Title: Along Comes a Stranger (23/28)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: AU. Jim’s life in Riverside is uncomplicated until two men, both equally mysterious and compelling, arrive in town, bringing with them the promise of change.
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Part Twenty-Three

Jim expects to be blindfolded; after all, he doubts many people see the inside of the Q compound and live to tell about it. Yet, the driver parks the car (Jim eyes the blank-faced men guarding the tall double gates) and escorts Jim through the front door, pausing only to bow to a butler twice Jim’s size. Jim is then left standing in a seemingly endless hallway.

Jim calls to the man’s retreating back, “Where am I supposed to go?”

The driver stops, turning. “Lady Q is not stringent concerning the freedom of her guests, Mr. Kirk. You may go anywhere you wish within these walls, but do not leave the campus until her Ladyship dismisses you.”

Campus? Exactly how big is this place?

Jim starts walking—wandering, really. The people, all in matching dark uniforms, he passes do not spare him a glance, not even when he tries a cautious hello. He could be a ghost.

There is an art gallery through one door and a ballroom behind another; he finds a courtyard with trees whose branches are reaching for the stars. Jim briefly considers climbing one of the trees, nighttime or not, and onto the roof. Except then he’d have to find his way down the other side.

He doubts her Ladyship would be amused if her guest broke his leg and spoiled her evil plans.

Kirk retreats back into a hallway sporting tasteful sculptures and Chinese vases and the occasional full-length mirror. Funny, if he were in a gothic novel (not that Jim has ever read one, especially not the kind with terrified governesses and emotionally repressed lords and dark family secrets; they’re his mother’s paperbacks, not his), this would be a castle with scary shadows and ominous sounds. Yet the feeling Jim has is quite the opposite: there is a strange, stern but somewhat peaceful atmosphere, as though chaos is frowned upon and sent to a timeout like a naughty child.

He has a more pressing issue, however. Jim grimaces and silently berates his bladder for choosing now of all times to protest its full capacity. Turning in a circle, Jim tries to remember which way he had come. Maybe he can beg the butler for the nearest restroom; or at worst, piss on the man’s foot and bolt down the driveway.

He resolutely picks a direction and hurries along. A woman forms out of a shadow as he turns a corner and scares him silly.

“Mr. Kirk,” she intones.

He has to take a moment to make sure that he didn’t lose control of himself. “Yep. Er, let me interrupt. I need a bathroom—rather sooner than later.”

She turns on her heel, walks to a closed door, and waits beside it. Jim is beyond the point of caring if she listens to him pee or not and scurries inside. Within a few short minutes, he bounds out of the bathroom again, restored to the best of his ability (he even managed to wipe the dirt streak off his cheek that no one had mentioned).

Jim eyes the woman, who returns his look without changing expression (or perhaps, gaining one). “I assume you have no further need of the men’s facilities,” she states, looking pointedly at his hands as though he’d forgotten to wash them or something.

“So,” Jim says, ignoring her comment and stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. He had forgotten to wash them. “Am I going to see the Queen now?”

“Her Ladyship sympathizes with your long and weary day. She offers her hospitality. I will take you to a room to rest.”

Jim sputters. “A-Are you people serious?! I’m here against my will, and you’re pretending I’m an honored guest at a hotel!” He spins around and marches away, furious. After a few sharp turns and despite increasing his pace, he has to halt to stare down the woman silently trailing after him. “How do I get out of here?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible at this time, Mr. Kirk.”

“You will let me go.”

“You are not in danger among the Q.”

“Are you deaf?”

She blinks at him. “Are outsiders always this rude?”

That gives him pause. “Wait—what?” He frowns. “Is that what I am—an outsider?”

Her eyes peruse him from head to toe. “You are young,” she says, and that by no means answers his question. “I heard it said—that you are brash and reckless and a—” The woman quickly closes her mouth, frowning against whatever she had been about to say.

Jim puts on his charmer’s smirk and swaggers, closing the distance between them by a few feet. “I’m a what?” he asks intently.

