Stories that almost were
These are bits of scenes from stories that might have been my Big Bang and so I've decided to dump them for your viewing pleasure. Who knows, maybe someone else will be inspired from these things to finish the story. Please note that most of these ideas do contain strong language and a bit of slash.
1) T'hy'la Inheritance - my 'T'hy'la bonds in the NuUniverse are bad' Prime reunion story.
“Elder Selek?” Sarek asked. The middle of the night on the new homeworld was still and quiet. The whole planet seemed to hold its breath until dawn, when life could recomence. In the five months since Vulcan's destruction, Sarek's breath still caught at the thought, its people had been strangely fortunate, mostly thanks to the Vulcan whimpering in their room. If one man could single-handedly hold together a people, Selek certainly seemed like an odd one to do so. The elder whom literally no one knew before the disaster had an answer for every question. If events began spiralling out of control, Selek was the one who brought them back under control. Or convinced the rest of the elders and ambassadors to let events run their course. When no answer came, Sarek left his bed, passing the cinnamon scented candle he lit in remembrance of Amanda, and crossed the room.
The sight that met him alarmed him before he could surpress the feeling. Selek tossed and turned, alternating between quiet whimpers and sobs, tears sparkling in the dim moonlight. However, the slight upturning of the man's lips disturbed Sarek the most. A thousand possibilities ran through the ambassador's mind. Was the pressure upon this man finally starting to take a toll? He was old, had to have seen two hundred years minimum, perhaps his controls were degrading?
“Selek, you must awaken,” he said, touching the man's bare shoulder. Like a crack, he sensed the elder's mind as it stretched out beyond the here and now to something far and distant, keening some horribly moving melody. And the something was responding, its answer softer than an infant's whisper but just as moving, just as primordial and just as overwhelming. Sarek jerked his hand back as though burned, his eyes trying to readjust to the near lightless-ness of their room while Selek slowly sat up.
Selek was breathing harshly, deep ragged gasps, that took far too long to bring under his control. He didn't seem to notice the tears nor the smile still tugging at his lips. Or perhaps, Sarek considered, he simply did not care. After a moment, Selek focused his brown eyes upon him.
“Ambassador,” he said neutrally, a question in his eyes.
“Are you ill? You have been crying for the past nine minutes and when I tried to awaken you, I sensed that something was not right.” Selek considered his words, then slowly brought a hand to face, his finger retrieving a single tear, which he stared at in near wonder.
“My health is satisfactory,” he finally rumbled, “I was merely...dreaming.” He sounded almost as though he was attempting to convince himself of the truth of the statement, not Sarek. Sarek raised an eyebrow. Selek cautiously stood and donned his robe.
“Please do not follow me,” he said as he moved to exit the room, “I have much to think about.”
As did Sarek.
Sarek did not see Selek at all until late afternoon the next day. This was not too unusual. Many days Selek walked among the rest of the settlement, assisting when he could and talking to various factions about their needs. Several former rivals in industries and politics had formed alliances out of necessity. With such a drastically reduced population, consolidating influences over the survivors had been a logical move if a slightly unnerving one. He did not want what was left of his people to be controlled by interest groups. He and what was left of his clan were doing their best to limit these groups but their numbers had been decimated just like everyone else's.
He found Selek, not that he was looking for him- so he told himself, seated at the back of a classroom filled with seconds and a few younger thirds. Though they would probably have to rename the grouping system, as seven years on Vulcan was not seven years here. Fortunately, the school computer systems were among the first of the non-essential projects completed. Each of the thirty students sat at a new, state-of-the-art terminal, a gift Selek somehow acquired from Starfleet, while their two tutors paced the room between their charges. Selek spared him a glance, his stance and face schooled in perfect emotional control, before returning his gaze upon the classroom.
“Teacher T'Reina,” one of the younger said quietly and respectfully. T'Reina, the senior tutor, acknowledged him with a nod and the boy stood somewhat nervously.
“I have never seen this High Vulcan symbol before and cannot find a translation within the computer's memory,” he explained and the woman walked to his terminal. She barely glanced at the screen before touching a few on-screen buttons.
“You have not been given a correct document to translate. Do this one instead,” she ordered not unkindly. Selek tensed minutely beside Sarek but did not say or do anything beyond that. A few minutes filled only with the sound of keys tapping and consoles beeping passed until another student drew T'Reina's attention with the same statement. She replied as she did earlier and went on her way, the slightest of frowns marring her face.
Before the requisite two hours ended, another four students had the same problem and Selek looked on in something akin to disappointment. As the students exited the room, Selek walked to the front of the room and addressed the tutors, Sarek trailing uneasily behind him.
“T'Reina, Salmak,” he greeted, “I am curious as to your malfunctions today. Which document were the children not to translate?”
“The Ballad of T'ylok and Sh'laya,” Salmak answered, almost disdainfully. Ah, now Sarek understood, though how that story ended up in the archives for the computers to draw on baffled him. Selek cocked his head.
“I'm afraid I do not understand why that story should be excluded from the children's education. As I recall, it is one of the few surviving myths created before Surak's time. It is neither more violent or explicit than other myths, such as Serron and the Ark of Knowledge.” Selek's audience stared at him a moment. Had they not been Vulcan, they most certainly would have identical looks of increduality, surprise, and suspicion. As they were, the only hints as to these feelings were raised eyebrows and stiffened postures.
“That story,” and the way T'Reina spat the last word, as though to call that collection of lines a story was a great insult to true stories everywhere, most certainly spoke for the two men next to her, “glorifies the dangerous mental and spiritual relationship known as t'hy'la. To teach it to the children would be the height of irresponsibility.” Selek eyed her and the others in a way Sarek could not identify.
“My generation was taught that story, in fact, I learned it when I was much younger than your students,” he lectured like a parent of an errant child, “I do not see how it could harm children to give them the full view of their history; there was a time when t'hy'la pairs and even triads were much more common than they are today. To ignore that bond is to ignore an important aspect of our culture. Now, more than ever, our children need every scrap we can give them.”
Sarek could not believe what he was hearing. To defend those who entered such a dangerous union, to equate that relationship with a full bond, it was unheard of. It was ludicrous. T'hy'la, it was widely known, were nothing acceptable. Those unions consumed the ones involved, to the point that neither could survive without the other. The sheer emotionalism needed to create the union and to maintain it was revolting, a savage call back to the time before logic when the Vulcan people nearly destroyed themselves with their emotions. T'Reina recovered the most quickly.
