The Shades of Black and Scarlet
Title: The Shades of Black and Scarlet
Fandom: ST XI Mirrorverse
Beta: secret_chord25
Pairing: Mirror!Pike/Spock, Pike/Spock implied
Rating: R
Warnings: non-con implied, dub-con, torture/violence implied, underage sexual abuse implied. None of it particularly descriptive, but you know, it's there.
Word count: 4230
Summary: Written for the prompt: Mirror!Pike captures nu!Spock and wants to kill him in revenge to his ex-lover who left him. But then Mirror!Pike realizes he can have this Spock all to himself, as the Vulcan has no allies in the Mirrorverse. Spock misses his Chris but can't stay indifferent to this one; cue: angst.
Notes: Written for kamiyo who won my help_chile auction: thank you very much for your donation!
This turned out to be more of a character study than smex, I'm not quite sure how we drifted there. I'm afraid my own vision of the Mirrorverse and the characters clashed a little with what you wanted to see, and I apologize if this is made of fail. It's not 'cause I don't love you, BB.)
A hand slides slowly up his thigh, over the curve of his hip, until it feels comfortable enough to rest in the bend of his waist. Spock wakes up, just barely. He knows this hand - the wide, calloused palm familiar to the last fingertip; the soft, sleepy whisper of rougher skin against the tenderness of his own. Spock had woken up a thousand times to this particular set of sensations, always welcome...
Until now.
Pike is still asleep, spooning up behind him. Spock stares into space, waiting for him to wake. Sometimes Spock is so exhausted he doesn’t pay heed to those subtle signs and sleeps through them, often to discover himself being fucked in a clumsy, unhurried kind of morning pace when he opens his eyes, face pressed into the pillows. It had been months since he put up any kind of resistance. It’s far easier, quicker, and more logical to simply let the human take what he wants and start another day.
The rhythm of Pike’s breath changes noticeably, indicating his slide back to the world of consciousness. His hand moves with intent now, pushing Spock’s hip forward, positioning him. The movements are automatic, unthinking, Pike’s mind still half-asleep, and the way he enters Spock is more of a mindless reflex, making it more uncomfortable than usual. Pike could be quite rough during the nighttime, but he always knows what he’s doing. Mornings are for satisfying the basic, animalistic need, not for mind games.
A wave of pain washes over Spock that has nothing to do with the physical. He and Chris never had time for morning sex. There was always an early shift or matters of propriety or some kind of emergency. They seldom even slept together through the night. They had their duties, work to be done, lives to be saved, and as a reward, they had each other - stolen moments of pure bliss, spiked with guilt and raw with feeling.
Spock closes his eyes, feeling traitorous moist gathering in them. Remembering his past life only serves to bring more pain into his current existence. This is not his universe, and everyone he has met here is a twisted, perverted reflection of the people Spock used to know.
The worst part of it is - it’s not their fault. Spock thinks of the butterfly effect as Pike moves behind him, hand digging into the porcelain skin of Spock’s hip; bruises upon bruises. Something happened the wrong way when this universe was created. A photon swirling to the left instead of to the right; the first spark of sentient life sharpening stones and sticks for weapons, not instruments of labor; a woman denying love to the wrong person at a wrong time; any or all creating a universe where people are forced to make choices that rip their souls apart.
It’s perhaps the hardest thing to take - that Spock can still see his Chris in the man who kidnapped him by accident and kept him for no other purpose than his own entertainment. The Spock of this realm had been Pike’s lover, too, only to mutiny against his captain when the moment seemed right, joining forces with this version of James Kirk. Both were outcasts in the Imperial Fleet now, probably plotting their own revenge.
Captain Pike of the ISS Enterprise doesn’t forgive traitors. Spock read his fate in Pike’s face the moment he materialized in this universe, even though, back then, he didn’t know the reason. But the split second of confusion that made Spock utter unconsciously, ‘Chris’ had saved his life. As it turned out, Spock’s counterpart had never called Pike that.
There were moments when Spock wished he had never spoken that word.
He’s been subjected to this Pike a long time now. He’s seen enough. But nothing pains him more than when - just for a moment - the captain’s expression would soften and a familiar glint would appear in his vast, unreadable eyes that would inevitably remind Spock of Chris. It’s nature versus nurture, and Spock can see - unfortunately - he really can see his Chris reacting the way this ruthless captain did if Chris had been subjected to what this Pike had been.
