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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
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"Took you long enough."
Vuron glared up at the pilot. Same one as before. Now he spared a moment of worry for lack of depth perception. He felt a touch of amusement and pressed it down.
"At least it didn't take me three days like last time, hm?"
He hoisted himself up into the shuttle and fought the door closed. Even the winds seemed to want to keep him here. Out in the wilderness. Away from all of the dramatics and politics. Closer to-
He sighed and keyed the lock.
He swung the sack of food the cook'd foisted upon him onto the bench while the one-eyed Klingon started his engine heating.
"It'll take us a minute. Blasted cold."
"I am no great hurry," Vuron sighed. A bit too quiet than was polite. Didn't have the energy to care.
Had to reach underneath his cloak to undo the clasps that held his bat'leth before he could sit. No intention of removing his cloak yet. Every tie, every buckle, had been secured by his mate. One last embrace to savor.
He did, however, release the gorget to ease his breathing.
"Warm enough?"
His eyebrow raised at the pilot's comment.
"Yes."
"Certainly decked out better than how you came out. Now you look like a right little lordling."
"'Look like'? He is a little lordling. Look at the badges on a man's sash before you go insulting him."
"J'Mara?"
A familiar, grinning face turned to greet him from the co-pilot's seat. Cheeks pink from the wind. Eyes crinkled with the force of her smile.
"Decided to come with you." And there. A surprise you had no idea about. You see, a bit of practice, and we'll be able to tuck things away from one another. You should see your face!
"I-" Vuron's mouth closed with an audible snap. You are coming with me? And somehow, I find it more logical that you hadn't planned this at all. Of the two of us, you are the one more likely to be inspired into impetuous-
"Stunned to silence, eh? My great beauty does that." She fluffed her hair in a comedic show for the pilot. I do not mind talking to you like this, but you will have to form words out loud for our friend here.
"I am stunned by the honor you give me, my lady," Vuron found himself saying. Please... explain. I am lost. His fingers clenched into fists at his side.
I know you ache to touch me, husband, but ease yourself. This man is a spy for another lord. "Little honor. I need to speak with my lady, I am simply keeping my pilot at home. The weather is atrocious."
The pilot, A spy?, barked a laugh. "If you think the weather is so bad, tell your lady to hire someone else to fly it. Or better yet, a shuttle younger than thirty years old. Thrusters heated. Starting sequence. Best turn your seat around, Lady J'Mara. The cross winds are treacherous around your landing pad."
Why does she employ a spy?
J'Mara flipped her seat around and locked it into place.
Better the spy you know than the one you don't. This is the one Chijqa entrusted you to? When you were in your blood fever? I will have to speak with him.
The pilot was closer to death, in here with me, than he knew.
J'Mara found some explanation for her unexpected laughter.
"What do you need to speak with Lady Bel'tath about?"
She flipped a loose wrist about in an odd, effeminate manner.
"That means, boy, that she needs to talk woman things with our Lady."
Boy? "Woman things?"
Ease yourself, husband. To one who has not tested your blade, you do look quite young.
"My wife does that too," the pilot waggled his hand back and forth. "When I will get no answer from her."
"I thank you for the translation." It is insulting.
Battle the slights intended, let the others skitter off your armor unheeded. "I should think no translation is needed. Do not your Vulcanoid women have such issues?"
"If they do, they do not speak of it with me."
He felt her warm smile.
In truth, I wish to formally request permission to wed you. Traditionally, I would ask the lady of the house that I am marrying into for permission, go through their rites...
But I have no house, no lady. The ache of his lost homeworld, familiar and painful, tugged at his side.
You would have no house or lady anyway, J'Mara responded. She made a show, for the pilot, of crossing her arms over her ample breasts and closing her eyes for a nap. Vuron opened the sack and pulled out a hot loaf of bread and tore chunks from it, keeping his mouth and hands occupied. You should tear larger pieces and stuff them in your mouth. You are too delicate.
A year ago I would not eat with bare hands at all. Vuron swallowed a sigh and plucked a larger chunk and tucked it into his cheek the way she thought he should be eating, masticating slowly and swallowing the crumbles as he went. Should I be requesting permission to join her house?
For once, it was J'Mara's mind filled with a jumble of permutations as to how to deal with the situation.
