Fic: Everything Was Beautiful; Nothing Hurt, Chapter 5

Nov 06, 2011 20:24

Title: Everything Was Beautiful; Nothing Hurt... or Even More Kin and Even Less Kind
Chapter Title: Chapter 5: The Day Charlie Became God
Author: katiemariie
Artist: tprillahfiction
Fanmixer: civilbloodshed
Beta(s): subluxate and avsioss
Link to Art: Art
Link to Mix: Fanmix
Word Count: 9.6k

Nyota thought that leaving Starfleet and settling down planetside would lessen her workload. She’d have a cushy job, translating runes or perfecting the universal translator-the kind of in-depth work life on a starship didn’t allow. In the evenings, she’d stroll through town, eat out, see a play...

She hadn’t counted on having to keep the planet spinning-both literally and figuratively. (The literally part was a bit of a stretch. Nyota didn’t have to rotate the planet; she could mimic the same effects with climate control. But people were oddly comforted by standing on a giant rotating rock-even if said rock was actually a computer. Besides, a stationary planet was a tad suspicious.) Nyota had to proofread all of Worf’s translations, perfect the logic of the planet’s auxiliary language with the Ferengi Womyn’s Collective, teach language lessons, convince the Vulcan population that Terran Sign Lanuage wasn’t some form of strip tease, and be on call to translate at the hospital and the space dock. It was only in between the demands of an entire planet that she was able work on her own project: charting the linguistic drift between Vulcan and Romulan.

That’s what she should have been doing today, but Sybok had called her in to help bridge a cultural divide between him and one of his patients.

“I’ve been trying to explain this to him for months. I’ve tried hand puppets, journaling, scrapbooking, role playing, dodgeball. Nothing worked.”

“Maybe if you tried methods found outside of summer camps.”

“I spent years studying rec therapy-it’s been proven effective. And, contrary to what some other clinicians on this planet may say, it is not just an excuse to play with toys all day.” He smiled. “I have Apple to Apples now. If things get heavy, I can always break that out.” The door chimed. “Come.”

Worf rolled in, pulling his wheelchair over beside the couch where Nyota was sitting. She knew Klingons matured much faster than Humans, but Worf wore the same snotty, insolent look of a Human his age. “How long will this take?”

“Appointments are an hour long,” Sybok answered. “Same as last week and the week before that time immemorial.” Sybok glanced at his chronometer-he didn’t seem to have the time sense Vulcans were famous for. Maybe because he wasn’t as tied to reality as the rest of his species. “Seeing as you are late, once again, we won’t have as much time together.”

“I accidentally ran over a citizen’s foot with my chair-with-wheels. I was honor bound-”

“‘-to take them to the hospital and ensure their health.’ If you want shorter appointments, you can just ask me. You don’t have to keep running over people’s feet.”

“I apologize if my mobility device inconveniences the able-bodied.”

“I know this isn’t an accident. The only time it happens is right before an appointment. And half the time you do it to Maltz. You hate Maltz.”

Worf’s hand curled into a fist. “Maltz...”

“So, next Wednesday. Eleven thirty. Good?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. So, today, as we talked about last week, we’re going to push aside some of the other things we usually talk about and focus on the comment you made about hegh’bat at the townhall meeting. Ms. Uhura will help me translate some of the very Federation-centric language into Klingon. Is all of this okay with you?”

“Yes.”

“If I fail to explain something adequately, just look over at Uhura and she’ll hopefully do a better job of it. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“All right. As you know, when we formed this colony, all of us agreed that we would accept each other’s cultural practices, even if we didn’t agree with them, as long as they don’t harm anyone else. So nobody has any objections to you completing hegh’bat, beyond personal feelings about you dying. But no one is trying to take away your right to complete hegh’bat. Our medical and legal institutions won’t pathologize you for wanting to commit hegh’bat. We’ll only give you help if ask for it.”

“Then why I am here? I did not ask for this.”

“What you said could be seen as a cry for help.”

“A Klingon does not cry for help!”

“I get that. You don’t want help. But what you said was still highly problematic.”

“How?” Worf challenged.

“Well, okay.” Sybok scratched his eyebrow. “You know that Sha-Ka-Ree has a large population of Andorians with disabilities and Deaf Humans. In fact, you were addressing a Deaf Human. And you know that in Andorian culture, it’s common for infants that are born disabled to be murdered either by their parents or their doctor. Terra has a history of similar phenomena. In both of those cultures, there’s a belief that people are better dead than disabled. Meaning that many of the people in the room that night have experienced social pressure to not exist.”

“How is this my problem?”

“You said you would kill yourself-in a Klingonly-acceptable way-if you became more disabled through the loss of your wheelchair.”

“And?”

“You might have triggered many of the people listening to you.”

Worf leaned in toward Sybok. “Are you suggesting some of our citizens are equipping themselves with bombs?”

“No. I’m saying that your words might have dredged up memories and feelings that could cause emotional and physical pain. Even to the point where someone might hurt themself.”

“Through the power of words, I might kill someone?” Worf laughed-the first time Nyota had seen him do this. “If that is all it takes, perhaps they deserve to die.”

Sybok looked at her. “You mind explaining this?”

“No.” She thought for a moment, then addressed Worf in Klingon. “You believe yourself to be a Klingon warrior.”

“Yes,” Worf answered.

“Where is your phaser? Your bat’leth? Your battlefield?”

“My battlefield is the courtroom!”

“And what weapons do you use?”

“The law, the judicious application of the justice system.”

“And how do you deploy your weapons?”

Worf inhaled deeply through his nose. “Through words.”

“And is it not dishonorable to attack a person when they are not prepared for battle?”

“Yes, but I attacked no one.”

“You used your weapon of choice-words.”

“If I had allowed them to prepare for battle, I could say the same words and retain my honor?”

“Yes.”

“But how do I know which words are weapons? Any person could claim I attacked them at any time.”

“Does a Klingon go into battle without learning his opponent’s weaknesses?”

“None who hope to survive.”

“Then you shall study to determine what words work as weapons on what people.”

“I understand. I shall work to retain my honor.”

Sybok smiled and crossed his arms. “And, that is why you need to include trigger warnings.”

