FIC: Little Wild Bouquet - part 3/6
This part approximately 5,370 words.
Summary, notes, disclaimer etc in part 1.
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Little Wild Bouquet
part 3
Leonard tips the contents of the tray into the incinerator and runs the sanitizer over the biobed, then propping his PADD up, he glances at the screen. “Visual: holding-pen,” he says leaning on his elbows. “Magnify.” He gave Jim something to make him sleep, and though Jim won’t know it, gave him a vitamin shot too.
His features are softer, even younger-looking in repose. Leonard smiles when he spots drool at the corner of Tiberius’ mouth (or whatever the hell his name really is). He’s made a good attempt at covering his tracks - alias easily spotted by Monty, but no viable new name has come up despite Monty’s research. There was a near match with an old Wanted poster from a few years back, a kid called George Samuel Kirk who was on a terrorism watch-list, but despite some resemblance to their guy, especially around the eyes, the teen in the picture is actually too old - or would be. The tricorder showed Tiberius as almost twenty-one though he has the swagger of a man ten years older and a coldness about the eyes that hints at an interesting history. One thing Leonard's sure about is that he comes from wealth - his perfect teeth are clue enough.
That’s all face recognition has come up with so far, but Nyota’s still working on it. They’ve avoided scanning Starfleet’s site - despite so many being on their side, it’s always a risk in case their probes are traced back to his group. At this rate, he might have to make a few encrypted calls.
“Nyota, how far have you gotten on the ID?”
“I’ve messaged a few contacts including our ‘fleet moles; I’m hoping he’s on some wanted list they haven’t released officially yet.”
“Okay, keep me posted.”
“Affirmative, boss.”
Boss. Holy mother of…what the hell would Jocelyn have made of that? His lips curl when he thinks of her and he instructs his PADD to shut down as he strides towards Nyota. She pushes her stool away from the computer so he can examine the screen, not that there’s anything he’d understand. “What’s that one?” His finger stabs the top of the list.
“It just came in as you were speaking; it’s from KLV123.”
“Pike? Well goddamn open it, will you?”
+++
This is getting to be a bad habit is Jim’s first thought as he comes to; if he gets knocked out too many more times, he’ll likely suffer brain damage and be forced to spend the rest of his days cleaning out troughs in the Emperor’s dungeons to eke a living.
The effects of the Tantalus have worn off and he’s unsure whether the boner he’s woken up with is a weird side-effect or if his body’s confused and thinks it’s morning. What he does know instantly is he can stand up whenever he likes, but he stays still, pretending to sleep, needing time to think; he knows he’s being monitored on a vid feed, and just wants a moment’s privacy while taking stock of his situation.
He thinks about rebellion, how, as a concept it fascinates the hell out of him, how it’s so rare, so dangerous in a society where the ones at the top of the food chain can pretty much do as they please, while those below bow and scrape, toeing the line, seeking favors and advancement. Jim never liked to do as he was fucking told and his need to be in charge coupled with boundless talent and an innate understanding of how to get the smartest and ruthless on side resulted in his running the show in his year’s intake at court. Folk rebelled against him. If they dared. He crushed them, ostracized them, or brought them onside.
After all that, he walked out of court, attitude intact, and status in tatters. But he had his pride, right? He grinds his teeth, remembering his mother’s look of despair, the incomprehension when he strode past her and her latest fucking champion.
Four years he’s been running away, from memories of Sam, from the ‘crat bullshit which caused his death, from his mother, releasing her from worrying about him, from needing to take care of him. Thing is if meantime he’s also been looking for something, he still doesn’t know what that is. Maybe he’ll know when he sees it.
Under the blanket, his hand moves down to his still-hard cock while in his mind’s eye, hazel eyes, and dark, expressive eyebrows vye for attention with an image of Doc loping across the clearing before he doused Jim in ice cold water. He palms his cock through his jeans, irritated by how his bodily needs cloud his thinking - he really has to get a handle on that. Maybe after he’s taken a few more minutes to...
Jim rolls onto his back, tucking the blanket under his chin, then unbuttoning his jeans to free a very stubborn erection while he tries to work out what the hell it is about Doc that’s getting under his skin, apart from the obvious appeal of his cowboy slouch, his lazy drawl, and fine ass.
One hand moves lazily up and down his shaft while Jim uses the other to cup his balls, and he realizes with a grin that what’s keeping him interested is Doc’s apparent refusal to be what he’s supposed to be: a functioning, ruthless, cut-throat, self-aggrandizing member of the Empire. He’s a rebel and, Jim’s realising now, that attitude leaks through into the pout of Doc’s lips, the flare of his nostrils and the ironic set of his eyebrows. It’s just hot.
He pulls his hand away from his cock, startled back to the present by a familiar snort and...
“I know you’re awake, unless jerking off in your sleep is standard for you. Open your eyes, dumb-ass.” Doc’s voice is that mix of laid-back-irritated, like it’s just too much damned effort to inform Jim precisely what class of idiot he is.
Yeah, the voice is definitely one of his favorite things about Doc. Jim’s cock gives a little twitch of approval and he amuses himself by making no effort to hide what he’s doing under the blanket. If they’re going to keep him here, he’s going to make himself at home, because irritating the fuck out of these guys is all he’s got and he’s sure now he’s safe.
They could have killed him again. Either Monty with the Tantalus, or later ‘accidently’ once one of the gang had gotten out of McCoy’s sight. If it had been him, Jim would have risked an agonizer or the booth for the satisfaction - though he hasn’t seen anything like that in the short moments of freedom he’s had. He doesn’t doubt they’ll have the full spectrum of punishment and torture devices in one of the other tents - though something about the doc...well, that just doesn’t fit with his big ‘ol healer bullshit. Still. How else would he keep control? Sulu for one must be itching to take over.
“Well be like that,” Doc says, then adds pointedly, “Kirk.”
Jim’s eyes shoot open.
Doc looks pleased with himself, his right eyebrow arched so high, it almost disappears into a mass of permanently bed-head bangs.
“That took longer than I thought,” Jim says, and has to cough because his throat’s so dry.
“Sure did, but worth it for the punch line.”
Jim’s eyes fix on Doc’s mouth as he chews his lip waiting for Jim to respond. He finds himself wishing the bars of the cage were gone so he could pull the bastard onto the cot and fuck the smirk off his face. “Tell me the punchline, doc, I’m getting cramp waiting.”
Doc shoots a pointed look in the general direction of Jim’s groin, then amused eyes settle back on his face. Doc leans on the bars, the long fingers of one hand curling around the wood, while the other hand jabs an accusing finger.
