The Prophecy of Apollo, Part 7
Title: The Prophecy of Apollo
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot (AU)
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: R
Disclaimer: My cats own all, I own nothing. They have no interest in Star Trek, so they made me trade it to Paramount for a bag of cat food and a catnip mouse. Cats, you make terrible agents! Now we're not even getting paid for this, geez.
Summary: AU, based on the Cupid and Psyche myth. How different would the world be if Surak's influence had never spread, if the Awakening had never happened, if Vulcans had never sought to control their emotions? It's the Federation, Jim, but not as we know it. Warlord Sarek's son has reached his Time and requires a mate. Who will brave the monster's lair?
Author's Note: The last part of my fill for rynne , who won my help_japan auction! The first 3614 words here are all for you, bb; the rest is just gravy. ^_~
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Jim was, technologically speaking, mired hip-deep in code when an alert popped up in the corner of the screen. An incoming message; for a moment, his heart leapt into his throat. It had been nearly a week since he had sent his message to Pike, long past the time when he had expected a response. He opened the window eagerly, surprised to see that the message was tagged as audio-only.
“Jim.” It was Spock's voice that flowed out of the speakers, and Jim felt a moment's disappointment before he found himself smiling at the familiar sound. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing some holes in your security.” Jim grinned at the screen and went back to work. “Just because you're hidden away up here is no excuse to get sloppy. And I have these recon shots to look through; no need to broadcast your weak spots to anyone who might be watching.”
There was silence over the line for a long moment. Then, “That is . . . thoughtful of you, Jim.”
“Yeah, well. It’s something to do.”
“I had been under the impression that our security here was quite adequate,” Spock said, and Jim rolled his eyes.
“Sure, it is. But adequate is really just a shaky step up from worthless when you have someone who wants to get in. If I’m going to be sitting here figuring out how to cover your weak points, I don’t really like the idea of anyone else being able to get a look at what they are. So if you have a problem with me trying to keep you a little bit safer-”
“I have no quarrel with you protecting me, ashayam,” Spock said warmly, and Jim caught himself with a blush.
“It’s not . . . look, you don’t have to make it a whole thing,” he said uncomfortably. “It’s just . . .” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I . . . care about you, and I want you to be safe. But don’t read too much into this. Please. This doesn’t mean I’ve decided to stay.”
“Have you decided to go?”
Jim could only stare at the screen. What could he say? That he didn’t know? He remembered the letter from Spock’s mother, her request that Jim break her son’s heart quickly if he was going to do it, and couldn’t bring himself to offer what might only be false hope. Even if the idea of leaving had begun to hurt; even if the warm affection that was always humming now at the back of his mind and the nights spent wrapped around his lover were proving addictive.
“You do not have to answer now,” Spock said gently, and Jim flushed. “You have begun to consider staying with me as an appealing idea, and that is more than I had hoped for once. I will let you return to your work now, ashayam.”
“I-” Jim scowled at the screen, cursing under his breath as the connection was severed. “You get that guilt thing from your mom, don’t you?” he muttered, and went back to looking for chinks in Spock’s technological armor.
It was, Jim had to admit, better than simply adequate; whoever had designed these firewalls knew what they were doing. But he’d bet his ass this was a Vulcan’s work. From a technical standpoint it was damn close to perfect, but it showed an almost deliberate lack of imagination, and imagination was something that hackers like Jim possessed in spades. As long as he could find holes to exploit, he would assume that someone else would be able to, as well.
He spent another hour sifting through code before he was satisfied enough to stop, and sat back with a stretch and a sigh. In the corner he had claimed as his own, I-Chaya lifted his head with a soft, hopeful sound.
“We’ll go out and play some more in a little while,” Jim promised him with a smile, and the sehlat settled down again with a resigned huff of breath. He had taken to following Jim inside after their morning exercise in the main courtyard, but Jim suspected I-Chaya was still hoping to that they’d go back to playing all day the way they had when Jim had first arrived. In consolation, Jim abandoned the desk and hunkered down to spend a few minutes petting and scratching until the sehlat was nearly catatonic in bliss beneath his hands.
When he finally stood again and returned to the terminal, Jim ignored the waiting folder of recon photos and opened up his mail account on the slender hope that perhaps Pike had sent a response when he wasn’t looking, but there were no new messages waiting. Maybe he should try again, Jim thought. His first message may have been intercepted, but with his new security updates to Spock’s system, that shouldn’t be something he’d have to worry about anymore. He decided to run another check, just to be sure.
The scan of the local systems went smoothly enough, but when Jim tried to connect to an outside server he came up with nothing but static. He tried again; still nothing.
Well, shit, he thought, trying one more time on the off-chance that it might yield a different result. No such luck, and though irritated, Jim wasn’t really surprised. One of the more irritating consequences of working on Vulcan was the periodic storms that could block out satellite signals for days at a time. If you were lucky, your signal would get knocked out by a storm a few hundred miles away; if you weren’t so lucky, you realized soon enough that a communications blackout was a far more trivial worry than the wind and sand that would bury you if you weren’t careful.
At least that explained why he hadn’t heard from Pike yet. If there was a storm in the area he’d be lucky if his team even received his first message. It felt distinctly odd to have something like this sprung on him so suddenly; he was used to tracking the weather in the area, to knowing at least a day in advance when something like this was coming. The fact that the rest of the unit would already be prepared was a comfort, if only a small one. Jim had to get his message through; if Pike was stupid enough to come after him, the odds of everyone getting out alive were slim to none. He’d seen firsthand how fiercely Vulcans guarded their mates, and he doubted anyone besides the Humans in their unit would be willing to challenge Spock’s claim.
With a frustrated sigh, Jim closed out the program. There was nothing to be done but wait. Eventually the storm would clear, and hopefully Pike wouldn’t want to move his people until it had.
Jim had played two games of chess against the computer before he admitted that he was stalling. The folder of recon photos still sat unopened on the terminal’s desktop. Vlorik was waiting for his analysis, willing to let Jim undertake his proposal of expanding their defensive zone beyond the fortress itself. Yet Jim couldn’t quite bring himself to open the folder, knowing that once he did he would have to make a choice. He could size up the weaknesses he saw, put together a strategy and make his plans to fortify them. Or, he could deliberately leave a vulnerable area unchanged; build himself a back door to slip through.