“Some things are better forgotten, Elder Selek,” she replied, “Now, Salmak and I must attend to our next class. Peace and long life to you both.” And without waiting for a reply, the tutors stalked out of the room, heads held 'so high they'd drown in the rain' as Amanda would say. Selek released a breath and suddenly the weariness and fragility of his age overwhelmed his usually powerful presence. Not for the first time, Sarek wondered just where this man came from, what he'd seen, to so separate him from the rest of his people.
“I take you support her sentiment, Ambassador.” Sarek was only 'Ambassador' when his friend, for all his strangeness he was coming to see Selek as a friend, believed a disagreement would erupt between them.
“I do, as do the vast majority of the people and all the council,” he replied. Selek nearly sighed.
“I see.”
Somehow, those two words were the most ominous Sarek had heard in years.
2) How the Other Half Lives- my 'Bones is half-Vulcan, Spock finds out, they decide to trade cultural information, etc, and Jim tries to keep them from killing themselves, each other, and him' story. By the by, Stevok is Leonard's grandfather.
“Captain? Message for you from the Vulcan homeworld,” Uhura called during a quiet shift. The Enterprise was on her way to Carlok IV to aid its people against a deadly virus. Jim swirled around in his chair and gave her a friendly grin while throwing Spock a questioning look. The Vulcan didn't react beyond a raised brow of his own, a move Jim had come to realize as his friend's way of expressing his own curiosity.
“Well, put them on, Lieutenant,” Jim said, secretly glad of a break in the monotomy, turning back around as an elderly, stoic face appeared on the view screen. He stood and inclined his head.
“I'm Captain Kirk of the Enterprise,” he greeted, “To what do we owe this communication?”
“I am Stevok, of the Vulcan High Council,” the Vulcan acknowledged with a nod of his own, “I must know, Captain, if your ship has been receiving our communications for the last four point five of your weeks. We have sent multiple missives to your Chief Medical Officer, Leonard McCoy, but he has not responded to a single one.”
Jim's brow furrowed as Uhura went through the records for the time period Stevok specified while the rest of the crew tried not to look on in puzzlement. What did the Vulcans want with Dr. McCoy? Jim's eyes widened as pieces clicked together. Crap.
“We've received them all, Elder Stevok,” Uhura reported, “And all were patched into Dr. McCoy's office and quarters.” Jim turned back to the elder.
“Guess Bones has been busy. We're in the middle of assisting in a pandemic crisis,” he explained. The elder's eyebrows rose in incredulity.
“You have been assisting in this crisis for the last four weeks, Captain.” His tone made it clear he didn't buy Jim's excuse. The captain bit the inside of his lip to keep from saying the first thing that popped into his mind.
“You know doctors, Elder. They get so wrapped up in their work they forget to eat and sleep, let alone anything else,” Jim returned.
“Captain Kirk, it is of vital importance to the colony that McCoy answers our message as quickly as possible. Pass this on to him, if you would.” It wasn't a suggestion. If Jim didn't know better, he would almost swear the man was pleading with him. But that didn't exactly mesh with what he knew about Vulcans, not that he knew a lot about them to begin with. Spock had told him in the first week they worked together that pleading was illogical to Vulcans, as a) it stemmed from an emotional need which Vulcans strongly regulated, and b) an individual would do what he, she, or it wanted to do, regardless of any external stimuli. Jim nodded.
“I'll tell him but that's all I can do. He is an adult, you know.” The elder blinked deeply and raised his hand in the salute.
“Peace and long life to you, Captain.”
“Live long and prosper, sir.” The feed went dead and before curiosity could erupt in questions Jim couldn't answer, he handed over the bridge to Spock and left.
“Deck 7,” he told the turbo lift and sighed. Bones was in for it.
-=-=-
Spock was a patient, if curious, individual. He strived to keep the two traits in balance, as they could work in tandem or against each other. When they worked together, he could complete any task, spend any length of time down in the labs deciphering what the new soil or vegetation samples could tell him even as they baffled others, or actually set delicate traps to ensnare the captain during their chess matches. When one overrode the other...
He considered it a personal victory that he stayed on duty for ten point seven minutes after the captain left, questions bubbling through his brain. What did the Vulcan council want with the doctor? He briefly considered that McCoy was helping them with some colonial projects, perhaps developing vaccines to a few allergens and pathogens the settlers had no immune defense, but he dismissed it quickly. If McCoy was working with the colony, he would not simply ignore their transmissions. But that left the equally curious question: why would the council attempt to contact the man personally? Spock never could keep from solving a mystery, even if it involved the unpleasant, irascible doctor.
With barely a backwards glance, he handed the conn over to Lieutenant Uhura and headed down to deck 7 where sickbay resided. As he entered, the low voices from within the doctor's office grew so loud to his ears they may as well have been shouting.
“I thought you were taking care of this-” that was the captain, in his exasperated tone Spock typically heard when the man tired of Spock and McCoy's verbal exchanges.
“-I am taking care of it.” Only McCoy could get away with that sort of rebellious interruption.
“You call ignoring every damn message they send 'taking care of things'?” Whatever was happening, it was serious to have the captain practically dressing down his best friend.
“Commander Spock?” Spock turned as Nurse Chapel entered the main area from one of the attached labs, wiping her hands. She smiled sweetly. “What brings the last third of the golden trio down here?”
Spock ignored the light teasing. He had never learned whom among the crew had started calling him, McCoy, and the captain collectively as the 'golden trio' but the nickname had stuck for twenty months now. He supposed it was better than several alternatives even if it tried his control every now and again. It didn't help that the captain found it immensely amusing.
“I believe it is the same thing that brought the captain here, Nurse,” he answered evenly, his hands lightly clasped behind his back. Had she been any other individual, the look on her face would be described as a smirk. As it was, it was mildly disturbing to see. It reminded Spock of a sehlat who had just spotted perfect prey and was deciding whether to play with it or simply eat it.
“And what, pray tell, is that? Len's been in a foul mood lately.”
