The Prophecy of Apollo, Part 5
Title: The Prophecy of Apollo
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot (AU)
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: My cats own all, I own nothing. They have no interest in Star Trek, so they made me trade it to Paramount for a bag of cat food and a catnip mouse. Cats, you make terrible agents! Now we're not even getting paid for this, geez.
Summary: AU, based on the Cupid and Psyche myth. How different would the world be if Surak's influence had never spread, if the Awakening had never happened, if Vulcans had never sought to control their emotions? It's the Federation, Jim, but not as we know it. Warlord Sarek's son has reached his Time and requires a mate. Who will brave the monster's lair?
Author's Note: So, it's taken a while, but I DID NOT FORGET ABOUT THIS STORY, SEE? Massive thanks again to everyone who left me lovely, sexy, amazing fanart. ^_^ EPIC LOVE, BBs. NO LIE. <3 <3 <3 Lots of heavy-handed symbolism and lampshade-hanging thereof in this part. XD But we also get to see another (sort of) familiar face! Excitement! (It is possible that I should not drink before posting? Oh well.)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
For the first time since his arrival, Jim woke alone in his room, though a loaded breakfast tray on a table by the window assured him he had not simply been abandoned. He tried a few cautious stretches. There was still a lingering ache throughout his body, but the pain that had nearly crippled him the day before was gone. He sat up and took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh scent once more filtering into the room through the open window. As prisons went, he thought, throwing off the thin covers and climbing slowly out of bed, there were worse he could be stuck in.
His stomach was already rumbling loudly by the time he had relieved himself and splashed a few handfuls of cool water over his face. Jim padded over to the window and climbed onto the wide ledge, settling himself cross-legged with the tray of food in front of him. He had been provided with an assortment of fruit and soft, flat breads, along with a large clay mug of tea that had already gone cool. Jim was grateful that it had; though the slant of the light outside told him it was barely mid-morning, the air was already hot against his bare skin.
This was the first time he had taken a good look at the view that his room afforded. As he sat drinking his tea, he assessed the situation. From here, the city looked even larger than he remembered, and somehow more terrifying. It looked mostly whole, no more run-down than any city on one of the Federation’s more neglected colonies. But the stretch of buildings was still and silent; the winds that howled through the city were conspicuous in their absence here, when by rights they should have been even stronger. Despite the heat, it made Jim shiver to think about that wind. He’d leave Vulcan mysticism for someone else to puzzle out.
Beyond the city lay the desert, and there was nothing supernatural or uncertain about the dangers there. On foot, there was no chance Jim would be able to carry enough water to get him safely back to camp; the heat would be enough to kill him on its own, especially since he’d be even slower without McCoy’s tri-ox cocktail. If he didn’t die of thirst or heat exhaustion, however, there were still wild sehlats to worry about, not to mention the danger of le-matyas this close to the mountains. And there were supposed to be other, stranger creatures out in the sand, as well. Jim had never been entirely sure if the Vulcans in their unit had been joking when they brought them up, but he’d just as soon not find out first-hand.
Even all of those worries, though, would be moot points if he didn’t figure out how to get out of the fortress in the first place. He glanced down; the drop to the ground from his window was easily fifty feet at least, much too far to jump. Hell, he thought angrily, tossing the rest of the tea into the air and watching it splash onto the stone patio below, he didn’t even have any clothes. He was stuck in this room like a princess in some kind of twisted fairy tale.
Like hell he was.
Jim jumped down off of the ledge and marched over to the door. Damn it, he would make enough of a racket that someone would have to come let him out. He’d break the door down with his bare hands if he had to. He reached for the doorknob, ready to rattle and pound and shout until someone came to shut him up.
The knob turned, and the door opened.
“Huh.” Jim stood for a moment, unable to do more than blink as the door swung towards him. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, “wasn’t expecting that.” He stepped back and regarded the open door suspiciously. He took a step forward, and-
“How may I be of service?”
Jim shouted in surprise and leapt back, heart hammering in his chest. Another of the Vulcan woman who had bathed him on his arrival, the one whose blindfold stretched over empty sockets, had abruptly appeared in the doorway. She tilted her head inquisitively when he shouted, but made no move to approach him.
“Ah . . . hey.” Jim rested his hands on his knees and tried to bring his breathing back under control. “You, ah . . . you move really quietly, you know that?”
“My apologies if I startled you. May I be of assistance?”
“Assistance. Right.” Jim straightened again, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her. “I wanted to take a look around,” he said, braced for a fight. He was at least half a foot taller and trained in hand-to-hand combat; Vulcan strength or no, he figured he had a decent chance at overcoming her if it came to a physical altercation.
“Do you require a guide, or would you prefer to go unaccompanied?”
“I. Wow.” He tried to gather his thoughts again. “I’ve gotta be honest, that was a lot easier than I was expecting.”
“This is your home now; you are free to come and go as you wish. You will need these, however.” She stepped back and bent to pick up a basket that sat next to the open door. Clothes, Jim realized as she handed it over; soft, neatly folded Vulcan-style robes in muted shades of brown and gold. “Human skin is ill-equipped to withstand our desert winds. It would not do for you to remain unclothed.”
Jim snorted. “No kidding. I don’t want to seem unappreciative, but where are my clothes?”
A shadow of a frown crossed the woman’s face. “These are yours, my lord; they were made for you while you recovered. My lord Spock wishes for me to assure you that there will be more as soon as-”
“I mean my clothes,” Jim interrupted. “The ones I was wearing when I came here. My clothes, my pack, my . . . everything. Where are they?”
“Your clothing has been laundered and stored with the rest of your possessions. If there is anything that you require, I would be pleased to bring it to you.”
“You stored my own clothes and brought me these to wear instead.” Jim’s temper was beginning to boil again, and he dropped the basket on the floor. “Why?”
“The clothing you arrived in is meant for battle. It-”
“Bring them to me.”
“They are not appropriate attire for one’s home.”
“You said they’re meant for battle, didn’t you?” Jim narrowed his eyes. “Then they’re appropriate. Either you can bring them to me, or I can run around this place naked until I manage to find them myself. It’s your call.”
For a moment it seemed like she was about to argue, but she only nodded and said, “I will return quickly. Your necklace is beneath the robes, if you require that, as well. Vlorik thought that it might have some personal significance for you.”
She left as silently as she had arrived, and Jim bent down to dig past the soft, sand-colored cloth. Just as she had said, the chain with its stamped-metal tags was curled at the bottom of the basket. He drew it out, trying with little success to ignore the guilt beginning to form at the back of his mind. He’d given it up entirely by the time she returned, and let his hand brush against hers as he took the clothes she offered.
“I’m sorry,” he offered, trying to project his sincerity as best he could without actually having the first idea what he was doing. “I was rude.”
“Somewhat, yes,” she agreed bluntly, surprising Jim into laughing even as he began to pull on his pants. “I took no offense, however, and I still urge you to dress for comfort over pride.”
“I’m not a doll for him to dress,” Jim said quietly, all urge to laugh disappearing. “The sooner he figures that out, the better.”