Men did not ask to join a wife's house. J'Mara led her own house, thus she declared him part of hers. But Bel'tath could see such a declaration as a bid for power, especially if she assumed J'Mara intended to make alliances with the Vulcans behind her back. Correcting the Lady, telling her that actually, Vuron held a place of dishonor among his people, would not settle that dispute, but raise others. She'd question J'Mara's loyalty. Question if J'Mara intended on dragging Bel'tath's name through the mud. Vuron could request permission to join Bel'tath's house as J'Mara's wife... but J'Mara had no interest in that.
Vuron delved into the rites a wife goes through to be approved, curiosity getting the better of him.
I could do those, he figured. Quite easily, in fact. ...If it kept your House stable, I am willing to request the right to be your wife. Such labels mean little to me when I'm not on-
J'Mara snorted under her breath.
Shut up. It matters to me. I might consult the archives before going to Bel'tath. You have special access in your quarters, yes?
He nodded before tearing off another unmanageable hunk of bread.
Good. I think I would like a night to rest before facing her regardless.
Vuron's mind slowed to sludge as he saw her intention to spend the night in his quarters. In the house provided. For the Vulcans. With his coworkers. And the Ambassador.
Oh Kahless.
I will be on my best behavior. Now eat some of those roasted tubers. For the first time in my life they smell delicious and I'm hungry. Or you're hungry.
There is enough, if you want some.
She snorted again and shifted to find a less comfortable position to lean her head.
J'Mara did eat one of the roasted tubers, eventually, when she discovered that no amount of eating Vuron did filled her stomach. Of course, the tender flesh had gone cold and hard at that point. The pilot enjoyed laughing at her over that. A quick glare quieted him.
I have another stipulation, love.
Oh?
I will bare your children.
Vuron coughed around a mouthful of boiled grain.
"You okay back there, little Vulcan lord?"
"Yes," Vuron spat out between coughs. "Over cooked."
"Ah, that's why I only eat the freshest gak."
Children? J'Mara... t'hy'la... love... you do realize the... genetic impossibility. I can not impregnate you.
Klingon genetics are far more adaptable than any stubborn Vulcan could possibly imagine. Do you think we conquered all of the planets in the Empire by blood? Her mirth washed over him. Klingon blood is quite strong, my love. Quite adaptable.
So, if I created a genetic profile, of all the Klingons, across the Empire-
You would find a spectrum of genetic diversity.
Vuron let himself consider that while he plucked out chunks of unidentifiable bits from the gruel.
That versatility, while fascinating, still holds little weight. I do not physically have the capability to do what you are requesting.
We will see. I know I will enjoy the attempting. We will have to practice frequently.
"Coming on the capital now. Where shall I land?"
"Hmph. Wind is picking up. Split the difference."
She ordered the man to land a comfortable distance away from the Vulcan compound.
Halfway between Bel'tath's house in the Capital and your home. He will make his own assumptions.
She made a show of picking up his bat'leth and the sack with the remaining food, commenting on how weak these damn Vulcans were, before waving the pilot off.
Here, between the tall, curved buildings, the winds twisted erratically.
"May he crash someplace useful," J'Mara spat.
"I thought the spy you knew was better than the one you didn't?"
She huffed. With a glance around to find an unoccupied alleyway, she led the way.
"All these politics. I prefer a blade in my hand. None of this shadow dagger stuff."
In the darkness of the ally, she reached under his cloak to secure his bat'leth against his back. Tender hands found the places where not so many layers separated their skin.
"Lead the way back to the house assigned to you? If we take a direct route, we should be back before your pesky Ambassador Sranak returns."
Vuron felt his lips quirk, the flutter of annoyance that she'd looked into his mind for the daily schedule lost in the ideas that suggested themselves over what they could do to occupy themselves with in the precious couple hours left to them before his return.
Her bare fingertips grazed his lips before she reached up and secured the gorget back into place.
You worry that you show too much emotion in your face.
He nodded, both to her spoken question and unspoken comment. J'Mara tossed the sack over her shoulder and peaked out of the mouth of the alley before waving him forward.
You show barely any. Your idea of a smile, a real smile, tightens your eyes some, along with that little tilt of your lips. Your gorgeous lips, by the way.
What is subtle to you, screams to my people, Vuron countered, checking for landmarks before selecting a path. Why this sudden interest in my facial expressions?
It bothers you, she shrugged. And there is worry that you will be indiscreet as you bring me in. That the lust in your eyes will be a beacon that will disgust and horrify those men and women you work with.
One who has fully inundated themselves in Surak's teachings would not show any emotion on their face. Would not have emotions to worry about showing.
Oh you know that is not true. Emotions tightly shackled are still quite there. Quite alive. They are simply waiting for the day that they are released. Pressure built up like that can be explosive.
