Title: Many Bells Down (9/12)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Sequel to Along Comes a Stranger; Riverside ‘verse. Dating Bones and Spock is wonderful, better than Jim imagined. Then Bones’ mother arrives, Spock receives the offer of a lifetime outside of Riverside, and Jim has to make a series of choices that could completely change his – and ultimately Riverside’s – future.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Part Eight was posted a little over a day ago. Please read it first if you have not!

Part Nine

“James! How delightful of you to visit!” Lady Q is all smiles and fan-waving as Jim enters the lavishly decorated dining room. Jim cannot figure out if the woman forgot she had invited him to dinner or she had not informed her companion of his impending arrival, to whatever purpose presently suit her plans.

Next to Lady Q, a man rises from a chair and turns to face Jim. They are both surprised beyond words; Jim had not anticipated meeting this person again in his lifetime.

Christopher Pike regains his composure in the next instant and greets Kirk with a grave nod. “Hello.”

“Captain,” Jim says, walking forward and offering his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Pike doesn’t smile but his eyes lack hostility. “Yes it has. Are you and Winona—your mother managing well?”

“We have our troubles like anyone else but nothing too bad. Mom is owner of the diner now.”

“I’m glad to hear it. She always…” But Pike stops and shakes his head. “Your father had high hopes she would be able to live that dream some day.”

Jim gets a strange nervous tickling in his stomach whenever someone speaks of his father with such familiarity. Knowing that Pike had served so closely in-arms with his father only heightens his reaction.

When Jim was younger he wanted to know everything about the man who should have raised him but died prematurely. He wanted to make the feeling of being George Kirk’s son that much more real in his mind, but then something changed as Jim grew up. He still pines in his heart to hear of his father but asking, it seems, only dredges up a past Jim isn’t certain he wants to be beholden to, since it isn’t his past. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, he always reminds himself when the urge to know strikes.

Kirk clears his throat, attempting to pull his mind back to the present, and looks between Pike and Lady Q. Pike also looks to Lady Q but has the nerve to ask her, slightly shocking Jim, “Why are you messing with George’s boy?”

Jim decides the instrument in Lady Q’s hands is for covering up a mischievous smile rather than for the actual purpose of fanning.

“Nonsense, Christopher. James is a friend of the Q.” She explains, “Christopher has always felt a peculiar responsibility toward your mother and you. If I am not mistaken, he anonymously supplemented your family’s monthly pension from the government until you turned eighteen. Though…” She drops the fan to her lap and fixes a hard stare on Pike. “You ought to have known better than to tempt little James into Service. Thankfully he had sense enough to refuse.”

Jim tries to interrupt, “Wait, how did you know—“

Lady Q leans back in her chair, pleased for no apparent reason. “The Q always know what our dear Captain is up to. You see, James, Christopher is a protégée of my husband’s—as was your father.”

Why is the floor suddenly tilting? An earthquake?

No, he decides, moving carefully over to an empty chair to sit down, it’s due to a revelation he had never imagined possible. Once seated, he asks slowly, “My father… was involved with the Q?”

A hand lands on his shoulder; the pressure there is reassuring, somewhat calming. “Breathe,” orders Pike. Then to Lady Q, in a voice with a hard edge of rebuke, “He knows nothing, Bella. George wouldn’t want him to know, or even be here for that matter. George trusted you to see to that. What have you done?”

Jim feels frozen.

Her eyes turn unexpectedly icy. “You dare? I made George Kirk a promise—and this is how it must be kept. James has always been under our care, if at a distance, but the time for estrangement as passed. He is of age—and he is his father’s son.”

When their staring contest doesn’t abate, Jim recovers sufficiently enough to slam the side of his fist onto the table. Silverware rattles. An empty wineglass tips over. Kirk then shrugs off the tight grip of Pike’s hand on his shoulder and pushes out of the chair. He wants to pace but cannot bring himself to turn his back to them, lest they pull some other kind of trick to floor him again.