“May I leave early?” Worf asked Sybok. “I have much to study.”

“Sure. See you next week. Eleven thirty. Though you might want to get here earlier. Risk should be delivered by then.”

Worf nodded and left Sybok’s office.

“Thank you,” Sybok said, standing up from his desk chair.

“It’s no big deal. I’m glad I could help.” Nyota stood and walked toward the door, which opened as she approached.

Sybok followed, resting himself on the door frame.“It is a big deal. It’s the Carta Magna.”

“Magna Carta?”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

Looking into Sybok’s waiting room, Nyota saw a boy she’d never seen before. Young, in his late teens, white Human, sitting there expectantly. “New patient?” she asked, cocking her head toward the boy.

“No,” Sybok laughed. “Charlie and I are going to lunch. You know that new place that opened up? The one in the T’Pelih borough? Have you been there? I’ve heard great things. Of course, that could be because we only have three restaurants on-planet. I won’t go to the one next to the Ferengi co-op. The food there is so...”

As Sybok prattled on, as he tended to do, Nyota mentally went through all the people she let through the defense screen that day. None of them were named Charlie or Charles or Charlemagne. In fact, she couldn’t remember letting anyone through with a name like that. It was something she tended to remember; it wasn’t often that they had Human visitors-a name like Charlie would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Maybe Charlie was just a nickname or his middle name. A small but persistent voice inside Nyota said, Maybe Charlie is here to kidnap, murder, and rape your entire family.

“...know they don’t have a word for ‘crisp,’ but would it kill them-”

Nyota held up a hand. “Who’s Charlie?”

Sybok furrowed his brow, then laughed. “Are you serious?”

Nyota nodded her head, nervously eyeing the boy, who was now staring right at her.

Sybok placed a hand on her forearm. “Charlie’s my son.”

-

“Any other symptoms?” Chapel asked, shining a light in Nyota’s eye. “Dizziness? Headache?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Chapel lowered her flashlight. “You forgot an entire person.”

“I remember now,” Nyota lied.

“I still want to take a look at your neural implant. Forgetting something that big even for a moment could be a sign of trouble.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Just to be safe.”

Chapel’s tests all came back negative. Nyota’s brain was fine; it was everything else that was wrong.

By doctor’s orders, Nyota went home to rest. So far, she knew that Charlie, whoever he was and wherever he came from, was known by at least Chapel and Sybok. That meant she couldn’t rely on them for help-she couldn’t rely on anyone unless she knew for certain this Charlie thing hadn’t gotten to them. At best, they would lock her up for psychological testing. At worst... She didn’t know how much control Charlie had over them. If he could brainwash them into thinking they knew him, who knew what else he could make them do?

She had a full name now-Chapel had given her that much. Charles Evans. Probably not its real name, but it was something.

She picked up her comm.

“Space dock.”

“Uhura here. I need the arrival and departure log for Charles Evans.”

“One moment... No logged arrivals or departures through space dock.” There. Someone-some system that wasn’t affected. “But we do have a record of him arriving pre-space dock on the day before the colony officially opened.” Shit. “He arrived with both his parents and the rest of his extended family.”

“Thank you.” The colony. Charlie had the entire planet fooled. Nyota set her comm to the Enterprise’s frequency. “This is former Lieutenant Nyota Uhura requesting immediate contact with Lieutenant Daniel Marcus.”

“Patching you through now,” the operator said.

“Cupcake here.”

“It’s Nyota.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I have a question.” She couldn’t just ask him if he knew Charlie; that would draw suspicion. “Do you know Charlie’s favorite color?”

“Which Charlie? Sybok’s kid?”

Shit shit shit shit. “Yes.”

“No. Maybe blue. Why?”

“I’m getting a head start on Christmas shopping. I need to know what colors he likes.”

“Oh. Sorry. Can’t help you there.”

“Thanks. Um.” Her throat was dry. “I have to go. I’ll comm you later.”

“Alrighty. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

If Charlie had the Enterprise... Nyota knew logically that-she had to confirm it, hoping she was wrong.

“Hello?” a hoarse voice emanated from her comm.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Nyota, it’s three in the morning here.”

“Sorry. I forgot.”

“What’s the matter? Are you okay? Is T’Pring-”

“We’re fine. Everything’s... Do you remember Charlie? Charlie Evans?”

“Of course.” Nyota could almost hear her mom rolling her eyes. “Penda hasn’t stopped talking about him since the wedding.” There went Earth. “Why?”

Nyota bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from crying. “No reason. Just checking for dementia.”

“I’m not that old.”

“I gotta go, okay? I talk to you later. I love you.” Nyota turned off her comm, and pulled herself together.

Wedding. He was at her wedding. Nyota went to the bookshelf, and pulled out a PADD, scrolling through her wedding pictures. There Charlie was-edited into her wedding album, edited into her life. This was more than mental. This was... Photoshop. It had to be. He must have... She checked the date the pictures were last modified. The day of the wedding.

It was one thing to brainwash people-hell, Sybok could do that if he wanted-it was another to change the universe.

There. That was her in. She couldn’t go around asking people, “Who is Charlie?” But, “Who was Charlie?” wouldn’t be half as conspicuous.

-

Nyota stood outside his cell, feeling like that woman in that film Sybok recommended. What was it? Quiet Sheep? “Dr. M’Benga, my name is Nyota Uhura. May I speak with you?”

“I know who you are,” he said, looking up from his PADD. “Your hair is different.” She ran a hand over her braids self-consciously. They were still growing out. “What do you want?”

“I need you to tell me about your universe’s Charlie Evans.”

M’Benga put down his PADD, sitting up on his cot. “What do I get in return?”

“The satisfaction of helping another Human being,” she deadpanned.

“You still with the boss lady?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to get my sentence commuted.”

“That’s never going to happen.”

“Then I’m not going to help you.”

“Fine. I’ll bring it up at the next town hall meeting.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart, hope you die.” There was not a chance in Gre’thor that this M’Benga was getting out of his life sentence. The planet’s two largest political majorities were made up of feminists and a race of people that had been raped by their oppressors every seven years for centuries. Not going to happen, no matter what Nyota recommended.