“As you say.” The woman didn’t bother to hide her skepticism, and Jim simply shook his head.
“I’m still being rude.” He slid his undershirt over his head and tugged his tags on their chain free again. “I never asked your name.”
“No, you did not.”
Jim’s lips twitched. “Right. Well, I’m Jim Kirk, which I figure you probably already know by now. Will you tell me your name, please?”
“I am T’Sal,” she said with a nod.
“Pleased to meet you.” He bent to lace his boots. “Is T’Perea all right?”
There was a pause just long enough to have him glancing up, a hint of foreboding whispering its way into his thoughts. “She is in perfect health, if that is the meaning behind your question.”
“Part of it.” Jim straightened again, frowning. “Is she in trouble?”
“Not precisely. Lord Spock is somewhat displeased with the faulty information that she advanced on your behalf, however, and Vlorik assumed that you would be similarly grateful for her absence.”
“He assumed incorrectly. Is she being punished?” Jim demanded.
“Yes, but not in the manner I believe you mean. She is assigned to look after I-Chaya for the rest of the week, but she will come to no physical harm.”
“Where can I find her?”
T’Sal frowned. “For what purpose?”
“To apologize for getting her in trouble! She read the situation wrong, but she wasn’t doing it maliciously; it’s not her fault.”
“I would not advise seeking her out,” T’Sal warned.
“Why not?”
“As your bondmate, Lord Spock is . . . not overly fond of your spending more time in her company.”
“Oh for . . .” Jim’s hands fisted at his side, and he paced furiously to the window and back. “Come on,” he said shortly, striding past T’Sal and through the open door.
“Where are we going?” she asked, hurrying after him.
“You’re going to take me to wherever she and this I-Chaya are so that I can apologize without getting lost in this goddamn maze of a castle, and if my bondmate doesn’t like it, he can come out and explain that to me to my face.” He stopped, glancing up and down the hallway. “Which way?”
Her mouth set, but T’Sal turned to her right. “They will likely be in the east courtyard. I-Chaya favors it.” She started to walk, and Jim followed.
“Who is I-Chaya, exactly?” he asked as they started down a narrow spiral staircase.
“He is Lord Spock’s kelek-aushfa. His . . .” She paused, shook her head. “I do not know the Standard word.”
“How is it that so many of you speak Standard so well?” It was something that Jim had been wondering since he had learned that his UT chip had died. “I’d been under the impression that most Vulcans didn’t bother with it unless they spent a lot of time with Humans.”
“It is a prerequisite for continued employment here. Lord Spock has an . . . eclectic way of speaking.”
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Eclectic how?”
“A mixture of Vulcan and Standard, primarily, though he often lapses into Terran English when his temper overtakes him.”
Jim couldn’t help a skeptical snort. “He was plenty pissed last night, but he didn’t start speaking in any obscure, half-dead languages.”
“He was severely displeased,” T’Sal corrected, “but I am certain that he still had full control over his temper.”
“Why, because he was still speaking Standard?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
She turned just enough for him to see a single eyebrow wing up. “The fact that you are still walking, for one.”
Jim stopped walking. “You’re saying he’s violent.”
T’Sal turned when she realized that he was no longer beside her. “He is capable of violence,” she said frankly. “Surely that can not surprise you.”
Jim remembered waking that first night to a presence waiting in the dark, remembered a lamp torn from its moorings and hard, demanding hands. “I suppose not.” He began to walk again, and T’Sal matched his pace. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Your distaste for violence is surprising. You are a warrior yourself, are you not?”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Battle is a different set of circumstances.”
“Indeed. But there are different types of battles, are there not?” she asked pointedly. “Lord Spock picks his, and he does so wisely. In the ten years that I have served him, he has never allowed his temper to slip against an opponent who could not stand against him, or when doing so would bring a tactical disadvantage. A battle with one’s bondmate can not be won by force. You are in no danger from him.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Jim said quietly.
“I see.” T’Sal looked almost amused. “He did not cause my blindness,” she said after a moment. “Nor that of any who work here.”
“All right. Good to know.”
T’Sal’s lips twitched. “You need not be afraid to ask.”
Jim considered playing dumb for all of a moment before deciding that he might as well answer her bluntness in kind. “T’Perea said you weren’t born blind. How did it happen?”
“Venom from a k’karee. A type of snake,” she clarified, sounding as calm as she had when she had offered Jim his robes. “When I was six years old I wandered away from my mother and found a k’karee sunning itself. I have few memories of sight left, but I remember the blue in its scales, and how its fins shone silver in the sun. And of course, I remember the pain.” She reached out to open a door, hand closing around the handle with unerring aim. “My mother heard me screaming and struck down the k’karee before it could kill me, but my eyes were already too damaged to repair. The remaining tissue became infected, and eventually had to be removed.”
“That’s . . .” Jim trailed off, unable to find words that didn’t sound inadequate or dismissive. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, but T’Sal only shrugged.
“Kaiidth. Regret will not restore my eyes, and even if it could, I have been in the dark for most of my life. I have learned to see with my ears and body and mind; I have no need of more.”
“Well. That’s admirable, but ah, I haven’t learned to see without my eyes, and that hallway looks a little dark.”
“Oh! My apologies.” T’Sal stepped through the door, and a moment later a soft light appeared to the left. Jim followed and found his guide holding one of the lanterns that hung unlit throughout the castle. “It is rare that we have sighted guests,” she said when Jim caught up with her. “I have forgotten the habit.”
“Guests?” Jim asked, trying to keep his sudden excitement from showing. Guests meant transportation and a possible way out, and if there was a part of him that revolted at the very idea of leaving, he paid it no mind. “What sort of guests?”
“T’naehm-Feihan Sarek visits with the Lady Amanda when his schedule and Lord Spock’s mood permits.”
“Oh.” Jim’s heart sank. Spock’s parents were hardly likely to let him stow away with them. “Does that happen often?”
“No. They visited when it became clear that Lord Spock’s Time had finally come, but they did not stay long. Now that you are here, they will not come unless specifically invited, at the very least for the first year.”
“The first . . . fuck,” Jim muttered. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I’m not staying here. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”
She nodded, apparently unsurprised. “But could you?” T’Sal asked, and Jim’s stomach clenched.
“I have to,” he said weakly. “Spock . . .” There was a sharp jab of emotion in his chest that Jim firmly ignored. “I didn’t sign on to be his prisoner.”
“Vulcan bonds are not chains.” The new voice sounded as they passed into yet another hallway, and Jim’s heart was still in his throat by the time Vlorik stepped into their lantern’s light. “Were that the case, our warriors could never leave their homes. Lord Spock will grow less jealous of your company in time.”
“Glad as I am for future-me,” Jim shot back, “that doesn’t really help me with my current obligations. If I don’t come back, Pike is gonna assume-”
“He will assume that the news of your bonding to Lord Spock was genuine,” Vlorik interrupted smoothly. “Your former unit will be well aware of your new status by now, and I am certain that your captain’s native advisors will have already briefed him on the questionable wisdom of attempting to take a Vulcan’s mate by force.”
