Ion Storm
They would pay.
Whoever had done this would pay. Had it been Spock? His loyalty, while not unquestioned, had always been obvious. Kirk had tested it many times, especially once he'd discerned his First Officer's ill-conceived attraction to him. Not that it was any surprise. There weren't many on the I.S.S. Enterprise who had not entertained thoughts, at one time or another, of being the Captain's Woman. Whatever their equipment. He smirked even as the transporter beam took him. These weaklings, releasing them back into the wild, the Vulcan's smokey eyes still on him, wanting him even in this pitiable world of peace and equality and unable to admit it even as a free man. Spock hadn't wanted power. Command. Credits.
He'd wanted Jim Kirk.
It was too bad Kirk hadn't had a chance to use that. Not in the brig, the field between them, the guards watching. Idiots. Perhaps he'd take his Spock, at last, in front of everyone, as a welcome home celebration. As punishment for sending him off to die. If it was a punishment the pointy-eared bastard would enjoy, well, even the subjugated races sometimes had pride and shame enough to hurt worse than what he himself could dish out. Or he could slide into Spock's quarters--Marlena manning the Field, naturally, in case of foul play--and strum the Vulcan until he sang like that stupid harp, stringing him along until Kirk decided just how exactly he wanted to reform the putty in his hands.
The devil alone knew what else had happened on his ship while he was being held in this nightmare world.
A world which dissolved around him, only to resolve into one with which he was equally unfamiliar...
Whoever had done this would pay. Had it been Spock? His loyalty, while not unquestioned, had always been obvious. Kirk had tested it many times, especially once he'd discerned his First Officer's ill-conceived attraction to him. Not that it was any surprise. There weren't many on the I.S.S. Enterprise who had not entertained thoughts, at one time or another, of being the Captain's Woman. Whatever their equipment. He smirked even as the transporter beam took him. These weaklings, releasing them back into the wild, the Vulcan's smokey eyes still on him, wanting him even in this pitiable world of peace and equality and unable to admit it even as a free man. Spock hadn't wanted power. Command. Credits.
He'd wanted Jim Kirk.
It was too bad Kirk hadn't had a chance to use that. Not in the brig, the field between them, the guards watching. Idiots. Perhaps he'd take his Spock, at last, in front of everyone, as a welcome home celebration. As punishment for sending him off to die. If it was a punishment the pointy-eared bastard would enjoy, well, even the subjugated races sometimes had pride and shame enough to hurt worse than what he himself could dish out. Or he could slide into Spock's quarters--Marlena manning the Field, naturally, in case of foul play--and strum the Vulcan until he sang like that stupid harp, stringing him along until Kirk decided just how exactly he wanted to reform the putty in his hands.
The devil alone knew what else had happened on his ship while he was being held in this nightmare world.
A world which dissolved around him, only to resolve into one with which he was equally unfamiliar...