“Two days after Sybok took control of the Enterprise, we took an unscheduled detour to Thasus. The planet was completely devoid of sentient life, except for one Human. Sybok had a landing party retrieve him and bring him aboard the Enterprise. As soon as Charlie beamed aboard, Sybok killed him. With his mind.” M’Benga relished the shocked look on Uhura’s face. “That’s all I know. I’d imagine that if Sybok wanted him dead that badly, Charlie had to be a real threat to him. Had to be very powerful. Maybe even more powerful than Sybok.”

-

“I heard you were not feeling well,” Elder Spock said, pouring Nyota a cup of tea.

“Yeah. Christine thinks it was just a momentary misfire of the neural implant. I’m feeling much better now.”

“I am gratified to hear that.” He gave her one of his sad, rueful smiles. “Although, I am puzzled as to why you came to my studio. In the past, you have not indicated any interest in becoming more acquainted.”

“I never had the time before.” Also, you’re strange, wistful to the point of being obnoxious, and you tried to rape your version of my wife. Oh, and you once tried to kill me. “I’ve been so busy with learning how to control the planet and all my work for the colony. This is my first day off in a long time.”

“I see. What was it you wished to discuss?”

“I was wondering if you could tell me more about your life before. Before you came here.”

“You wish to know about your counterpart?”

“No. I want to know about you and your life. You know so much about all of us, but we hardly  know anything about you.”

“There is very little I can tell you without violating the temporal prime directive.”

Nyota pointed to a series of sketches hanging on the wall. “And you’re not doing that already? Those schematics aren’t for any type of ship I’ve ever seen.”

Elder Spock gave a slight grin. “What is it that you want to you know?”

Nyota’s eyes flicked to the chronometer on the wall. There wasn’t enough time to do this delicately. “What was your Charlie like?” At Spock’s frown, she doubled back. “It’s just... Today, when I finally remembered him, it got me thinking. Your Sybok had a completely different life than ours. Did he still raise Charlie?”

“Fortunately for my universe, he did not. My Sybok never met Charles Evans. I hesitate to think what damage they could have wrought together. Although,” Elder Spock’s lips quirked into a smile, “if they had met, it is possible Sybok’s search for God would have ended much earlier.” He pulled on the hem of his tunic. “I have found it best not to dwell on what could have been.”

“Did you know Charles Evans in your universe?”

“Yes. He came aboard the Enterprise during my first five year mission with Captain Kirk. He was not as he is here. I suppose his temperament has been changed through being raised by Sybok, much in the same way as Sybok’s was shaped by Amanda.” He looked down at his tea cup. “It was unfortunate what the Thasians did to him. I question whether it was better to let him die as a child, or to give him such power that he could never safely live amongst his own kind. Charles Evans lived on Thasus until he was seventeen years old, when he was discovered by Starfleet. He did not adjust well to Human society. He used the powers granted to him by the Thasians to destroy a Starfleet cargo vessel, impress women, and turn Yeoman Rand into an iguana.”

“An iguana?”

He nodded. “I always wondered how he knew what an iguana was... Fortunately, once the Thasians realized Charlie had left, they reverted most of the damage he caused and took him back to Thasus. They could not, however, bring back the Antares, the vessel Charlie destroyed.”

“Huh.”

“Charlie is one of the changes to the timeline that I find positive. This Charlie would never use his powers on such a grand scale.”

Want to bet on that?

-

Once Worf and T’Pring had cleared out of their offices, Nyota snuck in and hacked into the planet’s records system. “Sorry, baby,” Nyota said, pulling up Charlie’s file on T’Pring’s console. “Charles Evans, born 21st of September 2249,” she read under he breath. “Crashed on Thasus circa 2252... discovered by a commerce vessel in 2254... returned to Terra on commercial long-range transport vessel...”

Sybok stared at the plastic cup determinedly. If he could master the erotic arts of Angel I, surely he could make this stupid thing float. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe objects on the corporal plane could not be manipulated via the psionic field. Maybe he was reaching. Maybe the preternatural control Vulcans have over their body is purely biological.

But that wouldn’t explain the priestesses at Mount Seleya being able to levitate-

There. Finally. It was off the tray table. By less than a centimeter, but still progress was progress. If he could just-

The ship’s PA system whined, and the cup dropped to the table. “Is there a doctor on the ship?” a flight attendant asked through the PA.

“Ooh, yes.” Sybok hit the speaker button on his compartment’s bulkhead. “That’s me. I’m a doctor. I have a-”

The flight attendant cut him off. “Please come to compartment 1A immediately. We have an emergency. Bring whatever supplies you have.”

Sybok grabbed his carry-on and headed down the aisle toward the front of the economy deck. Most of the compartments he passed were empty or just had one person in them like his. For some reason, the vessel was largely vacant. Weird, but he wasn’t complaining. If it was full, he wouldn’t be able to afford a private compartment.

“What seems to be the problem?” Sybok asked the anxious flight attendant standing outside of 1A. Although the door was closed shut, he could hear strange noises coming from inside.

“I don’t know,” the flight attendant answered. She was trembling slightly. “I think he’s having a seizure or something. His eyes keep rolling back in his head.”

“It sounds like you should call for a healer.”

“You said you were a doctor.”

“Yes.” She opened the door a crack and shoved him inside. “My degree is in-” The door locked from the outside. “-recreational therapy.” He sighed and turned to face whoever was making that ungodly noise. “Oh. Hello.” The noise stopped. “You’re rather small. Are you dying?”

The Human child-a boy maybe four or five-shook his head. “I’m bored.”

“Me, too.” Sybok sat on the seat next to him. “Do you want to make a bracelet or something?”

“Okay... What’s a bracelet?”

Sybok pulled down the tray table, and dumped the contents of his bag on it. “It’s a type of jewelry that is worn around the wrist.” He found the container holding his beading supplies. “You put these things-” He pointed to a bead through the clear plastic. “-on a string and put in over your hand.”

“Why?”

“It’s soothing. Hobbies provide solace-good feelings.”

“Oh.” The boy’s eyes rolled up into his head, and a bracelet appeared on his wrist. “It didn’t work. No good feelings.”

“How’d you do that?” Sybok asked incredulously.

“Do what?”

“Do that. That eye thing.”

“I dunno. I just do.”

