Celebrate the Earth and Sky (15b/20)
Let Your Spirit Fly III
Part B
The conference with Gaila and Spock was an almost déjà vu of Spock’s interrogation aboard ship.
Gaila was - and there was seriously no other way to put this - hot. She was smoking. Sexy. The works. And she smelled fantastic.
“You need to take more pheromone suppressants,” Spock said in a kind of growly voice to her, noticing Jim’s avid gaze.
She shrugged. “I took a double dose yesterday. Besides, he smells mostly like you, so I don’t see what you’re so pissy about. I’d never tap something that smells like Vulcan. Too risky.”
Spock went even more rigid.
Pike rubbed at his temples and sent a sidelong glance to Jim, who was looking between Spock and Gaila like they had just had a conversation about him that went completely over his head.
“Anyway,” Uhura said finally. “Gaila, you said you had something to show us.”
Gaila beamed. “Oh, yes,” she said. She reached into a bag below the table, and carefully withdrew what looked like a potted plant. It had alternating waxy green leaves, and several dainty white flowers, each with six petals. There was one bright red berry hanging off the end of a green stem. “The fate of your planet,” she said dramatically, “mostly has to do with this.”
There were numerous doubtful looks from the humans around the table. Spock crossed his arms, not even trying to hide his annoyance.
“There is no need for theatrics,” he said.
“Vulcans are no fun,” said Gaila to the rest of the group.
“Orions-” started Spock, scathingly, but he was interrupted by Chekov.
“What is an Orion?”
“I am,” said Gaila.
“Hold on,” said Jim. “I could’ve sworn the guy who got the jump on me was orange. You’re green.”
“Oh yes, and humans never have different skin tones,” said Gaila. “Just us non-humans.”
“Generally, the color of an Orion’s skin - orange, green, or grey - is indicative of their caste,” said Spock. “With green skin, Gaila would be considered a second caste citizen.”
“Well, someone’s been studying up,” said Gaila, and now she sounded a lot less friendly.
“If we could get back to the issue at hand,” Uhura interrupted.
“Yeah, yeah.” Gaila waved her hand lazily. Then she looked down at the table and frowned. “Where’d the plant go?”
“I have it,” said Sulu, who was down at the far end of the table.
Gaila gave him an appraising look. “You like plants?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Sulu, blinking a bit in surprise. Gaila jerked her head to indicate the one he held.
“Know what that one is?”
Lips pursed, Sulu bent his head to examine it. He brushed gentle fingers along the smooth stem, lifted leaves, and trailed the side of his palm against the gentle white blossoms. Gaila watched him all the while, a small smirk playing around the corners of her mouth. Finally, Sulu looked up.
“No,” he said. “I don’t know what it is. It’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Right in one,” said Gaila. “At least you know enough about it to know that. A lot of people can’t even tell.”
Sulu slid the potted plant back down across the table. As it passed by Jim, he stuck his hand out and stopped it. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he gave the plant a once over.
“I’m guessing that you might recognize it though, James Kirk,” said Gaila. He glanced up at her and was a little bit surprised to see something actually resembling sympathy in her face.
He cleared his throat, and shoved the plant the rest of the way towards her. At his side, Spock gave him a quick look, eyebrows knitted together, which Jim ignored. “Maybe,” he said. He kept his face as blank as possible, no matter that even a glimpse of the plant made him want to send it smashing to the ground.
(Like he had been smashed to the ground, literally, figuratively, grubbing in the dirt, hungry, watering rows and rows of the things, unable to drink the water himself, frightened, angry-)
Gaila gave him a very slight nod as she drew the pot towards her.
“Can we start getting to the part of this where you explain what the fuck is going on?” said McCoy, voice polite enough to crack steel.
“Yeah,” said Chapel. She ran a distracted hand through her now spiky pink hair. “I’ve got an appointment today.”
“Because tattoo appointments are so much more important than the fate of the world,” Sulu shot back at her. He crossed his arms. “I want to hear more about the plant.”
“Only you are the one caring about plants,” Chekov argued. “I want to hear about why there are green and orange aliens running around this planet. I thought Mr. Spock was the only one allowed?”
“That’s enough!” Jim said suddenly, half to get everyone to shut up, half just to stop his own clamoring memories. Everyone quieted and stared at him. He glared at the collective group. “Let them finish, then we can ask questions.” He turned to Gaila and to Spock next to him. “Keep talking.”
Spock and Gaila locked eyes for a moment,
“You first, sweetheart,” said Gaila. Spock’s lips grew thinner at her words, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his ire. He stood.
“As I have already informed you, I was sent to this planet by the Vulcan High Command,” he said, hands clasped behind his back.
“Yeah, and you wouldn’t tell us why,” McCoy groused. “Trust me, we remember.”
Spock sent him a brief scowl, then spoke mainly to the rest of the group. “I was sent to ascertain, if possible, the reason behind humans’ technological lag. According to our anthropologists, your species was supposed to have reached warp capability many years ago.”
“What? That’s it?” Everyone looked at Sulu in surprise. He turned a little red at the attention, but continued on. “You couldn’t just say that before? Really?”
“I could not speak of my mission before, for fear of endangering it,” Spock said stiffly, not making eye contact with anyone, but in particular refusing to look at Jim. “We had begun to suspect outside-Earth interference and I did not know what, if any, seemingly innocuous form it might take.” He cast a wry look over to Gaila, who sat rather primly, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded protectively around the plant on top of the table. “As you can see. That is no longer the case.”
