to fly across the stars, in a ship called Enterprise. He had been taught how to survive in the desert in preparation for his kahs-wan, and he was neither physically nor mentally incapacitated. Survival was possible, even with James as an additional burden.
Father would no doubt remind him now that it was illogical to believe in such things as predestined fate, and that whatever he or James may have been was another life now; that Nero's very presence had altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on the USS Kelvin, culminating in the events of their kidnapping, thereby creating an entirely new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party. Yes, Spock thought, that was logical. Nevertheless, he now had access to a new perspective on the path his life could take, and his destiny was his decision alone, not even Father denied that.
James lifted his head to blink myopically in the dark, 'Spock...? Is it... is it morning?'
'No,' He said softly, 'Rest.'
James' dirty hand came up and patted him softly on the face, giving him a sleepy affirmation as he settled down by shifting closer, turning his head till he had found the most comfortable angle against Spock's shoulder. Spock felt a flare of something small and warm in his gut, spreading till it enveloped his whole body. He glanced at the crown of James' dirty hair and felt a sense of wonder - was this serotonin and dopamine taking effect from prolonged physical touch? His physiology was primarily Vulcan but then, there were differences; Spock wondered if this was one of them. To test his hypothesis, he ran his hand down the length of James' back.
He trembled at the sensation. Oh. Ohhhhh…
Spock stared at his hand. Fascinating.
part five
*huggles mini-Spock and mini-Kirk*
Rating: Mature (violence, language, adult themes)
Pairing: pre-slash nu!K/S, kid!K/S
Cast: ensemble, plus Pike, W. Kirk, A. Grayson, and nu!versions of TOS random crew
Warnings/things to look forwards to: long multi-part fic, kid!Spock, kid!Kirk, time travel, badass!crew, epic friendships among crew
Notes: as a fill for this plotty PROMPT from the kink meme.... and yes I'm focusing on mini-Spock and mini-Kirk, lots of stuff happening for them, there's a reason for that.
BETA status - done by jademac2442 - thank her for me!
back to: part one / part two / part three
USS Enterprise, Deck Ten, year 2260
Admiral Barnett’s sign off on the personal communiqué jarred him badly, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. The Admiral had always been a pain in the ass - oh it was always respectful ribbing, but it still annoyed the shit out of him. Deep down Jim knew that if Admiral Barnett was harder on him than usual, it was because the man had higher expectations of him. No, what disturbed Jim was that Admiral Barnett hadn’t been himself; if the man had been himself, it would have ended with “Don’t screw up, Kirk, or I’ll bust you down to Ensign” or “I’m watching you, boy” or his personal favorite “I have Doctor McCoy’s number, rascal, don’t make me use it” but this time -this time…
You have my word, Jimmy, good luck...
Jim wondered if he did the right thing, asking Admiral Barnett to tell his mom about the mission, explain why he won't be on Deep Space 4, and basically wimping out on sending a message. The man had been his mom’s Commander at her first post, and had kept an eye on him. Barnett had been annoyed by the Kobayashi Maru fiasco. Of course, post-Narada, the man had also fought for Jim to be taken off academic probation, for his Captaincy, and wrangled with other Admirals to be the one to present him that medal. Jim appreciated it - at least he knew that the man wasn’t doing it for the good publicity of standing next to “James Kirk, hero.”
Which brought him here, heading off to dinner with a weight hanging over him; frankly the chummy sign-off made Jim feel like he was never coming back. Jim shuddered and mentally shook it off. No, thinking like that helped no one.
Passing through the Rec Area, he noticed there were a lot of people around, more than usual. Despite the usual eating, drinking, games of poker and chess and whatever else was going on, there was an unspoken tension in the air. Conversations were few, and quieter than normal, with small groups of threes or fours scattered around at the outer perimeters. Most were cheerful, but some didn’t even try to hide their anxiety. Jim supposed this was to be expected; their arrival at Starbase Alpha 3 was scheduled to be in four hours time, where one in three would disembark. He forced himself to walk past the entrance to the main Rec, keeping his expression neutral and let himself into the Officer’s Lounge. Jim could think of a hundred other places he'd rather be than here, having a mock-up of a formal dinner with the three other commanding officers but Bones’ powers extended even this far - the Rec department reported to the CMO.