“Are you Human?”

“I’m Charlie.” The kid fiddled with his bracelet. The one that appeared out of thin fucking air. “Why are your ears like that?”

“I’m a Vulcan.”

“What’s that?”

“A type of people. How do you not know what a Vulcan is? What are your parents teaching you?”

“I don’t have parents. They’re dead.”

“I’m sorry... My mother is dead. She died when I was born. And my father probably wishes I was dead, so... Where are you going?”

“Earth. My bug lives there.”

“Your bug?”

“Yeah. The little black kind. They live in a hill.”

“Your ant? Your aunt.”

“Yes. I’m gonna go live with her. She has a dog.”

“That’s exciting. Can your aunt do the eye thing?”

“No.” Charlie shook his head. “I think I’m the only one.” His face scrunched up into a frown. “Everyone else is stupid.”

“Even me?” Sybok looked down at a glass bead on the tray table, levitating it about an inch high.

“That’s easy,” Charlie said, sending the bead across the compartment.

“Okay... You are thinking about turning that bead into an ant.”

“How’d you do that?” Charlie asked, smiling.

“I’m a-” There wasn’t actually a word in Vulcan-or possibly any language-for what he was, so he went with what the kids at school used to call him “-freak.”

“A freak?” Charlie cocked his head to the side. “I think I’m one of those, too.”

“Yeah,” Sybok laughed. “We can be freaks together.” Charlie grinned, reaching out to grab Sybok’s face. Sybok flinched away like he being burned. “What-What did you do?” He got up out his seat, and squished himself into the opposite corner of the compartment.

“You said we could be together,” the kid said innocently.

“I meant for the rest of the flight, not for forever!” Sybok grabbed at his heart-it was pounding out of his belly. He had always been so careful about this sort of thing-used birth control, always practiced safe-melding. But somehow he ended up with a kid. “Oh, god.” He was only thirty. “I just became a statistic.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Do you know what you just did? You bonded our souls together. Against my will. You can’t use your powers like that, you hear me? You are never to do that again.” He’d been a father for all of thirty seconds and already he sounded like Sarek.

“Why are you angry?” Charlie looked about to cry.

“I’m not angry; I’m disappointed.” And now he was talking like Amanda. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You don’t want to be a freak with me?” Okay, saying it like that made everything seem ten times creepier.

“I...” Of course, owing to millennia of Vulcan evolution, Sybok now very much wanted to be a freak with Charlie. (Seriously, they needed to come up with a better way of phrasing that fast.) “I can’t keep you.” Ow. That hurt to say. Damned proto-Vulcans and their propensity to eat their own young. “You’re supposed to live with your aunt.”

“I don’t wanna live with her. I wanna live with you.”

“I can’t.” Sybok pushed the tray table aside, and knelt down next to Charlie. “You don’t want me anyway. Your aunt has a house and a dog, and I bet she’s even got a swimming pool.” Charlie nodded. “I’ll be living in a cramped studio apartment in Varanasi that doesn’t allow pets. And Vulcans don’t use swimming pools. You’ll be a lot happier with your aunt. I promise.”

“Okay.”

Sybok felt Charlie recede from his katra. It wasn’t as painful as losing his bonds with Sarek and Spock, but it still stung.

The flight attendant cracked the door open. “Is everything okay in here?”

“Yeah. We’re fine. Charlie’s fine.” The flight attendant slammed the door, once again locking it from the outside. “What did you do to scare her so badly?” Sybok asked Charlie.

“I turned her hair into a snake.”

“Charlie!”

“I changed it back.”

“I can see that. Why did you do it in the first place?”

“I was bored.”

“The three most dangerous words in Standard.”

“Will you stay with me until we get to Earth?”

“Sure.” Sybok pulled himself up onto the seat next to Charlie. “How about I show you how to make a bracelet? The hard way.”

“...adopted by Sybok in the same year...”

“Hello?” Sybok croaked into his comm.

“Hello?” a frantic woman's voice asked. “Is this Sigh-bawk?”

“Yeah.” Sybok swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Who's this?”

“Marsha Evans. Are you-Charlie! Stop it! Please, god-I need your help. I need you to take him.”

“Take who?” Sybok asked groggily.

“Charlie. The boy. I can't... He... Something happened to him on that planet. He wasn't like this the last time I saw him... He was such a happy baby.”

“What's going on?”

“He's destroying my house. He's making things appear and disappear. I don't know how... I can't make him stop.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take him! I can't... He won't listen to me.”

“It's only been a week. He's just testing your limits; he'll settle down soon.”

“I can't wait that long. I don't think I'll survive that long.”

“Put Charlie on the comm.”

“Charlie!”

Sybok heard Charlie's aunt fumble with the comm. “Hi, Sybok!”

“Hey, Charlie. I hear you're giving your aunt a hard time.”

“I'm not. We're just playing dinosaur.”

Sybok heard a roar in the background, followed a woman's shriek. “With real dinosaurs?”

“Uh huh. How else would you play?”

“You can't do things like that. You have to act like everyone else.”

“I don't want to.”

“I know, but you have to.”

“Why?”

Sybok sighed. “If people find out how what you can do, they'll hurt you.”

“That's no fair!”

“I know, but life isn't fair.”

“No!” Charlie threw the comm to the ground.

“Hello? Hello? Charlie?”

“See?” Charlie's aunt said, picking up the comm. “He's out of control.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Send me your address.”

“Thank you. Please, hurry.”

After begging off from class and a two hour flight, Sybok made it to Ms. Evan's house. He could tell because it was the one with a pterodactyl in the yard. As soon he stepped out of the cab, Charlie burst through front door, barreling down the lawn and into Sybok's arms. That's when he knew was done for. He was going to take the kid. He didn't know how he was going to take care of him, but Charlie was going to be his. It wasn't katric, at least not in the bond sense. To watch this little boy-this strangely powerful little boy with dead parents and a family that's afraid of him and no idea who he was or how to control himself-be five minutes away from getting locked up by the authorities. How could Sybok say no to him?

“...moved to San Francisco shortly thereafter...” Nyota pulled up Sybok’s file. “...adopted Charles Evans... joined Starfleet...”