“And I think that’s my cue,” Gaila said, standing as Spock sat down. She shot him a smile, which he responded to with an artfully done blank stare.
“Finally,” Sulu muttered.
Gaila smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d say that it’s nice to be visiting you here on Earth, but I’ve actually lived here quite a while so I’ll just skip to the point.” She held up the plant again. “In my language, we call this hain-enela, which means ‘white desire.’ It’s a finicky plant, rare on my home planet. Prefers soils high in nitrates and phosphates, which, coincidentally enough, Earth soil has an abundance of.” She put the plant down and one by one met the gaze of every person at the conference table. “So,” she said softly, “anyone see where this might be going?”
It was Uhura who spoke first. “You grow it here,” she said.
“Close,” said Gaila. Then she reconsidered. “Well yeah, we do grow it here. But that’s not everything.”
“Perhaps an introduction into Orion culture might make matters clearer,” Spock said dryly.
Gaila pointed a finger at him. “Vulcans don’t know the first thing about Orion culture, trust me on this.”
“We have sufficient data regarding the Orion Syndicate’s numerous criminal operations,” Spock replied acidly. “Given that it is often the Vulcan fleet freeing prisoners from Orion slaver ships.”
Gaila shrugged. “No society is perfect,” she said. “Not even Vulcan.” At Spock’s frustrated exhale she continued. “The Command keeps it quiet, but I know a captain who ran hain-enela through Vulcan Space..”
“The plant contains medicinal properties,” Spock said stiffly.
“Oh my god,” Sulu blurted out. He had been sitting at the end of the table, deep in quiet thought. Now as he spoke, hand shaking slightly, he pointed at the plant. “That’s a drug, isn’t it?”
“Technically,” said Gaila into the very abrupt silence, “it is a very rare flower.”
Sulu shook his head. “You know what I mean,” he said.
“Yeah,” Gaila said, her face suddenly very serious. “I do know what you mean. And you’re right, of course.” She caressed the delicate white petals. “It’s not just a drug, it’s one of the most sought after drugs in the system.” She brought out a bag filled halfway with gold-brown crystals. “You can even find it on this charming little backwater you call home.”
They stared at the bag.
Finally, McCoy broke the silence. “So you’re telling me,” he said, “that gold dirt comes from alien plants? And that Earth is basically one big intergalactic poppy field?”
“Just one kind of alien plant,” said Gaila.
“Oh, that makes everything so much better,” McCoy drawled. “Anything else us poor souls living here ought to know about?”
“Well, we do control all of your planetary governments,” she said, half sweetly, half seriously. Then she frowned. “Except United East Africa, for some reason. Don’t ask me what that’s about.”
“I’m being serious,” snapped McCoy.
“So am I,” she returned. “This isn’t a new thing, Human. Earth’s been the premier place to grow hain-enela for over two hundred years. All those wars? All the work prisons? The retraining camps?” Her gaze passed over to Jim. “They all revolve around this.” She indicated the plant. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
Jim slammed his fist on the table. “What, seriously?” he snapped. He rounded on Spock. “I thought you said we were in the Vulcan space neighborhood. Couldn’t you guys do something about this?”
“We did not know,” Spock said quietly. “We never suspected . . .”
“Vulcan cares for nothing but herself,” Gaila interrupted, voice brisk. “They only care now because if Romulus finds out about it, they’ll lose face.”
“That’s not true,” Spock said between gritted teeth.
“I don't believe this,” Jim continued, “This is insane! All - everything on Earth - the Bureau, the wars, fucking Tarsus,” he spat out the last word like a curse. “Because of that stupid, fucking, plant?”
“Jim,” Spock said, voice soft. “Jim, you have been ill. You must calm down.”
“Don’t,” Jim warned, leaning away from him. “Don’t tell me to be calm.”
“Jim-”
“No.” Jim pushed his chair back and stood. He looked at the other humans, a fierce light in his eyes. “We have to fucking fix this. I don’t know how, but it has to be done.”
Pike, who had remained so quiet as to be invisible, finally spoke up. “Anyone disagree with Kirk’s assessment of the situation?”
No one budged.
“Good,” Pike said. “Then we’re all dismissed. Next meeting we’ll start brainstorming.” He grinned, showing teeth. “We’re a very destructive species, I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
“Yeah you are,” muttered Gaila. “Why do you think the Syndicate’s been channeling your aggression into planetary wars?”
Spock looked a little ill at the thought, but also resigned to it. “Humans,” he said.
“Dismissed,” Pike barked
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spock found Jim not in his room, but by the side of the indoor pool, on the very top floor. He was looking out through the glass wall at the bright lights of the city. When Spock entered the room, Jim shifted his head the slightest bit, as if to see who was there, and then returned to his gazing.
Spock stepped further into the room, onto the green-tiled floor, until he came to a halt, shoulder to shoulder with Jm. They both stared straight ahead. Finally, when the silence became almost unbearable, Spock spoke.
“Are you very angry with me?” he asked.
Jim sighed. “No,” he said. Then, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“If you would perhaps be able to tell me what I have . . . done,” Spock said delicately, as if afraid that Jim would turn and snap at him at any moment. “I might perhaps, make amends?”
Jim tilted his head back towards the ceiling. It too was glass and through it and the light pollution, Spock could make out the faintest of stars. He felt suddenly very homesick.