“It isn’t going to work this way,” he informs the pair. “I really don’t give a flying fuck about any game of the Q—“ This he directs to Lady Q. “—and I am not a puppet that dances on a string.” He says to Pike next, “I don’t want to hear it from her. You tell me. If my father worked for the Q, are they the reason he’s dead?”

The surprise in Pike’s face is answer enough. That indescribable cold something unknots within Jim, enough that he is able to swallow down a burgeoning anger.

Pike is saying, “No—no, Lord Q directed us into service but anything we did there, Jim, was on our own. Your father—he died in the line of duty to his country, not to the Q.”

Jim holds the Captain’s gaze. “Then why are you here, Chris?”

Pike sucks in a sharp breath. “God, you sound just like George.”

Lady Q claps her hands in delight. “Doesn’t he! He is very much like his father, both in temperament and appearance. I despaired of him before our initial introduction. Such an upstart in his youth,” she chides good-naturedly. “But young James has matured well—undoubtedly an attribute of the Kirk’s good-breeding.”

Farmers are of good-breeding? Sometimes Jim wonders if Lady Q doesn’t make the rules up as she goes along.

He raises his hands and reminds them, “Let’s not get off-subject. What’s Captain Pike doing here and why was I supposed to meet him?”

The old woman whaps at Pike’s vacated chair with the edge of her fan. It is either used to the abuse or is made of steel rather than paper and wood. “Reseat yourself, Christopher. You do look as though you are about to lecture. I detest that look.”

Pike sits down with a sigh. After a moment, he admits to Jim, “Not even I am certain why Bella brought me here.”

Curious, Jim asks, “So she kidnaps you too?”

The man almost smiles. “Yes—though less frequently now that I am middle-aged. She prefers her male acquaintances younger and more… exuberant.”

Lady Q gives a little shriek of indignation. “Slander!” But she is clearly pleased by the talk. “What a silly assumption on your behalf, Christopher dear.” Jim is asked slyly, “Captain Pike is not unpleasant on the eyes, is he?”

“He’s a little old for my tastes too.”

Pike covers his eyes with a hand. When his shoulders are no longer shaking with suppressed laughter, the man sobers, wants to know, “What’s going on, Bella?”

Apparently Jim is not the only person struggling to direct the conversation from more wayward topics.

“Must we discuss this before dinner?” Her little bell appears from nowhere (from somewhere about her gown, that is) and she rings it lightly. “I remember quite well how fond you are of stuffed goose, Christopher. James prefers the roast piglet.”

No, he doesn’t, which means she did notice that it was the only thing he wouldn’t eat last time they had this kind of banquet. Does that also mean Pike doesn’t like goose? Judging by the man’s expression, probably so.

Pike very casually draws out a pair of gloves from his pocket and proceeds to put them on. Lady Q puts down her bell, eyes suddenly intent upon him, and even ignores the Q who enters the room with a tray of food.

“Where are you going?” she asks sharply.

“Back to Washington. I’ll need to borrow your chopper. I know you won’t mind.”

She leans forward in alarm. “Christopher.”

Pike ignores her. Jim silently watches this by-play, fascinated.

“Captain Christopher Pike!” demands the old woman. She reaches out and raps hard upon the back of his gloved hand with her fan like he is a naughty child. “You will not leave this campus until we have discussed Khan!”

Pike lifts an eyebrow. “Khan? Would that be Khan Noonien Singh, the terrorist?”

She sinks back into her chair, mouth pursed in disapproval. Whether of Khan or Pike backing her into a corner, Jim does not know.

Jim’s brain finally catches up with the conversation. “Terrorist?” he questions sharply.

Pike studies his expression for some seconds. “He’s here—in Riverside,” guesses the man slowly. “Damn!”

“Damnation!” echoes Lady Q. Neither man pays her any mind.

Jim tells Pike about Eugenics: the buy-out of Derby Hospital, the construction sites, and the offers. He mentions he has met Khan in person, and doesn’t like him any better after knowing him.

