[Fic] Under the Dark [Chapter Three]

[kototyph]

Under the Dark
kototyph
» Fandom: Star Trek (STXI Universe)
» Classification(s): Supernatural, Mystery, Suspense, Romance, Action/Adventure
» Summary: Spock might be Riverside's first ever vampire, but forgive Deputy Kirk for not being overly enthusiastic about it.


Chapter Three - Extenuating Circumstances

"Jim?" someone asked. It was a familiar voice, rough with fatigue and surprise. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was Bones crouched over him with an annoyed frown, still in scrubs and smelling faintly of disinfectant. He said, "Did you-? Did you fall asleep on the porch?"

Hmm. Well, actually, the last thing he remembered doing was dying on the side of the road, but here was Bones and there went the jingle of the windchime that had hung from the eves since his childhood, and if he turned his head he could see through the railings and into the front yard.

Yep. Definitely the porch.

"… dunno," Jim admitted. He felt clear-headed but kitten-weak, like the first few lucid days after a fever. "Maybe?"

"Jim…" The annoyance on his friend's face was dissolving into worry as he watched Jim prop himself into a sitting position on shaky arms, took in his thready tone and torn clothes. He cupped a hand under Jim's chin and tilted his head up to the light shining through the glass panes of the door. "Are you-?" He sucked in a startled breath. "Ah, Christ, you're bleeding."

"Huh?" Jim tried to look down at himself despite Bones' grip. "Where?"

Bones' hand slid to his chest and pushed him down again, gently but firmly. "It's your head. I want you to lie back, nice and slow, and I'm gonna go put on the porch light, alright?"

"Mmkay." Jim settled back obediently, and almost immediately became engrossed in the flaking paint of the porch roof. His vision seemed to hyperfocus on each small imperfection in the old, cream-colored wash, tiny details so clear and crisp that it gave him a dizzying sensation of vertigo. He let his head fall to the side and that was worse- every chip and crack in the balustrade, every blade of grass in the yard stood out in sharp contrast to the next, as if each individual piece of the universe was spotlit independently of the others. It made his head ache with the intensity of it, especially when the wind picked up and the grass became a frothing sea of movement.

While Jim stared out into the dark yard and realized he could count all the petals on his mother's pansies in the front beds, Bones had risen and walked out of his line of sight. The quiet snick of the door latching told Jim he'd gone inside the house. He heard the pipes running somewhere inside, and a few clinks and thumps from inside the house as Bones messed around… probably getting hot water or something equally 'Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman'.

Sure enough, when the man stepped back outside Jim saw the towel and bowl in his hands. When Bones reached back into the mudroom to flick on the porch light- which was fucking blinding, ow ow ow- a bit of water lapped over the edge and Jim could see each tiny drop blaze like a miniature sun as it fell.

He must have said that 'ow ow ow' part out loud, because the light blinked off quickly. "Jim?"

"Sorry, sorry," he groaned, waving a hand with the other clamped protectively over his eyes. "It was just a little bright, after. You know."

Bones made a sympathetic noise, but said, "I need the light, Jimmy, it's blacker than a coal mine at midnight out here. Keep your hand up and your eyes closed."

He did, but still winced when even under his hand the insides of his lids lit up bright red and burning.

Somewhere above him, Bones sucked in a startled breath and swore loudly. "Holy Mother of God, kid, what the hell have you been doing to yourself?"

A very good question, that. Nothing seemed to be wrong, per se; his eyes were a bit-tweaked, and his muscles felt tight, and a little sore. Like he'd forgotten to stretch before a hard run, or something. Despite that, and very recent and visceral memories of broken bones and torn flesh, he wasn't in any pain. He frowned and squirmed a bit on the hard plank floor, testingly. "'M okay, I think. Nothing hurts."

A hand pressed him down, holding him in place. "Just shut the hell up and stay still," Bones said, not unkindly. "I'll be the judge of whether or not you're okay, and with the amount of blood on your face I'm leaning toward no."

"I'm fine," he insisted, which was probably a lie, but he honestly had no idea. There was a strange cloying aftertaste in his mouth that clung to his throat when he swallowed against it, but he wasn't going to think about that. Ever, if possible.

Bones grunted noncommittally. "Then a quick check won't hurt."