Watching Charlie sleep on the single bed in his tiny flat, Sybok couldn't stop worrying about the future. They were going to take Charlie away. (Who “they” were was a mystery. Just some vaguely defined, authoritative they.) Maybe not today or tomorrow.

The adoption was private, so social services didn't have him on their radar. Charlie knew now not to use his powers in public. (“Why not?” Charlie wasn't someone you could lie to. “Because they'll take you away.”) So, unless he forgot or there was an emergency, it was unlikely the Federation would find out about Charlie.

But Sybok still worried. Eventually, someone was going to find out that he had a child and wonder how he was raising him on his meager university stipend. True, with Charlie's powers, Sybok never needed to buy food or really anything ever again. But they couldn't know that. And what about school? How was he going to afford to send Charlie to school? He wasn't a citizen; he would have to pay for Charlie's schooling. What was going to happen when Sybok's Federation visa ran out? Where would they live then?

Oh, no. Sybok's stomach clenched. He was having an epically bad idea. He needed Federation citizenship and a guaranteed career to support Charlie. Bad idea. Very bad idea. There was only one place he get both of those things fast. And he really didn't want to go there. He whimpered. As if they'd even let him in. Stupid idea. Impossible.

Still, two days later he found himself in San Francisco being grilled (maybe not grilled so much as gently probed) by a Starfleet recruitment officer.

“Mr. Sybok,” Captain Pike said, reclining in his office chair, “you understand how much is standing in your way. You're stateless, you're frankly despised by one the Federation's strongest members, and you specialize in rec therapy. What do you think you have to offer to Starfleet?”

“Well, I have several degrees in psychology and social work. I can speak many different languages. I've had experience treating Humans, Betazoids, Angelines, Tellarites, and Andorians. I know how to decou-”

Pike held up his hand. “Let me stop you there. Starfleet is an elite institution. Your resumé is impressive, but that doesn't guarantee-”

“Think of a number. Any number.”

“Excuse me?”

“'This guy is a nutjob. How can I get rid of him? I should be in Riverside with her. How is he doing that?'”

Pike smirked. “You're good. I didn't know Vulcans could do that without touch.”

“Most can't. At least, not as well as I can. I'd say about half of all Vulcans could hear your thoughts from where I'm sitting. But doing it repeatedly or for prolonged periods would drive them insane. The overflow of emotions would be too much for them.”

“But not for you?”

“No.”

“And you're willing to use this talent in the service of Starfleet?”

“I'm willing to do whatever it takes to provide a better life for my son.” God save them both.

“...fall semester 2254... Interspecies Ethics... professor: Staff...”

After anxiously dropping off Charlie at kindergarten, making him promise to not use his powers for any reason, Sybok rushed to his first class at the Academy. “Hey,” he said to the woman in the seat next to him, “do you know who's supposed to be teaching this class?”

“No.” The woman shook her head. “I think some student teacher.”

“Thanks.” Sybok took his notePADD out his satchel, as a hush fell over the lecture hall. When he looked up, a Vulcan man was standing at the head of the class behind a lectern. He looked somewhat familiar.

“Greetings, I am Lieutenant Spock.” It couldn't be. Spock always wanted to go to the VSA. Maybe it was some other Spock. “I will be acting as your instructor for this course. As there are several students on the wait list, I will call roll for the first week of classes to determine who is to remain in this course.”

As the instructor called out names, Sybok considered the possibility of this man being his Spock, his brother. Spock would be-what?-twenty-four Terran years old. Old enough to join Starfleet and work his way through the ranks. But why? Sarek had Spock's life laid out in front of him before he was born, and Spock was always so willing to take that path.

“Sybok?” Spock called, a question in his eyes.

“Present.”

If that Vulcan master hadn't severed their familial bond before Sybok was exiled, both of them could feel whether or not they were in the same room as a sibling. As it stood, the only clue Sybok received was a slight quirking of Spock's lips. In any other Vulcan, this could have been a reaction to Sybok's infamy, but for Spock this was his tell. He was amused.

“Please see me after class.”

Sybok geared himself up for an awkward family reunion, but Spock had few words for him. “I must drop you from this course, as our former relationship constitutes a conflict of interest.” And then Spock left.

A day later they were reunited once again in Pike's office.

“Although I am Vulcan and therefore capable of perfect objectivity-”

Sybok snorted.

“-it is unethical for an instructor to determine the grade of a family member. No matter how estranged.”

“I understand your hesitance,” Pike said. “Luckily, this is easy to fix.” He turned to Sybok. “You can transfer into one of the other sections of the class. I'll make sure you get in.”

Sybok shook his head. “I can't. None of those other sections will work for me and I have to take this class now to get into my upper division requirements next semester.”

“You are no doubt adverse to waking before noon,” Spock said. “However, if you are to succeed in Starfleet, sacrifices must be made.”

“Is there are any way you can rearrange your schedule?” Pike asked.

“No,” Sybok said sharply, glaring at Spock. “My entire day is arranged around my kid's school. I have to be there to drop him off and pick him up from kindergarten.”

“Could you not transfer him to an educational program that better fits your new class schedule?” Spock asked.

Sybok knew he was trying to be helpful, but it still pissed him off. “No, he has special needs,” to use a Human euphemism, “I can't just uproot him from a school that we looked for and decided on together.”

“Do you include your five-year-old child in all decision making conversations?” Spock asked.

“Okay, take it easy,” Pike said. “Now, I know you're reluctant to encourage the appearance of favoritism, but we have to be sensitive to the needs of student parents. As a student teacher, you're not technically issuing the grades for this course. Your faculty advisor supervises all grading decisions. You also have a course reader. I think there's enough separating you from grading decisions to dismiss claims of bias. Either in favor of or against Sybok.”

Sybok wasn't alone with Spock again until he went to office hours toward the end of the semester. He had nearly avoided having to go due to as much to his tense relationship with his brother as his need to pick up Charlie from school. Spock's office hours were at an extremely inconvenient time-right when Charlie's school got out. So, Sybok had to rush over to Charlie's kindergarten, grab him, head back to the Academy, talk to Spock for the last remaining minutes of his office hours while somehow managing to keep Charlie entertained, and then finally ride home on BART.