3) Memories of Times to Come- the story in which Spock, Jim, and Leonard all had the memories of their lives in the Prime Universe and how things change because of it. The scene where Jim and Bones meet is set in a mental institution, which Jim has been sent to because his family believes the trauma of Tarsus IV caused him to partially break with reality (it didn't, he just started talking about his other life as though it were real and not a story). Bones was sent there two years ago because he had a nervous breakdown. He is nineteen and a fully certified doctor, mostly thanks to the memories.
He and Spock traded looks, his of amusement and Spock's borderline disbelief they were actually attempting this. But at his signal, the duo stepped into the armory and found just what they were looking for: explosives. Perfect. He grabbed one of the grenades, nodded, then activated it and set it down. He counted down the seconds in his mind as he and Spock headed for the hills. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two- The explosion ripped through the complex behind him and though he wanted nothing more than to survey his handiwork, Spock's hand on his arm insisted he keep moving forward. At this rate, they just might survive long enough for Bones to mother them into oblivion-
The alarm blared and Jim smashed it quiet, sitting up slowly. While most people's dreams faded the moment they awoke, Jim's never did. In fact, details his dreaming mind hadn't bothered with, the smell of sulfur and kyrox, both found in real Klingon explosives-he'd done his research after a particularly disturbing dreamed space battle against those guys, the heat of the explosion, the warmth of Spock's hand, only emerged later. Ever since Jim could remember, he'd had these adventures- because he didn't just dream them, they showed up whenever they wanted to- that seemed way too real. But he was used to them by now and so readied himself for school before Frank could get on his case about sleeping late.
Jim hadn't told anyone just how far his ideas went. The first time he mentioned his adventures, he couldn't have been more than five, his mom patted his head and dismissed him. Sam said he had an active imagination (Sam always tried to sound years older than he was; Jim always thought he sounded like an idiot when he spoke that way) and should write down his ideas. Sam wasn't an idiot all the time so Jim had taken his advice. Now his private padd had dozens of gigabits worth of his adventures and as far as anyone knew, story ideas were all his adventures were. But they were more. So much more.
His adventures were the reason he knew how space ships worked, how they flew and fought. He wasn't stupid. He'd known from a young age that just because he thought things worked a certain way didn't mean they actually did. So after those particular adventures, he'd done his homework on space ships, specifically the kind he'd seen, and learned something startling. The visions were dead on, accurate down to the last detail. He'd even reread his padd twice and the literature five times just to make sure they actually matched up. One time, the elder kids in his class (he skipped a few grades; he sometimes felt like he'd merely forgotten what he learned) started bullying him. He didn't worry about them at first, until they cornered him in the school yard one day. Instead of panicking or begging, Jim met them head on, using the moves he'd used in his adventures, his body far too comfortable bending and reacting in ways he'd only had in his 'imagination.' The moves worked. Too well. Hey, it wasn't his fault he disabled them before they could leave a mark on him.
Now, granted, the visions weren't all accurate. He ate mint chocolate chip ice cream (their favorite flavor) with his father once, sat on his shoulders during the state fair another time, played cowboys and indians (a game Jim didn't even like), and was hugged, held firmly and protectively each time, more times than he could count. As much as he wanted whatever those were to be real, they weren't. Jim couldn't figure out what to do with the adventures, these things that rang true on some fronts and false on others.
He bounded down the stairs loudly, his backpack and padd in hand, and almost rushed into the kitchen. Almost because he heard Frank talking to someone on comm.
“-whew, that old? Easily worth thirty thousand creds to the right buyers, Frank. Let me get in touch with a few guys and I'll let you know.”
“Thanks, Rob. Winona'll be glad to hear that,” he responded, cutting the link.
“What's that about?” Jim asked, setting his stuff on his chair and grabbing the cereal.
“Your mom wants to sell the car,” Frank said before bellowing, “Samuel Kirk, get your butt down here right now!”
Jim nearly dropped the cereal box.
“But-but that's Dad's car,” he spluttered.
“I guess that's why she wants to get rid of it,” Frank replied almost sneeringly. Blood pounded in Jim's ears. How could she, how could anyone just get rid of the one thing he had of his father? He slammed the cereal box down, grabbed his things, and stormed out the door before he could do anything stupid. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. That car was supposed to stay with them forever. No questions, no exceptions. He'd poured his sweat into repairing that damn thing, a project Sam claimed Dad had set aside for the three of them to do together. Jim and Jim alone turned that hunk of metal into a road-worthy vehicle. Turned it into something to be proud of. And they were just going to sell it like it didn't matter?
He stewed for days. Not even his latest adventures cheered him up. Even Spock's expression when Bones handed him that baby couldn't end his funk. All he could think about was how his mother was taking his father from him and getting paid to do it. That had to be immoral or criminal or something. In retrospect, it wasn't a very good idea. The time he snuck the class tribble home because it was supposed to be his turn to take it home but Frank refused to take in a 'stupid lump of fur' for the weekend paled in comparision. But it was his car, his and his father's, and he could do whatever he wanted with it. Driving it off a cliff wasn't plan A, wasn't even plan Q now that he thought about it, and almost going over with it certainly hadn't factored into the equation. But as he sped towards the chasm, he briefly considered going along for the ride. Until-
“Dammit, what the hell did you think you were doing?” Bones berated him, sticking him with various hypos as Spock cradled him gently on the rough floor, making sure he didn't bleed to death. Jim chuckled painfully.
“Just-,” he coughed, “just trying to save lives, Bones.” Bones swatted him in retaliation. Guess that meant Jim would fully recover. Eventually.
“Nothing excuses idiocy, you idiot. Don't go risking your life when you can find another way. And don't give me that 'I did try' look, Captain.” Spock rested his forehead against the back of Jim's head and though he wasn't the least bit telepathic, Jim could almost swear he felt the Vulcan's worry and disappointment pour into his skull.
“Please remember there are people who need you alive, Jim. Running senselessly into battle as you have the last few weeks is conducive to neither saving more lives nor helping those people.” Jim smiled despite the pain.
“Lesson learned, Mr. Spock.”
He supposed he'd have to find another way to deal with things.
They saved him. As stupid as it sounded, those imaginary men, those two who were the best friends he'd never had, saved him. He just thought 'what would happen if those two knew what I was doing?' and he couldn't not save himself. No one asked why he jumped out, though. Hell, no one asked why he drove the car over the cliff in the first place.
