Celebrate the Earth and Sky (15a/20)

[aerlalaith]

A/N Sorry for the wait.  I've been traveling.  Here is an extra long chapter (in two parts) to make up for it.

Let Your Spirit Fly III
Part A

Spock now had the route to the Orion woman’s club emblazoned on his memory as if branded there.  He was not confident enough to take any shortcuts, but his long legs allowed quick passage through the, mostly deserted, early morning streets.

When he arrived at the club, he stood for a moment at the front entrance.  He tilted in his head in consideration, peering at the peeling yellow and red paint on the low-hanging door, and the flickering electric sign flashing bits of characters that he could not decipher.  The windows were dark and the building silent.

Well, the note had stated that he was to come here.  Spock set his shoulders, raised his chin, and pushed on the door with an open palm.  It was unlocked, and swung open easily at his touch.

He caught his breath at the warm influx of air that assaulted his lungs and skin.  Tokyo was cooler than he preferred (although Edinburgh had been even worse) and the warmth was a relief to his Vulcan blood.  On the other hand, the Orion homeworld was a humid planet and there was a level of moisture to the air that Spock decided that he could do without.  He took three steps into the building, and the door swung shut behind him.

Spock looked around.  There were several tables, a raised platform, and a long countertop along the side of one wall.  The room was deserted.  Spock felt a tightness around his heart, although he was not sure whether it could be attributed to anxiety or irritation.

Probably both, he considered, scanning the empty room once more.  Really, even Klingons were more considerate than Orions.  At least they would have let him know where they were.  Of course, they also would have had the sense to just kill him and be done with it.  Games were not the preferred Klingon war-method.  His mouth turned down the smallest bit.  The Orion Syndicate reveled in games.

His gaze passed over the room again, and this time he spotted a door next to the raised platform.  It was the same dirty brown color as the rest of the walls and blended in almost seamlessly, except for the metal doorknob.  Trying to focus more on his irritation and less on his anxiety, Spock moved towards the door and twisted the knob.

Spock took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room, but when they did he saw that it was much nicer than the one he had just passed through, albeit a bit smaller.  There were plush couches, and fine paintings on the walls.  There was a desk with what looked like the standard Orion computer (oval, with bright blue markings), and a pitcher of some dark liquid placed next to it.  Three beings stood in the center of the room, facing the doorway.  Spock let the door close gently behind him.

“So you did come,” said the figure in the center.  “We didn’t think a Vulcan would lower himself so.”  He stepped closer to Spock, who willed himself to be as stone, and did not budge.  “Welcome to Orion hospitality, Vulcan,” he said, indicating the room around him.  Spock noticed that his skin was an orange-red.

Spock opened his mouth.  “I am here to make a trade,” he said firmly.

The being who had spoken before, barked out an incredulous laugh.  “A trade?” he repeated.  He snorted.  “A Vulcan wants to make a trade?  Ha!  Vulcans do not trade with Orions.”

“Nevertheless,” Spock said quietly.  He widened his stance and cocked his head.  “Do you refuse me?”

“Shall I shoot him?” asked the woman to the center being’s left.  She too was orange, with bright white hair.

The middle being looked at Spock in consideration.

“Do you refuse my offer to trade?”  Spock repeated.  “Very well, I will leave.”  He half pivoted as if to go, then froze at the sound of a charging energy weapon, and turned slowly back around.

“You stay here,” said the middle Orion, all friendliness gone from his tone, the barrel of his weapon trained on Spock.  “Or I’ll shoot you right now.”

Spock lifted both eyebrows.  “Then you will die,” he said, aiming for that casually callous tone adopted by kolinahr masters.  He ended up sounding a little bit more like his father than he was really comfortable with, and felt a flicker of resignation at the very idea.

The main speaker narrowed his eyes at Spock.  He was powerfully built but Spock did not think he was trained in the art of physical combat, beyond the basics.  His stance was rather poor at any rate, if their confrontation should come to brawl.  “Vulcans do not make very good comedians,” he said, voice hard.  “What are you talking about?”