As Spock explained the peculiar mating habits of the horta, his eyes kept drifting over to Charlie, who was in the corner of Spock's cramped office playing with a box of Legos that somehow found its way into his tiny backpack.

“Is the child fully Human?” Spock asked.

“Yeah.” That was the easy answer. Sybok didn't know to what extent the Thasians altered Charlie's DNA.

“Then you are not his biological father?”

“No. Charlie's adopted.”

“I see... Why would you adopt a child when you live an itinerant lifestyle wholly unsuited for parenting?”

“That's why I'm here.” This might have been him being optimistic, but Sybok swore he could have seen a flicker of respect in Spock’s eyes.

“...Narada Incident... stationed on Terran Base 4...”

Through the dense crowd of cadets, Sybok caught McCoy's eye, beckoning him over.

“Hey,” Sybok said. “The Enterprise. Good for you.”

“I wish I got yours.”

“You nervous about flying?”

“Always am.”

Sybok reached out and stroked McCoy's palm. “Try hard not to die.”

“You, too.”

“...civil marriage to Dr. Leonard H. McCoy...”

After the loss of Vulcan and the attack on Earth, the remaining members of Starfleet walked around San Francisco in a daze. Sybok was keeping Charlie home from school for a while, afraid that he would do something drastic in the Federation's collective grief. He could feel Charlie's guilt coming off in waves, bouncing off of his own. They both were thinking, I should have done something/more.

Leonard was restless, going about Sybok's apartment fixing things, breaking them in the process, and fixing them again. One morning, Sybok came into the kitchen to find all of his cabinet doors on the floor beside Leonard and a can of spray lubricant. “Damn doors were squeakin'.”

“Right,” Sybok said, stepping over the mess to the stove to put the kettle on. “Are you nesting?”

“I wish.” He put down the spray can. “Jim's getting the Enterprise.”

“Jim? 'Nine-year-olds love motorcycles' Jim? 'You can't get a hangover from Jell-o shots because your body digests them as food' Jim?”

“The one and only.”

“That figures.”

“What?”

“Well, you know, out of all the bridge officers who helped save Earth, Starfleet goes with the one white, able-bodied, American, Human male.”

“You don't think he deserves it?”

“That's beside the point. I just don't think it's a coincidence.”

Leonard snorted. “You're not gonna like what I tell you next.”

“What?”

“I’m on Starfleet command’s shortlist for Chief Medical Officer. They’re gonna let Jim pick from outta that.”

“So.” Sybok swallowed. “It’s a done deal then.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Would you accept the position?”

“I dunno.” McCoy rubbed the back of his neck. “Professionally, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime, but... I like havin’ my two feet on terra firma. Being here on Earth with you and Charlie.”

“Would it change your mind if I said I was going to be the Enterprise’s ship’s counselor?”

“What? Command offered you the job?”

“Not so much offer as demand.”

“Can they do that? You have a commission.”

“You know how the day after...” He didn’t have to say after what; everyone was arranging time around the destruction of Vulcan. “...the Federation Council passed a bunch of laws? About terrorism and planetary security? One of them was about Starfleet being able to employ targeted stealth weapons without government approval during times of heightened planetary or galactic security risk.”

“Yeah. What’s that have to do with you?”

Sybok pointed at his head. “Targeted stealth weapon.”

“You?” McCoy laughed. “God help us.”

It was funny to Len, but he wasn’t there when Sybok was packing up his and Charlie’s essential items, readying them to run to Hellguard where the Federation couldn’t extradite him and Charlie could hide, free from the twenty-four hour Starfleet surveillance of the Enterprise. Charlie had eventually talked him down-pathetic, being counseled by a fourth grader-assuring him that if he was caught on one of the ship’s security cameras using his powers, he could just alter the footage. (This was actually a site of contention within their household. Charlie had a habit of changing the endings to movies if he didn’t like them the first time. This had mixed results. For instance, the extended “gotta dance” sequence of Singing in the Rain now featured more zombies. On the other hand, Leonard’s copy of Gone with the Wind became the story of how Mammy survived slavery, the Civil War, and Reconstruction. If he could, Sybok would give Hattie McDaniel another Oscar for her work under Charlie’s direction.)

“How’s Charlie taking it?” McCoy asked.

“Good. Better than I am. Actually, um, I needed to talk to you about him. If something happens to me during the mission, I was wondering if you could take care of Charlie.”

“Of course,” McCoy said, standing up from the floor. “You know I love Charlie.”

“I don’t think you know what I’m asking of you. Charlie is special.”

“I know that.”

“No, he’s really special. Very unique.”

“I know, all kids are to their parents.”

“No. Um. You know the copy of Gone with the Wind you loaned us?”

“Yeah, the glitchy one that’s stuck on the deleted scenes.”

“Those aren’t deleted scenes. In fact, I don’t think movies that old have deleted scenes. They probably just burned the film for the war effort or something...”

“How’d they get on film chip then?”

“Charlie put them there.”

“Like with film editing software?”

“Like with his mind.”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

“Charlie!” Sybok called. “Come in here real quick.”

A very cranky Charlie stumbled out of his bedroom and into kitchen. “What?” he asked with a yawn.

“Make Len a bracelet...” Wait, better rephrase that. “Make a bracelet for Len.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Charlie looked up and there was a shiny black beaded bracelet on McCoy’s wrist. “Can I go back to bed?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“What the hell just happened?” McCoy demanded, having at least the decorum to wait until Charlie was out of earshot.

In one breath Sybok said, “Charlie just demonstrated to you one of the many gifts given to him by the Thasians when he was marooned on their planet as a baby that enabled him to survive alone on Thasus.”

“All this time he’s been some kind of...”

“Freak? That’s the preferred term.”

“We’ve been together for two years; why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t need to know until now. This isn’t something I go around sharing with people. The only other people who know are his aunt and a very traumatized flight attendant.”

“My god!” McCoy collapsed into a kitchen chair. “Do you know what Starfleet would do to him if they found out?”

“Cut him open, take him away, kill him, make him kill... I've thought about it. A lot.”

“Jesus. We gotta get him outta here. You can't take that position on the Enterprise.”

“Charlie and I've decided to hide in plain sight.”

“They'll kill him!”