Her thoughts turned to his blood fever, wondering if it might not strike so hard if one embraced their emotions between the cycle. Vuron wouldn't be one to know.
The wind buffered them down nearly empty streets. Midday, and no shoppers, no diplomats or lords or warriors running too or fro. Too cold, even for the stalwart Warrior Caste.
Vuron found himself slipping off the outer fur gloves, slipping them into a hidden inner pocket. The inner, fingerless gloves, left just enough of his skin exposed to the cold air to get comfortable.
Have I swaddled you too much? J'Mara asked, her own gloves now tucked away as well.
I have no comment.
Cold fingertips found one another as they walked side-by-side. J'Mara laughing aloud at the not-subtle pretense for physical contact.
The Ambassador's home looked exactly as he remembered. J'Mara wondered if they'd have to wait for someone to answer the door, but Vuron let himself in with a quick input of his security code.
"Brr! I don't think I've ever felt such a cold winter."
"I know I haven't."
They fell into silence while they shook off the worst of the snow from their cloaks. Vuron's ears tuned to the activity in the halls. Quiet. Only a couple people puttering about in the kitchen.
You are on guard.
I have been out of communication for many days. And I was hardly fit enough to do my job when the fever first took me.
They stilled their bodies at the quite approach of two sets of feet. Light, quiet, and even, like most Vulcans. The slight shuffle of one, and the quick percussion of the other, informed him of their identity.
It didn't, however, prepare him for the eyes widened in terror, lips parted, prepared for a scream.
"I have returned," he hastened to correct assumptions, quickly unbuttoning the wool gorget and pushing back the concealing hood of his cloak. He hadn't considered how his tall frame, silhouette altered by the many layers of fur and wool, might look. None in this household had seen him in anything other than his uniform or meditation robes.
The eyes of the elderly cook took a fraction longer than his assistant to return to normal.
"Vuron. You survived."
"I have."
Judging eyes passed between their security officer and his guest. They assumed that she was his mate, correctly. He saw it in the way their gazes flicked down to where their fingers had been intwined a moment before. Too ignorant of Klingon ways to be unaware of the fact that such a familiar gesture meant nothing to their hosts.
"You are well."
"I am."
J'Mara huffed. She tossed back her hood with a careless hand. Grinned her familiar, feral grin, before taking his fingers in his own again. Exasperated by the careful politics with underlings.
"I nearly froze my eyebrows off out there. You are the cook, yes?" She waited a long while for a responding nod. "Good. Hot tea, please. Bring it up to Officer Vuron's room. Not much point standing in the doorway all day, eh bondmate? You said your room is up this way?"
Her fingers wrapped tightly around his, leading the way as he silently pointed it out.
No one calls me Officer.
You are worthy of your job title, you earned it love.
A tendril of warmth passed between them. The door closed behind them with a solid thunk. J'Mara spared no time, tossing him against it's solid surface. Hands deftly undoing all the buttons and latches, divesting him of the cloak. Bat'leth fell to the floor without ceremony. Sharp little claws found their way between the layers of wool to his skin, teeth snagging on his lips.
Kahless. To have you so close but not touch you. My hands are burning.
Vuron growled into her mouth. His own hands desperate to touch, to fill himself with her warmth. His aching, cold hands slipped into her armor, filling his palms with the soft, warm globes of her breasts.
They moaned in tandem. Her nippled pebbling at the cold intrusion. Ropes of pure lust whipping down to their nethers. Her hips bucked against his. Claws tugging at his hair.
A quiet knock on the door vibrated through Vuron's shoulders. They froze. J'Mara pulled back, grinning.
She situated herself at his computer, booting the machine up. Other than the plump, warm look of her freshly bitten lips, she had the ability to compose herself with a startling swiftness. With a quick thought from her, he brushed his fingers through his disheveled hair before opening the door.
The cook's young assistant looked back and forth between the two of them, tray balanced between her hands.
Do all of your people look so haunted?
"Thank you," Vuron said, stepping back to allow her to enter.
"I warmed some bread and honey as well," the assistant murmured. Her voice at a volume polite for a Vulcan, cool and modulated. "I assumed a pot and two mugs would be preferred."
"That is an acceptable assumption."
Vuron gestured to his computer table, the only flat surface with enough clear space for the large metal tray. He sucked in the familiar scent of the spiced tea. A scent that dredged up images of home and family and happier memories that he had precious few of.
