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Far Away From Home	By : mancer Category: S through Z > Star Trek (2009) > Star Trek (2009) Views: 2090 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Star Trek is owned by Gene Roddenberry/Paramount Studios/JJ Abrams. I own none but this writing and the non-canon characters within. Work published for shared fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Vuron's internal clock awoke him at dawn. J'Mara found herself awake as well.
Vuron offered his apologies and retreated to the main hall. Hoping that distance and meditation might offer each of them a modicum of privacy within their minds.
A couple hours later, J'Mara sat next to him, awkwardly folding her legs as he'd folded his. A fur tucked around her shoulders. She offered him another.
“I am sorry my body temperature kept you awake.”
She sighed. “Your mind is racing. I could not sleep again regardless.”
Vuron folded his hands in his lap and attempted to return to meditation.
Each Vulcan controlled of their emotions in their own way. At least, so said his long-suffering mother. Clearing their mind with music, or the song of the desert winds.
He found solace in the image of a mental fortress. Each room built of impenetrable stone. As he aged, the design changed. Rooms grew or shrank as he needed them. Long quiet corridors that led to no where in particular. Great libraries to hold all of the knowledge he kept. A dojo at the center, the floor a piecemeal of ice, woven mats, warm sand, cold earth.
In this hall, he often sparred with himself, or an imagined opponent. The ice would grow and cover every surface, to remind him how to place his feet to handle the lack of traction while delivering kharakom kicks. The soft sands flowed as he practiced with the lirpa.
Now....
Now the walls held weapons racks. A Klingon banner hung in a place of honor at the far end, next to a painting of Surak, and a black-and-white photo of Sensei Morihei Ueshiba.
J'Mara walked beside him in this realm. Eying the constantly shifting floors.
“Does it always do this?”
He heard her voice close to his right ear, where she sat, her knee barely touching his, even as he saw her standing several lengths away from him in his mind.
“No.” He sighed, shaking his head and allowing his bastion of control to slip from his mind's eye. Blinking up at J'Mara's practice hall, the real thing, he realized that the walls of his internal dojo had taken on the same rough proportions. The same racks. Same flag in the same location.
This is her dojo. Her place of practice, of grounding. It would be useless to attempt to shake her assumptions from his mind.
He reached out, a bit tentative, with two fingers of his nearer hand for a kiss. She caressed him without thought or hesitation. Their minds sparked together. Breath shuddered as one into their lungs. Hearts racing a moment, trying to find a tempo between them again.
Vuron pulled back and sighed.
“It seems that you have more control than I, at the moment. The only structures that don't shift within my mind right now, are ones you are offering to me. I thank you for the support; without it, I might very well be lost.”
His bondmate turned moist eyes to him. She felt his worry, saw the permutations that twisted through his mind with the same clarity he did. Felt him attempting to pick up the scattered pieces of himself with little success.
“Vuron, I-”
“Do not regret last night.” They smiled at one another. “The bond half formed would have been torture for both of us. You will have to forgive me as I reconstruct my control.”
“You know my opinion on that.”
And he did. She hated it. Hated seeing him wall away something that her people thought of as a strength. But even she knew the value of control. Knew that without the very basics of it, his mind would be lost in ways that her people never had to worry about.
Their fingers touched in another automatic embrace.
A sound teased Vuron's attention to the back of the hall; J'Mara recognized it at the same moment. They turned as a single unit, hands slipping into the deep folds of respective pelts.
One of J'Mara's students, Kurath, threw open the doors. The howl of the never-ending blizzard announced him. Both cursed and shouted at him with the ease of an age's old teacher-student relationship.
“Well that's downright eery,” he growled, once he got the doors closed again. Dark, suspicious eyes flicked back and forth between them.
“Come closer when you whisper like that,” J'Mara ordered. Very rude for him to murmur in the presence of anyone of higher rank. Only Vuron's sexy little ears picked up the sound.
Jaws clenched as the impudent student stepped close enough to place his body between the pair, back to the Vulcan. Vuron stepped back, forcefully biting his lip to keep from speaking as an echo to J'Mara.
