fanfic | stxi | leave no soul behind 3.2/?

Apr 16, 2010 16:33

Title: Leave No Soul Behind 3.2, 4,283 words of 95,000+
Fandom: Star Trek XI, TOS references.
Characters: Kirk/Spock, ensemble, OCs.
Rating & Warnings: Strong R - slash, language, adult themes.
Spoilers: For the 2009 movie mostly.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction and fanfiction only, folks.
Betas: the magnificent the_arc5, cracktastic wench.

Author's Note: This is written for stripedpetunia on trek_exchange.



previous

Ch 3.2

Jim wakes up with a hell of a headache and one look in the mirror has him convinced he really should have gone to sickbay rather than just crashed out on his bunk. He's prodding gingerly at the mess he used to call a face when the door chime sounds.

"Computer, identify guest," he asks, playing things a little cautious, considering his last twenty four hours.

Divisional Commanding Officer, Spock.

"Shit," he says, then, "enter." He was kind of hoping to be wearing something other than his blood-stained shirt from the night before.

Spock steps into his quarters, then pauses, unreadable eyes taking in Jim's appearance. "I have chosen an inappropriate time for this discussion."

"No, it's okay."

"If you could please inform me of a more suitable ..."

"Just give me a minute, I'll be right with you," Jim insists, because really, you don't leave the guy who saved you from an ass kicking waiting.

He slips into the bathroom and strips, setting the sonics on high and ignoring the way they pelt his bruises. With a quick swipe at his hair he's dressed again and back in the main room, perhaps barefoot and in need of a shave, but definitely cleaner.

"There was no need for ..."

"Hey, thanks for last night," Jim interrupts. "Maybe I should have called Security straight off, but I was kind of hoping it wasn't as bad as Hannity seemed to think."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Lieutenant Hannity alerted you to T'Loren's intent and you failed to call Security?"

"I really had no idea about her intent." He runs a hand through his hair and pads awkwardly over to the replicator. "Do you want a drink or something?"

"I ... no," Spock seems confused. "Thank you."

"Coffee," Jim says to the wall. "Black, hot." He turns to Spock while the replicator thinks about that. It's an older unit and not as quick as it could be. "Have you come to take my statement?"

"No." He is still frowning. "I have come to discuss the terms of your ongoing employment."

"Oh," Jim raises the cup to his lips and takes a too large swallow to cover his discomfort. He hadn't planned to be having this discussion so soon, and preferably not with Spock at all.

The Commander tucks his hands into the small of his back and walks over to the far corner of the room. He appears to be studying the one photo Jim has of his brother Sam. "This is your family?"

"Part of it," Jim agrees, feeling unbalanced by the sudden redirect. It is unlike Vulcans to be circular.

"You have additional family?"

"Uh, yeah," Jim sort of hides behind the coffee cup as he admits it. Spock has to know this stuff already, has to have seen his personnel file. "There's my mother, Winona."

"You speak to them often?"

"I ... look," Jim sets the mug down and it's his turn to frown, "not that I mind, but what's with the twenty questions? Aren't we going to talk about my resignation?"

"If that is what you wish to discuss, then by all means," Spock says easily.

"I'm, well, I'm quitting."

"So I was informed."

Jim opens his mouth but nothing comes out. This is really not what he expected.

Spock turns to face him again, same calm non-expression on his face, same carefully attentive pose. "May I enquire as to your reasons?"

"I ..." as Jim draws breath he realizes pretty much everything on his list is defunct now that T'Loren is unlikely to command a medevac shuttle again. From the look on Spock's face, he's counting on that. Jim sinks down onto the edge of his bed, coffee forgotten on the table and buries his head in his hands. "I've got no grounds for early resignation now," he sighs. "You guys can screw me to the wall if I try to leave."

Spock stands quietly. "I have no wish to keep you in the service against your will. If you would still prefer to leave, I will personally approve your early discharge." His dark eyes lock with Jim's surprised ones. "No demerits appended."

"Why?" It's all Jim can manage, all he can think.

"I would find it beneficial if you remained," Spock says, conversationally ignoring him to study his photo montage of Iowa, "with me, as my Point One."