Mom didn't know what to do with him after that. Frank had it with him and refused to stay on planet alone with just Jim and Sam. That was when everything changed.
He dismissed it at first, the gnawing in the pit of his stomach, the overwhelming fear when Mom told him he was staying with his aunt and uncle on Tarsus IV for the duration of her next cruise. They loved the colony, after all, and his visions had been wrong before. There was no way...that could ever happen in real life. It couldn't.
For the first few weeks, everything seemed to be okay. The landscape was just as beautiful in real life as it was in his head, forests and meadows blending with civilization in the way that only new colonies had. The Zimmermans had noisy, pushy goats, just as he'd described years ago. However, he couldn't detect signs of the more sinister aspects his adventures created. Until the day his uncle mentioned a strange fungus growing beside the crops.
-=-==-==-=-
“I'm not crazy!” Jim cried, banging on the door several times for good measure. “I'm not,” he whispered fiercely.
“You mind keeping it down? Some of us actually like sleeping,” a voice drawled in the dark from the far bed. A familiar one. It had the slightest of cracks associated with youth to it but there was no mistaking it. Jim bit his lip.
“Bones?” he called shakily. For moment, no response came. Then there was shifting and the crackling of moving blankets and three barely audible steps and a light on one of the desks came on. Brown and hazel eyes widened as Bones, it was Bones!, slowly stepped forward, Jim's wonder and recognition mirrored in every tense line in the older boy's body.
“What did you call me?” Bones breathed in disbelief, inching closer, his eyes never leaving Jim's.
“Bones. That's what I always called you.” Jim grinned cheekily, “How about you?”
“Jim? Is it really you?” Bones croaked, mere inches and however many years between them. Jim nodded.
“Yeah. It's me, Bones. James T. Kirk, at your service once again,” he saluted and Bones scowled.
“Don't give me that, you idiot. I-” he trailed off, breaking the spell and turning away from Jim, a hand in his hair. “My god, this is...”
“Insane?”
“I was going to say impossible but that works just as well, considering where we are,” Leonard scowled, “That's it. I've finally cracked, completely lost it.” Jim stepped in front of him.
“Bones, it's real. It's all real, I promise. Remember when we found that horta? Remember what you did to save it?”
“Her,” Bones corrected absently, “Took damn industrial strength concrete to seal that wound you gave her.” Jim nodded.
“Not my fault she was killing everyone she could get her paws on.” Bones fed him a look. Jim laughed, an ache in his chest at how much he'd missed this. He hadn't even realized just how much he could miss this. “What else do you call those leg-like extrusions?”
“Tell me why she was killing everyone,” Bones said suspiciously.
“Because the miners were killing her eggs, unintentionally, of course, and she couldn't get them to stop any other way. You, Spock (Bones inhaled sharply), and I managed to make peace between all parties. Spock figured out what was happening when he melded with her. Shook him up for a while even if he never mentioned it out loud,” Jim replied easily, rattling off the basics as another person would rattle off their favorite recipe. Bones just looked at hiim for a moment.
“How do you know that?” he asked incredulously.
“How do you?” Jim countered. Bones didn't answer, just walked to his bed and collapsed on it, his head buried in his pillow. Though the sound was muffled, Jim had little trouble understanding the words.
“I'm dreaming, god, I'm dreaming. Ain't no way in the world this is real.” Over and over Bones repeated the two phrases and Jim worried. What could have happened in the....however long it was since they last saw each other to reduce Bones to...this? To someone who ran and hid when he couldn't understand what was going on. Jim slowly made his way to the bed and sat beside his friend, this boy he'd never met and yet knew a lifetime.
“Bones, it's real. All of it. You, me, Spock, Scotty, Khan, Sybok, Valeris,” Jim rattled off and Bones reacted accordingly, tensing at the last three names, two of which would most definitely mean nothing to someone who hdn't been through what they'd been through.
“You mind telling me how?” he bit out, “Because, guess what? It's 2248, Valeris won't show up for forty years.”
“She might not show up at all,” Jim said quietly, “Tarsus didn't happen exactly like it did the first time, and my dad's dead this time.”
“So what makes you think any of that is real?”
“There are too many coincidences, Bones. Like how you know me, I know you, you know what I'm talking about in the first place and not calling the nurses to room with someone saner.” Bones snorted.
Before he could reply, the door opened and one of the orderlies popped in, a strange look on his face as he took in the scene.
“Lights out is in ten minutes, boys. Leonard, I don't have to remind you what happens if you're caught out of bed. Pleasant dreams to you both,” he said before closing the door again. Jim turned to Bones again.
“Bones-” The older boy waved him off.
“Leave me alone, kid. I need some time to fucking process this.” Jim dressed in his pyjamas and crawled into bed without a word. If this Bones was anything like the one in his visions, he just needed time.
-\/-
Leonard McCoy's life hasn't exactly been a cake walk. When he was six years old and his aunt mentioned the Kelvin's destruction when she thought he couldn't hear, he went cold all over. The name stuck with him, pounding in his skull until he finally remembered why, exactly, it meant anything to him.
“My parents served on the Kelvin. They barely made it back to Earth for my birth,” Jim told him one night over bourbon.
He remembers thinking about how stupid it was to get worked up over some silly dream or whatever that thing was, remembers how a shard of his heart stabbed him deeply at the insinuation that Jim was a silly dream. If that had been the only moment, he might have counted himself lucky. As it stands, from that moment on, things changed. School came more easily than before, requiring minimum effort for maximum reward. More than once Leonard had a strange feeling he'd merely forgotten what he was learning. But the thought is ridiculous and so he tries to forget it.
When he is eight, his father brings him to his office for 'take your kid to work' day. Leonard's dad is one of the few parents who actually follows through the day's intent; to most others, it's an official skip day. So Leonard sits in the waiting room of his father's practice and well, waits. There are few people sitting in there with him, and the one who catches his young eyes is an older woman, slightly overweight, with a horrible cough. He scurries and climbs into the seat beside her and asks what's wrong. She indulges a kid's curiosity and gives him the barest list imaginable of her symptoms. He presses her and before she knows it, she's told him everything and he diagnoses her with mild pneumonia and tells her what she needs to do to combat it. Then Mary, his father's nice nurse, calls the woman's name and she ruffles his hair as she heads to the back.