“You should have told me.” Jim’s voice. Not accusing, but flat. To Spock, the apathy in it was almost worse. “About why you were here.”
“I could not.”
“You should’ve anyway.”
“Jim . . .” Spock turned to face him, desperate for him to understand. “I could not risk your entire planet’s future. If word had reached the Orions before it did-”
“I would never betray you.” Spock’s own words, thrown back at him. They tasted of bile.
“I did not betray you,” he said. “I’ve told you now, have I not? I couldn’t-”
“What, couldn’t trust me?” Jim said, voice as sharp as the nails digging into his palms. “After all the shit we’ve been through, you couldn’t even do that?”
“It was not an issue of trust,” Spock said. “I do trust you. I trust you with everything.”
“Then why do you care so much about this planet?” Jim demanded. “Why did you come here? Why is its future so, damn, important to you?” And Spock could hear the unasked query too, as loud as if it had been whispered directly into his ear.
What is here that you care about more than me?
Spock sucked in a breath. On Vulcan, his mother’s heritage had been forbidden knowledge to anyone but the highest authorities, but here?
Spock’s silence went on for too long. Jim turned away. Spock grabbed at his arm, pulled him back.
“Let me, the fuck, go,” Jim snarled, wrenching his arm free. Belying his actions, he then stalked towards Spock, crowding him up against the glass wall. Spock swallowed. “You,” growled Jim. “You are so fucking irritating, you know that? You and your- your damn Zen face and always, always, doing something stupid because of me- Jesus, I can’t believe you built a fucking bomb. Nearly got yourself killed-”
“It is not stupid,” Spock said weakly. Jim’s face was very close to his. Spock could almost begin to count his eyelashes. He could feel the heat of Jim’s solid body. Spock breathed in his scent, deeply, unconsciously.
“And you never tell me shit,” Jim continued. They were almost chest-to-chest now. Spock’s back hit the wall. In the back of his mind, he hoped very fervently that human engineering was not as primitive as it sometimes appeared; he had no desire to fall through the glass.
“And sometimes I just want to-” Jim made a sound of utter frustration, and Spock had no time to think, no time to react as Jim lunged forward and smashed his lips against Spock’s own.
Kissing, Spock thought dazedly, even as his body grew hot and Jim’s hands inched down to grasp his in a facsimile of the Vulcan way. Human kissing. What. Did Jim-?
Jim was a greedy kisser, Spock thought. He nipped at Spock’s lips, fitting their bodies closer and closer together, as if attempting to merge them through sheer force of will. He insinuated one of his legs between Spock’s and rocked a little, side to side, and Spock felt something liquid and heated respond within him. He groaned.
“Jim,” he gasped, as Jim moved his mouth away and then back against his. “Jim, Jim, Jim.”
And then suddenly Jim was stumbling away, limbs awkward and flailing in panic. Spock felt achingly bereft.
“I’m sorry!” Jim exclaimed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Spock. I don’t know - I mean, we’re kind of aliens, to each other anyway, and I know it’s kind of weird but you-” he licked dry lips and made an aborted gesture towards Spock. “And I don’t know anything about this . . . this part of your culture and oh god,” he looked suddenly very horrified. “Do you even have a - I mean . . .” he trailed off, looking down and away and anywhere but Spock’s groin.
“If you are referring to a penis,” Spock said primly, moving slowly yet inexorably towards Jim. “Then you might be interested to know that Vulcan and human genitalia are very similar.”
Jim turned a darker shade of red. “Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um.”
“Furthermore,” Spock continued, now in Jim’s personal space. “My genitalia in particular are very similar.” He hesitated, then continued with a firm voice, “Since I am half human.”
Jim froze. “What?” he whispered.
“My mother,” Spock said. He cocked his head. “So you see, I have little quibble with your . . . unorthodox, desires. Especially if they pertain to me.”
Jim looked like he wasn’t sure which part of that statement he should be more dumbfounded by. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly, grabbing onto the trunk of a potted palm tree for support. “Run that one by me again?”
Spock straightened his posture, raised his chin. “I am half human.”
“Half . . .” Jim seemed to shake himself. He fixed Spock with a look. “What- you- What? Really? How the fuck?”
Spock drew in a breath. “The science necessary for my creation took five years of intense research at the Vulcan Science Academy. Additionally-”
“No, no,” Jim waved his hand, though still looking a bit shell-shocked. “I mean- how the fuck did your parents even meet? Who- is it your mom? I bet it’s your mom, you said your dad was an Ambassador, so it’s got to be your mom.”
“Jim,” said Spock.
“This is so fucking weird. It’s like I live in a soap opera. Spock, we’re a fucking soap opera. This is so weird. You’re half human! Half human! Did they make you in a lab?”
“I do not understand that reference. You are correct however, my mother is human, and she currently resides on Vulcan with my father.”
“How-” Jim started, then seemed to reconsider. “Together?”
“Yes.”
“As in like, married?”
“Yes,” Spock said patiently.
“No mind control?”
Spock gave him a very offended look, and crossed his arms.
“Sorry, I thought-” Jim swallowed. “I thought you guys didn’t do emotions?”
Spock stared down at him with dark eyes. “That is a peculiar thing to ask after you have kissed me not once, but twice,” he said.
Jim squirmed a little. Spock gentled his tone.