‘Ah, you finally made it, Captain,’ said Scotty, beaming from the end of the table, mid-sip of his scotch. Jim could tell that he’d interrupted something; the last remark he’d caught coming through the door had been that ‘a real man drinks Scotch…’
Bones took a breather from the chick drumstick he was working on, ‘About time, Jim - you’re late.’
‘You forget, Bones: I’m the Captain - I’m never late.’ Jim grinned at the irate eyebrow raised in his direction and picked up the doctor’s toc of Yadalla ale as he passed, draining it in one gulp without the slightest guilt. He didn’t want to be here, and he wasn’t going to hide that, and if he could piss Bones off then hooray to him. It went down bitter and heavy. Going red from the intensity of the ale, he barked a cough, almost doubling over when it hit his upper stomach in a painful burn. Jim nodded frantic thanks as a glass of water was handed to him. That was the nice thing about Spock, he mused between hurried gulps, always on duty.
‘For a doctor you sure like your poisons.’ He choked out after draining the glass.
Bones gave him a smug look, and gestured with his knife at Jim’s plate. ‘Eat your food, Jim, before it gets cold.’
At that his stomach growled and painfully reminded Jim that the last time he had a meal was a sandwich snuck out of the Kitchens. Bones pointed at him with the knife, and waited with a look of mock patience. To shut the man up, Jim quickly sat at his place round the table and picked up a strip of meat, jamming it into his mouth and chewing enthusiastically with a broad grin. With one final disgruntled hmph, the doctor went back to chatting with their chief engineer about exotic liquors.
Jim glanced at Spock, who was neatly cutting up what appeared to be some kind vegetarian rissole. ‘So…’ He exhaled, flashing a casual smile, ‘How is our pet project going?’
‘On schedule,’ was Spock’s succinct reply.
‘Great. How many of them can we make?’ Jim neatly skewered a piece of what looked like purple broccoli and examined it suspiciously; he didn’t know what he did to get on Bones’ bad side that his food was turning out like this.
‘Captain...’ Spock murmured, giving him an odd look, ‘Jim… I believe Doctor McCoy will be displeased if we discuss ship matters.’
‘And you’re suddenly listening to him?’ Taking a cautious bite of the purple broccoli, Jim chewed slowly before grabbing his napkin and discretely spitting it out. OH heck no - it tasted like stewed cabbage with Tabasco sauce and really sharp smelly cheese. Glancing around, he noticed that Spock had it on his plate as well - where it had been pulverized and ignored. Ah… right…
Spock poured him a glass of lemonade. ‘This will help.’
Jim took a deep drink and felt the foul taste/texture drain away under the sharp sweetness of the drink. Neatly scraping the foul alien vegetables to the side, he put down his cutlery and picked up one of the strips of chicken; nothing he couldn’t recognize for him tonight… ‘Spock, next time some warning would be nice.’
‘I wasn’t certain that you would also be adverse to the food.’ Spock murmured, before putting down his utensils to check his PADD which began to flash insistently.
Jim craned his neck, frowning. The chicken was not bad, he thought as he chewed in a hurry, wanting to get the meal over and done with as soon as possible. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Officers Morgan and Kipst’zn have been assisting me with replicating the cloak technology on a small scale as you recommended…’ Spock said distractedly, ‘It appears… that your suggestion of a tuning algorithm program to neutralize shield polarity… has been successful in simulations. Additionally, we will be able to fit twenty remote detonators and ten warheads with the modified cloaking devices.’
