fanfic | stxi | leave no soul behind 5.6/?
Title: Leave No Soul Behind 5.6, 6,264 words of 160,000+
Fandom: Star Trek XI, TOS references.
Characters: Kirk/Spock, ensemble, OCs.
Rating & Warnings: Strong R - slash, language, adult themes.
Spoilers: For the 2009 movie mostly.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction and fanfiction only, folks.
Betas: the_arc5 for being there for me when I really needed someone, and no, I'm not talking about fanfic. Well, not only.
Author's Note: This is written for stripedpetunia on trek_exchange.
In this chapter, Jim asks Spock to do something that could change everything ...
Apologies: I found myself suddenly single after eleven years of being with someone I adore, so the last few weeks have been kind of mind-blowing. Thank you to everyone on my flist who was so supportive, and to all the readers of this fic who were doubtless wondering if I'd given up on Leave No Soul Behind. I haven't. I just couldn't face much of anything for a while there.
previous
Chapter 5.6
Jim takes it as a measure of how concerned Spock is that he has to stir first, to gently disentangle them even if he can't bring himself to break all contact. He keeps his hands on Spock's arms like a point of reference. "With the drill taken out, we should be able to use transporters," he says forcing the words past his abused throat and reluctance to shatter the moment.
Spock nods, rests his head briefly against Jim's, the action shielded from McCoy by his shoulders. "A reasonable assumption. The sooner it is safe to wake either of our hostages, the sooner we may begin to understand Nero's rationale for attempting to destroy Aspera."
Over Spock's shoulder, Jim can see Bones turn away, giving them some privacy as he works on Chekov. Knowing that they're unwatched gives him the courage to press a quick, hard kiss to Spock's lips. The skin is cold and the contact is too fleeting for a response, but his hands hands return Jim's pressure and it's enough. "I thought he's always after future tech."
"According to the information provided by Prime, Nero has never before broken off a previous military engagement to attend a spatial anomaly. It could be mere coincidence, but may imply some unique importance to the temporal rift surrounding this planet."
"Is he trying to get home?" Jim wonders.
"Unlikely, given that Romulus is destroyed in his universe; I fail to comprehend the appeal of returning. Such a goal would not be rational."
"You may have noticed that those of us with less immaculate control of their emotions can be irrational at times," he smiles, finally feeling the first glimpse of heat from Spock's body begin to seep into his EVA suit via proximity.
Spock's lips twitch in response but there is too much lingering anxiety in his eyes for it to break through further. "Indeed, although some more than others."
"Hey," he admonishes softly, surprised at the tenderness in his own voice.
With one last press of a glove against Jim's cheek, Spock straightens and turns to McCoy. "Your recommendation on the use of transporters, doctor?"
Bones twists on his knees, still working on Chekov. "Uhura and the whiz kid here are good to go, as is the Romulan you stunned and I drugged. The other one, however, I wouldn't like to mix up his molecules anymore than you've already done with your fists. Hardlock transfer would be the safer option, but if it's beaming or nothing, then..." he shrugs, "lesser of two evils, I suppose."
Spock nods and thumbs his comm. "Stalwart, this is Spock, please respond."
Jim opens his own comm to the widest band, listening to the public channel for a hint of response from above.
Spock! Your signal is distorted, transmit your co-ordinates, Gaila says almost immediately, her transmission filled with static and ultrasonic whines.
The Commander glances around the cave, pulls his tricorder and scans the rock. "Potassium rich," he informs them. "Similar in composition to those that shield the proposed Aid Camp. Achieving a clear signal in here is unlikely." Pocketing the tricorder and palming his phaser, Spock strides to the cave mouth and disappears into the easing storm.
"Goddammit," Jim curses under his breath. "Why can't he wait for back-up?"
"Jim, you're in no condition ..." McCoy starts.
"None of us are," he shoots back, hauling himself upright on leaden legs. "What choice do we have?" He doesn't wait for a reply, just switches his phaser to a mid-range stun so he's got more than one shot and edges out into the gradually dissipating storm to provide the cover Spock is apparently willing to do without.
The destruction of the drill platform has destabilized the storm system to a point where there is even a patch of star-spattered sky on view, although the wind has gone crazy, buffeting from alternating directions as high and low pressure pockets vie for equilibrium. If only Nero hadn't redesigned the drill to be independent of the Narada after Vulcan, Jim calculates the charge might even have damaged the impressive ship herself. Instead, the dust is still rising from where the spiked cable and gravity buoy have crashed to earth, obscuring the twin moons and darkening the sky to the west even further, blacker than true night.
Spock has clambered up to crouch between two boulders at the apex of the cave mouth, sensible enough to keep a low profile even as he searches for high ground. Jim supposes he should be grateful he doesn't have far too go, but his legs are like jelly as he attempts to follow, the phaser back in its holster, trusting that Spock realizes the only person who would make so much noise is an exhausted human being.
Sure enough, he's greeted by no more than a nod of acknowledgement as Spock keeps relaying information and catching up on deployment decisions that have been made when communications were jammed. Jim presses his back to the other boulder and covers the spread of slope in his sights. It's still cold as hell outside, so he uses Spock's calm voice as a focus, letting the minutia of logistics wash over him, comfortingly familiar. It has the added benefit of bringing him up to speed on the battle that rages above them; the Vulcan ships engaging the Narada and Romulan sister ships, the EPAS relics lending support where they can, all except for the Atlas which has suffered major systems failure at the hands of a cluster bomb and will need some rescuing of her own.
It's while he's sitting there, nominally conscious but so drained he can barely keep his phaser arm aloft, that Jim's mind starts to form patterns out of the distortion in the open channel. The shifting rolls of static and variably pitched whines lodge in the base of his skull, itching and uncomfortable like an annoying advertising jingle or a really bad pop song. He frowns against the undeniable rhythm of it.
"Can you hear that?"
Spock stills, instantly on guard, eyes sweeping the darkness. "Bearing?"
"No, over the comms," he clarifies. "In the background; something else."
Spock looks at him, no doubt cataloguing the many signs of exhaustion, but with a press of his lips he breaks the Ops and Tactics stream with a closed comm request. "Gaila, scan for all subspace transmissions within two standard deviations of the EPAS open channel and search for points of congruence, over."
Scanning. Any idea what I'm looking for?
"No," Spock says when Jim shakes his head in apology.
Minutes slip past that could have been used to co-ordinate rescue efforts or get their injured members beamed off the surface and Jim feels the hard burn of a blush on his throat despite the cold. It had been stupid to mention what was probably just a figment of his ...
Confirmed, Commander. Additional data stream has hijacked our frequency and is transmitting large quantities of data. Origin unknown.
Spock's eyebrows fly up. "Speculation?"
A signal that strong has to originate in-system. I'm querying the Vulcan fleet and the Tat'sar. There's a pause while she does so. Vulcans and EPAS deny responsibility and Captain Senekot states point of origin is the Narada.
"Content?"
Encrypted, Gaila sighs, frustrated. It's like half of it is missing all the time and we're only hearing fifty percent of the signal. I can't get anything from it except to say that it's repeating. Is Uhura with you? She's got a natural ear for this kind of thing.
"Lieutenant Uhura is unconscious," Spock informs her. "Are there any Romulan prisoners available for questioning?"
No, sir. Apart from your two, there are only three others; one that's not likely to survive and two held by a Point team we can't contact over comms.
"Understood."
Commander, I think the signal is weakening, Gaila adds. Whoever Nero is communicating with might have already got the message, or else he knows we're monitoring it and is shutting it down. We have a limited time frame before it degrades completely and we won't get anything from it even with the correct cypher.
Jim shuffles closer on his heels. "If that's the case, then it must be pretty important, whatever it is."
