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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
- 19
- 20
A/N: Trigger warning: Um. Not sure how to word this one. Physical harm instead of emotional one? I guess? The next chapter will be full adventure and Klingon-fun.

A quiet knock on the door pulled Vuron out of a deep, restful sleep.

"A moment," he called out.

J'Mara grumbled as he slipped out of her warm embrace. With a glance at the mess from the previous night, discarded clothes strewn about, dishes tumbling away from the tray, he retrieved a fresh uniform from his storage locker.

"Jannek," Vuron greeted the pilot. He remained in the open doorway, not inviting the man in. Unsuccessfully blocking his gaze from the chaos behind him.

"Altern Vuron."

Jannek's eyes strayed down, and to Vuron's left, hovering there for several long, awkward moments.

"Report, pilot."

"Ah, yes," Jannek's eyes snapped back up to his. "Subspace message came in for the house. Answering a request made by General J'Mara."

"What do they want?" a rumbling voice called from behind him.

"The man will not state his business to me," Jannek replied, keeping his eye contact with the security officer.

"Patch the incoming message to my computer terminal."

"Yes, sir."

Jannek nodded, turned on his heel, and disappeared down the hall.

"General J'Mara?" He closed the door behind him.

His mate stretched languorously, the covers falling away to expose dark skin, all the way to her thighs.

"Is my husband jealous?"

"Jealous?"

"He was staring at me."

"Jealousy is illogical in this circumstance. It is highly unlikely that he has interest in you as a potential mate, thus my position is not threatened. You are attempting to distract me,General."

Her grin was one of triumph, until another stretch tumbled her loose curls over her face.

"You never asked my rank. I've given up active campaigning, so not many use the title anymore."

He sat at his computer terminal, booting it up while listening to her.

"This is how you just-so-happen to have several starships, ready to be at the ambassador's service?"

She hummed an agreement. "Ships taken in battle, honorably. The men on board are my own. From my house, or students of mine."

"Is there anything else I should be aware of, before I open this channel?"

"Your hair is askew."

He flattened his hair with his fingers before selecting the blinking icon on his terminal.

A growling, furious male Klingon filled his screen.

"Another damn Vulcan."

"Qapla'," Vuron greeted, settling back into his seat. "You wish to speak with General J'Mara?"

"Yes. I didn't expect to be greeted by yet another stone-face, pale alien after being on hold for so long-"

"How long you wait is none of my business," J'Mara answered. She stepped up behind Vuron, barely covered in a loose wrap of his bedsheets. He drank in the sight of her, the appealing way she'd casually brushed her thick mane of hair over one shoulder. The uninhibited confidence in her posture.

"General. It is good to see you in such... good health."

"You as well, General Morr'gath. The years have only added to your rugged intensity."

Morr'gath, an extraordinarily aesthetically displeasing man, his face torn with plasma burns, beamed at his mate over her compliments. Vuron found himself disliking the way the man's knowing eyes passed over his mate's sinuous form.

"J'Mara?" Vuron interjected.

Her heat pressed against his shoulder. Her fingers met his outstretched digits.

"I have been remiss, General Morr'gath," J'Mara's voice held a smile. "This is my husband, Altern Vuron."

"Never thought you'd be one to marry one of those..." Morr'gath trailed off as Vuron lifted their joined fingers to his lips in a kiss more recognizable by a Klingon.

"You know my strategy in battle; never give up an advantage when offered one."

The man's face softened into a fond smile. "Well now I know why you've come out of sabbatical. When I first saw the signature on the message, I thought someone'd gotten to your codes."

"Hmph. Well, as you see, they are my codes. What word do you have for me?"

He nodded. "The Chancellor's people are tightlipped over this-"

"Maybe they've finally learned after that scandal with the Trill woman."

"Hmm. Regardless, I cornered one handmaiden and... persuaded her to let slip his whereabouts, at least."

"Good. And?"

"I got a message through. After a bit of... persuading, I got an answer. 'The Chancellor graciously declines the offer of a meeting with the honored general from Councilwoman Bel'tath's house."

"That is all?" J'Mara growled.

"Yes. That was the only answer his people gave."

She snarled and pounded a fist against the table.

"But, I'll do you one better, General. For a price."

"Now you sound like a Ferengi."

The burned Klingon's face pulled into a lopsided grin. "Perhaps. There is rumor of war."