Spock allowed his arms to drape loosely at his sides.  “I have an incendiary device in my bag,” he said.  “If you shoot me, it will explode.”  His voice turned thoughtful.  “It should be sufficient to destroy a significant part of this building.  Owing to the roughness of the materials however, my calculations might be off by approximately five point three percent.”

They stared at him in the ensuing silence.

“I wish to make a trade,” Spock said for the third time.

Finally the Orion woman with the orange skin and the white hair spoke.  “You’re bluffing,” she said flatly.  She raised her own weapon.  “Vulcans don’t lie.”

Spock stepped closer.  “As of the last census, there were nine hundred and twelve Vulcan-Romulan hybrids,” he said.  He slung the backpack off his back, unzipped it, and reached inside, pulling out the tangled mess of wires he had put together so very efficiently back at the hotel.  He placed it back inside the bag gently, zipped it up again, and shrugged back into the straps.  “You may attribute this propensity towards violence to my mother’s people if you wish,” he said, his words like ice.  “I have been well-assured that destruction is one of their preferred pastimes.”

There was another long pause, and then as one the middle Orion and the female lowered their weapons.

Spock reached into his pocket and withdrew the note.  “You invited me here to trade,” he said, voice as bland as ever.  “And I have taken you up on your offer.”

The third Orion, who had not yet spoken, stepped forward.  He too was orange, his skin wrinkled, and his yellow hair sparse.  “Very well, Vulcan,” he said in a high, reedy voice.  “What will you trade?”

“I will trade for the human,” Spock said.  “I will trade for James Kirk.”

The older Orion crossed his arms, gaze shrewd.  “We were going to give him to the Bureau.  Do you have a better offer?”

“Yes,” said Spock, unhesitating, although his mouth felt dry.  “In return for the human’s release - now and forever from Orion influence,” he added, seeing the being in the middle about to open his mouth in a smirk.  “In return for Kirk’s release, I will trade myself.”  He shifted the weight of his backpack on his shoulders.  “I will probably fetch a much higher ransom than a human.”

They gawked at him in open surprise.

The female Orion recovered first.  “Trade the human for you?” she howled, slapping her leg in mirth.  “Oh, that’s a good one.  Come back when you have another.”

“I do not understand the source of your amusement,” Spock said.

The other two Orions were starting to crack grins as well.  “It’s funny because it’s so sickeningly noble,” said the younger male to the older.

“Vulcans.  Logical until they run into a wall of tradition,” the eldest said.

Spock narrowed his eyes.  “My family would pay handsomely for my safe return.”

“Nice try,” the woman said, wiping tears from her eyes.  She looked at the eldest.  “May I shoot him now?”

“My father-” started Spock, clenching his teeth.

“Oh please,” the middle Orion said, waving Spock’s words away with a casual flick of the wrist.  “What, you thought you could catch us with a stupid little lie, just because you’re part Romulan?”  He spat.  “Your human already told us you’re a nobody.  Just a little scout pilot unlucky enough to get the job checking out a backwater.”  He laughed again.  “You sure you want to trade your life for a little traitor?”  He shrugged.  “I wouldn’t.”

Spock’s mind felt stuck.  He had told Jim his father was an important figure.  Jim had- had lied?  For what purpose?  How was Spock supposed to find him now?  He gathered the fraying edges of his courage.

“Regardless,” he said.  “I will trade for him.”

The Orion woman shook her head.  “But we don’t want you,” she said.  “Why would we trade for you?”

Spock thought for a moment.  “You want my death,” he said quietly.  “If I live, there exists the possibility that I will warn Vulcan of your presence here.  That is why you invited me here, is it not?”

“Obviously,” she returned, free hand on her hip.

“Bring James Kirk here.  Set him free and I will disable the bomb.”  Spock jerked his head, a cool gaze passing over the Orions’ weapons.  “Then you may do as you wish.”