Had we been speaking as individuals before? Or together?
We were alone. I hadn't... been paying attention.
Fuck.
Indeed.
“Scanners picked up a shuttle arriving,” Kurath continued to growl. Attempting to subvocalize so that the pale smooth-faced invader wouldn't hear. Ha.
“I called for it yesterday. Our guest is returning to the capital. Make sure the landing pad is clear. Full scans.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And get the kitchens to warm up something. I am starved.” There are tubers for you. I made sure that you would eat well before you left today. Tea and a hot grain mash, too.
Kurath's eyes tightened. Fist clenched, just enough.
Vuron blocked the blow. Blunt teeth bared as J'Mara bared her fangs. J'Mara's hands up to block a blow not aimed for her.
The fur fell from Vuron's bare shoulders as he disarmed the student and turned the d'k tahg back onto his throat.
“I would suggest you do not attempt that again,” he snarled in perfect Klingon. “Lady J'Mara might hold you in high esteem, but you drop your left shoulder before every attack. I will always know before the blow falls.”
The bigger man spat into the Vulcan's face; his inner eyelids flicked shut before the saliva hit.
“Kurath!”
Jaws clenched again as Vuron's ears picked up their twined voices.
The student snarled and pulled away from Vuron's slack grasp.
“Do as you're bid, Kurath.”
“As your guest wishes,” the young man snarled, bowing to his mistress, rather than acknowledge the Vulcan again.
They sighed as the side door closed after his retreating back.
“You will have interesting questions to answer, my bondmate.”
She nodded.
Vuron tasted hot Klingon blood. She'd bit her lip too, to silence herself.
His tongue found her bottom lip, exploring the thin line of little cuts. Needing to taste her himself, rather than by proxy. She groaned into his lips.
“If we begin this again, you will make Bel'tath's pilot wait.”
She enclosed his naked body in her arms, in the fur that her greater body heat had warmed.
He tucked his nose against her cheek and listened to her heart beat while forcing his to slow back to a normal pace.
It shouldn't have taken as long as it did.
Her eyes glistened again as she pulled away.
“His dagger, please. It will be difficult to tell him that you took it as a spoil of battle after so small a skirmish.”
“He shouldn't have let me have it so easily.”
J'Mara nodded agreement.
Vuron focused on keeping his body still as she placed the dagger on a peg meant for her students to share. Focused on feeling the cold of the air around him, rather than the warmth of her skin.
“Come. I wish bathe and dress you for battle, my love. It is the least a wife can do for her husband before he leaves.”
She tucked the fur around him again, shivering herself. He sighed, knowing he would have to be more diligent about his thermal regulation. If she shivered like that in practice, with live weapons, or on the hunt, it could mean the loss of-
“Hush. Please.”
He nodded and concentrated on the feeling of her fingers in his as she led him back to her quarters. Of the fleecy leather she used, the water heated before her fire, the spicy soap she favored, as she meticulously bathed his entire body. Her strong callused fingers scrubbing into his scalp. Hot water poring over his head and down the rest of him.
He buffed his own body dry with another soft skin while she collected his Master Chijqa's used armor.
“Incorrect assumption, my love,” she replied, a smile on her lips.
“Oh?”
She shook out the leather and stretched it to his shoulders to check the fit.
“Your armor?” Vuron asked, worried he'd arrive back at the Vulcan compound with a keyhole cut in the armor, right in the center of his chest, displaying his scars for all to see.
She laughed at the mental image. “No, no. This is yours. It is a Mistress's right to clothe her husband as she sees fit. Dishonorable for you to return home in old borrowed things. You'd be telling Mistress Bel'tath that I couldn't afford to equip you with the basics.”
“Ah.”
She clothed him with the care of ceremony. More layers than most Klingon men traditionally wore, to keep him warm in the blizzard. Several expensive hidden layers of fine wool rested against his skin. Vests, long sleeved shirts, tight leggings. When she finally clothed him in the furs that were hunted for only on her lands, the animals saved for great rites of passage, he stopped her to look at the skins.
