Celebrate the Earth and Sky (8/20)

[aerlalaith]

Soar with the Wind III

“This is a terrible idea,” said Jim.  He crossed his arms and tilted his chin up.  “Seriously, who came up with this plan?”

McCoy scowled at him.  “We all did,” he said.

Jim rubbed his temples, sagging into the armchair nearest to him.  They were still in the basement of the nightclub, but dawn had broken some time ago and the sounds of thumping feet, drink glasses and music, were gone.  In their place was the noise of a morning in the capitol; cars and daytime voices and the swishing of sober clothing rose above the cacophony of the shouters at the street market just a few doors down, all punctuated by the occasional, distant siren.

“Plan by committee,” said Jim.  “Shit.”

McCoy arched an eyebrow at him, challenging.  “Like you could do any better?” he drawled.  “Pike said it was fine.”

Jim took a swig of coffee, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.  He stood up, suddenly decisive.  “Pike was an admiral,” he said dismissively.  “This is different.  This is like, covert operations shit.  He had people to plan that for him.”

“And I guess you’re going to say you were conveniently one of those people, right?” McCoy shook his head.  “Listen kid, I work there.  This plan-”

“The plan is bullshit!” Jim snapped.  “I can fix it.  Do you want my help or not?”

Tabatha Chong stepped into the sudden silence of the room.  An infinitely more practical pair of black slacks and an orange blouse had replaced her dress from the previous night.  She held a data pad under one arm, and a box of muffins in her free hand.

“I hate to say it, but Kirk’s kind of right, Leonard,” she said.  She placed the box on the counter.  Chekov’s eyes lit up and he immediately dove for it.  “We all know the plan sucks.”

McCoy’s lips formed a thin line.  “Well, none of us could come up with any better,” he said.  He looked at Jim, then at Tabatha.  “His new plan had better not get us all killed,” he growled.

Kirk frowned.  “I’m not- look.  We’ve got to do the unexpected.  If the Bureau is thinking anyone is stupid enough to try and rescue Spock, then they’re thinking it’s going to be me, right?”

“Honestly, I don’t think they’ve even got that part figured out yet,” said McCoy.  “You’re giving the bastards way too much credit.”

“Whatever,” said Jim.  He accepted the box of muffins from Tabatha, who had rescued it from Chekov’s clutches.  “Thanks, Tabatha.”

“Her name’s not Tabatha,” said McCoy.

“Shut it, Bones,” said Jim.

“I told you to stop calling me that, you damn fool child,” McCoy hissed at him.

Jim took a bite of muffin.  “Never,” he said.  “Anyway, the point is that they’re thinking any operation is going to be a sort of one man operation, at night, blah, blah, blah.  Okay, but that’s stupid.”

“What,” McCoy said slowly through his teeth, “is stupid about it?”

Jim shrugged.  “Why go in at night, trying to break through security codes and shit, when we can just get in through the front door?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said McCoy, mockingly.  “Maybe it’s because of your status as a wanted man?  And all the security cameras?”

Jim gave him a look, and then a grin.  “Please,” he said.  “Just trust me on this.”

McCoy slumped down into his own chair.  “When we’re all arrested or shot,” he said.  “You’d better hope your jail cell isn’t next to mine.”

Jim fluttered his eyelashes at him.  “Aw, Bones,” he said.  “I didn’t know you cared so.”  Then he pulled out his data pad and turned it on.  “Okay,” he said.  “Where did you say they were keeping him?”

“Underground,” McCoy grunted.  “Third level.”

Jim waved his hand for McCoy to continue.

“Alcatraz,” McCoy added reluctantly.  “I already told you that, Jim.”

“Yeah but how do you get to work?  I mean, people’d start to notice if a bunch of feds visited a tourist attraction every morning.”

McCoy exhaled.  “I already told you.  There’s an office near the port, and a train that goes under the bay.”

“And that’s how you were planning to go rescue him, right?”

“Obviously,” said McCoy.

Jim rested his hands with his chin.  “I’ve always wanted to visit Alcatraz,” he said idly.