The Orions met his unflinching stare.

“Very well,” the eldest sighed, stepping back a little.  “We will bring the human here, and you will allow us to kill you.”  He smiled, showing teeth.  “Not a very good deal on your part, I must say.”

“It will suffice,” said Spock.

The Orion bowed mockingly.  He turned to the woman.  “Tell Gaila to bring up the human,” he said.  He pursed his lips.  “Blindfolded,” he added.  The Orion woman gave him a lazy salute, two taps of her fist to her palm, before pulling out a communicator.

Five minutes later, the silence growing heavier with every passing second, there was a knock on the wall next to the table.  Without taking his eyes from Spock, the eldest Orion called, “Enter.”

Spock watched with only a minute amount of surprise, none of which showed in his expression, as the wall slid to the side and revealed two figures.  He recognized Jim’s bound and blindfolded form immediately, though at first he saw only the silhouette of him against the light.  He noted that the green Orion female holding him upright (why was she holding him up?  Was there something wrong with his legs?), was the same female he had encountered two nights previous.

“Ah, Gaila,” said the old Orion.  “Deposit the human on the floor, would you?”

Gaila cocked an eyebrow at him, then nodded and did as he bid.  Without her to support him, Jim slumped to the center of the floor as if boneless.  Spock clenched his fists behind his back.

“What have you done to him?”

The orange Orion female flicked her gaze over Jim, and then up the taut lines of Spock’s body dispassionately.  “Drugged, I should think,” she said.

Spock’s jaw worked.  “The trade is void if he cannot leave this place in safety.”

“Gaila will see him out,” she replied, barely looking at him.  She twirled her weapon from one hand to another.  The silvery plating on the side winked at Spock as it caught the light.

Spock swung his head to look at the green Orion woman.  She stood, hands in the back pocket of her Earth style black trousers, looking innocently up at the ceiling.  Spock turned back to the other Orions.

“I do not trust her,” he said, not even managing to keep the venom from his voice.  “As I do not trust you.”

At that, Gaila sighed.  “Really,” she said, clicking her tongue.  “What did I ever do to you?”

Spock pointed to Jim and gave her an incredulous look.

“Hey, I had nothing to do with that,” she said.  “He got caught all on his own.  I was just minding my own business.”

Spock managed to stop a full-on glare, but it was a hard-fought battle.

Seeing his reservations, Gaila, at a motion from the eldest Orion, bent down, dragged an oblivious Jim back to his feet, then heaved him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry.  She stood up straight again under his weight, and walked over to Spock, who could not help the nervous flittering of his gaze over Jim’s face.  Jim groaned, and something loosened infinitesimally inside Spock.

“See?” said Gaila.  “I’ll just take him straight back to the hotel.  He’ll be right as rain.”

Spock stared at her queerly.  “Is that a human idiom?” he asked after a moment.

She rolled her eyes, then shifted a little, careful of Jim’s limp body, and looked back at the other Orions.  “If you would please, sirs,” she said, and Spock got the sense that if she were not supporting the weight of a full-grown human male, she would have made an ironic little bow to them.  “Wait to kill him until after we’ve left.  I hate the mess.”

The orange Orion female sneered at her.  “We’ll kill him whenever we want,” she said.

Gaila sighed again.  “As you will,” she said.  Then something lightened in her eyes.  “Don’t forget he’s got a bomb strapped to his back,” she said cheekily, as if she could not help herself.  The other Orion woman’s gaze darkened.

“Do you take us for fools?”

“And that’s my cue to go,” she said to Spock, moving towards him so that she and her burden were nearly side by side with Spock.  Spock hesitated a moment, resisting the urge to reach out to Jim, and then stepped aside to let her pass.

“Oh, by the way, Vulcan,” she said to Spock.  Spock looked at her warily, and then he nearly rocked back in surprise as she said to him in passable Romulan, “Close your eyes in about five seconds unless you want to be permanently blinded.”