Her frown deepens but her shoulders pull back. “It is said, Mr. Kirk, that you are a rakish man.”

He stares at her for a split second, forgetting where is he, and laughs. “I-I’m a rake? A rake? ”

“My words are not meant to humor you,” she doesn’t quite snap as he doubles over, chuckling.

“They so are,” he retorts and sucks in a breath. “I thought rakes were scandalous Dukes with too much money and not enough morals. Oh Jesus, that’s good. Wait ‘til I tell Bones!” He straightens, grinning, and tips an imaginary hat. “If I were a true rake, ma’am, I’d have charmed off your pantaloons by now, as well as the key to the front door.”

The woman’s mouth pinches. “You are overly foolish, Mr. Kirk. I do not find you amusing.” She turns on her heel and stalks toward another hallway. “Her Ladyship considers you worthy of the trust of the Q, but you are not!”

“Hey!” he calls and jogs to catch up. When Jim reaches for her arm, she gasps and skitters away from him.

“Do not touch me!” she shrills, shocked.

Okay, this woman is a little nutty, and definitely more than a drone, as she had been play-acting earlier. He raises his hands, palms out, and soothes, “I won’t put a hand on you again, honest. Think for a minute, though. I’m minding my own business—outside—and suddenly I’m here, whether I want to be or not. Then you tell me I can’t go home.” He wills her to understand. “I’ve had an experience like this before, and it didn’t end well for me.”

She sniffs, though her eyes aren’t as cold as before, and regains her calm. “We are the Q, Mr. Kirk. We are civilized. I do not lie when I say that you shall come to no harm.”

“My point is,” he says, unrelenting, “you do not have a right to keep me here.”

Hesitancy flickers across her face before she relaxes and straightens to her full height (which is considerably shorter than Kirk’s). “I cannot discuss this subject with you. It is beyond my authority.”

“Then I’ll see the Lady Q now.”

“You cannot—” Again, the hesitation. “—until tomorrow.” Her voice lowers a little, with just a hint of something other than an order. “Stay and sleep. You look—tired.”

He looks awful; dirty clothes from wallowing on the ground while Pavel beat on him, bags under his eyes from little sleep and too much worrying, and Jim is certain he hasn’t brushed his hair in two days. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

“No.”

“Fine, but I want a big fluffy bed, my own bathroom, and a serious breakfast when I wake up. No fruit. Bacon and pancakes and—”

“You may desist now, Mr. Kirk. All provided shall suffice.”

She isn’t lying. He follows her up a long flight of stairs that makes his calves hurt and to a bedroom that makes him wonder if he isn’t in the Buckingham Palace by mistake. His bed has a canopy—a white canopy and silk sheets. He could swim in the bathtub in the adjacent bathroom.

The woman retreats. “I hope you will be comfortable. Goodnight, Mr. Kirk.”

He turns around quickly. “You didn’t tell me your name,” and God if that doesn’t sound cliché. Maybe this is a paperback romance after all. Jim wills himself not to blush. “Your name,” he repeats.

“I am Q. What need have I of any other name?” She closes the door on her way out.

He waits a few minutes, listening to the echo of her footsteps die away, before testing the door. It isn’t locked. Staring between the door and the big bed, Jim sighs with finality. He really is tired, truly, and he doubts there are many hours left until Lady Q is up and about and demanding his presence for her amusement. Better to gather his strength now than end up discarded in a ditch half-dead because he stumbled over security during his escape. And crazy-eyed mastiffs. No doubt, this place has its share of guard dogs, too.

Jim’s brain is gloriously traitorous. It shuts off as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He dreams.

Bones scoops up a handful of dirt and lets it sift through his fingers. “The damn fool!”

Jim struggles to no avail (head almost underground), panics…

And wakes up, tangled in bed sheets.

A man pauses in his dragging of a breakfast cart into Jim’s room and says, “Good morning, Mr. Kirk. Her Ladyship will see you shortly. She hopes you like poached eggs.”

Jim might have been afraid of Sarek and is only beginning to suspect that he should have been more afraid of Spock’s mother. But this… this woman makes him want to curl up in a ball under a table.