McCoy’s eyes widened.  “Oh my god, Jim.  No.  That’s not going to work.”

Jim cocked his head.  “Hell yeah it will,” he said.

“The tourist attraction doesn’t connect to the underground part at all!” said McCoy.  “They just happen to be built on top of one another on the same island.  You can’t get to Spock from the old prison.  It’s not possible.”

“Look,” said Jim.  “I know the Bureau, okay?  They might not’ve told you about it, but there’s definitely got to be a way to the surface of that island.  You’ve always got to have multiple exits.”

“And how do you propose we find it, genius?”

Jim was already working on his data pad.  “There’s got to be a blueprint, or a map or something.”

“You already said you couldn’t find anything the last time you hacked into the Bureau’s database.”

“Yeah, but last time I didn’t know what I was looking for.  Give me your access code.”

“What?” McCoy squawked.

“Just do it, McCoy,” said Tabatha Chong.

With a dubious look, McCoy told him the code.  “I can’t help if they arrest me before we even get this thing off the ground,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” said Jim.  He worked for a few more minutes, tongue between his teeth.

“How much time are you going to need?” McCoy asked after a while.

Jim shrugged.  “Dunno.  Depends how long it takes to find the right blueprint.”

“And how long is that?”

“I just said, I don’t know,” Jim repeated.  “Don’t you have something to do, Doctor?  Like a job?”

“I still have an hour until work.”

“Well, go early or something.  You’re giving me the creeps, staring over my shoulder like that.”

“I should never have fixed your nose,” McCoy said snidely.  He stood from the chair and stretched.

“Have a nice day,” said Jim, still squinting at the screen.

“Right,” McCoy said.  He stumped over to the door leading upstairs, pulling a light jacket on as he went.  He hesitated at the doorknob.  “Um,” he said.  “Is there any, I don’t know, message or something you want me to pass on to Spock?  I mean, if I see him today, I don’t know . . .”

Jim looked up at him.  He bit his lip, expression suddenly thoughtful.  “No,” he said finally.  “No, don’t tell him anything.  It’s better if he doesn’t know until we come and get him.  Then he can’t give anything away.”

“He’s kind of a stubborn asshole, I’ve noticed,” said McCoy over his shoulder.  “Maybe he won’t want to leave.”

That startled a laugh out of Jim.  “You noticed that too?  Man, I had the worse time getting him to even talk to me for like, the first three days.”

“You had better luck than I’ve had for weeks,” said McCoy.

Jim sobered.  “He saved my life though,” he said.  “He didn’t have to do that.  I owe him big.”

“Well,” McCoy said, hand still stretched awkwardly toward the door.  He dropped it, meeting Jim’s gaze.  “This’ll probably go a long way toward paying off that debt.”  He turned back, and opened the door.

“Yeah,” Jim said.  He looked down at the screen.  “I guess.”

McCoy left.

Spock had not eaten in three point six three days.  Or was it three point six five?  He set his mouth in a thin line and closed his eyes.  Meditation was becoming more difficult.  He could feel weakness stealing over his body like the cold drafts of his isolated cell.  His injuries - and his inability to go safely into a healing trance - were taking their toll.  Without meditation, it was becoming more difficult to organize his thoughts, control his emotions.

And there were emotions.  He could feel them simmering below his placid veneer, an impotent rage of a free creature caged, hurt, so angry.  He forced them down into his belly, where they bubbled and broiled.  His stomach hurt.  Was it lack of food?  Of water?

These humans.  He had been a fool for even thinking that his coming here would do one iota of good.  Such a brutal species deserved their fate.  Such a species did not have the right to Vulcan’s aid.  Such a-

Spock’s eyes shot open.

No, such thoughts were beneath him.  It was not logical to blame an entire planet for the actions of a few.  He took a deep breath, and then another.  Calm.  He needed to center himself.  Be in the now.