“My father rescued my mother during a routine survey mission, near the 5th planet of your solar system. As she did not wish to return to her home planet-”
“Who is your mom?”
“She is, that is, I do not know if you will recognize her name. Perhaps.”
“What’s her name?” Jim repeated.
Spock exhaled. “Amanda,” he said. “Amanda Grayson.”
Jim’s eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like that name’s familiar. Was she an astronaut?”
“Obviously,” Spock said, voice dry. When Jim still looked puzzled, he added, “She was the only surviving crew member of the 2225 Europa mission. My father- his ship found hers dead in space. For him, the logical course of action was to assist her. She had no desire to return to Earth.”
“And so then your dad just took her home and married her?” Jim said, voice kind of strangled. “Different species and all? You can do that? Didn’t you say there was a secret space law?”
Spock frowned. “Interspecies partnerships have been legal for more than one hundred years. And I assure you, it was not so simple as that.”
“Oh,” said Jim. Then he blinked. “So, that’s why they sent you?”
“Yes,” Spock admitted.
“Oh,” Jim said again. Then, “And the whole logic and emotions thing . . .”
“Vulcans - I - we are not machines,” he said. Close enough now, and emboldened, he lifted his hand and caressed the outline of Jim’s face with his finger. “If we desire-” and here he stumbled. “That is not to say our ways are not different, but if my parents have survived each other for more than thirty years then I do not think that we would find such between us impossible. Unless I have misread your intentions, of course. I-” He stopped at Jim’s shake of the head.
“You’re babbling,” Jim said.
“So were you,” Spock retorted.
Jim scowled, then smiled. “Fair enough,” he allowed. He looked at Spock. “I don’t know where this is going,” he said, very seriously. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Also, you’re an alien- sorry, half-alien and I don’t really know what the fuck that means.”
“I know,” Spock said. He hesitated, then said. “At times, I myself am unsure of its exact meaning. ”
Jim frowned a little. “Still. If we um,” he cleared his throat. “If we accept that it is, for the moment, you know, going. Might we, I don’t know, be going somewhere with a bit more privacy?” Very slowly, he held out his hand.
Spock tilted his head, enjoying the look of brief panic on Jim’s face as he considered the proposition for what it was.
“I think,” he said finally, touching his fingers to Jim’s. “I think we might.”
It was a fanciful thought, Spock knew, but Jim’s beaming grin could outshine the sun.
The walk back to their rooms was filled with a charged, yet somehow peaceful, silence. Jim pulled Spock into a corner by the potted poolside plant to kiss him again, and Spock allowed it. By the time they entered Spock’s room, they were both breathless, and Jim seemed unable to keep his hands to himself.
“You wear a lot of clothes,” he grumbled, yanking at Spock’s shirt.
“It is cold,” Spock defended, “Turn up the thermostat.”
Jim removed his own shirt, then his jeans. Spock could not help but stare as the human - his human? - strode over to the temperature controls on the wall and pressed at the screen embedded into it.
“There,” he said, returning to Spock and sliding his hands under his shirt to feel the hard muscle beneath. “Now you won’t freeze, my delicate desert flower.”
“I beg your pardon?” Spock said indignantly, as Jim steered him towards the bed and convinced him somehow to lie flat on it. Spock suspected Jim’s devious mouth might have been at fault. An embarrassing keen escaped him as Jim first kissed, then bit and then suckled at his collarbone. “Jim!”
“What?” Jim said, clambering over Spock’s form.
“You- ah. You are attempting to distract me.”
“Never,” Jim said, lowering himself fully onto Spock and beginning to undulate his hips the slightest bit. Spock bit back a whimper at the sensation.
“I am a-” Jim kissed his neck. Spock soldiered on. “I am a touch telepath. I can t- tell.”
Jim squeezed Spock’s hands with his own. Spock’s eyes rolled back for a moment.
“Oh?” Jim said.
Spock had just opened his mouth to reply when an unexpected, loud crackling noise filled the air.
“WHAT in the name of anything, fucking anything?” Jim yelped twisting off of Spock to land flat on his back on floor. Spock sat up.
The noise continued.
“Spock,” said Jim, staring at something at the opposite end of the room, sitting on Spock’s desk. “I’m going to assume that you disabled that dirty bomb of yours that McCoy told me about. You didn’t um, happen to turn it into a radio, did you?”
“Perhaps,” Spock said faintly, swinging his legs off the bed and walking over to the disturbance.
It was indeed his newly rebuilt radio. And it was making noise. Loud noise. Spock picked it up in disbelief.
“So . . . who’s calling?” Jim said, pushing himself off the floor with a groan. He made his way over to Spock, still clad only in his underwear. “Can you get them to call back later?”
Spock glared at him. Jim dropped a kiss to his shoulder.
“I should be able to,” Spock muttered, fiddling a bit.
The crackling stopped.
“Hello?” Spock said.
“Hello?” came a very familiar voice. “Spock?”
Spock sat down hard in the desk chair.
Jim looked very concerned. “Spock,” he said. “Please tell me that’s not your boyfriend on the other line.”
“No,” Spock said, staring straight ahead, half-hoping this was a dream. “Worse.”
“Oh god you’re married,” said Jim.
Spock grimaced at him. “No,” he said. “It’s my brother.”
Jim stared first at him, then at the device.
“He’s got really awful timing,” he said finally.
Spock rolled his eyes, then pressed something. “Sybok,” he said in terse Vulcan. “I read you. This is Spock.”