Much to the other man's loudly-voiced surprise, the blood caking Jim's forehead was not hiding a gaping head wound, and the bloody tears in his shirt and jeans revealed only unmarked skin. Bones checked and rechecked, carefully prodding at Jim's ribs and hairline, feeling along the long bone of his femur and rotating his knees experimentally.

"Didya beat the shit out of someone?" he asked bemusedly as he helped Jim to his feet. "Are there bodies we should be burying?"

Somewhere along the line Jim's eyes had stopped stinging, but the world still looked a little off. Skewed. The shadows didn't lay quite right and in some of them Jim swore he saw movement, little flickers of light and breath like the trees and patio furniture had heartbeats. The junebugs left ultraviolet trails behind them as they wove lovestruck around the porchlight. Bones put a steadying hand on his shoulder and Jim saw every flexing tendon and pulsing vein like they were made of neon, limned in gold. He was afraid to look at his friend's face.

"Uh," he said belatedly, realizing that Bones was staring at him, waiting for an answer. But what could he say? Yeah, about all this. Nancy Crater ran me over and- no, no, I'm okay, Spock dosed me up with v-juice. Get this, it gave me x-ray vision!

"I don't really remember?" he tried.

Bones didn't believe him, he saw that. The man went off again, lecturing on the dangers of recreational violence as he tugged an unresisting Jim through the mudroom and into the kitchen. There, under the strong overhead lights, the strange visions- hallucinations?- seemed to die back to an uneasy stirring at the edges of his eyesight. Jim sat through another thorough examination and tried to convince himself that the photos on the wall weren't glowing; the headshot of his dad in uniform was especially bright.

"There's nothing here," Bones finally admitted, setting his bowl of soiled water aside and taking the chair next to Jim. "Absolutely nothing."

The man sounded almost put out. "And that's a good thing, right?"

The comment earned him another healthy glare. "When you wake up covered in blood and can't remember how it got there, it's not a good thing, Jim. Even if there's no physical trauma-"

"Bones!" There were some serious drawbacks to having friends who actually gave a shit, who felt obligated to help all the time. "I don't feel like I'm dying or anything. Honest. And I'm pretty sure I haven't killed anybody."

Bones made a disgusted sound and slumped back in his seat, looking horrifically tired now that the Vegas lightshow under his skin had dimmed. The plain blue scrubs he wore were clean but sharply creased, probably the ones he kept in his trunk for the bad days when he didn't want to come home to Joanna smelling like other people's pain.

"Bad day?" Jim asked softly, leaning back in his own chair.

Bones gave a broken chuckle. "Yeah. Got worse when I saw you laid out like roadkill on the damn porch."

A little too apt for comfort, that. "I can get you a beer," he offered.

"Naw." Bones rolled his head forward, stretching out cramped muscles. "Think I'll grab Jo and head out. Feel like sleeping in my own bed tonight."

"I'll get her," he said, rising, but Bones grabbed his arm and tugged him back.

"Better not let her see you like that," he said gruffly. "I'll get her, and you get her things from the living room."

Jojo was not a light traveler. Just as Jim had finished collecting all the modeling clay, pipe cleaners and Crayola markers scattered throughout the lower level of house, Bones was coming back down the stairs with his daughter curled into his shoulder, sound asleep and adorable in froggy footie pajamas. He met Jim's smile with a small one of his own, and as they passed through the darkened foyer and out the front door the shadows around his head brightened into a halo.

Jim settled the art supplies into the trunk as Bones laid Jo's limp body across the back seat and shut the car door as softly as possible. The man gave him a little wave as he circled around to climb into the driver's seat, and Jim whispered, "G'night, Bones."

He'd turned to walk back to the house when Bones' voice stopped him. "Hey, Jim?"

He looked back. "Yeah?"

From across the roof of the car, Bones' eyes searched his face, puzzlement and worry in equal measures. He didn't say anything for a moment, didn't seem to know what to say.

"You know you can count on me," he said quietly, finally. "Whatever's going on."

"… Yeah. I know."

Bones' expression, wreathed in that strange corona of bright shadows, said, Do you?