As a young child on Vulcan, he had partaken in games of ov’din pohshaya.  The game was fairly simple, intended to teach children the rudiments of geometry as applied to moving objects.  A series of small targets, each no larger than a coin, were set up in a semicircle.  The first child would aim a glass bead at their intended target.  The next child would shoot their own glass bead at the first child’s, with the intent to intercept the first bead with proper amount of force and at the correct angle to change its course towards a new target.  A third child would then also attempt to change the course of the original bead, and so on and so on.  There were many variations to the game of course, but the principle of it remained the same: the correct angle, the correct velocity, the correct moment.

Like with ov’din pahshaya, Spock knew there would come a proper moment to change his circumstances.  All he could do now was wait and hope to recognize it.

And so he waited.

He waited through isolation, through torment with water, through fear that felt as though it had climbed into the base of his skull and refused to be dislodged.  He attempted again to meditate, controlling the pain, this time with marginally more success.  He slept a little, did not speak, and did not eat (there was no food).  He waited.  And waited.

And then it happened.

“Spock.”

Spock woke up, his arm aching.  A voice, a voice had spoken his name.  He looked around his cell.  Still empty.  He must have dreamed the voice, perhaps.  He frowned ever so slightly, and looked to the locked door.  He stood, limbs sore from disuse, and stiff, and walked toward it.

The single light above him dimmed and flickered.  Spock blinked up at it.  What an inefficient-

It winked out, plunging him into utter blackness.  Spock stood stock-still.  An electrical outage, perhaps?  He reached his hand towards the door, but before his fingers could make contact with the cold metal, it swung open on its own to reveal . . . someone.  Someone whose face he could not see in the darkness.

The person in front of him was breathing harshly, as though they had just run a great distance, although Spock could not recall hearing any footsteps outside in the hall.

Spock tensed as he felt the figure move closer.  Would it attempt to attack him?  All the evidence he had so far gathered in this particular institution leaned heavily towards the affirmative.  Spock took stock of himself.  His arm was still broken, and he was weak from lack of food and water.  Even so, he reasoned, he could likely still best whomever stood in front of him.  Even in his current state, he was stronger than the average human.  If he could locate the correct nerve in the darkness, he would be able to fell his opponent with a single nerve pinch.

The person drew in a quick breath.

“Spock?” it whispered hesitantly.  “Please tell me that’s you.  I can’t see a damn thing.”

Most illogically, Spock felt very weak at the knees.  He knew that voice.  He took a step forward, and then another, close enough to touch the person.  The man in front of him remained motionless.

Spock stretched out his hand and felt a rough cloth beneath his fingertips.  A shoulder.  The figure started, but did not move away.  Spock’s touch traveled up towards the bare skin of the face.  He let the pads of his fingers graze a smooth cheek.

There.  He knew those chaotic, sifting surface thoughts.  How could he not?

“Jim?”

He heard Jim breath a sigh of relief.  “Oh, thank god.  Can you walk?  Actually,” he moved closer, catching Spock’s hand and giving it a squeeze before dropping it.  “Actually, running would be better.”

“Jim?” Spock repeated, still dazed.  “Jim Kirk?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Jim said again, more urgency to his voice this time.  “The guy whose life you saved.  I’m returning the favor, now come on!”

“Why-”

Jim grabbed the wrist of his good arm.  Spock winced as a sense of anxiety, fear, and relief filled his body.  “No time for stupid questions, let’s go.”  He tugged at Spock’s arm, and began to lead him out of the cell into the hallway, shutting the door of Spock’s cell behind them.

Spock followed.

They moved at a slow jog.  Occasionally they would encounter flashlight beams, but Jim proved adept at avoiding them each time.  After about five minutes, they stopped.

“Jim,” Spock said.  He was beginning to feel dizzy.

“Shh,” Jim said.  “After we’re out of here.”

Spock heard the creak of a door, before Jim dragged him inside.

“Supply closet,” said Jim, as Spock banged into a shelf and several objects came tumbling down around him.  “Also?  Our way out.”  He kept moving back towards the end of the - startlingly large - closet.  “I hope to god you can climb a ladder,” Jim said, and Spock was surprised to hear his voice come from above him.

“My arm is broken,” said Spock.