"Agreed." Spock's face is set, radiating determination. He thumbs the comm again. "Gaila, record as much of the signal as possible, highest fidelity, and distribute copies to the other EPAS vessels as a safeguard."
Aye, Commander, but this is unlike anything I've seen before. I get the feeling it won't make much sense unless we decode it live. There's something organic about it; the carrier wave itself might be encrypted.
"Acknowledged. Continue with full-scale evacuation of Aspera. Deploy Beta shift as necessary to support Alpha crews and vessels in need of assistance. Acquire transporter lock on our position and re-route all Divisional Command decisions to Lieutenant Kirk when he beams back aboard the Stalwart.
Copy that, Ops out.
Spock brushes past him and negotiates the downward climb like a mountain goat, not putting a foot wrong, while Jim slips and slides down behind him, gloved hand trailing in the mud for balance.
"Why reroute comms to me?" he demands, breathless and bruised as they both duck back into the cave. "Spock?"
"Commander," McCoy interrupts, blocking their path. "Uhura and your Romulan friend need urgent medical assistance. We can't delay any longer or I won't be held responsible for any permanent damage they sustain."
Spock points at the drugged Romulan. "It is necessary to wake him for questioning."
"I can't do that!" McCoy growls in frustration. "I've already told you, his system is too compromised and what I know about Romulan pharmacokinetics wouldn't fill a thimble. I don't want to risk giving him any additional drugs."
"It is necessary," Spock insists. "We must break Nero's communication encryption."
"Wait just a second," Jim steps in between them, recognizing the apoplectic look on McCoy's face and the cold remains of the anger in Spock's eyes, perhaps left over from the doctor's earlier racial faux pas, otherwise attributable to the task that lies before him now. "You're rerouting DivCO comms to me so you can interrogate a prisoner? With what incentive?"
"With whatever incentive becomes necessary." Spock's jaw tightens resolutely, and perhaps only Jim can see the reluctance in his eyes because McCoy is going to pop something by the look of him.
"Torture, Spock? You can't be serious! There's got to be another way! Even if it wasn't ethically deplorable, neither of them is physically stable enough to endure the kind of force needed to make them talk. I know times of war give us special dispensation, but good god man, we're not Starfleet Intelligence! This is so far out of our purview it's in another galaxy!"
"Whilst I share your distaste for physical violence ..."
"All evidence to the contrary!" McCoy yells, pointing to their battered Romulan prisoner.
"A minimum force was used to subdue him; the extreme cold is responsible for the acuity of his condition, as you well know, doctor."
"Don't give me that, you pointy-eared bastard!" he accuses, stepping closer and stabbing the air with his index finger. "We all know what a myth Vulcan pacifism is, or has everyone else forgotten T'Loren's little psychotic break?"
"I grow tired of your irrational xenophobic accusations," Spock snaps tightly. "Administer the required drug, after which you may assist Lieutenant Kirk in positioning Chekov, Uhura and the injured prisoner for beaming outside the signal interference of this cave."
"I'm not leaving you here alone with him!" McCoy grips his hypo tightly as though Spock might attempt to take it from him. "I have a duty to my patients!"
Spock takes a half step forward, almost sandwiching Jim against the doctor's chest. "This, from the man who was all too willing to leave every non-human on the surface of this planet to die." His level voice is colored with derision, blatant enough that even McCoy can't fail to miss it. "Take a close look at his ears, his face, his blood," Spock advises, "surely he marks himself undeserving of your protection?"
McCoy's voice drops to a harsh whisper. "If you truly believed I was a xenophobe, you'd have had my head shrunk by 'Fleet medical a long time ago! Dammit Spock, I know this is important and I know I was an ass before, but Jim was right." He pauses to sigh heavily at the cave floor, eyes downcast. "A life is a life. The second we start believing differently, everything changes. I can't live with that, and I refuse to believe you can."
The doctor and the Commander stare at each other while the seconds tick away and the signal continues to deteriorate.
"I'm sorry," Jim shakes his head, "but there is another way."
Three sets of eyes turn on him as even Chekov rouses from his analgesic doze and blinks into the loaded silence.
"Clarify."
"You can make it so he can't lie to you," he reminds Spock, as though he might have forgotten. Jim isn't sure if the option truly hasn't occurred to him, or if it has and he's dismissed it for his own reasons. "You won't even need to wake him."
"Lieutenant Kirk," Spock says, as calm as if he were sitting in the mess hall. "I am aware of the urgency inherent in our situation. Are you aware of the nature of what you ask?"
Jim swallows, recognizing Spock at his most controlled, suddenly unsure whether or not he has the faintest clue the number of taboos he's just stepped all over. The thought of his lover rummaging around like a thief in someone's mind makes his skin crawl. The distaste is multi-faceted, tinged with a proprietary sense of 'what's mine won't be shared,' but also mixed with a numbing dread that Spock is actually capable of invading and dominating another being like that. He resists the urge to touch as they do when they debate, even something as simple as a glove on his sleeve, realizing that there is the potential for Spock to sense his fear and distaste, then subsequently misinterpret it.
Jim clears his throat. "I don't like the idea," he admits, "but is there a safer alternative?"
Chekov lets up on frowning just enough to raise his head and enter into the conversation. "Somebody mind telling me what we're talking about?"
Spock's eyes are black and hard. "The Lieutenant suggests a mind meld."
"You can do that?" Bones wants to know, shifting from foot to foot. "On someone who doesn't want to cooperate?"
"It is an exceptionally distasteful interrogation technique."
"But it's possible?" Jim buts in, stubbornly suppressing his own emotional response to the concept.
"You mean, you can get what you need from him without doing more than laying a hand on his face?" McCoy demands.
"In the physical sense, yes," Spock agrees. "But such a violation is considered morally reprehensible amongst Vulcans."
"Well, goddammit man, you can't have it both ways! He won't be the first person you've melded with in the line of duty, and odds are he has the information we need." The doctor hefts his hypo in one hand like a weapon. "This is not the moment to play diplomat. The Tat'sar might be quite a ship, but even with support from New Vulcan, a handful of us aren't going to hold against the lynch pin of Nero's assault force for long. If this can save lives, you owe it to the people in the firing line to do whatever is reasonable."
Spock's face blanks even further, the light going out of his eyes, shutting everyone out.
Jim struggles for a moment, then, "I'm sorry, but Bones is right," he's forced to say. "I don't see the alternative."
Spock pushes to his feet and takes a couple of steps further into the cave, into the darkness and away from them. Lightning flashes and Jim can see his hands clenched into fists. He recalls Spock's panic with the rescue meld he performed on the Vulcan patient, Stoll, and wonders if he fears another loss of self.
"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," Spock says tightly, "or the one. Stabilize the prisoner. I will attempt a meld."
Jim scowls at McCoy, at the Romulan and at the cave for good measure, just because he's pissed with the situation in its entirety. "I'll be here," he promises.
"Illogical," the Commander says without turning. "Your presence is required aboard the Stalwart. You will make use of the drill platform's destruction and beam aboard immediately."
"Spock ..."
He turns, pulling at the fastening of his glove to free it, clearly resolved. "Lieutenant Kirk, report to the Stalwart and co-ordinate Prime Division's defensive and rescue efforts."
Jim is chilled by the absolute blankness on Spock's face. "Are you sure you don't need me?"
Spock kneels, brushing past them to take his place at the Romulan's side. His rain-slick face turns sharply, brows clenched in a frown. "Are you questioning my orders?"
Jim frowns, confused by the sudden fierceness. "No, sir."
"Take the others," Spock says. "Do your duty. I will extract the correct frequency from his mind."
"Aye, Commander."
"Doctor McCoy, you will remain in the event that medical assistance is required."
