Fic: Homecoming II, part 2
Title: Homecoming II, part 2
Length: 6k
Everything else (warnings, rating) as part 1.
Spock’s hand cups my elbow, urging me forward even though we’re only going to be a few minutes late.
“You first agreed to this test nine days ago. You have done so twice since.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
“Is that so?” I’m teasing, although I actually can’t remember it. But we’ve already been through it twice this morning.
“It is.”
“You realize that you could make up all kinds of shit right now and tell me I’ve agreed to it.”
He nods briskly, pulling me along effortlessly with him as if he’s got me caught in some kind of personal tractor beam.
“I do.”
“Thought as much. God, I hate tests. You do realize Bones is basically experimenting on me with this?”
“I do.”
“They’re not going to find anything. We know what this is. Screw it, I’m going home.”
“No. You are not.”
Seriously, it’s like I’m caught in the current of river rapids and I get the feeling he’ll throw me over his shoulder and drag me bodily in there if I try to back out. The idea’s more than a little hot, and Spock gives me out the corner of his eye what is, for him, a totally incredulous look when I start getting turned on.
“Oh, like you don’t know you’re smokin’ when you’re like this.”
It almost makes him not-smile, but he’s in a determined mood and marches us both through the doors into a room full of humming and blinking monitoring systems, all based around what looks like an adapted biobed in the center. It’s the biggest single piece of technology that I’ve seen outside of an engine room, Bones already in there with his hands on his hips bitching at some poor tech who is no doubt wishing he’d taken a personal day today. Then Bones notices Spock and I coming through the door, and the gruff sarcasm layered through his voice doesn’t bode well for today’s bedside manner.
“Glad to see you eventually found time for us on your busy schedule today, Admiral. Too busy polishing your medals?”
“Not at all, I have a person do that for me these days. Sorry I’m late. It was just another federal meeting trying to persuade them to cut Medical’s resource stream and give it to me so I can commission more stuff to blow things up.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” He thrusts a gown at me. “Go put this on. And I already told Spock that I
don’t want him here. There’s no telling how your bond might effect these tests.”
“An argument of which I have yet to be convinced, Doctor.” I can already tell there’s no way Bones is going to win this round. Sometimes there’s no shifting an obstinate Vulcan and Spock can out-Pighead the best of them when he wants to. “The existence of my bond with the Admiral is not, as you are aware, dependent on our proximity.”
“How about this? I don’t want you here getting under my feet all damn day! How’s about that for an argument?” I leave them to bicker about it while I go change, hearing Bones continue to waste his breath as far as Spock’s concerned. “I know what you’re like. You’ll want to know
what every last doohickey’s purpose is.”
“On the contrary, Doctor: I have already familiarized myself with the Neurological Monitoring
System’s primary workings.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
It takes three techs to fit the NMS unit itself around my head while I lay there on the biobed trying not to fidget too much. It’s a smooth cylinder with no provision for the subject to see out, trapping me with only the darkness and the sound of my own breathing for company. It’s okay, I’ve never much mind the dark, especially these days. I’m never alone, Spock’s touch reassuringly at the back of my mind as it always is, warming me. Although Bones’ bitching at him must’ve had some effect as Spock’s suppressing the link between us a little, dampening its effect for the tests ahead, I guess. I concentrate on it to give me something to do while the techs tug and fasten the unit into place, mentally tracing the shape of our bond like a caress, the same way I sometimes run a finger over the short hairs at Spock’s nape. There’s an instant swell of warmth and affection, a touch of admonishment that I translate as a mental ‘keep your paws to yourself till the test’s over, Admiral Handsypants’, then he withdraws once more.
It’s bizarre, lying like this with my head and neck so completely immobile. I feel like I’m waiting for something bad to happen, the guillotine to drop, unable to hear now much of what’s going on outside the NMS. There’s a few small movements as a tech adjusts something but otherwise I’m in silence, concentrating on my breathing, the beating of my heart. I think about the kids, about Gray this morning clinging to my wrists with both hands then looking up at me as if he was trying to memorize everything he found in my head. I think about Lejiba, concern coloring her exasperated tone when I commed her on Nova Mundus for the third time that week without realizing I’d already spoken with her. And I think back to the squid, three and a half years ago now, and about how nobody’s mentioned it yet. I guess none of us want to admit that’s probably the cause of my memory loss this time, too, as we were able to do precisely dick about it last time.
There’s the hushed hum of an open comm link then Bones’ voice floods my ears.
“Okay, Admiral, we’re about ready to start. Do you have your focus point ready?”
“Yep.”
I can barely talk, my jaw bound tight in the mask of the NMS, my fingers already smoothing over the apple’s skin, concentrating on its shape and size, learning its weight. Bones explained I had to bring an object with me that was familiar but one which didn’t hold any particular meaning or connotation personal to me. I guess most people would choose something from work, but that won’t cut it for me. My communicator, for example, a link to Spock hundreds of times that even I can remember, in danger on a hundred routine missions where I’m left clutching my communicator, trying to act like a captain should when instead I just want to shout down the line that I’m sorry I’ll never see him again and that I’m stupid to never have told him how much I like him and how he’s so hot he makes my eyes bleed.
Or a PADD, something I handle fifty times a day, something mundane and everyday but also the very thing on which I read my occasional notes from Spock and feel like the most undeservedly lucky guy in the mapped universe. My insignia, my link to Fleet and the reason I ever met him in the first place. One of Gray’s old baby shoes propping up a family holo. An ugly paperweight Lejiba made me that I don’t even remember her giving to me in the first place, but it still takes pride of place in my office on my desk. Everything in my life has Spock or the kids written all over it, it’d be pitiful if I didn’t like it that way so much. I was busy rummaging in my den at home for ideas this morning, running out of time and loudly cursing up a storm, when Spock walked in and wordlessly handed me an apple before walking back out again. I almost had a bite out of it before I figured out what it was supposed to be for.
“We’re going to start. There will be some noise but ignore it and concentrate on the, what is that? An apple? Think only of the apple.”
“Sure. The apple.”
It’s not as easy as I thought. I’m not hungry so I don’t waste any time thinking about how the apple would taste, instead concentrating on the small imperfections in its skin and the way it’s already warmed in my hand. The NMS has begun to whirr, a wet vibrating, sloshing sound that’s almost soothing. Crap, I’m paying conscious attention to the noises. I wrench my focus back to the apple, fingering its stub of stalk with my thumb before passing it from hand to hand, trying not to move my torso too much. Hope this isn’t going to take much longer, there’s only so much items of interest I’m able to discover on an apple. I squeeze it gently, noting its density, digging the nails of my forefinger and middle finger in until I can feel the skin give. The noises are getting louder, a rising clanging sound that is more than a little alarming in such close proximity to your brain but I apple-zen through it, memorizing this particular apple’s precise shape, wondering how it would smell and remembering how the skin’s green mottled through with a rusty orange.