Part A Next
Part B
The conference with Gaila and Spock was an almost déjà vu of Spock’s interrogation aboard ship.
Gaila was - and there was seriously no other way to put this - hot. She was smoking. Sexy. The works. And she smelled fantastic.
“You need to take more pheromone suppressants,” Spock said in a kind of growly voice to her, noticing Jim’s avid gaze.
She shrugged. “I took a double dose yesterday. Besides, he smells mostly like you, so I don’t see what you’re so pissy about. I’d never tap something that smells like Vulcan. Too risky.”
Spock went even more rigid.
Pike rubbed at his temples and sent a sidelong glance to Jim, who was looking between Spock and Gaila like they had just had a conversation about him that went completely over his head.
“Anyway,” Uhura said finally. “Gaila, you said you had something to show us.”
Gaila beamed. “Oh, yes,” she said. She reached into a bag below the table, and carefully withdrew what looked like a potted plant. It had alternating waxy green leaves, and several dainty white flowers, each with six petals. There was one bright red berry hanging off the end of a green stem. “The fate of your planet,” she said dramatically, “mostly has to do with this.”
There were numerous doubtful looks from the humans around the table. Spock crossed his arms, not even trying to hide his annoyance.
“There is no need for theatrics,” he said.
“Vulcans are no fun,” said Gaila to the rest of the group.
“Orions-” started Spock, scathingly, but he was interrupted by Chekov.
“What is an Orion?”
“I am,” said Gaila.
“Hold on,” said Jim. “I could’ve sworn the guy who got the jump on me was orange. You’re green.”
“Oh yes, and humans never have different skin tones,” said Gaila. “Just us non-humans.”
“Generally, the color of an Orion’s skin - orange, green, or grey - is indicative of their caste,” said Spock. “With green skin, Gaila would be considered a second caste citizen.”
“Well, someone’s been studying up,” said Gaila, and now she sounded a lot less friendly.
“If we could get back to the issue at hand,” Uhura interrupted.
“Yeah, yeah.” Gaila waved her hand lazily. Then she looked down at the table and frowned. “Where’d the plant go?”
“I have it,” said Sulu, who was down at the far end of the table.
Gaila gave him an appraising look. “You like plants?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Sulu, blinking a bit in surprise. Gaila jerked her head to indicate the one he held.
“Know what that one is?”
Lips pursed, Sulu bent his head to examine it. He brushed gentle fingers along the smooth stem, lifted leaves, and trailed the side of his palm against the gentle white blossoms. Gaila watched him all the while, a small smirk playing around the corners of her mouth. Finally, Sulu looked up.
“No,” he said. “I don’t know what it is. It’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Right in one,” said Gaila. “At least you know enough about it to know that. A lot of people can’t even tell.”
Sulu slid the potted plant back down across the table. As it passed by Jim, he stuck his hand out and stopped it. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he gave the plant a once over.
“I’m guessing that you might recognize it though, James Kirk,” said Gaila. He glanced up at her and was a little bit surprised to see something actually resembling sympathy in her face.
He cleared his throat, and shoved the plant the rest of the way towards her. At his side, Spock gave him a quick look, eyebrows knitted together, which Jim ignored. “Maybe,” he said. He kept his face as blank as possible, no matter that even a glimpse of the plant made him want to send it smashing to the ground.
(Like he had been smashed to the ground, literally, figuratively, grubbing in the dirt, hungry, watering rows and rows of the things, unable to drink the water himself, frightened, angry-)
Gaila gave him a very slight nod as she drew the pot towards her.
“Can we start getting to the part of this where you explain what the fuck is going on?” said McCoy, voice polite enough to crack steel.
“Yeah,” said Chapel. She ran a distracted hand through her now spiky pink hair. “I’ve got an appointment today.”
“Because tattoo appointments are so much more important than the fate of the world,” Sulu shot back at her. He crossed his arms. “I want to hear more about the plant.”
“Only you are the one caring about plants,” Chekov argued. “I want to hear about why there are green and orange aliens running around this planet. I thought Mr. Spock was the only one allowed?”
“That’s enough!” Jim said suddenly, half to get everyone to shut up, half just to stop his own clamoring memories. Everyone quieted and stared at him. He glared at the collective group. “Let them finish, then we can ask questions.” He turned to Gaila and to Spock next to him. “Keep talking.”
Spock and Gaila locked eyes for a moment,
“You first, sweetheart,” said Gaila. Spock’s lips grew thinner at her words, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his ire. He stood.
“As I have already informed you, I was sent to this planet by the Vulcan High Command,” he said, hands clasped behind his back.
“Yeah, and you wouldn’t tell us why,” McCoy groused. “Trust me, we remember.”
Spock sent him a brief scowl, then spoke mainly to the rest of the group. “I was sent to ascertain, if possible, the reason behind humans’ technological lag. According to our anthropologists, your species was supposed to have reached warp capability many years ago.”
“What? That’s it?” Everyone looked at Sulu in surprise. He turned a little red at the attention, but continued on. “You couldn’t just say that before? Really?”
“I could not speak of my mission before, for fear of endangering it,” Spock said stiffly, not making eye contact with anyone, but in particular refusing to look at Jim. “We had begun to suspect outside-Earth interference and I did not know what, if any, seemingly innocuous form it might take.” He cast a wry look over to Gaila, who sat rather primly, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded protectively around the plant on top of the table. “As you can see. That is no longer the case.”