“You are fidgeting, young man.”

Jim grips the arms of his chair to keep absolutely still as sharp eyes (like a crow’s) dare him to a challenge. But Jim Kirk is not foolish enough to accept, and suffer the consequences of failure.

Was this how Han Solo felt, on the run from Jabba the Hutt? Not that Lady Q is a very large woman; on the contrary, she is quite tiny (because of her advanced age, maybe?), hidden in the folds of her voluminous dress.

Lady Q snaps her fan closed.

Jim jerks. “Yes, ma’am?” he inquires politely. Why does she need a fan? The room is air-conditioned to the point of freezing. There should be icicles on the stone window ledges.

“Your mind is wandering again, Mr. Kirk,” Lady Q says with a hint of annoyance.

“Nice fan?” Jim tries.

She points it at him. If it was a saber, it would be at his throat. “Do you jest with me?” demands the old woman.

“No, ma’am.”

That must be the right answer. “Well then, shall we continue with our chat?”

What else can there be to say? Jim has already explained his life story—during which she interrupted him several times to correct his mistakes:

“No, Mr. Kirk, you were in university for thirteen days longer. Are you always this imprecise?”
“Do not slump, Mr. Kirk. Now, I seem to recall that your grandfather’s family on the paternal side originated from Ireland, not Scotland. How shameful for a man not to know his heritage!”
“You may skip those details. The very thought of arrest offends my sensibilities. Also, I read the police officer’s report. You were most heinous, Mr. Kirk—an incorrigible upstart!”

“Do we have to?” he asks plaintively and winces, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Rather than crying out “Off with his head!” and having Jim dragged out in chains like the miscreant she apparently thinks he is, Lady Q picks up her tea cup and saucer and says, mildly, “I shall call you James.”

He has never had an aunt; so he could never have had the kind of aunt people talk about hating to visit, the aunt who pinches her nephew’s cheek, smells like moth balls, and hands out one-dollar bills though she is absurdly rich.

Lady Q seems like that kind of aunt. Jim wisely keeps his mouth shut. He does nothing because she is running the show and they both know it.

Replacing her tea cup and saucer on a side table, Lady Q folds her hands in her lap and pins him with a stare. “You have proved accommodating, James, so I will grant you one minute in which to hear your plea of leniency.”

That does not sound good. Jim swallows twice, mouth dry, before speaking. “I was not aware that I had offended you—your Ladyship.”

Her voice goes cold. “Coyness does not suit you.”

He closes his eyes briefly, jaw ticking, then snaps, “Lady Q, look… I don’t know you. I don’t know this place or why you think I need to be here,” and once his mouth starts, it doesn’t stop for anyone, especially not Jim. “My foot’s asleep because you won’t let me move it, I know my mother is probably frantic by now because I was kidnapped off the street—”

Lady Q’s eyes are so narrow, she looks like she is squinting.

“—and now you accuse me of pissing you off! Well, I’m the one pissed off—at you!” Jim realizes belatedly that he clambered to his feet when he began yelling in frustration. He plops back into the cushy wingback chair and folds his arms.

Silence stretches between them for a full, heart-pounding minute.

Then Lady Q sighs. “I was not certain of your character. Trelane—” Here she grimaces. “—associates with men of particular… ill-repute. When I learned of his latest contact—of you, James Tiberius Kirk—I had you investigated. As you are aware, some of your past antics are dubious in nature and do not present you in the best light.”

“I was young and stupid,” Jim says.

“As every man and woman shall be on occasion. Forgive me my assumption, James. Although—” Lady Q adds a hint of whiplash to her voice. “—I do not care for your impertinence.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says, knowing a cue for contriteness when he hears one.

She rings a bell on the table then resumes her regal poise. “I see a glimpse of a gentleman in you. Sit up, child, and don’t waste it. That sulk is unbecoming.”

Kirk unfolds his arms and sits up. “Am I free to leave?”

“I would rather that you stayed for another day, James—it will aid our cause.”

“What cause is that?” he asks carefully, not appreciative of the use of our.

