Fic: Possession 1/9 StarTrek XI
Title: Possession Author: Lopaka Tanu Disclaimer: I do not own StarTrek. Characters:Mirrorverse - Jim, Bones, Uhura, Chekov. XI - Spock, Kirk, Chekov, Nyota. Words: 14972 Genre: Dark Slash. Prompt: Mirror Kirk comes looking for something he lost: Spock. Fandom: StarTrek XI Pairing: M!Kirk/Spock, past M!Kirk/M!Spock Rating: Adult Warnings: Language, Violence, Character Death, Sexual Activity, Dub-Con, Bondage, Dominance/Submission, Kidnaping, Angst, Stockholm Syndrome, Drug Use. Recipient: Anna - Winner of Help_Chile auction. Summary: A sudden rift in space offers one Jim Kirk the chance to reclaim what was taken from him. Spock will learn to accept his new life, whether he wants to or not. Author's Note: Lyrics and title from "Possession" by Sarah McLachlan ______________________________________ Prologue. The Night Is My Companion.
"Captain's personal log." Pulling the shaft of his cigarette free from the stack on the table, Kirk examined it in the candle light. The blue-green color indicated its galactic origins. As in all things Orion, it was seductive in its destructive nature. "We are five days out from Minos Korva and still without a first officer."
The console beeped to indicate an incoming message.
Ignoring it, Kirk flicked the end of his cylinder over one of the meditation candles wick. "There are still a lot of unanswered questions as to what happened. No one's quite sure what went down." He snorted. "More like they don't care to admit to what they know." Putting the cigarette to his lips, he took a long drag from it. The drug filled smoke quickly filled his lungs.
He let if flow through him, enjoying the burn as it caused his lungs to contract. With a quick exhale, he released the green smoke. "The aftermath has left a lot of things in the air, though. One of the important being who will replace the late Mr. Sulu at the helm?" His voice was husky from the strain of smoking.
Even as he sat back to relax, he could feel the powerful narcotic working its way through his system. There was a reason Morpheum was outlawed by most 'civilized' worlds. Taking another hit from the drug, he released this lung full more quickly.
"I've spent the past five days trying to figure out what the hell happened. All I can come up with is that Spock wasn't paying attention when he should have. That might have been my fault, who knows." Twisting his chair, he reached out to his desk. He stamped the cigarette out quickly on an incense pot.
The console beeped a second time.
Smoke rose up from the smothered material. "Lieutenant Chekov is taking us back to Vulcan for the burial ceremony. Something about his family requesting the body back." Waving it off, Kirk rolled his eyes to the top of the cabin. "Who cares, it's all bullshit anyways."
With a smack of his fingers on the controls, he turned off the computer.
~~~~~~~~~
It wasn't a complete waste of time. Staring at his reflection, Jim studied the gold filigree of his uniform. All the symbols of his rank he had once so lovingly adorned himself in were there. He had taken pride in having earned each and every one.
None of them meant a damned thing in the end.
He fingered the edge of a medal over his right breast of his uniform. Captain Pike had worn it with distinction until Jim had taken it from him. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do. After all, a dead man had no use for it.
Jim wondered if they would take it from him one day. Probably, and real soon too.
Hell, he wasn't even in charge of the damned ship. Not that he cared. They could all fly straight to hell, warp engines to the max.
"Are you going to stand there feeling sorry for yourself all day?" Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, Bones watched Jim with obvious contempt. The silver flask in his hand caught the light from the candles. "Or do you plan on actually doing something today, Jim?"
Clenching his jaw, Jim refused to turn and acknowledge him. "Would cutting off your lips and sewing your mouth shut be considered doing something?" It wasn't the bastard's fault he had to wear all this gaudy crap. That didn't mean he couldn't resent him anyways.
Seeming to sense this, Bones snorted and looked away. He scanned the jumbled mess that once comprised the furnishings. "I take it back, you have been busy this past week."
"I hated the way it looked." Pushing the locks of his hair behind one ear, Jim cocked his head to the side. He checked the appearance in the mirror to see if it worked. "What do you think, behind the ears or hanging loose?"
Bones glanced back to his friend. What he saw made him frown. "You cut it."
"I took a foot off." Jim ran his fingers through the blond length to where it curled just under his jaw. "It seemed appropriate." Smiling at his appearance, he pushed his bottom lip out.
"You're stoned." The words were said matter of fact. Bones had known the other man long enough to not need confirmation.
"Just a little." Holding up two fingers in front of the mirror, Jim curled the corner of his mouth. Seeing the other's scowl, he sighed. "Come on, Bones, loosen up a bit, it's just a funeral." Checking his hair again, he turned his head from side to side. "Now, tell me the truth. Up or down?"
Bones stared at him for a long time not saying a word. Twisting open the cap of his flask, he tipped it back with a sigh.
Sighing to himself, Jim released his hair. It looked better that way. Letting his arms hang loose at his sides, he decided to quit delaying. The time was now. Everyone was waiting for him.
Moving up to stand beside Jim at the mirror, Bones took in their twin reflections. "We best go. Chekov's been eyeing your quarters, he's already gotta taste for the chair."
Shoulders relaxed, Jim half-heartedly shrugged. "Let him have it if he can take it." His smile was bitter. "It's not like I want it any more."
"You can't talk like that, Jim." Alarmed, Bones looked over at his friend. "They'll replace you on principle alone."
Meeting the concerned gaze, Jim shrugged. "May be it's time." Cocking an eyebrow, he returned to checking out his uniform in the mirror. He raised a mischievous smile to meet Bones' reflected frown. "I'm kidding." The emotions slowly leeched from his features until he was left with a blank stare once more.
~~~~~~~~
Jim had never wanted to wipe at sweat on his brow so much in his life. Sure, Vulcan was a desert planet, but did they not have a coolant system for their fucking temples? May be they didn't believe in modern technology in such places. They wouldn't be the first race. Not that he could ask them at a funeral.
Keeping his face carefully schooled was easier than it should have been. Spock had never ascribed to the rigid emotional control required in Vulcan ceremony. He would have derided Jim for doing so now. Then it was probably best that Spock was currently sitting in an urn on the altar.
Snorting, Jim barely managed to keep from smirking.
A few heads turned his way, but they were indistinguishable from under their robes. They were circled around the altar. All of them were dressed in grey for mourning.
Jim wanted to ask if they wore anything that wasn't depressing. A vibrant red or a garish blue-green wouldn't go remiss. Hell, the entire ceremony could have used a few people actually, you know, mourning the dead prick.
The old woman, who was chanting in Vulcan as she held an incense burner over the urn, glared at him.
This time Jim didn't moderate his reaction. Rolling his eyes, he stretched his arms over his head. Inside, he had the feeling Spock would have been proud. A small jab to his ribs had him glaring at the only other Human at the ceremony.
Bones glared at his friend, his lips forming a thin line of disapproval.
That did it. Exhaling through his nose, Jim stepped forward. The old woman went quiet as he stopped at the altar. Reaching out, he picked up the funeral urn. It's stone was cool to the touch despite the intense heat of the chamber. He turned it a couple times, aware of the silence around him.
"What the hell are you doing?" Bones sounded like he was about to have a conniption fit.
Ordinarily, Jim would have paid anything to have seen it. Today, however, he just didn't give a fuck.
Tucking the urn under his arm, he gave the Priestess a half-assed salute. Then, he turned around and marched out the way he had come. The circle parted for him without any prompting. They were probably too horrified to even want the stigma of having touched him, he figured.
Didn't matter, he had come like he was supposed to. There hadn't been anything in Admiral Hoshi's rules about what he was supposed to do after that.