J'Mara ached to go to him, but he closed his eyes and pushed down the just-as-familiar feeling of homesickness.
Of course we are all haunted.
The split second of emotional indiscretion was missed completely by the young woman.
She stood completely still, tray hovering over the table, staring at the Klingon in Vuron's seat.
I believe you will have to rescue her.
"T'Sai? You may place the tray down now. I will return it to the kitchens when we are done."
"Yes. Yes, of course. Vuron. You are... bonded with a Klingon."
Not exactly a question. The staff had expected him to walk into the woods and expire, as he had. His survival did not meet the expectation of statistical probability.
She is afraid that when her time comes, she will find herself bonded to a barbarian as well, love. Easy enough to figure that out.
Vuron sighed. "Yes. I have survived my Time by bonding with a Klingon. It is not politically respectable to announce this, and introduce my bondmate, to anyone but the Ambassador first."
"Y- yes." She blinked long and slow, tucking her hands behind her back. Vuron allowed her the moment to collect herself. "It is appropriate, then, for me to inform you that the Ambassador has not returned to the house for two days. We have not been informed of his intended return date."
J'Mara studied the girl. Her thoughts racing to dark places, looking for stress and worry where none would be found.
"The negotiation staff?"
"Are with Ambassador Sranak."
"His current whereabouts?"
"We have been informed that they are touring the Houses of the Council members. There was a vote to leave the city before the winter blizzards made travel impossible."
"Please inform the rest of the house staff that I have returned."
She nodded, accepting the dismissal.
"You should have asked her more questions," J'Mara stated blandly, once the door closed behind T'Sai.
"She has told us all that she knows." Vuron reached for the pot and poured them both a healthy dollop of the tea. He brought the red earthenware to his nose. Savored the layers of deep scented spice.
J'Mara had her cup lifted to her nose as well. She'd expected to enjoy the scent, based on Vuron's memory of it, but the reality wrinkled her nose.
"Ug. That's..." Bitter. "Very strong."
Vuron smirked and took a long drink.
J'Mara sputtered into her cup and set it aside.
"You may enjoy the rest of that pot. I will stick with bloodwine. What if she'd holding something back?"
"Unlikely. She is concerned for the Ambassador. All of the information the house staff received was second hand. They would not have had the ability, or training, to check the accuracy of the information. When she informs the rest of those still here of my return, I am sure others will come with additional information. If there is any to be had. The most likely individuals would be the pilots, but the Chancellor insisted that we utilize his shuttles and people for the duration of negotiations."
J'Mara grumbled, her fingers straying to his computer. She delved into databases, skimming notifications and general alerts that had built up while he was away, without conscious knowledge of the fact she wasn't literate in the language the screen displayed.
"Oh why did you notice that? Now I can't read a blasted thing."
Vuron allowed a real smile, indulged in another long sip from the mug, before returning it to the tray.
"Give me a moment, and I can change the UI to Klingonese."
He leaned over the display, her shoulder touching his side. He dismissed the windows that had opened automatically, and ones that J'Mara had opened, before delving into the system interface.
"Interesting that you have it set up to give readouts in other languages."
"Sranak required full fluency in all of his negotiation staff. It is good practice. I simply prefer keeping it in Vulcan for security sake. I haven't met many from Qo'Nos that know my language. Fewer who could get through my firewalls so easily."
Her hands reached up between his, fingers grazing a moment in a chaste kiss before she took over. Looking for data through her channels.
"They are in recess," she grumbled. "Not out of the ordinary. Would your Ambassador be so trusting to go into an unknown House without his security officer?"
Vuron allowed his mild irritation be his sole answer.
Neither found evidence for where his current location might be.
"There is a higher probability that he would be with the Chancellor. I will send a comm request for-"
"No. I don't like this situation, love. Lady Bel'tath hates her lands in winter. She stays in the city, even if the snow creeps up past the second window." Her fingers quickly pulled up weather announcement in the general 'net. "If I head out now, I can get there in two hours."
"You might be snowed in at her house if you walk," Vuron said. Stray thoughts of how they'd intended to spend the rest of the day swam through his mind. He sighed, resigned to the fact that they needed a confidential word with a trusted Councilwoman more than he needed to taste his mate again.
J'Mara growled next to him. "You're tempting me."
Vuron stifled a smile. "My apologies. I allowed my mind to wander. I will go speak to one of the pilots. Our shuttles might not have phasers, but they have more than adequate shielding for the current weather."
Her fingers grazed his again as he stood.