“That’s not going to matter.” Jim dragged a weary hand over his eyes. “I’m well aware of the playing field here, so believe me when I say I wish to God it wasn’t true, but I know Pike. There are things . . .” He took a moment to fight back the memories that were trying to rise. “Things he won’t stand for. And there’s no way in hell he’s going to believe I’m here willingly without hearing it directly from me. Which he won’t, by the way, because I’m not here willingly.”
“And given the chance, you would leave?”
Jim opened his mouth, closed it again. “I’d try,” was all he could say, and Vlorik nodded.
“I see.” He stepped out of the light again, and spoke from the darkness when he said, “I am keeping you from your destination. T’Sal, carry on, and remember that Master Jim is to receive all that he requests, within reasonable bounds.”
“Reasonable bounds? What-” Jim turned to T’Sal, unsure whether the ancient Vulcan was even still within earshot. “What does he mean, ‘reasonable bounds’?”
“We are not to aid in your departure,” she said, beginning to walk again, and Jim hurried to stay within the light. “Apart from that, Lord Spock has instructed us to provide you with anything you ask.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
“So . . . if I asked for a weapon, you’d bring me one.”
“Indeed.”
“Really.” Jim blinked in surprise. “What if I used it on your master?”
T’Sal laughed outright at that. “You would not. But supposing that you did, in fact, manage to overcome the instinct to keep your bondmate safe-though perhaps,” she mused, “as a Human, you do not actually feel that instinct. Still. Assuming its absence or your own strength in overcoming it, do you truly believe that you could best him in combat?”
Jim glared after her. “I’m not a bad fighter myself, you know.”
“As you say,” she agreed, but he could hear the smile in her voice. Before he could protest, she reached out to open yet another door. “We have reached the courtyard,” she said, and a moment later Jim was overcome by a sudden blaze of light.
His vision cleared gradually, adjusting to the blinding mid-morning sun, and for the space of several breaths Jim thought that there must have been some mistake, that he had somehow been led well beyond the castle’s main walls. To his left the mountain rose in a nearly sheer cliff, but ahead the desert appeared to stretch out in a sea of red sand. It wasn’t until he had stood gaping for some time that Jim noticed the subtle winding of stone-lined paths, and the firmness of solid, rocky ground beneath the dunes. If he squinted, he could make out the wall that marked the edge of the courtyard. And turning to his right, he saw the tree.
“I’ve never . . . I didn’t know Vulcan had trees like that,” he heard himself say, unable to tear his eyes from the sight.
“It does not,” T’Sal replied. “Vlorik say that is one of Lady Amanda’s creations, a crossbreed between an in-du-ka tree and a native Earth tree, I do not remember the name. It was planted on the day of Lord Spock’s birth, both hybrids half Terran and half Vulcan.”
Jim could see the truth of it. Its branches fell in the weeping willow’s thick curtains, but the leaves were the shimmering red that he recognized from nearly every oasis he’d seen on this planet, the shifting scarlet that said that water was waiting. There was an odd and unsettling beauty about it, its thin branches unmoving in the weak, hot breeze that swept against them. He found himself moving towards it without conscious thought.
“Is there anything inside?” he wondered aloud, trying to peer through the branches as he went.
“Indeed. It provides an adequate amount of shelter for-”
“Wait.” Jim took T’Sal by the arm and pulled her to a stop, his eyes narrowing at a sudden stirring in the branches. Too low to be T’Perea; perhaps a child, or-
“Shit,” he breathed as the branches continued to shift and the sehlat came into view, licking its massive jaws clean even as drops of something fell from its muzzle to the sands at its feet. “All right. It’s all right.” On instinct, Jim reached for his phaser, only to find the holster at his hip empty. He had no phaser, no knives, no weapons of any kind. “Shit,” he breathed again, and began to slowly back them up. “Try not to make any noise,” he whispered. “We might be able to get back inside before it-”
It was at that precise moment that the sehlat stilled, lifting its head in the unmistakable posture of an animal that has caught a scent. Its eyes shifted to lock on Jim and T’Sal, and with a bellowing roar it began to gallop towards them before they could take so much as a step.
“Run!” Jim managed to yell, shoving T’Sal behind him in the hopes that he could at least buy her enough time to get back inside.
Then the beast was on him, tackling him to the ground and pinning him under several hundred pounds of muscle and fur. The heat was nearly unbearable, trapped between the scorching sand and the furnace of the sehlat’s body. Paws as large as Jim’s face pressed into his shoulders as the rest of the thing’s weight landed solidly on his thighs. Six-inch fangs protruded over a wet muzzle that was dripping something surprisingly cool onto Jim’s face while hot breath bathed his skin as the sehlat . . . sniffed at him?
“I-Chaya, kroykah,” a voice spat, followed by a further rush of Vulcan that Jim couldn’t manage to untangle. The sehlat lifted its head, and a moment later its weight shifted slowly off of him. “Master Jim, are you well?”
“Hey, T’Sal,” Jim panted, squinting up at the blazing rust-colored sky. “That word you said before, when I asked what I-Chaya was.”
“Kelek-aushfa. However, I still do not remember-”
“Pet. I’m pretty sure word you’re looking for is pet.” He levered himself up onto his elbows, wincing at the screaming protest of his shoulders, and surveyed the scene before him. “So this is I-Chaya, huh?”
The sehlat was seated between T’Perea and T’Sal staring back at him in unmistakable interest. Short of breath, Jim struggled to his feet and held out a tentative hand. I-Chaya craned his neck forward, wet nose snuffling at Jim’s palm for a moment before he ducked his head so that Jim’s hand landed between his ears. Jim couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’re not so scary after all.” He crouched back down to properly dig his fingers into I-Chaya’s thick fur, laughing again when the sehlat leaned heavily into the touch and nearly knocked him over. “Friendly, aren’t you?” He glanced up to see that knowing looks had graced both women’s faces. “What?”
“He recognizes you,” T’Perea said simply, and Jim frowned.
“What do you mean? How could he possibly recognize me?”
“I-Chaya is Lord Spock’s kelek-aushfa. His . . . pet. Vlorik says that it has been so since the master was a child,” T’Sal said. “He is well accustomed to your mate’s scent.”
“His . . .” Jim stood abruptly, gaping at both of them. “Are you telling me that I smell like him? How is that even possible?”
“I am hardly a scientist,” T’Sal shrugged. “I can tell you only that something has changed. When you first arrived, your scent was quite appealing; now you are like any mated Vulcan.” One eyebrow lifted above the cloth across her eyes. “It is a surprising alteration.”
“None of us anticipated it,” T’Perea agreed.
“I don’t . . .” For some reason, all he could focus on was, “Are you telling me I stink?”
T’Perea’s lips twitched. “Not precisely. It is not entirely an identifiable scent; closer to a . . . sense. Any Vulcan will recognize you as part of a bonded pair.”
Jim was beginning to feel lightheaded with confusion. “I think I need to get out of the sun for a little while,” he said faintly.
I-Chaya rose to his feet again as if on cue, a sudden surge of muscle pressing against Jim’s legs until he was forced to take several stumbling steps. No sooner had he regained his balance than I-Chaya was there again; herding him, Jim realized suddenly, towards the towering tree.