“None of this surprises me.” Pike seems faraway in thought.

Jim hates to interrupt Pike’s thinking but he needs an answer. “Is Khan really a terrorist?”

“Let’s say he is associated with the business of terrorists,” Pike explains. “Could he be a threat to national security some day? Absolutely.”

“But the medical research…” Jim cannot reconcile that thought.

“We don’t have solid evidence against the purpose of Eugenics, only suspicion—rumors. Some contacts, but none of them will say a word against Khan…” Pike breaks off, perhaps recalling where he is, and says with regret, “I’m sorry, Jim. I can’t discuss this with you as a civilian.”

Jim slides his right hand into his jacket pocket, finds what he is looking for, and rubs a finger against the raised text on Khan’s business card. “I think,” he says to both Pike and Lady Q, “there is something to talk about. Want to hear an idea?”

“This,” Lady Q announces with satisfaction, “is why I have faith in James, Christopher.” She raises her glass and toasts Kirk. “To your father, my dear, and his bravery—and to you and yours. Now, do tell us about this wonderful idea! Does it require MI5 equipment? We have plenty of that.”

Pike groans. “This is not Britain.”

“Well,” says the old woman, “aren’t all secret services the same? Except the Q’s, of course. We are so secretive, no one has determined an acronym for us yet!”

Jim doubts that would be necessary, as the one letter of Q suffices to describe their entire organization. He leans toward Pike and whispers, “Is her name really Bella?”

Pike whispers back, “I don’t think so, but she gave me permission to call her by a first name about 10 years ago.”

“And how long have you known her?”

Pike’s chuckle rumbles in his chest. “20 years, give or take. It’s a privilege you have to earn.”

Jim isn’t certain if he could survive a decade or more’s acquaintance with Lady Q.

“Put the roast piglet by James, please. Yes, and the goose by Christopher,” the woman is directing her staff. “We mustn’t appear to be inhospitable to our guests!” With sparkling eyes, she informs Kirk and Pike, “Life was so much more boring when Lord Q handled these tricky-save-the-world types of situations.”

Jim is speechless again.

Pike ignores the stuffed and feather-molting goose and reaches around it for a spoonful of something green. Because the man undoubtedly has years of experience at this dining table, Jim follows suit and makes an identical plate of food for himself. He ignores the fact that his hand might be unsteady as he lifts a fork.

Why do Bones and Spock never have to endure these dinners?

Then, as Lady Q is settled and nibbling on a prune, Jim and Pike begin to talk of Khan and, more importantly, how to handle him.

One day and one call later finds Jim hard at work.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he tells his companion as they slip into a booth at Cupcake’s bar. “Drink?”

“I assume you want to discuss business, Mr. Kirk. If it concludes well, then we shall certainly celebrate.”

“Deal,” Jim says amicably.

From the opposite side of the booth, Khan sheds his suit jacket and gives Jim his full attention. The dim lighting does nothing to ease the intense, dark features of Khan’s face. In truth, Jim thinks it suits Khan well, though it lends a sinister impression to their meeting.

Jim refuses to hint at his disturbance while under the man’s scrutiny. He announces without preamble, “I’m in.”

“Good,” remarks the other man, not pretending to misunderstand Kirk’s reference.

They look at each other for some seconds. Jim inquires cautiously, “You don’t need a reason—or a vow or references that I make a decent employee?”

“What do any of those things matter?” asks Khan. “I have your consent.” His mouth curves. “The construction has barely broken ground here. If you need to enter our program immediately—“

Need. Funny choice of a word, Jim thinks with a chill.

“—we can send you to a research facility elsewhere. It would require, of course, the willingness to remove yourself from the life you currently have.”

Kirk leans back into the booth, ignoring the smell of cigarette smoke, the noisy occupants of the bar, and anything that might distract him from this game with Khan. “You make it sound as though I would never come back.”