Jim paused.  Spock heard the thump as he landed back on the ground.  “Okay,” he said.  “Okay.  Here, you go first.  I’ll help you.”  He guided Spock’s hand to a metal rung.

“I am heavy,” Spock said, when what he really wanted to say was, I am heavier than you.  My bones and muscles are denser than yours.  I am an alien.

“Just go!” hissed Jim, giving him a shove.  “I don’t care if you’re heavy, move your ass!”

Spock began to climb.

It was a long ascent.  Spock’s arm grew sore from clutching onto the rungs, his legs began to tremble from keeping his body balanced on a ladder with only one good arm.  Below him, Jim whispered what he thought might be encouragement.  Telling him to keep going, that he would not let him fall.

Spock’s head hit something.  His controls now heavily frayed, he swore in Vulcan.

“What was that?” Jim asked.

“I cannot go any further,” Spock said through gritted teeth.  “There is something in the way.”

“Oh!” said Jim.  “Oh, oh!  Okay, wait.  There’s a code.  I have to input a code.  We’ve got to trade spots.”

“What,” said Spock flatly.

“Here, just move over a bit.”

“I cannot,” Spock said, hearing Jim scrabbling below him.  “I- Jim.  I’m going to-”  Spock wrapped his arm around the sides of the ladder as tightly as he could, flinching as Jim stepped on his foot and his head popped up next to Spock’s.  Spock could barely make out the shape of his nose in the darkness.

“Sorry,” Jim said.  He reached up and tapped in a code on a small keypad next to the ladder.  “That should do it,” he grunted, as most of his weight came to rest on a single foot.

Above them, a small circular exit began to slide open.  Spock could see daylight through it.  His hair had grown longer during his captivity, but it was still barely sufficient to cover his ears.  He could do nothing about the angles to his eyebrows, nor the greenish pallor of his face.  Without his disguise, Spock felt naked.  How long would Jim stand beside him, once he realized Spock’s true identity?

“Time to go,” said Jim, heaving himself up out of the hole.  Spock followed suit, ignoring the throbbing of his arm.  Jim was already ahead of him, bent over behind some machinery.  They had arrived in what appeared to be a small building.  Peering outside a barred window, Spock could just barely make out that it was midmorning.  A grey fog covered the land as far as he could see.

“Jim,” he said, steeling himself.  Truth was honorable.  Vulcans did not lie.  “There’s something I need to-” He stopped as several garments made contact with his head.  He pulled one off his face, disgruntled.

“Brought you clothes,” Jim said over his shoulder, still digging for something.  “Oh, here’s a hat, too.  It’s kind of chilly outside.”  He threw a black knitted cap at Spock without looking.  Spock immediately jammed it over his head.   He eyed the rest of the clothes: trousers, a shirt, and a jacket.   “Put them on, Spock,” Jim said, tapping his foot.  “People are going to notice if you walk around in prison gear.  Although maybe they’d just think you’re part of the tour or something.”

“Tour?” Spock ventured, still clutching the clothes in his hands.  At Jim’s pointed look, he began to reluctantly remove the shirt his captors had given him.

“Yeah,” said Jim.  He huffed a laugh.  “We’re on the island of Alcatraz.  Some Bureau prison, huh?”

“Quite,” said Spock, who had never heard the word Alcatraz before in his life.  He zipped up his new jeans.  They were a bit too loose and a bit too short, but they would suffice.

“You might need a belt,” Jim said, examining him from a distance.

Spock met his gaze.  Jim looked- different than he had the last time they had met.  Of course, his ankle had healed and he was no longer burned and dehydrated, but there was something else.  There was a harder glint to his eye that had not been there before, and dark circles marred his face.

“Perhaps,” Spock said.  He was going to say more, but Jim had already turned away, moving towards the door.

“We’ve got about five more minutes until the generator here,” he slapped the side of the machine, “starts working again.  Power should be out in the rest of the city for another twenty or so though.”

“Pardon?” said Spock.  “Power- to an entire city?”