Bones nods silently, gripping his medkit like a lifeline. His eyes, when they find Jim's, are suddenly apologetic and a little scared, as though the reality of what Spock is about to do has only just sunk in.
Jim moves awkwardly on legs numb from cold and exhaustion. He and McCoy work quickly to position Uhura and Chekov in the lee of the cave mouth for clear beaming. His nearly depleted phaser feels heavy and ominous through his gloves. He knows Spock is right and that he is needed aboard the ship, but something is screaming at him to stay, compelling him against his orders. It claws at him, as terrifying as if he stands on a ledge and someone commands him to step into space. It feels like self-preservation; as instinctive and primal as a fear of the dark.
"Jim," Spock snaps. "Carry out my orders."
"Right," he mutters, gripping the phaser more tightly as he forces himself to thumb the comm. "Gaila, three to beam up." One step after the other, weighed down by an inexplicable dread, Jim staggers free of the cave's shielding minerals.
Jim? What about Spock and ...
"No time for chit chat," he gasps, raising a hand to his mouth both to shield the mic from the wind and to press down a wave of sudden nausea.
Locking onto your signal.
-:-
Alone in the cave with Spock and the Romulan, McCoy crouches next to their bodies in the darkness. He has two hypos already loaded, one full of stimulants and one full of sedatives. He really doesn't have a clue which one he'll need. Also, he's banking on the fact that Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry to calibrate the dosages and ratios. This is front line medicine, all the way.
It seems like Spock is needlessly delayed the meld, but when the distinctive shimmer of a transporter beam snatches the others from the narrow ledge outside, McCoy realizes that for his own reasons Spock doesn't want Jim to see this. That only unsettles the doctor even further. Of all the people in Prime Division, Spock trusts Kirk with more of himself than any other. He suppresses a shiver down his spine, one that he can't blame on the all pervading chill. If he were a superstitious man and not a man of science, he might take it as an omen.
Spock tosses his gloves to the ground and flexes the fingers in his right hand. His eyes are shadowed, locked onto the unconscious face of their prisoner. Reluctantly, almost hesitantly, he reaches out, his fingertips pressing and seeking against the lax flesh. Gritting his teeth, McCoy shifts closer, refusing to spare himself given that he supported this venture. The Romulan's eyes snap wide, startling him, and Spock's head bows as the meld establishes. The Romulan's breathing quickens, his eyes blinking and unseeing in response to the mental invasion. Small capillaries in the whites of them burst under the sudden increase in systolic blood pressure. Spock gasps and it's almost a sob.
Like something out of an old horror movie, Spock and the prisoner both begin to speak at the same time, as though with a shared voice.
"The frequency is subsonic," they whisper, strained and tortured in the dark.
Spock adjusts his hand, leaving green bruises in his wake as his fingertips quest for a deeper connection.
"Two bands," they groan. "Oscillations at point zero two and point one."
McCoy can feel a cold sweat spring up on his brow. "The carrier band, Spock! We need the frequency!" His urgency is born of a desire to end this swiftly.
Spock speaks alone, then. "He resists."
The unconscious Romulan continues to stare through them both, eyes fixed and pupils dilated.
Dreamlike and slow, Spock raises his left hand so that it frames the Romulan's face, a mirror image of the other hand. When it contacts the skin, they both cry out, anguished and dark as though broken beyond repair. A small trickle of green blood weaves its way from the Romulan's nostril, sliding down his cheek to disappear into the shadow of Spock's palm. McCoy swears under his breath and scrambles for his tricorder.
"Alpha nine," they gasp, "zero point six ... lambda four point two."
The second the precious frequency is revealed, the Romulan goes into fits, shaking Spock's hands free. McCoy tosses his pre-prepared hypos into his kit and slaps in a vial of anti-convulsants, administering a liberal dose.
"Spock, dammit, help me roll him over before he obstructs!"
When there is no response, McCoy casts around desperately only to find Spock has dug his heels into the dirt, scrabbling away into the shadows with the back of his hand pressed against his mouth as though he doesn't know whose voice will emerge if he takes it away.
-:-
Jim steps off the transporter pad and into the firm hands of Christine Chapel.
"You're a mess," she tells him, tricorder bleeping.
"You should see the other guy ... guys," he corrects himself, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm fine, seriously. Uhura and Chekov need you more."
Her eyes flick away to test the truth of that, then back, shrouded in apology.
"Told you," Jim croaks, feeling his chapped lips split as he forces a smile. "Although, if you can spare me a stim I won't complain."
"It'd be the first time ever that you don't bitch about a hypo," she sighs, shooting him up like she disapproves, even though it's clear his attempt at humour has reassured her.
Jim rubs absently at his neck, wondering if Chapel just has lighter hands or if the numbing cold still lingers to protect him from the sting. "What's our current ..."
"Lieutenant Kirk!" the XO exclaims, barreling into the transporter room. "The Captain wants you on the Bridge!"
" ... status," Jim finishes lamely.
"Now!" Harris insists when Jim hesitates.
"With all due respect to the Captain, I'm Acting DivCO, which means I've got pressing duties with Ops and a bunch of staff who need urgent debriefing."
"Forget all that!"
"Forget it?" Jim echoes in disbelief, finding a kernel of anger amongst the fatigue and leaning on it. "I've got a responsibility to my crews," he insists.
"Captain Taylor understands that."
"I'm just not so sure he does," Jim snaps, feeling the stim hit home, its harsh buzz lighting a fire under his disapproval. "Or else he wouldn't be stopping me from doing my job."
Harris grips him by the arm, his round face a little wide-eyed. "Captain said immediately, Lieutenant."
"Get your hands off me." He yanks his arm away but stalks towards the door. "I know what a chain of command is."
Harris jogs after him, his face like thunder, and Jim knows he's busy making an enemy out of a man who was previously, at worst, slightly hostile towards him. Unfortunately, his ability to be diplomatic is severely depleted by fatigue, free-fall and the awareness that Spock is about to do something that disgusts him, and that the last one is all his fault. He seethes all the way to the Bridge, wondering what possessed him to push so hard for that mind meld when the concept is so disturbing. He knows a little about Spock's inner landscape, is aware of the hesitancy with which he exposes it and the potential repercussions. He doesn't want Spock to close down even more and isn't comfortable with anyone else fucking around in there. Romulans are a Vulcanoid species, but it hadn't occurred to Jim to wonder if the meld might be dangerous for Spock, if the prisoner might damage him there, where nobody can even see.
"So stupid," he mutters under his breath to the closed turbolift doors. Harris glances at him sideways, but Jim ignores it, choosing to grind his teeth instead. "Damn."
"Lieutenant..."
"Not your business," Jim snaps, swallowing heavily and hoping like hell the universe owes him a favor. If not him, then surely Spock has racked up a few.
The doors swish open and they march onto the Bridge. Gaila gives him a little wave and he manages to nod back; none of this is her fault, after all.
Taylor pushes to his feet, swivelling the chair in his wake so that it sits askew, disrupting the line of the mezzanine. "Lieutenant Kirk, the Vulcan Ambassador and several senior officials have beamed aboard and are requesting your presence."
This stops Jim in his tracks. "Come again?"
The Captain grips him by the shoulder and steers him towards the ready room. "This way, son."
Jim barely has time to gather his scattered, frozen wits before he's face to face with Spock's dad and ...other Spock. "Hi," he says, feeling like the last few hours have caught up with him between one step and the next. He should have asked for a double dose of stims and fine tremors be damned.
Prime steps forwards, one hand outstretched for his elbow, and it's already such a familiar gesture that Jim moves into the touch without thinking. This has him being led to face the viewscreen where Captain Senekot is displayed in all his aloof Vulcan glory. Everyone nods at everyone else and Jim still has no fucking idea what is going on or why he's not in Ops figuring out who is dead and how to get those who aren't off the surface of Aspera.
