Story - Unbeknownst - Prologue
Author: Mousling1014
Story: Unbeknownst
Part 1 of ?
Rated: T
Pairing: AOS Spock/Uhura
Warnings: Mind-control, sexy times (rating will change to R for that)
Synopsis: What happens when you thought you were in control, but you're not....
Disclaimer: I don't own them - Paramount does and I'm making nothing from this.
Prologue:
Shi’kahr, Vulcan
The young boy stood in the walled garden, his gaze fixed at some point ahead of him. He was a small child his build slim, dark hair cut in a precise pattern and short, bangs barely touching his eyebrows which slanted upwards on a strangely impassive face and framing dark eyes. Despite the heat from the Sun which beat down upon him his skin was pale, the slightest green hue evident just under the surface, the tops of his ears ending in points. To anyone who looked at him he appeared to be a normal Vulcan child.
There was nothing however normal about the sheen of tears that glazed over his eyes. He took a deep breath and blinked several times to dissipate the extra moisture gathering on his lashes and then strode forward to the point that had held his gaze.
He knelt down his hand reaching out to touch soft fur and then more fully sank his fingers into the strands.
“Spock.” The voice was cool, emotionless, his father’s voice. “It is illogical for you to continue to come out here, you have already said goodbye to your pet and the body now needs to be disposed of.”
Spock tilted his head in his father’s direction but continued to hold onto the animal’s fur. He stroked the top of the animal’s head once more, his fingers trailing down to the nose.
“I will miss you.” He spoke very softly, his lips wobbling just for a moment then stood and faced his father, his features carefully schooled back into its usual impassive countenance.
He walked back towards where his father stood and then passed him and headed into the doorway of a large sand colored house and into a room whose sloping walls and ceiling were a lighter sandy shade than the outside. The room first appearing to be sparse actually contained little sculptures ‘knick-knacks’ his mother called them, placed here and there on shelves built into the walls, the same light sandy shade. Spock’s eyes lighted upon one of the knick-knacks made from soft sculpting clay clearly in a child’s hand and he blinked again rapidly.
“Spock.” Her voice was quiet and concerned, his mother. “It’s alright to cry to grieve Sh’taya was a good pet, no, more than that, a good friend.” Her eyes looked at her son and then at the little clay sculpture of a child’s beloved pet.
Spock pulled his young shoulders up, put his hands behind his back and straightened his stance. He looked up at his mother and in an imitation of his father stated quietly “I have said goodbye to Sh’taya mother, it would be illogical to dwell upon an outcome that I cannot change.”
He then turned, his feet starting to walk the familiar corridor back further into the house towards the safety and sanctuary of his room all the while aware of his mother’s eyes upon him, human eyes filled with love, concern and sadness.
Spock’s room gave no indication that it belonged to that of a child only one item would mark it as such. A small stuffed teddy bear sat on the night stand by his bed, a gift from his maternal grandfather. Spock stared at it for a moment before gently lifting the bear up and holding it in his hands. He stayed like that brown glass button eyes staring into his before he became aware of voices, his mother’s voice raised, clearly upset and angry.
“You promised me! You said he would be allowed to choose for himself, you said that it was a logical decision and that traditions should not always be followed simply for tradition’s sake and now you want to go back on your word?” The words spat out, the pitch rising at the end of the question.
Spock strained to hear the reply, spoken lower and more modulated to prevent accidental hearing by small Vulcan ears. His father’s words were almost humming sounds, but he thought he heard at least three of them, emotional, balance, Vulcan. His mother’s voice replied in contrast much higher and shriller, not her usual soft tones.
“I have never been disappointed in you Sarek before now, never!” And with that a sound Spock had heard before but never in this dwelling, his home, the sound of his parent’s bedroom door slamming loudly.
Story: Unbeknownst
Part 1 of ?
Rated: T
Pairing: AOS Spock/Uhura
Warnings: Mind-control, sexy times (rating will change to R for that)
Synopsis: What happens when you thought you were in control, but you're not....
Disclaimer: I don't own them - Paramount does and I'm making nothing from this.
Prologue:
Shi’kahr, Vulcan
The young boy stood in the walled garden, his gaze fixed at some point ahead of him. He was a small child his build slim, dark hair cut in a precise pattern and short, bangs barely touching his eyebrows which slanted upwards on a strangely impassive face and framing dark eyes. Despite the heat from the Sun which beat down upon him his skin was pale, the slightest green hue evident just under the surface, the tops of his ears ending in points. To anyone who looked at him he appeared to be a normal Vulcan child.
There was nothing however normal about the sheen of tears that glazed over his eyes. He took a deep breath and blinked several times to dissipate the extra moisture gathering on his lashes and then strode forward to the point that had held his gaze.
He knelt down his hand reaching out to touch soft fur and then more fully sank his fingers into the strands.
“Spock.” The voice was cool, emotionless, his father’s voice. “It is illogical for you to continue to come out here, you have already said goodbye to your pet and the body now needs to be disposed of.”
Spock tilted his head in his father’s direction but continued to hold onto the animal’s fur. He stroked the top of the animal’s head once more, his fingers trailing down to the nose.
“I will miss you.” He spoke very softly, his lips wobbling just for a moment then stood and faced his father, his features carefully schooled back into its usual impassive countenance.
He walked back towards where his father stood and then passed him and headed into the doorway of a large sand colored house and into a room whose sloping walls and ceiling were a lighter sandy shade than the outside. The room first appearing to be sparse actually contained little sculptures ‘knick-knacks’ his mother called them, placed here and there on shelves built into the walls, the same light sandy shade. Spock’s eyes lighted upon one of the knick-knacks made from soft sculpting clay clearly in a child’s hand and he blinked again rapidly.
“Spock.” Her voice was quiet and concerned, his mother. “It’s alright to cry to grieve Sh’taya was a good pet, no, more than that, a good friend.” Her eyes looked at her son and then at the little clay sculpture of a child’s beloved pet.
Spock pulled his young shoulders up, put his hands behind his back and straightened his stance. He looked up at his mother and in an imitation of his father stated quietly “I have said goodbye to Sh’taya mother, it would be illogical to dwell upon an outcome that I cannot change.”
He then turned, his feet starting to walk the familiar corridor back further into the house towards the safety and sanctuary of his room all the while aware of his mother’s eyes upon him, human eyes filled with love, concern and sadness.
Spock’s room gave no indication that it belonged to that of a child only one item would mark it as such. A small stuffed teddy bear sat on the night stand by his bed, a gift from his maternal grandfather. Spock stared at it for a moment before gently lifting the bear up and holding it in his hands. He stayed like that brown glass button eyes staring into his before he became aware of voices, his mother’s voice raised, clearly upset and angry.
“You promised me! You said he would be allowed to choose for himself, you said that it was a logical decision and that traditions should not always be followed simply for tradition’s sake and now you want to go back on your word?” The words spat out, the pitch rising at the end of the question.
Spock strained to hear the reply, spoken lower and more modulated to prevent accidental hearing by small Vulcan ears. His father’s words were almost humming sounds, but he thought he heard at least three of them, emotional, balance, Vulcan. His mother’s voice replied in contrast much higher and shriller, not her usual soft tones.
“I have never been disappointed in you Sarek before now, never!” And with that a sound Spock had heard before but never in this dwelling, his home, the sound of his parent’s bedroom door slamming loudly.