Jim shrugged.  “Made more sense to knock it all out instead of just targeting Alcatraz.  Looks less suspicious that way.  This island actually used to generate all its own power, but in the name of modernization and needing more of it, they just hooked it up to the city grid.  The generator is just a back-up now.”  His lips twisted, tossing a wrench from one hand to the other, then tapping it on the side of the generator.  “I just love old technology.  So unreliable.”

“I see,” said Spock.  Jim was looking at him again.  Spock adjusted his hat.

“I’m sorry,” said Jim suddenly, noticing Spock’s stare.

“What?”

Jim looked down at the floor.  “Look, I don’t know why the hell the Bureau wanted you so damn bad, but you probably wouldn’t have gotten caught if it weren’t for helping me out.” He ran a hand through his hair.  “So, yeah.  I’m sorry.”

Spock hesitated.  “There is no guarantee that I would not have been . . . taken, even if I had not helped you.”

“Yeah, but your chances would have been a lot better,” Jim said bluntly.  “I’m not an idiot.”

Spock looked down.  “Kaidith,” he murmured.

“What?”

Spock’s head rose.  “It’s a saying,” he heard himself say.  “What is, is.  My actions and your response have brought us to this point.  I do not begrudge you my assistance.”

Jim stared at him for a moment, then cracked a slow smile.  “God, you know I’d forgotten you talked like that,” he said.  “I uh,” he faltered, shoving his hands into his back pockets.

Spock tilted his head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Jim said.  Then he winced.  “I mean, I know you probably went through some terrible shit, but I’m glad that you’re, you know- alive.”

Spock blinked.  “I am in your debt,” he said, and watched in fascination as Jim’s face turned red.

“No, no,” Jim said, waving his hands.  “We’re just even now, okay?  I mean, we went through some tough times together a while back.  That’s what friends- or, or whatever, you know.  Buddies, comrades in arms, all that.  That’s what you do, you know?”

“Break into government facilities?” Spock said, pretty certain he was missing something in the translation.  His mother had not mentioned any such practice.  Then again, he was not familiar with the term ‘buddies.’

Jim made a choking noise, then could not seem to contain another small smile.  “Sure,” he said.

“Very well,” Spock said, uncertain how one was supposed to respond to that.  He opened his mouth again.  If Jim thought of him as a comrade in arms, he could not leave the human in ignorance.  Besides, as the government of the North American Collective was already aware of his otherworldly status, clearly the time for secrecy with the being who seemed to be his best chance of returning to Vulcan alive, had passed.  “Jim,” he said stiffly.  “I need to make you aware that I am not who I appear to be.”

“Look, Spock,” Jim said.  He grimaced.  “If that is your name.”

“It is.”

“Huh,” said Jim.  “Okay.”  He gave himself a shake, stepping over discarded bits of rusty machinery and closer to Spock.  He put a hand on Spock’s shoulder.  Spock resisted the urge to remove it.  “Anyway, the point is, it doesn’t matter if you’re a spy or whatever.  I’m already in deep.  They-” he took a breath.  “Look, I don’t really want to go into this right now, because we’ve got places to be, but the Bureau wants me dead just as much as you.”  He grimaced.  “No, okay, that didn’t come out right.  I mean, they want you, and they know I talked to you, so they want me too, so I should probably be mad, but.  See, you saved my life.  That’s worth something.  They might want me, but it’s because of you that I’m alive to be . . . wanted . . .” he made a face.  “In the first place.”

“You were fulfilling a debt,” Spock said, not quite sure where Jim was going with his ramblings.

“Well, yeah,” Jim looked uncomfortable.  “But I mean, not just that.  They-” he stared at his feet, “I knew they had you,” he said, voice quieter.  “I’ve seen what the Bureau can do to people.  No one deserves that.”

Spock got the sense that Jim was not telling him the whole truth.  Then again, Spock thought to himself, he wasn’t exactly telling Jim the whole truth either, so in this respect they were even.

“I am gratified for your assistance,” Spock said, attempting to head off any more emotionalism.  “No matter your motives, the results remain the same, do they not?”

Jim quirked his lips.  “You are such a pragmatist,” he said.  “Okay, we’ll finish this up later.  We’ve got a boat to catch.”