He had to choose between freedom and safety. His freedom; Spock’s safety, and the safety of everyone else who lived and worked in the fortress.
It should have been an easy choice to make. Jim had responsibilities, friends, a life to return to, and Spock had held this ground for years before Jim was even on this planet. From a purely logical standpoint Jim knew that his input was unlikely to make a difference between life and death. Still, he couldn’t help the urge to do everything in his power to keep Spock safe. When he did leave . . . if he left . . . when he did, he wanted to do so knowing that Spock was well-protected.
Well. There was no real rush. He could take another day or two to consider it. Maybe there was an option he just hadn’t seen yet. With that in mind, he stood again and called to I-Chaya, who followed him happily back outside.
It was interesting, Jim thought later as he made his way up to his room after dinner, how much easier it was now to navigate his way through the building’s maze of corridors. He still got lost if he tried to remember the way, but in the past few days he realized that if he let himself go by instinct, taking the way that felt right, he always ended up exactly where he’d meant to go. Though he hadn’t asked Spock about it, he was almost certain that it was an effect of their bond being unshielded again. Spock had tried to filter it at first, and had been genuinely surprised when Jim had gotten angry. It was still a strange sensation, having someone else in his head, but Jim no longer felt easy without it. Just another complication, he thought wearily, because if it meant giving this up, could he really bring himself to leave?
He was so lost in his own thoughts that it took him a moment after opening his door to realize that the only light in the room was the cool bluish light of the lantern he was carrying. The ceiling lamp was dark; the window was shuttered; and in the shadows, Jim could feel Spock waiting.
“It’s early for you to visit,” Jim managed after a moment. His mouth had gone as dry as the desert. If he just stepped forward . . . he had a light, just a few steps and he could finally see-
“I could not wait.” Spock’s voice was already rough, his arousal bleeding across their bond and making Jim ache with the sudden force of it. “I need you,” Spock said quietly. “Turn out the light.”
“Spock,” Jim began to protest.
“Please, Jim.”
Against the gentle pleading in Spock’s voice, Jim had no defense. He turned the knob on the base until the light faded away completely, and braced himself, prepared to be met with the sudden force of his bondmate’s desire. Instead he felt the lantern taken easily from his grip and a warm hand wrap around his, pulling him gently forward.
Spock’s kiss, when it fell against Jim’s lips, was slow and deep, insistent but unfailingly gentle as he coaxed Jim’s mouth open. His hands slid over Jim’s body, savoring the feel of it before clever fingers began to loosen his clothing. It was the first time Jim had been dressed in Spock’s presence, and he felt himself flush slightly at the realization. He felt strangely vulnerable now as Spock slowly stripped the clothes from his body, and kissed back more fiercely to distract himself.
Jim wondered, as Spock lavished him with careful, almost reverential attention, what had brought about this sudden shift in his attentions. He wanted Jim no less fiercely than ever; Jim could feel the truth of that in his mind, in the leashed tension of Spock’s body pressing him down onto the bed. But no matter how Jim gasped and moaned and demanded, Spock’s touches stayed slow, stayed gentle, running over every inch of Jim’s body in teasing, taunting strokes. By the time Spock began to press inside of him Jim was trembling, his skin was slick with a think layer of sweat, and he was so hard he felt like he would explode at any moment. He clung to Spock in a desperate attempt to anchor himself, lost in the silky fall of hair against his shoulders, and the feel of hard muscle beneath his hands, and the steady, deliberate thrust of Spock’s hips.
Afterwards Jim felt as though the world had somehow gone soft around the edges, and he sprawled bonelessly against Spock’s side as Spock ran a hand slowly up and down Jim’s arm.
“This was a surprise,” Jim murmured when he felt confident in his ability to speak again, sifting his fingers through the coarse hair that covered Spock’s chest and smothering a snicker against warm skin. “I didn’t know Vulcans ever got body hair this thick.” He felt Spock tense beneath his touch, and frowned in confusion.
“I believe that is a legacy of my Human heritage,” Spock said stiffly.
Jim let out a soft sigh. “Relax,” he said, scraping his teeth over Spock’s neck and smirking at the surprised shiver it evoked. “I like it.”
“Oh.”
Spock’s arms tightened around him, and Jim let himself be tugged closer. The languor that had settled in his limbs was fading, replaced with increased awareness of the hot, strong body against his. Jim’s mouth drifted up, his tongue darting out to trace the pointed tip of Spock’s ear before wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently. Spock shuddered at the sensation, and Jim trailed his lips down again until he found Spock’s mouth.
“It’s still early,” he said against Spock’s lips. “You may need to try a little harder to wear me out.”
Spock let out a groan like he was dying and wrapped his hands around Jim’s shoulders, pulling him gently away. “I would like nothing better, k’diwa. But I can not stay tonight.”
Jim knew that his frown was perilously close to a pout, but he couldn’t seem to help it. “Why not?”
“I have other duties I must attend to.” Spock brushed his fingers lightly over Jim’s once before he rolled away and the bed shifted as his weight left it. “The Archenida clan has begun to move against us again, and this storm makes it difficult to coordinate our defenses. I have ordered several teams out already, but with no way to tell whether or not they have been successful, I must coordinate redundancy plans as well.”
“Where is the storm, anyway?” Jim asked, letting himself fall back against the bed as he pretended not to be straining his ears for the sound of Spock dressing again. “Is it going to hit us here?”
“Almost certainly, unless it loses strength when it hits the mountains. We are close to the K’fai’ei Pass; it is likely to funnel through there and reach us in a matter of days. I only regret that it is unlikely to pass any farther East.”
“Why’s that?”
“The main Archenida host is forming in the mountains just south of Shi’Kahr. It would be a great convenience if they were caught out so far from shelter; it would cripple their forces without ours having to do a thing.” His fingers brushed against Jim’s again. “You need not worry, Jim,” he said. “We are well-fortified here. The storm is no real threat.” His lips pressed softly against Jim’s forehead. “Rest well.”
Jim felt more than heard him leave, but his attention was still fixed on what Spock had said. He was freaking out, yes, but not about the storm, and not for himself.
Just south of Shi’Kahr, Spock had said.
The same area where Pike’s unit had set up camp.