"The tide of the battle is turning against Nero and his allies," Senekot informs them flatly, ignoring Jim's blatant surprise. "We anticipate he will be forced to execute a strategic retreat within the next nineteen point six minutes or face unacceptable losses."
"This only makes the situation more urgent," Prime replies, his fingers still lingering lightly on Jim's elbow. "We cannot allow him to leave."
"Wait a second." Jim scrunches his eyes in confusion. "What are you talking about? We're half a dozen ships with nearly fifty percent not graded for active combat and a Romulan retreat is a bad thing?"
Senekot eyes him coldly. "We have our reasons."
Jim shakes off Prime's touch altogether. "Look, I don't know why you asked me here, but I've got a job to do, so enough bullshit. Either you level with me, or I'm going to page sickbay for an update on my pilot and get my DivCO back in one piece. Oh, that's only after I figure out which evacuation scenario will result in the least loss of life here, and make that a reality."
Sarek arches one silvered eyebrow at him.
"I told you he would not simply bow to your authority," Prime announces, voice filled with restrained humor.
The three Vulcans exchange loaded glances while Taylor's mouth works in a way that suggests he's desperately trying to think of a contribution but doesn't want to interrupt. It's all Jim can do to avoid tapping his foot with impatience, his lips pressed together unhappily as he waits for a verdict when he doesn't even know the stakes. He's very conscious of the encrypted frequency and the limited amount of time they have to implement any intelligence Spock gains from their Romulan hostage. The thought of having Spock subject himself to that experience only to find it becomes pointless makes Jim grind his teeth.
Finally, Senekot frowns and then blanks his face entirely before speaking. "The signal you intercepted is directed through the rift at an alternate reality."
Jim blinks. "Okay."
"After learning of my existence, Nero is attempting to ascertain if I am a unique entity," Prime steps in. "He has employed this technique on three separate occasions that we are aware of; with each incidence designed to create a stable wormhole that facilitates the use of transporter technology. Although the repercussions of his success would be catastrophic, the theory upon which the technology is based and the drive required to implement it is truly remarkable. Nero has a peculiar brand of logic that all his own; one that makes him eminently predictable."
"One could hardly call it logic," Senekot objects.
Prime raises his eyes, fairly radiating confidence. "Although foreign to many Vulcans, the convoluted nature of the logic of a person's heart is nonetheless quite predictable. Emotion has its own rules and constraints; perhaps irrational to those so insulated from their own, but quite transparent to those who have experienced them fully."
"Then why is he searching for you?" Jim interjects, drawing the frowning attention of the other two Vulcans and feeling like he's the only person in the room who understands what Prime is trying to say. "If he'll risk losing ground just to transmit this signal through the closest rift that pops into existence, why is he looking for you?"
Prime turns all his calm certainty Jim's way. "Because he knows that one version of me holds that which is most dear to him."
"Revenge?"
"No, Jim," he shakes his head slowly. "His heart's desire; a chance for redemption."
Jim massages the bridge of his nose. "You said he's trying to make a wormhole. You said transporters. He's trying to beam someone from one universe to another? I'm no Engineer, but isn't that a little far fetched?"
"Nero lost a whole world, his whole life, along with the one thing he valued more than his own existence. He will stop at nothing, discount all risk, all repercussions, if it offers the slightest hope of regaining that, even in part." Although Prime's gaze rests lightly on everyone present, Jim knows the words are meant for him. "He cannot be allowed to succeed in this. The cost to others is too great a price for one man's grief."
"What are you to Nero?" Jim demands, brain working overtime to connect the dots. "I know you couldn't save Romulus, I know he blames you, but why is he looking for an alternate alternate you," he stumbles over the words and the concepts, "when there are at least two of you right here, in this universe?"
Prime seems to choose his words carefully. "My younger counterpart cannot assist and Nero is only newly aware of my existence. Spock's inability and my own unknown background have forced him to continue searching for the ideal alternate in the event that I am not the one."
"Are you?" Jim pins him with narrowed eyes. "The one?"
"I am." Prime looks suddenly sad.
"Candidate for what, exactly?" Jim patience is slipping away with each passing second.
"The Fal-tor-pan he wishes to perform on the innocent Romulan girl who, in my universe, became his wife."
All the Vulcans fall immediately and intensely silent at Prime's words. Harris and Taylor exchange anxious glances, and Jim's temper goes nuclear.
"Why is everyone missing the damn point? I don't even know what the hell a fal-tor-pan is, but I vote no." Jim grasps at air with frustrated hands. "We know what the signal’s purpose is, but has anyone considered what will happen to Aspera and everyone in the area if Nero succeeds in blasting the existing temporal rift even wider? Am I the only one worried about getting chewed up and spat out into an alternate universe? All we need is the exact frequency and we can ..." he falls silent as his comm chirps.
Alpha nine, zero point six, lambda four point two, Jim, McCoy says hurriedly. With oscillations on both bands at point zero two and point one. Copy?
"Loud and clear," he acknowledges. "Get the hell out of there and bring our new friend. We've got work to do. Kirk out."
"Jim ..." Prime begins cautiously.
"Captain Taylor," Jim redirects, putting his back to the rest of them. "Permission to sabotage that signal before it's too late?"
Taylor waits for the terse nods from Sarek and Senekot before agreeing. "Permission granted, Lieutenant."
Frustrated beyond belief, Jim turns on his heel and sweeps out of the ready room, hands balled to fists at his sides, a "fuck's sake!" whispered through clenched teeth as he makes the relative privacy of the turbolift. The verbal lapse makes him flush even harder when he realises Prime has trailed him so closely that he hasn't noticed until he turns. They stare at each across the small space.
"Why are you following me?" Jim demands.
"Because I cannot allow you to attempt this alone," the elderly Vulcan replies simply.
"How could you possibly know what I..."
"Jim," he interrupts. "I served with your alternate self for decades and knew him longer. There is very little about the workings of your mind that is unknown to me."
"I am not who you think I am," he counters, bunching the EVA suit over his own chest with an angry fist. "You've been stalking me my whole life, haven't you? Behind the scenes? Pretending like you know me, like there's something between us? Well, let me tell you something; whatever feelings of friendship I have towards you, whatever comfort I took from your mentorship back in Iowa, it's not real." Jim pauses to swallow his heart, which is racing in his throat. "You manufactured it, got inside my mind, used my vulnerabilities against me to create a connection that I never needed, one that would never have existed in this universe."
He's not yelling, he's too furious for that. Right up until this moment, he could swear he's never reexamined his relationship with Spock's alternate in light of his true identity. Suddenly, with stims in his bloodstream and his heart full of guilt over his DivCO, he defaults to the system he knows best; when in doubt, push away that which seems too close.
Prime's expression flickers minutely, too fast to identify the emotions present. "By now you have deduced that the only way to disrupt the signal integrity is to introduce a tachyon burst to the subspace regions surrounding the temporal rift, thus closing it. Given the risks inherent in such a maneuver, you have doubtless decided to implement your plan without assistance." Prime's eyes harden even as his lips form the slightest of fond smiles. "I will not permit you to endanger yourself in this manner."
Jim steps up, eyes fierce, pulse pounding behind his eyes. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do," he whispers tightly. "You're not my commanding officer, you're nothing to me."
"I am saddened to hear you say that, old friend," Prime says gruffly, eyes suspiciously bright. "I fear you will never forgive me for what comes next."
"What are you talking ..."
Prime's fingers and thumb close around the junction of his neck and shoulder and Jim slides instantly into blackness.
next
Soundtrack: I'm working on making more of the soundtrack available to members via the FTP site. It's kind of my little side project for this week. Converting everything to mp3 is a pain in the rear but kinder on bandwidth.