And exits twenty minutes later, twin looks of increduality on her and his father's face.
1) T'hy'la Inheritance - my 'T'hy'la bonds in the NuUniverse are bad' Prime reunion story.
“Elder Selek?” Sarek asked. The middle of the night on the new homeworld was still and quiet. The whole planet seemed to hold its breath until dawn, when life could recomence. In the five months since Vulcan's destruction, Sarek's breath still caught at the thought, its people had been strangely fortunate, mostly thanks to the Vulcan whimpering in their room. If one man could single-handedly hold together a people, Selek certainly seemed like an odd one to do so. The elder whom literally no one knew before the disaster had an answer for every question. If events began spiralling out of control, Selek was the one who brought them back under control. Or convinced the rest of the elders and ambassadors to let events run their course. When no answer came, Sarek left his bed, passing the cinnamon scented candle he lit in remembrance of Amanda, and crossed the room.
The sight that met him alarmed him before he could surpress the feeling. Selek tossed and turned, alternating between quiet whimpers and sobs, tears sparkling in the dim moonlight. However, the slight upturning of the man's lips disturbed Sarek the most. A thousand possibilities ran through the ambassador's mind. Was the pressure upon this man finally starting to take a toll? He was old, had to have seen two hundred years minimum, perhaps his controls were degrading?
“Selek, you must awaken,” he said, touching the man's bare shoulder. Like a crack, he sensed the elder's mind as it stretched out beyond the here and now to something far and distant, keening some horribly moving melody. And the something was responding, its answer softer than an infant's whisper but just as moving, just as primordial and just as overwhelming. Sarek jerked his hand back as though burned, his eyes trying to readjust to the near lightless-ness of their room while Selek slowly sat up.
Selek was breathing harshly, deep ragged gasps, that took far too long to bring under his control. He didn't seem to notice the tears nor the smile still tugging at his lips. Or perhaps, Sarek considered, he simply did not care. After a moment, Selek focused his brown eyes upon him.
“Ambassador,” he said neutrally, a question in his eyes.
“Are you ill? You have been crying for the past nine minutes and when I tried to awaken you, I sensed that something was not right.” Selek considered his words, then slowly brought a hand to face, his finger retrieving a single tear, which he stared at in near wonder.
“My health is satisfactory,” he finally rumbled, “I was merely...dreaming.” He sounded almost as though he was attempting to convince himself of the truth of the statement, not Sarek. Sarek raised an eyebrow. Selek cautiously stood and donned his robe.
“Please do not follow me,” he said as he moved to exit the room, “I have much to think about.”
As did Sarek.
Sarek did not see Selek at all until late afternoon the next day. This was not too unusual. Many days Selek walked among the rest of the settlement, assisting when he could and talking to various factions about their needs. Several former rivals in industries and politics had formed alliances out of necessity. With such a drastically reduced population, consolidating influences over the survivors had been a logical move if a slightly unnerving one. He did not want what was left of his people to be controlled by interest groups. He and what was left of his clan were doing their best to limit these groups but their numbers had been decimated just like everyone else's.
He found Selek, not that he was looking for him- so he told himself, seated at the back of a classroom filled with seconds and a few younger thirds. Though they would probably have to rename the grouping system, as seven years on Vulcan was not seven years here. Fortunately, the school computer systems were among the first of the non-essential projects completed. Each of the thirty students sat at a new, state-of-the-art terminal, a gift Selek somehow acquired from Starfleet, while their two tutors paced the room between their charges. Selek spared him a glance, his stance and face schooled in perfect emotional control, before returning his gaze upon the classroom.
“Teacher T'Reina,” one of the younger said quietly and respectfully. T'Reina, the senior tutor, acknowledged him with a nod and the boy stood somewhat nervously.
“I have never seen this High Vulcan symbol before and cannot find a translation within the computer's memory,” he explained and the woman walked to his terminal. She barely glanced at the screen before touching a few on-screen buttons.
“You have not been given a correct document to translate. Do this one instead,” she ordered not unkindly. Selek tensed minutely beside Sarek but did not say or do anything beyond that. A few minutes filled only with the sound of keys tapping and consoles beeping passed until another student drew T'Reina's attention with the same statement. She replied as she did earlier and went on her way, the slightest of frowns marring her face.
Before the requisite two hours ended, another four students had the same problem and Selek looked on in something akin to disappointment. As the students exited the room, Selek walked to the front of the room and addressed the tutors, Sarek trailing uneasily behind him.
“T'Reina, Salmak,” he greeted, “I am curious as to your malfunctions today. Which document were the children not to translate?”
“The Ballad of T'ylok and Sh'laya,” Salmak answered, almost disdainfully. Ah, now Sarek understood, though how that story ended up in the archives for the computers to draw on baffled him. Selek cocked his head.
“I'm afraid I do not understand why that story should be excluded from the children's education. As I recall, it is one of the few surviving myths created before Surak's time. It is neither more violent or explicit than other myths, such as Serron and the Ark of Knowledge.” Selek's audience stared at him a moment. Had they not been Vulcan, they most certainly would have identical looks of increduality, surprise, and suspicion. As they were, the only hints as to these feelings were raised eyebrows and stiffened postures.
“That story,” and the way T'Reina spat the last word, as though to call that collection of lines a story was a great insult to true stories everywhere, most certainly spoke for the two men next to her, “glorifies the dangerous mental and spiritual relationship known as t'hy'la. To teach it to the children would be the height of irresponsibility.” Selek eyed her and the others in a way Sarek could not identify.
“My generation was taught that story, in fact, I learned it when I was much younger than your students,” he lectured like a parent of an errant child, “I do not see how it could harm children to give them the full view of their history; there was a time when t'hy'la pairs and even triads were much more common than they are today. To ignore that bond is to ignore an important aspect of our culture. Now, more than ever, our children need every scrap we can give them.”
Sarek could not believe what he was hearing. To defend those who entered such a dangerous union, to equate that relationship with a full bond, it was unheard of. It was ludicrous. T'hy'la, it was widely known, were nothing acceptable. Those unions consumed the ones involved, to the point that neither could survive without the other. The sheer emotionalism needed to create the union and to maintain it was revolting, a savage call back to the time before logic when the Vulcan people nearly destroyed themselves with their emotions. T'Reina recovered the most quickly.