Pike’s parents were imprisoned for debt when he was twelve. They died two years later, with the debt barely repaid in third, and his twelve-year-old sister was sold into an Orion brothel to cover the rest of the sum. His elder brother was killed in a knife fight over who should have been served first in a filthy little bar back in Sacramento. And Pike - he managed to score a favor with George Kirk himself, the golden boy of the Imperial Fleet.
George Kirk was known for his insatiable appetites and a taste for sadism. Normally, his lovers didn’t last a year, but Pike managed to survive for three, until he turned seventeen and George lost interest in him in that way. There were old, star-shaped scars marring Pike’s chest where George liked to put out his cigarettes, and some deeper, uglier ones along his ribs. But in Pike’s view, ‘a little pain’ was worth the advantage of being fed, watered, and protected, because nobody dared touch what was Kirk’s. And when Pike nearly died from the injuries George bullied the medical staff from putting on record, George made it up to him by hauling him into the Imperial Academy and making them accept their youngest cadet to date without the entrance fee.
Pike was a smart kid. Acing his exams wasn’t enough, and so when George cut him loose, he had long been scoring other favors. Sometimes by dropping his pants and bending over; sometimes by taking a weapon that would get him executed if he was found in possession of it and taking care of whoever his current patron asked him to. He was seventeen when he first killed a man, and his hands didn’t shake as he made sure there was no evidence left.
Spock pieced Pike’s life together, bit by bit, revealed to him slowly as the time of his captivity unfolded. Pike had always been guarding his thoughts too zealously to allow anything slip through casual contact, but there was a reason why Pike had only had one Vulcan lover before Spock. There was a moment, as he reached completion, when his barriers collapsed and his mind lay bare for the taking. Spock didn’t dive into it on purpose, but he didn’t block what was transmitted, either. At first, he was too weak to focus. And later...
Later, he concluded that the information was worth the price his body had to pay for it.
That was how he knew that a certain Orion brothel was burned to the ground with someone making sure the proprietors couldn’t get out or die from simply inhaling smoke. Young Lieutenant Pike, who had no business being there, stood watching, listening to their screams. The whole time, he stood holding up an intoxicated woman, her eyes permanently dilated from the addictive drugs that insured her compliance. She didn’t know him, and Pike almost didn’t recognize her, but he was certain to make his knife go directly through her heart. It made her death as quick and painless as possible, even if she was long past the ability to feel pain.
That image had shaken Spock to the core, for he knew Melanie - she was the sweetest, gentlest person he had ever met, and Chris adored his little sister, spoiled her. It was terrifying beyond any realm of chaos to see the same deep, real affection manifest in this act of mercy and self-preservation both. Those who intended to rise in the ranks in the Imperial Fleet should have no weaknesses - even if her health wasn’t all but destroyed by her owners, she was doomed. But she died a free woman from a loving hand, and what little was left of Pike’s heart by that moment had died there with her.
Pike pushes Spock all the way down to his stomach and settles on top of him, fucking him in earnest now. Spock hugs the pillow, his body not even tensing up.
“Damn, you’re such a slut.”
Spock closes his eyes again. Pike despises him. His lack of resistance aggravates this man, who never once gave up for no reason. He reads Spock’s indifference to what’s happening to him as surrender and scorns the Vulcan for it.
Spock knows that Pike is wrong; surrender has nothing to do with it. But Pike - this Pike - will never understand that, so Spock doesn’t even try. He takes it and waits, always waits, and sometimes it seems to him that his wait will never be over.
He was drugged the first time Pike had taken him, the unknown chemicals heightening sensations and making Spock nauseous, sharpening the pain - more mental than physical. The very realization of what was happening to him was devastating enough, and when he finally closed his eyes, he didn’t expect to ever be able to open them.
‘You had a chance to force a meld on me,’ Pike barked. ‘You didn’t take it. Why?’
Spock blinked as the harsh voice greeted him back to consciousness. Several hours into his capture, he was already figuring out the inner workings of this murky place. He had no choice.
‘You would have stopped me.’
Pike sneered. ‘Naturally. Had a team of telepaths waiting behind the door. They’re Vulcans, but loyal to me, not to Spock. I give them minds they can devour. Spock’s ‘hygiene protocols’ can be damn handy sometimes, especially when I need Vulcan recruits.’