'Yeah?' Jim ate another strip of fried chicken, licking his fingers. ‘How would you scrounge up the material? The stuff Alpha 3 is giving us isn’t nearly enough for all that.’ He asked, perplexed, since originally Spock had been adamant they didn’t have enough tretonium, heavy base metals, or silicon to build the tetryon compositors or the old-fashioned missiles he’d suggested against the Narada’s unique ship structure.
Spock gave him another odd look. ‘I was able to… its...'
Jim swore the man was almost guilty.
'Furniture, Jim; all disembarking personnel quarters are being cleared as we speak.’
Jim blinked in shock. Spock was scraping all the bunks and chairs and tables in empty quarters? He didn’t know if he should laugh that Spock truly had been spending way too much time with him or if he should be freaking out about how final that seemed - that those crew members leaving were not going to resuming their posts. Jim nodded slowly, holding Spock’s gaze. The mini-cloaks and the missiles would improve their chances, and he supposed... he supposed they could always refit the quarters…
-----
The Narada: location unknown, year 2246
Spock opened his eyes to overwhelming darkness, the last light cube having long since run out of power. Someone was coming. He shifted, intending to stand when a weight over his legs made him look down. Of course, James; Spock shook the boy by the shoulder gently, rousing him. Just like before, the large heavily-bearded Romulan guard who appeared to be assigned to them dropped down in the cell, a rope ladder was let down and they were taken through the underbelly of the ship to the bridge.
‘Captain Nero. They’re here.’ A slender Romulan with austere features gave them a cool glance from behind a console he was monitoring.
The Romulan Nero turned in his chair to face them. He looked solemn, chin propped on his knuckles, resembling much like the replication of Auguste Rodin’s The Thinker in the foyer at the Xenoculture Museum on Vulcan. Behind him on the viewscreen was a celestial body shadowed by a much larger planetary body, in a dark shade of ochre.
Spock recognized the planet with a shock. It was Vulcan, it was home.
‘I’ve decided to punish you,’ Nero said.
------
USS Enterprise, Deck Ten: Rec Area, year 2260
Uhura wandered through the corridor on her way to the Mess, disquieted by the lack of personnel. It was evening meal time and as such, it should have been crowded this close to the Mess. They had thinned the crew down to basic requirements needed to maintain battle stations. Many of the crew had beamed off-board in what was more or less a full-scale emergency evacuation. They were now right alongside the singularity waiting for the DTI officers onboard the Copernicus to give them the go-ahead. She had immediately been dismissed from duty after translating the messages for the warning beacons and had been since resting in her quarters. Despite sleeping all day, she didn’t feel rested, her mind preoccupied with the short and woefully inadequate clip she had recorded for her parents.
Suddenly all the lights in deck corridor flickered. Uhura steadied herself against a wall, and looked up in surprise. Something was happening, and it was happening without her. Cursing under her breath, she turned and ran back in the direction of the turbolift. She needed to get back to the Bridge. The red alert klaxon started to wail.
“Attention crew of the Enterprise, we’ve been given the go-ahead by the Copernicus! All hands, brace for impact!”
------
Planet-side: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246
Spock woke, disorientated by the intense light. Pushing himself off the ground, he brushed the sand from his face, shocked at the texture. He realized that he was naked, except for undergarments and a large rough cloth wrapped around him. In the sky, the scorching sun had already risen. His hand flew to his throat - the subcutaneous tracker was barely noticeable, only a small painless lump under the skin.
‘I think my escape plan worked too well...’
Spock turned, startled by the soft voice.
James shielded his eyes from the sun and waved tiredly, perched on a large rock. He was missing his usual garments as well and wrapped in the same rough cloth, albeit modified and draped around him to look like a robe.
‘Yeah, I’m here... so this is Vulcan... huh? Nice place...’
The rugged wilderness stretched in every direction, the uneven terrain barren except for hidden pockets of vegetation taking shelter from the harsh sun around rock formations. There was no sign of civilization as far as the eyes could see.