“If we leave, it will only draw suspicion. Aliens with Human children can't just disappear. They'll come after us. As long as Charlie doesn't do anything stupid, we'll be fine.”

“He's a kid; of course, he's gonna do something stupid.”

“And when he does we'll deal with it. If we need to run, we'll run. But until then he'll lead a normal life.”

McCoy was quiet for a moment, just breathing. “I don't like this...”

Sybok kneeled down in front of him, his knees resting on the cabinet doors. “I know.” He held McCoy's hands in his own. “I can take it away, if you want.”

“What do you mean? Charlie's-” Sybok shook his head. Leonard scooted away from him. “You would do that? You would erase my memory?”

“For Charlie, yes. I'd do anything for him. If you're not willing to do the same thing, you can't be trusted with this secret.”

“That's not fair,” McCoy said, jerking his hands away. “You could have asked me before you told me.”

“I did. I asked if you would take care of Charlie.”

“You didn't as if I wanted to know-if I was willing to get my hard drive wiped if I didn't like what I heard.”

“And if you said no then, I would still have to remove that memory.”

“I can't-” McCoy stood up, walking around the cabinet doors to the kitchen's back door. “I just can't be around you right now. I'll take care of Charlie the best I can, but I don't know if I can deal with this side of you.”

“Okay,” Sybok said weakly, watching McCoy walk out.

By dusk, Sybok was standing outside of McCoy's dorm willing him to open the door but not daring to knock. After ten minutes Sybok's impatience won out over his fear of rejection, and he rang the door chime. When the door opened, McCoy was standing there in his Ol' Miss tee shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. He had a bottle in his hand.

“Hey,” Sybok said. “Can I?”

McCoy said nothing, turning around and plopping down on his bed.

Sybok followed, kneeling down beside the head of the bed. “I'm sorry.” He brushed Leonard's bangs out his eyes. “I shouldn't have offered to alter your memory... I'm sorry.” He rubbed his thumb along the bridge of Leonard's nose. “I can't lose you. You're my true north.” He looked down at Len's shirt. “True south.”

“That's not how compasses work.”

Sybok ducked his head. “Still love me?”

“Against my better judgment.” He scooted over to the far side of the bed. Sybok climbed in beside him.

“You make me better. You and Charlie. I don't know where I'd be without you two.” Although McCoy didn't say anything, their skin-to-skin contact let Sybok know that he felt very much the same.

“I can't lose you,” McCoy said gruffly. “Either of you.” The words “not again” hung in the air.

“You know,” Sybok said, taking a risk, “you don't have to wait for me to die to adopt Charlie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You can adopt me, too. I'm very well behaved. Almost completely house broken.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow in Sybok's direction. “Did you just propose marriage by comparing yourself to a puppy?”

Sybok's face went a little green. “Maybe... You interested?”

“I don't know. Would you wear a collar?”

Sybok rolled on top of Leonard. “And a harness.”

“In that case...”

After that, everything was essentially the same as what Nyota remembered, except with Charlie and Sybok on the Enterprise at the beginning of their first mission. Their presence didn’t have much of an impact on the first half of the mission; Sybok was gone most of the time, on official business on the Ek’tra-Uhura imagined removing the katras of dead loved ones from various Vulcans. Once T’Pring and M’Benga came aboard, the Enterprise’s published record was identical to before Charlie came in and fucked with everything.

Going through Charlie’s fabricated history gave Nyota enough to fake her way through knowing him, but she still didn’t have the kind of intel she needed to bring him down. (Of course, she had to wonder if there was anything in existence that could help her defeat an eighteen-year-old demigod. Some magic words? Open sesame? Rumpelstiltskin?) Keeping in mind that, if Charlie caught wind of what she was doing or even figured out that he was lying, he could turn blink her out of existence or turn her into a bloody iguana. There had to be something. Something she had missed.

“Ashaya,” T’Pring said from the doorway, causing Nyota to jump slightly in her chair. “What are you doing here so late? Dr. Chapel indicated bed rest.”

Nyota closed planet’s records database, securely logging out without a trace of her ever having been there. “I wasn’t feeling tired. I thought I’d go over some of Worf’s translations. Those always put me right to sleep.”

“I see. Why was it necessary to use my desk for this task?”

“Worf’s desk doesn’t have a chair.”

T’Pring raised an eyebrow, apparently skeptical of that answer. But she let it rest. “I must insist that you retire now. You require rest.”

Nyota would have protested had T’Pring not used the tone reserved for heated vidcalls with the Federation president. “Yes, Madam Ambassador.”

-

Nyota didn’t sleep that night, merely lied in bed next to T’Pring, her mind racing through what she knew about Charlie. He had to have a weakness. If not something Nyota could use to destroy or disable him, at least something she could use to prove he wasn’t who he was pretending to be. What did she know about him? He had all the powers of the Thasians, meaning he could manipulate memories, read minds, create and modify matter... He could fake almost anything. There had to be something the Thasians couldn’t have taught him that he couldn’t have learned from reading their minds. Something that would prove he didn’t grow up with Sybok...

Oh. She was good. She was very good... And if she wasn’t that good, she had one hell of a back up plan.

-

Every couple of weeks, T’Pring and her siblings, and their spouses, and, now, their children would have breakfast over at Sybok’s. He would make fakon and eggs, pancakes, grits, biscuits and vegetarian gravy-in short, all the delightfully unhealthy things that reminded McCoy of home. As luck would have it, Day 2 of Charlie’s invasion fell on a breakfast day. Everyone who mattered were already assembled in one room for Nyota’s big reveal. (As much as she loved Christine and was growing to love M’Benga’s parents, Nyota mentally excluded the elder portions of the family because Sarek was an ass and Elder Spock was an attempted rapist/murderer.)

Everyone was already seated by the time Nyota and T’Pring came in. (Matriarchs were always the Vulcan equivalent of fashionable late-thirty-five seconds after they were expected.) Charlie was holding Valeris on his lap, tickling her ears. The sight gave Nyota the shivers. As she sat down, primed to be the boy’s undoing, she realized this would be the first time she ever spoke to Charlie. And hopefully the last.

“So,” Nyota started, scooted her chair in, “Charlie, I know.”

“Know what?” Charlie asked.

