She was never silent. Her voice was one of metal and digital information, passing in constant measures across the length of her body. The tiny creaks of her elegant form as she hovered in planetary orbit, silent from the outside, loud from the inside. With a desire to hurry, the Klingon ship that had been her last real meal was being incorporated
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Narada would need material again. Soon. And Ayel would never hurt her to spare his pride. But if this worked, he'd be deeply beholden to these people. He already was--to Spock, the Spock he was beginning to think of as his.
Friend. There it was again. He wasn't sure what to do with it. Put it aside, for now.
"Yes," he said, finally. "She learns from everything she absorbs, and keeps the mannerisms with the knowledge. This is why she needs the right parts."
He didn't say I'm not sure 'Fleet parts are the right parts. They couldn't get Rihan material, not here and now, and Federation technology was certainly better than Klingon. But it made him wonder.
Air only knew what kind of data they were feeding her over there.
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"The right parts might be difficult to acquire - there is no peace between the Federation and the Empire in this universe, at this time."
His fingers pulled back.
"She is changing the sub-routines herself. I think she has learned quite a bit from the Enterprise already."
He was less worried as he ordered two beverages and two more plates.
Spiced tea for himself - it looked and smelled right. Jim's favorite, black coffee - it seemed to be something the Romulan would enjoy. And ameelah. Dessert. His fondness for it could, undoubtedly, be traced to Jim's fondness for ending his meals with sweetness.
He carried it all back to the table.
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"We had--an understanding, in my time." What would talk of the Dominion War do to history? Even without mentioning the regime change afterward--or that Nero himself slew the Senate for their cowardice, and that Ayel had been glad. Better not to say. "I doubt it lasted."
No way of knowing what had happened in his universe, once they left. Couldn't retrieve reports that hadn't been written yet. It made the hairs on his arms stand up.
He rubbed them down again, raised an eyebrow.
"Dyynl." He would let her know, soon, how very proud he was. "She's always been quick."
Oh. That smelled wonderful. It was unfamiliar, but he knew the scent of starches cooking, the promise of warm sugar.
He wouldn't inhale this. It deserved more consideration. And now that they had the pattern, he could call up a third order. Not that Ayel expected his captain to actually sit in the chair they had set--with any Spock, anywhere, ever--but he would be hungry when he woke.
Ayel resolved not to fret in front of witnesses and turned his attention to the beverages. Both were known to him. He blinked in surprise at his. It made sense, with a Klingon replicator, but--
"Raktajino?"
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"The tea is not appreciated by many but the other is a popular choice. My Jim prefers it plain though others add sweetener."
There was no logic on which to fall back - Spock had simply thought Ayel might enjoy it. There seemed to be little enough comfort offered him.
"Narada, I must conclude, found the other in the Enterprise's menus. That Spock has programmed in a number of excellent Vulcan dishes."
And appeared to have something of a sweet-tooth from the sampling Spock had done.
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There was a name for this, in Standard--a kind of coda after lastmeal, more than just drinks, but it escaped him. He'd never taken up the fad. But that smelled good. And Narada would have locked user permissions if Spock tried anything. Which he'd have done with the salad, if he were going to bother.
Spock was--just being nice? No wonder his ears were a little green.
Something his captain drank. Wasn't raktajino, then: the Feds and the Klingons were still at war. But it was hot and looked good.
Oh. It was. Bracing and almost bitter enough.
"Interesting." He'd never say 'fascinating'. Not where anyone could hear. The starch--fruit of some kind, something Vulcan--tried to stick to the fork. It was going to do the same to his ribs. Sweet and hot, a mellow, complex contrast to the drink. Fantastic.
He just managed to keep back a groan, went for a contented sigh instead. He would definitely order some for Nero. Simple carbohydrates would help with a black mood, at least in the short term.
"My compliments," said Ayel, circling his arm around the plate's edge without really thinking about it, pulling his share closer. "You've been--" use a safe description, one that didn't promise things, "very considerate."
He might never get another chance to ask. He took another bite, rinsed it down, looked thoughtfully at Spock. Debated whether the man might actually choke; gave him a chance to swallow first.
Then: "You said before--is this type of--" bond "marriage common?"
There. The words were away from his tongue, couldn't burn it anymore.
His face was probably another matter.
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But he still raise a single inquisitive eyebrow.
"This type of marriage? In the sense of a mental bond or in the sense of multiple partners?
If the first, it is the Vulcan cultural standard. Each Vulcan is pair-bonded in a preliminary fashion at the age of 7. It lends... stability to developing minds. At the appointed place of mating, when the time is chosen or becomes necessary, the bonding is completed."
He sipped his tea.
"If the second, it is less common among Vulcans but it does occur. We have been an insular people in many ways. There were no other hybrid children, for example, before my birth."
