Transporter Room - Away Team
Spock eyed his companion - this counterpart had seen only the briefest glimpse of sickbay and the confines of the room he shared with Pike. But Spock would not question the Acting Captain's order to include him. He would be of benefit, particularly with his practical knowledge of Romulans and their ways
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"Come now, James," Nero whispered low as he knelt. The teral'n was heavy in his hand, heavier than Kirk as Nero gripped his arm and dragged him up from the floor. Kirk dangled, listless and still, his slow pulse knocking against his throat and the grief there.
"We're not done yet," Nero promised quietly and slung the human over his shoulder, balancing Kirk's weight at the curve of his hip. "And Narada is hungry."
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He rolled back, sliding onto melted glass and woven metal, and his solid leg pushed up, carrying Spock above him and through the air. The Vulcan marred him, caught his sleeve and tore it with his knife as Nero released him to the air. Copper dripped from his wrist as he rolled, and Nero wasn't certain why.
"Two?" His eyes snapped to the ridge, the base of the bay and caught sight of a second blonde, more familiar. Nero's eyes widened and a laugh slid through his ribs. Kirk. Kirk was trying to save Kirk. How quaint ( ... )
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Vulcan, Rihannsu - common blood, evenly matched.
"Two."
Spock was not out of breath but his excitement caught his chest up tight and strained his voice.
He followed the Romulan - Nero they had called him but it did not seem a fit name for this one. He had another name, a secret name. Spock would bet on it.
"What is your name?"
The knife flashed, striking like a snake.
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"Riov hel'Ra'tleihfi," Nero replied blithely, and Spock caught his hand, tight and unforgiving, twisting his knife under and catching across the fabric of Nero's coat. His hand lashed across the Vulcan's leg and he slammed his weight across the man's torso, freeing himself from the Vulcan's grip with a hard shoulder.
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He hissed in Nero's face.
"That is not your name. I want your personal name that I might remember it to my mate when you bleed to death.*
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"I was Oren, Fae'Tayor," Nero hissed, flat and brutal and struck the Vulcan across the ribs again, tearing the knife free from his side with a hard wrech of close grappling. "Then I met you, and I was Nero."
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He wraps the long fingers of one hand around Nero's throat, around this Oren, Fae'Tayor who will be remembered, and squeezes. But he draws another from his waist, longer, crueler, and slides it between Nero's ribs.
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Words would not come, so he replaced them with a hard strike. It caught the Vulcan across the throat folded his neck and shoulder with a hard crack of bone. The strength left Nero's arm as Spock fell away, and his fingers uncurled slowly as he straightened. Muscle pulled at metal and frayed in bright shards of pain. The air wheezed in through him and he was cold. His fingers curled around the blade and pulled it free.
It slid easy, silent, and the world was darker as it came away. He couldn't see the green, but he could taste it. Spock was gaping and Nero's eyes fixed on motion, darkening fast. He threw the knife and his lips split into a grin as he heard Kirk cry out.
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Would pay, had its orders, would protect crew!
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station one(movement);
There was a scream of metal in the distance as a crane, previously used to repair environmental controls when needed but had been long embedded into metal, ripped free of the wall. It swung in a wide arc, aiming straight for the organic that had dared to harm its master.
It ripped itself apart to reach up and grasp for its master, the floor seeming to mutate briefly under Nero's feet.
It would protect them over pleasing them. A dead master could not be pleased. Logic.
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It roared toward him and he roared back.
Christopher!
And then he was just a limp body, faint breath, weak heartbeat.
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Pike jerked violently where he stood, his eyes going wide as he stared out the window of the office towards the enemy ship. He felt it as cleanly as if it was himself being struck.
No. He had felt his mate being hurt by the fight, but knew Spock had suffered worse. He had felt the elation, almost felt the blade between his own fingers, stained in Romulan blood.
Then, a roar of his name followed by silence. SPOCK! He called back, trying to rouse his bond mate.
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"No!" he shouted towards the crumpled body, aware this was not "his" Spock but for the moment, this didn't matter. His struggle intensified, but the walls held fast, and it flashed through Jim's mind that this world's Jim would be mourned but for himself and the Spocks there was only a handful of non-entities here to care.
No. He wouldn't think that way.
"Let me go!" he shouted, at nothing, at the ship. He had no idea if it could hear him, if it understood English. But he had to try--it was stronger than he was. "I mean you no harm. I mean Nero no harm. Let me take my friends, and I will go."
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Christopher is calling for him but he can only whisper in return.
Christopher.
It is a plaintive, painful noise, a predator wounded in a way it does not understand.
He crawls, starts to crawl, at least imagines he is crawling, toward James T. Kirk trapped in the wall of this forsaken ship, this hungry creature rising up against them.
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The conversation did not show on his face. Instead, he stared out the window unblinkingly, hands locked together in parade rest at his lower back.
Stay conscious.
He wanted to command that Spock be beamed back immediately, but the enemy's shields were up. There was nothing that could be done.
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He pulled against the wall again, pleading with the ship and not caring how it sounded.
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