“Some things are better forgotten, Elder Selek,” she replied, “Now, Salmak and I must attend to our next class. Peace and long life to you both.” And without waiting for a reply, the tutors stalked out of the room, heads held 'so high they'd drown in the rain' as Amanda would say. Selek released a breath and suddenly the weariness and fragility of his age overwhelmed his usually powerful presence. Not for the first time, Sarek wondered just where this man came from, what he'd seen, to so separate him from the rest of his people.
“I take you support her sentiment, Ambassador.” Sarek was only 'Ambassador' when his friend, for all his strangeness he was coming to see Selek as a friend, believed a disagreement would erupt between them.
“I do, as do the vast majority of the people and all the council,” he replied. Selek nearly sighed.
“I see.”
Somehow, those two words were the most ominous Sarek had heard in years.
2) How the Other Half Lives- my 'Bones is half-Vulcan, Spock finds out, they decide to trade cultural information, etc, and Jim tries to keep them from killing themselves, each other, and him' story. By the by, Stevok is Leonard's grandfather.
“Captain? Message for you from the Vulcan homeworld,” Uhura called during a quiet shift. The Enterprise was on her way to Carlok IV to aid its people against a deadly virus. Jim swirled around in his chair and gave her a friendly grin while throwing Spock a questioning look. The Vulcan didn't react beyond a raised brow of his own, a move Jim had come to realize as his friend's way of expressing his own curiosity.
“Well, put them on, Lieutenant,” Jim said, secretly glad of a break in the monotomy, turning back around as an elderly, stoic face appeared on the view screen. He stood and inclined his head.
“I'm Captain Kirk of the Enterprise,” he greeted, “To what do we owe this communication?”
“I am Stevok, of the Vulcan High Council,” the Vulcan acknowledged with a nod of his own, “I must know, Captain, if your ship has been receiving our communications for the last four point five of your weeks. We have sent multiple missives to your Chief Medical Officer, Leonard McCoy, but he has not responded to a single one.”
Jim's brow furrowed as Uhura went through the records for the time period Stevok specified while the rest of the crew tried not to look on in puzzlement. What did the Vulcans want with Dr. McCoy? Jim's eyes widened as pieces clicked together. Crap.
“We've received them all, Elder Stevok,” Uhura reported, “And all were patched into Dr. McCoy's office and quarters.” Jim turned back to the elder.
“Guess Bones has been busy. We're in the middle of assisting in a pandemic crisis,” he explained. The elder's eyebrows rose in incredulity.
“You have been assisting in this crisis for the last four weeks, Captain.” His tone made it clear he didn't buy Jim's excuse. The captain bit the inside of his lip to keep from saying the first thing that popped into his mind.
“You know doctors, Elder. They get so wrapped up in their work they forget to eat and sleep, let alone anything else,” Jim returned.
“Captain Kirk, it is of vital importance to the colony that McCoy answers our message as quickly as possible. Pass this on to him, if you would.” It wasn't a suggestion. If Jim didn't know better, he would almost swear the man was pleading with him. But that didn't exactly mesh with what he knew about Vulcans, not that he knew a lot about them to begin with. Spock had told him in the first week they worked together that pleading was illogical to Vulcans, as a) it stemmed from an emotional need which Vulcans strongly regulated, and b) an individual would do what he, she, or it wanted to do, regardless of any external stimuli. Jim nodded.
“I'll tell him but that's all I can do. He is an adult, you know.” The elder blinked deeply and raised his hand in the salute.
“Peace and long life to you, Captain.”
“Live long and prosper, sir.” The feed went dead and before curiosity could erupt in questions Jim couldn't answer, he handed over the bridge to Spock and left.
“Deck 7,” he told the turbo lift and sighed. Bones was in for it.
-=-=-
Spock was a patient, if curious, individual. He strived to keep the two traits in balance, as they could work in tandem or against each other. When they worked together, he could complete any task, spend any length of time down in the labs deciphering what the new soil or vegetation samples could tell him even as they baffled others, or actually set delicate traps to ensnare the captain during their chess matches. When one overrode the other...
He considered it a personal victory that he stayed on duty for ten point seven minutes after the captain left, questions bubbling through his brain. What did the Vulcan council want with the doctor? He briefly considered that McCoy was helping them with some colonial projects, perhaps developing vaccines to a few allergens and pathogens the settlers had no immune defense, but he dismissed it quickly. If McCoy was working with the colony, he would not simply ignore their transmissions. But that left the equally curious question: why would the council attempt to contact the man personally? Spock never could keep from solving a mystery, even if it involved the unpleasant, irascible doctor.
With barely a backwards glance, he handed the conn over to Lieutenant Uhura and headed down to deck 7 where sickbay resided. As he entered, the low voices from within the doctor's office grew so loud to his ears they may as well have been shouting.
“I thought you were taking care of this-” that was the captain, in his exasperated tone Spock typically heard when the man tired of Spock and McCoy's verbal exchanges.
“-I am taking care of it.” Only McCoy could get away with that sort of rebellious interruption.
“You call ignoring every damn message they send 'taking care of things'?” Whatever was happening, it was serious to have the captain practically dressing down his best friend.
“Commander Spock?” Spock turned as Nurse Chapel entered the main area from one of the attached labs, wiping her hands. She smiled sweetly. “What brings the last third of the golden trio down here?”
Spock ignored the light teasing. He had never learned whom among the crew had started calling him, McCoy, and the captain collectively as the 'golden trio' but the nickname had stuck for twenty months now. He supposed it was better than several alternatives even if it tried his control every now and again. It didn't help that the captain found it immensely amusing.
“I believe it is the same thing that brought the captain here, Nurse,” he answered evenly, his hands lightly clasped behind his back. Had she been any other individual, the look on her face would be described as a smirk. As it was, it was mildly disturbing to see. It reminded Spock of a sehlat who had just spotted perfect prey and was deciding whether to play with it or simply eat it.
“And what, pray tell, is that? Len's been in a foul mood lately.”
