Chapter Text
“Well that doesn’t look too good,” Jim muttered when he came back to his senses. He was clearly inside a prison cell. Great. Just great. He gingerly got to his feet and checked his belt, but as he suspected, both his phaser and his communicator were missing.
“I find that I agree with your statement, sir. The aesthetic qualities of this room are rather poor.”
Startled, Jim turned his head to the right. The voice very clearly belonged to a child. But that intonation, that wording… His eyes immediately confirmed what he had suspected already: he was currently sharing a cell with a Vulcan kid. A boy, Jim assumed; he had the bowl cut generally associated with Vulcan males. His skin was a light brown color, and he was very thin; his clothes, dirty and torn in several places, did not look warm enough for the chilly temperature of the cell. Jim immediately felt an acute pang of concern for the child.
“Hi,” he said gently, forcing a smile despite a pounding ache in his head. “I’m Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. What’s your name?”
“Sevrik, sir.” He looked terribly young – eight or nine years-old, maybe? Jim wasn’t very good at guessing that kind of thing. He seemed small, sitting cross-legged on the only fixture of the cell that could possibly be used as a bed—a rectangular ledge sculpted in the stone wall to Jim’s left. There was no mattress, and no blanket either, but a dingy pillow had apparently been abandoned there.
The child seemed to hesitate, then blurted, “Are you really the one who destroyed Nero’s vessel?”
“Yes, or, well, I mean, the one, not really, I wasn’t alone for that,” Jim replied, feeling awkward.
Sevrik inclined his head. “Still, my people owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“I… that’s not…” We didn’t save Vulcan, though, he couldn’t help but think, deeply uncomfortable. “Never mind. Do you know where we are?”
“In a cell, sir.”
Right. Vulcans. Very literal.
“Okay, but I meant, do you know where this cell is? How did you end up here? No, first, more important question: are you injured?”
“Not significantly, sir,” the child replied. His dark eyes did not meet Jim’s.
Jim frowned. “That’s not a no. Where are you hurt?”
“It is only some minor bruising, and a shallow cut on my arm, sir.”
“Okay. Well, not okay, but I’ll have my ship’s physician examine you as soon as my crew finds us, or as soon as we manage to escape, whatever comes first. My CMO’s name is Doctor Leonard McCoy, and he’s one of the very best. He’ll take good care of you,” Jim promised, doing his best to sound reassuring.
“It is very kind of you, sir,” Sevrik said, still staring at the ground.
“It’s normal, you mean. I wish I could do something right now.” Jim sighed. “Oh, and by the way, you really don’t have to call me ‘sir’. Just Jim is fine.”
“I… I do not know if it would be appropriate.”
“Can’t be inappropriate if I allow it, can it?” But the child seemed tense, and Jim decided not to insist. “Is it okay if I sit here too?” he asked, unwilling to keep towering above him from his standing position. Sevrik nodded, and Jim sat on the stone ledge, carefully maintaining some distance between him and the young boy. He was an adult stranger, and on top of that, the kid was Vulcan – Jim would not add to his distress by insisting on a familiarity that could feel threatening, nor would he invade his personal space in any way. “What you call me, it’s up to you, really. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
“It is very kind of you, sir,” Sevrik repeated.
Jim held back another sigh and reminded himself that he was speaking to a traumatized kid. Not only had he lost his whole fricking planet, he had apparently been kidnapped. Speaking of…
“Do you know how you ended up here? Or where our cell is? Or anything about our captors?” he asked.
“They are pirates, sir. The ones I have seen are all Orions. I was travelling to a colony where I was supposed to meet a distant relative of mine, but the transport vessel was attacked. Many of the passengers are dead, and the pirates said they would sell the others into slavery. I… I do not know where we are being held.” The young Vulcan was clearly doing his best to sound unaffected, but his lower lip was trembling.
“Hey, it’s okay, kid,” Jim said, fighting a sudden urge to offer him a hug. He told himself again that a Vulcan child probably wouldn’t appreciate that. Some human children likely would be wary too, in a similar situation. Jim briefly wondered if he would have welcomed a hug from someone he had just met, when he was around Sevrik’s age. But he dismissed that train of thought almost immediately. Jim had not exactly had a normal childhood, after all.