“Is everything in this place telepathic?” he muttered.
Strange as it was to be understood by the sehlat, however, Jim didn’t resist. The tree would at least offer some protection from the sun. Jim’s clothes were sticking unpleasantly to his skin, already soaked through with sweat in places; he grudgingly admitted, if only to himself, that the robes T’Sal had offered would have been far more comfortable. He certainly wasn’t accustomed to wearing this much in the full heat of the day, and needed respite for a while. He could go back inside, but the thought left him feeling oddly trapped. Bad enough to know that the very desert held him hostage here; he didn’t need walls around him reinforcing the idea.
As Jim approached the tree he slowly became aware of the soft sound of moving water from beyond the curtain of leaves. That was unexpected. Oases formed around in-du-ka trees because their long roots drew groundwater to the surface; there should have been no need for irrigation. Unless, he mused, having crossbred it with a willow had weakened that particular trait. Still, water was this planet’s most precious resource, and it seemed uncharacteristically wasteful for a Vulcan household to devote such a supply of it to something like this. Intrigued, Jim pushed through the hanging branches and found-
-a garden.
The trunk of the tree rose strong and tall in the center, supporting the dappled dome of leaves that fell in a circle easily forty feet across. It was cooler here, closer to the feel of a dry Earth summer than the furnace of Vulcan’s midday heat, and Jim took a deep, grateful breath of the sweetly perfumed air. He could see several typical oasis-born plants: kaasa and pla-savas bushes and creeping hirat vines, delicate favinit blossoms amidst sharply spicy thatches of the herb Syrrik liked to add to almost everything he ate. And scattered among the others, Jim realized, were Earth flowers, as well. Daisy-shaped blooms in vivid reds and yellows; the full, lush bloom of some sort of white rose; and from somewhere out of sight rose the sweet, unmistakable scent of lavender.
There were patches of soft-looking ground cover between the blooms, and around the base of the tree where its roots rose out of the ground, a pool of water bubbled up in what looked like a natural spring. Jim drifted closer and bent down to trail his fingers in the gentle current; the water was cool against his skin, and he nearly shivered in delight.
“This is amazing,” he said under his breath, laughing softly as I-Chaya pushed past him to drink.
“Lady Amanda’s work as well,” T’Sal’s voice answered, and Jim turned to see that she and T’Perea had joined him. “In honor of her son, as is the tree itself. Its roots reach deeper than the native plant’s, and draw the water more forcefully; the leaves shield enough of our sun’s light for alien plants to thrive.”
“Its own little ecosystem. Sulu would go nuts over this place,” Jim mused, imagining his friend’s raptures over Terran and Vulcan plants growing in the same soil. The thought, however, brought his previous misgivings back in a sudden rush, and the smile faded from his face.
“Perhaps he would enjoy a token from your new home,” T’Sal suggested. “The pla-savas is nearly ripe; you could send-”
“That may not be a wise idea,” T’Perea interrupted with a frown, and T’Sal turned to her.
“We have orders from Lord Spock himself, do we not? His mate is welcome to anything within these walls; he did not specify that it must remain within these walls.”
T’Perea’s frown deepened, but she made no further argument. Jim, however, stepped forward.
“I’m not doing anything else that’s going to get one of you in trouble,” he said firmly, and both women turned back towards him. “I wanted to apologize, T’Perea. If I’d made myself clearer-”
“You had no reason to believe it was necessary to do so.” Her face darkened slightly. “I am certain that your thoughts were perfectly clear on the matter; you are not at fault for my having misread them.”
Jim frowned at her words, confused, but she looked as uncomfortable as she had been when he had commented on her fair hair, and he didn’t want to press. “Well.” He looked around again, feeling awkward. “I still feel at least partially responsible. Can I . . . help, maybe?”
“With what?”
“With him.” Jim jerked a thumb over his shoulder before belatedly remembering that neither of them could see him. Grateful for the fact that at least he was the only witness to his own embarrassment, he cleared his throat. “With I-Chaya. Maybe I can help with whatever it is you’re doing.”
T’Perea’s face brightened. “He does seem to like you. And he requires a great deal of exercise.”
“T’Perea,” T’Sal began sternly, but the other woman’s eyebrow merely lifted in amusement.
“He is welcome to anything within these walls, is he not? Surely that extends to time with his mate’s kelek-aushfa, if that is how he wishes to spend his time.”
As it turned out, he did. T’Sal excused herself while T’Perea and Jim remained in the courtyard with I-Chaya. While Jim had little luck teaching the sehlat to fetch the kaasa he threw, they both enjoyed the chase and Jim’s attempts to wrestle the half-mangled fruit away. Jim’s clothes were completely soaked through within an hour, and he took frequent trips to the garden’s cooler air and the refreshing water of its spring. When the sun had reached its zenith they remained there, sheltered by the canopy of leaves and sharing the ripe fruit picked from heavy-hung branches.
Accustomed to the planet’s conditions as Jim was, he was also still not completely recovered from the days and nights that he and Spock had spent locked around each other, and by the time twilight fell he was completely exhausted. I-Chaya pressed against his hip in farewell and padded into the darkness while T’Sal awaited Jim with lamp in hand. Dinner was laid out for him as it had been on his first night there, though in significantly smaller quantity. He ate almost without tasting and forced his feet to carry him through the maze of corridors, T’Sal’s light blurring and sharpening with every blink of his eyes.
Jim considered a bath, and got as far as stripping off his filthy clothes before falling facedown onto the bed and instantly asleep.
He awoke in the dark to a buzzing sensation beneath his skin and heat pooling low in his belly. Propping himself up on his elbows, Jim licked his lips and spoke to the darkness.
“I saw the tree your mother planted.” His voice was rough with sleep and banked arousal, and he heard a shifting in the shadows.
“Yes.” Spock’s voice licked over him like flame. “You smell of the sun.”
Jim’s heart thumped harder. He could feel Spock’s desire for him, but little else, and he frowned. “Something’s different.”
“You seemed disquieted by our bond. I have shielded it as much as I can bear.”
“Oh.” Jim blinked, but the darkness remained as thick as ever. “I’m sorry,” he found himself saying.
“For what?”
“For not being what you need. You deserve . . .” Jim’s mind was still cloudy with exhaustion, and the words eluded him. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
“You are mistaken.” The words came from so close that Jim could practically taste them. “You are precisely what I require. I knew it the moment I touched you; you will know it as well, when I touch you again.”
Jim couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him at Spock’s declaration any more than he could stop the hardening of his traitorous flesh. “That’s . . . probably not a good idea.”
A ghost of breath skated across his cheek. “As you say,” Spock murmured, and the warmth that Jim had hardly been aware of withdrew.
He blinked again, tying to conceal his disappointment. “Realizing you’re wrong already?”
“I am not wrong. But nor am I eager for the same rejection that I endured before. I am accustomed to going without another's touch; I will not share your bed again until you ask. Until you beg.”
Jim glared at nothing. “I don’t beg.”
A ripple of alien amusement slid through his mind. “Then sleep,” Spock said, and despite himself, Jim obeyed.