I’m sweating, I can feel it dripping down from my forehead and temples, feel it rising through my hair and wetting my upper lip. I breathe, and breathe, and forget about the apple altogether once the clanging and whirring rises to painfully loud levels that make me wince, screwing my eyes tighter closed and starting to repeat ‘apple apple apple apple apple’ mentally to myself in the hope I can hold out long enough. God knows I’m not going through all this again if it doesn’t work first time. Apple apple apple apple. Can’t be much longer now. I hope.
Just as I’m about to start trying to tear the fucking thing off my head with my fingers alone before I go deaf, go crazy, drown in my own sweat or a combination of all three, the noises start to fade out and slow down, Bones’ voice coming on over the comm again.
“All done. Stay put while we get you out. What did I tell you, piece of cake.”
I’m muttering about other things I could do to Bones that might also be a piece of cake, preferably involving this apple and its possible insertion, when they finally loosen the NMS enough for me to push the rest of the way out of it. One of the tech notices the look in my eyes and physically blanches, clearing his throat.
“You’re, uh, okay there, Admiral?”
“No. I’m not.” I toss the apple at him and he drops his micro-wrench to fumble at the apple twice, managing to catch it at his chest on his third attempt. “You might want to recommend ear plugs to your next guinea pig. And possibly a tranquilizer.”
“‘Guinea pig’, sir?”
“An archaic reference, Ensign. Try picking up a book every now or then. Expand your mind, it’s the only one you get. Usually.”
“A book, sir?”
I glare at him and he trips over his feet in his hurry to get out my way as I march off to change and in search of someone to demote.
---
I’m married to Spock. It’s still blowing my mind. I’m an admiral, and married to Spock. How weird is that? I’m used to weird stuff, I’ve worked in Outer Space, but this whole thing has been a trip and a half. I come downstairs after my shower and notice music coming from the living area through the archway. His harp, wow, it sounds pretty. I follow the sound through, my socked feet silent on the wooden floor. But it’s not Spock who is playing, it’s a blond-haired kid, shaggy head bent forward in concentration as his stubby fingers work over the strings. Spock is standing to one side, hands tucked into the small of his back, a slight frown in place as he listens to the music and softly corrects the child over an incorrect phrasing, nodding at me with a warmth to his eyes as he does so.
He’s so handsome. I can’t get over how different I look like this, so much older, lines creasing my skin, a permanent tired look that I can’t seem to erase no matter how much sleep I get, when he looks so much the same as he always did, so flawlessly perfect, so beautiful that my mouth goes dry when I look at him. It’s like my hands literally itch to learn every plane of his face, the texture of his skin, the taste of him. So exquisite, so completely sublime, and he fell in love with me. Age cannot wither him . . .
The kid hits another wrong note and I wince internally but Spock leans down to correct the fingering with that endless patience. The kid looks up at him in gratitude and then over to me, a grin breaking out.
“See, Dad? I nearly had it that time!”
I almost curse, biting it back just in time.
“Gray?”
I wouldn’t have even recognized him if I hadn’t noticed his eyebrows where his bangs are parted or he hadn’t called me that. Gray’s supposed to be fourteen months old, like he was when I met him yesterday. That did happen. Right? I don’t understand and start to panic, rubbing at my forehead waiting for the fuzzy warm feeling to return, and Spock’s frowning at me in concern, beginning to cross the floor towards me.
“Your memory has failed you once more.”
There’s a crash, the harp banging to the floor as the kid throws it down and runs out the room, knocking into my legs as he goes. Spock’s eyes follow him and I’ve never seen Spock like this before, so obviously torn, unsure of what to do next. I jerk my head in the kid’s direction.
“Go after him. I can wait.”
---
It’s getting tougher each time. I’m hanging over a rock face now, an infinite drop beneath me as the tentacles wind their way around me and make me scream until my throat’s raw and nothing comes out any more, but the voice finds me, the fingers wrapping around my wrist and spanning my face and pushing inside me, into my skin and into my body and into my mind, and filling me with silver light but I can feel it, that the voice has to fight the thing harder each time to force it to give me up
Let me go. Let it have me. Let this end.
I don’t know if I’m heard, pain arcing throughout every nerve of my body, jolting me until it feels like I’m going to come apart, and I’m weeping, tears pouring down my face but I don’t want the thing to hurt that beautiful voice
‘I will not let you go. Reach out to me.’
I can feel my skin begin to tear. I can feel my shoulders leaving their sockets as I’m pulled in opposite directions. I can feel my pelvis begin to buckle under the pressure. I can feel a rib pop out of place, piercing something deep inside. I can feel blood dripping from my fingers and toes. I can feel it in my mouth, warm and thick and metallic
‘Listen to my voice. I am here. I will not allow it to take you.’
The silver light grows so strong that it burns away my skin from the inside out until I’m just a skeletal frame surrounded by light and, as the light builds and builds, my atoms breaking apart, it feels like I’m coming as I explode into a million pieces and tear the thing apart
---
“It’s the squid again. I’d hoped it’d be something more straightforward and I didn’t want to have to be the one say this to you, but it’s the squid. I’m sorry.”
“Perhaps a predictable outcome, Doctor. Did the Neurocortical Monitoring System identify the mechanism with which the Ibahnian cephalopod is able to extract memory engrams?”
“It’s not extracting engrams remotely, if that’s what you’re getting at. The problem is this, here. It’s a neurotoxin that disguises itself as a simple protein chain. It lays dormant for awhile before reactivating and mutating. Best I’m able to hypothesize is that it’s meant to confuse the sufferer and make them more likely to retrace steps, trying to relive the past in a misguided attempt to regain their memory, and in doing so, put itself within the scope of the squid once more for a second, and final, feeding. It’s also turning his memory into a pre-made mush for easy eats when it can next get its suckers into him.”
I don’t know why I’m here, listening to this old beardy guy and this Vulcan talk in the freakiest riddles about some guy I don’t even know. Every time I get up to leave, the beardy one gives me the hairy eyeball and tells me to sit my ass back down again. I sigh again, hoping they’ll get the message but I’m ignored so I swing my boots up onto the desk, which gets their attention.