The x-ray vision, if that's what it was, faded as the sun rose, and Jim felt almost normal as he drove to work- a bit lethargic and disconnected, like he'd taken too much cough medicine, but well within the bounds of human average. He rolled the windows down to try and blow some of the cobwebs out, and almost instantly regretted it; even at eight in the morning the atmosphere was already sticky-hot and disgusting. Where was their goddamn rain?

He was sitting at his desk in the county's Washington headquarters when the call came in, staring blearily down at his cold coffee and donut and pretending there weren't ten forms for every bullet he'd fired at the Craters stacked next to them. Sulu's desk abutted Jim's in their tiny closet of an office, and Chekov's temporary berth was a sliver of Jim's workspace that normally went unused, so when the phone rang all three of them reached for their receivers.

"Hello?"

"Yeah?"

"Da?"

Sulu was the lucky winner, and he grinned at Jim and Chekov's irritated faces as he said, "Yes, Sulu here." He braced the phone against his ear with a shoulder and started rifling through the empty soda cans and case dockets littering his messy desktop. "Yes, sir. Just a minute." He looked up, and mouthed, Paper?

Jim chucked a notepad at his head and Sulu caught it, as smooth as if they'd practiced. "Alright, go ahead," he said, and stuck his tongue out. Jim gave him the finger.

As Sulu listened, though, his expression grew more grave, and when his eyes flicked up to meet Jim's they looked troubled. He bent to scribble something out on the paper, nodding to himself. "Yep. Yes sir, will do. Twenty minutes tops, sir."

He hung up and looked back to Jim. "You live on the east end of 130th, right?'

Jim straightened in his chair. "Close enough. Why, what's up?"

"They found Nancy Crater." Sulu was already standing and pulling open a drawer to grab his sidearm. "She drove in her car through the guardrails just off 130th and Willow. Sheriff says to come quick, and bring the new guy."

Jim's mouth went dry, but he managed a gruff "Gotcha," and a terse "Grab your gear" to Chekov. They had to wait for the boy to dig out his own piece, and then for him to find his holster. When they entered the carpark, Chekov trailing a little ways behind them as he struggled to fasten his gun and radio in place, he asked eagerly, "Can I drive?"

"No," Jim and Sulu answered in perfect unison.

It was surreal, looking down into the same ravine he'd climbed all over as a child and seeing the mangled wreck of the Craters' Buick at the very bottom, twenty feet shy of the water's edge. It was wrapped around the huge gnarled oak Sam had fallen from in the summer after third grade, breaking an arm and a collarbone. Nancy had fared significantly worse, if the covered stretcher making its way up the steep slope was anything to go by. As they passed M'Benga and his med tech minions, Jim saw that the shape under the bag seemed to be missing a few essential limbs, and shivered.

"What I don't understand," Pike was saying as they drew within earshot, "is how she managed to miss all these trees up here and smack into this one. There's no trail through the underbrush, no tire marks in the sand, nothing."

"Maybe she floored it off the edge," Giotto suggested. "Coulda flown right over them."

"Could have," the sheriff allowed, tone heavy with doubt. He glanced up, spotted the newly arrived group and waved them over to where he and Giotto stood next to the wreckage. "Afternoon, deputies."

"Good afternoon, sheriff!" Chekov responded joyfully, and Pike's eyebrows hiked up. He looked over at Jim, who only rolled his eyes.

A sly grin quirked Pike's mouth for the briefest part of a second before he responded. "Glad to have you with us, Deputy Chekov. I've got a special assignment for you and Deputy Sulu, if you're feeling up to it."

"Oh, yes, sir!" The Russian was practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

The sheriff clapped him companionably on the shoulder. "Excellent. Y'see, deputy, we've recovered most of the late Mrs. Crater from the car, but we're out a few pieces. Would you boys mind looking around for-" Here he made a show of consulting his clipboard and flipping a few pages up and down. "Ah, yes. Her head."

Sulu's lip curled, and even Chekov seemed to wilt a bit at that. "Her… her head?" he said uncertainly.

Pike nodded solemnly, the hint of a twinkle in his eye. "Seems that the force of impact may have severed it and ejected it from the vehicle. We're pretty sure we've got the right gal, but without a head it's been hard to make a positive identification of the remains."