Jim still remembered the one time, when they’d first come to Vulcan, that they’d had the misfortune to find themselves between two clashing Vulcan clans. The fact that they had been unaffiliated with either side didn’t matter; a raiding party had found them in disputed territory, and anyone not bearing their clan’s colors was declared fair game. They’d lost Olsen then, and Mitchell and Moreau, plus a dozen Vulcans whose names Jim hadn’t even had the time to learn. If the Archenida found the unit they’d be just as ruthless. And with the storm interfering with anything that relied on satellites, the Chekov’s scanners might not be able to spot them. The kid was a genius, but even he couldn’t make a scanner work without a signal.
Jim rolled out of bed, fumbling along the wall until he found the light switch, and winced in pain when he managed to activate the bright overhead lamp. His clothes were laying in a jumbled heap on the floor; long years of training had him pulling them on and lacing up his boots in less than a minute. He snatched up the lantern from the table and nearly bolted from the room.
It took him longer than it might have to find the landing pad. If he was accessing Spock’s memories of the building’s layout to find his way around, he wasn’t sure how aware of it Spock might be, and Jim couldn’t afford to tip him off. He let himself be guided to his study where he grabbed the PADD Vlorik had found for him, then to the kitchen. He managed to find several sturdy containers and fill them with water; Jim grabbed some bread and a few pieces of fruit as well and wrapped the lot of it in a towel. One of his hypos and a few spare cartridges were still tucked securely in one of his vest pockets; that would have to be enough.
He made a few wrong turns after he stopped letting his subconscious lead the way, but eventually Jim found himself stepping out into bright Vulcan starlight with several rows of waiting speeders in front of him. Afraid to take too long in case someone found him, he did a hasty check of the closest one to make sure there was fuel and that it didn’t seem likely to explode or otherwise malfunction. As satisfied as he was going to get, he wedged his bundle of food and water between his feet, started the ignition sequence and took off almost immediately.
D’kum’Ulcha was no less creepy by night, he soon discovered, and though he made it through more quickly this time than the last, the winds that whipped around his head seemed to scream now, tugging and shoving at him and nearly sending him crashing into a wall over a dozen times. Jim just set his teeth and angled the speeder into the force of it, and allowed himself a breath of relief when he finally emerged into the open desert.
He stuck close to the mountains, using them to guide his progress as well as-he hoped-shelter his movement. Moving by night seemed like his best bet; Vulcan night vision might be excellent, but trying to travel by day struck him as just short of suicidal. There was no question in his mind that Spock would come after him. All he could do, then, was try to put as much distance between them as possible and hope that Spock would pass him over during the day.
Every few hours Jim paused to drink some of his water and to fish out his PADD. There was rarely a uniform blanket of interference from storms like these; if he could find a patch that was clear enough, he might be able to contact Pike or Number One without trying to fly all the way back to their base camp. If he could manage that, he could . . . what? Arrange for them to meet him halfway there? Go back? He still had no idea what he would do, no idea even what he wanted to do. All he knew was what he had to do. And so he kept going.
Jim had known, almost to the moment, when Spock realized what had happened; a torrent of tortured emotion flooded into Jim’s head, muffled by grief or distance but still almost crippling in its intensity. Anger, disappointment, fear, and a hurt so great Jim didn’t know if he could bear it. He had to stop again for a moment, using the opportunity to try his PADD again but almost grateful when it didn’t work. If he’d had to try to speak around the aching lump in his throat, Jim doubted he could have kept his composure.
It wasn’t until he had stopped in the foothills, with dawn only an hour away, that he had the time to be struck how very easy it had been for him to leave. The corridors had all been fortuitously empty; the kitchen had been deserted; there had been no one guarding the speeders, no one monitoring his presence at all. In all the times he had half-planned his escape, Jim had always imagined that there would be more obstacles. Any obstacles. If he’d realized it would be this easy he probably would have left the first day he could walk normally.
Spock didn’t want him to leave; that much Jim was absolutely sure of. The staff had been explicitly instructed not to give him anything that might assist him in that goal. But though they couldn’t actively help him, had they simply . . . let him go? Were they all so unsettled by Spock, he wondered as he took a long drink of water, that they would simply stand by without so much as a word while his bondmate ran away?
Jim shook himself. It was a good thing that no one had interfered. He had to get to his friends, to warn them of the danger they were in. Spock would understand that eventually. And if he didn’t . . . if he didn’t, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Jim didn’t hear the Zephyr coming until it was almost on him. Too late to go for the speeder, then; he might as well try to outrun it on foot, for all the good it would do him. He got to his feet, though, determined not to go back without a fight. His friends needed him, and well, I tried wasn’t going to be good enough.
As the ship touched down, Jim could feel his heart racing. Not in fear, though; he was startled to realize that despite being able to feel exactly how furious Spock was at his desertion, his anger wasn’t something that Jim feared. What he felt, beyond his original frustration and anxiety, was anticipation. Excitement. The sky was getting lighter now; let Spock try to hide from him out here, Jim thought, almost gleeful. His breath caught in his throat as the hatch opened and a tall, lean figure stepped out, rocks and sand grinding loudly beneath his boots and a palpable sense of astonished fury hung around him like a cloak.
Jim felt the difference before he saw it. There was no sense of familiarity there, no jolt of recognition in the back of his mind. He stared at Sakkint in stunned disappointment, and was surprised to see the expression reflected back at him. For a moment they simply stood facing each other as they both seemed to absorb the fact of the other’s presence.
When Sakkint spoke, Jim nearly flinched. The angry growl of unfamiliar words shot up Jim’s spine like lightning, sparking in his reptilian hindbrain and flooding his system with adrenaline. Fight or run, it screamed at him, fight or run, and it took every ounce of his control to keep his feet firmly planted where he stood. Sakkint cut off suddenly, snarled something under his breath, and paused to glare at Jim.
“I forget,” he said after a moment in heavily accented Standard. “You have been through the city; your translation chip will no longer be working.”
Jim lifted his chin even as his body slipped into loose-limbed readiness. “That’s hardly the worst of my worries right now.”
Sakkint continued to glare. “When I took you to Lord Spock, I believed you to be intelligent. Here, I thought, is at least no fool. A pity to be proven wrong.”
“So sorry to disappoint you,” Jim spat back, “but you have no idea-”
“You must be a fool,” Sakkint said, talking over Jim as though he hadn’t even spoken, “to say nothing of the question of your honor, to have chosen this time to make your escape.” He raised an arm to point behind Jim, in the direction he had been traveling. “The K’fai’ei Pass begins three miles from here, and a storm makes its way through even now. Is my lord so terrible to you that would prefer death to remaining at his side?”