Spock stared at her.  “What-” he began.

“Do it!” she snarled.

Almost against his will, Spock shut his eyes.  And none too soon.  There was a slight fizzing sound, and then Spock felt an incredible amount of heat against his skin and brightness against his eyelids.  H could hear enraged shrieks of the other Orions as the whatever-it-was reached them.  He felt a tugging on his arm.

“Flash bomb, let’s go!” came Gaila’s voice.

Blindly he followed her out the door.  She slammed it behind them.  “Open your eyes!” she commanded.  Spock did so, and blinked stupidly as she removed Jim’s draped form from her shoulder and deposited him in Spock’s arms.  “He’s too damn heavy,” she panted.  “You get to carry him.  Let’s go!”

“Wait!” said Spock, as she hurried across the first room he had entered, dodging around tables and chairs with ease.  He rushed after her, shifting Jim’s weight as he did so.  “What is the meaning of this?”

She stopped at the door, breath coming harder.  “Moving now, questions later,” she said brusquely, swiping her hand across the locked (when had it locked? Spock wondered) door.  It clanked open with a groan.

“But why-” said Spock dumbly, standing at the exit.

She yanked on his shirt collar.  “There is a bomb in this building that would make your little homemade contraption look like a firework.  It’s going to go off in five minutes, but I’d prefer it goes off a bit sooner, before they figure that part out.  Come on!”

“But how do you know that?” asked Spock, stumbling after her into the shadow of the next building.  She gave him a scowl like this was a very stupid question, and then pulled a remote detonator out of her pocket.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said acidly, waving it in his face, the little red light blinking.  “Just a hunch I guess.”

“Ah,” said Spock.  His jaw clenched in irritation as she bounded away again, this time headed straight down the narrow alleyway.  Jim still in his grasp, Spock followed as best as he was able.

Finally, about a block away, she stopped.  Spock could still see the roof of the building, though not the door.  He wondered if the other three Orions had recovered enough to come after them.

Gaila first watched to make sure Spock and Jim were still with her.  Then she smiled.

Spock felt a foreboding prickle of goose bumps up the back of his neck.

“It was a shitty bar anyhow,” she said with an almost alarming amount of cheeriness, and pressed the button on the remote with one well-manicured finger.

The building exploded.

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Jim was not really sure what to think of swimming back to consciousness only to find Spock’s face inches from his own, and looking either very anxious, or very constipated.

The logical side of Jim, inasmuch as he had one, pointed out quite helpfully that Spock’s face was not supposed to be purple, and that his hair was most definitely not supposed to be bright orange, and therefore he, Jim, was probably dreaming.  Or hallucinating.  Or, given his luck, experiencing some bizarre combination of both.

“The stuff I gave him is going to make him loopy,” said what was either a cartoon snake or one of his kidnappers.  Jim considered both of these possibilities highly unlikely, and was dreamily very put out.

“Darling, those colors are so not you,” Jim slurred, pawing at Spock’s turquoise and diamond shirtsleeve.

“Jim,” Spock admonished, catching Jim’s hand and gripping it.  Jim was too distracted by Spock’s rapidly changing hair length to notice.

“The fuck, that’s not normal,” he tried to say.  His tongue felt like it had been bolted to his teeth and then covered in cat fur.

Spock raised what Jim thought was supposed be his eyebrow, but actually looked like a rainbow attached to his face.  He struggled to grasp at something grounded in a functional reality.

“Drugged,” he managed, sort of making it a question but mostly stating it as fact.

“Yblretb,” said Spock, looking very grave.

Jim blacked out again.

The next time he came to, the world was a normal shade of brownish grey, and there were tsunamis of nausea rolling at the corner of his consciousness.

“Shit,” he started, and then threw up all over the bed.

“Ugh, really Jim?  You couldn’t have waited a moment for me to get you a baggie or something?” came a familiar voice.