"I will return shortly."
She rolled her eyes, already knowing his intent before he said it.
Vuron pounded down the stairs while J'Mara remained in his room. Reams of data flowed through his mind's eye as J'Mara continued her research on his computer.
When I enter his room, please refrain from reading so much. I do not think I will be capable of splitting my attention to that extent.
He felt her amusement as he knocked on the pilot's door.
An older man answered the door.
We are beginning to look haunted, he thought, taking in the man's sunken eyes and cheeks. While they utilized the Chancellor's people for the day-to-day travels, the two men had little to do. If he hazarded a guess, he would assume Jannek had fallen into a spiral of meditation and closing out the pain of the world around him. A shadow of his former self. Gaunt. Dying in small measures.
"Vuron."
"Jannek. May I enter?"
The man stepped back. The second pilot sat on a meditation mat, candle on the low table before him, in their shared quarters.
"I have been informed that Ambassador Sranak and the other negotiators have been... invited to visit the councilors halls during the blizzard. Do you have further information?"
"We were informed by courier. Unmarked shuttle."
"Badges on the courier's armor?" Vuron asked, the fingers of one hand straying to the emblem of J'Mara's house on his own chest.
Jannek blinked at him, seeming to take in the Klingon armor for the first time.
"I did not notice any particular badge. They did not wear sashes like that. Just a braided cord across the chest. Disrupter pistols at the hip."
"Men? Women? How many."
"Three. Male."
"Age? Appearance?"
"Young." His shoulder lifted in a minute shrug. "I did not notice any distinguishing features."
One can't help but wonder if there were no distinguishing features, he does not remember it because of his emotional state, or species prejudice has innately caused him to be incapable of differentiating between individuals.
"I require your service. Are you capable of piloting a shuttle across the city? To Lady Bel'tath's city residence?"
The Vulcan tilted his head a moment, considering, then nodded.
Tell him he will be taking me, love. You should stay here and question the other pilot when he comes out of his meditations. I have private things to speak of with my lady, along with digging for information.
As you will.
"You will be taking a Klingon dignitary, and will remain at their landing pad until she is prepared to return. Is this acceptable?"
He nodded. "I will prepare myself. When is transport needed?"
"Within fifteen minutes," Vuron replied, mentally flicking his mate to see how much longer she needed at his computer. "She will meet you at the landing pad."
Jannek nodded again, dismissing Vuron.
Vuron returned to his room, standing next to his bondmate, absorbing data as she did. Enjoying her warm presence. Exploring the process of how she read, compared to his own habits. She saw each word separately, forming sounds from the symbols they represented, then processed the sound of a complete sentence to absorb the data.
She sat back a moment, curious as to how he read.
With a quick switch back to his native language, he scrolled through several pages of data. The Vulcan language flowing, beautiful, incomprehensible to J'Mara's eye at that speed. He took in several lines at once, practiced eyes picking out nouns and verbs, leaving descriptors and connecting words behind. Efficiently plucking out the essence of several sentences at the same time, taking in data without enjoying the style of writing or the aesthetic aspects of the font. Only slowing to read an unabridged line when the pertinent data seemed relevant to J'Mara's search parameters.
"You take all of the enjoyment of the language out of the act of reading."
"And you read political commentary as if it were poetry. Jannek is waiting, t'hy'la. Have we retrieved what you needed?"
"I believe so." Her lips claimed his, teeth taking his lower lip while her fingers tangled in his. He sighed into the taste and smells she passed him. How his tongue tasted after drinking the horrible, bitter tea. "I need to leave now. Or I will still get snowed in. It would be much more interesting to do that in your room."
"I do not disagree."
Vuron's hands traced the metal of her breastplate. Evening out where it had shifted from sitting. Checking her weapons. Wrapping her cloak back around her shoulders.
"Privacy, while you speak with your lady?"
She nodded. "If we can."
They walked, shoulders grazing, to the landing pad. Twisting wind, dusted with fat, wet flakes of snow. Peppering her hair, her eyelashes in miniscule ice crystals. Engines of the little shuttle already fired up and ready for them.
"Live long and prosper, my love."
Vuron blinked at her, surprised by her offer of the ta'al.
"Peace and long life," he replied automatically.
You are expecting trouble?
I always expect trouble. I am making a good show for your pilot.
Vuron's stomach did an odd little flip at her toothy grin.
Be safe.
He stood in the wind for a long moment, feeling more than the physical cold as the shuttle took his bondmate away from him.
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Far Away From Home