3) Memories of Times to Come- the story in which Spock, Jim, and Leonard all had the memories of their lives in the Prime Universe and how things change because of it. The scene where Jim and Bones meet is set in a mental institution, which Jim has been sent to because his family believes the trauma of Tarsus IV caused him to partially break with reality (it didn't, he just started talking about his other life as though it were real and not a story). Bones was sent there two years ago because he had a nervous breakdown. He is nineteen and a fully certified doctor, mostly thanks to the memories.
He and Spock traded looks, his of amusement and Spock's borderline disbelief they were actually attempting this. But at his signal, the duo stepped into the armory and found just what they were looking for: explosives. Perfect. He grabbed one of the grenades, nodded, then activated it and set it down. He counted down the seconds in his mind as he and Spock headed for the hills. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two- The explosion ripped through the complex behind him and though he wanted nothing more than to survey his handiwork, Spock's hand on his arm insisted he keep moving forward. At this rate, they just might survive long enough for Bones to mother them into oblivion-
The alarm blared and Jim smashed it quiet, sitting up slowly. While most people's dreams faded the moment they awoke, Jim's never did. In fact, details his dreaming mind hadn't bothered with, the smell of sulfur and kyrox, both found in real Klingon explosives-he'd done his research after a particularly disturbing dreamed space battle against those guys, the heat of the explosion, the warmth of Spock's hand, only emerged later. Ever since Jim could remember, he'd had these adventures- because he didn't just dream them, they showed up whenever they wanted to- that seemed way too real. But he was used to them by now and so readied himself for school before Frank could get on his case about sleeping late.
Jim hadn't told anyone just how far his ideas went. The first time he mentioned his adventures, he couldn't have been more than five, his mom patted his head and dismissed him. Sam said he had an active imagination (Sam always tried to sound years older than he was; Jim always thought he sounded like an idiot when he spoke that way) and should write down his ideas. Sam wasn't an idiot all the time so Jim had taken his advice. Now his private padd had dozens of gigabits worth of his adventures and as far as anyone knew, story ideas were all his adventures were. But they were more. So much more.
His adventures were the reason he knew how space ships worked, how they flew and fought. He wasn't stupid. He'd known from a young age that just because he thought things worked a certain way didn't mean they actually did. So after those particular adventures, he'd done his homework on space ships, specifically the kind he'd seen, and learned something startling. The visions were dead on, accurate down to the last detail. He'd even reread his padd twice and the literature five times just to make sure they actually matched up. One time, the elder kids in his class (he skipped a few grades; he sometimes felt like he'd merely forgotten what he learned) started bullying him. He didn't worry about them at first, until they cornered him in the school yard one day. Instead of panicking or begging, Jim met them head on, using the moves he'd used in his adventures, his body far too comfortable bending and reacting in ways he'd only had in his 'imagination.' The moves worked. Too well. Hey, it wasn't his fault he disabled them before they could leave a mark on him.
Now, granted, the visions weren't all accurate. He ate mint chocolate chip ice cream (their favorite flavor) with his father once, sat on his shoulders during the state fair another time, played cowboys and indians (a game Jim didn't even like), and was hugged, held firmly and protectively each time, more times than he could count. As much as he wanted whatever those were to be real, they weren't. Jim couldn't figure out what to do with the adventures, these things that rang true on some fronts and false on others.
He bounded down the stairs loudly, his backpack and padd in hand, and almost rushed into the kitchen. Almost because he heard Frank talking to someone on comm.
“-whew, that old? Easily worth thirty thousand creds to the right buyers, Frank. Let me get in touch with a few guys and I'll let you know.”
“Thanks, Rob. Winona'll be glad to hear that,” he responded, cutting the link.
“What's that about?” Jim asked, setting his stuff on his chair and grabbing the cereal.
“Your mom wants to sell the car,” Frank said before bellowing, “Samuel Kirk, get your butt down here right now!”
Jim nearly dropped the cereal box.
“But-but that's Dad's car,” he spluttered.
“I guess that's why she wants to get rid of it,” Frank replied almost sneeringly. Blood pounded in Jim's ears. How could she, how could anyone just get rid of the one thing he had of his father? He slammed the cereal box down, grabbed his things, and stormed out the door before he could do anything stupid. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. That car was supposed to stay with them forever. No questions, no exceptions. He'd poured his sweat into repairing that damn thing, a project Sam claimed Dad had set aside for the three of them to do together. Jim and Jim alone turned that hunk of metal into a road-worthy vehicle. Turned it into something to be proud of. And they were just going to sell it like it didn't matter?
He stewed for days. Not even his latest adventures cheered him up. Even Spock's expression when Bones handed him that baby couldn't end his funk. All he could think about was how his mother was taking his father from him and getting paid to do it. That had to be immoral or criminal or something. In retrospect, it wasn't a very good idea. The time he snuck the class tribble home because it was supposed to be his turn to take it home but Frank refused to take in a 'stupid lump of fur' for the weekend paled in comparision. But it was his car, his and his father's, and he could do whatever he wanted with it. Driving it off a cliff wasn't plan A, wasn't even plan Q now that he thought about it, and almost going over with it certainly hadn't factored into the equation. But as he sped towards the chasm, he briefly considered going along for the ride. Until-
“Dammit, what the hell did you think you were doing?” Bones berated him, sticking him with various hypos as Spock cradled him gently on the rough floor, making sure he didn't bleed to death. Jim chuckled painfully.
“Just-,” he coughed, “just trying to save lives, Bones.” Bones swatted him in retaliation. Guess that meant Jim would fully recover. Eventually.
“Nothing excuses idiocy, you idiot. Don't go risking your life when you can find another way. And don't give me that 'I did try' look, Captain.” Spock rested his forehead against the back of Jim's head and though he wasn't the least bit telepathic, Jim could almost swear he felt the Vulcan's worry and disappointment pour into his skull.
“Please remember there are people who need you alive, Jim. Running senselessly into battle as you have the last few weeks is conducive to neither saving more lives nor helping those people.” Jim smiled despite the pain.
“Lesson learned, Mr. Spock.”
He supposed he'd have to find another way to deal with things.
They saved him. As stupid as it sounded, those imaginary men, those two who were the best friends he'd never had, saved him. He just thought 'what would happen if those two knew what I was doing?' and he couldn't not save himself. No one asked why he jumped out, though. Hell, no one asked why he drove the car over the cliff in the first place.
Mom didn't know what to do with him after that. Frank had it with him and refused to stay on planet alone with just Jim and Sam. That was when everything changed.