Spock felt his eyes widen before he could stop them.  “A boat?”

“Yep,” Jim said, something of a smug smile playing in the tiny wrinkles around his eyes.

“Is a boat not . . . inefficient?” Spock attempted to ask delicately.

Jim snorted.  “We’re on an island, Spock.  The only way off is by boat, sky or tunnel.  And the Bureau’s got the tunnel part nice and covered for us.”  He strode over to a grey wooden door on the other side of the small building, and eased it open.  “We’re on the northeast part of the island,” he said as Spock came up behind him.  “The main dock is south of here, but not much so we’re trying to be subtle.  Lucky everything’s fog until noontime.”

“Indeed,” Spock muttered, looking at the weather with something akin to distaste.  Sol III was such a . . . wet planet.  He could only hope that Jim would take them somewhere dry.

“Down here,” Jim said, leading him down a grassy bank.  It was slippery, and Spock was forced to move with care.  “Go slow.”

Nearly at the water’s edge, Jim gestured to Spock to keep following him, then turned left and started to walk along the edge of the shore.  Spock wrinkled his nose as a salty, tangy smell assailed his nostrils.  He stepped carefully after Jim.  The water-smoothed rocks were slippery with some sort of plant matter, and he took cautious strides from one stone to the other, his legs still somewhat wobbly from the long climb to the island’s surface.

Ahead of Spock, Jim halted at a brush tangle of thickets.  He put his fingers in his mouth, and blew two sharp whistles.  Spock could not help staring at the digits in Jim’s mouth.  On Vulcan, such an action would be considered beyond vulgar.  And here it was merely a form of communication?

What a strange planet.

Jim whistled again.

“Kirk?” said a new, muffled voice.

Spock froze.  Jim turned to give him an exasperated look. He waved Spock closer.

“Kirk, is that you?”

“Yeah,” Jim said to the thicket.

“You got him?” came the reply.

“Uh huh.”

A man emerged from behind the thicket.  He was about Jim’s height, perhaps slightly shorter.  His hair and eyes were both dark, his face slightly rounded.  He wore a green jacket made of a slick looking material, jeans, and open toed shoes.  He stared at Spock with open interest.

Jim gave him a quick grin.  “Sulu, Spock.  Spock, this is Hikaru Sulu.  He’s with me.”

Sulu’s eyes focused on Jim.  “He doesn’t look weird,” he said.  “You sure he’s the guy?  Or the . . . whatever?”

“Of course I’m sure,” said Jim, Sulu’s intent perusal of Spock going completely over his head.  “Come on, get the boat.  We’ve got to go.”

“This is fucking bizarre,” Sulu muttered under his breath.  But Spock could still hear him.  He looked at Sulu sharply.  Did this human know?  But then, how could he, if Jim still seemed oblivious?

Jim watched Sulu trudge out of sight for a moment, then come back, this time dragging at the bow of what seemed to be a large, hollow structure.  Spock could see that it was formed of a metal alloy and tapered at the front and back.

The boat.

Jim held onto the bow, steadying it with his knees as Sulu clambered towards the stern.  He sat at the bench in the very back and grabbed a double bladed paddle, which he then shoved vertically into the water and into the mix of sand and pebbles at the bottom.  The craft tilted minutely.

Spock eyed it.  “It does not appear stable,” he observed, not at all shifting his weight backwards, away from the two humans and their dangerous ideas.

Jim rolled his eyes.  “It’s fine, Spock,” he said.  “Now hurry the fuck up.”

“I am not a strong swimmer,” Spock said.

“Spock,” Jim said.  “Get in the fucking canoe.”

“It will remain properly buoyant?”

“They don’t have canoes where you’re from?” Sulu asked.

Spock could not tell if he was behaving sympathetically or laughing at Spock’s expense.  He sighed.  “Very well,” he said, gingerly making his way over to Jim.

“Step into it, and grab the side to balance yourself.”

Spock gave a jerky nod, sacrificed an illogical moment to lamenting his useless broken arm, and stepped into the boat.  It wobbled terrifically, but did not tip.