“No!” Jim’s hands balled into fists. “I don’t . . . I didn’t realize the storm was so close. I had to-”
“I had been glad to receive news of you. Not only had you survived, it was said, you had prospered. Lord Spock’s household speaks highly of you, of how altered he has been since your arrival. Is this how you repay their respect; by seeking your own demise, and the demise of your bondmate?”
“Don’t you dare lecture me,” Jim shouted, the sound of his fury bouncing off of rock and stone until the very air seemed to echo with rage. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, how much I wanted-” He clenched his jaw shut and paced away and back, struggling to control his anger. “I have friends in danger; I can’t just stand back and hope that they’re okay. Do you understand that at all? If it means I get hurt, well, sometimes that’s just the cost of doing business.” He stopped, glaring at Sakkint. “And what the hell do you mean, the death of my bondmate?” Jim snapped. “Spock isn’t in any danger; he couldn’t even be bothered to come after me himself.”
“My lord does not leave Tsatik-Veh,” Sakkint said. His anger seemed to have fled in one of the sudden shifts in mood that Vulcans were prone to, and now he merely regarded Jim with narrow-eyed consideration. “Of this you should be well aware. It is why he has his kar-lans, his generals. I was reporting back to him when he learned of your disappearance; he commanded me to retrieve you, and that is what I shall do.”
“Well, that’s great.” Jim ground his teeth. “So if he’s still safe and sound at home, what did you mean-”
“Did you not hear what the maat-fam T’Pring declared when we came to your camp? She would have sought her own death had she been forced to bond with my lord, if only for the comfort of the knowledge that her pain would also be his. You are joined to him now; your pain is his, as his is yours. Your death may not kill him, but it may certainly make him wish to die.”
Jim felt himself go pale. He had forgotten until now, but he did remember what T’Pring had said, and the tightly-leashed fury in her voice when she declared that she would gladly die just to cause Spock pain. If a bond between those who hated each other was that powerful, how much worse might it be between two who . . .
“Come back with me, Jim,” Sakkint said quietly, and though it wasn’t quite a request Jim nodded his agreement anyway.
“I didn’t want to hurt him,” he said quietly, and Sakkint fixed him with that same measuring look.
“I believe you.”
Jim continued to try for a signal as they flew back, though he knew it was almost certainly hopeless. If the storm was as close as Sakkint had said, the odds of getting through it were slim bordering on none. Jim was starting to feel sick. He’d been forced to make the choice he’d been avoiding at all costs: save Spock, or save his friends. His family. Except that at some point, Spock had begun to feel like family, too. Jim didn’t know when it had happened; all he knew was that if it was in his power to save Spock, he would do it no matter the cost. That he might have to pay with the lives of everyone else in the universe he actually cared about, though . . . he wondered if he would have hated himself any less if he’d chosen them instead. A moot point; given the chance, he’d do the exact same thing again, and he knew it.
“Am I going to have to go through the city again?” Jim asked when they had almost reached their destination. He wasn’t exactly wild about the idea, not after what he had heard and felt on his way out, and he couldn’t help a sigh of relief when Sakkint shook his head.
“Lord Spock is no longer in his Time. He is furious,” he said with a significant look at Jim, “but he is not yet mad.”
“Great,” Jim muttered. “That’s comforting.”
Frustrated with his continued lack of success, Jim tossed his PADD onto the console. It was pure chance, then, that he happened to see the readout on the display it landed next to. He leaned over to examine the information.
“There’s someone down there,” he said abruptly, turning to the window and trying to scan the ground belowbut his view wasn’t the best. “You’ve got a lifesign on the monitor.”
Sakkint glanced down at the display with mild interest. “Indeed.” He punched in a series of commands, and the monitor switched to a view of the ground below, shot from the cameras on the underside of the craft. The image narrowed in on a small, dark shape at the mouth of the main road into the city, flat and unmoving. “A supplicant,” Sakkint declared. “Making his way to Tsatik-Veh.”
“He’s not moving.”
“Then Vlorik will send a team down for the body.”
“Like hell,” Jim snapped. “Turn around.”
Sakkint looked at him, surprised. “Why?”
“Because we’re going to take him back with us.”
“That is not the way this is done,” Sakkint protested. “The journey to Tsatik-Veh is a test of strength and courage; only the-”
“You know what, I really don’t give a shit. I’ve left too many people behind already. Turn around now, or I swear to any god you want I’ll go down there myself, storm and Spock be damned, and carry him up on my back.”
For a moment Sakkint merely stared at him. Finally, however, he set his jaw and began to turn back to the edge of the city. “I begin to think that you may actually be more trouble than you are worth.”
Jim smiled tightly. “So I’ve heard.”
Despite his complaints, Sakkint stepped out when they landed to help Jim carry the man into the Zephyr. He was young; hardly older than Chekov, Jim would guess, or the equivalent in Vulcan age. There was a filthy, stained bandage wrapped over his eyes, and even without removing it Jim nearly gagged at the smell that came from underneath. He was thin enough that Jim probably could have moved him by himself, all wind-cracked skin and fragile bones. They laid him on one of the benches in the back; Jim stayed with him while Sakkint took them up again, and tried to help him drink some of the water he still had on him. Most of it ended up sluicing down his chin, turning the dust on his robes to mud, but a small portion made it past his chapped lips and down his throat. Jim was thinking about trying to squeeze out some of the juice from the fruit he’d taken when a faint settling sensation and the sudden quiet of the engine told him they’d arrived.
When the hatch opened Sakkint stepped out first, speaking in rapid Vulcan to Vlorik and a host of others who were standing in wait. Jim saw several pairs of eyebrows raise, and was almost certain he heard his name mentioned more than once. By the time Sakkint finished, however, Karon and Sark, who Jim remembered from their hand-to-hand drills earlier in the week, were stepping past him to take the young Vulcan from the Zephyr.
“Where are they taking him?” Jim asked sharply.
“Do not fear,” Vlorik said cooly. “We will see to his health and comfort, as best we can. My Lord Spock has requested to see you in your quarters immediately upon your arrival.”
Jim nodded. The closer they had come to the fortress the clearer Spock’s feelings in his mind had become. He was well aware of why Spock wanted to see him, and he didn’t imagine that it was going to be pleasant.