“We are not gonna be sold into slavery, not if I have anything to say about it,” he continued firmly, rather than dwelling on useless questions. Slavery was the reason for his presence here in the first place—the Enterprise had been called to investigate a ring of traffickers that seemed to operate around the planet Ghertiuz II. Clearly, Jim had come a bit too close to something compromising for the ruling elite, and a trap had been set for him.
But a concerning thought suddenly crossed his mind. “Sevrik, how long have you been here? Have they fed you correctly?”
“I have been in this cell for approximately three days. My captors brought me a plate of nutritive cubes yesterday.”
“And that’s it?” Jim forced himself to take a deep breath. Neither panic nor anger would be helpful right now. There was a small sink in a corner, next to a rusty toilet basin. They had a source of water. And he still had a protein bar in his left pocket, he had felt it earlier—the slavers apparently hadn’t thought that they needed to take it away. We’re not starving, he firmly told himself. We’re not going to starve. Breathe.
“Yes, sir,” Sevrik murmured.
Jim clenched his fists. “It’s okay, kid,” he repeated. At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure the child or himself. “We’ll get through it.” He hesitated. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday. He’s a child. You should give him the protein bar.
But the idea of being prisoner there, knowing he had no provisions and was at the mercy of people who would not provide adequate food –
He’s a kid, damnit! Get yourself together, Kirk! He needs you!
“Here,” he said roughly, refusing to give himself more time to think about it. “Eat that.” He extracted the protein bar from his pocket and gave it to Sevrik without looking at him.
“It is very generous of you, sir, thank you,” the young Vulcan said, his voice trembling a little.
Jim shrugged. “No big deal.” His heart was beating too fast. There were noises—the protective paper being ripped, small sounds of mastication…
He’s eating it all in one go! That’s stupid! He should eat it piece by piece, slowly, and keep a portion for later! Why did I give it to him? Wolfing it down like that—it’s a waste! I would have made it last so much longer!
Biting his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood, Jim forced himself to ignore the intrusive thoughts. You’re a Starfleet captain, he reminded yourself. Your crew will come for you. You’re not a helpless kid anymore. He’s the kid here, and he’s hungry. You did the right thing.
But in the meantime, knowing that he didn’t have the smallest source of food nearby kept his heart beating much too fast. He always made sure to have some food with him. He never ate it, but he needed to know it was there, needed to know that in case of emergency, he would have something, a way to keep hunger at bay for a little while, a way to stay in control…
Think about something else. Better yet, talk about something else.
Sevrik had finished devouring the protein bar. Jim made himself look at him and tried to use a calm tone. “The people who took us, have you heard them say anything that could be of use?”
“I… I do not know. Our captors have made several remarks concerning my monetary value, but I did not fully understand their meaning,” the child said. “They have implied four times that my value would be diminished if I was involved in sexual acts with other beings prior to being sold. I have informed them that it would be illogical for me to engage in such acts, as I have not yet reached the Vulcan age of sexual maturity. They seemed to find my intervention humorous, for reasons I fail to understand.”
Jim felt nauseated. “Don’t worry about that,” he forced himself to say instead of the litany of profanities he sorely wished to direct at the slavers. “They’re—they laughed because they’re stupid and disgusting, okay? But I won’t let them hurt you. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, I promise.”
“I am grateful for your concern, sir. However, I… I believe I should inform you that I am a rather substandard example of Vulcan. My intelligence is below average, and I do not possess enough qualities to compensate for my deficiencies. As you are, on the other hand, a most valued Starfleet Captain, it would be logical of you to prioritize your own well-being.”
The young boy had delivered his little speech in a mostly neutral tone, as if commenting on the weather. But his eyes were downcast and his shoulders slightly hunched—a posture that spoke of shame.
“Listen to me carefully, kid,” Jim said, trying very hard to keep his anger in check, “I don’t know what kind of assholes have tried to make you believe that you were less valuable than any other Vulcan, but they’re wrong. You’re a child, Sevrik. You’ve got all the time in the world to discover and develop your qualities, okay?”
“It is kind of you to say so, sir,” Sevrik replied quietly, still looking at his feet. “But I have already proven myself less adept than my peers in several areas, and it is therefore logical to assume that I will remain so.”
“No, it’s not. Look, I…” Jim nervously raked a hand through his hair. “You’ve heard about the Kelvin, and how my father died, haven’t you?” The child nodded, and Jim continued, “When I was 10, someone told me that if my father had known what kind of kid I’d turn out to be, he’d have given his life to make sure I was never born, instead of dying to save me.”