“Sit in the middle,” said Jim.  Spock half-sat, half-fell into the middle spot.  Water sloshed up the sides.  He watched as Jim grabbed the second double bladed paddle, shoved the canoe off a little further into the water, then quickly climbed in and pushed them off the rest of the way.

“And we’re off,” Jim said, dipping his paddle into the water.  “Hopefully, they’ll be too distracted to notice you missing for a bit longer.”

“I cannot see how that is possible,” Spock said, half invested in the conversation, half invested in making sure the boat really wasn’t going to flip them over into the unforgiving cold of the water.  He watched the shore of the island recede into the fog under Sulu and Jim’s swift strokes with the paddles.

Still facing front, Jim shrugged.  “The cameras are rigged to show old footage.  Unless someone goes in there, it’s still going to look like you’re meditating on the floor.”

Spock was silent as he digested Jim’s words.  The presence of an accomplice and such forethought into Spock’s release implied that Spock’s rescue was part of something larger in scope.  Something he had no knowledge of.

“Jim,” he said.  “Why did you come for me?”

Jim stiffened.  “I told you,” he said.  “I owed you one.”

“But there is more,” Spock said, certain now.  He watched Jim’s shoulders slump imperceptibly.  Behind him, he could hear Sulu’s uncomfortable shifting, and the steady dip of the paddles into the water.

“We can talk about it when we get onto the ship,” Jim said finally.

“Ship?” Spock said, distracted for the moment.  Then he folded his good arm in front of the other one.  “You are attempting to change the subject.  Do not think I am- ungrateful- for my extraction.  I simply . . .” he trailed off.  Tired, he was tired.  His head and arms and leg hurt.  He pushed the pain away.  “I simply desire the whole story,” he said.

Jim was quiet for a few seconds.  “I promise,” he said, voice echoing strangely in the fog on the open water.  “I’ll tell you when we get to the ship.”

“Speaking of which,” Sulu piped up from the back.  Both Spock and Jim turned to look at him.  Sulu gestured with his paddle at a form that was slowly materializing from the fog.  “I think that’s her now.”

The ship was a great deal larger than the canoe.  They bumped up against the side of the hull, and a few moments later, a ladder was lowered down to meet them.  Spock tried withhold his displeasure at having to climb yet another ladder with his broken arm.

“You first, Jim,” said Sulu.

Jim nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Spock, wait for a few seconds and I’ll see if we can just have them lift you up.”

“I am fully capable of climbing the ladder,” Spock said.

“Funny,” Jim told him, before grabbing hold of it and shimmying up as quickly you please.

“I do not understand what was humorous about my statement,” Spock grumbled.  Behind him, Sulu bit back a smile.

“Okay, Spock next!” Jim called down.

Spock looked at Sulu, who gave him a nod, “After you, Mr. Spock,” he said.

Spock grit his teeth and lunged for the ladder, the canoe sloshing side to side as he did so.  He bumped his bad arm against the steel side of the boat and wrapped his body around the ladder as best he could.  “I am ready,” he called up to Jim, ignoring the discomfort of the rope digging into his legs and stomach.   The ladder began to move, and Spock was slowly drawn up to the deck.

As he reached the top, hands grasped for his upper arms and pulled him up the rest of the way.  Spock accepted their assistance and soon found himself standing on the deck of the ship surrounded by a semicircle of humans, Jim among them.

“Lower it back down for Sulu,” said a voice.  Spock looked for it, and found himself confronted with a woman only slightly shorter than he was.  She stepped towards him.  “Are you Spock Grayson?”

“I am,” said Spock, measuring her as much as she seemed to be measuring him.  His good arm hung loosely at his side, and he felt the urge to clasp it behind his back.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.  “I’m Nyota Uhura.”

“Ha, knew it wasn’t Tabatha,” came Jim’s mutter.  Spock didn’t look at him.  He could sense what was coming next.

“Welcome to,” she grimaced as she took in Spock’s injuries.  “Welcome to Earth.”

Shoulders tense, Spock glanced at Jim, who was blinking at Uhura as if she had grown a second head.  Jim looked back at Spock, confused.  He looked back at Uhura, then at Spock again.