With a nod of farewell to Sakkint, Jim went inside to greet his bondmate.
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot (AU)
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: R
Disclaimer: My cats own all, I own nothing. They have no interest in Star Trek, so they made me trade it to Paramount for a bag of cat food and a catnip mouse. Cats, you make terrible agents! Now we're not even getting paid for this, geez.
Summary: AU, based on the Cupid and Psyche myth. How different would the world be if Surak's influence had never spread, if the Awakening had never happened, if Vulcans had never sought to control their emotions? It's the Federation, Jim, but not as we know it. Warlord Sarek's son has reached his Time and requires a mate. Who will brave the monster's lair?
Author's Note: The last part of my fill for rynne , who won my help_japan auction! The first 3614 words here are all for you, bb; the rest is just gravy. ^_~
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Jim was, technologically speaking, mired hip-deep in code when an alert popped up in the corner of the screen. An incoming message; for a moment, his heart leapt into his throat. It had been nearly a week since he had sent his message to Pike, long past the time when he had expected a response. He opened the window eagerly, surprised to see that the message was tagged as audio-only.
“Jim.” It was Spock's voice that flowed out of the speakers, and Jim felt a moment's disappointment before he found himself smiling at the familiar sound. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing some holes in your security.” Jim grinned at the screen and went back to work. “Just because you're hidden away up here is no excuse to get sloppy. And I have these recon shots to look through; no need to broadcast your weak spots to anyone who might be watching.”
There was silence over the line for a long moment. Then, “That is . . . thoughtful of you, Jim.”
“Yeah, well. It’s something to do.”
“I had been under the impression that our security here was quite adequate,” Spock said, and Jim rolled his eyes.
“Sure, it is. But adequate is really just a shaky step up from worthless when you have someone who wants to get in. If I’m going to be sitting here figuring out how to cover your weak points, I don’t really like the idea of anyone else being able to get a look at what they are. So if you have a problem with me trying to keep you a little bit safer-”
“I have no quarrel with you protecting me, ashayam,” Spock said warmly, and Jim caught himself with a blush.
“It’s not . . . look, you don’t have to make it a whole thing,” he said uncomfortably. “It’s just . . .” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I . . . care about you, and I want you to be safe. But don’t read too much into this. Please. This doesn’t mean I’ve decided to stay.”
“Have you decided to go?”
Jim could only stare at the screen. What could he say? That he didn’t know? He remembered the letter from Spock’s mother, her request that Jim break her son’s heart quickly if he was going to do it, and couldn’t bring himself to offer what might only be false hope. Even if the idea of leaving had begun to hurt; even if the warm affection that was always humming now at the back of his mind and the nights spent wrapped around his lover were proving addictive.
“You do not have to answer now,” Spock said gently, and Jim flushed. “You have begun to consider staying with me as an appealing idea, and that is more than I had hoped for once. I will let you return to your work now, ashayam.”
“I-” Jim scowled at the screen, cursing under his breath as the connection was severed. “You get that guilt thing from your mom, don’t you?” he muttered, and went back to looking for chinks in Spock’s technological armor.
It was, Jim had to admit, better than simply adequate; whoever had designed these firewalls knew what they were doing. But he’d bet his ass this was a Vulcan’s work. From a technical standpoint it was damn close to perfect, but it showed an almost deliberate lack of imagination, and imagination was something that hackers like Jim possessed in spades. As long as he could find holes to exploit, he would assume that someone else would be able to, as well.
He spent another hour sifting through code before he was satisfied enough to stop, and sat back with a stretch and a sigh. In the corner he had claimed as his own, I-Chaya lifted his head with a soft, hopeful sound.
“We’ll go out and play some more in a little while,” Jim promised him with a smile, and the sehlat settled down again with a resigned huff of breath. He had taken to following Jim inside after their morning exercise in the main courtyard, but Jim suspected I-Chaya was still hoping to that they’d go back to playing all day the way they had when Jim had first arrived. In consolation, Jim abandoned the desk and hunkered down to spend a few minutes petting and scratching until the sehlat was nearly catatonic in bliss beneath his hands.
When he finally stood again and returned to the terminal, Jim ignored the waiting folder of recon photos and opened up his mail account on the slender hope that perhaps Pike had sent a response when he wasn’t looking, but there were no new messages waiting. Maybe he should try again, Jim thought. His first message may have been intercepted, but with his new security updates to Spock’s system, that shouldn’t be something he’d have to worry about anymore. He decided to run another check, just to be sure.
The scan of the local systems went smoothly enough, but when Jim tried to connect to an outside server he came up with nothing but static. He tried again; still nothing.
Well, shit, he thought, trying one more time on the off-chance that it might yield a different result. No such luck, and though irritated, Jim wasn’t really surprised. One of the more irritating consequences of working on Vulcan was the periodic storms that could block out satellite signals for days at a time. If you were lucky, your signal would get knocked out by a storm a few hundred miles away; if you weren’t so lucky, you realized soon enough that a communications blackout was a far more trivial worry than the wind and sand that would bury you if you weren’t careful.
At least that explained why he hadn’t heard from Pike yet. If there was a storm in the area he’d be lucky if his team even received his first message. It felt distinctly odd to have something like this sprung on him so suddenly; he was used to tracking the weather in the area, to knowing at least a day in advance when something like this was coming. The fact that the rest of the unit would already be prepared was a comfort, if only a small one. Jim had to get his message through; if Pike was stupid enough to come after him, the odds of everyone getting out alive were slim to none. He’d seen firsthand how fiercely Vulcans guarded their mates, and he doubted anyone besides the Humans in their unit would be willing to challenge Spock’s claim.
With a frustrated sigh, Jim closed out the program. There was nothing to be done but wait. Eventually the storm would clear, and hopefully Pike wouldn’t want to move his people until it had.
Jim had played two games of chess against the computer before he admitted that he was stalling. The folder of recon photos still sat unopened on the terminal’s desktop. Vlorik was waiting for his analysis, willing to let Jim undertake his proposal of expanding their defensive zone beyond the fortress itself. Yet Jim couldn’t quite bring himself to open the folder, knowing that once he did he would have to make a choice. He could size up the weaknesses he saw, put together a strategy and make his plans to fortify them. Or, he could deliberately leave a vulnerable area unchanged; build himself a back door to slip through.
He had to choose between freedom and safety. His freedom; Spock’s safety, and the safety of everyone else who lived and worked in the fortress.