The young boy frowned. “It is illogical to make such a hypothesis: even if there was a way to prove it, the past cannot be changed. Besides, I… it sounds like a very cruel thing to say.”
Jim couldn’t help a sad smile. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. But I was a pretty disobedient child, always running around and getting in trouble. And I was even worse as a teenager. Many people told me I’d never be anything but a lowly delinquent.”
Sevrik’s frown deepened. “But… they were wrong.”
This time, Jim’s smile was brighter. “Yes, they were. And that’s my point. Those people who tried to make you feel worthless? They don’t know you. They don’t know what you’re capable of. They’re assholes, and you should tell them to go fuck themselves.” He paused. “Er, sorry about the language. I’m, er… not really used to being around kids. Maybe don’t use those exact terms,” he chuckled. “Well, unless someone really deserves it. In which case, you’re welcome to also tell them that you’re using the F-word with the blessing of Captain James T. Kirk. Would be pretty much on par with the reputation I already have, I believe.”
The child was staring at him with wide eyes. “Respectfully, sir, you do not know me either,” he pointed. “What makes you believe that people who told me that my performances were subpar were not simply stating facts?”
Jim sighed. “I might not know you well, but I know how it feels to be told you’re not good enough, kid. And I know the kind of people who like to make others feel that way. They’re assholes, I stand by that. Or, well. What’s the kid-friendly way to phrase it? What would a Vulcan adult say?”
“I do not believe that a Vulcan adult would attempt to express such a thing at all, sir,” Sevrik said, but the corners of his mouth had turned up—he looked like he was fighting not to smile frankly.
“I’m sure Spock would think of something,” Jim mused. “It would be perfectly polite, and basically irrefutable, and it would make a devastating burn.”
Something seemed to light up in Sevrik’s eyes. “You work with Commander Spock, sir?” Then, after a few seconds, “I must inform you that Vulcans are pacifists. It is highly unlikely that Commander Spock would attempt to burn anyone.”
Jim laughed. “I know. It’s a figure of speech. Humans have lots of those. And yeah, I work with Spock. He’s my First Officer. You know him?”
“I know of him,” the child said, now looking somewhat unsure.
“Good things, I hope,” Jim replied thoughtlessly.
The young boy’s hesitation made for a very clear answer. “He and my mother were born the same year and went to the same school, but I do not believe that they were on the best of terms,” he admitted.
“Ah. But you were excited, just now, when I talked about him, weren’t you?”
A darker hue colored Sevrik’s cheeks. “I… my mother does not have a very high opinion of Commander Spock’s… parentage, and she… she told me several times that it was illogical for my performances to be inferior to those of a half-human,” he murmured. “Or…” he hesitated, looking at his shoes. “Sometimes, she also said that a true Vulcan should do better than a half-breed.”
“Did she now,” Jim said darkly. “Can I ask your mother’s name?”
“T’Lish,” the kid replied. “But I… I don’t… I’m not certain she’s right,” he whispered, the last words tumbling very fast. “I have searched for information about Commander Spock, and he always had some of the highest scores in everything, better than most pure-blooded Vulcans, and he was accepted by the Vulcan Science Academy, but then he turned them down and he had a great career in Starfleet!” Sevrik was getting animated, his eyes alight with interest and something that looked like joy for the first time in his —admittedly brief—acquaintance with Jim. “And T’Zoïa said that the other kids didn’t like him, but he defended himself, and he was kind to her, and he helped her once when older children kept repeating that she got bad scores in arithmetic! And—and he fought against Nero, and he saved many of our Elders,” he added, his tone far more subdued.
“Who is T’Zoïa?” Jim asked, hoping to help him not to dwell on memories of Vulcan’s destruction.
But the question was a mistake, he realized immediately, for the child’s face crumpled. “My mother’s younger sister,” he said quietly. “She died during the Va’Pak.”
“I grieve with you,” Jim said, quietly mad at himself for not remembering how to say it in Vulcan. He hesitated, then. “Do Vulcan kids like hugs?”
“Hugs?”
“It’s, er… humans do that to offer comfort to each other, or to show affection,” Jim tried to explain. “It involves putting your arms around someone and keeping them close.”
“Oh. I… I do not know if what you describe has a name in Vulcan, but… my aunt did something similar with me sometimes.”