It took all of his considerable training, but Spock met his gaze, unflinching.

“Spock?” Jim said.  “What’s she going on about?”

Spock swallowed.  He looked away.

“Tabatha?” Spock heard Jim ask.  The rest of the humans were silent.  “What are you talking about?”

“It’s Uhura,” came the soft reply.    “Jim, you didn’t know?  Look at him!”

From somewhere, Spock gathered the courage to face them.  “He did not,” he heard himself say, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.  He planted his aching feet a little wider apart and slid the cap from his head, revealing the points of his ears almost defiantly.  “My name is S’chn T’gai Spock,” he said, splitting his fingers into the ta’al. “Live long, and prosper.”

Silence descended on the deck.  Spock reminded himself to breath.

“Jim,” Spock ventured.

Jim met his gaze, mouth moving every so slightly.  His eyes kept flicking from Spock’s ears to his eyebrows, to the green blood oozing from a re-opened cut on his forehead.

“What the hell?” Jim said faintly.  “No one thought this was worth a mention?”

“Jim?”  Spock took a step forward.  Jim would not look him in the eye.  Why wouldn’t he look at him?

Jim stumbled back.  “No, don’t- don’t.  Don’t touch me.” He drew in a sharp breath, shooting an accusing glance at Uhura.  “What, all you guys knew this and didn’t think to fucking say anything?”

“We thought you already knew!” Uhura retorted at the same time Spock said,

“Jim, I-”

“This whole time you- what the hell, Spock?  What the fucking hell?  You’re some kind of-  You-”

“Jim, please listen to me,” Spock said.  “I-”

“No,” Jim said, voice high pitched, staring at Spock as if he had never seen him before.  “No, I can’t deal with this shit right now.  This is ri-fucking-diculous.  I just risked my life for you and you’re not even human?”  He backed up some more, gave Spock a last, fleeting look that the Vulcan could not decipher, then strode away, boots clicking on the deck of the ship, fists clenched at his sides.

Spock steeled himself and focused on Nyota Uhura.  “Are you the captain of this ship?” he queried.

She shrugged, watching him with some amount of caution.  “It belongs to my family.”

“Am I to understand that I am now a prisoner here?”

She shook her head firmly.  “No, of course not,” she said.  “Although I think we’ll have to talk about some things.”

In this, Spock was in agreement with her.  “Indeed,” he said.  He hesitated.  “I appear to have caused Jim Kirk some emotional distress,” he said tentatively.  “Please, understand it was not my intention to do so.”

“You might say that,” came a familiar voice.  Spock whirled around.

“You!” he said, any calm he had gathered immediately shattered.

The object of his attention pulled a frown and crossed his arms.  “What, all that time together and you don’t even remember my name?”

“McCoy,” said Spock.

McCoy sighed, and drew the hood off his yellow rain slicker.  “Don’t look at me like I’m a monster.  You think Jim could’ve got you out without any inside help?” He gave Spock a hard look.

Spock pressed his lips together.  “Forgive me if I am somewhat disinclined to trust you,” he said flatly.

McCoy ignored his silence.  He stomped up into Spock’s personal space.  Spock held his ground.

“You mean to tell me,” McCoy said, “that Jim Kirk didn’t even know you were an alien?”

“Yes,” Spock said, feeling as though this was rather obvious.

“Lord almighty,” McCoy said.  “How the hell not?”

“Perhaps this is a conversation best left for elsewhere, Doctor,” said Spock in a low voice, very aware of the others surrounding them.

McCoy’s eyes flickered over to Uhura.  She gave a slight nod.

“Fine,” McCoy said.

“We’ll debrief in an hour,” Uhura announced to the other five humans present.  “Spock . . .” she approached him slowly, as if afraid he might attack her.  Spock could hardly blame her.  He was, after all, an alien.  “I’ll show you somewhere you can rest up for a bit.”

Spock considered her for a moment, and then inclined his head.  She beckoned to him, and he followed her past McCoy and the other humans, off the top deck, and into the bowels of the ship.

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