Jim just watches him, not daring to move, feeling his heart thunder against his ribs and not knowing whether it's anger or excitement. Three months ago he would have leapt at the chance, thinking it would solve all his problems, but now ... now he's weary and it's bone deep. He's got a collection of scars that remind him constantly of the cost of what they do out here. The very gap he's being offered is there because Ashe's been struck down, and God knows if she'll ever be quite right again.

He's on the verge of turning it down, but then he looks at Spock, really looks at him. The hard overhead lighting isn't kind to him, delineating the the worry lines a man with so little expression shouldn't even have, and hollowing out his cheeks so that his exhaustion is self evident. It does nothing to hide the green scab on his lower lip. To have lost so much, and still do this job. Jim can't back down from that, he's already decided, he knows he has.

"You've got a deal, Commander."

Spock doesn't smile, but something tightly coiled seems to ease inside him, something only Jim can see.

-:-

Jim has the choice of trying to sleep during his erstwhile 'day' or staying awake for twenty four hours to get on Alpha time. It's no surprise to anyone which option he chooses. About eighteen hours in, Scotty informs him there will be no more card games in case Jim gets strangled, so he decides some exercise might keep him awake.

He selects a cubicle and a running machine on autopilot, not sparing a glance for who else might be around at this strange hour. It's only once he's a good two clicks into his own program that he glances to the left and sees Spock several spaces over. The Vulcan is running in full uniform, including a visor, and the amber light on the outside of his cubicle indicates conditions inside are not ship normal. Jim would put money on it being rather hot in there, and probably higher-g, too.

Spock is running on Vulcan.

Jim watches for a while, unconsciously matching the pace and feeling his heart scramble to keep up. Spock's long legs eat up the constantly revolving track, his rhythm faultless, like clockwork. It looks effortless, but Jim can see his chest heaving and wonders if he's even thinned the atmosphere to match. Perfectionist that he is, it's likely.

Never one to pass up on a challenge, even one that hasn't been issued, Jim continues running long after his own program has finished. He runs past the point where his vision blurs and he starts to cramp, beyond where the computer issues him with mandatory hypo of electrolytes and further than he's ever run before. By the time Spock steps off the track, Jim feels like he's going to die. Slowly. In small, painful increments.

Jim's legs feel like jelly and he has his t-shirt tucked into the waistband of his shorts, stripped off long ago. He's drenched in sweat, but his double day is nearly over and after that workout, who wouldn't sleep like a baby?

Spock notices him well before the door to the showers, pausing with a question written in his eyebrows. "You do not customarily take exercise at this hour."

"No," Jim pants. "Usually I'm asleep at this hour."

"A valid point."

They cross to the lockers and Jim lifts one leaden leg onto the bench and stoops to undo his shoes. "You always run that far?"

"Provided I have adequate time at my disposal, yes."

Jim tugs off his other shoe and tosses his shirt and shorts into the cycler. He turns just in time to catch a glimpse of Spock's naked form as he slips into one of the showers. Green-flushed skin over lean, flat planes of muscle. Jim studies the t-shirt in his hands.

-:-

He wakes the next morning to his first day on Alpha shift, his first day as Divisional Point One. It hadn't really sunk in the night before, but Spock has promoted him as well as stopped him from quitting. The warm languor that comes from deep sleep is banished by the tight knot in his stomach. He's not ready for this.

He shaves carefully, screwing his face up in the mirror to get every last little bit. The slide of the razor against his skin is comforting. It's an old fashioned way to do it; yet another example of his attachment to the anachronistic. Truthfully, part of the appeal is that it gives him a little longer to come to grips with the day. The rest of it is the pride he takes in skill acquired over time. He very rarely nicks himself. Of course, it's easier when your face isn't full of unfamiliar contours. He presses his tongue against the inside of his swollen lip and watches as a drop of blood bursts through and trails down his chin. His face in the mirror is pale and although he weighs the same as when he signed on, it's differently distributed, making him look older and younger at the same time.

Jim wipes his face clean and dabs at his lip with the coagulant salve Chapel sent him via internal mail, smears a bit on the cut over his eyebrow for good measure. He draws the line at swallowing the anti-contusional to combat the bruising. That shit just fades in time anyway. He's programmed the replicator to have a hot cup of bitter coffee waiting for him at precisely oh six fifty. He picks it up along with his PADD and the door swishes obediently out of his way as he joins the flow of traffic towards the briefing rooms.