His aunt, not his mother, Jim noted. “I could give you a hug, if you’re okay with that,” he offered. “But feel free to say no—even among humans, the gesture’s not always welcome, and I know that Vulcans have a thing with touch, so… I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I do not believe I would be uncomfortable with that,” Sevrik whispered.
Jim took a few seconds to ensure he had understood the double negative correctly and slowly moved closer to the child. “Okay. But if you do start to feel even the tiniest hint of discomfort, don’t hesitate to tell me, or move away, or both, okay?”
Sevrik nodded, and Jim carefully drew him into a hug. At first, the young Vulcan stayed very stiff; Jim hesitantly rubbed his back a little, wondering if the whole thing had been a terrible idea. But after a few seconds, Sevrik seemed to relax, and even buried his head in the crook of Jim’s shoulder. The child’s small hands caught the fabric of the captain’s uniform in a vice-like grip, and Jim felt his too-thin body trembling in his arms.
“It’s okay, kid,” he murmured, deeply moved. “I’ve got you, alright? Everything’s gonna be okay.”
The child only clung to him harder. “I’m s-sorry,” he stammered. “I sh-shouldn’t–”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Jim repeated. “You’re having a very normal reaction to an extremely difficult situation, you hear me? Nothing to apologize for.”
“Th-thank you,” Sevrik whispered.
The tremors were slowly receding, but Jim found himself reluctant to let go of the kid. “Are you cold?” he asked. “It’s kinda chilly in here, isn’t it? I should probably give you my uniform top.” Thankfully, he had put on an undershirt, for once—and it was regulation black, too, not something embarrassing with either a sex joke, a very silly pun, or both.
Sevrik seemed to hesitate. “The temperature is not optimal, but… wouldn’t you get cold instead?”
“Nah, not at all,” Jim lied. “I’m from Iowa, you know. This place’s got nothing against an Iowa winter, so don’t worry about it.”
“But I have been told that humans could not regulate their body temperature like Vulcans can,” the child said with a small frown. His head was not buried against Jim anymore, but they were still very close, and neither had stopped holding to the other. “Perhaps it would be more logical to keep sharing body heat, like we’re doing now?”
“Yes, that does sound logical,” Jim approved, “but we can share body heat while you wear my uniform.” He did not wait for another retort and pulled off his top. “Go on, take it, put it on,” the captain insisted. “I wanna inspect the walls and the door real quick—I’m pretty sure you’ve done it already, and there most likely isn’t anything we could use to escape, but, well. I’d make a poor Starfleet officer if I didn’t at least check my surroundings myself, right? Don’t worry though, I’ll sit back with you to keep you warm again afterwards.”
“Thank you,” Sevrik murmured.
As Jim had suspected, inspecting the cell did not take long—it was small, with a rough concrete floor and what looked like a concrete ceiling. The walls were made of big blocks of stone stacked and glued together with more concrete. Jim tested the stones with the faint hope that one might be somewhat loose, but no such luck. Besides the ledge on which Sevrik was still sitting, the dingy toilet bowl and the small sink, the cell was empty; and the door was made of some sort of thick metal, with no handle on their side. Giving it a frustrated kick achieved nothing more than bruising Jim’s toe.
“Welp,” he muttered, “that’s that, I guess. Not exactly five star accommodations, but not much to be done about it for now, it would seem.” Although his observations did raise an interesting point: it was not a random room hastily converted into a cell. It appeared to have been built with the express purpose of keeping someone prisoner; or, at the very least, thoroughly modified with that goal in mind. And the construction work was in no way recent.
He wondered whether he should share his observations with Sevrik. He was just a kid, though, while Jim was an adult and a Starfleet captain—solving problems was clearly Jim’s role.
Yeah, but you’re not solving much, right now, are you?
He firmly told the snide little voice in his head to shut up. Granted, he couldn’t act immediately, and he hated that; but he would protect Sevrik. In any way he could.
The real question was: did keeping information to himself count as protecting the kid? Jim had never actually read any sort of How to raise a well-rounded child manual, but he strongly suspected that such manuals would advise against giving young children sordid facts about kidnappings, corrupt elites and slave traffickers.
Except that Sevrik already was in a kidnapping situation. He was being kept prisoner by what clearly sounded like terrible people. And Jim remembered all too well how the adults in his life had behaved around him when he was younger—making decisions for him and barely deigning to inform them of the life-altering changes they had already started to implement. Not being told about stuff had never felt like any sort of blessing. Very much the other way around.