Jim swallowed, feeling very vile.  “‘Lo Bones,” he said hoarsely, slumping back into the pillows.

“Don’t hello me,” McCoy said, bustling to the side of his bed and gingerly lifting the vomit covered comforter off Jim’s chest.  Luckily, Jim had managed to direct the majority of the contents of his stomach onto the blanket, rather than his shirt-front.  The blanket and its unsavory contents were thrown onto the floor, and Jim was given a fresh comforter and a glass of water.

Jim ignored them as a sudden thought came to him.  “Bones!” he shouted as much as he was able.  “Bones, I have stuff that Pike needs to fucking know.  I need to tell him-”

“Calm down, he probably already knows-”

“Not this he doesn’t-”

“Jesus Jim, if it’s about more aliens on this fucking planet than just calm down for a second, will you?”

“But-”

“Spock already told him for christsakes.  Two days ago, if that makes you feel any better about it.”

“It doesn’t,” Jim informed him.  Then, with a dawning realization.  “Two days?  Seriously?”

McCoy placed his hands on his hips.  “You think we just got your ass back out of thin air?  Trust me, you’re late to this party.”

Jim leaned heavily against the pillow.  “What happened?”

McCoy shrugged.  “Kidnapping and then rescue?  More aliens?  Spock with an irritable stick up his ass?  Don’t ask me, I’m just a doctor.”

“Bones,” said Jim reproachfully.

McCoy shoved the glass of water back at him.  This time, Jim took it.  “Sip slowly,” McCoy cautioned as he went to wash off the original blanket and then placed it, sopping wet, into a plastic bag.

Jim sipped, trying to rid his mouth of the acid-taste.  It was hard to swallow, and he kind of wanted to spit the water out.  But, mindful of what McCoy would probably do to him if he did, he resisted.

It was as he was carefully placing the glass down onto the bedside table, hands wobbly, that the door opened.  Jim had to force his closing eyes open again as the unmistakable form of Spock filled the doorway.

And kept filling the doorway.

“Don’t just stand there,” Jim said, hating how his voice sounded so weak.  “I’m guessing you’re the one responsible for saving my ass?”  He beckoned.  “Come over here.”

Spock obliged him until he was beside Jim’s bed.  He stood, his gaze shuttered, looking down at Jim.   His mouth formed a thin line across his face.

“Thanks,” said Jim, meaning it.  “I don’t really know what happened, but thanks.”

Spock’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally.  “I did nothing for you that you would not have done for me.”

“They um,” Jim licked dry lips.  “While I was there, they said some shit about you.  And, and about me.”

Spock frowned.  “I would never knowingly betray you.”

Jim looked up quickly.  “How do you know that’s what they said?” he said, and cringed at how suspicious his voice sounded.

Spock stepped back a little.  “Gaila informed me of the interrogation techniques they used upon you.”

“Gaila?” Jim said sharply.  “Who is that?”

Spock looked uncomfortable, like this conversation was not going at all the way he wanted it to.  “She is one of the Orions- the aliens,” he amended, “one of those who apprehended you.”

“What,” said Jim, flatly.  He fisted the sheets at his sides, looking down and away from Spock.  He could hear water running in the bathroom, and McCoy’s off key humming.

Spock shook his head.  “No, I have not been clear.  She was an . . . informer?  A spy?  Yes, that is the right word.”  He nodded, so uncharacteristically earnest, trying to catch Jim’s angry gaze.  “She assisted us greatly in our escape.”  His face darkened a little.  “Though I must admit, I still do not trust her entirely.”

“I think there must be some stuff to this story that I’m missing,” Jim said, still not trusting himself to look at Spock.  He felt odd.  Betrayed, almost.  And angry.  He had lied, desperate, with very fiber of his being on Spock’s behalf, and in return, Spock collaborated with one of his tormentors?

“It is likely,” Spock agreed.

Jim still did not meet his eyes.   He played with the fringes on his blanket.  “I’m kind of tired,” he said after a moment or two of silence.  “I think you’d probably better go.”