Ayel's face was emerald but Spock was at ease. He nudged at the bond, curious what occupied Jim - and felt his own face warm. Oh, Jim.
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He blinked. The food, maybe. Or else it was this human raktajino. Softened his resolve, made him curious.
Damn his curiosity. This was worse than getting caught persuading a live stingtail to roost in Proctor Vriial's desk.
Worse, because he'd felt nothing but triumph, then. Because he cared what Spock thought. And that should have rankled, and it didn't.
He really was going mad. Might as well go all the way.
"Vaedn'ihlan, arhem dochair ehl'ein," he mumbled into his plate. Stronger apology might compound the offense. He didn't know enough Vulcan. And the Standard was...too effusive.
But Spock answered him, eyebrow nearly vertical in that expression they shared--startled, a touch of wry reproach. No more than he'd earned. A lot less, really.
And it was possible, if rare. He held on to that.
"Right. Both. My thanks." Ayel paused, hunted for the right Standard. "I've never met anyone like you."
It was a compliment, slow and wondering and honestly meant.
Insanity.
"Marriage merges households," he offered, nibbling starch in search of valor. There was nothing shameful about a good match! "I have--" one never spoke of the dead in past tense, "two older sisters. Honor goes through men, but the household falls squarely on women." He leaned the cup, hunting another sip. "I spared my loves a war."
This, or something else, some inner thought, sent color ghosting across Spock's face.
"Pardon," said Ayel gently. Not-seeing: offer him an out. "Your food is getting cold."
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Spock had rejected nothing of his father even as he had rejected the expected path. In truth, Spock had rejected far more of his own... humanity, the traits and influences of Amanda, in pursuit of becoming the most model Vulcan.
Jim and Leonard had, as his friends - he used the word only when forced to do so, they were so much more than simple friends and had been even before his confession and their bonding - pushed him. Leonard, especially, had threatened and cajoled and judged him lacking for Spock's refusal to acknowledge his human side. Self-protection, Spock saw now, a great deal of it an effort to push away interest buried in insecurity. Bonded now, they pushed him even further - not in an effort to make him less Vulcan but make him more himself.
Spock never spoke without thinking.
"A question is never a poor thing; knowledge possesses a wealth of its own. You may ask; I may answer. It is illogical to hide your questions behind your teeth."
Marriage. It was separate from the bonding, though they most often proceeded hand in hand. He... had not discussed it with his bondmates. He was unsure that either of them would care for it.
"I have been told such before. Generally in rather more uncomplimentary terms."
He sipped his tea. It had, indeed grown cooler than he preferred. No great matter, it was still acceptable.
"I apologize for my distraction. I had thought to speak with my Jim but he is... otherwise occupied."
His face was as placid as ever - there was something in his tone and the tilt of his eyebrow that spoke of his humor and hinted at something sure to green Ayel's face even further.
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He drifted, floated across every half word and dipped beneath the veil of memory. Apologies and the scents of solid food and decadent replication pulled him like the tide, churned his stomach and his thoughts as he straddled the lines of slumber. He couldn't pick them apart anymore, Spock and Ayel, both sounded blue. Their voices carried, the space did not, would not swallow them, and bile rose in the back of Nero's throat.
The smell of soap was burned away, had faded back into his skin, behind his eyes. They parted heavily, caught on sleep and the thread of breath that snaked through him. He was tired, bone tired, but it wasn't safe here...too blue. He pushed up from the table and the metal creaked beneath his grip. Didn't look, couldn't risk it, not and keep his stomach.
Rage coiled in his exhaustion. It was fortunate his body remembered the motions, the long memorized twist of cold muscle to stand, because his mind was blank as he stood. A chair scraped, the sound gritting the back of his skull as he watched the door. It jangled about, banged against the wrong side of his ears. Didn't really matter who it was, if they were still separate. He swallowed hard and his eyes closed as he stepped away from the bed.
"Khoi," his consonant swallowed the beginning of rekkhai, crushed it because the Narada would not. "Mniet diam haenither," he continued, his breath twisted out of him and he heard the environmental controls. "Dhat...Isha've. Put him somewhere closed. Somewhere deep."
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It's too soon; I don't know enough. Couldn't reach his captain that way. Not yet.
"Iyyhae." He tried to still his face, settled for looking firmly at Spock's uniform insignia instead of meeting his eyes. "Come with me."
They had no brig. It was...gone, dissolved off into a wall somewhere as she ate, ravenous, straining to become whole.
She took organic matter, too, out of necessity.
Ayel was not about to mention that.
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"Bonding does require a mind meld." Spock need not react to Nero's upset - he would not disgrace the man's pain by ignoring it but it was the pain of madness and did not require immediate response. He followed Ayel, as though continuing their earlier conversation. "If he is the one with whom you wish to bond, there are things you must learn before any attempt is made. You risk your own mind, given the state of his."