It should have been an easy choice to make. Jim had responsibilities, friends, a life to return to, and Spock had held this ground for years before Jim was even on this planet. From a purely logical standpoint Jim knew that his input was unlikely to make a difference between life and death. Still, he couldn’t help the urge to do everything in his power to keep Spock safe. When he did leave . . . if he left . . . when he did, he wanted to do so knowing that Spock was well-protected.
Well. There was no real rush. He could take another day or two to consider it. Maybe there was an option he just hadn’t seen yet. With that in mind, he stood again and called to I-Chaya, who followed him happily back outside.
It was interesting, Jim thought later as he made his way up to his room after dinner, how much easier it was now to navigate his way through the building’s maze of corridors. He still got lost if he tried to remember the way, but in the past few days he realized that if he let himself go by instinct, taking the way that felt right, he always ended up exactly where he’d meant to go. Though he hadn’t asked Spock about it, he was almost certain that it was an effect of their bond being unshielded again. Spock had tried to filter it at first, and had been genuinely surprised when Jim had gotten angry. It was still a strange sensation, having someone else in his head, but Jim no longer felt easy without it. Just another complication, he thought wearily, because if it meant giving this up, could he really bring himself to leave?
He was so lost in his own thoughts that it took him a moment after opening his door to realize that the only light in the room was the cool bluish light of the lantern he was carrying. The ceiling lamp was dark; the window was shuttered; and in the shadows, Jim could feel Spock waiting.
“It’s early for you to visit,” Jim managed after a moment. His mouth had gone as dry as the desert. If he just stepped forward . . . he had a light, just a few steps and he could finally see-
“I could not wait.” Spock’s voice was already rough, his arousal bleeding across their bond and making Jim ache with the sudden force of it. “I need you,” Spock said quietly. “Turn out the light.”
“Spock,” Jim began to protest.
“Please, Jim.”
Against the gentle pleading in Spock’s voice, Jim had no defense. He turned the knob on the base until the light faded away completely, and braced himself, prepared to be met with the sudden force of his bondmate’s desire. Instead he felt the lantern taken easily from his grip and a warm hand wrap around his, pulling him gently forward.
Spock’s kiss, when it fell against Jim’s lips, was slow and deep, insistent but unfailingly gentle as he coaxed Jim’s mouth open. His hands slid over Jim’s body, savoring the feel of it before clever fingers began to loosen his clothing. It was the first time Jim had been dressed in Spock’s presence, and he felt himself flush slightly at the realization. He felt strangely vulnerable now as Spock slowly stripped the clothes from his body, and kissed back more fiercely to distract himself.
Jim wondered, as Spock lavished him with careful, almost reverential attention, what had brought about this sudden shift in his attentions. He wanted Jim no less fiercely than ever; Jim could feel the truth of that in his mind, in the leashed tension of Spock’s body pressing him down onto the bed. But no matter how Jim gasped and moaned and demanded, Spock’s touches stayed slow, stayed gentle, running over every inch of Jim’s body in teasing, taunting strokes. By the time Spock began to press inside of him Jim was trembling, his skin was slick with a think layer of sweat, and he was so hard he felt like he would explode at any moment. He clung to Spock in a desperate attempt to anchor himself, lost in the silky fall of hair against his shoulders, and the feel of hard muscle beneath his hands, and the steady, deliberate thrust of Spock’s hips.
Afterwards Jim felt as though the world had somehow gone soft around the edges, and he sprawled bonelessly against Spock’s side as Spock ran a hand slowly up and down Jim’s arm.
“This was a surprise,” Jim murmured when he felt confident in his ability to speak again, sifting his fingers through the coarse hair that covered Spock’s chest and smothering a snicker against warm skin. “I didn’t know Vulcans ever got body hair this thick.” He felt Spock tense beneath his touch, and frowned in confusion.
“I believe that is a legacy of my Human heritage,” Spock said stiffly.
Jim let out a soft sigh. “Relax,” he said, scraping his teeth over Spock’s neck and smirking at the surprised shiver it evoked. “I like it.”
“Oh.”
Spock’s arms tightened around him, and Jim let himself be tugged closer. The languor that had settled in his limbs was fading, replaced with increased awareness of the hot, strong body against his. Jim’s mouth drifted up, his tongue darting out to trace the pointed tip of Spock’s ear before wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently. Spock shuddered at the sensation, and Jim trailed his lips down again until he found Spock’s mouth.
“It’s still early,” he said against Spock’s lips. “You may need to try a little harder to wear me out.”
Spock let out a groan like he was dying and wrapped his hands around Jim’s shoulders, pulling him gently away. “I would like nothing better, k’diwa. But I can not stay tonight.”
Jim knew that his frown was perilously close to a pout, but he couldn’t seem to help it. “Why not?”
“I have other duties I must attend to.” Spock brushed his fingers lightly over Jim’s once before he rolled away and the bed shifted as his weight left it. “The Archenida clan has begun to move against us again, and this storm makes it difficult to coordinate our defenses. I have ordered several teams out already, but with no way to tell whether or not they have been successful, I must coordinate redundancy plans as well.”
“Where is the storm, anyway?” Jim asked, letting himself fall back against the bed as he pretended not to be straining his ears for the sound of Spock dressing again. “Is it going to hit us here?”
“Almost certainly, unless it loses strength when it hits the mountains. We are close to the K’fai’ei Pass; it is likely to funnel through there and reach us in a matter of days. I only regret that it is unlikely to pass any farther East.”
“Why’s that?”
“The main Archenida host is forming in the mountains just south of Shi’Kahr. It would be a great convenience if they were caught out so far from shelter; it would cripple their forces without ours having to do a thing.” His fingers brushed against Jim’s again. “You need not worry, Jim,” he said. “We are well-fortified here. The storm is no real threat.” His lips pressed softly against Jim’s forehead. “Rest well.”
Jim felt more than heard him leave, but his attention was still fixed on what Spock had said. He was freaking out, yes, but not about the storm, and not for himself.
Just south of Shi’Kahr, Spock had said.
The same area where Pike’s unit had set up camp.