>>Part 6
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot (AU)
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: My cats own all, I own nothing. They have no interest in Star Trek, so they made me trade it to Paramount for a bag of cat food and a catnip mouse. Cats, you make terrible agents! Now we're not even getting paid for this, geez.
Summary: AU, based on the Cupid and Psyche myth. How different would the world be if Surak's influence had never spread, if the Awakening had never happened, if Vulcans had never sought to control their emotions? It's the Federation, Jim, but not as we know it. Warlord Sarek's son has reached his Time and requires a mate. Who will brave the monster's lair?
Author's Note: So, it's taken a while, but I DID NOT FORGET ABOUT THIS STORY, SEE? Massive thanks again to everyone who left me lovely, sexy, amazing fanart. ^_^ EPIC LOVE, BBs. NO LIE. <3 <3 <3 Lots of heavy-handed symbolism and lampshade-hanging thereof in this part. XD But we also get to see another (sort of) familiar face! Excitement! (It is possible that I should not drink before posting? Oh well.)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
For the first time since his arrival, Jim woke alone in his room, though a loaded breakfast tray on a table by the window assured him he had not simply been abandoned. He tried a few cautious stretches. There was still a lingering ache throughout his body, but the pain that had nearly crippled him the day before was gone. He sat up and took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh scent once more filtering into the room through the open window. As prisons went, he thought, throwing off the thin covers and climbing slowly out of bed, there were worse he could be stuck in.
His stomach was already rumbling loudly by the time he had relieved himself and splashed a few handfuls of cool water over his face. Jim padded over to the window and climbed onto the wide ledge, settling himself cross-legged with the tray of food in front of him. He had been provided with an assortment of fruit and soft, flat breads, along with a large clay mug of tea that had already gone cool. Jim was grateful that it had; though the slant of the light outside told him it was barely mid-morning, the air was already hot against his bare skin.
This was the first time he had taken a good look at the view that his room afforded. As he sat drinking his tea, he assessed the situation. From here, the city looked even larger than he remembered, and somehow more terrifying. It looked mostly whole, no more run-down than any city on one of the Federation’s more neglected colonies. But the stretch of buildings was still and silent; the winds that howled through the city were conspicuous in their absence here, when by rights they should have been even stronger. Despite the heat, it made Jim shiver to think about that wind. He’d leave Vulcan mysticism for someone else to puzzle out.
Beyond the city lay the desert, and there was nothing supernatural or uncertain about the dangers there. On foot, there was no chance Jim would be able to carry enough water to get him safely back to camp; the heat would be enough to kill him on its own, especially since he’d be even slower without McCoy’s tri-ox cocktail. If he didn’t die of thirst or heat exhaustion, however, there were still wild sehlats to worry about, not to mention the danger of le-matyas this close to the mountains. And there were supposed to be other, stranger creatures out in the sand, as well. Jim had never been entirely sure if the Vulcans in their unit had been joking when they brought them up, but he’d just as soon not find out first-hand.
Even all of those worries, though, would be moot points if he didn’t figure out how to get out of the fortress in the first place. He glanced down; the drop to the ground from his window was easily fifty feet at least, much too far to jump. Hell, he thought angrily, tossing the rest of the tea into the air and watching it splash onto the stone patio below, he didn’t even have any clothes. He was stuck in this room like a princess in some kind of twisted fairy tale.
Like hell he was.
Jim jumped down off of the ledge and marched over to the door. Damn it, he would make enough of a racket that someone would have to come let him out. He’d break the door down with his bare hands if he had to. He reached for the doorknob, ready to rattle and pound and shout until someone came to shut him up.
The knob turned, and the door opened.
“Huh.” Jim stood for a moment, unable to do more than blink as the door swung towards him. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, “wasn’t expecting that.” He stepped back and regarded the open door suspiciously. He took a step forward, and-
“How may I be of service?”
Jim shouted in surprise and leapt back, heart hammering in his chest. Another of the Vulcan woman who had bathed him on his arrival, the one whose blindfold stretched over empty sockets, had abruptly appeared in the doorway. She tilted her head inquisitively when he shouted, but made no move to approach him.
“Ah . . . hey.” Jim rested his hands on his knees and tried to bring his breathing back under control. “You, ah . . . you move really quietly, you know that?”
“My apologies if I startled you. May I be of assistance?”
“Assistance. Right.” Jim straightened again, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her. “I wanted to take a look around,” he said, braced for a fight. He was at least half a foot taller and trained in hand-to-hand combat; Vulcan strength or no, he figured he had a decent chance at overcoming her if it came to a physical altercation.
“Do you require a guide, or would you prefer to go unaccompanied?”
“I. Wow.” He tried to gather his thoughts again. “I’ve gotta be honest, that was a lot easier than I was expecting.”
“This is your home now; you are free to come and go as you wish. You will need these, however.” She stepped back and bent to pick up a basket that sat next to the open door. Clothes, Jim realized as she handed it over; soft, neatly folded Vulcan-style robes in muted shades of brown and gold. “Human skin is ill-equipped to withstand our desert winds. It would not do for you to remain unclothed.”
Jim snorted. “No kidding. I don’t want to seem unappreciative, but where are my clothes?”
A shadow of a frown crossed the woman’s face. “These are yours, my lord; they were made for you while you recovered. My lord Spock wishes for me to assure you that there will be more as soon as-”
“I mean my clothes,” Jim interrupted. “The ones I was wearing when I came here. My clothes, my pack, my . . . everything. Where are they?”
“Your clothing has been laundered and stored with the rest of your possessions. If there is anything that you require, I would be pleased to bring it to you.”
“You stored my own clothes and brought me these to wear instead.” Jim’s temper was beginning to boil again, and he dropped the basket on the floor. “Why?”
“The clothing you arrived in is meant for battle. It-”
“Bring them to me.”
“They are not appropriate attire for one’s home.”
“You said they’re meant for battle, didn’t you?” Jim narrowed his eyes. “Then they’re appropriate. Either you can bring them to me, or I can run around this place naked until I manage to find them myself. It’s your call.”
For a moment it seemed like she was about to argue, but she only nodded and said, “I will return quickly. Your necklace is beneath the robes, if you require that, as well. Vlorik thought that it might have some personal significance for you.”
She left as silently as she had arrived, and Jim bent down to dig past the soft, sand-colored cloth. Just as she had said, the chain with its stamped-metal tags was curled at the bottom of the basket. He drew it out, trying with little success to ignore the guilt beginning to form at the back of his mind. He’d given it up entirely by the time she returned, and let his hand brush against hers as he took the clothes she offered.
“I’m sorry,” he offered, trying to project his sincerity as best he could without actually having the first idea what he was doing. “I was rude.”
“Somewhat, yes,” she agreed bluntly, surprising Jim into laughing even as he began to pull on his pants. “I took no offense, however, and I still urge you to dress for comfort over pride.”
“I’m not a doll for him to dress,” Jim said quietly, all urge to laugh disappearing. “The sooner he figures that out, the better.”
“As you say.” The woman didn’t bother to hide her skepticism, and Jim simply shook his head.