"Oh," Chekov said, gazing around them at the thick summer brush and muddy river channels. "Then, I will do my best, sir!" he stated, straightening to his full 5'7" and looking fierce.

Sulu looked down at his polished regulation boots, already scuffed and dirty from their descent into the ravine, and scowled in disgust. "I knew I should have brought galoshes."

The two of them snapped on gloves and moved out to join the rest of the search party, disappearing from sight almost immediately in the bushy undergrowth. Jim stayed where he was, obeying Pike's unspoken order to remain behind.

The man pulled off his Smokey Bear and ran a hand over his hair, looking around at the busy teams working to clear the area and secure the totaled Buick for towing. "M'Benga estimates time of death at before midnight last night, so I figure it's worth asking if anyone up at the house heard anything."

Jim shook his head. "If they did, they didn't say anything at breakfast."

"Hmm," Pike said noncommittally. "And you include yourself in that?"

"Yep. No bumps in the night that I noticed."

The sheriff nodded. "And you haven't seen that vampire of yours around?" he asked, casual as an a-bomb.

Jim ducked his head a bit, playing up the little 'aw, shucks' smile on his face. "Can't say that I remember being in possession of a vampire, sir."

Pike raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to have a grown-up talk, Jim. I know you're capable."

The smile evaporated. "Yes, sir," Jim said.

Pike heaved a sigh, and settled the hat back on his head. "You're young, Jim. Fifty years ago a vampire sighting two counties over would have sent the whole town into a blind panic. Thirty years ago we were all but at war with them. Now... well." He laughed, short and hollow. "Now they're making guest appearances on Oprah and running for Congress. Shit."

"Times are changing, sheriff."

"That they are, son. But that doesn't change the facts, and the facts here are that Nancy Crater made a vampire very, very angry and now she is very, very dead. Think about it," Pike said, fixing Jim with a look that willed him to understand. "Even for a drop this size, there's just too much damage to the car, to the body, for this to have been an accident."

Jim gazed steadily back. "What are you saying, sir?"

Pike looked back at the car, rapping his knuckles on the twisted metal of the hood. "I'm saying that you need to be careful, deputy."

And that Jim couldn't argue with. If the vampire had staged this gory scene, then Spock had disregarded human law and that was the beginning of the end. Rogue vampires were a danger on par with Ebola and hurricanes.

From somewhere in the distance, Chekov shouted excitedly, "I have found the head! Is caught in tree branches! You have ladder?"

The first thing that Jim saw on entering the house that night was Grandma Mary's fine china tea things, spread out over his low crude coffee table like so much lace.

The second thing he saw was Spock, sitting stiffly upright on the edge of the curvy settee someone snuck in when Jim wasn't looking. It didn't go with his battered leather couches and clunky end tables any more than the vampire did.

Jim froze just inside the door and at the sound of the screen door slamming shut behind him, Gaila looked up from fiddling with her teabag and grinned. She obviously found whatever stunned expression he was wearing deeply amusing. "Jim, hi! Nyota and I were just settling down to a little girl's night in when who should pop by but Mr. Spock! He was looking for you, and we invited him in to wait. Hope you don't mind."

"Don't mi-?" The threshold was man's last defense against vampires, a barrier that couldn't be breached unless someone was stupid enough to invite the bloodsuckers inside. Gaila knew that. Of course she did, why else would she taunt him like this? "Gaila!"

"Calm down, Jim," Nyota said as she entered the room. She was carrying the kettle wrapped in towels, and set it down very carefully in the middle of the table before turning to face him. "I asked him in."

Spock spoke for the first time, the low cadences of his voice perfectly normal and human-sounding. "Forgive me. It was not my intention to intrude."

"Don't be silly," Nyota said brusquely. But Spock was watching Jim's face, and whatever he saw there apparently didn't sit well. He got slowly to his feet, and he was almost unrecognizable from the night before: pale, but not marble white; tall, but Jim realized with a shock that they were almost the same height. His eyes were dark, but not the deep wells of night they'd been when he'd asked, Does that sound fair, deputy?

"James and I have private business to discus," Spock announced gravely. "Perhaps it would be best if we retired to the porch."