He dismissed it at first, the gnawing in the pit of his stomach, the overwhelming fear when Mom told him he was staying with his aunt and uncle on Tarsus IV for the duration of her next cruise. They loved the colony, after all, and his visions had been wrong before. There was no way...that could ever happen in real life. It couldn't.
For the first few weeks, everything seemed to be okay. The landscape was just as beautiful in real life as it was in his head, forests and meadows blending with civilization in the way that only new colonies had. The Zimmermans had noisy, pushy goats, just as he'd described years ago. However, he couldn't detect signs of the more sinister aspects his adventures created. Until the day his uncle mentioned a strange fungus growing beside the crops.
-=-==-==-=-
“I'm not crazy!” Jim cried, banging on the door several times for good measure. “I'm not,” he whispered fiercely.
“You mind keeping it down? Some of us actually like sleeping,” a voice drawled in the dark from the far bed. A familiar one. It had the slightest of cracks associated with youth to it but there was no mistaking it. Jim bit his lip.
“Bones?” he called shakily. For moment, no response came. Then there was shifting and the crackling of moving blankets and three barely audible steps and a light on one of the desks came on. Brown and hazel eyes widened as Bones, it was Bones!, slowly stepped forward, Jim's wonder and recognition mirrored in every tense line in the older boy's body.
“What did you call me?” Bones breathed in disbelief, inching closer, his eyes never leaving Jim's.
“Bones. That's what I always called you.” Jim grinned cheekily, “How about you?”
“Jim? Is it really you?” Bones croaked, mere inches and however many years between them. Jim nodded.
“Yeah. It's me, Bones. James T. Kirk, at your service once again,” he saluted and Bones scowled.
“Don't give me that, you idiot. I-” he trailed off, breaking the spell and turning away from Jim, a hand in his hair. “My god, this is...”
“Insane?”
“I was going to say impossible but that works just as well, considering where we are,” Leonard scowled, “That's it. I've finally cracked, completely lost it.” Jim stepped in front of him.
“Bones, it's real. It's all real, I promise. Remember when we found that horta? Remember what you did to save it?”
“Her,” Bones corrected absently, “Took damn industrial strength concrete to seal that wound you gave her.” Jim nodded.
“Not my fault she was killing everyone she could get her paws on.” Bones fed him a look. Jim laughed, an ache in his chest at how much he'd missed this. He hadn't even realized just how much he could miss this. “What else do you call those leg-like extrusions?”
“Tell me why she was killing everyone,” Bones said suspiciously.
“Because the miners were killing her eggs, unintentionally, of course, and she couldn't get them to stop any other way. You, Spock (Bones inhaled sharply), and I managed to make peace between all parties. Spock figured out what was happening when he melded with her. Shook him up for a while even if he never mentioned it out loud,” Jim replied easily, rattling off the basics as another person would rattle off their favorite recipe. Bones just looked at hiim for a moment.
“How do you know that?” he asked incredulously.
“How do you?” Jim countered. Bones didn't answer, just walked to his bed and collapsed on it, his head buried in his pillow. Though the sound was muffled, Jim had little trouble understanding the words.
“I'm dreaming, god, I'm dreaming. Ain't no way in the world this is real.” Over and over Bones repeated the two phrases and Jim worried. What could have happened in the....however long it was since they last saw each other to reduce Bones to...this? To someone who ran and hid when he couldn't understand what was going on. Jim slowly made his way to the bed and sat beside his friend, this boy he'd never met and yet knew a lifetime.
“Bones, it's real. All of it. You, me, Spock, Scotty, Khan, Sybok, Valeris,” Jim rattled off and Bones reacted accordingly, tensing at the last three names, two of which would most definitely mean nothing to someone who hdn't been through what they'd been through.
“You mind telling me how?” he bit out, “Because, guess what? It's 2248, Valeris won't show up for forty years.”
“She might not show up at all,” Jim said quietly, “Tarsus didn't happen exactly like it did the first time, and my dad's dead this time.”
“So what makes you think any of that is real?”
“There are too many coincidences, Bones. Like how you know me, I know you, you know what I'm talking about in the first place and not calling the nurses to room with someone saner.” Bones snorted.
Before he could reply, the door opened and one of the orderlies popped in, a strange look on his face as he took in the scene.
“Lights out is in ten minutes, boys. Leonard, I don't have to remind you what happens if you're caught out of bed. Pleasant dreams to you both,” he said before closing the door again. Jim turned to Bones again.
“Bones-” The older boy waved him off.
“Leave me alone, kid. I need some time to fucking process this.” Jim dressed in his pyjamas and crawled into bed without a word. If this Bones was anything like the one in his visions, he just needed time.
-\/-
Leonard McCoy's life hasn't exactly been a cake walk. When he was six years old and his aunt mentioned the Kelvin's destruction when she thought he couldn't hear, he went cold all over. The name stuck with him, pounding in his skull until he finally remembered why, exactly, it meant anything to him.
“My parents served on the Kelvin. They barely made it back to Earth for my birth,” Jim told him one night over bourbon.
He remembers thinking about how stupid it was to get worked up over some silly dream or whatever that thing was, remembers how a shard of his heart stabbed him deeply at the insinuation that Jim was a silly dream. If that had been the only moment, he might have counted himself lucky. As it stands, from that moment on, things changed. School came more easily than before, requiring minimum effort for maximum reward. More than once Leonard had a strange feeling he'd merely forgotten what he was learning. But the thought is ridiculous and so he tries to forget it.
When he is eight, his father brings him to his office for 'take your kid to work' day. Leonard's dad is one of the few parents who actually follows through the day's intent; to most others, it's an official skip day. So Leonard sits in the waiting room of his father's practice and well, waits. There are few people sitting in there with him, and the one who catches his young eyes is an older woman, slightly overweight, with a horrible cough. He scurries and climbs into the seat beside her and asks what's wrong. She indulges a kid's curiosity and gives him the barest list imaginable of her symptoms. He presses her and before she knows it, she's told him everything and he diagnoses her with mild pneumonia and tells her what she needs to do to combat it. Then Mary, his father's nice nurse, calls the woman's name and she ruffles his hair as she heads to the back.
And exits twenty minutes later, twin looks of increduality on her and his father's face.