J'Mara had them lined. Each and every one. Lined with fabric so silky it could not have originated on Qo'Nos. Lined so that his skin would never touch the bare leather, only the thick, soft pelt on top. He swallowed his thanks for all of the effort she went through on his behalf, knowing that she heard them clearly enough.
Her fingers grazed his in a quick kiss before she resumed her task.
“These are your pelts,” she stated. Keeping her mind on the task, rather than letting herself dwell on what that task meant. “You hunted these animals, thus they will not go to waste.”
“I'm not sure I wanted to know that.”
She laughed. Fingers plucked up the thick leather outer vest. The metal tipped shoulder plates. Belts. Sash.
His fingers stroked the emblems there. J'Mara's house, and the Imperial badge.
“Because my house belongs to Bel'tath, we will ask for permission to grant you hers as well. But I have every right to mark you as mine.”
A warm little glow settled in his stomach.
The weapons came next, the d'k tagh he “won” from her slipped into one glove, the one he'd brought with him at hip, bat'leth strapped securely at his back, throwing daggers in his boots, and a couple new weapons he hadn't brought with him secreted in various locations. J'Mara wished he had a disrupter to hang from his belt as well, but there was no need.
“You send me back bristling with weapons.”
“I protect my husband the only way I can. It is dishonorable that Chijqa sent you naked as he did into unknown territory.”
“Hardly naked.”
She blew out a rude noise, wrapping him in a thick fur cloak, this one lined in felted wool. She tugged up the hood, checking the length, before pulling the high wool gorget closed. The felting kept the hood closed and protected his throat, face, and ears from the winds, leaving only his eyes and the bridge of his nose bare.
“Barely clothed then.”
She tucked his arms through the holes in the cloak, demonstrating how a second layer had been added, so that he could tie closed the inner lining to keep his torso warm, while keeping his arms free to protect himself.
“J'Mara.”
His weapons would be difficult to retrieve, cocooned like this, but J'Mara trusted his exceptional ears to warn him to prepare himself for battle.
“J'Mara-”
A second set of gloves covered the first. The leather of the inner layer creaked against the cured skin of the fur gloves. Panels of hard leather had been sewn in to offer more protection to his wrists.
“T'hy'la.”
Another layer of fur swaddled his middle, strips swinging loose until she tied them in against his knee and ankle, ending in a ridiculous boot covering.
“Love!”
Her eyes flicked up to him. Tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh, Love.”
Vuron wrapped his arms around his bondmate, feeling utterly ridiculous in all of the wool and leather and fur. The buffer keeping them from skin-to-skin contact helped, somewhat, but he ached to lick up the salt of her tears.
“You hear the engines of the shuttle.”
Vuron sighed.
“Yes.”
“Go to the hall and eat. I can not watch you climb into that monstrosity.”
He nodded. She had no wish to see him voluntarily leaving her. Reason and logic nothing to do with the irrational fear and anger that mental image seeded within her.
“Remember. Always with me. Parting and never parted.” His bound fingers gripped hers.
“Especially with a bond this unnaturally strong,” she replied, a sad smile playing at her lips. “And you doing everything you can to block it.”
Their foreheads tapped together, eyes closed in a comfortable mirror of one another.
“For both of our sakes, my love.”
“You hope that distance will help.”
“It might. But I will always know if you are in danger, no matter the distance.”
Neither voiced the fact that had not helped him save Rellig, or any of the other delegate’s mates.
They took several long breaths as a single unit. Vuron fighting to form some barricade for the sense of loss he knew he would feel the moment he stepped out of the door of her room. Felt her close off from that pain as well.
“Try not to think of me, until you are in the air.”
He nodded. Their intwined fingers tightening for a long moment.
Sensitive Vulcan ears lost the sound of the shuttles engines. Landed and shut off, then. If he wanted to partake of the meal J'Mara had ordered for him, he needed to leave now.
“Go.”
One last squeeze. One last sigh with his nose filled with her scent. Missing the depth of scent she perceived.
He swallowed, attempting to moisten his parched throat, and left.
- 13
- 14
- 15
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Far Away From Home