Jim bared his teeth in a grim smile. "Great idea. Even better, let's go for a walk." Away from the house, as far away as he could get him from Nyota and Gaila. Jim was still in uniform, he had his gun; he was far safer than they were.

Nyota gave him a narrow-eyed look, but Jim turned the smile on her and none-to-subtly inserted himself between them when Spock had taken a few steps away. The vampire allowed himself to be herded into the foyer and out the door without comment.

Thunder grumbled in the distance, and the thick cloud cover that had rolled in towards evening meant that the yard was pitch-dark, but he led Spock down the steps and out onto the gravel without incident. Some of that otherworldly glow from the night before prickled at the corners of his eyes, and under his feet the rocks rippled like shallow water.

Surprisingly, it was Spock who spoke first, his voice uncharacteristically tinged with chagrin. "It seems that I have once more managed to offend. I am sorry, James."

"It's Jim," Jim said, "and I'm pretty sure this time wasn't wholly your fault. Ny invited you in, after all."

"And you do not wish for me to be in your house." There was no anger in Spock's voice, only the blandness of stated fact.

Jim glanced over at his companion, still distinctly visible against the sooty backdrop of the woods edging the property. "It's hard for me to forget that the first time I met you, you threatened to kill me."

"But I have also saved your life," Spock reminded him.

"Did you kill Nancy Crater?" Jim returned.

It might have seemed a non sequitor to most, but to Spock's credit he didn't try to dissemble or deny anything. "If you refer to the creature who attempted to drain me and murder you, then yes, I killed her. It was the most logical course of action."

"The most logical," Jim echoed faintly, bemused.

Spock gave a short nod, as if pleased Jim was following his argument. "Yes. While life is sacred and nonviolence the preferred option in any civilized society, the Crater woman was clearly a danger to others and when she threatened your life, I ended hers."

"No, not just that. You tore her to pieces and threw her car off a fifty-foot drop," Jim felt compelled to point out. "You tried to make it look like an accident."

If he hadn't been staring at Spock's face, he would have missed the long blink that seemed to pass as Spock's equivalent to a shrug. "… I did not wish to further complicate my life here, or yours," he said finally. "It was the most expedient option at that moment."

'Most expedient'? a voice in Jim's head whispered. This is crazy. He murdered a woman and tried to make it look like an accident. Put a bullet in his brain and call the BVA in Des Moines to come pick up the ashes in the morning.

What came out instead was, "A word to the wise: total dismemberments don't usually occur in collisions."

"I will attempt to keep it in mind," Spock said, so dryly Jim had no idea if he was joking or not.

They walked in silence until they reached the end of the gravel drive, and Jim realized he'd been unconsciously retracing his steps from the night before: down the drive to the road, the mailbox, the ravine. The crime scene.

He glanced up at Spock, thinking. "Nyota said you're staying at your family's old place?"

It was close by, he knew. Even taking his timely appearance last night out of the equation, Jim had left the crash site today just as the sun set- and in the scant five minutes that it had taken him to walk down this same drive and up to the house, Spock had managed to not only arrive before him, but also had been there long enough to be invited in and sat down for tea.

Spock didn't appear perturbed by the chance of subject. "On the grounds, yes. My mother was a Grayson, and after the vampire citizenship law passed I was able to claim the deed to the property as an inheritor."

Jim carefully schooled his features to show only mild interest. Close, he'd thought, but not this close. The old Grayson farmstead abutted theirs to the south, just across a small family graveyard that hadn't been used since the 1920s. As far as Jim knew, the place had been deserted for decades. The house and outbuildings were probably completely unlivable.

Spock's smooth, cool voice was saying something to that affect, something about Nyota helping him find contractors and how bad the wiring was, and it suddenly struck Jim how human Spock looked and sounded right now. What strange illusion was that, when even the blades of grass they walked through glimmered like slender swords of light to Jim's eyes?

"James?"

He looked up into Spock's angular face and realized he'd been quiet for a bit too long. Under that patient stare, he blurted out, "You're different."

If pauses could be characterized, this one would have been nonplussed. "I beg your pardon?" the vampire asked delicately.

"Your voice, for instance. It used to…" Jim felt a single fat drop of rain fall on his face, roll down his cheek like a tear. "It was more, I don't know, hypnotic. I could almost feel it."

"Ah."