“Everything.”

“Okay.”

“Are you feeling alright?” McCoy asked.

“I feel fine. I feel like the only sane woman on the entire planet, but I feel fine. Everyone in this room, on this planet, this galaxy, probably this entire universe has been duped. By Charlie.”

“Charlie,” Sybok asked, “what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I swear.”

“You brainwashed everyone,” Nyota said. She look over at Sybok and McCoy. “He’s not your son. You didn’t raise him. You don’t even know him. He just got here yesterday.”

T’Pring place a hand on Nyota’s arm. “Perhaps we should go to the hospital.”

“I’m not crazy!” Nyota snapped. “I can prove it.” She pulled a PADD from her purse, and slid it across the table to Charlie. “Read that. Nobody else look at it.”

“This is stupid,” Charlie said.

“Read it.”

“Fine. ‘Tonality in the Vulcan language.’” That wasn’t what it said. Charlie couldn’t read, and he couldn’t read Nyota’s mind. Just as she suspected. “Happy?” He passed the the PADD back over to here.

“Ecstatic.” She handed the PADD to Sybok. “See? He can’t read; he was making it up.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” Sybok asked, his brow furrowed.

“It doesn’t say what he read.”

“It does though.”

McCoy looked over his shoulder at the PADD, and nodded. “‘Tonality in the Vulcan language.’”

“No.” She grabbed the PADD away from them. It was still Brave New World. “He’s tricking you; he’s making you think it’s what he read.”

“Why would Charlie do that?” Spock asked.

“Because he can’t read. The Thasians never taught him, because they’re incorporeal. They don’t have material culture or a written language.”

“That’s true,” McCoy said, “but he went to school. He knows how to read.”

“No, he didn’t. He doesn’t. He had been living on Thasus up until yesterday. I don’t know how or why, but he came here and made you think you knew him, that you raised him, that you loved him.”

“You’re nuts,” Charlie said.

“Uhura,” M’Benga said, “I think you need to go see Chapel.”

“No.” She stood up from her chair. “I’m not crazy.” This wasn’t working. Why wasn’t this working? It had seemed like such a good idea at four in the morning. “He’s...” She sighed. Time for plan B. “I’m sorry,” she said to Sybok and McCoy. “I had to do this.” And with that she let them in.

Suddenly, Charlie was immobilized by a great white light. He began to panic. “No! Oh, no, please, don't let them take me.”

“What the hell’s going on?” McCoy said, jumping to his feet.

“What did you do?” Sybok roared.

“I can't live with them anymore. You're my family. You said you were my family, remember? When I was on the transport to Earth!” Charlie pleaded to Sybok.

“I let the Thasians through the defense screen,” Nyota answered. “I imagine they’ve been waiting outside since last night.”

“Please, I want to stay here,” Charlie cried. “Let me stay here.”

“Let him go!” McCoy yelled to no one at all.

In the corner of the room, a large green glowing head appeared. “I have taken my form from centuries ago, so that I may communicate with you. We did not realise until too late that the boy had gone, and we are saddened that his escape has altered your universe. We have removed the memories he implanted. Everything is as it was.”

As if snapped out of a trance, T’Pring scooted her chair away from the table and Charlie. M’Benga and Spock quickly grabbed their children from the highchairs at Charlie’s side. Sybok and McCoy did nothing.

“What the hell are you talking about?” McCoy demanded. “He didn’t alter anyone’s memories!”

“Except for that one time,” Sybok added.

“Except for that one time,” McCoy repeated.

The green head turned to Nyota. “It appears we are unable to restore their memories. A primitive bond is preventing the removal of the memories Charlie created.”

A katric bond. A familial bond. They were going to hate her forever. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Perhaps illustrating the impossibility of the implanted memories will restore their previous memories.”

Right. “Leonard, Sybok. Look at me.” They looked, but they were pissed. “In all the time since you met Charlie, do you ever remember reading anything?”

“Of course!” McCoy yelled.

“No,” Sybok said quietly.

McCoy shook his head. “This is impossible.”

“What did you do?” Sybok growled at Charlie. “You are never to use your powers like that. I told you...”

“I won't do it again. Please, I'll be good. I won't ever do it again,” Charlie pleaded. “I'm sorry about their memories. I'm sorry! When I met you! Please, I want to stay with you. Help me!”

“You can’t let them take him,” McCoy said, grabbing Sybok’s shoulder. “The boy belongs with his own kind.”

“That would be impossible,” said the head.

“He’s your son. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember everything,” Sybok said. “I’ve got two sets of memories, and the only thing that’s clear is that he’s to blame.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“He fucked with your brain. I swore I’d never let anyone do that again.”

“I can’t lose another kid, Sybok.”

“Oh, please, don't let them take me,” Charlie begged. “I can't even touch them! Dad, they can't feel. Not like you! They don't love! Please, I want to stay.”

“Sybok,” Spock said, stepping toward his brother, “you cannot allow them to take him. They’re incorporeal, they have never touched him.”

“You cannot return him to that kind of abuse,” T’Pring added.

“Wait,” Nyota said, “according to you two, not touching children is child abuse.”

“Vulcans are touch telepaths,” Spock explained somewhat impatiently. “Parents who do not hold or touch their children can be prosecuted for neglect.”

“You really want this?” Sybok asked McCoy.

He nodded. “Don’t you?”

Sybok sighed, and gave the Thasian head his most intimidating glare. (Which, comparatively, wasn’t all that intimidating.) “I’m keeping Charlie. You can try to take him from me, but I swear-”

“Okay,” the head said, releasing Charlie. “We will just be...” The head disappeared.

“That was easy,” Sybok smiled.

“Charlie,” McCoy said sternly. “Go to your room.”

Charlie got up and head toward the hallway, before stopping. “I don’t have a room anymore. Should I make one?”

“No!” Sybok and McCoy snapped.

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challenge: startrekbigbang, pairing: james t. kirk/cupcake, pairing: t'pring/nyota uhura, pairing: spock/m'benga, #fanfiction, pairing: sybok/leonard h. mccoy, pairing: spock!prime/omc/ofc, fandom: star trek reboot, pairing: sarek/christine chapel, fandom: star trek, fic: everything was beautiful

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