"There is always rumor of war. Civil war. Raids. Great battles for territory, resources, love. You will have to be specific, Morr'gath."

His eyes flicked over to Vuron, and back to hers. "No, not in front of the smoothface. Let's just say, I want a place on one of your ships."

"My ships do little more than run currier, Morr'gath. No great honors will be won under my flag."

"'Currier' runs. Hm. So, is that why they're coming in to Qo'Nos at maximum warp? From what my spies tell me, the Tel'pret nearly burned out her core passing through a plasma storm. Not very smart, pushing them like that."

"The Tel'pret is bringing in a shipment of locar seedlings. I can't seem to get them growing up on the mountain side. I figured if I brought them in at the two leaf stage, I'd have better chance at a good crop. And you know how sensitive locar plants are. Only takes a day outside their atmosphere before they whither away."

"Locar seedlings. In the middle of the worst blizzard the capital's seen in four decades."

"So I'm planting early."

Tinny laughter rattled Vuron's speakers. "Fine. Fine. Of course you're planting early. Just remember, when you need another gardner to help pull weeds, that I'm able and willing."

"Well, if I find myself in need of a gardner, I will know who to contact."

"Good. The Chancellor is still at his city home, on the northern side. He got caught in the storm before his shuttle could take off. Qapla' General."

"Qapla'!"

J'Mara sagged against his shoulder.

"Well then, that's where we go next."

"To the Chancellor's home?"

"Yes. Won't do us any good to talk with him, but if I can sneak into the servant's quarters, I'll get more reliable information."

"The servant's quarters? Not the warrior's barracks?"

"His warriors will recognize me. I've taught, or commanded, a good number of them. The servants, however," she shrugged and allowed his blanket to fall, revealing her graceful, muscular form. "Now tell me, why the show for Morr'gath, but not for Jannek?"

"What 'show' are you referring to?"

She finished tugging up her leggings before returning to his side long enough to pick up his hand and touch her lips to his knuckles, as he did minutes before.

"Ah."

"'Ah,' nothing. The next time you say Vulcans don't feel jealousy, I'm going to kiss your knuckles and you'll remember that silly little show. And I will be glad for it."

"Why be glad about my emotional responses?"

"Because you being jealous means I'm worth being jealous over." She tugged on his earlobe and returned to arming herself.

He watched her body twist and bend until she'd covered up with her woolen underthings. He sighed, contemplating a hot breakfast and a good measure of spiced tea, before collecting his own underthings.

Layer upon layer he tugged on, frustrated with himself for not hanging things better. The snow had melted and settled into a cold dampness in the creases of a good measure of his things. He shook out an overtunic, eyeing dark patches in the thick material around the elbows and wrists before tugging it over his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Arming myself," Vuron replied, once his head escaped the wool.

"I can see that. Why are you doing that?"

"I am going with you."

"No, you aren't. I'm not sure if you saw the weather reports yesterday, but this blizzard is settling over the capital for four days, maybe five."

"Yes, I saw."

"Then why," she snagged his wrist before he pulled on the leather armor. "Stop that. Why are you arming yourself? You're not going out in that!"

"You think I am going to let you go out on your own, in that?"

"You're not going with me to Chancellor Ka'Tra. You'll loose toes in the snow!"

"Lucky for me you are not sexually aroused by my toes."

"That's not the point! What are you going to do, walk up to his house with me, then stay outside while I sneak in and question his people? You stand out like a red targ in a herd."

He tugged the last of his armor out of her hands, and continued dressing himself. She snorted at his stubbornness. Vuron handed her armor over as he came across it, and eventually she finished assembling her own armor.

The last thing he pulled on was the fur lined, hooded jacket. He didn't latch the gorget.

"The hood hides your smooth forehead, but not your chin or your hands," she grumbled.

He nodded and commed the doctor. T'Sai knocked on their door a few minutes later.

"Doctor T'Sai," he greeted, allowing her in. At least, by the time she entered, he'd collected the dirty trays, made the bed, and gathered the remains of his soiled clothing.

"What do you need?" The early morning, or the obvious urgency in the body language, keeping her Standard less formal.

"We are going to gather further information," Vuron answered, keeping purposefully vague. He didn't want any of the ambassador's people hurt for what J'Mara planned. "I need my skin darkened."