Fandom: Star Trek XI, TOS references.
Characters: Kirk/Spock, ensemble, OCs.
Rating & Warnings: Strong R - slash, language, adult themes.
Spoilers: For the 2009 movie mostly.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction and fanfiction only, folks.
Betas: the_arc5 for being there for me when I really needed someone, and no, I'm not talking about fanfic. Well, not only.
Author's Note: This is written for stripedpetunia on trek_exchange.
In this chapter, Jim asks Spock to do something that could change everything ...
Apologies: I found myself suddenly single after eleven years of being with someone I adore, so the last few weeks have been kind of mind-blowing. Thank you to everyone on my flist who was so supportive, and to all the readers of this fic who were doubtless wondering if I'd given up on Leave No Soul Behind. I haven't. I just couldn't face much of anything for a while there.
previous
Chapter 5.6
Jim takes it as a measure of how concerned Spock is that he has to stir first, to gently disentangle them even if he can't bring himself to break all contact. He keeps his hands on Spock's arms like a point of reference. "With the drill taken out, we should be able to use transporters," he says forcing the words past his abused throat and reluctance to shatter the moment.
Spock nods, rests his head briefly against Jim's, the action shielded from McCoy by his shoulders. "A reasonable assumption. The sooner it is safe to wake either of our hostages, the sooner we may begin to understand Nero's rationale for attempting to destroy Aspera."
Over Spock's shoulder, Jim can see Bones turn away, giving them some privacy as he works on Chekov. Knowing that they're unwatched gives him the courage to press a quick, hard kiss to Spock's lips. The skin is cold and the contact is too fleeting for a response, but his hands hands return Jim's pressure and it's enough. "I thought he's always after future tech."
"According to the information provided by Prime, Nero has never before broken off a previous military engagement to attend a spatial anomaly. It could be mere coincidence, but may imply some unique importance to the temporal rift surrounding this planet."
"Is he trying to get home?" Jim wonders.
"Unlikely, given that Romulus is destroyed in his universe; I fail to comprehend the appeal of returning. Such a goal would not be rational."
"You may have noticed that those of us with less immaculate control of their emotions can be irrational at times," he smiles, finally feeling the first glimpse of heat from Spock's body begin to seep into his EVA suit via proximity.
Spock's lips twitch in response but there is too much lingering anxiety in his eyes for it to break through further. "Indeed, although some more than others."
"Hey," he admonishes softly, surprised at the tenderness in his own voice.
With one last press of a glove against Jim's cheek, Spock straightens and turns to McCoy. "Your recommendation on the use of transporters, doctor?"
Bones twists on his knees, still working on Chekov. "Uhura and the whiz kid here are good to go, as is the Romulan you stunned and I drugged. The other one, however, I wouldn't like to mix up his molecules anymore than you've already done with your fists. Hardlock transfer would be the safer option, but if it's beaming or nothing, then..." he shrugs, "lesser of two evils, I suppose."
Spock nods and thumbs his comm. "Stalwart, this is Spock, please respond."
Jim opens his own comm to the widest band, listening to the public channel for a hint of response from above.
Spock! Your signal is distorted, transmit your co-ordinates, Gaila says almost immediately, her transmission filled with static and ultrasonic whines.
The Commander glances around the cave, pulls his tricorder and scans the rock. "Potassium rich," he informs them. "Similar in composition to those that shield the proposed Aid Camp. Achieving a clear signal in here is unlikely." Pocketing the tricorder and palming his phaser, Spock strides to the cave mouth and disappears into the easing storm.
"Goddammit," Jim curses under his breath. "Why can't he wait for back-up?"
"Jim, you're in no condition ..." McCoy starts.
"None of us are," he shoots back, hauling himself upright on leaden legs. "What choice do we have?" He doesn't wait for a reply, just switches his phaser to a mid-range stun so he's got more than one shot and edges out into the gradually dissipating storm to provide the cover Spock is apparently willing to do without.
The destruction of the drill platform has destabilized the storm system to a point where there is even a patch of star-spattered sky on view, although the wind has gone crazy, buffeting from alternating directions as high and low pressure pockets vie for equilibrium. If only Nero hadn't redesigned the drill to be independent of the Narada after Vulcan, Jim calculates the charge might even have damaged the impressive ship herself. Instead, the dust is still rising from where the spiked cable and gravity buoy have crashed to earth, obscuring the twin moons and darkening the sky to the west even further, blacker than true night.
Spock has clambered up to crouch between two boulders at the apex of the cave mouth, sensible enough to keep a low profile even as he searches for high ground. Jim supposes he should be grateful he doesn't have far too go, but his legs are like jelly as he attempts to follow, the phaser back in its holster, trusting that Spock realizes the only person who would make so much noise is an exhausted human being.
Sure enough, he's greeted by no more than a nod of acknowledgement as Spock keeps relaying information and catching up on deployment decisions that have been made when communications were jammed. Jim presses his back to the other boulder and covers the spread of slope in his sights. It's still cold as hell outside, so he uses Spock's calm voice as a focus, letting the minutia of logistics wash over him, comfortingly familiar. It has the added benefit of bringing him up to speed on the battle that rages above them; the Vulcan ships engaging the Narada and Romulan sister ships, the EPAS relics lending support where they can, all except for the Atlas which has suffered major systems failure at the hands of a cluster bomb and will need some rescuing of her own.
It's while he's sitting there, nominally conscious but so drained he can barely keep his phaser arm aloft, that Jim's mind starts to form patterns out of the distortion in the open channel. The shifting rolls of static and variably pitched whines lodge in the base of his skull, itching and uncomfortable like an annoying advertising jingle or a really bad pop song. He frowns against the undeniable rhythm of it.
"Can you hear that?"
Spock stills, instantly on guard, eyes sweeping the darkness. "Bearing?"
"No, over the comms," he clarifies. "In the background; something else."
Spock looks at him, no doubt cataloguing the many signs of exhaustion, but with a press of his lips he breaks the Ops and Tactics stream with a closed comm request. "Gaila, scan for all subspace transmissions within two standard deviations of the EPAS open channel and search for points of congruence, over."
Scanning. Any idea what I'm looking for?
"No," Spock says when Jim shakes his head in apology.
Minutes slip past that could have been used to co-ordinate rescue efforts or get their injured members beamed off the surface and Jim feels the hard burn of a blush on his throat despite the cold. It had been stupid to mention what was probably just a figment of his ...
Confirmed, Commander. Additional data stream has hijacked our frequency and is transmitting large quantities of data. Origin unknown.
Spock's eyebrows fly up. "Speculation?"
A signal that strong has to originate in-system. I'm querying the Vulcan fleet and the Tat'sar. There's a pause while she does so. Vulcans and EPAS deny responsibility and Captain Senekot states point of origin is the Narada.
"Content?"
Encrypted, Gaila sighs, frustrated. It's like half of it is missing all the time and we're only hearing fifty percent of the signal. I can't get anything from it except to say that it's repeating. Is Uhura with you? She's got a natural ear for this kind of thing.
"Lieutenant Uhura is unconscious," Spock informs her. "Are there any Romulan prisoners available for questioning?"
No, sir. Apart from your two, there are only three others; one that's not likely to survive and two held by a Point team we can't contact over comms.
"Understood."
Commander, I think the signal is weakening, Gaila adds. Whoever Nero is communicating with might have already got the message, or else he knows we're monitoring it and is shutting it down. We have a limited time frame before it degrades completely and we won't get anything from it even with the correct cypher.
Jim shuffles closer on his heels. "If that's the case, then it must be pretty important, whatever it is."