He looked at Spock sternly. ‘Why? And don’t make me repeat myself; it won’t do you any good.’
Spock swallowed. ‘Such an act would be unethical.’
Pike blinked. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Spock struggled to clarify. ‘It would be... like a rape.’
‘So? It never stopped you before.’
Spock stared at him in undisguised horror and something in his look must have gotten to Pike. He gaped at his prisoner incredulously.
‘You mean, in your universe, you’ve never-?’
‘It is a form of violence.’ Spock held his eyes to Pike’s. ‘Vulcans are pacifists.’
Pike, clearly taken by surprise, laughed out loud. There was no humor in his laughter - only savage incredulity.
‘The same Vulcans who gave humans the warp drive so that we could help them obliterate the Andorians? Oh, wait.’ He raised a hand. ‘Let me guess. In your universe, you’re best buds or something?’
‘There is no Empire. We have a Federation-’
‘Of weak-minded fools,’ Pike finished for him, lips curving in disgust.
Just like you.
And so it began: the testing. Pain, and more pain; constant assault and violence; the day Spock spent in the agony booth; the day he spent ‘entertaining’ the crew; violations of every sort, too numerous to count - Pike tested him every minute of every day, waiting for Spock to lose it, to lash out, seeking to provoke him to reveal his ‘true self.’
Pike was not prepared for Spock’s silent, non-resistant defiance. His own Spock had never been that patient.
His own Spock had never met Nero.
The Spock of this realm was cunning and cruel in his own dispassionate way. He was also ambitious. He and Pike became lovers as a result of a simple agreement; an arrangement of convenience. Pike knew his Spock was using him, knew he was taking a risk by keeping the Vulcan close, but that knowledge only served to fuel the flames.
Spock saw in his keeper’s mind and felt it acutely in his own how slowly Pike was corrupted; how Spock’s darker version made him feel again. Spock had to give it to his counterpart: he had achieved an incredible feat. Not only did he succeed in seducing his captain - he actually made Pike fall in love with him. The strength of feeling that this universe’s Spock inspired in Pike was so powerful that Pike couldn’t kill him in the end. He’d had the opportunity, had the weapon in his hand - and couldn’t do it.
Pike would have killed Kirk if he had him cornered, but Kirk was too smart for that. He wasn’t stupid enough to let his former captain catch up with him after Kirk’s attempt to take over the ship failed. He took Spock instead, and fled.
Spock doesn’t know what it is that makes Pike keep him alive. At first, Spock suspected some twisted sense of revenge, but the thought was fleeting. Had that been the case, Pike would have disposed of him months ago. Besides, Christopher Pike seemed to be a man of integrity in any universe. He might be a ruthless murderer, but he isn’t prone to becoming obsessed.
Spock was compared - is compared - to his counterpart constantly and is always found lacking. Why Pike keeps him is a mystery Spock can’t crack. Sometimes, he even thinks it might be logic, as simple as the fact that Pike finds Spock attractive and is familiar with his body. Most importantly, Pike feels no threat coming from Spock, since the stranded half-Vulcan has no one to turn to in this entire realm.
Not being considered a threat helps Spock regain some measure of self-respect and righteous anger, and aids him in coming up with his own, however insane, agenda.
Spock’s logic is simple, even linear. This universe had never known Nero. In this universe, Vulcan survived. And if Spock’s fate was never to escape this dark reflection of the world he knew and loved, he would not stay idle and see it crumble.
Empires based on terror are illogical; he is surprised that his counterpart hadn’t realized that. But if he had and if he was doing something about it, Spock has no way of knowing this and therefore can’t count on it. He has to take matters in his own hands. If he ensures the aide of one of the most powerful Fleet captains, he could start planning the realization of these changes. There is but one small problem.
In the universe where trust is almost a mythical concept, he has to make Christopher Pike trust him.
It seems next to impossible, but Spock has things that keep his hope alive. Things… Unlike his hope to ever be rescued.
At first, he was waiting every day, every conscious minute, for someone to come to his aide. He had pulled his captain from a great deal of tight spots and Jim Kirk had always returned the favor - until now. Whatever unique set of circumstances Pike had used that brought Spock here, they were obviously no longer present. The hope that Jim would come for him had been fading slowly until finally, it was no more. And Chris - his Chris - was no longer in any condition to pull the universe inside-out to get to Spock.