“You’re a ‘crat too,” he says, tilts his head, waits for a reaction. Jim doesn’t give him one unless the way his neck is flushing counts, heart pounding in his ears, memories crowding back of what it was like the last time someone uttered those words to his face.
Then Jim stood by powerless, watching his brother being cooked, denying all knowledge of Sam’s involvement in the cause. Jim smooth-talked the cops, taking care not to beg, convincing them to comm his tutor at the palace, using every ounce of charm he’d learned to wield and charisma his mother assured him he was born with. He remembers now how the cops exchanged poorly disguised impressed looks when Jim got the royal seal of approval so to speak.
“Okay kid, you wanna stay, keep out of the way but nothing’s gonna save this little shit.”
He watched, face impassive, as his brother writhed, beat against the booth walls, a fly against a pane of glass, helpless, weak, till he fell in a twitching heap.
“Fucking ‘crat scum,” Jim heard them mumble. “Now get him the fuck out of here, he’s stinking up the place.”
“Okay, suit yourself,” Doc’s saying, apparently oblivious to Jim’s inner turmoil. “Deny it, but it explains some why you didn’t escape when you thought you had the chance.”
It takes the same reserves of self-control Jim drew on that day to quash down his bubbling rage, to adopt a bored shrug, to sit up in his cot, to tuck away his now-wilted cock and look Doc directly in the eye, to lie to him because how could Doc be expected to understand why the fuck Jim stayed when Jim’s not sure himself?
“I didn’t escape because your techno-pet has the Tantalus, remember?” Jim folds his arms across his chest, a master of disguising what he feels. He’s had to learn in order to survive court, to make it in the outside world on his own.
“And you didn’t know that when you had the chance.” It’s not an accusation, just a logical summation. “You wanted to stay.”
“Because I’m a big ol’ asshole like you guys. Democracy and the needs of the many...” Jim quotes in a simpering tone. He lets out a disgusted breath. “Gimme a fucking break!” He swings his legs out of the bed, stands, and throws his hands out in a gesture he hopes comes off as peaceful, harmless, when in reality he’s harboring so much nervous energy his fingers are fizzing with it. He’s got no restraints now, just the bars separating him from Doc and, potentially, freedom. “Just let me go, man and I’ll be out of here - out of your hair. You don’t need another mouth to feed. Unless…” he leans forward, giving his best leer, amused at how Doc lifts his chin, wrinkles his nose and peers at Jim like he smells bad, “maybe you’re after a sex slave? That it?” Jim raises his eyebrows suggestively.
It doesn’t escape Jim’s notice that Doc’s cheeks turn pink at that. His eyes sweep Jim up and down, like he’s some kind of idiot, while he slams his medkit shut with, Jim notes in satisfaction, slightly trembling hands. “Infant,” he growls, turning his back on Jim and stomping off towards the tents.
“Hey, don’t go! I was enjoying our little talk.”
+++
“And that’s it.”
Leonard gazes at the image on screen; Pike’s in a faded sweater, a day-old beard, but he looks every inch the commanding presence he does in uniform.
“What if Kirk runs out on us too?” he finally says. “He looks desperate for credits - he could pull in a helluva ransom for our hides.”
“He could, if he wanted to blow his cover, and trust me he doesn’t. He’s been laying low for a few years now. Ever since they killed his brother he’s washed his hands of politics. He hasn’t a clue I’m part of the brotherhood. I hoped I could break it to him once he’d enlisted - bring him over. I hadn’t meant to recruit him, not yet, but when I saw him in the bar, you could say I believed fate had dealt me a hand I couldn’t ignore.”
Leonard leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “But you were wrong, he ran out on you.”
The image of Pike shrugs. “The timing was out, that’s all. I’d underestimated how much he’s grown to hate the system; maybe I should have hinted at the cause but it’s too risky for me, I don’t need to tell you that. Bottom line, he’s not interested in serving the Emperor or in joining Starfleet. So I think we should bring him in clean; you can do that, he must already suspect you’re connected to the ‘cause. Try that route and, if he’s anything like his father, he’ll want to do the right thing. You know McCoy, I’m frankly surprised you and your team didn’t put two and two together. I mean, Sam Kirk, and then Jim’s alias.” He shakes his head and moves closer to the camera. “I bet you suck at crosswords.”
McCoy scowls. Give him a break - he hasn’t slept more than three hours straight in fuck-knows how long. ”I’m a doctor, not Sherlock Holmes.”
Pike barks out a laugh. “And there’s a good reason to bring him in,” he says, clearly amused. “That kid’s got a brain the size of a fucking planet. He could be a ship’s captain in eight years, and when the times right… You should talk to him. Get him onside now - he can figure out how to fill the holes in your crew. They’re loyal to you, to the ‘crat cause ultimately, but you need a strategist, someone who can think beyond the next job.”
“Yeah, me an’ my oratory skills,” Leonard says wryly. “Kirk’s an asshole.” And a fucking kid, one with apparently no impulse control, and dumb as pig shit: why he didn’t run when he could is a mystery. But Pike will allow Leonard’s questioning only so far and Pike’s proved himself able to read and understand human nature unlike anyone Leonard’s ever come across, so he must be right...right? “You’re our strategist,” Leonard points out. “You’re in a far better position to plan long-term than he can ever hope to be.”
Pike nods slightly in affirmation of Leonard’s loyalty. “So you say,” he concedes. “But I know Jim, I’ve been watching him for years, and he is very like his father: brilliant and charismatic. The fratboy shit’s mostly a front, a way of disarming people so they underestimate him.” Pike leans back in his chair and makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “He’s been dealt a rough deal, first his father, then his brother.”
Leonard shrugs. “Welcome to the real fucking world. We’ve all lost people.”
“That’s true,” Pike nods and leans in, his pale gray eyes intense. “But…it’s more complicated with Jim. He could be anyone, do well for himself. I don’t think you fully understand what he turned his back on. He was the golden boy, yet he’s opted to drop off the charts since he left court prematurely when his benefactor died, rather than forge new alliances. For anyone else that would have been suicide, but I think he’s been biding his time. I’ll warrant he’s been considering coming back to the ‘cause, gods knows he hates the fucking Empire enough.”
Leonard’s not convinced. He wants to ask so many questions, wants to know how the hell Pike knows so much about what the kid wants, who he hates even, when every instinct in him tells him Jim doesn’t have half a clue himself why he didn’t run. And even if Pike is right, from what Leonard’s seen so far, he’s not a team player; he can’t imagine working with someone as unpredictable.