“Wanna know what’s interesting about the layout of the cell?” Jim asked as he sat back with Sevrik and placed his arm back around the little boy’s shoulder.
He shared some of his ideas, and the young Vulcan looked grateful.
“Do you remember anything from when you were brought here?” the captain hesitantly asked. He didn’t want to stir potentially traumatic memories, but any scrap of information could be useful.
“I attempted to hide in the cargo bay, but they found me,” Sevrik murmured. “I was forced into a shuttle with other passengers of the ship, and we were brought somewhere underground. One of the pirates said that I would sell at a high price and should be put in a separate cell so other prisoners wouldn’t damage me.”
Jim squeezed his arm lightly. “I’m sorry. It must have been terrifying.”
The child bit his lip and said nothing.
“Do you know where your ship was, even approximately, when you were attacked? Or how long you were in the shuttle?”
“I don’t know,” the little boy said. His voice was trembling. “M-Maybe 4 hours in the shuttle? I’m sorry, I should have a better control of my time sense, but—”
“Hey, no, it’s okay, it’s really okay,” Jim interrupted. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Sevrik, I shouldn’t have asked. You’re a kid, and you’re being very brave already, so no beating yourself up, you hear me?”
“Inflicting physical harm to myself would be both illogical and impractical,” the young Vulcan remarked. He still sounded upset, but slightly less so—and somewhat puzzled.
“I didn’t mean literally—that’s another human expression,” Jim said warmly. “I mean, I certainly wouldn’t want you to do that literally either, but the idea was, no negative talk or thoughts about yourself, because you’ve done the best you could, alright?”
Sevrik nodded. “The shuttle had no windows,” he added hesitantly. “I believe it landed underground because I did not see any window either in the sort of hangar where we landed, or in any of the corridors afterward. But I cannot be certain of it.”
“That’s still good to know,” the captain replied. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart.”
A faint blush appeared on the child’s cheeks at the endearment, and Jim felt his own face grow warmer. He hadn’t planned that—he was only trying to think of how Bones would talk to an upset kid, because it often surprised people who only knew his grumpy side but Bones actually was like, the best person ever with kids, and… well. Bones did say ‘sweetheart’ a lot. Sometimes to Jim, even. In a friendly way, of course. And hopefully he had never realized that Jim enjoyed it a little more than he should.
He cleared his throat. “Oh, and, er, how old are you, by the way?” he asked in a (probably poor) attempt at distracting them both from the awkwardness of the moment.
“I am ten years, three months and six days old, sir,” Sevrik replied.
Slightly older than Jim had thought, but he wasn’t sure the boy would be pleased to hear that, so he just nodded. And wondered if he should keep talking, or perhaps try to entertain Sevrik somehow—would suggesting a game be a good idea? Children liked games, right?
Then he heard the young Vulcan’s stomach rumbling, and his heart clenched. He’s hungry. The kid’s hungry, and you don’t have any food. And you—when was the last time you ate? Was it that chicken sandwich right before beaming down? Fuck, I need a chicken sandwich now—but there’s nothing here, they’re not gonna feed you correctly, you’re hungry and you’ll get hungrier, you’ll have to watch your children get thinner and thinner and—
No. Stop. Jim tried one of the breathing exercises Bones had taught him and ordered himself to stop spiraling. No thinking about food, and absolutely no thinking about Tarsus. Relax, Jim, you need to relax. Think about something comforting, something nice, something distracting, anything—just don’t panic on the kid.
Something nice… hmm, shore leave on Vorala a few months ago—that had been nice. He and Bones had booked a hotel two minutes away from the beach and had a great time alternating between swimming, gazing at the waves and at pretty people in swimsuits enjoying the sun. Two of the pretty people had made their way into Jim’s bed afterwards—a very cute Orion girl and a non-binary Andorian with a sexy smile. That had been a great night—they knew some tricks that…
A sudden realization hit him like a bucket of ice. Vulcans are telepaths, you fucking idiot! Touch-telepaths! And Jim might not know much about taking care of kids, but he was pretty sure that sending a ten year-old a detailed recollection of an interspecies threesome was not in the handbook. Ugh. Gross, gross, gross.
“So, er, how does that telepathy thing of yours work?” he asked, doing his best to sound casual—and to burry memories of beautiful Orion skin as deeply as he could. “Like, I know it has to do with touch, but does that mean that you can hear everything that’s going on in my head when we’re close?”