“I doubt you would choose to.” Khan says this so easily, so confidently, that Jim has a sudden and fierce urge to rail against him. But he does not—cannot.

Instead he keeps pushing forward. “What are the risks to me?”

“Physically? The medical team assigned to you will explain the side-effects of each experimentation. You will not be forced to participate at any juncture, of this allow me to assuage your fears. When you do participate, and according to how you participate, you will be amply compensated. We can draw up an agreement to allocate the money as you so desire.” Khan is still smiling lightly. “There are other participants who support family members with their funds; there are some who feel they owe a debt to society and donate to charity. At Eugenics Corp., we tailor to every participant’s need or request, within reason.”

And how many of those participants joined because Khan wielded knowledge of a weakness, used that knowledge to draw them into his plans? Which makes Jim wonder why, up until now, if Khan is a manipulator, the man has not attempted to break down Jim’s resistance in such a manner?

He crosses his arms and tosses out, “I won’t lie to you—I am not entirely convinced this is the right path for me. I have family and friends here, and I do want to stay in touch with them. If I can’t return to Riverside, I don’t see how this can work between us, Khan.”

Khan steeples his fingers. “Are your ties so strong to one place? Most interesting.” After a moment, he says, “I am not heartless man, Kirk—particularly not to those who work for me. If you feel you would be more comfortable here, then it shall be arranged. Perhaps after six month’s time at a different location, at earliest. The program… does take some adjustment for newcomers.” Khan nods, mostly to himself, and murmurs, “Yes, that will do.” When he focuses on Kirk again, “I hope you understand you have chosen a glorious path. You shall go far, as they say.”

The furthest he wants to go with Khan is to the city jail. Jim forces himself to look relieved. “If what you offer is so great, I am thankful to be given this opportunity.” He hunches in his shoulders slightly, says ruefully, “I have to have somewhere to go—and since everybody’s going with you, why not?”

He thinks he sees a flash of triumph in Khan’s eyes; but if it was there, it is masked quickly.

“You will have no regrets. Regret is for the weak of heart,” Khan says wisely. “You are like me, Kirk. You do not know how to be weak.”

Jim drops a loose fist onto the table. “You’ve sold me, man. How about we get that drink now?”

“Excellent decision.” Khan looks toward the bar counter, amused. “I suppose this is not a servicing establishment.” He shifts to stand.

Jim halts him. “I’ll get the drinks. Just tell me what you want—no, wait, let me guess. Brandy?” He grins shrewdly at the man.

Khan has the aura of a man well-pleased. “On most occasions, brandy will do. Tonight, however, should we not toast with a stronger tonic?”

Jim lifts his eyebrows. “Well, there’s the usual vodka.” He leans in and lowers his voice conspiratorily, “But I do know that Cupcake keeps the high-proof stuff, say 150 or over, in the back. Everclear or Absinthe?”

Khan rubs at his jaw judiciously. “One shot of each, straight.”

“I’ll tell the bartender what we want.”

Surprisingly, Cupcake doesn’t make a fuss about it. He only eyes Jim for a second before saying, “Your funeral.”

They don’t stay in the bar long.

The blacked-out SUV turns a street corner and Jim presses his forehead against the cold glass of the window, shifting limply with the motion of the vehicle. He feels on par with his drunken college days—aching head, wobby balance, creeping nausea. Kirk slowly turns his head and eyes the somewhat soberer Khan. His complaint is testy. “Didn’t we drink the same thing?”

“Of course,” answers the man smoothly. “I am certain I shall suffer tonight’s indulgence at some point.”

Jim’s head wobbles. “Thanks for—driving.”

“Thank my chauffeur, Kirk. Where would you prefer he take you? Your apartment or Mr. Spock’s house? I assume your mother’s residence is out of the question.”

“Apartment.” Then, after a moment’s hard thought, he slurs, “How’d you know about all of my houses?”