It had been ten months. They had clearly given up on him, which for Spock meant only one thing:
They didn’t need him anymore.
He knew his friends on the Enterprise must have been sad to see him go, but he obviously wasn’t terribly essential to them. By now, Jim had probably found a new chess partner. And Chris…
Chris had been distant for quite some time before Spock’s abduction. He said he didn’t blame Spock for following his orders and leaving Chris with Nero, but as the time went on, Spock began to doubt if Chris was being sincere. He couldn’t help but run a constant comparison of how relaxed and happy Chris seemed whenever he was in Jim’s presence, as opposed to the sad, mildly tense smile he had saved for Spock most of those days. After all, Spock had left him and Jim had saved him. Some days, Spock wondered if the situation was as simple as that.
This Chris - whom Spock mentally calls Pike for the sake of his sanity - this Chris needs him.
Even if he doesn’t know it yet.
It doesn’t mean Spock doesn’t want to go back, because he does - desperately. His lost world is a constant heartbreak, tugging in his chest, making his teeth ache. But they didn’t come back for him. They didn’t. Most likely unwillingly, but they had abandoned him - Chris, Jim, Nyota, his father, and everyone he had ever called a friend. He was probably long listed as a casualty and put out of their minds.
He doesn’t want to hate them for it; truly, he doesn’t. But every time Pike places an agonizer to his chest; every time he is raped yet again; every time his mental shields crumble at the oppression of the horrible reality that surrounds him - he can’t help it. He wouldn’t ask for Chris to love him again; he wouldn’t ask for Jim’s friendship - they were obviously too tired of him, and he wouldn’t ask anything of anyone. If only he could go back, he would swear it on the rip in space that was his mother’s grave that he would never ask anyone for anything again...
Atop him, Pike rushes to completion, and Spock clenches his muscles to bring the human off faster. Pike bites his shoulder as he comes without meaning to, this time.
Spock misses being kissed. He can barely remember the last time. On a Starbase, before they shipped off to Vega, and it was very casual and calm - an obligatory goodbye gesture rather than an expression of affection.
Pike, of course, has never once kissed him. Spock doubts he even knows how. Not that Spock wants it from him; he isn’t that far-gone. He just... misses it. He never thought he’d miss kisses, of all things.
“I swear you’re getting thinner,” Pike grunts, pulling out of him and getting to his feet. “If you don’t eat, I’ll get someone to feed you. I’m not done with you yet.”
Nor I with you, Spock thinks, watching the captain disappear into the shower. He sits up on the bed, ignoring the discomfort, and wraps the sheets around himself, searching for residual warmth. He’s always cold now. He suspects that last night, when he had trouble breathing, was just the first time of many.
Sometimes, Spock thinks he is deluded if he hopes Chris Pike will ever trust him. He only has to remind himself that he’s already third-way there.
For one, Pike didn’t kill him. He continued to test Spock up till the moment when he locked Spock up with a vicious-looking Klingon female. Pike’s voice boomed over both of them, informing them that whichever one killed the other would be set free. It seemed to be the only encouragement the Klingon needed to attack.
Spock had no intention of killing anyone over a phantom chance for freedom. It was highly unlikely Pike would keep his word, for he had no logical reason to, and this universe didn’t operate on honesty. Spock tried to convey as much to his opponent, but she was deaf to his words, lashing out at him again and again. His noble intentions resulted in him being sprawled on the floor and strangled by a pair of very strong hands.
When the darkness before his eyes melted away, Spock saw Pike standing over the Klingon’s motionless body, wiping his dagger.
‘You were really going to let her kill you,’ Pike said, with incredulous disdain. ‘Are you a coward or an idiot?’
Soon afterwards, Spock was assigned a room instead of a cell. It was under guard at all times, but at least it had a bathroom. Pike came there two or three times a day to take what he wanted, but he never stayed. The first time that happened, Spock didn’t even realize it at first, because Pike had brought toys with him and when he was spent himself, he used them on Spock until Spock passed out from exhaustion and sensory overload. He woke up to find Pike watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.
‘You could have killed me in my sleep,’ he said, voice ringing with tension. ‘And those guards’ - he nodded toward the door - ‘you could have probably taken them, or at least have tried. You didn’t.’ His eyes hardened to a diamond-like sheen. ‘Why?’