“It does not,” Sevrik replied, raising an eyebrow. Jim had spent enough time with Spock to know immediately how to interpret that expression—more often than not, it translated to ‘absurd human said something very dumb but telling him that directly is against protocol so I’ll just imply it as loudly as possible.’ But while Spock usually made the Raised Eyebrow look bitchy as hell, there was an undercurrent of genuine confusion in Sevrik’s eyes; as if he simply didn’t understand how Jim could possibly think such a thing.
In any case, that was good news, and the human allowed a wave of relief to wash over him. Still, he put a bit of distance between himself and the young Vulcan, as casually as he could—no more direct contact until he knew exactly what he was communicating to the kid. “Then what do you hear—or, what’s the right verb, feel from me? Sense from me?”
“I… I am not attempting to invade your privacy, sir,” Sevrik anxiously replied. “I am trying my best to keep my shields up, but some of your thoughts and emotions are loud and my telepathic skills are not—”
“Hey, hey, I’m not accusing you of anything!” Jim interrupted, doing his best to adopt a reassuring tone. “I’m just… well, I don’t know much about how Vulcan telepathy actually works, and it’s… I’ll be honest, I had completely forgotten that you could pick up stuff that I haven’t said out loud,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle. “So, er, can I ask what I’ve been projecting?”
“You seem to feel… protective… towards me,” Sevrik said hesitantly. “And… something seemed to make you very anxious 3.2 minutes ago, but I did not understand what, because you immediately shifted your focus to… a vacation, I think? With friendly people?”
“I guess you could say that,” Jim mumbled. “And you don’t pick up, say… images?” Please tell me you don’t. Please tell me I wasn’t actually sharing pornographic memories.
“No, sir, no images. And no exact words, either. Not unless I’m actively trying to pry—which I wouldn’t do! I only get… impressions of feelings, and I do not necessarily understand or know how to interpret them.”
“Okay, good, that’s good. I mean…” he saw the child’s expression—vulnerable, and somewhat hurt. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Sevrik,” he said gently. “But I’m a Starfleet captain, and I can’t go around spreading classified information, you know? I need to control what I share.”
“I understand, sir. It is logical.” But the kid was staring at the ground, looking dejected.
“Maybe you could teach me to control it, though?” Jim suggested.
He had tried reading up on Vulcan telepathy after the overwhelming experience of melding with Older Spock on Delta Vega, but Vulcans were secretive bastards who barely allowed any crumb of information to be found about them. Hardly logical, in Jim’s opinion—but then again, no one had really asked for his opinion.
“Teach you?” Sevrik repeated, clearly surprised. “I do not believe I am qualified to do this. I… my own telepathic abilities aren’t very impressive.”
Jim frowned, vaguely concerned by the depreciatory way the child kept describing himself. “Hey, don’t say that,” he protested gently. “Besides, if you’re struggling with it, it might actually make you a better teacher. People who just understand things instinctively often have a hard time explaining them, you know? While if you had to put in a lot of effort with it, you can walk me through the process.”
“This sounds logical,” Sevrik admitted. He still seemed hesitant, though. “But I… I’m not sure where to start.”
“Well, what about shielding? I’ve read somewhere that you had to imagine like, a wall around your thoughts, or picture yourself putting your thoughts in a box and closing it, that kind of thing,” Jim suggested.
“That can help, but my teachers always say the first step must be reaching an inner state of calm. Which… does not come easily to me,” Sevrik admitted, staring down at his feet.
“Yeah, me neither, definitely. But we could try together?”
Slowly, little by little, they started playing around with exercises Sevrik had been given over the years. After a while, Jim suggested making up a sort of game – he’d think of a specific thing, and do his best to focus on not transmitting the thought to Sevrik, who’d touch his arm and try to see what Jim was hiding. It was actually… rather fun. Then they decided to switch things up a little—see if Jim could hear a thought Sevrik would try to send. It definitely made time pass a lot faster than staring at a wall, and Jim was faintly surprised to realize that, despite the situation, he was almost enjoying himself.
Until he suddenly felt Sevrik tense against him and was brutally reminded of where they were.
“I hear people coming,” the young Vulcan whispered.
“If they get in, stay behind me,” Jim ordered. He listened carefully, and soon he, too, could distinguish voices.
“Guys, are you sure that’s a good idea? If the boss hears about it…”
“He won’t, unless you open your big mouth, moron!”