A hand grabs his elbow, jostling the hot mug against his battered lips and he swears. Hannity's pert face is smiling up at him from where she's attached herself to him like a limpet.

"Hey," she says, then gives him a one armed hug. "Dead man walking."

"Spock rescued me," he says, trying to make a joke out of actual fact.

"I saw," she reminds him. "He was fierce."

She links her arm in his so he transfers the coffee to his other hand. He remembers her tear-streaked face from the corridor and gives her arm a little squeeze against his ribs. Having her in Ops, talking in his ear for six months, had done a lot to break the ice between them. That and the fact that Spock seemed to approve of him. Spock's opinion counts for a lot around here. Jim kind of thinks of Annie as the little sister he never had. Not that he'd say that to her face. He's seen her sparring with Uhura in the gym; she held her own and Uhura's no delicate flower.

"I hear you got promoted." It's no surprise she knows. Ops know everything.

"I'm going to miss your sign off," he tells her, glancing down again just in time to catch her bitter smile.

"Welcome home, fly boy," she says, one last time.

They sit together in the briefing. He slouches so that his knee rests against hers and she pulls a face at him. Uhura gives him a surreptitious thumbs up, which is reassuring, because it seems McCoy isn't talking to him. His one effort at good morning is met with eyebrows of doom and a swift hypo of the anti-contusional he didn't swallow. McCoy can read his freaking mind, or something.

Jim feels the hush fall over the room before Spock even draws level with the podium. A new record. News of the rumble in Jim's quarters is all over the ship, you just can't keep that kind of thing quiet. It's highly likely that everyone knows more than he does about what's going to happen to T'Loren, whether they've been diverted to Luna for a hearing or whether they're back en route to Robicon IV again. The back alley information channels on this ship are unbelievable.

Spock faces them all with his customary equanimity. "Good morning and good evening," he says, then continues, clearly not expecting a response. "As you are no doubt all aware, Lieutenant Commander T'Loren has been relieved of duty for an indeterminate amount of time. No visitors are permitted, as per T'Loren's request. I ask that you respect her wishes and refrain from attempting to send comm messages or attempting to visit in person. This is a delicate matter." His eyes roam the room sternly. "And one I take most seriously."

Jim doesn't look, but he knows a significant number of people are gauging his reaction. He keeps his eyes on Spock, the picture of relaxed attentiveness, certain he'd do a Vulcan proud.

"In the interests of addressing more general matters, the Stalwart is back on course for Robicon IV." It's a testament to the respect everyone has for Spock that nobody groans. "You will no doubt be pleased to hear that our stay will be short in duration."

There are a few mutters of surprise at that. Jim allows himself a pout of consideration. He and Spock haven't spoken about this since before they were called away from the diplomatic debacle. To his credit, Spock doesn't even glance in his direction.

"Negotiations with the Robii have been terminated."

A susuruss of shock whirls around the briefing room. Nobody's expected the Federation Council to walk away from a peaceful population located directly in the path that Nero seems to be forging towards Earth and the other central worlds.

"If I can have your full attention," Spock says, less of a demand and more of a reminder. The room falls silent again. "This turn of events is by no means an ideal outcome, and I would ask every one of you to ensure that no hint of this reaches the Robii population." Spock does an admirable job of looking uncomfortable about lying, which is probably because he is uncomfortable about lying, just not in the way people are thinking. "It is not our place to dictate Federation policy, merely to assist where we can. Our primary duty is to those we can save, and it appears that the current political stalemate is insurmountable. I ask you to respect the Council's decision."

Beside him, Hannity looks thunderstruck. "But, how can we ..."

"Shh," Jim whispers, as Spock starts talking again.

"I am aware that this places many of you under significant ethical and moral compromise. Any person who feels unable to complete their scheduled duties due to conscientious objection should forward their temporary suspension of duty to myself or Captain Taylor."

"Then the Captain's aware of this?" comes an unknown male voice.

Spock's head turns slightly, giving the man a blank stare. "Very much so, Lieutenant Commander."

"And he sees no problem with leaving billions of people to die?"

"It is not the Captain's decision."

"But, sir ..."

"You have your orders," Spock says coldly. Then and only then, his eyes flick to Jim. "We all have our orders."

There is a general shifting in seats. Spock glances down at the podium, holds the pose for a few seconds. Jim thinks it's a nice touch.