"Agreed." Spock's face is set, radiating determination. He thumbs the comm again. "Gaila, record as much of the signal as possible, highest fidelity, and distribute copies to the other EPAS vessels as a safeguard."
Aye, Commander, but this is unlike anything I've seen before. I get the feeling it won't make much sense unless we decode it live. There's something organic about it; the carrier wave itself might be encrypted.
"Acknowledged. Continue with full-scale evacuation of Aspera. Deploy Beta shift as necessary to support Alpha crews and vessels in need of assistance. Acquire transporter lock on our position and re-route all Divisional Command decisions to Lieutenant Kirk when he beams back aboard the Stalwart.
Copy that, Ops out.
Spock brushes past him and negotiates the downward climb like a mountain goat, not putting a foot wrong, while Jim slips and slides down behind him, gloved hand trailing in the mud for balance.
"Why reroute comms to me?" he demands, breathless and bruised as they both duck back into the cave. "Spock?"
"Commander," McCoy interrupts, blocking their path. "Uhura and your Romulan friend need urgent medical assistance. We can't delay any longer or I won't be held responsible for any permanent damage they sustain."
Spock points at the drugged Romulan. "It is necessary to wake him for questioning."
"I can't do that!" McCoy growls in frustration. "I've already told you, his system is too compromised and what I know about Romulan pharmacokinetics wouldn't fill a thimble. I don't want to risk giving him any additional drugs."
"It is necessary," Spock insists. "We must break Nero's communication encryption."
"Wait just a second," Jim steps in between them, recognizing the apoplectic look on McCoy's face and the cold remains of the anger in Spock's eyes, perhaps left over from the doctor's earlier racial faux pas, otherwise attributable to the task that lies before him now. "You're rerouting DivCO comms to me so you can interrogate a prisoner? With what incentive?"
"With whatever incentive becomes necessary." Spock's jaw tightens resolutely, and perhaps only Jim can see the reluctance in his eyes because McCoy is going to pop something by the look of him.
"Torture, Spock? You can't be serious! There's got to be another way! Even if it wasn't ethically deplorable, neither of them is physically stable enough to endure the kind of force needed to make them talk. I know times of war give us special dispensation, but good god man, we're not Starfleet Intelligence! This is so far out of our purview it's in another galaxy!"
"Whilst I share your distaste for physical violence ..."
"All evidence to the contrary!" McCoy yells, pointing to their battered Romulan prisoner.
"A minimum force was used to subdue him; the extreme cold is responsible for the acuity of his condition, as you well know, doctor."
"Don't give me that, you pointy-eared bastard!" he accuses, stepping closer and stabbing the air with his index finger. "We all know what a myth Vulcan pacifism is, or has everyone else forgotten T'Loren's little psychotic break?"
"I grow tired of your irrational xenophobic accusations," Spock snaps tightly. "Administer the required drug, after which you may assist Lieutenant Kirk in positioning Chekov, Uhura and the injured prisoner for beaming outside the signal interference of this cave."
"I'm not leaving you here alone with him!" McCoy grips his hypo tightly as though Spock might attempt to take it from him. "I have a duty to my patients!"
Spock takes a half step forward, almost sandwiching Jim against the doctor's chest. "This, from the man who was all too willing to leave every non-human on the surface of this planet to die." His level voice is colored with derision, blatant enough that even McCoy can't fail to miss it. "Take a close look at his ears, his face, his blood," Spock advises, "surely he marks himself undeserving of your protection?"
McCoy's voice drops to a harsh whisper. "If you truly believed I was a xenophobe, you'd have had my head shrunk by 'Fleet medical a long time ago! Dammit Spock, I know this is important and I know I was an ass before, but Jim was right." He pauses to sigh heavily at the cave floor, eyes downcast. "A life is a life. The second we start believing differently, everything changes. I can't live with that, and I refuse to believe you can."
The doctor and the Commander stare at each other while the seconds tick away and the signal continues to deteriorate.
"I'm sorry," Jim shakes his head, "but there is another way."
Three sets of eyes turn on him as even Chekov rouses from his analgesic doze and blinks into the loaded silence.
"Clarify."
"You can make it so he can't lie to you," he reminds Spock, as though he might have forgotten. Jim isn't sure if the option truly hasn't occurred to him, or if it has and he's dismissed it for his own reasons. "You won't even need to wake him."
"Lieutenant Kirk," Spock says, as calm as if he were sitting in the mess hall. "I am aware of the urgency inherent in our situation. Are you aware of the nature of what you ask?"
Jim swallows, recognizing Spock at his most controlled, suddenly unsure whether or not he has the faintest clue the number of taboos he's just stepped all over. The thought of his lover rummaging around like a thief in someone's mind makes his skin crawl. The distaste is multi-faceted, tinged with a proprietary sense of 'what's mine won't be shared,' but also mixed with a numbing dread that Spock is actually capable of invading and dominating another being like that. He resists the urge to touch as they do when they debate, even something as simple as a glove on his sleeve, realizing that there is the potential for Spock to sense his fear and distaste, then subsequently misinterpret it.
Jim clears his throat. "I don't like the idea," he admits, "but is there a safer alternative?"
Chekov lets up on frowning just enough to raise his head and enter into the conversation. "Somebody mind telling me what we're talking about?"
Spock's eyes are black and hard. "The Lieutenant suggests a mind meld."
"You can do that?" Bones wants to know, shifting from foot to foot. "On someone who doesn't want to cooperate?"
"It is an exceptionally distasteful interrogation technique."
"But it's possible?" Jim buts in, stubbornly suppressing his own emotional response to the concept.
"You mean, you can get what you need from him without doing more than laying a hand on his face?" McCoy demands.
"In the physical sense, yes," Spock agrees. "But such a violation is considered morally reprehensible amongst Vulcans."
"Well, goddammit man, you can't have it both ways! He won't be the first person you've melded with in the line of duty, and odds are he has the information we need." The doctor hefts his hypo in one hand like a weapon. "This is not the moment to play diplomat. The Tat'sar might be quite a ship, but even with support from New Vulcan, a handful of us aren't going to hold against the lynch pin of Nero's assault force for long. If this can save lives, you owe it to the people in the firing line to do whatever is reasonable."
Spock's face blanks even further, the light going out of his eyes, shutting everyone out.
Jim struggles for a moment, then, "I'm sorry, but Bones is right," he's forced to say. "I don't see the alternative."
Spock pushes to his feet and takes a couple of steps further into the cave, into the darkness and away from them. Lightning flashes and Jim can see his hands clenched into fists. He recalls Spock's panic with the rescue meld he performed on the Vulcan patient, Stoll, and wonders if he fears another loss of self.
"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," Spock says tightly, "or the one. Stabilize the prisoner. I will attempt a meld."
Jim scowls at McCoy, at the Romulan and at the cave for good measure, just because he's pissed with the situation in its entirety. "I'll be here," he promises.
"Illogical," the Commander says without turning. "Your presence is required aboard the Stalwart. You will make use of the drill platform's destruction and beam aboard immediately."
"Spock ..."
He turns, pulling at the fastening of his glove to free it, clearly resolved. "Lieutenant Kirk, report to the Stalwart and co-ordinate Prime Division's defensive and rescue efforts."
Jim is chilled by the absolute blankness on Spock's face. "Are you sure you don't need me?"
Spock kneels, brushing past them to take his place at the Romulan's side. His rain-slick face turns sharply, brows clenched in a frown. "Are you questioning my orders?"
Jim frowns, confused by the sudden fierceness. "No, sir."
"Take the others," Spock says. "Do your duty. I will extract the correct frequency from his mind."
"Aye, Commander."
"Doctor McCoy, you will remain in the event that medical assistance is required."
Bones nods silently, gripping his medkit like a lifeline. His eyes, when they find Jim's, are suddenly apologetic and a little scared, as though the reality of what Spock is about to do has only just sunk in.