“He has nothing but contempt for the crew,” Leonard throws in.
“Well that’s a natural, healthy reaction for your average citizen of the Empire - he’s been taught how to do that from a young age, what else would you expect?”
“But if he felt safe, he'd join us, is that what you’re saying?”
Pike sits back and spreads his hands. “Go talk to him, Leonard.”
Leonard scowls in response to the suggestion - he was kind of hoping he could take a nap before he faced Kirk again. Pike sees his reaction and smiles, a playful twinkle in his eye as he adds, “Better still, leave him with Sulu for a few hours - they have a lot of hot blood between them and if Sulu was persuaded to come over, so can Jim.”
He’s unconvinced and shakes his head, the safety of his people always his first concern. “I can’t risk the lives of my crew. Kirk may not have the licence to kill that comes with completing his court schooling, but he’s pretty lethal by all accounts.”
“So you’ve finally learned how to do research,” Pike teases.
Leonard squashes a grin and glowers instead. “Monty found that out. He was mighty impressed when he heard about this one time in the showers and Kirk ripped some guys tongue out. With his teeth.” Leonard grimaces when he contemplates the diseases that could lead to.
“That’s nothing, Leonard. Dig deeper. He was well on the way to being a legend but, and I quote, ‘I’m not pimping my fucking mother again!’ Unquote.”
Leonard frowns. “And that’s why he left court? The benefactor was his mother’s latest beau and he wanted to protect her?”
“Beau?” Pike laughs again. ”Leonard McCoy - you’re so damn quaint sometimes it makes me blush!”
Leonard is amused at the attempt to sound like Scarlett O’Hara. This apparent softness is deceiving: he’s all too aware of Pike’s reputation and swift climb, first through the academy, then through the ranks to command his own ship in double-quick time, all of which came with an efficient blur of daggers then blackness. Pike’s approach to their philosophy of democracy is pragmatically upending their mantra of ‘the needs of the many’ into ‘many innocents must die for the final goal’ - which is to ultimately overturn the Empire.
“Well is that what happened?”
“His mom’s a helluva woman, Leonard, but she lost her dowry when George died; like all of us, she had to do what she had to do.”
Of course, that goes without saying. Smart women, ones with breeding and who marry well, can wield their power behind the scenes, affect politics, use their brains to advance their sons and guarantee their own protection in turn, and this is what Kirk’s own mother must have done too; what’s odd is that Pike is stating the obvious almost like he’s defending her…oh.
“Chris,” Leonard leans towards the screen, “you two ever been sweethearts?” Which would explain how Chris knows so much about Jim, and has a vested interest in his success. Though he can’t imagine it’s as simple as that with Pike who’s spent a lifetime plotting the downfall of the Empire - he’s not the kind of man makes decisions based on romantic love.
Pike’s expression instantly changes to his murderous one, face impassive, his mouth a thin line, eyes of steel, his entire body radiating controlled anger. He’s always tolerated Leonard’s sassy mouth, but something tells the doctor this has hit a nerve and he’s very glad they’re separated by a thousand miles and cyberspace.
“I have a meeting to attend, Leonard. I’ll expect you to have Jim onside by the time I next speak to you.”
Fine.
They both stand and simultaneously press the open palms of their right hands to their hearts and stare dead ahead. “The needs of the many!” they declaim solemnly. Leonard’s chest swells with feeling as it does every time he utters these words.
“Pike out.” And the screen goes blank.
“Computer: give me Nyota.”
“Boss?” She’s in her pjs, hair loose about her shoulder, face golden and perfect in the computer’s back light. He knows he woke her but there is nothing but willing alertness in her expression.
“Report on James T. Kirk’s mother by the morning, darling. And I want one of your ‘specials’, ‘k?”
“Consider it done, boss.”
+++
After waking at sunrise, Jim stares at the tents for hours, watching, remembering who emerges from where, counting the steps they take from one tent to another, trying to deduce what they’ve been doing all day. He notes with interest that all morning there has been a stream of visitors - patients he realizes - disappearing into the med tent, emerging when they’ve gotten what they came for, each time with an escort, usually Nyota on the way in, Scotty on the way out. He hasn’t set eyes on Doc in hours. It’s given him plenty of time to think about the ‘crats, to go over every single word Sam ever said to him, how he preached about the ‘good of the many’ how he said the Empire was going to implode anyway, how wasteful it was, how merit meant nothing, how someone like Jim could make things happen, how...
“Hey, girlfriend!”
Sulu’s smirking down at Jim as he sits with legs crossed at the ankle, slouched against the bars of the cage. Apparently he bears Jim no ill will - his nose looks good, all fixed up, and he’s grinning like they’re the best of friends, like he hadn’t tried to beat Jim’s face into a pulp. Fuck him.
“Wanna let off some steam?”
“Wanna kiss my ass?” Jim says as bored as he can manage, covering up his real feelings a habit, when in fact he’s thrilled to have a visitor at all, someone to break up the tedium now things have quietened down around the med tent.
“Not exactly, but if you were me, I’d be itching for a rumble. And I am me, so…”
“None of those pussies give you a real run for your money?”
“Nope. Haven’t killed anyone in weeks - I’m getting withdrawal.”
Jim smiles, the first genuine smile in god knows how long. This cocky bastard is someone he could be friends with, he thinks, or at least allies...in another universe. He lifts a shoulder nonchalantly. “How do ya know I won’t kill you and make a break for it?”
“The killing isn’t going to happen because I’m a badass motherfucker. See that?” he points to a scar that curves around the right side of his face from his cheek to above his eye. “After I finished torturing the guy who did it, I threw him into an industrial mincer at my cousin’s farm. He squealed like the pigs that got him for dinner.” Sulu raises an eyebrow, all fly-boy charm and self-belief.
Jim’s grudgingly impressed. “Nice.”
“Also, I have the Tantalus as back-up.” He nods towards the tent. “Monty’s on homoerotic fight watch!” he grins, his voice seductive.
Yeah, Jim thinks, he’d totally hit that. He weighs up the options: he could sit back down on his cot and brood; or get a good work-out.
Sulu watches his face with casual interest then says, “Up to you, bro. I can always go fight a sim - we’ve got everything here as you’ll have seen by now. Thing is,” Sulu crouches down, leans close to Jim so hot breath strokes his face, “nothing beats the scent of real blood on your knuckles - don’t need to tell you that, right?”
There’s not much Jim can say to that except for, “Amen.” He stands up and steps back from the bars as Sulu presses his thumb to the panel. It occurs to Jim he’d have to cut one of their thumbs off to escape the cage.