“And I think that’s my cue,” Gaila said, standing as Spock sat down. She shot him a smile, which he responded to with an artfully done blank stare.
“Finally,” Sulu muttered.
Gaila smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d say that it’s nice to be visiting you here on Earth, but I’ve actually lived here quite a while so I’ll just skip to the point.” She held up the plant again. “In my language, we call this hain-enela, which means ‘white desire.’ It’s a finicky plant, rare on my home planet. Prefers soils high in nitrates and phosphates, which, coincidentally enough, Earth soil has an abundance of.” She put the plant down and one by one met the gaze of every person at the conference table. “So,” she said softly, “anyone see where this might be going?”
It was Uhura who spoke first. “You grow it here,” she said.
“Close,” said Gaila. Then she reconsidered. “Well yeah, we do grow it here. But that’s not everything.”
“Perhaps an introduction into Orion culture might make matters clearer,” Spock said dryly.
Gaila pointed a finger at him. “Vulcans don’t know the first thing about Orion culture, trust me on this.”
“We have sufficient data regarding the Orion Syndicate’s numerous criminal operations,” Spock replied acidly. “Given that it is often the Vulcan fleet freeing prisoners from Orion slaver ships.”
Gaila shrugged. “No society is perfect,” she said. “Not even Vulcan.” At Spock’s frustrated exhale she continued. “The Command keeps it quiet, but I know a captain who ran hain-enela through Vulcan Space..”
“The plant contains medicinal properties,” Spock said stiffly.
“Oh my god,” Sulu blurted out. He had been sitting at the end of the table, deep in quiet thought. Now as he spoke, hand shaking slightly, he pointed at the plant. “That’s a drug, isn’t it?”
“Technically,” said Gaila into the very abrupt silence, “it is a very rare flower.”
Sulu shook his head. “You know what I mean,” he said.
“Yeah,” Gaila said, her face suddenly very serious. “I do know what you mean. And you’re right, of course.” She caressed the delicate white petals. “It’s not just a drug, it’s one of the most sought after drugs in the system.” She brought out a bag filled halfway with gold-brown crystals. “You can even find it on this charming little backwater you call home.”
They stared at the bag.
Finally, McCoy broke the silence. “So you’re telling me,” he said, “that gold dirt comes from alien plants? And that Earth is basically one big intergalactic poppy field?”
“Just one kind of alien plant,” said Gaila.
“Oh, that makes everything so much better,” McCoy drawled. “Anything else us poor souls living here ought to know about?”
“Well, we do control all of your planetary governments,” she said, half sweetly, half seriously. Then she frowned. “Except United East Africa, for some reason. Don’t ask me what that’s about.”
“I’m being serious,” snapped McCoy.
“So am I,” she returned. “This isn’t a new thing, Human. Earth’s been the premier place to grow hain-enela for over two hundred years. All those wars? All the work prisons? The retraining camps?” Her gaze passed over to Jim. “They all revolve around this.” She indicated the plant. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
Jim slammed his fist on the table. “What, seriously?” he snapped. He rounded on Spock. “I thought you said we were in the Vulcan space neighborhood. Couldn’t you guys do something about this?”
“We did not know,” Spock said quietly. “We never suspected . . .”
“Vulcan cares for nothing but herself,” Gaila interrupted, voice brisk. “They only care now because if Romulus finds out about it, they’ll lose face.”
“That’s not true,” Spock said between gritted teeth.
“I don't believe this,” Jim continued, “This is insane! All - everything on Earth - the Bureau, the wars, fucking Tarsus,” he spat out the last word like a curse. “Because of that stupid, fucking, plant?”
“Jim,” Spock said, voice soft. “Jim, you have been ill. You must calm down.”
“Don’t,” Jim warned, leaning away from him. “Don’t tell me to be calm.”
“Jim-”
“No.” Jim pushed his chair back and stood. He looked at the other humans, a fierce light in his eyes. “We have to fucking fix this. I don’t know how, but it has to be done.”
Pike, who had remained so quiet as to be invisible, finally spoke up. “Anyone disagree with Kirk’s assessment of the situation?”
No one budged.
“Good,” Pike said. “Then we’re all dismissed. Next meeting we’ll start brainstorming.” He grinned, showing teeth. “We’re a very destructive species, I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
“Yeah you are,” muttered Gaila. “Why do you think the Syndicate’s been channeling your aggression into planetary wars?”
Spock looked a little ill at the thought, but also resigned to it. “Humans,” he said.
“Dismissed,” Pike barked
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spock found Jim not in his room, but by the side of the indoor pool, on the very top floor. He was looking out through the glass wall at the bright lights of the city. When Spock entered the room, Jim shifted his head the slightest bit, as if to see who was there, and then returned to his gazing.
Spock stepped further into the room, onto the green-tiled floor, until he came to a halt, shoulder to shoulder with Jm. They both stared straight ahead. Finally, when the silence became almost unbearable, Spock spoke.
“Are you very angry with me?” he asked.
Jim sighed. “No,” he said. Then, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“If you would perhaps be able to tell me what I have . . . done,” Spock said delicately, as if afraid that Jim would turn and snap at him at any moment. “I might perhaps, make amends?”
Jim tilted his head back towards the ceiling. It too was glass and through it and the light pollution, Spock could make out the faintest of stars. He felt suddenly very homesick.