For a blessed moment, Jim though that Spock might let the comment go as one more strange, incomprehensible thing that that mouthy human said. But then, as a second drop fell on Jim's exposed collar, the vampire asked, "Do you feel this?"

"Guh," Jim choked out, as his muscles seized in protest against an imaginary pressure threatening to bring him crashing his knees. Spock was watching him, a cat looking at a mouse that didn't know it was already as good as eaten.

"James," the vampire murmured, and the pressure flexed around him like the wide, heavy coils of a snake. The rain began to fall around them in earnest now, wetting his hair and darkening his shirtfront. "You have had my blood," Spock continued, the words painted in low, sweet tones that did wonderful things to Jim's almost entirely unwilling system. "You have some measure of protection from a vampire's glamour, and so I must make a greater effort to ensnare you." He looked off down the drive, towards the house. "I cannot glamour Nyota at all," he said. "I suspect it is a consequence of her gift. It is how we first met."

"If you hurt her I'll kill you," Jim squeezed out. It took everything he had.

The vampire looked at him then. The sensation of pressure disappeared, and Spock went very still under the downpour falling from the heavens.

"I think you have perhaps misunderstood something," he said quietly, voice almost lost in the sounds of the wind and rain.

Overhead, lightning cracked like a whip across the sky, followed by deafening thunder. Jim didn't hear it. Spock was reaching forward, spanning the small distance between them and cupping his jaw, stroking a cold thumb over the curve of his lower lip. Jim didn't move.

He didn't move when Spock stepped forward. Didn't move when the vampire leaned into him, slowly, giving him every opportunity to protest or pull away.

Somehow it was still a shock when their lips met, a breathless spark of contact that made Jim gasp and Spock shy away. "Jim," he breathed, and the sound curled around them like smoke. "I do not… will you come to me? To my home, tomorrow night?"

Jesus, what could he say to that?

As it turned out, the answer was, "Yes."

Spock smiled very slightly, more with his eyes than anything, and faded into the rain.

Back inside the house, Gaila looked up from the couch and said, "What happened? You were gone for more than an hour!"

"An hour?" he mumbled dazedly, still caught up in the feeling of Spock's goodnight kiss, like a live ember brushed against his lips. "Wasn't that long. He- he wanted to talk about the Grayson place. He's living there, you know? He headed back when the rain started."

"It was so that long. But, hey, it'll be nice to have neighbors that close, right?" Gaila said, and giggled. On the couch facing the television, Nyota was passed out on her back, mouth open and snoring slightly.

He shook himself slightly, pushing away the memories of the last few minutes. Hour? He'd worry about the lost time later. He put a dubious look on his face and eyed the tea service with exaggerated suspicion. "I thought you two were drinking tea."

Gaila wobbled to her feet, almost tipping over when she tossed her hair back. "We switched to whiskey sometime after the burning of Atlanta."

She managed two more steps before tripping again, and this time Jim caught and steadied her while she laughed. "Oh, thank you, Rhett," she simpered, and pressed a soft peck to the underside of his jaw.

Jim froze for a second, and thought, ridiculously, Can't.

But this was what he wanted, this was normal. This was safe and warm and good, the familiar feel of curves under his hands and Gaila's limpet-like grip as she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his for a real kiss. This was life-affirming and comforting, the heat of her body sinking into his chilled skin until the jolt of a kiss like lightning melted away into memory.

"You staying the night, then?" he asked, a little breathless when they separated.

"Only if I can share your bed," she whispered back, licking at his bottom lip. "I just can't stand sleeping on couches."

He gave her a little grin. "I think there might be room for two."

Author Note: It occurs to me that people unfamiliar with Star Trek: the Original Series might be asking themselves, "Where the hell are these weird OCs coming from?" Professor Robert and Nancy Crater are the very first villains in the very first episode, The Man Trap. Finnegan is this random douche upperclassman that torments Kirk at Star Fleet Academy and again on Shore Leave. Admiral James Komack of Star Fleet almost got Spock killed in Amok Time (the pon farr episode!). Admiral Henry Morrow of Star Fleet is just generally an uptight dick in several Star Trek movies, including The Search for Spock and The Voyage Home. I'll put in more author notes as other minor characters get introduced.

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