“I’m still being rude.” He slid his undershirt over his head and tugged his tags on their chain free again. “I never asked your name.”
“No, you did not.”
Jim’s lips twitched. “Right. Well, I’m Jim Kirk, which I figure you probably already know by now. Will you tell me your name, please?”
“I am T’Sal,” she said with a nod.
“Pleased to meet you.” He bent to lace his boots. “Is T’Perea all right?”
There was a pause just long enough to have him glancing up, a hint of foreboding whispering its way into his thoughts. “She is in perfect health, if that is the meaning behind your question.”
“Part of it.” Jim straightened again, frowning. “Is she in trouble?”
“Not precisely. Lord Spock is somewhat displeased with the faulty information that she advanced on your behalf, however, and Vlorik assumed that you would be similarly grateful for her absence.”
“He assumed incorrectly. Is she being punished?” Jim demanded.
“Yes, but not in the manner I believe you mean. She is assigned to look after I-Chaya for the rest of the week, but she will come to no physical harm.”
“Where can I find her?”
T’Sal frowned. “For what purpose?”
“To apologize for getting her in trouble! She read the situation wrong, but she wasn’t doing it maliciously; it’s not her fault.”
“I would not advise seeking her out,” T’Sal warned.
“Why not?”
“As your bondmate, Lord Spock is . . . not overly fond of your spending more time in her company.”
“Oh for . . .” Jim’s hands fisted at his side, and he paced furiously to the window and back. “Come on,” he said shortly, striding past T’Sal and through the open door.
“Where are we going?” she asked, hurrying after him.
“You’re going to take me to wherever she and this I-Chaya are so that I can apologize without getting lost in this goddamn maze of a castle, and if my bondmate doesn’t like it, he can come out and explain that to me to my face.” He stopped, glancing up and down the hallway. “Which way?”
Her mouth set, but T’Sal turned to her right. “They will likely be in the east courtyard. I-Chaya favors it.” She started to walk, and Jim followed.
“Who is I-Chaya, exactly?” he asked as they started down a narrow spiral staircase.
“He is Lord Spock’s kelek-aushfa. His . . .” She paused, shook her head. “I do not know the Standard word.”
“How is it that so many of you speak Standard so well?” It was something that Jim had been wondering since he had learned that his UT chip had died. “I’d been under the impression that most Vulcans didn’t bother with it unless they spent a lot of time with Humans.”
“It is a prerequisite for continued employment here. Lord Spock has an . . . eclectic way of speaking.”
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Eclectic how?”
“A mixture of Vulcan and Standard, primarily, though he often lapses into Terran English when his temper overtakes him.”
Jim couldn’t help a skeptical snort. “He was plenty pissed last night, but he didn’t start speaking in any obscure, half-dead languages.”
“He was severely displeased,” T’Sal corrected, “but I am certain that he still had full control over his temper.”
“Why, because he was still speaking Standard?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
She turned just enough for him to see a single eyebrow wing up. “The fact that you are still walking, for one.”
Jim stopped walking. “You’re saying he’s violent.”
T’Sal turned when she realized that he was no longer beside her. “He is capable of violence,” she said frankly. “Surely that can not surprise you.”
Jim remembered waking that first night to a presence waiting in the dark, remembered a lamp torn from its moorings and hard, demanding hands. “I suppose not.” He began to walk again, and T’Sal matched his pace. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Your distaste for violence is surprising. You are a warrior yourself, are you not?”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Battle is a different set of circumstances.”
“Indeed. But there are different types of battles, are there not?” she asked pointedly. “Lord Spock picks his, and he does so wisely. In the ten years that I have served him, he has never allowed his temper to slip against an opponent who could not stand against him, or when doing so would bring a tactical disadvantage. A battle with one’s bondmate can not be won by force. You are in no danger from him.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Jim said quietly.
“I see.” T’Sal looked almost amused. “He did not cause my blindness,” she said after a moment. “Nor that of any who work here.”
“All right. Good to know.”
T’Sal’s lips twitched. “You need not be afraid to ask.”
Jim considered playing dumb for all of a moment before deciding that he might as well answer her bluntness in kind. “T’Perea said you weren’t born blind. How did it happen?”
“Venom from a k’karee. A type of snake,” she clarified, sounding as calm as she had when she had offered Jim his robes. “When I was six years old I wandered away from my mother and found a k’karee sunning itself. I have few memories of sight left, but I remember the blue in its scales, and how its fins shone silver in the sun. And of course, I remember the pain.” She reached out to open a door, hand closing around the handle with unerring aim. “My mother heard me screaming and struck down the k’karee before it could kill me, but my eyes were already too damaged to repair. The remaining tissue became infected, and eventually had to be removed.”
“That’s . . .” Jim trailed off, unable to find words that didn’t sound inadequate or dismissive. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, but T’Sal only shrugged.
“Kaiidth. Regret will not restore my eyes, and even if it could, I have been in the dark for most of my life. I have learned to see with my ears and body and mind; I have no need of more.”
“Well. That’s admirable, but ah, I haven’t learned to see without my eyes, and that hallway looks a little dark.”
“Oh! My apologies.” T’Sal stepped through the door, and a moment later a soft light appeared to the left. Jim followed and found his guide holding one of the lanterns that hung unlit throughout the castle. “It is rare that we have sighted guests,” she said when Jim caught up with her. “I have forgotten the habit.”
“Guests?” Jim asked, trying to keep his sudden excitement from showing. Guests meant transportation and a possible way out, and if there was a part of him that revolted at the very idea of leaving, he paid it no mind. “What sort of guests?”
“T’naehm-Feihan Sarek visits with the Lady Amanda when his schedule and Lord Spock’s mood permits.”
“Oh.” Jim’s heart sank. Spock’s parents were hardly likely to let him stow away with them. “Does that happen often?”
“No. They visited when it became clear that Lord Spock’s Time had finally come, but they did not stay long. Now that you are here, they will not come unless specifically invited, at the very least for the first year.”
“The first . . . fuck,” Jim muttered. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I’m not staying here. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”
She nodded, apparently unsurprised. “But could you?” T’Sal asked, and Jim’s stomach clenched.
“I have to,” he said weakly. “Spock . . .” There was a sharp jab of emotion in his chest that Jim firmly ignored. “I didn’t sign on to be his prisoner.”
“Vulcan bonds are not chains.” The new voice sounded as they passed into yet another hallway, and Jim’s heart was still in his throat by the time Vlorik stepped into their lantern’s light. “Were that the case, our warriors could never leave their homes. Lord Spock will grow less jealous of your company in time.”
“Glad as I am for future-me,” Jim shot back, “that doesn’t really help me with my current obligations. If I don’t come back, Pike is gonna assume-”
“He will assume that the news of your bonding to Lord Spock was genuine,” Vlorik interrupted smoothly. “Your former unit will be well aware of your new status by now, and I am certain that your captain’s native advisors will have already briefed him on the questionable wisdom of attempting to take a Vulcan’s mate by force.”