“You should have told me.” Jim’s voice. Not accusing, but flat. To Spock, the apathy in it was almost worse. “About why you were here.”
“I could not.”
“You should’ve anyway.”
“Jim . . .” Spock turned to face him, desperate for him to understand. “I could not risk your entire planet’s future. If word had reached the Orions before it did-”
“I would never betray you.” Spock’s own words, thrown back at him. They tasted of bile.
“I did not betray you,” he said. “I’ve told you now, have I not? I couldn’t-”
“What, couldn’t trust me?” Jim said, voice as sharp as the nails digging into his palms. “After all the shit we’ve been through, you couldn’t even do that?”
“It was not an issue of trust,” Spock said. “I do trust you. I trust you with everything.”
“Then why do you care so much about this planet?” Jim demanded. “Why did you come here? Why is its future so, damn, important to you?” And Spock could hear the unasked query too, as loud as if it had been whispered directly into his ear.
What is here that you care about more than me?
Spock sucked in a breath. On Vulcan, his mother’s heritage had been forbidden knowledge to anyone but the highest authorities, but here?
Spock’s silence went on for too long. Jim turned away. Spock grabbed at his arm, pulled him back.
“Let me, the fuck, go,” Jim snarled, wrenching his arm free. Belying his actions, he then stalked towards Spock, crowding him up against the glass wall. Spock swallowed. “You,” growled Jim. “You are so fucking irritating, you know that? You and your- your damn Zen face and always, always, doing something stupid because of me- Jesus, I can’t believe you built a fucking bomb. Nearly got yourself killed-”
“It is not stupid,” Spock said weakly. Jim’s face was very close to his. Spock could almost begin to count his eyelashes. He could feel the heat of Jim’s solid body. Spock breathed in his scent, deeply, unconsciously.
“And you never tell me shit,” Jim continued. They were almost chest-to-chest now. Spock’s back hit the wall. In the back of his mind, he hoped very fervently that human engineering was not as primitive as it sometimes appeared; he had no desire to fall through the glass.
“And sometimes I just want to-” Jim made a sound of utter frustration, and Spock had no time to think, no time to react as Jim lunged forward and smashed his lips against Spock’s own.
Kissing, Spock thought dazedly, even as his body grew hot and Jim’s hands inched down to grasp his in a facsimile of the Vulcan way. Human kissing. What. Did Jim-?
Jim was a greedy kisser, Spock thought. He nipped at Spock’s lips, fitting their bodies closer and closer together, as if attempting to merge them through sheer force of will. He insinuated one of his legs between Spock’s and rocked a little, side to side, and Spock felt something liquid and heated respond within him. He groaned.
“Jim,” he gasped, as Jim moved his mouth away and then back against his. “Jim, Jim, Jim.”
And then suddenly Jim was stumbling away, limbs awkward and flailing in panic. Spock felt achingly bereft.
“I’m sorry!” Jim exclaimed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Spock. I don’t know - I mean, we’re kind of aliens, to each other anyway, and I know it’s kind of weird but you-” he licked dry lips and made an aborted gesture towards Spock. “And I don’t know anything about this . . . this part of your culture and oh god,” he looked suddenly very horrified. “Do you even have a - I mean . . .” he trailed off, looking down and away and anywhere but Spock’s groin.
“If you are referring to a penis,” Spock said primly, moving slowly yet inexorably towards Jim. “Then you might be interested to know that Vulcan and human genitalia are very similar.”
Jim turned a darker shade of red. “Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um.”
“Furthermore,” Spock continued, now in Jim’s personal space. “My genitalia in particular are very similar.” He hesitated, then continued with a firm voice, “Since I am half human.”
Jim froze. “What?” he whispered.
“My mother,” Spock said. He cocked his head. “So you see, I have little quibble with your . . . unorthodox, desires. Especially if they pertain to me.”
Jim looked like he wasn’t sure which part of that statement he should be more dumbfounded by. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly, grabbing onto the trunk of a potted palm tree for support. “Run that one by me again?”
Spock straightened his posture, raised his chin. “I am half human.”
“Half . . .” Jim seemed to shake himself. He fixed Spock with a look. “What- you- What? Really? How the fuck?”
Spock drew in a breath. “The science necessary for my creation took five years of intense research at the Vulcan Science Academy. Additionally-”
“No, no,” Jim waved his hand, though still looking a bit shell-shocked. “I mean- how the fuck did your parents even meet? Who- is it your mom? I bet it’s your mom, you said your dad was an Ambassador, so it’s got to be your mom.”
“Jim,” said Spock.
“This is so fucking weird. It’s like I live in a soap opera. Spock, we’re a fucking soap opera. This is so weird. You’re half human! Half human! Did they make you in a lab?”
“I do not understand that reference. You are correct however, my mother is human, and she currently resides on Vulcan with my father.”
“How-” Jim started, then seemed to reconsider. “Together?”
“Yes.”
“As in like, married?”
“Yes,” Spock said patiently.
“No mind control?”
Spock gave him a very offended look, and crossed his arms.
“Sorry, I thought-” Jim swallowed. “I thought you guys didn’t do emotions?”
Spock stared down at him with dark eyes. “That is a peculiar thing to ask after you have kissed me not once, but twice,” he said.
Jim squirmed a little. Spock gentled his tone.
“My father rescued my mother during a routine survey mission, near the 5th planet of your solar system. As she did not wish to return to her home planet-”
“Who is your mom?”