“Hey. Old guys. Can someone please explain what I’m doing here? Where is here? Am I charged with anything? Because I know my rights as a Federation citizen and you can’t hold me indefinitely without telling me what’s going on or charging me with a specific.”
Beardy glares at me while the Vulcan looks at me as if he only just noticed I’m here. I grin back, a little flirty, inching my thigh closer to his. He’s older than me but totally hot and I’ve heard stuff, rumors about Vulcan sexuality that I’d like to try out in person, especially with a Vulcan that looks like this. I lick my lips then smile harder when I notice him watching me do it, his body as still as a statue, his eyes focused on my mouth. Oh, yeah. Pointy Ears wants me. I pull my feet from the desk and hunch down in my chair again, spreading my legs wider, my hand trailing idly up my inner thigh as the Vulcan’s dark eyes follow the movement all the way up to -
“Oh, for crying out loud. Subtle as ever, Jim.”
Beardy’s pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily so I pull my hand away and look over at him.
“What? I didn’t do anything. You don’t know me.”
“If you’ve both finished acting like my office is some space dock dive bar . . .”
“Doctor, I can assure you-”
“Dammit, Spock, you’re married to him, you two can play footsie under my desk for as long as you want once we're done but let’s at least try to stay on topic for five minutes.”
Married? What the - I get up from my chair and start slowly backing towards the door.
“Okay, if this is some weirdo kinky set-up whatever, thing is, I have to tell you that specific part of my reputation is somewhat overstated and, y’know, I’m okay giving Ears a go because, damn, dude, you’re hot like Rigel, but I think Beardy’s a little old for me and I’m not so much into the whole threesome thing if there’re zero chicks involved. No offense.”
“Believe me, none taken. Now, sit your ass down and let the grown ups talk.”
Beardy throws the PADD down, the Vulcan picking it up and scrolling through the data, his lips pursed slightly, the bottom one pouty and full. I want to bite it. He’s so goddamn hot in profile. Looking at his mouth is making me hard.
“So, any ideas, Spock? I’m synthesizing something that should slow down the toxin’s effects but, even with the current rate of decay slowed by as much as eighty percent, I don’t think we’ve got more than a week before his memory’s wiped. Ten days, max. Did you get anywhere with Fleet?”
The Vulcan shakes his head slowly, still scrolling through the PADD’s information.
“Perhaps Starfleet Command will be more co-operative now that we have evidence that the solution to Jim’s dilemma may lie on Ibahn. I was unable to reassure them sufficiently without corroborating data. I have also approached my father, who is making enquiries with the Vulcan High Council. Jim is a Vulcan citizen and they hold duty for his well-being.”
“I’m a what?” I jump up, making for the door in earnest this time. “That’s it: you guys are crazy and I’m out of here. I’m not Vulcan. I’m from Iowa.”
Pointy Ears follows me, his uniform unfamiliar, his body all tight and toned underneath it. “Please, return to your seat. We will explain your situation.”
“I gave you guys more than enough chances to explain yourselves. This is giving me the creeps.”
“No.” His hand wraps around my wrist. I try to pull it away, looking down in surprise when he holds on easily, his fingers like a band of flexi-steel and just as unlikely to let me go. “Sit down. It is unsafe for you to wander unsupervised, given your current condition.”
“Let me go.”
“I will not.”
“I said, let me go!”
I’m struggling now, pushing against him with the ball of my other hand but he holds firm and I’m barely able to rock him on his feet as I push with all my weight. I bring my hand up under his chin and duck to heft my shoulder into his torso, hoping to at least lift him off his feet long enough to push him to the floor so I can make it out the room and run for it. But he gracefully takes my hand with his other, forcing both of mine down as he twists out of my way like a gymnast or something. A ninja Vulcan, great, just what I need. I try one last desperate attempt to get him off me, crouching to swing my leg around hoping to take his knees out, but he grabs at my shoulder and the last words I hear are ‘My apologies, T'hy'la’ before everything goes black.
---
I’m running barefoot through a dusty field back home. It feels like I’m running so fast I could jump and take off, soaring up into the sky. The sun’s low and too bright and I squint into it, putting a hand up to blot it out as I slow to a halt to take a breather. My feet sink into the soil ankle deep. Crap. I must’ve come past the quarry without realizing and stumbled into some un- signposted quicksand. I pull up, arms high, ready to throw myself forward if I need to, having pulled myself out from deeper than this once before. But I look around me and there’s nothing but water all around me now, and I’m sinking deeper, all the way to my knees. I try to fall forward so I’ll be able to swim but I’m held firm by something around my legs, gripping me hard, so hard it starts to hurt. I’m sinking faster all the time and I try to cry out for help but something wet wraps around my face and I can’t make a noise, I can’t close my mouth or shout or breathe. The water’s up by my shoulders now and it’s dragging me down and I’m going to drown
‘Jim.’
I don’t think I can fight it anymore.
‘You must. Reach out to me.’
I can’t. I’m too tired.
‘You can and you will. Feel me. I am here with you.’
Arms wrap around me from behind, crossing in front of my chest like an embrace. I lean back against the body as much as I can, feeling its lean strength, remembering that I’m happy when I'm in these arms. That I’m safe here. But it’s different this time, as slim feelers squirm into my ears, my nose, my throat, pushing up through my soft palate and tissues into my brain, deep into my mind. It knows. It’s figured out this is where I escape, here, in my head, that this is where the voice reaches me and rescues me. I feel the arms around me weaken and begin to slip away
‘Jim. You must fight. The neurotoxin is attempting to block our meld. You must reach out to me. Concentrate on my voice and on the touch of my skin to yours.’
His skin is smooth, warm where the water is cold. His voice is a song that I think I’ve heard all my life, a long-forgotten melody that suddenly evokes such longing, such overwhelming recognition that my eyes fill with unbidden tears. He is a part of me and nothing can separate us. The feelers fall away, my body freed, the water turning into rushing air like I’m falling from a great height
I open my eyes and he’s here in front of me, his hand falling from my face where he’s leaning over me in the bed, and I don’t even know who he is. I don’t say a word, too paralyzed with remaining horror, but he knows somehow and answers me.
“I am he who loves you. Go back to sleep, Jim. I am in the next room if you require any further assistance.”