Khan laughs softly. “I know much about you, James Tiberius Kirk. Is it not ideal to know the most about your enemy?”

Jim should be disturbed by those words but his head is too fuzzy to care. “Huh?”

Khan stares straight ahead, silent, for a long moment while he taps one finger against his leg. At last, the man seems to make a decision, one which has Khan considering at Jim with hooded eyes and a faint smile.

Jim sees Trelane in that instance, blinks hard, and swallows down the bile in his throat. “What?” he demands.

“In every city I choose to reform, there will be those who oppose my presence,” says Khan. “Most can be bought if the price is high enough. Yet I find there is always one who cannot be swayed by the promise of riches.” He turns his head and stares at Jim. “The only way to ensure Eugenics’ uncontested success is to identify the potential problem at the beginning. Study him, learn his weaknesses. Then eliminate him as an obstacle. You are that person, Kirk.”

Jim can barely keep his eyes fixed on Khan; they want to close. “H-How?” he manages. He can’t say the rest. Why is he falling asleep?

Khan seems to know what he is asking. “How have I eliminated you? Ah.” Khan’s face grows serious. “It was a simple matter of seducing your support—family, friends. Lovers. If they are with me, Kirk, then you are as well.”

Jim’s head thumps back onto the seat, rolls. His eyes close but he is still aware enough to listen.

“You must wonder why I risk telling you this,” Khan Noonien Singh is saying. “You won’t remember it when you wake up.”

But that doesn’t make sense, doesn’t, unless— “Drugged?” he guesses.

“An uncouth term but yes. Eugenics has an… undisclosed supporter who sponsors the research of, shall we say, mood enhancers. On paper, that is. Truthfully, those particular pharmaceuticals we engineer are part of a national defense program—the kind of which I hesitate to discuss in public, you understand. The dosage you were given is mild. You will be unharmed, except for the memory loss of this past hour.”

Was that why Khan had insisted in leaving the bar so soon? But by then, Jim had begun to feel the effects of the alcohol in his system. Or what he thought was alcohol.

“Are you cold? Here.”

The rustling of fabric. Something is draped over his shoulders. It smells of the cologne Khan uses.

Khan’s voice fades in and out as Jim begins to slip further away. “Pull to the sidewalk.” Surveillance assures me he returned some hours ago.

Periods of silence; doors opening and shutting; cold air. Then Khan again, talking low and deep to somebody, and “Jim?” Ah shit, Jim.

No, no, no. Bones? He tries to force his eyes to stay open but doesn’t succeed for long. His mouth shapes Bones’ name.

Thanks for gettin’ him here—sorry—

Of course, Mr. Singh.

Someone supports Kirk as he stumbles out of the car and into the apartment, groaning from vertigo. Jim hopes it’s Bones who drops him onto the couch, hopes even more fervently Khan is gone. He tries to warn Bones about Khan but his mouth is clumsy and his boyfriend says, exasperated, “What? Bathroom? Just don’t puke on me, kid.”

He struggles to sit up but his limbs are losing feeling.

An amused, cultured voice says, “It is unwise to move in your condition. McCoy will return; he is only in the next room.” Then, more closely to his ear, the voice whispers, “There is one last thing you must know… When your mission fails, Kirk—when you realize you or your mysterious Q cannot win against me—I will accept your surrender. And I will not hold your disloyalty against you. You have my word of honor.”

Jim’s disjointed thoughts shudder with panic. “Khan?”

But Bones is back, draping a blanket over his legs. “Sleep it off,” the doctor advises, no doubt believing Khan’s assurance Jim is only drunk. And Jim, poor Jim, finally succumbs to the overpowering cocktail Khan has somehow slipped him.

He blacks out.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Many Bells Down (12/12) – from November 9, 2011
• Many Bells Down (11/12) – from November 8, 2011
• Many Bells Down (10/12) – from November 6, 2011
• Many Bells Down (8/12) – from October 28, 2011
• Many Bells Down (7/12) – from October 12, 2011