“Trelane is not Q,” she says. “He is spoilt, cruel, and utterly selfish. When he was a child—”

Jim starts, looking around curiously, like a miniature Trelane might appear and skip through the room, brandishing an umbrella.

“—he was a bully. I fear that temperament has not changed.”

Trelane is a sadistic bastard, Kirk doesn’t say. He thinks his face probably expresses the sentiment well enough. “He cracked my skull,” Kirk says flatly, “and threatened—threatens—my family and friends.”

Lady Q’s lips thin in dismay. “That will not do,” she says. There is a knock on the closed door. She turns her head and calls, “Come.”

The woman from last night glides in; she does not look at Kirk, simply goes to Lady Q’s side and bows her head.

“What news, dearest?” asks the old woman.

“Her Ladyship will be pleased to learn that Mayor Wesley’s chances of recovery continue to improve. The German cardiologist was well-received.”

Lady Q does look pleased. She smiles and asks Jim, “Does this news please you also?”

He closes his gaping mouth. “How could you—?”

With a flick of her wrist, Lady Q dismisses the other Q woman. She waits until the door is closed again to explain matters with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Really, James,” Jim is admonished. Lady Q’s eyes grow distant with memory as she talks. “Do you truly believe a young, whimsical Robert Wesley, hopelessly in love with a soldier’s widow, could garner favor in a politically conservative town such as Riverside? He was an upstart in his day, much like you. A bachelor with a decent head for business but no ambition; yet he had potential.”

Jim manages, “Are you saying you—put him in office and—and—” Kept him there?

She snaps her fan open and closed, like a warning. “The Q groomed him in the most benevolent of ways. Mr. Wesley did not receive any aid he did not approve of and I suspect you know the man’s propensity for dishonesty.”

“He’s a horrible liar.”

“Quite so. The Q gave a man an opportunity he might not have otherwise had. Robert has proved himself to be a fine politician, and it is to his own credit that Riverside is content to re-elect him each term.” Her eyes narrow. “This is where we come to our turmoil, James. I can send the highest-rated cardiologist in the world to care for Robert but I cannot remove Trelane from the electoral race.”

Jim’s heart skips a beat. “Neither can I.”

She fans herself. “You are a catalyst, James Kirk, one of Trelane’s own making. This is why you should consider visiting here for another day or so.”

“I don’t understand.” Why is he starting to sweat?

“You are well-loved—and I suspect you are very much missed at this moment.”

How can a person appear both righteous and gleeful? Lady Q’s expression frightens Jim. She continues to fan herself, lazily, and stares past him.

“Lady Q?” he says, his stomach dancing with inexplicable nerves, and rises from his seat.

“It won’t be necessary to get up, young man. I will call for our lunch. Do you like apricots?”

He takes a step forward. “What’s going on? I won’t let my family—” And that word includes Bones and Spock, he realizes, swallowing hard. “—be harmed.”

Her assessment of him is shrewd. “You worry for the wrong party. Trelane chose his newest toy with little care, and I assure you Trelane shall suffer for his poor choice. We must wait—it is only a matter of time now, dearest James, until he comes begging to this very door with a mob on his heels!”

Jim’s legs are weak. “A mob?”

Lady Q closes her fan and waves it around. Her dress flounces once, like she kicked her legs in excitement. “A mob, yes!” She settles again, smoothing out the wrinkles in her lap. “As I was saying, are you partial to apricots?”

He is a little dizzy, so he sits down. It must be the lack of food. Lunch isn’t a bad idea after all. “I’m allergic to apricots.”

“Oh, such a travesty. Prunes?”

“Them too.” Not really, but he hates prunes.

Lady Q tsks. Apparently she memorized his list of allergies along with his criminal record and his family tree.

Jim slumps forward and puts his head in his hands, listening to Lady Q’s little bell ring for service.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Along Comes a Stranger (28/28) – from July 10, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (27/28) – from July 9, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (26/28) – from July 5, 2011
• Chapter of Doom – from July 4, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (25/28) – from June 30, 2011