"In light of the recent alterations to the chain of command, I would advise all of you to access the Core database to ensure that your rosters are unaffected. I have endeavoured to notify any personnel immediately affected, but it is your responsibility to cross-check your ongoing allocations for further changes. Lieutenant Kirk has been promoted to Divisional Point One and Lieutenant Hannity will take his place as Point Two in ED996's Beta team."

Beside him, Hannity flinches. Not old news, then, that bit.

Spock picks her out of the crowd easily. "I regret I was unable to inform you privately, Lieutenant. Congratulations."

Hannity nods vehemently, clearly bereft of speech at this point.

"If there are no other questions?"

"I have one," Jim calls out, raising his hand although Spock could hardly mistake him for anyone else, with that Vulcan hearing of his.

"Lieutenant Kirk?"

"If we're pulling out of Robicon, why are we going back there at all?"

Spock's eyes duck away and then back again. Jim wonders if he's just seen a Vulcan concoct a lie. "The Starfleet Diplomatic Corps have requested one final audience with the Robicon Administration. Admiral Pike has approved."

Jim nods, because it kind of makes sense that the diplomats would want one final crack at it before running away in defeat. Spock's obviously thought this through. Then again, he might be telling the truth. They are, after all, lying to the Diplomatic Corps as well.

-:-

"I am uncomfortable with misleading the crew," Spock says without preamble, falling into stride with him in the corridor.

"The greater good, and all," Jim reminds him flippantly, then notices the real signs of strain on Spock's face and stops him with a hand on his arm. "Hey, they're going to forgive you, if they ever find out. Do you think they'd rather you played it by the book and the Robii just disappeared in a puff one day?"

Spock watches him carefully, a little of the confusion in his eyes subsiding. "No, of course not."

"Then quit beating yourself up about it," he advises. "We're doing what we have to do, end of story."

Spock straightens and pulls his arm away, seeming to realize how emotionally laden their exchange has been. "It is advisable to discuss our strategy."

"Absolutely, I ..."

Amber Alert. Amber alert. All personnel report to relevant duty stations. Repeat, Amber Alert.

Jim and Spock share a look then set off briskly in the direction of the change rooms.

-:-

Jim leaves the shoulder and neck clasps of his EVA suit undone. The damn thing has never given up trying to strangle him for all it's purported flexibility. When he's got the hood and the visor on, it's fine, but when they're all just loitering around the shuttles waiting for Spock to stand them down or step them up, it's damned annoying. Turns out it manages to strangle him anyway, but only because McCoy hooks a finger into it and drags him around the back of the shuttle with a look like thunder on his face.

"Resignation?" he whispers intensely. "Are you serious?"

"Um, I was?"

"I thought we had a plan," McCoy frowns. "I though we were on the same page."

"Bones, we weren't even reading the same book."

"I had your back, you idiot. If you'd only given me a few more days I could have had everything worked out. I had a plan, God dammit!"

"I had to do something," Jim counters, hands out in a pleading gesture.

"Oh yeah, and look how well that turned out," McCoy presses his index finger into the nasty bruise surrounding Jim's eye.

"Holy shit, ow!"

"Serves you right."

"That's my freaking eye!"

McCoy pats his face with an open palm, earning him another muttered curse. "Don't be such a baby, and visit Ashe, for crying out loud. She's hurt, she's not got leprosy."

"I don't know what to say to her," he confesses. "I just know I'm going to say something stupid and insensitive."

"She should be used to that by now."

"Oh, nice."

"Go on, get," McCoy turns him by the shoulders and gives him a shove. "I've got to cross check the drugs with Christine before we fly."

When Jim stumbles back into view, courtesy of the doctor's added momentum, Uhura has finished her pre-flight and is sitting with her legs dangling off the starboard runner, drinking a cup of dark red tea one of the maintenance techs fetched for her.

"She's got a thing for me," she explains.

"Oh that's sweet. What do I need to do to get a secret admirer?"

She takes a sip of her tea and gives him her best older sister routine. "You could start by being less of a horse's ass," she tells him. "That might help."

Jim leans against Nix's pitted hull. "What have I ever done?" he complains. "Seriously, I haven't slept with your best friend, I haven't slept with you, I don't touch you inappropriately ..."

"Jim, you touch everyone inappropriately," she objects.

"Is that it?" he exclaims as if in revelation. "You're feeling left out and you want me to grab your ass?"