They walk to the clearing, side by side, with Sulu tapping out a rhythm on his thigh with his sword. He’s whistling nonchalantly like they’re going bird watching or something. When they’re well away from the trees he comes to a halt and throws his sword down.
“Fists,” he says simply, pulling his dagger out of his boots, throwing that too. “Take your boots off, bro, and the shirt.”
They watch each other in silence as they strip, then Sulu draws an imaginary line on the trodden down grass with his toe.
“Rules?” Jim wants to know.
“Fuck rules,” Sulu says smoothly. “You and me, fists and teeth - like sex.”
And Jim likes sex. A lot.
+++
Monty's not visible behind the wall of spectators: Nyota, Chapel and the miraculously recovered Gary, his brother - young Will, all huddled around the screen cheering and whooping at the scene unravelling before them. Not that he’s not interested, but just from the incessant commentary for the last ten minutes courtesy of Monty alone - who only pauses to munch another handful of potato chips - he knows damn well how things are going. And there will be crumbs all over the floor, unsanitary asshole. “Hey, Boss! Len - you should come watch this,” Monty suggests.
“I’m busy,” Leonard barks back, gazing unseeingly into the cabinet holding medical supplies. His dick, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have got the message about not being interested. He’ll have to keep his back to the rest of the crew until he’s found something that’ll give him droop. And he needs something now since he’s secretly watching the screen on his comm showing the vid feed, mercifully small images of muscled bodies twined around each other, their grunts and moans on mute though he can hear well enough through the chatter behind him. Leonard’s always been very aural - the sounds of sex what he likes best, what really breaks him, though he’s never confessed that to a living soul. He closes his eyes, takes a long breath in an attempt to compose himself, knowing he sucks at hiding his feelings.
“There you go, my beauty!” Monty shouts, jumping to his feet!
Leonard snatches up his comm where it’s leaning against a stack of boxes holding disposable hypos and, in his haste, he knocks the whole pile and it teeters and falls at his feet, the comm falling with them. He drops to his knees, hand searching through the pile. Fuck. What happened? Who won? Damn - he’s busting to know; needs it to be Sulu for obvious reasons. He’s the soldier in the crew; they rely on his ruthless streak to keep them alive. Fucking dumb-ass idea to send Sulu in, to get him to try make some kind of connection with Jim, sensing it would be violence or sex that might get Jim to reveal another side to himself; one that would help Leonard know if he was to be trusted or not.
“He’s going to fucking kill him, shit!” There’s glee in Monty’s voice behind him.
There! His fingers curl round the comm, Leonard takes a calming breath, leaps to his feet and rushes outside blinking against the sunshine.
Jim’s on his knees, Sulu pulled up so his back’s flush against Jim’s chest, Jim’s arm tight against Sulu’s throat, choking, squeezing despite Sulu’s fingers scrabbling at the tightening, deadly grip.
Kirk!” Leonard rushes towards them, but it feels like slow mo’, like he’s in a dream, unable to move fast enough, his feet heavy, blood pounding in his ears. Jim glances at him, eyes bright, innocent blue but hard, his teeth bared, a killer. How could he have thought for even a second that this…this fucking bum could have anything in him, could be anyone who could help?
Leonard freezes two strides away, worried to make a wrong move that might cost Sulu’s life, his own. He’s close enough to smell the adrenaline, the blood from Sulu’s split eye, Jim’s lip.
He’s not seen Jim in sunlight this close yet - not really looked at him - and it’s, he’s…fucking beautiful. Leonard’s mouth fills with bile, even as he moves to throw Jim off, consequences be damned, annoyed that he should be so brainwashed by the macho ideals of the society he was born into, that he should be stimulated by this act of barbarity.
“Stay!” Jim says simply, tightening. “He’s gonna stop breathing and it’ll be on your hands. Want me to kill your body guard or whatever the fuck he is to you?”
Leonard’s hands drop to his sides. He hopes to god Monty’s snapped out of his spectator mode and has the Tantalus teed up, though he’s not sure if the device, essentially a prototype, is so finely tuned that Sulu won’t die along with Jim if Monty fires it. Damn, he should have paid more attention when Monty droned on about it. It’s like Jim’s read his mind because he adjusts his position so his legs can wrap around Sulu who has lost consciousness.
“What do you want, Kirk? Safe passage? Just let him go - I’m a man of my word. We won’t chase you, we’ll leave you be and you can go back to wherever the fuck you came from.”
“You’ll kill me - soon as I let him go. I know too much about you, I know where you are. I could bring the Imperial Guards here - they’d pay an emperor’s fucking ransom for ‘crats.”
“You’re not about the money, Kirk.” Leonard crouches down. “Come on, Jim, let me take a look at him. We’ll talk.” Jim holds his gaze, panting, assessing.
Long seconds pass, and Leonard’s aware of the others behind him, silent, waiting for his orders. He holds up his hand. “I’ve got this, go back inside and, Monty, leave the Tantalus here - toss it over where we can see it.”
The device thuds beside them and he waits for them to go, watching Jim’s eyes as he tracks them.
Another age passes as Jim decides what to do; he could snap Sulu’s neck if he chose to and Leonard doesn't doubt that the thought’s crossing his mind. Jim could then kill him, and he thinks about the stories he’s read, how in court Jim was untouchable once he’d made examples of some of the bullies who’d singled him out in his first week, killing and maiming with an enthusiasm that soon brought him to the attention, and then the protection, of the older boys.
Now, after the prestige of court life and the power that came with it, Jim’s scrabbling in the dirt - and he knows ways he can pull himself up again. He sees Jim eye the Tantalus, knows he’s thinking this could bring him power unimaginable if he uses it right.
The device is just an arm’s length away. Leonard waits, his body tense with adrenaline.
Finally, Jim loosens his grip, decision apparently made, and Sulu lolls forward. Leonard lets out a breath, heart drumming wildly in his throat. Jim takes Sulu’s head between his hands carefully, eyes on Leonard as he tilts forward and plants a kiss on Sulu’s forehead before standing, leaving him to drop to the ground in a limp heap.
Leonard tenses again as Jim walks towards the Tantalus. There’s nothing now stopping him picking it up and using it against his erstwhile captors, annihilating them so completely, no trace of them will be left.
But Jim steps right over it.
Confused, Leonard glances after him as he moves away towards the tent, and sees Jim pick up his comm where he dropped it. Danger over, he breathes a sigh of relief and turns to Sulu. He’s checking him manually for vital signs when he hears, “You got a shower in this fucking dump?”