Spock was quiet for a moment.  “If you wish,” he said finally, with a short nod.  He turned and headed for the door, closing it softly behind it.

With a sigh, Jim lay back and stared at the ceiling.

This friendship.  This thing with Spock was getting complicated.  One minute he wanted desperately to see him, the next he couldn’t wait to get away.  Jim lay his arm over his face.  Was there a guidebook or something for this shit?  How To Be Friends With An Alien Without Fucking It Up?  He snorted.  Probably not.

“Jim, you want more water?” McCoy asked, coming back into the room.  His shirtsleeves were rolled up, but still splattered a bit.  “Whatever they gave you took a hellish time getting out of your system; water can only help.”

Jim conjured up a smile for him.  “No,” he said.  “I’m good, thanks.”

McCoy folded his arms, but didn’t force the issue.

“Bones . . .” Jim started.  McCoy rolled his eyes at the nickname, but otherwise waited for him to finish.  “Bones, how did I get here?”

McCoy sighed, and came to sit down on the edge of Jim’s bed.  “You disappeared,” he said bluntly.  “And then two days later, Spock got a ransom note.  He didn’t tell anyone, the asshole, just went to where he was told to go.”

“He didn’t tell anyone?” Jim said, disbelieving.

McCoy grinned.  “You should’ve heard the shouting Pike did when he got back with you and that- I don’t know what exactly she is, but that alien woman.  And then when Pike was done, Uhura went off on him.  It was beautiful.”

Jim looked down again.  “Right, Spock said.”

“Pike goes, ‘Oh, friend of yours, Spock?’ and your Vulcan, he just looks like he can’t decide whether to say his usual spiel of ‘oh no, Vulcans do not have friends.  We have only passing acquaintances and robots.’  Or if he wanted to turn tail and run the other way.”

Jim couldn’t help laughing at McCoy’s terrible imitation, even though it made his chest hurt.

“Anyway, he said he had gone to bring you back, and some other bullshit about them threatening to kill the lot of us if he didn’t go alone.  I’m not so sure I buy that.”

Jim was quiet for a moment.  “And you guys aren’t worried they’ll just come after us here at the hotel?  If they already left a note for Spock, they know where we are, right?”

McCoy nodded.  “That’s the first thing I said, I was all for getting the hell out of here before something worse happened.  But that- that green woman-” he struggled for a moment.  “See the thing is, she’s the same kind of alien as those who had you, right?  Only, those Orions or whatever Spock called them, they’re not unified like Spock’s kind of alien.  So from what I’ve got, she’s working for someone else and those who even knew Spock and you were in Tokyo, were the ones she was spying on.  So when they blew up the building-”

“Spock blew up a building?” Jim interrupted.  “What, seriously?”

“She blew it up,” McCoy emphasized.  He checked himself.  “Although Spock did have a little dirty bomb he’d cooked up for - and I’m quoting this - ‘negotiation.’”

“They blew up a building,” Jim said weakly.  He reached his hand out for the glass of water and took a very deep drink.  “And Spock built a bomb.  Go on.”

“So anyway, the aliens who knew where we all were hanging out, are all out of the picture, except for Gaila-”

“That’s the other one?  The woman?”  Jim passed his hand over his face.

“Yeah.  You know, Spock said she’s spying for someone but he’s pretty tight lipped about why or what, although he had to tell Pike of course.  There’s supposed to be some sort of conference with all of us, once you’re up.”

Jim couldn’t decide whether to be outraged or amused by Spock’s obstinacy.  “I guess this is a sort of, ‘the enemy of my enemy’ type thing?”

“I guess,” said McCoy, looking doubtful.

Jim shifted to make himself more comfortable.  The nausea had mostly faded by now, but his body felt oddly achy all over, as if he’d had a bad bout of the flu.  “So when’s this conference thing supposed to happen?”