“Come on, it’s gonna be fun! Vulcans are an endangered species now, where else would we get to try one of them?”
Rage and revulsion were warring inside of Jim, but he forced himself to focus on his options. Three different voices, and these bastards would most likely be armed. An attempt at overpowering them had very little chance of success, and with Sevrik in the room, it was simply too dangerous.
He murmured, “Sevrik, listen to me carefully. I’m probably gonna tell these guys a ton of lies, and I need you not to contradict me, okay?”
The child nodded. His face was mostly blank, but his eyes were terrified. “Are they going to hurt me?” he asked in a very small voice.
Jim squeezed his arm. “No. Not if there’s anything I can do to stop them. Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got you.”
The door was unlocked and opened with a sinister creak, allowing three of their captors to enter.
“I’ve heard you,” Jim immediately said. He had gotten on his feet already, very aware he might have to shield Sevrik with his own body. “And believe me, there’s a big flaw in your plan. If you so much as lay a finger on the boy, you better believe I’ll make sure your boss hears everything about it.”
“Not if we cut out your tongue first,” one of the kidnappers growled. “We’re here to have some fun with the Vulcan, whether you like it or not.”
But the guy on his left punched his shoulder. “Idiot! He’s a Starfleet captain! He’s valuable because he can speak! You really think we can damage him that way?”
The first man scowled, but the third guy, who hadn’t said anything yet, had a nasty smile. “I’m sure we can find some other arrangement,” he said. “I really wanna play with the little Vulcan, Captain Kirk. And if you’re smart, you could get something out of it, too.”
Jim clamped down on his fury with renewed efforts and sculpted his face into a mocking grin. “Aren’t slave traders supposed to be good at negotiating? ‘cause I don’t exactly see you offering something very valuable here. You’re gonna tell me… what, that I can have a turn with him too? What makes you think I’d be interested? I have a Vulcan, back on my ship, you know. I’ve tried him, and believe me, it’s nothing to write home about,” he declared brazenly, sparing a thought for the hope that Spock would never hear about that particular statement. “So, shorty here?” He made a dismissive hand gesture towards Sevrik but kept his gaze resolutely turned towards their captors. “Thanks, but no thanks. Definitely not worth the risk of turning into a vegetable.”
“What does he mean, ‘turning into a vegetable’?” It was the guy who had, from the start, seemed the most reluctant.
Jim winced. “Nothing,” he said too fast, with a smile that was very obviously fake. “So, what do you have to offer, really?”
But he had succeeded in making them suspicious. “We’re not offering anything ‘til you answer his question!” the guard who had threatened to cut out Jim’s tongue growled. “What’s this crap about vegetables?”
“If I reply,” the human said, “you’ll owe me a favor.”
The third guard moved forward and punched him in the guts. “How about you reply and we don’t break every bone in your body?” he snarled as Jim doubled over. “How’s that for negotiations?”
Jim sent him a hateful glare. “Fine,” he grunted. “Bastards. I hope the kid turns all of your fucking brains into mush.”
That earned him another punch. “Answer the question!” the guard barked.
“I was about to answer, you asshole,” Jim groaned. “So, you know how Vulcans are telepathic? Well, the children are pretty powerful, but they can’t control it like adults do. So, if you hurt him… well, I’ve seen the effect of that kind of telepathic backlash once, and believe me, that’s not pretty. The guy wouldn’t have recognized his own mother afterwards.”
The slave traders looked at each other. “He’s bluffing,” Mr. Imma-Cut-Your-Tongue-Out said, but he didn’t sound entirely confident.
Jim grinned. “If you wanna risk it, be my guest. I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing the lump of goo you have for a brain becoming even more useless.”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” the guy shouted, advancing angrily, his hand raised. But his friend unexpectedly stopped him.
“Maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe not,” the third guy said with a vicious grin. “But we didn’t come all this way to leave empty-handed. If we can’t play with the Vulcan, we should have an alternative, don’t you think? Would you happen to have something in mind, Captain Kirk?”
Jim felt his stomach clench. But he forced his lips into a tense smile. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind getting to know you better,” he lied. “At least if you’ve got somewhere more comfortable where we could… play.”
“Excellent!” the third guard declared, his predatory smile widening. His grip on Jim’s arm was getting more painful, too, as he dragged the human out of the cell with him.
But if the choice was to submit either Sevrik or himself to those men’s violence… well, there really was no choice at all.