‘Hey,’ James breathed weakly, ‘Think we can get out of the…’
Spock looked on in alarm as James’ eyes rolled up in his head and he fell. Discarding dignity, Spock dashed forwards just in time to catch him, preventing his head from knocking against a nearby rock. In the stillness that followed, Spock could feel his heart, beating hard and erratic against the human boy’s hip. James opened his mouth, lips pale and gasped for air.
‘Do not try to speak.’ He murmured, reminded of the words he had heard so many times from Father or Father’s aides, as they tended human visitors who had collapsed in their presence, having arrogantly or ignorantly passed on warnings for them to take tri-ox while planetside. ‘You are unused to the atmosphere and gravity of Vulcan.’
It was foolish for James to waste energy climbing up onto the rock in the first place, but Spock forcibly put aside his frustration and reminded himself that he should be focused on ensuring that his human friend did not suffocate. He held James and slowly, after several minutes, a little color came back into the boy's face. Spock settled James against a boulder rock, and satisfied that the human would not asphyxiate, quickly collected his piece of rough cloth and draped it around his form as a makeshift desert robe.
Finally, James sat up. ‘Spock,’ He rasped, ‘The sun… too strong… I can’t…’
He hoisted the boy up by slinging one arm over his shoulder and wrapping an arm around the waist, quickly walking around the rock formation and into the shadows of a cliff which hung over them curved like a suspended ocean in the midst of a rage. Under any other circumstances he would have admired them, but for the moment, they seemed ominous, hanging over them like an animal’s claw.
Spock laid James down and though he wished to stand guard, he forced himself to scout the surrounding areas for any plant or vegetation to provide moisture. He suspected that James was already dehydrated, for as a native from a water-based planet, James’ basic biology was in his opinion excessively dependent on water. Unfortunately, Spock thought darkly, he could not tell James to stop being human. His companion began once again to breathe heavily, eyes unfocused as his hand reached reflexively for his throat.
‘Breathe.’ He said loudly, not sure if James could hear him or indeed comprehended all that he was saying, ‘Breathe slowly and steadily. Focus on it.’
Suddenly his eyes were drawn to something shining in the distance to his right, less than thirty meters away. He recognized the item as a medical satchel, slightly larger than the usual they received during their times of confinement in the dark cell. Ignoring his physical discomfort at being barefoot and inadequately covered, Spock scrambled over several boulders, ignoring the fleeting burn under his soles and retrieved the satchel.
The contents scattered over the orange dirt ground, his hands trembling as he sorted them in his usual efficiency. Water, basic nutrients, more water, bandages, antiseptic, a small blade, a very basic tricorder - Spock stared at them blankly. No. They couldn’t. They didn’t. Nero needed them alive! Not a single hypo-spray or vial of tri-ox compound. It took every bit of discipline and sense of propriety in him to rein in his distress. Even Mother, with her many years upon the planet, well-adapted to Vulcan conditions required the occasional treatment - but someone weakened by inadequate nutrition and physical abuse… Spock glanced to his companion.
Lying underneath the jutting sharp edge of the smooth rock surface reaching into the sky, James Kirk’s mouth moved silently to form words, his eyes staring at Spock like beacons of blue light. Spock curled his arm around the boy’s shoulders, bringing him up so he could give him a sip of water.
‘Drink,’ He said harshly, almost shaking James to keep him coherent, ‘Drink!’
But what James really needed was air, not water.
A sense of being overwhelmed flooded him, leaving him uncertain and weak. He put the water down and touched his friend’s throat, wishing that he could indeed gift James with even a third of his lung capacity.
‘You will be light-headed, nauseous, and fatigued - please, don't exert yourself. There is something similar to the Terran aloe plant which grows abundant among rock formations - they're nutritious and assist hydration. Lie here while I'll find some.’ His words were uncharacteristically rushed, his voice thick with some strange tone. Spock laid James down and pulled the cloth around him more securely, covering his face as one might a newborn.