But it could heal, too.
Spock spared another thought for his Jim and his Leonard. In the morning, he would speak with them, mind to mind, if he survived the night. The odds spoke in favor of it.
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Getting Spock safely out of the room was the best thing he could do for all their sakes. He was too shocked to move, watching Spock fix the dishes, of all things. His liver tried to climb up into his mouth. He swallowed it down and checked his stride to keep from running through the door.
Once on the other side of it, they had time.
He isn't himself. The justification died on Ayel's tongue.
That was the entire reason Spock was here. And he seemed--nonplussed by custom, by things his society perhaps rightly rejected as impractical.
Offense couldn't be given if Spock refused to take it.
Ayel took a breath, let it out again. "Yes." That worked for both points. Fire and rain! The tips of his ears had begun to ache from all this blushing. "Yes, I--anything. Anything you'll tell me, I'll do."
The memory of Bones, a man he'd never met and never known except in terms of overwhelming love, brushed up against him. Kirk's memory. His now, too.
Their certainty was the same.
"I should already be dead. The risk is--acceptable. My eyes are open." Did they still have that idiom? Spock did seem to have a kind of not-seeing...
Crew would have bedded down here, aft of cargo, wedged beside the umbilical, nearer to Environmental and the locks. There had been gangways above, direct to the guns, but they were just traces in the bulkheads now, fossil impressions of what had been before Narada ate.
They didn't need a brig. The crew berths were hopeless threadbare mattresses on metal slabs. He stacked two of the mats together, frowned a little at the result. Maybe it was better.
Wasn't exactly expecting company ever again.
At least there was a sink and a 'fresher.
"Don't use the sonic," he warned. His eardrums had taken a while to grow back. He coughed. "The door answers my code only. If you need something, comm by text." No, that was no good, if he couldn't read the hodgepodge of letters in two languages.
"Here, this one." Ayel tapped the Rihan marker for imperative case. "I'll know it's you. Everything I can give you, I will."
He watched Spock for a long moment. "Teacher--"
That formality was necessary for what he was about to say: "I am Ael."
This was his heart's name. The strongest trust first.
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That would not prevent him from showing the proper form, however. He nodded his thanks, was attentive to Ayel's instruction, was turning to find himself a space for more meditation when Ayel's tone stopped him.
Ael.
Spock straightened - his posture suggested dress uniforms, formal robes, both his status as Spock-son-of-Sarek and Spock, the first officer of the finest ship Starfleet had, second only to the greatest captain Starfleet had.
"Live long and prosper, Ael."
He regarded Nero's second for a moment longer.
"Spock."
He gave it the subtlety of the Vulcan pronounciation his human shipmates could not manage, though perhaps Uhura... A question for another time.
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But as long as she remained on the Enterprise, she was learning. Unfortunately, without supplies, she could do no more on her designs and increasing knowledge. Someone hungering could deal with the pangs and pains mentally without ever seeing it, but placed before a meal and told it was forbidden to eat made it far more difficult.
She could feel alha deep within her, a protected part of her that made the energy surrounding it nearly shiver with his entrance. She was cradling him in his sleep, harboring his body in safety.
But her hunger was growing, and remaining here without action harder and harder.
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It was very clear, a harsher nuance to his name, clean and hard in a way humans couldn't manage--and an important difference in the way he spoke it, solemn. Standing straight enough to set a compass by the line of his backbone, grave and pure. An offering with the weight of full status behind it.
An even trade. Even trust. Ayel inclined his head nearly neck-deep--full courtesy--and repeated the name exactly as it was given to him.
"Peace and long life, Spock."
He would have at least one night of peace and quiet, for a certainty.
The catch of the locks was hard and final at Ayel's back.
Never enough time. It was always running out. She needs to eat. His lips pressed down flat; he bit them. And they'll want to talk about it.
That was how it went. Ramifications of this, political implications of that, a maze of reasons in which "perhaps after further deliberation" was the same as "never".
Attacking was a guaranteed loss, and Narada--she was still with those people, still among them.
There had to be other options. There had to be data missing, some angle to the problem that was as yet unrevealed. And they had Spock with them, in trade. Perhaps they could go over it together. A shared analysis.
The thought was--not unwelcome. And it might even work.
That quickened Ayel's stride, carried him away to quarters with a little less lead in his feet. He tapped out the entry code with a weary sigh. It deepened to a yawn without consulting him.
Soon, he promised her, both hands tight on the threshold. We'll find a way. Soon. Spock will help. (Impression: confidence.)
It wasn't hard to sound surer than he was, but he broke contact just the same, folding his arms against the bitter chill of history repeating. It wouldn't do to outright lie--she could probably detect changes in his readings.
And this was not his Spock. He was different. It would be different. This time, it would be different.
All the same, Ayel knew he'd be more certain of that after he slept.
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