For the love of all that’s holy, what have they gotten themselves into with this kid?
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Summary, notes, disclaimer etc in part 1.
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Little Wild Bouquet
part 3
Leonard tips the contents of the tray into the incinerator and runs the sanitizer over the biobed, then propping his PADD up, he glances at the screen. “Visual: holding-pen,” he says leaning on his elbows. “Magnify.” He gave Jim something to make him sleep, and though Jim won’t know it, gave him a vitamin shot too.
His features are softer, even younger-looking in repose. Leonard smiles when he spots drool at the corner of Tiberius’ mouth (or whatever the hell his name really is). He’s made a good attempt at covering his tracks - alias easily spotted by Monty, but no viable new name has come up despite Monty’s research. There was a near match with an old Wanted poster from a few years back, a kid called George Samuel Kirk who was on a terrorism watch-list, but despite some resemblance to their guy, especially around the eyes, the teen in the picture is actually too old - or would be. The tricorder showed Tiberius as almost twenty-one though he has the swagger of a man ten years older and a coldness about the eyes that hints at an interesting history. One thing Leonard's sure about is that he comes from wealth - his perfect teeth are clue enough.
That’s all face recognition has come up with so far, but Nyota’s still working on it. They’ve avoided scanning Starfleet’s site - despite so many being on their side, it’s always a risk in case their probes are traced back to his group. At this rate, he might have to make a few encrypted calls.
“Nyota, how far have you gotten on the ID?”
“I’ve messaged a few contacts including our ‘fleet moles; I’m hoping he’s on some wanted list they haven’t released officially yet.”
“Okay, keep me posted.”
“Affirmative, boss.”
Boss. Holy mother of…what the hell would Jocelyn have made of that? His lips curl when he thinks of her and he instructs his PADD to shut down as he strides towards Nyota. She pushes her stool away from the computer so he can examine the screen, not that there’s anything he’d understand. “What’s that one?” His finger stabs the top of the list.
“It just came in as you were speaking; it’s from KLV123.”
“Pike? Well goddamn open it, will you?”
+++
This is getting to be a bad habit is Jim’s first thought as he comes to; if he gets knocked out too many more times, he’ll likely suffer brain damage and be forced to spend the rest of his days cleaning out troughs in the Emperor’s dungeons to eke a living.
The effects of the Tantalus have worn off and he’s unsure whether the boner he’s woken up with is a weird side-effect or if his body’s confused and thinks it’s morning. What he does know instantly is he can stand up whenever he likes, but he stays still, pretending to sleep, needing time to think; he knows he’s being monitored on a vid feed, and just wants a moment’s privacy while taking stock of his situation.
He thinks about rebellion, how, as a concept it fascinates the hell out of him, how it’s so rare, so dangerous in a society where the ones at the top of the food chain can pretty much do as they please, while those below bow and scrape, toeing the line, seeking favors and advancement. Jim never liked to do as he was fucking told and his need to be in charge coupled with boundless talent and an innate understanding of how to get the smartest and ruthless on side resulted in his running the show in his year’s intake at court. Folk rebelled against him. If they dared. He crushed them, ostracized them, or brought them onside.
After all that, he walked out of court, attitude intact, and status in tatters. But he had his pride, right? He grinds his teeth, remembering his mother’s look of despair, the incomprehension when he strode past her and her latest fucking champion.
Four years he’s been running away, from memories of Sam, from the ‘crat bullshit which caused his death, from his mother, releasing her from worrying about him, from needing to take care of him. Thing is if meantime he’s also been looking for something, he still doesn’t know what that is. Maybe he’ll know when he sees it.
Under the blanket, his hand moves down to his still-hard cock while in his mind’s eye, hazel eyes, and dark, expressive eyebrows vye for attention with an image of Doc loping across the clearing before he doused Jim in ice cold water. He palms his cock through his jeans, irritated by how his bodily needs cloud his thinking - he really has to get a handle on that. Maybe after he’s taken a few more minutes to...
Jim rolls onto his back, tucking the blanket under his chin, then unbuttoning his jeans to free a very stubborn erection while he tries to work out what the hell it is about Doc that’s getting under his skin, apart from the obvious appeal of his cowboy slouch, his lazy drawl, and fine ass.
One hand moves lazily up and down his shaft while Jim uses the other to cup his balls, and he realizes with a grin that what’s keeping him interested is Doc’s apparent refusal to be what he’s supposed to be: a functioning, ruthless, cut-throat, self-aggrandizing member of the Empire. He’s a rebel and, Jim’s realising now, that attitude leaks through into the pout of Doc’s lips, the flare of his nostrils and the ironic set of his eyebrows. It’s just hot.
He pulls his hand away from his cock, startled back to the present by a familiar snort and...
“I know you’re awake, unless jerking off in your sleep is standard for you. Open your eyes, dumb-ass.” Doc’s voice is that mix of laid-back-irritated, like it’s just too much damned effort to inform Jim precisely what class of idiot he is.
Yeah, the voice is definitely one of his favorite things about Doc. Jim’s cock gives a little twitch of approval and he amuses himself by making no effort to hide what he’s doing under the blanket. If they’re going to keep him here, he’s going to make himself at home, because irritating the fuck out of these guys is all he’s got and he’s sure now he’s safe.
They could have killed him again. Either Monty with the Tantalus, or later ‘accidently’ once one of the gang had gotten out of McCoy’s sight. If it had been him, Jim would have risked an agonizer or the booth for the satisfaction - though he hasn’t seen anything like that in the short moments of freedom he’s had. He doesn’t doubt they’ll have the full spectrum of punishment and torture devices in one of the other tents - though something about the doc...well, that just doesn’t fit with his big ‘ol healer bullshit. Still. How else would he keep control? Sulu for one must be itching to take over.
“Well be like that,” Doc says, then adds pointedly, “Kirk.”
Jim’s eyes shoot open.
Doc looks pleased with himself, his right eyebrow arched so high, it almost disappears into a mass of permanently bed-head bangs.
“That took longer than I thought,” Jim says, and has to cough because his throat’s so dry.
“Sure did, but worth it for the punch line.”
Jim’s eyes fix on Doc’s mouth as he chews his lip waiting for Jim to respond. He finds himself wishing the bars of the cage were gone so he could pull the bastard onto the cot and fuck the smirk off his face. “Tell me the punchline, doc, I’m getting cramp waiting.”
Doc shoots a pointed look in the general direction of Jim’s groin, then amused eyes settle back on his face. Doc leans on the bars, the long fingers of one hand curling around the wood, while the other hand jabs an accusing finger.