‘There is radiation, dust and other elements in the atmosphere not present upon Earth, which could be harmful to you.’ He told James firmly, ‘Keep your face covered -especially your eyes.’
The image of his mother’s eyes, red from a primitive human condition - conjunctivitis - flashed through his mind in graphic detail. She had bore it with grace, completely veiling herself for any outdoors engagement for the days while she suffered from the condition and all due to the lack of a nictitating membrane in her eyes. Spock ran a hand across his eyes and closed his inner eyelids.
----
USS Enterprise, time unknown
Jim grabbed the armrest of the Captain’s chair and pulled himself up off the floor, coughing from the smoke and exhaust choking up the air. One of the Operations officers welded a fire extinguisher and there was more than one crew down from the impact of passing through the singularity. Everything was bathed in red and orange lights, the klaxon still ringing in the background.
‘Someone turn that thing off!’ The klaxon died unexpectedly mid-ring, ‘Damage report!’
‘Shields at 53%; medical emergencies on decks seven through to thirteen, as well as Engineering; hull integrity is holding; long-range sensors offline, weapons system functioning and at your order, Captain.’
He pulled himself into his chair with a grunt, feeling woozy - woah, he hadn’t felt this bad since having all those shots on that planet with the overgrown teddy bears. He touched his forehead, trying to dispel the fog over his thoughts. ‘Time, date! What’s the Stardate! Did we make it?’
‘- we have confirmed casualties in decks ten through to eight!’
‘More reports coming in sir! Engineering reports loss of coolant in sections 4D and 5A!’
The turbolift door opened, admitting a disheveled Uhura who ran onto the bridge and stopped in surprise at the carnage. Right behind her was Bones, and a full medical team, who efficiently panned out along the Bridge perimeter and attended to the crew. Jim attempted to wave away the nurse holding a medical tricorder in his face.
‘Evacuate and seal off the contaminated areas! Get Security to do it if you have to - I want damage control, now! Emergency protocols Sigma-Nine-Alpha for all able crew members and immediate - I’m fine, I’m fine, only a bruised ego from falling outta my chair.’ He snapped at the nurse, frowning as she persisted, ‘Oh for - someone find out the damn year!’
Bones glared at him and took over from the nurse, cursing under his breath about belligerent command officers and their disrespect for procedure and personal safety. Jim didn’t spare the CMO a grin for his usual heartwarming repertoire.
Chekov turned with a grim look on his face, ‘From astrometric readings, we are approximately fourteen years and three month in the past, sir - estimated Stardate… 2246.01…’
Shit. This was almost six months after the official disappearance of the USS Umpqua. Six months that Nero had on them. God, who knows what he’s managed to do in that time…
‘Captain,’ Spock said, turning from his station, ‘I am detecting minute traces of the USS Umpqua’s distinct engine signature and there is no presence of USS Lockwood or Copernicus. Unfortunately the muon trail of the escape pod is too dispersed for a precise lock - I have provided what data I have to Ensign Chekov.’
‘Aye sir…’ Chekov muttered, hands flying across his console, ‘Am calculating trajectory now…’
He gave Spock a nod and a quick sly smile. See Spock, told you it’ll be fine…
‘Captain.’
Jim turned, ‘What is it, Uhura?’
‘Subspace chatter places us at Stardate 2246.01.02, sir - we also have incoming, two commercial freighters and a Vulcan science vessel.’
He wanted to laugh till he cried. The James T. Kirk of this time was just barely thirteen years old, a little kid - he was probably still grounded for the car thing even though that was like over a year ago, and Frank - he swallowed thickly - was probably still busting shit up, killing his liver and boxing Sam and him around the ears. Last night’s two shots weren’t nearly enough. He glanced at Chekov, who had a bleeding cut on his forehead - oh crap, Chekov would only be four!
‘Sulu, evasive maneuvers until we know where we’re going. Spock?’ He caught the Vulcan’s eye and gave the man a humorless smile, ‘Let’s try out that cloaking device and violate some treaties.’