---
The kid’s five, six at most, looking at me with big brown eyes while he clings to the waist of the Vulcan. I wink at him and his eyes widen further, then he gives me a shy smile and tries to wink back, wrinkling his nose and blinking both eyes. He must be the Vulcan’s kid, but there's something human about him from the look of his freckles. He tugs at the Vulcan’s sleeve, who inclines his head towards the kid, listening as the kid cups his mouth with one hand for privacy and whispers something at the Vulcan. The Vulcan looks over to me, then back to the kid, muttering something that makes the kid smile and start edging his way around the room towards me.
I have no clue what the hell’s going on. If these guys are kidnappers, they’re being pretty nice about it. I woke up in a decent room on an unknown ship, small, regular crew quarters I’m guessing. I’d only been awake a few minutes, trying to figure out what’s wrong and why everything’s different and trying not to freak out, looking for a way to comm Mom, when the Vulcan entered, asked me if I was well-rested, then firmly directed me here to the social hall for breakfast. He seems calm, a serenity about him that’s, I don’t know, nice, and his kid is cute, too, peeking out at me from behind a table then disappearing with a giggle as I pull a face at him.
The older purple girl I noticed earlier stops at my table with a breakfast tray. She’s really pretty, short and slim with big green eyes, and dark blue hair tied in a braid over one shoulder. I’ve never heard of a species with her coloring before.
“You mind if I sit with you?”
“Sure.” I scoot my tray over to make room for hers as she slides into place opposite me.
“Hi. I’m Lejiba.”
“I’m Jimmy.”
“I know.” She’s eating oatmeal. Gross. “I know everyone on board.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. So, if you have any questions about anyone or just need to talk, you come find me. Okay?”
“That’d be great.” I eat some more of my eggs then chew on some toast, unsure of what to talk about. I’ve never really talked to girls much before outside of school, but I’ve got so many questions that I settle on one and take a breath before blurting it out. “Are those guys kidnappers or slavers or something?”
It makes her laugh, looking over her shoulder at the Vulcan, the bearded one and the fat guy with the Scots accent.
“Them? Oh, God, no. I know it’s all weird for you. You’re sick, and they’re taking you to find the cure. You’re not being kidnapped.”
“Oh.” She sounds like she’s being honest. “Sick how? Is that why I’m so . . . I’m big. Like, my hands and everything. And my voice. Am I dying? Did my mom ask them to help?”
“Yeah, you’re big. I don’t think you’re dying, exactly. Your family wanted to help you.” She reaches out to touch my arm, her thin fingers so purple against my sleeve. “They care about you and want you to get well. They miss you a lot.”
“Really? Great.” That doesn’t sound like my family. The blond kid has moved to another table, sticking his head out and waiting for me to pull another face at him, which I do and he squeals with laughter and disappears again, making me smile. “Who’s that kid? He’s funny.”
“That’s Gray. He’s my little brother.”
“You? You’re his sister?” I try not to sound surprised, not wanting to sound prejudiced or like a total hick but she picks up on it and shrugs.
“Don’t stress it. I’m adopted. Gray’s not.”
“Are they here? Your parents? That Vulcan’s your brother’s dad, right?”
“Yeah. Mine too. Our other dad’s -” She pauses, swirling her spoon on the surface of her oatmeal. “He’s not really here right now. We’re expecting him back soon.”
“Must be nice, having two dads.”
“I guess. My other dad’s a dork. He thinks he’s really cool and funny, and he’s totally famous but he and Uncle Bones,” she jerks a thumb at the guy with the beard, “have the worst sense of humor in the galaxy. I suppose he’s pretty amazing. In his own way. I miss him. He gives the greatest hugs.”
“Famous? He’s famous?” That would be so awesome, having a dad famous for something other than getting killed. “Like how? Would I have heard of him?”
She grins, taking a drink of her juice.
“I can guarantee that you’ve heard of him. But I have to go. We’ll talk more later.”
“That’d be cool. It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too. You’re different than I thought you’d be. Later, okay?”
Gray sidles around the seat she’s exited, slipping into it and gazing across the table at me while I munch on some more of my toast. “Hi. You’re Gray, right?”
“Yes. You talked to Lejiba.”
“I did. She seems pretty cool.”
“Do you think I’m cool? You can’t lie to me because I’ll know if you’re lying.” He reaches across the table with one skinny arm and touches a finger to my wrist.
“I told Lejiba I thought you were funny. So, yeah, I think you’re cool. Do you think I’m cool? Tell the truth or I’ll know you’re lying, too.” I touch his wrist in return and he pulls away, giggling.
“No, you won’t! You won’t know that!”
“Sure I will. I’m James T. Kirk, and I know everything.”
“You don’t know me.” His face falls, solemn all of a sudden and I’m not sure why. I don’t usually hang out with little kids.
“Not yet, but we’re stuck out here in stupid old Space together, right? Even if I’m sick, we can still make friends.”
His eyebrow flicks upwards. Wow, wish I could do that.
“You don’t like Space?”
“Me?” I push my tray away and sit back in my chair. “No. Space is boring, and Starfleet is dumb. Everybody knows that.”
“Don’t say that.”
He sounds angry, his cheeks flushing red and his hands making fists on the table top. Whatever, it’s not like I’m scared of a five year old.
“Listen, kid: Space is for losers, and anyone who says different is lying.” He jumps up, his whole body shaking.
“You take that back.”
“Jeez, take a hypo. I didn’t mean anything. I’m entitled to my opinion.”
“You didn’t apologize. You’re ignoring the rules.” It looks like he’s going to have a total fit.
“I guess I’m sorry. I am, I swear. Hey, calm down, I wasn’t trying to upset you. I’ve got reasons to think what I think.”
“You said mean things. Like a jerk.” He says it through gritted teeth, his cheeks blotchy and red, those freaky eyebrows drawn together, his fingers flexing on the table. I start to look around us for help because I have no idea what to do with a kid going psycho, but the Vulcan’s already coming over to us. He reaches down to touch the back of the kid’s neck.
“Control this. Find your center. Focus your mind.”
“But he was saying-”
“Explore my mind. Take my peace as your own.”
“But-”
“Grayson Kirk: You will control this, it will not control you. Find your center. Focus your mind.”
Kirk? I don’t get it. Is he something to do with my family? Everything’s getting weirder, my jaw wobbling and my eyes burning as I start getting upset and scared again, scared of being big and around all these people I don’t know, and it sucks that I’m sick and Mom didn’t even take the time to come with me. The Vulcan looks at me then this weird foggy feeling overtakes my head and the room spins, and I look into the kid’s eyes, which go wide as I catch my tray with my wrist, knocking everything to the floor as my body slides sideways and everything slips away.