T'Sai's eyes thinned to distrustful slits, but she fumbled around in her medical bag.

"Do you think you can change my face too?" J'Mara asked.

"I can not change your markings. But I can increase your natural pigmentation. Decreasing it is outside of my abilities with what I brought to Qo'Nos."

J'Mara chuckled. "Only a little darker, then. Enough that someone who knows me might not recognize me at first glance. Same with Altern Vuron. He doesn't need to be as dark as I am."

She modified the setting on a dermal regenerator and began passing it back and forth over his face in large, sweeping gestures.

J'Mara let out a long, low whistle. "That's impressive."

"No, this is impressive." T'Sai brought it back up to his forehead and the beam passed in quick back and forth motions up and down several times before she did another set of sweeps from hairline to collarbone.

"Hands too," J'Mara prompted.

Vuron held his hands out, now able to watch as the first sweep took him to the darkest sun-kissed tan he'd ever received as a child, and a second pass took him a few shades darker.

"The tone isn't right," he noted. "Too yellow."

"Klingon blood is red. I do not have the ability to cover our green blood."

"It works well enough, to my eyes," J'Mara answered. "You just look like a sickly engineer who's been around one of the bad warp cores a few years. Have anything for his hair?"

"No. Unless he plans to shave it. I can increase the hair growth when he returns. If he returns."

Vuron frowned.

"Is there anything I can say to the others?" T'Sai asked.

"No," J'Mara answered for him. She sighed, staring at his computer terminal for a moment. "No, I do. There's a battle cruiser on its way here, with two scout ships as escort. I'm not going to attempt another contact with them. It might give away their position.

"When they arrive, they will give you a code, in Vulcan. I can't even say it now. 'Trust logic, it will lead you home safely. Do not trust logic, it lies under the knife.' However it's translated, in that formal version of your language."

"An odd statement."

"I wanted something that no one would guess. When the captain beams down, he will tell you this statement. If anyone else comes and does not have the pass, kill them. My captain will take everyone still in this house off world. To the human homeworld. Or the Betazoid homeworld. Where ever you'd like. Trust them. They're seasoned warriors."

T'Sai straightened up. Her passive, cool eyes meeting J'Mara's in a challenge as old as time.

"Thank you."

J'Mara nodded. "Tell everyone to pack quietly. Carefully. No special movements or actions that can be visible from outside."

T'Sai nodded to both of them. "I wish you success."

"Thank you," J'Mara replied. They watched the doctor as she gathered her things and left without further word. "I think that was the most Klingon thing I've heard from her."

"I agree."

Vuron stepped over to the small mirror he'd equipped the room with. Not much larger than the area needed to check his hair; he grew up hating mirrors, distrusting the lies that they told with no remorse.

"The effect isn't perfect, but head on with your hood up, it'll work."

T'Sai had painted on the shadows of a ridged forehead that didn't exist. He lifted up the neat line of his bangs to examine it closer. Indeed, viewed straight on, the chiaroscuro effect was effective enough. He tested his angles, twisting his head this way and that, discovering how much he needed to be able to see from each eye to determine that the individual looking at him would see what he needed them to see.

"The hair ruins the effect."

"It does," J'Mara agreed, sweeping her hands through his hair to tug it away. "Do you have some hair cream? Maybe we can pull it back. Make it look like you have a neat braid, or something."

"No. T'Sai had the correct idea. I will need to shave it. I have seen plenty enough warriors with clean pates. It is only hair."

She nuzzled a cheek on the back of his head a moment before pulling away and retrieving the d'k tagh from his scabbard.

He removed a few layers, not wanting to have hair snippets irritating his skin, or the evidence of being freshly shorn about his shoulders. He sat at his desk, her fingers quick and a tad rough as she pulled one handful after another taunt enough for the blade to catch. Eventually, she'd removed enough that she finally wet his scalp with cold tea and scraped from forehead to nape, ear to ear, until her fingers only met smoothness.

Vuron scrubbed his exposed skin with an old shirt until he no longer felt the itch.

J'Mara snickered to herself in a corner.

"Yes?"

"I think T'Sai should stick to her doctoring."

He returned to the mirror. Frowned over the results. Instead of a dark crown, he now owned a nearly white one. His ears stuck out like handles to a tea mug.

"Just keep your hood up... and we'll have T'Sai color the rest of that before we go."