“You’re a ‘crat too,” he says, tilts his head, waits for a reaction. Jim doesn’t give him one unless the way his neck is flushing counts, heart pounding in his ears, memories crowding back of what it was like the last time someone uttered those words to his face.
Then Jim stood by powerless, watching his brother being cooked, denying all knowledge of Sam’s involvement in the cause. Jim smooth-talked the cops, taking care not to beg, convincing them to comm his tutor at the palace, using every ounce of charm he’d learned to wield and charisma his mother assured him he was born with. He remembers now how the cops exchanged poorly disguised impressed looks when Jim got the royal seal of approval so to speak.
“Okay kid, you wanna stay, keep out of the way but nothing’s gonna save this little shit.”
He watched, face impassive, as his brother writhed, beat against the booth walls, a fly against a pane of glass, helpless, weak, till he fell in a twitching heap.
“Fucking ‘crat scum,” Jim heard them mumble. “Now get him the fuck out of here, he’s stinking up the place.”
“Okay, suit yourself,” Doc’s saying, apparently oblivious to Jim’s inner turmoil. “Deny it, but it explains some why you didn’t escape when you thought you had the chance.”
It takes the same reserves of self-control Jim drew on that day to quash down his bubbling rage, to adopt a bored shrug, to sit up in his cot, to tuck away his now-wilted cock and look Doc directly in the eye, to lie to him because how could Doc be expected to understand why the fuck Jim stayed when Jim’s not sure himself?
“I didn’t escape because your techno-pet has the Tantalus, remember?” Jim folds his arms across his chest, a master of disguising what he feels. He’s had to learn in order to survive court, to make it in the outside world on his own.
“And you didn’t know that when you had the chance.” It’s not an accusation, just a logical summation. “You wanted to stay.”
“Because I’m a big ol’ asshole like you guys. Democracy and the needs of the many...” Jim quotes in a simpering tone. He lets out a disgusted breath. “Gimme a fucking break!” He swings his legs out of the bed, stands, and throws his hands out in a gesture he hopes comes off as peaceful, harmless, when in reality he’s harboring so much nervous energy his fingers are fizzing with it. He’s got no restraints now, just the bars separating him from Doc and, potentially, freedom. “Just let me go, man and I’ll be out of here - out of your hair. You don’t need another mouth to feed. Unless…” he leans forward, giving his best leer, amused at how Doc lifts his chin, wrinkles his nose and peers at Jim like he smells bad, “maybe you’re after a sex slave? That it?” Jim raises his eyebrows suggestively.
It doesn’t escape Jim’s notice that Doc’s cheeks turn pink at that. His eyes sweep Jim up and down, like he’s some kind of idiot, while he slams his medkit shut with, Jim notes in satisfaction, slightly trembling hands. “Infant,” he growls, turning his back on Jim and stomping off towards the tents.
“Hey, don’t go! I was enjoying our little talk.”
+++
“And that’s it.”
Leonard gazes at the image on screen; Pike’s in a faded sweater, a day-old beard, but he looks every inch the commanding presence he does in uniform.
“What if Kirk runs out on us too?” he finally says. “He looks desperate for credits - he could pull in a helluva ransom for our hides.”
“He could, if he wanted to blow his cover, and trust me he doesn’t. He’s been laying low for a few years now. Ever since they killed his brother he’s washed his hands of politics. He hasn’t a clue I’m part of the brotherhood. I hoped I could break it to him once he’d enlisted - bring him over. I hadn’t meant to recruit him, not yet, but when I saw him in the bar, you could say I believed fate had dealt me a hand I couldn’t ignore.”
Leonard leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “But you were wrong, he ran out on you.”
The image of Pike shrugs. “The timing was out, that’s all. I’d underestimated how much he’s grown to hate the system; maybe I should have hinted at the cause but it’s too risky for me, I don’t need to tell you that. Bottom line, he’s not interested in serving the Emperor or in joining Starfleet. So I think we should bring him in clean; you can do that, he must already suspect you’re connected to the ‘cause. Try that route and, if he’s anything like his father, he’ll want to do the right thing. You know McCoy, I’m frankly surprised you and your team didn’t put two and two together. I mean, Sam Kirk, and then Jim’s alias.” He shakes his head and moves closer to the camera. “I bet you suck at crosswords.”
McCoy scowls. Give him a break - he hasn’t slept more than three hours straight in fuck-knows how long. ”I’m a doctor, not Sherlock Holmes.”
Pike barks out a laugh. “And there’s a good reason to bring him in,” he says, clearly amused. “That kid’s got a brain the size of a fucking planet. He could be a ship’s captain in eight years, and when the times right… You should talk to him. Get him onside now - he can figure out how to fill the holes in your crew. They’re loyal to you, to the ‘crat cause ultimately, but you need a strategist, someone who can think beyond the next job.”
“Yeah, me an’ my oratory skills,” Leonard says wryly. “Kirk’s an asshole.” And a fucking kid, one with apparently no impulse control, and dumb as pig shit: why he didn’t run when he could is a mystery. But Pike will allow Leonard’s questioning only so far and Pike’s proved himself able to read and understand human nature unlike anyone Leonard’s ever come across, so he must be right...right? “You’re our strategist,” Leonard points out. “You’re in a far better position to plan long-term than he can ever hope to be.”
Pike nods slightly in affirmation of Leonard’s loyalty. “So you say,” he concedes. “But I know Jim, I’ve been watching him for years, and he is very like his father: brilliant and charismatic. The fratboy shit’s mostly a front, a way of disarming people so they underestimate him.” Pike leans back in his chair and makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “He’s been dealt a rough deal, first his father, then his brother.”
Leonard shrugs. “Welcome to the real fucking world. We’ve all lost people.”
“That’s true,” Pike nods and leans in, his pale gray eyes intense. “But…it’s more complicated with Jim. He could be anyone, do well for himself. I don’t think you fully understand what he turned his back on. He was the golden boy, yet he’s opted to drop off the charts since he left court prematurely when his benefactor died, rather than forge new alliances. For anyone else that would have been suicide, but I think he’s been biding his time. I’ll warrant he’s been considering coming back to the ‘cause, gods knows he hates the fucking Empire enough.”
Leonard’s not convinced. He wants to ask so many questions, wants to know how the hell Pike knows so much about what the kid wants, who he hates even, when every instinct in him tells him Jim doesn’t have half a clue himself why he didn’t run. And even if Pike is right, from what Leonard’s seen so far, he’s not a team player; he can’t imagine working with someone as unpredictable.
“He has nothing but contempt for the crew,” Leonard throws in.