Length: 6k
Everything else (warnings, rating) as part 1.
Spock’s hand cups my elbow, urging me forward even though we’re only going to be a few minutes late.
“You first agreed to this test nine days ago. You have done so twice since.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
“Is that so?” I’m teasing, although I actually can’t remember it. But we’ve already been through it twice this morning.
“It is.”
“You realize that you could make up all kinds of shit right now and tell me I’ve agreed to it.”
He nods briskly, pulling me along effortlessly with him as if he’s got me caught in some kind of personal tractor beam.
“I do.”
“Thought as much. God, I hate tests. You do realize Bones is basically experimenting on me with this?”
“I do.”
“They’re not going to find anything. We know what this is. Screw it, I’m going home.”
“No. You are not.”
Seriously, it’s like I’m caught in the current of river rapids and I get the feeling he’ll throw me over his shoulder and drag me bodily in there if I try to back out. The idea’s more than a little hot, and Spock gives me out the corner of his eye what is, for him, a totally incredulous look when I start getting turned on.
“Oh, like you don’t know you’re smokin’ when you’re like this.”
It almost makes him not-smile, but he’s in a determined mood and marches us both through the doors into a room full of humming and blinking monitoring systems, all based around what looks like an adapted biobed in the center. It’s the biggest single piece of technology that I’ve seen outside of an engine room, Bones already in there with his hands on his hips bitching at some poor tech who is no doubt wishing he’d taken a personal day today. Then Bones notices Spock and I coming through the door, and the gruff sarcasm layered through his voice doesn’t bode well for today’s bedside manner.
“Glad to see you eventually found time for us on your busy schedule today, Admiral. Too busy polishing your medals?”
“Not at all, I have a person do that for me these days. Sorry I’m late. It was just another federal meeting trying to persuade them to cut Medical’s resource stream and give it to me so I can commission more stuff to blow things up.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” He thrusts a gown at me. “Go put this on. And I already told Spock that I
don’t want him here. There’s no telling how your bond might effect these tests.”
“An argument of which I have yet to be convinced, Doctor.” I can already tell there’s no way Bones is going to win this round. Sometimes there’s no shifting an obstinate Vulcan and Spock can out-Pighead the best of them when he wants to. “The existence of my bond with the Admiral is not, as you are aware, dependent on our proximity.”
“How about this? I don’t want you here getting under my feet all damn day! How’s about that for an argument?” I leave them to bicker about it while I go change, hearing Bones continue to waste his breath as far as Spock’s concerned. “I know what you’re like. You’ll want to know
what every last doohickey’s purpose is.”
“On the contrary, Doctor: I have already familiarized myself with the Neurological Monitoring
System’s primary workings.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
It takes three techs to fit the NMS unit itself around my head while I lay there on the biobed trying not to fidget too much. It’s a smooth cylinder with no provision for the subject to see out, trapping me with only the darkness and the sound of my own breathing for company. It’s okay, I’ve never much mind the dark, especially these days. I’m never alone, Spock’s touch reassuringly at the back of my mind as it always is, warming me. Although Bones’ bitching at him must’ve had some effect as Spock’s suppressing the link between us a little, dampening its effect for the tests ahead, I guess. I concentrate on it to give me something to do while the techs tug and fasten the unit into place, mentally tracing the shape of our bond like a caress, the same way I sometimes run a finger over the short hairs at Spock’s nape. There’s an instant swell of warmth and affection, a touch of admonishment that I translate as a mental ‘keep your paws to yourself till the test’s over, Admiral Handsypants’, then he withdraws once more.
It’s bizarre, lying like this with my head and neck so completely immobile. I feel like I’m waiting for something bad to happen, the guillotine to drop, unable to hear now much of what’s going on outside the NMS. There’s a few small movements as a tech adjusts something but otherwise I’m in silence, concentrating on my breathing, the beating of my heart. I think about the kids, about Gray this morning clinging to my wrists with both hands then looking up at me as if he was trying to memorize everything he found in my head. I think about Lejiba, concern coloring her exasperated tone when I commed her on Nova Mundus for the third time that week without realizing I’d already spoken with her. And I think back to the squid, three and a half years ago now, and about how nobody’s mentioned it yet. I guess none of us want to admit that’s probably the cause of my memory loss this time, too, as we were able to do precisely dick about it last time.
There’s the hushed hum of an open comm link then Bones’ voice floods my ears.
“Okay, Admiral, we’re about ready to start. Do you have your focus point ready?”
“Yep.”
I can barely talk, my jaw bound tight in the mask of the NMS, my fingers already smoothing over the apple’s skin, concentrating on its shape and size, learning its weight. Bones explained I had to bring an object with me that was familiar but one which didn’t hold any particular meaning or connotation personal to me. I guess most people would choose something from work, but that won’t cut it for me. My communicator, for example, a link to Spock hundreds of times that even I can remember, in danger on a hundred routine missions where I’m left clutching my communicator, trying to act like a captain should when instead I just want to shout down the line that I’m sorry I’ll never see him again and that I’m stupid to never have told him how much I like him and how he’s so hot he makes my eyes bleed.
Or a PADD, something I handle fifty times a day, something mundane and everyday but also the very thing on which I read my occasional notes from Spock and feel like the most undeservedly lucky guy in the mapped universe. My insignia, my link to Fleet and the reason I ever met him in the first place. One of Gray’s old baby shoes propping up a family holo. An ugly paperweight Lejiba made me that I don’t even remember her giving to me in the first place, but it still takes pride of place in my office on my desk. Everything in my life has Spock or the kids written all over it, it’d be pitiful if I didn’t like it that way so much. I was busy rummaging in my den at home for ideas this morning, running out of time and loudly cursing up a storm, when Spock walked in and wordlessly handed me an apple before walking back out again. I almost had a bite out of it before I figured out what it was supposed to be for.
“We’re going to start. There will be some noise but ignore it and concentrate on the, what is that? An apple? Think only of the apple.”
“Sure. The apple.”
It’s not as easy as I thought. I’m not hungry so I don’t waste any time thinking about how the apple would taste, instead concentrating on the small imperfections in its skin and the way it’s already warmed in my hand. The NMS has begun to whirr, a wet vibrating, sloshing sound that’s almost soothing. Crap, I’m paying conscious attention to the noises. I wrench my focus back to the apple, fingering its stub of stalk with my thumb before passing it from hand to hand, trying not to move my torso too much. Hope this isn’t going to take much longer, there’s only so much items of interest I’m able to discover on an apple. I squeeze it gently, noting its density, digging the nails of my forefinger and middle finger in until I can feel the skin give. The noises are getting louder, a rising clanging sound that is more than a little alarming in such close proximity to your brain but I apple-zen through it, memorizing this particular apple’s precise shape, wondering how it would smell and remembering how the skin’s green mottled through with a rusty orange.