“That’s not going to matter.” Jim dragged a weary hand over his eyes. “I’m well aware of the playing field here, so believe me when I say I wish to God it wasn’t true, but I know Pike. There are things . . .” He took a moment to fight back the memories that were trying to rise. “Things he won’t stand for. And there’s no way in hell he’s going to believe I’m here willingly without hearing it directly from me. Which he won’t, by the way, because I’m not here willingly.”
“And given the chance, you would leave?”
Jim opened his mouth, closed it again. “I’d try,” was all he could say, and Vlorik nodded.
“I see.” He stepped out of the light again, and spoke from the darkness when he said, “I am keeping you from your destination. T’Sal, carry on, and remember that Master Jim is to receive all that he requests, within reasonable bounds.”
“Reasonable bounds? What-” Jim turned to T’Sal, unsure whether the ancient Vulcan was even still within earshot. “What does he mean, ‘reasonable bounds’?”
“We are not to aid in your departure,” she said, beginning to walk again, and Jim hurried to stay within the light. “Apart from that, Lord Spock has instructed us to provide you with anything you ask.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
“So . . . if I asked for a weapon, you’d bring me one.”
“Indeed.”
“Really.” Jim blinked in surprise. “What if I used it on your master?”
T’Sal laughed outright at that. “You would not. But supposing that you did, in fact, manage to overcome the instinct to keep your bondmate safe-though perhaps,” she mused, “as a Human, you do not actually feel that instinct. Still. Assuming its absence or your own strength in overcoming it, do you truly believe that you could best him in combat?”
Jim glared after her. “I’m not a bad fighter myself, you know.”
“As you say,” she agreed, but he could hear the smile in her voice. Before he could protest, she reached out to open yet another door. “We have reached the courtyard,” she said, and a moment later Jim was overcome by a sudden blaze of light.
His vision cleared gradually, adjusting to the blinding mid-morning sun, and for the space of several breaths Jim thought that there must have been some mistake, that he had somehow been led well beyond the castle’s main walls. To his left the mountain rose in a nearly sheer cliff, but ahead the desert appeared to stretch out in a sea of red sand. It wasn’t until he had stood gaping for some time that Jim noticed the subtle winding of stone-lined paths, and the firmness of solid, rocky ground beneath the dunes. If he squinted, he could make out the wall that marked the edge of the courtyard. And turning to his right, he saw the tree.
“I’ve never . . . I didn’t know Vulcan had trees like that,” he heard himself say, unable to tear his eyes from the sight.
“It does not,” T’Sal replied. “Vlorik say that is one of Lady Amanda’s creations, a crossbreed between an in-du-ka tree and a native Earth tree, I do not remember the name. It was planted on the day of Lord Spock’s birth, both hybrids half Terran and half Vulcan.”
Jim could see the truth of it. Its branches fell in the weeping willow’s thick curtains, but the leaves were the shimmering red that he recognized from nearly every oasis he’d seen on this planet, the shifting scarlet that said that water was waiting. There was an odd and unsettling beauty about it, its thin branches unmoving in the weak, hot breeze that swept against them. He found himself moving towards it without conscious thought.
“Is there anything inside?” he wondered aloud, trying to peer through the branches as he went.
“Indeed. It provides an adequate amount of shelter for-”
“Wait.” Jim took T’Sal by the arm and pulled her to a stop, his eyes narrowing at a sudden stirring in the branches. Too low to be T’Perea; perhaps a child, or-
“Shit,” he breathed as the branches continued to shift and the sehlat came into view, licking its massive jaws clean even as drops of something fell from its muzzle to the sands at its feet. “All right. It’s all right.” On instinct, Jim reached for his phaser, only to find the holster at his hip empty. He had no phaser, no knives, no weapons of any kind. “Shit,” he breathed again, and began to slowly back them up. “Try not to make any noise,” he whispered. “We might be able to get back inside before it-”
It was at that precise moment that the sehlat stilled, lifting its head in the unmistakable posture of an animal that has caught a scent. Its eyes shifted to lock on Jim and T’Sal, and with a bellowing roar it began to gallop towards them before they could take so much as a step.
“Run!” Jim managed to yell, shoving T’Sal behind him in the hopes that he could at least buy her enough time to get back inside.
Then the beast was on him, tackling him to the ground and pinning him under several hundred pounds of muscle and fur. The heat was nearly unbearable, trapped between the scorching sand and the furnace of the sehlat’s body. Paws as large as Jim’s face pressed into his shoulders as the rest of the thing’s weight landed solidly on his thighs. Six-inch fangs protruded over a wet muzzle that was dripping something surprisingly cool onto Jim’s face while hot breath bathed his skin as the sehlat . . . sniffed at him?
“I-Chaya, kroykah,” a voice spat, followed by a further rush of Vulcan that Jim couldn’t manage to untangle. The sehlat lifted its head, and a moment later its weight shifted slowly off of him. “Master Jim, are you well?”
“Hey, T’Sal,” Jim panted, squinting up at the blazing rust-colored sky. “That word you said before, when I asked what I-Chaya was.”
“Kelek-aushfa. However, I still do not remember-”
“Pet. I’m pretty sure word you’re looking for is pet.” He levered himself up onto his elbows, wincing at the screaming protest of his shoulders, and surveyed the scene before him. “So this is I-Chaya, huh?”
The sehlat was seated between T’Perea and T’Sal staring back at him in unmistakable interest. Short of breath, Jim struggled to his feet and held out a tentative hand. I-Chaya craned his neck forward, wet nose snuffling at Jim’s palm for a moment before he ducked his head so that Jim’s hand landed between his ears. Jim couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’re not so scary after all.” He crouched back down to properly dig his fingers into I-Chaya’s thick fur, laughing again when the sehlat leaned heavily into the touch and nearly knocked him over. “Friendly, aren’t you?” He glanced up to see that knowing looks had graced both women’s faces. “What?”
“He recognizes you,” T’Perea said simply, and Jim frowned.
“What do you mean? How could he possibly recognize me?”
“I-Chaya is Lord Spock’s kelek-aushfa. His . . . pet. Vlorik says that it has been so since the master was a child,” T’Sal said. “He is well accustomed to your mate’s scent.”
“His . . .” Jim stood abruptly, gaping at both of them. “Are you telling me that I smell like him? How is that even possible?”
“I am hardly a scientist,” T’Sal shrugged. “I can tell you only that something has changed. When you first arrived, your scent was quite appealing; now you are like any mated Vulcan.” One eyebrow lifted above the cloth across her eyes. “It is a surprising alteration.”
“None of us anticipated it,” T’Perea agreed.
“I don’t . . .” For some reason, all he could focus on was, “Are you telling me I stink?”
T’Perea’s lips twitched. “Not precisely. It is not entirely an identifiable scent; closer to a . . . sense. Any Vulcan will recognize you as part of a bonded pair.”
Jim was beginning to feel lightheaded with confusion. “I think I need to get out of the sun for a little while,” he said faintly.
I-Chaya rose to his feet again as if on cue, a sudden surge of muscle pressing against Jim’s legs until he was forced to take several stumbling steps. No sooner had he regained his balance than I-Chaya was there again; herding him, Jim realized suddenly, towards the towering tree.