"Lieutenant Kirk?"

Jim freezes at the sound of Spock's voice from over his shoulder. Uhura giggles in a particularly immature way, Jim feels.

"Sir?"

"I am canceling the Amber Alert. We will, however require one shuttle to investigate this distress call. We are currently warping to the co-ordinates supplied by the science vessel Tat'sar, where Nix Alpha will deploy alone to take an inventory of potential external warp drive damage."

His embarrassment abruptly overridden by curiosity, Jim pushes off from the hull. "Tat'sar. Is that a Romulan name?"

"It's Vulcan," Uhura contributes. "You can tell by the vowel sounds."

Jim gives her a look. "Not all of us were communications majors, Lieutenant."

"Some of us were sober enough to remember Core Federation Languages 101, Lieutenant," she snipes back.

Spock's eyes shift back and forth between them, and that alone is enough to shut them up. "Power up," he commands. "ETA five minutes."

"Aye sir," they chorus, and McCoy snaps off a salute that can only be described as facetious, if anyone cared to analyze it.

-:-

"Wow," Jim enthuses, leaning into his harness to take in the sleek lines of the Vulcan ship. "That is one hot ship."

"According to the Vulcan High Council database, the Tat'sar was one of the last ships commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy before its destruction," Spock comments, sounding a little distracted as his eyes drink in the sight of something created on a world that no longer exists. "It has warp ten capability, superior maneuverability and over fifty dedicated science labs with access to computing power never before seen on a starship."

"I should have expected the only thing that'd give you a hard on would be an inanimate object," McCoy drawls from his bench seat.

Jim hides his smile behind a fake itch on the end of his nose.

"Lieutenant Uhura, please take an aft approach vector to facilitate external examination of the warp nacelles," Spock instructs, ignoring the doctor entirely.

"Aye, sir."

They vector about just as the suit comms stutter to life and Jim is introduced to his new Ops tech via earbuds.

Good morning class, the perky voice chirps. It's a fine day out in space today, the dust cloud located in your y minus ten z negative twenty degrees shouldn't occlude the fine view of this sexy piece of Vulcan engineering. You can expect the usual gravitation effect from idling warp drives to be magnified by the planetary well in ship's plane minus twenty four degrees, but this far out from that moon it shouldn't give you any grief. Solar radiation at one hundred and thirty three thousand lux, so I hope you brought your sunscreen and all visors should be polarized. Current estimated time to rendezvous on your current trajectory is two point six three minutes.

When Spock just sends the requisite click of acknowledgment over his comm, Jim takes matters into his own hands and depresses his own collar tab. "Thanks for that Nix Ops, I'll be sure to snap you a picture, it's beautiful out here, over."

Oh hey, Boy Wonder. I heard you were starting today. Don't you dare scratch the paintwork on that lovely Suurok class lady, she's one of a kind.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jim smiles, finding relief in the easy banter and obvious competence of the new voice in his ear. It had been hard enough knowing it wouldn't be Hannity telling him when to haul ass out of a tight spot, but knowing that Ops had undergone a shakeup when she was promoted meant that many crews had entirely new Ops people. There was always an adjustment period where Points and Pilots learned to trust their Ops and vice-versa.

"Commander," Uhura interrupts, turning in her seat to look at them, confusion plain to see. "We're being ordered to stand down and return to the Stalwart."

Spock frowns. "Ops, please confirm."

It's not an internal message, the perky voice sounds preoccupied now. Uhura, what's the point of origin?

They're saved a reply when the shuttle's tiny viewscreen comes to life and a solemn Vulcan face appears. "You will break off your approach and return to your vessel."

One of Spock's eyebrows quirks. "Have you not requested aid from the Emergency Personnel Ambulance Service?"

"We have," the stern Vulcan replies. "However, we have not authorized any extra vehicular examination of our ship."

"It is standard procedure. You were informed of this in our initial acceptance receipt."

"Your current activity is not sanctioned."

Spock blinks once. "Very well."

The screen goes dead and there's an uncomfortable silence.

Uhura twists in her seat again. "Orders, sir?"

"Return to the ship," Spock says tightly. "Best speed."

next

movie: stxi, leave no soul behind, fanfic: star trek, fanfic, fanfic: alt.universe, pairing: kirk|spock, members: bonus material

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