I’m sweating, I can feel it dripping down from my forehead and temples, feel it rising through my hair and wetting my upper lip. I breathe, and breathe, and forget about the apple altogether once the clanging and whirring rises to painfully loud levels that make me wince, screwing my eyes tighter closed and starting to repeat ‘apple apple apple apple apple’ mentally to myself in the hope I can hold out long enough. God knows I’m not going through all this again if it doesn’t work first time. Apple apple apple apple. Can’t be much longer now. I hope.
Just as I’m about to start trying to tear the fucking thing off my head with my fingers alone before I go deaf, go crazy, drown in my own sweat or a combination of all three, the noises start to fade out and slow down, Bones’ voice coming on over the comm again.
“All done. Stay put while we get you out. What did I tell you, piece of cake.”
I’m muttering about other things I could do to Bones that might also be a piece of cake, preferably involving this apple and its possible insertion, when they finally loosen the NMS enough for me to push the rest of the way out of it. One of the tech notices the look in my eyes and physically blanches, clearing his throat.
“You’re, uh, okay there, Admiral?”
“No. I’m not.” I toss the apple at him and he drops his micro-wrench to fumble at the apple twice, managing to catch it at his chest on his third attempt. “You might want to recommend ear plugs to your next guinea pig. And possibly a tranquilizer.”
“‘Guinea pig’, sir?”
“An archaic reference, Ensign. Try picking up a book every now or then. Expand your mind, it’s the only one you get. Usually.”
“A book, sir?”
I glare at him and he trips over his feet in his hurry to get out my way as I march off to change and in search of someone to demote.
---
I’m married to Spock. It’s still blowing my mind. I’m an admiral, and married to Spock. How weird is that? I’m used to weird stuff, I’ve worked in Outer Space, but this whole thing has been a trip and a half. I come downstairs after my shower and notice music coming from the living area through the archway. His harp, wow, it sounds pretty. I follow the sound through, my socked feet silent on the wooden floor. But it’s not Spock who is playing, it’s a blond-haired kid, shaggy head bent forward in concentration as his stubby fingers work over the strings. Spock is standing to one side, hands tucked into the small of his back, a slight frown in place as he listens to the music and softly corrects the child over an incorrect phrasing, nodding at me with a warmth to his eyes as he does so.
He’s so handsome. I can’t get over how different I look like this, so much older, lines creasing my skin, a permanent tired look that I can’t seem to erase no matter how much sleep I get, when he looks so much the same as he always did, so flawlessly perfect, so beautiful that my mouth goes dry when I look at him. It’s like my hands literally itch to learn every plane of his face, the texture of his skin, the taste of him. So exquisite, so completely sublime, and he fell in love with me. Age cannot wither him . . .
The kid hits another wrong note and I wince internally but Spock leans down to correct the fingering with that endless patience. The kid looks up at him in gratitude and then over to me, a grin breaking out.
“See, Dad? I nearly had it that time!”
I almost curse, biting it back just in time.
“Gray?”
I wouldn’t have even recognized him if I hadn’t noticed his eyebrows where his bangs are parted or he hadn’t called me that. Gray’s supposed to be fourteen months old, like he was when I met him yesterday. That did happen. Right? I don’t understand and start to panic, rubbing at my forehead waiting for the fuzzy warm feeling to return, and Spock’s frowning at me in concern, beginning to cross the floor towards me.
“Your memory has failed you once more.”
There’s a crash, the harp banging to the floor as the kid throws it down and runs out the room, knocking into my legs as he goes. Spock’s eyes follow him and I’ve never seen Spock like this before, so obviously torn, unsure of what to do next. I jerk my head in the kid’s direction.
“Go after him. I can wait.”
---
It’s getting tougher each time. I’m hanging over a rock face now, an infinite drop beneath me as the tentacles wind their way around me and make me scream until my throat’s raw and nothing comes out any more, but the voice finds me, the fingers wrapping around my wrist and spanning my face and pushing inside me, into my skin and into my body and into my mind, and filling me with silver light but I can feel it, that the voice has to fight the thing harder each time to force it to give me up
Let me go. Let it have me. Let this end.
I don’t know if I’m heard, pain arcing throughout every nerve of my body, jolting me until it feels like I’m going to come apart, and I’m weeping, tears pouring down my face but I don’t want the thing to hurt that beautiful voice
‘I will not let you go. Reach out to me.’
I can feel my skin begin to tear. I can feel my shoulders leaving their sockets as I’m pulled in opposite directions. I can feel my pelvis begin to buckle under the pressure. I can feel a rib pop out of place, piercing something deep inside. I can feel blood dripping from my fingers and toes. I can feel it in my mouth, warm and thick and metallic
‘Listen to my voice. I am here. I will not allow it to take you.’
The silver light grows so strong that it burns away my skin from the inside out until I’m just a skeletal frame surrounded by light and, as the light builds and builds, my atoms breaking apart, it feels like I’m coming as I explode into a million pieces and tear the thing apart
---
“It’s the squid again. I’d hoped it’d be something more straightforward and I didn’t want to have to be the one say this to you, but it’s the squid. I’m sorry.”
“Perhaps a predictable outcome, Doctor. Did the Neurocortical Monitoring System identify the mechanism with which the Ibahnian cephalopod is able to extract memory engrams?”
“It’s not extracting engrams remotely, if that’s what you’re getting at. The problem is this, here. It’s a neurotoxin that disguises itself as a simple protein chain. It lays dormant for awhile before reactivating and mutating. Best I’m able to hypothesize is that it’s meant to confuse the sufferer and make them more likely to retrace steps, trying to relive the past in a misguided attempt to regain their memory, and in doing so, put itself within the scope of the squid once more for a second, and final, feeding. It’s also turning his memory into a pre-made mush for easy eats when it can next get its suckers into him.”
I don’t know why I’m here, listening to this old beardy guy and this Vulcan talk in the freakiest riddles about some guy I don’t even know. Every time I get up to leave, the beardy one gives me the hairy eyeball and tells me to sit my ass back down again. I sigh again, hoping they’ll get the message but I’m ignored so I swing my boots up onto the desk, which gets their attention.