“Well that’s a natural, healthy reaction for your average citizen of the Empire - he’s been taught how to do that from a young age, what else would you expect?”
“But if he felt safe, he'd join us, is that what you’re saying?”
Pike sits back and spreads his hands. “Go talk to him, Leonard.”
Leonard scowls in response to the suggestion - he was kind of hoping he could take a nap before he faced Kirk again. Pike sees his reaction and smiles, a playful twinkle in his eye as he adds, “Better still, leave him with Sulu for a few hours - they have a lot of hot blood between them and if Sulu was persuaded to come over, so can Jim.”
He’s unconvinced and shakes his head, the safety of his people always his first concern. “I can’t risk the lives of my crew. Kirk may not have the licence to kill that comes with completing his court schooling, but he’s pretty lethal by all accounts.”
“So you’ve finally learned how to do research,” Pike teases.
Leonard squashes a grin and glowers instead. “Monty found that out. He was mighty impressed when he heard about this one time in the showers and Kirk ripped some guys tongue out. With his teeth.” Leonard grimaces when he contemplates the diseases that could lead to.
“That’s nothing, Leonard. Dig deeper. He was well on the way to being a legend but, and I quote, ‘I’m not pimping my fucking mother again!’ Unquote.”
Leonard frowns. “And that’s why he left court? The benefactor was his mother’s latest beau and he wanted to protect her?”
“Beau?” Pike laughs again. ”Leonard McCoy - you’re so damn quaint sometimes it makes me blush!”
Leonard is amused at the attempt to sound like Scarlett O’Hara. This apparent softness is deceiving: he’s all too aware of Pike’s reputation and swift climb, first through the academy, then through the ranks to command his own ship in double-quick time, all of which came with an efficient blur of daggers then blackness. Pike’s approach to their philosophy of democracy is pragmatically upending their mantra of ‘the needs of the many’ into ‘many innocents must die for the final goal’ - which is to ultimately overturn the Empire.
“Well is that what happened?”
“His mom’s a helluva woman, Leonard, but she lost her dowry when George died; like all of us, she had to do what she had to do.”
Of course, that goes without saying. Smart women, ones with breeding and who marry well, can wield their power behind the scenes, affect politics, use their brains to advance their sons and guarantee their own protection in turn, and this is what Kirk’s own mother must have done too; what’s odd is that Pike is stating the obvious almost like he’s defending her…oh.
“Chris,” Leonard leans towards the screen, “you two ever been sweethearts?” Which would explain how Chris knows so much about Jim, and has a vested interest in his success. Though he can’t imagine it’s as simple as that with Pike who’s spent a lifetime plotting the downfall of the Empire - he’s not the kind of man makes decisions based on romantic love.
Pike’s expression instantly changes to his murderous one, face impassive, his mouth a thin line, eyes of steel, his entire body radiating controlled anger. He’s always tolerated Leonard’s sassy mouth, but something tells the doctor this has hit a nerve and he’s very glad they’re separated by a thousand miles and cyberspace.
“I have a meeting to attend, Leonard. I’ll expect you to have Jim onside by the time I next speak to you.”
Fine.
They both stand and simultaneously press the open palms of their right hands to their hearts and stare dead ahead. “The needs of the many!” they declaim solemnly. Leonard’s chest swells with feeling as it does every time he utters these words.
“Pike out.” And the screen goes blank.
“Computer: give me Nyota.”
“Boss?” She’s in her pjs, hair loose about her shoulder, face golden and perfect in the computer’s back light. He knows he woke her but there is nothing but willing alertness in her expression.
“Report on James T. Kirk’s mother by the morning, darling. And I want one of your ‘specials’, ‘k?”
“Consider it done, boss.”
+++
After waking at sunrise, Jim stares at the tents for hours, watching, remembering who emerges from where, counting the steps they take from one tent to another, trying to deduce what they’ve been doing all day. He notes with interest that all morning there has been a stream of visitors - patients he realizes - disappearing into the med tent, emerging when they’ve gotten what they came for, each time with an escort, usually Nyota on the way in, Scotty on the way out. He hasn’t set eyes on Doc in hours. It’s given him plenty of time to think about the ‘crats, to go over every single word Sam ever said to him, how he preached about the ‘good of the many’ how he said the Empire was going to implode anyway, how wasteful it was, how merit meant nothing, how someone like Jim could make things happen, how...
“Hey, girlfriend!”
Sulu’s smirking down at Jim as he sits with legs crossed at the ankle, slouched against the bars of the cage. Apparently he bears Jim no ill will - his nose looks good, all fixed up, and he’s grinning like they’re the best of friends, like he hadn’t tried to beat Jim’s face into a pulp. Fuck him.
“Wanna let off some steam?”
“Wanna kiss my ass?” Jim says as bored as he can manage, covering up his real feelings a habit, when in fact he’s thrilled to have a visitor at all, someone to break up the tedium now things have quietened down around the med tent.
“Not exactly, but if you were me, I’d be itching for a rumble. And I am me, so…”
“None of those pussies give you a real run for your money?”
“Nope. Haven’t killed anyone in weeks - I’m getting withdrawal.”
Jim smiles, the first genuine smile in god knows how long. This cocky bastard is someone he could be friends with, he thinks, or at least allies...in another universe. He lifts a shoulder nonchalantly. “How do ya know I won’t kill you and make a break for it?”
“The killing isn’t going to happen because I’m a badass motherfucker. See that?” he points to a scar that curves around the right side of his face from his cheek to above his eye. “After I finished torturing the guy who did it, I threw him into an industrial mincer at my cousin’s farm. He squealed like the pigs that got him for dinner.” Sulu raises an eyebrow, all fly-boy charm and self-belief.
Jim’s grudgingly impressed. “Nice.”
“Also, I have the Tantalus as back-up.” He nods towards the tent. “Monty’s on homoerotic fight watch!” he grins, his voice seductive.
Yeah, Jim thinks, he’d totally hit that. He weighs up the options: he could sit back down on his cot and brood; or get a good work-out.
Sulu watches his face with casual interest then says, “Up to you, bro. I can always go fight a sim - we’ve got everything here as you’ll have seen by now. Thing is,” Sulu crouches down, leans close to Jim so hot breath strokes his face, “nothing beats the scent of real blood on your knuckles - don’t need to tell you that, right?”
There’s not much Jim can say to that except for, “Amen.” He stands up and steps back from the bars as Sulu presses his thumb to the panel. It occurs to Jim he’d have to cut one of their thumbs off to escape the cage.