Spock inclined his head and handed over his station to his relief, already heading for the turbolift. Jim stood and followed, ignoring Bones who sputtered at him to come back here.
Inside the lift, he hit the intercom button. ‘Kirk to Engineering. Scotty, my man, tell me the good news.’
--------
Planet-side: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246
Spock woke, startled at the cool flesh pressed against his shoulder. Sometime during the night, James had thrown an arm around him and moved progressively closer till he was sleeping pressed against Spock’s side, forehead wedged against his shoulder. Raising his head slightly, Spock attempted to remove himself from this uncomfortable arrangement but James only tightened his grip, murmuring something unintelligible under his breath. Frowning, he realize the grit underneath his back was still faintly warm but the loose dry mix of sand and dirt around him had gone cold - it was little wonder that James had sought him out.
He rested his hand carefully atop James’ head, shifted into a more comfortable position and looked up at the night sky. The stars sprinkled across the darkness with no particular pattern or goal. He had never viewed them from this part of the planet before, and was surprised by their brilliance. Mother always thought them beautiful, often commenting on them seated on their wide stone terrace. At the thought of her, Spock felt an awful yearning inside - she was so close and yet so far away; they were on the same planet and yet, she did not know he was here.
They had been here for days, wandering the harshness and struggling to survive. With no supply of tri-ox compound, James was weak, able to only walk slowly for at best two, three hours before needing to rest, even though they were not at a particular high altitude. Without medical assistance and more supplies, they could not hope to cover the distance needed to reach any populated areas or even a science outpost. Spock was certain this was what Nero wanted - they were no longer on the ship to cause trouble and yet, here in the middle of the deep Vulcan desert, they were as trapped as they had been in their dark cell.
He supposed he should be grateful that Nero had at least beamed them to a fairly benign if desolate stretch of desert. The first three days, he had rested little except during midday when the heat was at its worst, keeping alert for predators well into the night, till it became apparent that there were none. The only fauna he had discovered was a fairly common lizard and a few species of native birds that occasionally passed by overhead. The worst that could happen to them was injury, or that Nero would reconsider his need of them alive, not activate the trackers he had injected them with and leave them here to die.
Uncertainty rose in him at the thought, but he dismissed it abruptly. Death was not an option. Most beings in the known galaxy could only ever dare to know as much about the future as he did, to know that his life had mattered, his actions had reverberated across time and space to touch thousands of billions of lives. He had to live, and James had to live; they would take their rightful places. They were supposed to fly across the stars, in a ship called Enterprise. He had been taught how to survive in the desert in preparation for his kahs-wan, and he was neither physically nor mentally incapacitated. Survival was possible, even with James as an additional burden.
Father would no doubt remind him now that it was illogical to believe in such things as predestined fate, and that whatever he or James may have been was another life now; that Nero's very presence had altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on the USS Kelvin, culminating in the events of their kidnapping, thereby creating an entirely new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party. Yes, Spock thought, that was logical. Nevertheless, he now had access to a new perspective on the path his life could take, and his destiny was his decision alone, not even Father denied that.
James lifted his head to blink myopically in the dark, 'Spock...? Is it... is it morning?'
'No,' He said softly, 'Rest.'
James' dirty hand came up and patted him softly on the face, giving him a sleepy affirmation as he settled down by shifting closer, turning his head till he had found the most comfortable angle against Spock's shoulder. Spock felt a flare of something small and warm in his gut, spreading till it enveloped his whole body. He glanced at the crown of James' dirty hair and felt a sense of wonder - was this serotonin and dopamine taking effect from prolonged physical touch? His physiology was primarily Vulcan but then, there were differences; Spock wondered if this was one of them. To test his hypothesis, he ran his hand down the length of James' back.
He trembled at the sensation. Oh. Ohhhhh…
Spock stared at his hand. Fascinating.
part five
*huggles mini-Spock and mini-Kirk*