Jim moves awkwardly on legs numb from cold and exhaustion. He and McCoy work quickly to position Uhura and Chekov in the lee of the cave mouth for clear beaming. His nearly depleted phaser feels heavy and ominous through his gloves. He knows Spock is right and that he is needed aboard the ship, but something is screaming at him to stay, compelling him against his orders. It claws at him, as terrifying as if he stands on a ledge and someone commands him to step into space. It feels like self-preservation; as instinctive and primal as a fear of the dark.
"Jim," Spock snaps. "Carry out my orders."
"Right," he mutters, gripping the phaser more tightly as he forces himself to thumb the comm. "Gaila, three to beam up." One step after the other, weighed down by an inexplicable dread, Jim staggers free of the cave's shielding minerals.
Jim? What about Spock and ...
"No time for chit chat," he gasps, raising a hand to his mouth both to shield the mic from the wind and to press down a wave of sudden nausea.
Locking onto your signal.
-:-
Alone in the cave with Spock and the Romulan, McCoy crouches next to their bodies in the darkness. He has two hypos already loaded, one full of stimulants and one full of sedatives. He really doesn't have a clue which one he'll need. Also, he's banking on the fact that Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry to calibrate the dosages and ratios. This is front line medicine, all the way.
It seems like Spock is needlessly delayed the meld, but when the distinctive shimmer of a transporter beam snatches the others from the narrow ledge outside, McCoy realizes that for his own reasons Spock doesn't want Jim to see this. That only unsettles the doctor even further. Of all the people in Prime Division, Spock trusts Kirk with more of himself than any other. He suppresses a shiver down his spine, one that he can't blame on the all pervading chill. If he were a superstitious man and not a man of science, he might take it as an omen.
Spock tosses his gloves to the ground and flexes the fingers in his right hand. His eyes are shadowed, locked onto the unconscious face of their prisoner. Reluctantly, almost hesitantly, he reaches out, his fingertips pressing and seeking against the lax flesh. Gritting his teeth, McCoy shifts closer, refusing to spare himself given that he supported this venture. The Romulan's eyes snap wide, startling him, and Spock's head bows as the meld establishes. The Romulan's breathing quickens, his eyes blinking and unseeing in response to the mental invasion. Small capillaries in the whites of them burst under the sudden increase in systolic blood pressure. Spock gasps and it's almost a sob.
Like something out of an old horror movie, Spock and the prisoner both begin to speak at the same time, as though with a shared voice.
"The frequency is subsonic," they whisper, strained and tortured in the dark.
Spock adjusts his hand, leaving green bruises in his wake as his fingertips quest for a deeper connection.
"Two bands," they groan. "Oscillations at point zero two and point one."
McCoy can feel a cold sweat spring up on his brow. "The carrier band, Spock! We need the frequency!" His urgency is born of a desire to end this swiftly.
Spock speaks alone, then. "He resists."
The unconscious Romulan continues to stare through them both, eyes fixed and pupils dilated.
Dreamlike and slow, Spock raises his left hand so that it frames the Romulan's face, a mirror image of the other hand. When it contacts the skin, they both cry out, anguished and dark as though broken beyond repair. A small trickle of green blood weaves its way from the Romulan's nostril, sliding down his cheek to disappear into the shadow of Spock's palm. McCoy swears under his breath and scrambles for his tricorder.
"Alpha nine," they gasp, "zero point six ... lambda four point two."
The second the precious frequency is revealed, the Romulan goes into fits, shaking Spock's hands free. McCoy tosses his pre-prepared hypos into his kit and slaps in a vial of anti-convulsants, administering a liberal dose.
"Spock, dammit, help me roll him over before he obstructs!"
When there is no response, McCoy casts around desperately only to find Spock has dug his heels into the dirt, scrabbling away into the shadows with the back of his hand pressed against his mouth as though he doesn't know whose voice will emerge if he takes it away.
-:-
Jim steps off the transporter pad and into the firm hands of Christine Chapel.
"You're a mess," she tells him, tricorder bleeping.
"You should see the other guy ... guys," he corrects himself, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm fine, seriously. Uhura and Chekov need you more."
Her eyes flick away to test the truth of that, then back, shrouded in apology.
"Told you," Jim croaks, feeling his chapped lips split as he forces a smile. "Although, if you can spare me a stim I won't complain."
"It'd be the first time ever that you don't bitch about a hypo," she sighs, shooting him up like she disapproves, even though it's clear his attempt at humour has reassured her.
Jim rubs absently at his neck, wondering if Chapel just has lighter hands or if the numbing cold still lingers to protect him from the sting. "What's our current ..."
"Lieutenant Kirk!" the XO exclaims, barreling into the transporter room. "The Captain wants you on the Bridge!"
" ... status," Jim finishes lamely.
"Now!" Harris insists when Jim hesitates.
"With all due respect to the Captain, I'm Acting DivCO, which means I've got pressing duties with Ops and a bunch of staff who need urgent debriefing."
"Forget all that!"
"Forget it?" Jim echoes in disbelief, finding a kernel of anger amongst the fatigue and leaning on it. "I've got a responsibility to my crews," he insists.
"Captain Taylor understands that."
"I'm just not so sure he does," Jim snaps, feeling the stim hit home, its harsh buzz lighting a fire under his disapproval. "Or else he wouldn't be stopping me from doing my job."
Harris grips him by the arm, his round face a little wide-eyed. "Captain said immediately, Lieutenant."
"Get your hands off me." He yanks his arm away but stalks towards the door. "I know what a chain of command is."
Harris jogs after him, his face like thunder, and Jim knows he's busy making an enemy out of a man who was previously, at worst, slightly hostile towards him. Unfortunately, his ability to be diplomatic is severely depleted by fatigue, free-fall and the awareness that Spock is about to do something that disgusts him, and that the last one is all his fault. He seethes all the way to the Bridge, wondering what possessed him to push so hard for that mind meld when the concept is so disturbing. He knows a little about Spock's inner landscape, is aware of the hesitancy with which he exposes it and the potential repercussions. He doesn't want Spock to close down even more and isn't comfortable with anyone else fucking around in there. Romulans are a Vulcanoid species, but it hadn't occurred to Jim to wonder if the meld might be dangerous for Spock, if the prisoner might damage him there, where nobody can even see.
"So stupid," he mutters under his breath to the closed turbolift doors. Harris glances at him sideways, but Jim ignores it, choosing to grind his teeth instead. "Damn."
"Lieutenant..."
"Not your business," Jim snaps, swallowing heavily and hoping like hell the universe owes him a favor. If not him, then surely Spock has racked up a few.
The doors swish open and they march onto the Bridge. Gaila gives him a little wave and he manages to nod back; none of this is her fault, after all.
Taylor pushes to his feet, swivelling the chair in his wake so that it sits askew, disrupting the line of the mezzanine. "Lieutenant Kirk, the Vulcan Ambassador and several senior officials have beamed aboard and are requesting your presence."
This stops Jim in his tracks. "Come again?"
The Captain grips him by the shoulder and steers him towards the ready room. "This way, son."
Jim barely has time to gather his scattered, frozen wits before he's face to face with Spock's dad and ...other Spock. "Hi," he says, feeling like the last few hours have caught up with him between one step and the next. He should have asked for a double dose of stims and fine tremors be damned.
Prime steps forwards, one hand outstretched for his elbow, and it's already such a familiar gesture that Jim moves into the touch without thinking. This has him being led to face the viewscreen where Captain Senekot is displayed in all his aloof Vulcan glory. Everyone nods at everyone else and Jim still has no fucking idea what is going on or why he's not in Ops figuring out who is dead and how to get those who aren't off the surface of Aspera.