They walk to the clearing, side by side, with Sulu tapping out a rhythm on his thigh with his sword. He’s whistling nonchalantly like they’re going bird watching or something. When they’re well away from the trees he comes to a halt and throws his sword down.
“Fists,” he says simply, pulling his dagger out of his boots, throwing that too. “Take your boots off, bro, and the shirt.”
They watch each other in silence as they strip, then Sulu draws an imaginary line on the trodden down grass with his toe.
“Rules?” Jim wants to know.
“Fuck rules,” Sulu says smoothly. “You and me, fists and teeth - like sex.”
And Jim likes sex. A lot.
+++
Monty's not visible behind the wall of spectators: Nyota, Chapel and the miraculously recovered Gary, his brother - young Will, all huddled around the screen cheering and whooping at the scene unravelling before them. Not that he’s not interested, but just from the incessant commentary for the last ten minutes courtesy of Monty alone - who only pauses to munch another handful of potato chips - he knows damn well how things are going. And there will be crumbs all over the floor, unsanitary asshole. “Hey, Boss! Len - you should come watch this,” Monty suggests.
“I’m busy,” Leonard barks back, gazing unseeingly into the cabinet holding medical supplies. His dick, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have got the message about not being interested. He’ll have to keep his back to the rest of the crew until he’s found something that’ll give him droop. And he needs something now since he’s secretly watching the screen on his comm showing the vid feed, mercifully small images of muscled bodies twined around each other, their grunts and moans on mute though he can hear well enough through the chatter behind him. Leonard’s always been very aural - the sounds of sex what he likes best, what really breaks him, though he’s never confessed that to a living soul. He closes his eyes, takes a long breath in an attempt to compose himself, knowing he sucks at hiding his feelings.
“There you go, my beauty!” Monty shouts, jumping to his feet!
Leonard snatches up his comm where it’s leaning against a stack of boxes holding disposable hypos and, in his haste, he knocks the whole pile and it teeters and falls at his feet, the comm falling with them. He drops to his knees, hand searching through the pile. Fuck. What happened? Who won? Damn - he’s busting to know; needs it to be Sulu for obvious reasons. He’s the soldier in the crew; they rely on his ruthless streak to keep them alive. Fucking dumb-ass idea to send Sulu in, to get him to try make some kind of connection with Jim, sensing it would be violence or sex that might get Jim to reveal another side to himself; one that would help Leonard know if he was to be trusted or not.
“He’s going to fucking kill him, shit!” There’s glee in Monty’s voice behind him.
There! His fingers curl round the comm, Leonard takes a calming breath, leaps to his feet and rushes outside blinking against the sunshine.
Jim’s on his knees, Sulu pulled up so his back’s flush against Jim’s chest, Jim’s arm tight against Sulu’s throat, choking, squeezing despite Sulu’s fingers scrabbling at the tightening, deadly grip.
Kirk!” Leonard rushes towards them, but it feels like slow mo’, like he’s in a dream, unable to move fast enough, his feet heavy, blood pounding in his ears. Jim glances at him, eyes bright, innocent blue but hard, his teeth bared, a killer. How could he have thought for even a second that this…this fucking bum could have anything in him, could be anyone who could help?
Leonard freezes two strides away, worried to make a wrong move that might cost Sulu’s life, his own. He’s close enough to smell the adrenaline, the blood from Sulu’s split eye, Jim’s lip.
He’s not seen Jim in sunlight this close yet - not really looked at him - and it’s, he’s…fucking beautiful. Leonard’s mouth fills with bile, even as he moves to throw Jim off, consequences be damned, annoyed that he should be so brainwashed by the macho ideals of the society he was born into, that he should be stimulated by this act of barbarity.
“Stay!” Jim says simply, tightening. “He’s gonna stop breathing and it’ll be on your hands. Want me to kill your body guard or whatever the fuck he is to you?”
Leonard’s hands drop to his sides. He hopes to god Monty’s snapped out of his spectator mode and has the Tantalus teed up, though he’s not sure if the device, essentially a prototype, is so finely tuned that Sulu won’t die along with Jim if Monty fires it. Damn, he should have paid more attention when Monty droned on about it. It’s like Jim’s read his mind because he adjusts his position so his legs can wrap around Sulu who has lost consciousness.
“What do you want, Kirk? Safe passage? Just let him go - I’m a man of my word. We won’t chase you, we’ll leave you be and you can go back to wherever the fuck you came from.”
“You’ll kill me - soon as I let him go. I know too much about you, I know where you are. I could bring the Imperial Guards here - they’d pay an emperor’s fucking ransom for ‘crats.”
“You’re not about the money, Kirk.” Leonard crouches down. “Come on, Jim, let me take a look at him. We’ll talk.” Jim holds his gaze, panting, assessing.
Long seconds pass, and Leonard’s aware of the others behind him, silent, waiting for his orders. He holds up his hand. “I’ve got this, go back inside and, Monty, leave the Tantalus here - toss it over where we can see it.”
The device thuds beside them and he waits for them to go, watching Jim’s eyes as he tracks them.
Another age passes as Jim decides what to do; he could snap Sulu’s neck if he chose to and Leonard doesn't doubt that the thought’s crossing his mind. Jim could then kill him, and he thinks about the stories he’s read, how in court Jim was untouchable once he’d made examples of some of the bullies who’d singled him out in his first week, killing and maiming with an enthusiasm that soon brought him to the attention, and then the protection, of the older boys.
Now, after the prestige of court life and the power that came with it, Jim’s scrabbling in the dirt - and he knows ways he can pull himself up again. He sees Jim eye the Tantalus, knows he’s thinking this could bring him power unimaginable if he uses it right.
The device is just an arm’s length away. Leonard waits, his body tense with adrenaline.
Finally, Jim loosens his grip, decision apparently made, and Sulu lolls forward. Leonard lets out a breath, heart drumming wildly in his throat. Jim takes Sulu’s head between his hands carefully, eyes on Leonard as he tilts forward and plants a kiss on Sulu’s forehead before standing, leaving him to drop to the ground in a limp heap.
Leonard tenses again as Jim walks towards the Tantalus. There’s nothing now stopping him picking it up and using it against his erstwhile captors, annihilating them so completely, no trace of them will be left.
But Jim steps right over it.
Confused, Leonard glances after him as he moves away towards the tent, and sees Jim pick up his comm where he dropped it. Danger over, he breathes a sigh of relief and turns to Sulu. He’s checking him manually for vital signs when he hears, “You got a shower in this fucking dump?”
For the love of all that’s holy, what have they gotten themselves into with this kid?
on to part 4
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