She wiped a bit of hair that he'd missed and assisted his redressing.

"Do you think you can do anything about his ears," J'Mara asked T'Sai, once they cornered her in the kitchens. "They... stick out so."

The doctor frowned over them as she worked the dermal regenerator over his scalp. "I can remove them, I suppose. If I scramble this unit some, I can make it look like scar tissue. Or maybe the cook can take a hot poker to his skull. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Hm. A hot poker might look like he was branded. Can you make it look like a plasma burn? Of course, we'd have to find a way to make it look reasonable that he'd have a burn on both sides of his head."

"You know," T'Sai said, slamming down the regenerator on the table and turning to glare at his bondmate. "For a creature who thinks she is in love with a Vulcan, you have some interesting ways to show it."

J'Mara grinned, a low growl rumbling her throat. "I do love him, as illogical as it is. And disfiguring him would make him more likely to live through this insanity. I'd rather a living mate with no ears than a dead one."

T'Sai blinked, all of her steam instantly gone.

"May I have a say in this?" The two women turned to him. "They are my ears, after all."

J'Mara nodded after a long moment.

"If I remember Doctor, you have a small cryostasis unit? Incase any of us ah... lost a body part in some misunderstanding?"

"Yes. For fingers and the like, if they were chopped off in a Klingon ritual."

"Right. So... cut them off and cauterize the wound. If you keep the ears in stasis, you can reattach them when I bring back the Ambassador."

Her eyes softened a minute amount before pressing a hypo against his neck.

J'Mara took a seat on the bench with him. She collected his hands and clutched onto him tightly.

"Hey... can we meld before you do that? I... I want to support him while you cut off body parts."

"No, my cherished."

He tightened his fingers around hers and closed his eyes. T'Sai hovered behind him, waiting for the painkiller to take effect. He felt the pulse of his bondmate through his sensitive fingertips. The passage of her breath past the bare skin at his temple. Meditation might be prudent. Unattainable, but prudent.

At best, he tucked the rising whisper of panic into a tiny box and tucked it into the farthest closet of his mind.

"Are thee prepared?"

Vuron let out a long breath.

"As prepared as I can be."

He didn't feel anything, other then the occasional tug. The sound of his skin sizzling, however, echoed around in his skull. The occasional tinny pop and drift of smoke to his nose proceeded every clench of J'Mara's hands.

"A moment more to finish cauterizing."

His bondmate's hands shifted then tightened again as smoke filled the room. Smoke, and the smell of cooked meat. His cooked meat.

"I will retrieve water to clean the mess."

"No," J'Mara shouted. Her hands released him with a quick forcefulness. Vuron blinked his eyes open. She'd lunged upright. Reached over his shoulder to stop the doctor before she turned. "I will do it."

"I will leave you to his care, then."

He listened to her bag shut. The quiet whisper of silk as she left the room. The puttering about as J'Mara opened one cabinet after another before finally snagging a huge soup pot and filling it from the spigot.

She stood behind him, some coarse cloth dragging at his neck. Her warmth touching his back.

Her hands trembling.

He reached up and caught one, pulling it away to examine the cloth. Stained quite green. He swallowed several times.

"Vuron... I... Oh, my husband."

She collapsed into his lap. Arms reaching to wrap around his neck, flinching away, going around his middle instead. She didn't look him in the eye.

He held her tight until her arms went slack around them.

"I know you have seen worse, my cherished," he whispered around the knot in his throat.

"I... I have. But being wounded in battle is different. It isn't bending to the knife like an animal offering it's throat for the slaughter. Your face did not even twitch."

"A Vulcan can fold away pain and discomfort when needed," Vuron conceded. "But T'Sai gave me an analgesic the only discomfort I experienced was minor. If this change to my appearance keeps us both alive, then it must be made."

She nodded against his chest.

"I don't think I'll be able to eat meat again for a while."

He tightened his grip a moment longer before releasing her completely. "We are wasting daylight. We should leave."

"Damn cold Vulcan. Damn your control."

"Indeed."

J'Mara took a moment to wipe the rest of his blood away.

Her hands trembled too much to do up all the clasps on his cloak, so he took over. Glad now for the gorget, since even in the temperature controlled setting of the Ambassador's rented house, he felt very cold indeed.
- 19
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Far Away From Home