“She is, that is, I do not know if you will recognize her name. Perhaps.”
“What’s her name?” Jim repeated.
Spock exhaled. “Amanda,” he said. “Amanda Grayson.”
Jim’s eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like that name’s familiar. Was she an astronaut?”
“Obviously,” Spock said, voice dry. When Jim still looked puzzled, he added, “She was the only surviving crew member of the 2225 Europa mission. My father- his ship found hers dead in space. For him, the logical course of action was to assist her. She had no desire to return to Earth.”
“And so then your dad just took her home and married her?” Jim said, voice kind of strangled. “Different species and all? You can do that? Didn’t you say there was a secret space law?”
Spock frowned. “Interspecies partnerships have been legal for more than one hundred years. And I assure you, it was not so simple as that.”
“Oh,” said Jim. Then he blinked. “So, that’s why they sent you?”
“Yes,” Spock admitted.
“Oh,” Jim said again. Then, “And the whole logic and emotions thing . . .”
“Vulcans - I - we are not machines,” he said. Close enough now, and emboldened, he lifted his hand and caressed the outline of Jim’s face with his finger. “If we desire-” and here he stumbled. “That is not to say our ways are not different, but if my parents have survived each other for more than thirty years then I do not think that we would find such between us impossible. Unless I have misread your intentions, of course. I-” He stopped at Jim’s shake of the head.
“You’re babbling,” Jim said.
“So were you,” Spock retorted.
Jim scowled, then smiled. “Fair enough,” he allowed. He looked at Spock. “I don’t know where this is going,” he said, very seriously. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Also, you’re an alien- sorry, half-alien and I don’t really know what the fuck that means.”
“I know,” Spock said. He hesitated, then said. “At times, I myself am unsure of its exact meaning. ”
Jim frowned a little. “Still. If we um,” he cleared his throat. “If we accept that it is, for the moment, you know, going. Might we, I don’t know, be going somewhere with a bit more privacy?” Very slowly, he held out his hand.
Spock tilted his head, enjoying the look of brief panic on Jim’s face as he considered the proposition for what it was.
“I think,” he said finally, touching his fingers to Jim’s. “I think we might.”
It was a fanciful thought, Spock knew, but Jim’s beaming grin could outshine the sun.
The walk back to their rooms was filled with a charged, yet somehow peaceful, silence. Jim pulled Spock into a corner by the potted poolside plant to kiss him again, and Spock allowed it. By the time they entered Spock’s room, they were both breathless, and Jim seemed unable to keep his hands to himself.
“You wear a lot of clothes,” he grumbled, yanking at Spock’s shirt.
“It is cold,” Spock defended, “Turn up the thermostat.”
Jim removed his own shirt, then his jeans. Spock could not help but stare as the human - his human? - strode over to the temperature controls on the wall and pressed at the screen embedded into it.
“There,” he said, returning to Spock and sliding his hands under his shirt to feel the hard muscle beneath. “Now you won’t freeze, my delicate desert flower.”
“I beg your pardon?” Spock said indignantly, as Jim steered him towards the bed and convinced him somehow to lie flat on it. Spock suspected Jim’s devious mouth might have been at fault. An embarrassing keen escaped him as Jim first kissed, then bit and then suckled at his collarbone. “Jim!”
“What?” Jim said, clambering over Spock’s form.
“You- ah. You are attempting to distract me.”
“Never,” Jim said, lowering himself fully onto Spock and beginning to undulate his hips the slightest bit. Spock bit back a whimper at the sensation.
“I am a-” Jim kissed his neck. Spock soldiered on. “I am a touch telepath. I can t- tell.”
Jim squeezed Spock’s hands with his own. Spock’s eyes rolled back for a moment.
“Oh?” Jim said.
Spock had just opened his mouth to reply when an unexpected, loud crackling noise filled the air.
“WHAT in the name of anything, fucking anything?” Jim yelped twisting off of Spock to land flat on his back on floor. Spock sat up.
The noise continued.
“Spock,” said Jim, staring at something at the opposite end of the room, sitting on Spock’s desk. “I’m going to assume that you disabled that dirty bomb of yours that McCoy told me about. You didn’t um, happen to turn it into a radio, did you?”
“Perhaps,” Spock said faintly, swinging his legs off the bed and walking over to the disturbance.
It was indeed his newly rebuilt radio. And it was making noise. Loud noise. Spock picked it up in disbelief.
“So . . . who’s calling?” Jim said, pushing himself off the floor with a groan. He made his way over to Spock, still clad only in his underwear. “Can you get them to call back later?”
Spock glared at him. Jim dropped a kiss to his shoulder.
“I should be able to,” Spock muttered, fiddling a bit.
The crackling stopped.
“Hello?” Spock said.
“Hello?” came a very familiar voice. “Spock?”
Spock sat down hard in the desk chair.
Jim looked very concerned. “Spock,” he said. “Please tell me that’s not your boyfriend on the other line.”
“No,” Spock said, staring straight ahead, half-hoping this was a dream. “Worse.”
“Oh god you’re married,” said Jim.
Spock grimaced at him. “No,” he said. “It’s my brother.”
Jim stared first at him, then at the device.
“He’s got really awful timing,” he said finally.
Spock rolled his eyes, then pressed something. “Sybok,” he said in terse Vulcan. “I read you. This is Spock.”
Part A Next