“Is everything in this place telepathic?” he muttered.
Strange as it was to be understood by the sehlat, however, Jim didn’t resist. The tree would at least offer some protection from the sun. Jim’s clothes were sticking unpleasantly to his skin, already soaked through with sweat in places; he grudgingly admitted, if only to himself, that the robes T’Sal had offered would have been far more comfortable. He certainly wasn’t accustomed to wearing this much in the full heat of the day, and needed respite for a while. He could go back inside, but the thought left him feeling oddly trapped. Bad enough to know that the very desert held him hostage here; he didn’t need walls around him reinforcing the idea.
As Jim approached the tree he slowly became aware of the soft sound of moving water from beyond the curtain of leaves. That was unexpected. Oases formed around in-du-ka trees because their long roots drew groundwater to the surface; there should have been no need for irrigation. Unless, he mused, having crossbred it with a willow had weakened that particular trait. Still, water was this planet’s most precious resource, and it seemed uncharacteristically wasteful for a Vulcan household to devote such a supply of it to something like this. Intrigued, Jim pushed through the hanging branches and found-
-a garden.
The trunk of the tree rose strong and tall in the center, supporting the dappled dome of leaves that fell in a circle easily forty feet across. It was cooler here, closer to the feel of a dry Earth summer than the furnace of Vulcan’s midday heat, and Jim took a deep, grateful breath of the sweetly perfumed air. He could see several typical oasis-born plants: kaasa and pla-savas bushes and creeping hirat vines, delicate favinit blossoms amidst sharply spicy thatches of the herb Syrrik liked to add to almost everything he ate. And scattered among the others, Jim realized, were Earth flowers, as well. Daisy-shaped blooms in vivid reds and yellows; the full, lush bloom of some sort of white rose; and from somewhere out of sight rose the sweet, unmistakable scent of lavender.
There were patches of soft-looking ground cover between the blooms, and around the base of the tree where its roots rose out of the ground, a pool of water bubbled up in what looked like a natural spring. Jim drifted closer and bent down to trail his fingers in the gentle current; the water was cool against his skin, and he nearly shivered in delight.
“This is amazing,” he said under his breath, laughing softly as I-Chaya pushed past him to drink.
“Lady Amanda’s work as well,” T’Sal’s voice answered, and Jim turned to see that she and T’Perea had joined him. “In honor of her son, as is the tree itself. Its roots reach deeper than the native plant’s, and draw the water more forcefully; the leaves shield enough of our sun’s light for alien plants to thrive.”
“Its own little ecosystem. Sulu would go nuts over this place,” Jim mused, imagining his friend’s raptures over Terran and Vulcan plants growing in the same soil. The thought, however, brought his previous misgivings back in a sudden rush, and the smile faded from his face.
“Perhaps he would enjoy a token from your new home,” T’Sal suggested. “The pla-savas is nearly ripe; you could send-”
“That may not be a wise idea,” T’Perea interrupted with a frown, and T’Sal turned to her.
“We have orders from Lord Spock himself, do we not? His mate is welcome to anything within these walls; he did not specify that it must remain within these walls.”
T’Perea’s frown deepened, but she made no further argument. Jim, however, stepped forward.
“I’m not doing anything else that’s going to get one of you in trouble,” he said firmly, and both women turned back towards him. “I wanted to apologize, T’Perea. If I’d made myself clearer-”
“You had no reason to believe it was necessary to do so.” Her face darkened slightly. “I am certain that your thoughts were perfectly clear on the matter; you are not at fault for my having misread them.”
Jim frowned at her words, confused, but she looked as uncomfortable as she had been when he had commented on her fair hair, and he didn’t want to press. “Well.” He looked around again, feeling awkward. “I still feel at least partially responsible. Can I . . . help, maybe?”
“With what?”
“With him.” Jim jerked a thumb over his shoulder before belatedly remembering that neither of them could see him. Grateful for the fact that at least he was the only witness to his own embarrassment, he cleared his throat. “With I-Chaya. Maybe I can help with whatever it is you’re doing.”
T’Perea’s face brightened. “He does seem to like you. And he requires a great deal of exercise.”
“T’Perea,” T’Sal began sternly, but the other woman’s eyebrow merely lifted in amusement.
“He is welcome to anything within these walls, is he not? Surely that extends to time with his mate’s kelek-aushfa, if that is how he wishes to spend his time.”
As it turned out, he did. T’Sal excused herself while T’Perea and Jim remained in the courtyard with I-Chaya. While Jim had little luck teaching the sehlat to fetch the kaasa he threw, they both enjoyed the chase and Jim’s attempts to wrestle the half-mangled fruit away. Jim’s clothes were completely soaked through within an hour, and he took frequent trips to the garden’s cooler air and the refreshing water of its spring. When the sun had reached its zenith they remained there, sheltered by the canopy of leaves and sharing the ripe fruit picked from heavy-hung branches.
Accustomed to the planet’s conditions as Jim was, he was also still not completely recovered from the days and nights that he and Spock had spent locked around each other, and by the time twilight fell he was completely exhausted. I-Chaya pressed against his hip in farewell and padded into the darkness while T’Sal awaited Jim with lamp in hand. Dinner was laid out for him as it had been on his first night there, though in significantly smaller quantity. He ate almost without tasting and forced his feet to carry him through the maze of corridors, T’Sal’s light blurring and sharpening with every blink of his eyes.
Jim considered a bath, and got as far as stripping off his filthy clothes before falling facedown onto the bed and instantly asleep.
He awoke in the dark to a buzzing sensation beneath his skin and heat pooling low in his belly. Propping himself up on his elbows, Jim licked his lips and spoke to the darkness.
“I saw the tree your mother planted.” His voice was rough with sleep and banked arousal, and he heard a shifting in the shadows.
“Yes.” Spock’s voice licked over him like flame. “You smell of the sun.”
Jim’s heart thumped harder. He could feel Spock’s desire for him, but little else, and he frowned. “Something’s different.”
“You seemed disquieted by our bond. I have shielded it as much as I can bear.”
“Oh.” Jim blinked, but the darkness remained as thick as ever. “I’m sorry,” he found himself saying.
“For what?”
“For not being what you need. You deserve . . .” Jim’s mind was still cloudy with exhaustion, and the words eluded him. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
“You are mistaken.” The words came from so close that Jim could practically taste them. “You are precisely what I require. I knew it the moment I touched you; you will know it as well, when I touch you again.”
Jim couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him at Spock’s declaration any more than he could stop the hardening of his traitorous flesh. “That’s . . . probably not a good idea.”
A ghost of breath skated across his cheek. “As you say,” Spock murmured, and the warmth that Jim had hardly been aware of withdrew.
He blinked again, tying to conceal his disappointment. “Realizing you’re wrong already?”
“I am not wrong. But nor am I eager for the same rejection that I endured before. I am accustomed to going without another's touch; I will not share your bed again until you ask. Until you beg.”
Jim glared at nothing. “I don’t beg.”
A ripple of alien amusement slid through his mind. “Then sleep,” Spock said, and despite himself, Jim obeyed.
>>Part 6