“Hey. Old guys. Can someone please explain what I’m doing here? Where is here? Am I charged with anything? Because I know my rights as a Federation citizen and you can’t hold me indefinitely without telling me what’s going on or charging me with a specific.”
Beardy glares at me while the Vulcan looks at me as if he only just noticed I’m here. I grin back, a little flirty, inching my thigh closer to his. He’s older than me but totally hot and I’ve heard stuff, rumors about Vulcan sexuality that I’d like to try out in person, especially with a Vulcan that looks like this. I lick my lips then smile harder when I notice him watching me do it, his body as still as a statue, his eyes focused on my mouth. Oh, yeah. Pointy Ears wants me. I pull my feet from the desk and hunch down in my chair again, spreading my legs wider, my hand trailing idly up my inner thigh as the Vulcan’s dark eyes follow the movement all the way up to -
“Oh, for crying out loud. Subtle as ever, Jim.”
Beardy’s pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily so I pull my hand away and look over at him.
“What? I didn’t do anything. You don’t know me.”
“If you’ve both finished acting like my office is some space dock dive bar . . .”
“Doctor, I can assure you-”
“Dammit, Spock, you’re married to him, you two can play footsie under my desk for as long as you want once we're done but let’s at least try to stay on topic for five minutes.”
Married? What the - I get up from my chair and start slowly backing towards the door.
“Okay, if this is some weirdo kinky set-up whatever, thing is, I have to tell you that specific part of my reputation is somewhat overstated and, y’know, I’m okay giving Ears a go because, damn, dude, you’re hot like Rigel, but I think Beardy’s a little old for me and I’m not so much into the whole threesome thing if there’re zero chicks involved. No offense.”
“Believe me, none taken. Now, sit your ass down and let the grown ups talk.”
Beardy throws the PADD down, the Vulcan picking it up and scrolling through the data, his lips pursed slightly, the bottom one pouty and full. I want to bite it. He’s so goddamn hot in profile. Looking at his mouth is making me hard.
“So, any ideas, Spock? I’m synthesizing something that should slow down the toxin’s effects but, even with the current rate of decay slowed by as much as eighty percent, I don’t think we’ve got more than a week before his memory’s wiped. Ten days, max. Did you get anywhere with Fleet?”
The Vulcan shakes his head slowly, still scrolling through the PADD’s information.
“Perhaps Starfleet Command will be more co-operative now that we have evidence that the solution to Jim’s dilemma may lie on Ibahn. I was unable to reassure them sufficiently without corroborating data. I have also approached my father, who is making enquiries with the Vulcan High Council. Jim is a Vulcan citizen and they hold duty for his well-being.”
“I’m a what?” I jump up, making for the door in earnest this time. “That’s it: you guys are crazy and I’m out of here. I’m not Vulcan. I’m from Iowa.”
Pointy Ears follows me, his uniform unfamiliar, his body all tight and toned underneath it. “Please, return to your seat. We will explain your situation.”
“I gave you guys more than enough chances to explain yourselves. This is giving me the creeps.”
“No.” His hand wraps around my wrist. I try to pull it away, looking down in surprise when he holds on easily, his fingers like a band of flexi-steel and just as unlikely to let me go. “Sit down. It is unsafe for you to wander unsupervised, given your current condition.”
“Let me go.”
“I will not.”
“I said, let me go!”
I’m struggling now, pushing against him with the ball of my other hand but he holds firm and I’m barely able to rock him on his feet as I push with all my weight. I bring my hand up under his chin and duck to heft my shoulder into his torso, hoping to at least lift him off his feet long enough to push him to the floor so I can make it out the room and run for it. But he gracefully takes my hand with his other, forcing both of mine down as he twists out of my way like a gymnast or something. A ninja Vulcan, great, just what I need. I try one last desperate attempt to get him off me, crouching to swing my leg around hoping to take his knees out, but he grabs at my shoulder and the last words I hear are ‘My apologies, T'hy'la’ before everything goes black.
---
I’m running barefoot through a dusty field back home. It feels like I’m running so fast I could jump and take off, soaring up into the sky. The sun’s low and too bright and I squint into it, putting a hand up to blot it out as I slow to a halt to take a breather. My feet sink into the soil ankle deep. Crap. I must’ve come past the quarry without realizing and stumbled into some un- signposted quicksand. I pull up, arms high, ready to throw myself forward if I need to, having pulled myself out from deeper than this once before. But I look around me and there’s nothing but water all around me now, and I’m sinking deeper, all the way to my knees. I try to fall forward so I’ll be able to swim but I’m held firm by something around my legs, gripping me hard, so hard it starts to hurt. I’m sinking faster all the time and I try to cry out for help but something wet wraps around my face and I can’t make a noise, I can’t close my mouth or shout or breathe. The water’s up by my shoulders now and it’s dragging me down and I’m going to drown
‘Jim.’
I don’t think I can fight it anymore.
‘You must. Reach out to me.’
I can’t. I’m too tired.
‘You can and you will. Feel me. I am here with you.’
Arms wrap around me from behind, crossing in front of my chest like an embrace. I lean back against the body as much as I can, feeling its lean strength, remembering that I’m happy when I'm in these arms. That I’m safe here. But it’s different this time, as slim feelers squirm into my ears, my nose, my throat, pushing up through my soft palate and tissues into my brain, deep into my mind. It knows. It’s figured out this is where I escape, here, in my head, that this is where the voice reaches me and rescues me. I feel the arms around me weaken and begin to slip away
‘Jim. You must fight. The neurotoxin is attempting to block our meld. You must reach out to me. Concentrate on my voice and on the touch of my skin to yours.’
His skin is smooth, warm where the water is cold. His voice is a song that I think I’ve heard all my life, a long-forgotten melody that suddenly evokes such longing, such overwhelming recognition that my eyes fill with unbidden tears. He is a part of me and nothing can separate us. The feelers fall away, my body freed, the water turning into rushing air like I’m falling from a great height
I open my eyes and he’s here in front of me, his hand falling from my face where he’s leaning over me in the bed, and I don’t even know who he is. I don’t say a word, too paralyzed with remaining horror, but he knows somehow and answers me.
“I am he who loves you. Go back to sleep, Jim. I am in the next room if you require any further assistance.”