Jim still remembered the one time, when they’d first come to Vulcan, that they’d had the misfortune to find themselves between two clashing Vulcan clans. The fact that they had been unaffiliated with either side didn’t matter; a raiding party had found them in disputed territory, and anyone not bearing their clan’s colors was declared fair game. They’d lost Olsen then, and Mitchell and Moreau, plus a dozen Vulcans whose names Jim hadn’t even had the time to learn. If the Archenida found the unit they’d be just as ruthless. And with the storm interfering with anything that relied on satellites, the Chekov’s scanners might not be able to spot them. The kid was a genius, but even he couldn’t make a scanner work without a signal.
Jim rolled out of bed, fumbling along the wall until he found the light switch, and winced in pain when he managed to activate the bright overhead lamp. His clothes were laying in a jumbled heap on the floor; long years of training had him pulling them on and lacing up his boots in less than a minute. He snatched up the lantern from the table and nearly bolted from the room.
It took him longer than it might have to find the landing pad. If he was accessing Spock’s memories of the building’s layout to find his way around, he wasn’t sure how aware of it Spock might be, and Jim couldn’t afford to tip him off. He let himself be guided to his study where he grabbed the PADD Vlorik had found for him, then to the kitchen. He managed to find several sturdy containers and fill them with water; Jim grabbed some bread and a few pieces of fruit as well and wrapped the lot of it in a towel. One of his hypos and a few spare cartridges were still tucked securely in one of his vest pockets; that would have to be enough.
He made a few wrong turns after he stopped letting his subconscious lead the way, but eventually Jim found himself stepping out into bright Vulcan starlight with several rows of waiting speeders in front of him. Afraid to take too long in case someone found him, he did a hasty check of the closest one to make sure there was fuel and that it didn’t seem likely to explode or otherwise malfunction. As satisfied as he was going to get, he wedged his bundle of food and water between his feet, started the ignition sequence and took off almost immediately.
D’kum’Ulcha was no less creepy by night, he soon discovered, and though he made it through more quickly this time than the last, the winds that whipped around his head seemed to scream now, tugging and shoving at him and nearly sending him crashing into a wall over a dozen times. Jim just set his teeth and angled the speeder into the force of it, and allowed himself a breath of relief when he finally emerged into the open desert.
He stuck close to the mountains, using them to guide his progress as well as-he hoped-shelter his movement. Moving by night seemed like his best bet; Vulcan night vision might be excellent, but trying to travel by day struck him as just short of suicidal. There was no question in his mind that Spock would come after him. All he could do, then, was try to put as much distance between them as possible and hope that Spock would pass him over during the day.
Every few hours Jim paused to drink some of his water and to fish out his PADD. There was rarely a uniform blanket of interference from storms like these; if he could find a patch that was clear enough, he might be able to contact Pike or Number One without trying to fly all the way back to their base camp. If he could manage that, he could . . . what? Arrange for them to meet him halfway there? Go back? He still had no idea what he would do, no idea even what he wanted to do. All he knew was what he had to do. And so he kept going.
Jim had known, almost to the moment, when Spock realized what had happened; a torrent of tortured emotion flooded into Jim’s head, muffled by grief or distance but still almost crippling in its intensity. Anger, disappointment, fear, and a hurt so great Jim didn’t know if he could bear it. He had to stop again for a moment, using the opportunity to try his PADD again but almost grateful when it didn’t work. If he’d had to try to speak around the aching lump in his throat, Jim doubted he could have kept his composure.
It wasn’t until he had stopped in the foothills, with dawn only an hour away, that he had the time to be struck how very easy it had been for him to leave. The corridors had all been fortuitously empty; the kitchen had been deserted; there had been no one guarding the speeders, no one monitoring his presence at all. In all the times he had half-planned his escape, Jim had always imagined that there would be more obstacles. Any obstacles. If he’d realized it would be this easy he probably would have left the first day he could walk normally.
Spock didn’t want him to leave; that much Jim was absolutely sure of. The staff had been explicitly instructed not to give him anything that might assist him in that goal. But though they couldn’t actively help him, had they simply . . . let him go? Were they all so unsettled by Spock, he wondered as he took a long drink of water, that they would simply stand by without so much as a word while his bondmate ran away?
Jim shook himself. It was a good thing that no one had interfered. He had to get to his friends, to warn them of the danger they were in. Spock would understand that eventually. And if he didn’t . . . if he didn’t, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Jim didn’t hear the Zephyr coming until it was almost on him. Too late to go for the speeder, then; he might as well try to outrun it on foot, for all the good it would do him. He got to his feet, though, determined not to go back without a fight. His friends needed him, and well, I tried wasn’t going to be good enough.
As the ship touched down, Jim could feel his heart racing. Not in fear, though; he was startled to realize that despite being able to feel exactly how furious Spock was at his desertion, his anger wasn’t something that Jim feared. What he felt, beyond his original frustration and anxiety, was anticipation. Excitement. The sky was getting lighter now; let Spock try to hide from him out here, Jim thought, almost gleeful. His breath caught in his throat as the hatch opened and a tall, lean figure stepped out, rocks and sand grinding loudly beneath his boots and a palpable sense of astonished fury hung around him like a cloak.
Jim felt the difference before he saw it. There was no sense of familiarity there, no jolt of recognition in the back of his mind. He stared at Sakkint in stunned disappointment, and was surprised to see the expression reflected back at him. For a moment they simply stood facing each other as they both seemed to absorb the fact of the other’s presence.
When Sakkint spoke, Jim nearly flinched. The angry growl of unfamiliar words shot up Jim’s spine like lightning, sparking in his reptilian hindbrain and flooding his system with adrenaline. Fight or run, it screamed at him, fight or run, and it took every ounce of his control to keep his feet firmly planted where he stood. Sakkint cut off suddenly, snarled something under his breath, and paused to glare at Jim.
“I forget,” he said after a moment in heavily accented Standard. “You have been through the city; your translation chip will no longer be working.”
Jim lifted his chin even as his body slipped into loose-limbed readiness. “That’s hardly the worst of my worries right now.”
Sakkint continued to glare. “When I took you to Lord Spock, I believed you to be intelligent. Here, I thought, is at least no fool. A pity to be proven wrong.”
“So sorry to disappoint you,” Jim spat back, “but you have no idea-”
“You must be a fool,” Sakkint said, talking over Jim as though he hadn’t even spoken, “to say nothing of the question of your honor, to have chosen this time to make your escape.” He raised an arm to point behind Jim, in the direction he had been traveling. “The K’fai’ei Pass begins three miles from here, and a storm makes its way through even now. Is my lord so terrible to you that would prefer death to remaining at his side?”