"The tide of the battle is turning against Nero and his allies," Senekot informs them flatly, ignoring Jim's blatant surprise. "We anticipate he will be forced to execute a strategic retreat within the next nineteen point six minutes or face unacceptable losses."
"This only makes the situation more urgent," Prime replies, his fingers still lingering lightly on Jim's elbow. "We cannot allow him to leave."
"Wait a second." Jim scrunches his eyes in confusion. "What are you talking about? We're half a dozen ships with nearly fifty percent not graded for active combat and a Romulan retreat is a bad thing?"
Senekot eyes him coldly. "We have our reasons."
Jim shakes off Prime's touch altogether. "Look, I don't know why you asked me here, but I've got a job to do, so enough bullshit. Either you level with me, or I'm going to page sickbay for an update on my pilot and get my DivCO back in one piece. Oh, that's only after I figure out which evacuation scenario will result in the least loss of life here, and make that a reality."
Sarek arches one silvered eyebrow at him.
"I told you he would not simply bow to your authority," Prime announces, voice filled with restrained humor.
The three Vulcans exchange loaded glances while Taylor's mouth works in a way that suggests he's desperately trying to think of a contribution but doesn't want to interrupt. It's all Jim can do to avoid tapping his foot with impatience, his lips pressed together unhappily as he waits for a verdict when he doesn't even know the stakes. He's very conscious of the encrypted frequency and the limited amount of time they have to implement any intelligence Spock gains from their Romulan hostage. The thought of having Spock subject himself to that experience only to find it becomes pointless makes Jim grind his teeth.
Finally, Senekot frowns and then blanks his face entirely before speaking. "The signal you intercepted is directed through the rift at an alternate reality."
Jim blinks. "Okay."
"After learning of my existence, Nero is attempting to ascertain if I am a unique entity," Prime steps in. "He has employed this technique on three separate occasions that we are aware of; with each incidence designed to create a stable wormhole that facilitates the use of transporter technology. Although the repercussions of his success would be catastrophic, the theory upon which the technology is based and the drive required to implement it is truly remarkable. Nero has a peculiar brand of logic that all his own; one that makes him eminently predictable."
"One could hardly call it logic," Senekot objects.
Prime raises his eyes, fairly radiating confidence. "Although foreign to many Vulcans, the convoluted nature of the logic of a person's heart is nonetheless quite predictable. Emotion has its own rules and constraints; perhaps irrational to those so insulated from their own, but quite transparent to those who have experienced them fully."
"Then why is he searching for you?" Jim interjects, drawing the frowning attention of the other two Vulcans and feeling like he's the only person in the room who understands what Prime is trying to say. "If he'll risk losing ground just to transmit this signal through the closest rift that pops into existence, why is he looking for you?"
Prime turns all his calm certainty Jim's way. "Because he knows that one version of me holds that which is most dear to him."
"Revenge?"
"No, Jim," he shakes his head slowly. "His heart's desire; a chance for redemption."
Jim massages the bridge of his nose. "You said he's trying to make a wormhole. You said transporters. He's trying to beam someone from one universe to another? I'm no Engineer, but isn't that a little far fetched?"
"Nero lost a whole world, his whole life, along with the one thing he valued more than his own existence. He will stop at nothing, discount all risk, all repercussions, if it offers the slightest hope of regaining that, even in part." Although Prime's gaze rests lightly on everyone present, Jim knows the words are meant for him. "He cannot be allowed to succeed in this. The cost to others is too great a price for one man's grief."
"What are you to Nero?" Jim demands, brain working overtime to connect the dots. "I know you couldn't save Romulus, I know he blames you, but why is he looking for an alternate alternate you," he stumbles over the words and the concepts, "when there are at least two of you right here, in this universe?"
Prime seems to choose his words carefully. "My younger counterpart cannot assist and Nero is only newly aware of my existence. Spock's inability and my own unknown background have forced him to continue searching for the ideal alternate in the event that I am not the one."
"Are you?" Jim pins him with narrowed eyes. "The one?"
"I am." Prime looks suddenly sad.
"Candidate for what, exactly?" Jim patience is slipping away with each passing second.
"The Fal-tor-pan he wishes to perform on the innocent Romulan girl who, in my universe, became his wife."
All the Vulcans fall immediately and intensely silent at Prime's words. Harris and Taylor exchange anxious glances, and Jim's temper goes nuclear.
"Why is everyone missing the damn point? I don't even know what the hell a fal-tor-pan is, but I vote no." Jim grasps at air with frustrated hands. "We know what the signal’s purpose is, but has anyone considered what will happen to Aspera and everyone in the area if Nero succeeds in blasting the existing temporal rift even wider? Am I the only one worried about getting chewed up and spat out into an alternate universe? All we need is the exact frequency and we can ..." he falls silent as his comm chirps.
Alpha nine, zero point six, lambda four point two, Jim, McCoy says hurriedly. With oscillations on both bands at point zero two and point one. Copy?
"Loud and clear," he acknowledges. "Get the hell out of there and bring our new friend. We've got work to do. Kirk out."
"Jim ..." Prime begins cautiously.
"Captain Taylor," Jim redirects, putting his back to the rest of them. "Permission to sabotage that signal before it's too late?"
Taylor waits for the terse nods from Sarek and Senekot before agreeing. "Permission granted, Lieutenant."
Frustrated beyond belief, Jim turns on his heel and sweeps out of the ready room, hands balled to fists at his sides, a "fuck's sake!" whispered through clenched teeth as he makes the relative privacy of the turbolift. The verbal lapse makes him flush even harder when he realises Prime has trailed him so closely that he hasn't noticed until he turns. They stare at each across the small space.
"Why are you following me?" Jim demands.
"Because I cannot allow you to attempt this alone," the elderly Vulcan replies simply.
"How could you possibly know what I..."
"Jim," he interrupts. "I served with your alternate self for decades and knew him longer. There is very little about the workings of your mind that is unknown to me."
"I am not who you think I am," he counters, bunching the EVA suit over his own chest with an angry fist. "You've been stalking me my whole life, haven't you? Behind the scenes? Pretending like you know me, like there's something between us? Well, let me tell you something; whatever feelings of friendship I have towards you, whatever comfort I took from your mentorship back in Iowa, it's not real." Jim pauses to swallow his heart, which is racing in his throat. "You manufactured it, got inside my mind, used my vulnerabilities against me to create a connection that I never needed, one that would never have existed in this universe."
He's not yelling, he's too furious for that. Right up until this moment, he could swear he's never reexamined his relationship with Spock's alternate in light of his true identity. Suddenly, with stims in his bloodstream and his heart full of guilt over his DivCO, he defaults to the system he knows best; when in doubt, push away that which seems too close.
Prime's expression flickers minutely, too fast to identify the emotions present. "By now you have deduced that the only way to disrupt the signal integrity is to introduce a tachyon burst to the subspace regions surrounding the temporal rift, thus closing it. Given the risks inherent in such a maneuver, you have doubtless decided to implement your plan without assistance." Prime's eyes harden even as his lips form the slightest of fond smiles. "I will not permit you to endanger yourself in this manner."
Jim steps up, eyes fierce, pulse pounding behind his eyes. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do," he whispers tightly. "You're not my commanding officer, you're nothing to me."
"I am saddened to hear you say that, old friend," Prime says gruffly, eyes suspiciously bright. "I fear you will never forgive me for what comes next."
"What are you talking ..."
Prime's fingers and thumb close around the junction of his neck and shoulder and Jim slides instantly into blackness.
next
Soundtrack: I'm working on making more of the soundtrack available to members via the FTP site. It's kind of my little side project for this week. Converting everything to mp3 is a pain in the rear but kinder on bandwidth.