McCoy stood and stretched.  “Depends on you, I guess.  Whenever you’re feeling up to it.”  He tapped the side of Jim’s cheek.  “Open your mouth.”

Jim wrinkled his nose, but did it anyway.  McCoy peered inside.

“Well, that’s good,” he said.  He stepped back, indicating for Jim to close his mouth.

“What?”

McCoy had already reached for Jim’s water glass with, Jim was almost one hundred percent certain, the intent to fill it to the brim.

“Your mouth looks like it’s mostly back to normal.  You know your tongue was bright purple?”

Jim stared at him.  “What, really?”

“Would I make that shit up?  It was all swollen too, but it looks like it’s gone down to normal size.”

Jim swallowed, his tongue feeling suddenly too big.  “Ew,” he said.

“I’ll say,” McCoy agreed.  He snorted.  “Damn alien drugs.  Did they just keep you drugged up the entire time?”

Jim hesitated for a second as a flood of unwelcome images assaulted him.  He forced them back.  No time now to worry about how they knew what they knew about him.  Besides, a lot of what they said was bullshit.  They didn’t . . . It didn’t matter.  It was in the past.

“No,” he said, aware that his voice sounded strange.  “No, they didn’t.”

McCoy looked concerned.  “Are you- did they-” he whistled out a breath through his teeth in frustration.  “What I mean to say,” he said, voice unaccountably gentle.  “You want to talk about it, I’m here, okay?  I’m not a pansy, I won’t freak out on you.”

“Yeah,” said Jim.  “I know.  Thanks.  It wasn’t too bad, just some shit they said.”

McCoy rested his palm on Jim’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.  “I’ve got to go update Pike,” he said.  “Take some time to rest, okay?”

“Yeah,” said Jim.  “Okay.”

McCoy let his hand drop, and turned to leave.

“Bones,” Jim said, suddenly feeling very urgent, like he had to just tell somebody.  Like he couldn’t let those aliens have the last word on it.  “I was, um.  You know I was at Tarsus IV?”

There, he had said it.  Not so bad.

McCoy turned back around.  His gaze landed on Jim’s pinched face, and traveled over his tense form.

“No,” he said, and bless him, his voice was still gentle and quiet, like Jim was something that needed to be watched over, like he was something precious.  Even if Jim had confessed to being sent to the most infamous re-training camps in the country.  “I didn’t know that.”

“My mom,” Jim said.  “She got caught by the Bureau for doing . . .” he shook his head.   “I don’t know what.  But they sent us there.  As punishment.  I was maybe, eleven?”

McCoy shook his head.  “Those fuckers,” he said, and Jim was glad for the fierceness in his voice.  “That must have been the worst.”

Jim shrugged.  He felt brittle, like glass, but also strong, like the molecules were slowly rearranging themselves into a tougher, harder form.

“I did stuff there,” he said, very quietly.  “And when I got out, the record was sealed.  They said I was a model citizen, that they’d never use it against me.”

“They’re liars,” McCoy said lowly, leaning his side against the wall.  “Fucking liars.”

“It was sealed,” Jim repeated.  And then he looked up, his eyes locking with McCoy’s.  “But those aliens - they knew.  They knew all about it.  They talked about it to me .”  The corners of his eyes burned, but Jim ignored it.  “How could they know?”

McCoy exhaled.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “It’s all fucked up and tangled together, isn’t it?  I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

“Yeah,” said Jim.  “Yeah, it is.”  He closed his eyes.

“Jim,” said McCoy.

“Yeah?”

There was a beat of silence, then.  “I won’t tell anyone.”

Jim gave him a small smile.  “I know you won’t.”

McCoy was still for a moment, and Jim almost thought he had left.  Then he said.  “Your mom?”

Jim kept his eyes squeezed shut.  He shook his head.  “I don’t know,” he whispered.

There was more silence, and then Jim heard the quiet opening and closing of a door as McCoy left.

Jim reached up surreptitiously to brush at his cheek.

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