Spock shivered from the cold and fatigue that had nothing to do with physical exertion. He was tempted. It was a shameful, horrifying realization, but he was - he really was tempted. The guards would have probably killed him; perhaps not instantly, but before he had a chance to ensure his freedom.
But this man, whose face transformed in Spock’s dreams into the one he loved - this man would have been dead, and there was a savage, furious part of Spock that had no more sacred a wish...
‘I am not a murderer.’
Pike was still staring at him, attentive. ‘Then you are a dead man. This is the way we guarantee our safety here. This is the way we live.’
Spock held his eyes. ‘There is another way,’ he said quietly. ‘There is no need for constant bloodshed. It is-’ He paused, searching for a word. ‘Inefficient.’
‘Inefficient?’ Pike raised his eyebrows in plain disbelief. ‘And you’re what, a master of efficiency?’
‘I am still alive, am I not?’
‘A situation I can remedy at any time.’
‘Can you?’
‘Yes,’ Pike started, but suddenly stopped.
‘Can you?’ Spock repeated, holding his eyes.
Because there were two Spocks in this universe, and they were both still alive without a single logical reason to be.
Pike blinked, standing still for a moment longer. Then he jerked his head briskly to the side, and walked out.
It happened three months ago, and from then on, Pike turned up to stay for the night at least two or three times a week. The sex wasn’t always so rough, and most of the time, Pike wasn’t deliberately cruel - merely selfish and somewhat clinical. Detached. Unless of course Pike was drunk and wanted Spock to respond to him, played him skillfully until Spock did, until he came with a helpless, broken ‘Chris’ sliding of his tongue, each orgasm more powerful than the last and tasting bitter because Spock was betraying his Chris with every single one...
Even if Chris didn’t want him anymore.
The captain appears from the bathroom, looking composed and alert. He belts his dagger to his thigh and signals his personal guard to attend. He stares at Spock as he waits.
“You know,” Pike says, almost too casually, “I’ve decided I’ve had enough of you spending your days in bed like a fucking princess.”
Spock is cautiously silent, hardly daring to breathe. Pike squints at him, a slight grimace of distaste creasing his features.
“I’ll talk to my XO; he’ll find you a job. Somewhere where you’ll be supervised at all times.” Pike’s gaze turns harder. “And if you even think of doing anything stupid-”
“Such as killing anyone to escape?” Spock lets slip, before he can stop himself.
Pike’s eyes narrow. But then his lips twitch slightly, and Spock can breathe again.
“I’ll figure you out, sooner or later,” Pike promises, low and deadly. “And then, I will break you.”
Spock doesn’t answer as he watches Pike go, doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. Alone, he tugs his knees closer to his chest, forcing himself to stop suppressing the shivers.
Pike can’t figure him out and most certainly can’t break him - no one can break that which is already broken beyond repair. Spock thinks of Chris and the way he used to smile at the strangest things; the way Chris used to run his hand through Spock’s hair affectionately; the way they could say nothing at all the whole night long, letting their bodies speak for them; the way Chris filled Spock’s whole being with love with a simple touch of his hand.
It’s all gone forever now, because, unlikely as it seemed, Spock has just been accepted into this reality of distorted light. He cannot turn back now even if he had a place to which he could return. To someone who’d wait for him on the other side; someone who, perhaps, has never been here.
Spock sighs, unfolding himself with effort and heading for the shower. He must succeed. If this kind of universe is the only one he deserves, he has to try and make it a better place, even if he won’t be there to share the victory. Even if this mad man’s plan is the only thing that’s still keeping him sane.
Revolutions are made by small groups of people, not armies. One man with a vision could be just about enough, if he is someone like Spock. He has to believe in that. There will be blood on his hands before this is over; a lot of it. The thought isn’t as chilling as it used to be, and Spock asks himself, vaguely, if there’s a name for what he is turning into.
The bathroom welcomes him with the same smell of pine-flavored soap Chris has always used, and Spock closes his eyes, unwilling to look in the mirror. He thinks of the Winter Ball at Starfleet Headquarters, of the mistletoe, and of the way Chris’s lips felt against his for the very first time. At least his Chris will never know.
Spock turns the hot water on full spread, saying goodbye to small mercies.
Yep, that's it. You may officially hate me now.