---
The kid’s five, six at most, looking at me with big brown eyes while he clings to the waist of the Vulcan. I wink at him and his eyes widen further, then he gives me a shy smile and tries to wink back, wrinkling his nose and blinking both eyes. He must be the Vulcan’s kid, but there's something human about him from the look of his freckles. He tugs at the Vulcan’s sleeve, who inclines his head towards the kid, listening as the kid cups his mouth with one hand for privacy and whispers something at the Vulcan. The Vulcan looks over to me, then back to the kid, muttering something that makes the kid smile and start edging his way around the room towards me.
I have no clue what the hell’s going on. If these guys are kidnappers, they’re being pretty nice about it. I woke up in a decent room on an unknown ship, small, regular crew quarters I’m guessing. I’d only been awake a few minutes, trying to figure out what’s wrong and why everything’s different and trying not to freak out, looking for a way to comm Mom, when the Vulcan entered, asked me if I was well-rested, then firmly directed me here to the social hall for breakfast. He seems calm, a serenity about him that’s, I don’t know, nice, and his kid is cute, too, peeking out at me from behind a table then disappearing with a giggle as I pull a face at him.
The older purple girl I noticed earlier stops at my table with a breakfast tray. She’s really pretty, short and slim with big green eyes, and dark blue hair tied in a braid over one shoulder. I’ve never heard of a species with her coloring before.
“You mind if I sit with you?”
“Sure.” I scoot my tray over to make room for hers as she slides into place opposite me.
“Hi. I’m Lejiba.”
“I’m Jimmy.”
“I know.” She’s eating oatmeal. Gross. “I know everyone on board.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. So, if you have any questions about anyone or just need to talk, you come find me. Okay?”
“That’d be great.” I eat some more of my eggs then chew on some toast, unsure of what to talk about. I’ve never really talked to girls much before outside of school, but I’ve got so many questions that I settle on one and take a breath before blurting it out. “Are those guys kidnappers or slavers or something?”
It makes her laugh, looking over her shoulder at the Vulcan, the bearded one and the fat guy with the Scots accent.
“Them? Oh, God, no. I know it’s all weird for you. You’re sick, and they’re taking you to find the cure. You’re not being kidnapped.”
“Oh.” She sounds like she’s being honest. “Sick how? Is that why I’m so . . . I’m big. Like, my hands and everything. And my voice. Am I dying? Did my mom ask them to help?”
“Yeah, you’re big. I don’t think you’re dying, exactly. Your family wanted to help you.” She reaches out to touch my arm, her thin fingers so purple against my sleeve. “They care about you and want you to get well. They miss you a lot.”
“Really? Great.” That doesn’t sound like my family. The blond kid has moved to another table, sticking his head out and waiting for me to pull another face at him, which I do and he squeals with laughter and disappears again, making me smile. “Who’s that kid? He’s funny.”
“That’s Gray. He’s my little brother.”
“You? You’re his sister?” I try not to sound surprised, not wanting to sound prejudiced or like a total hick but she picks up on it and shrugs.
“Don’t stress it. I’m adopted. Gray’s not.”
“Are they here? Your parents? That Vulcan’s your brother’s dad, right?”
“Yeah. Mine too. Our other dad’s -” She pauses, swirling her spoon on the surface of her oatmeal. “He’s not really here right now. We’re expecting him back soon.”
“Must be nice, having two dads.”
“I guess. My other dad’s a dork. He thinks he’s really cool and funny, and he’s totally famous but he and Uncle Bones,” she jerks a thumb at the guy with the beard, “have the worst sense of humor in the galaxy. I suppose he’s pretty amazing. In his own way. I miss him. He gives the greatest hugs.”
“Famous? He’s famous?” That would be so awesome, having a dad famous for something other than getting killed. “Like how? Would I have heard of him?”
She grins, taking a drink of her juice.
“I can guarantee that you’ve heard of him. But I have to go. We’ll talk more later.”
“That’d be cool. It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too. You’re different than I thought you’d be. Later, okay?”
Gray sidles around the seat she’s exited, slipping into it and gazing across the table at me while I munch on some more of my toast. “Hi. You’re Gray, right?”
“Yes. You talked to Lejiba.”
“I did. She seems pretty cool.”
“Do you think I’m cool? You can’t lie to me because I’ll know if you’re lying.” He reaches across the table with one skinny arm and touches a finger to my wrist.
“I told Lejiba I thought you were funny. So, yeah, I think you’re cool. Do you think I’m cool? Tell the truth or I’ll know you’re lying, too.” I touch his wrist in return and he pulls away, giggling.
“No, you won’t! You won’t know that!”
“Sure I will. I’m James T. Kirk, and I know everything.”
“You don’t know me.” His face falls, solemn all of a sudden and I’m not sure why. I don’t usually hang out with little kids.
“Not yet, but we’re stuck out here in stupid old Space together, right? Even if I’m sick, we can still make friends.”
His eyebrow flicks upwards. Wow, wish I could do that.
“You don’t like Space?”
“Me?” I push my tray away and sit back in my chair. “No. Space is boring, and Starfleet is dumb. Everybody knows that.”
“Don’t say that.”
He sounds angry, his cheeks flushing red and his hands making fists on the table top. Whatever, it’s not like I’m scared of a five year old.
“Listen, kid: Space is for losers, and anyone who says different is lying.” He jumps up, his whole body shaking.
“You take that back.”
“Jeez, take a hypo. I didn’t mean anything. I’m entitled to my opinion.”
“You didn’t apologize. You’re ignoring the rules.” It looks like he’s going to have a total fit.
“I guess I’m sorry. I am, I swear. Hey, calm down, I wasn’t trying to upset you. I’ve got reasons to think what I think.”
“You said mean things. Like a jerk.” He says it through gritted teeth, his cheeks blotchy and red, those freaky eyebrows drawn together, his fingers flexing on the table. I start to look around us for help because I have no idea what to do with a kid going psycho, but the Vulcan’s already coming over to us. He reaches down to touch the back of the kid’s neck.
“Control this. Find your center. Focus your mind.”
“But he was saying-”
“Explore my mind. Take my peace as your own.”
“But-”
“Grayson Kirk: You will control this, it will not control you. Find your center. Focus your mind.”
Kirk? I don’t get it. Is he something to do with my family? Everything’s getting weirder, my jaw wobbling and my eyes burning as I start getting upset and scared again, scared of being big and around all these people I don’t know, and it sucks that I’m sick and Mom didn’t even take the time to come with me. The Vulcan looks at me then this weird foggy feeling overtakes my head and the room spins, and I look into the kid’s eyes, which go wide as I catch my tray with my wrist, knocking everything to the floor as my body slides sideways and everything slips away.