“No!” Jim’s hands balled into fists. “I don’t . . . I didn’t realize the storm was so close. I had to-”
“I had been glad to receive news of you. Not only had you survived, it was said, you had prospered. Lord Spock’s household speaks highly of you, of how altered he has been since your arrival. Is this how you repay their respect; by seeking your own demise, and the demise of your bondmate?”
“Don’t you dare lecture me,” Jim shouted, the sound of his fury bouncing off of rock and stone until the very air seemed to echo with rage. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, how much I wanted-” He clenched his jaw shut and paced away and back, struggling to control his anger. “I have friends in danger; I can’t just stand back and hope that they’re okay. Do you understand that at all? If it means I get hurt, well, sometimes that’s just the cost of doing business.” He stopped, glaring at Sakkint. “And what the hell do you mean, the death of my bondmate?” Jim snapped. “Spock isn’t in any danger; he couldn’t even be bothered to come after me himself.”
“My lord does not leave Tsatik-Veh,” Sakkint said. His anger seemed to have fled in one of the sudden shifts in mood that Vulcans were prone to, and now he merely regarded Jim with narrow-eyed consideration. “Of this you should be well aware. It is why he has his kar-lans, his generals. I was reporting back to him when he learned of your disappearance; he commanded me to retrieve you, and that is what I shall do.”
“Well, that’s great.” Jim ground his teeth. “So if he’s still safe and sound at home, what did you mean-”
“Did you not hear what the maat-fam T’Pring declared when we came to your camp? She would have sought her own death had she been forced to bond with my lord, if only for the comfort of the knowledge that her pain would also be his. You are joined to him now; your pain is his, as his is yours. Your death may not kill him, but it may certainly make him wish to die.”
Jim felt himself go pale. He had forgotten until now, but he did remember what T’Pring had said, and the tightly-leashed fury in her voice when she declared that she would gladly die just to cause Spock pain. If a bond between those who hated each other was that powerful, how much worse might it be between two who . . .
“Come back with me, Jim,” Sakkint said quietly, and though it wasn’t quite a request Jim nodded his agreement anyway.
“I didn’t want to hurt him,” he said quietly, and Sakkint fixed him with that same measuring look.
“I believe you.”
Jim continued to try for a signal as they flew back, though he knew it was almost certainly hopeless. If the storm was as close as Sakkint had said, the odds of getting through it were slim bordering on none. Jim was starting to feel sick. He’d been forced to make the choice he’d been avoiding at all costs: save Spock, or save his friends. His family. Except that at some point, Spock had begun to feel like family, too. Jim didn’t know when it had happened; all he knew was that if it was in his power to save Spock, he would do it no matter the cost. That he might have to pay with the lives of everyone else in the universe he actually cared about, though . . . he wondered if he would have hated himself any less if he’d chosen them instead. A moot point; given the chance, he’d do the exact same thing again, and he knew it.
“Am I going to have to go through the city again?” Jim asked when they had almost reached their destination. He wasn’t exactly wild about the idea, not after what he had heard and felt on his way out, and he couldn’t help a sigh of relief when Sakkint shook his head.
“Lord Spock is no longer in his Time. He is furious,” he said with a significant look at Jim, “but he is not yet mad.”
“Great,” Jim muttered. “That’s comforting.”
Frustrated with his continued lack of success, Jim tossed his PADD onto the console. It was pure chance, then, that he happened to see the readout on the display it landed next to. He leaned over to examine the information.
“There’s someone down there,” he said abruptly, turning to the window and trying to scan the ground belowbut his view wasn’t the best. “You’ve got a lifesign on the monitor.”
Sakkint glanced down at the display with mild interest. “Indeed.” He punched in a series of commands, and the monitor switched to a view of the ground below, shot from the cameras on the underside of the craft. The image narrowed in on a small, dark shape at the mouth of the main road into the city, flat and unmoving. “A supplicant,” Sakkint declared. “Making his way to Tsatik-Veh.”
“He’s not moving.”
“Then Vlorik will send a team down for the body.”
“Like hell,” Jim snapped. “Turn around.”
Sakkint looked at him, surprised. “Why?”
“Because we’re going to take him back with us.”
“That is not the way this is done,” Sakkint protested. “The journey to Tsatik-Veh is a test of strength and courage; only the-”
“You know what, I really don’t give a shit. I’ve left too many people behind already. Turn around now, or I swear to any god you want I’ll go down there myself, storm and Spock be damned, and carry him up on my back.”
For a moment Sakkint merely stared at him. Finally, however, he set his jaw and began to turn back to the edge of the city. “I begin to think that you may actually be more trouble than you are worth.”
Jim smiled tightly. “So I’ve heard.”
Despite his complaints, Sakkint stepped out when they landed to help Jim carry the man into the Zephyr. He was young; hardly older than Chekov, Jim would guess, or the equivalent in Vulcan age. There was a filthy, stained bandage wrapped over his eyes, and even without removing it Jim nearly gagged at the smell that came from underneath. He was thin enough that Jim probably could have moved him by himself, all wind-cracked skin and fragile bones. They laid him on one of the benches in the back; Jim stayed with him while Sakkint took them up again, and tried to help him drink some of the water he still had on him. Most of it ended up sluicing down his chin, turning the dust on his robes to mud, but a small portion made it past his chapped lips and down his throat. Jim was thinking about trying to squeeze out some of the juice from the fruit he’d taken when a faint settling sensation and the sudden quiet of the engine told him they’d arrived.
When the hatch opened Sakkint stepped out first, speaking in rapid Vulcan to Vlorik and a host of others who were standing in wait. Jim saw several pairs of eyebrows raise, and was almost certain he heard his name mentioned more than once. By the time Sakkint finished, however, Karon and Sark, who Jim remembered from their hand-to-hand drills earlier in the week, were stepping past him to take the young Vulcan from the Zephyr.
“Where are they taking him?” Jim asked sharply.
“Do not fear,” Vlorik said cooly. “We will see to his health and comfort, as best we can. My Lord Spock has requested to see you in your quarters immediately upon your arrival.”
Jim nodded. The closer they had come to the fortress the clearer Spock’s feelings in his mind had become. He was well aware of why Spock wanted to see him, and he didn’t imagine that it was going to be pleasant.
With a nod of farewell to Sakkint, Jim went inside to greet his bondmate.