Chapter Text
I.
Today’s edges are so sharp
they might cut anything that moved.
~Rue Armantrout, from “Unbidden”
Even before he opened his eyes, Tyler knew where he was. He didn't know how or for how long, but there wasn't any doubt about location. It was the scent that gave it away: filth, fear, blood.
He was on the prisonship.
No, that's not right.
Carefully he listened for telltale signs he wasn't alone, but even when he held his breath, all heard were faint, common ship noises. No voices, no pleading, no footsteps. No drag of a body being hauled away. Cautiously he opened an eye just enough to confirm no one was leaning over him, ready to pounce the instant they realized he was conscious. No face loomed above, nor did it seem any tech was waiting to betray his wakefulness, though that generally was less obvious. Gathering his courage, he blinked open his eyes.
Darkness waited. Klingons had better vision in low light than humans did. Gray twilight was often the brightest lighting he existed under for long stretches of time. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, since it spared him from seeing himself, what’d become of him. He sat up slowly, hoped he was alone in the shadowed cell.
Pain lanced through his right chest, breast bone to shoulder blade, like a red-hot energy bolt was slowly being pulled through him. Immediately he tried to freeze, unmoving, but the agony remained. What the hell did she do this time? He must’ve pissed off the Klingon woman again; he'd thought they were past that, but apparently not. Most of his right arm was numb. His hand had the pins-and-needles feel that came with being restrained for too long. The ribs on his right side didn't feel too great, either. Wonder if I can walk.
Abruptly he felt the measured pattern of heavy footfalls on the deck. A minute later, guttural Klingon words filtered to him, the harsh cadence instinctively making him both angry and afraid. He needed to know if he was alone in the cell or if Michael was there, too. Why would she be here?
The footsteps had nearly reached the cell. He quickly got to his feet, breathed through a fresh wash of pain, went to stand against the bulkhead near the entrance grate. Swiftly he ran his hands over his filthy jumpsuit in search of something, anything to use as a distraction, found a bit of metal in a pocket.
Just like always, the guards entered the cell as soon as the grate slid up, didn't bother to verify his location first, arrogantly assumed he wouldn't resist. He tossed the metal into a half concealed, distant corner, ensured it struck the bulkhead so enough noise would attract the guards’ attention. It did: the pair promptly stomped towards the corner.
His plan had been to bolt down the corridor, cover as much ground as possible before the guards gave chase; he hadn't counted on how much agony tossing the metal would cause. The exit from the cell was less bolting and more stumbling, along with a large amount of drawing mouthful after mouthful of air. Somehow his feet carried him to a corridor junction before his mind realized he hadn't chosen a final location. Where exactly had he intended to go? There was no way off the ship. Why did I even run?
The sound of rapid footfalls behind him was a sufficient motivation to keep running.
The ship's layout was far from familiar. He knew the way from the cell to the captain's quarters, but that was all. It didn't take any consideration to avoid that path, but it left him lost almost immediately. I need to find Michael.
Rounding a corner, he nearly collided with a guard. The Klingon was just as startled, hesitated a fraction of a second to respond. He didn't: despite being injured, he disabled the man, seized his weapon, used it. Kept going.
Guards corralled him at the next junction. He fought, managed to scurry down a narrow secondary corridor. It led to a set of doors which didn't open when he neared, shot the access panel. Frustrated, he pivoted, fired repeatedly at the approaching Klingons. I'm sorry, Michael.
"Wait," a voice called from behind the guards. "Wait." The word was said in Standard.
He stopped firing, watched as the guards made enough space for another of their kind to step between them.
"I will not harm you," the Klingon told him, speaking Standard with a clumsy tongue. "You are experiencing a medication reaction which is confusing you. I have the means to correct it." The man held up a hypo.
He aimed at the hypo.
"No, wait. Michael-Michael desires you to have it," the Klingon quickly said. "She sent it. She is troubled and requires your assistance."
"What – what'd you do to her?" He was barely able to get the question out, too busy trying to suck in air. Not that it mattered: he knew the Klingon was lying.
“She is injured. I will lead you to her," the man promised. "Inject this, then I will take you." Carefully he set the hypo on the deck, slid it across the distance separating them.
He didn't bother reaching for it.
"You do not believe me," the Klingon growled. "Fine, I will convince you." The man paused. "I will speak five words. You will understand their references."
This is the weirdest–
“Mirror. Armistice. Fifty-two. Terran. Surrogate." The Klingon watched him. "Choose hope."
"Hope is hard. It's expensive. And sometimes, we wonder if it's worth it. But it's what's brought us here. Think about where it might lead us next," Michael says.
Bracing himself, he grabbed the hypo from the deck, injected it before pain or his will to live stopped him.
Everything went fuzzy, cleared when he blinked a few times. But the pain nearly–
"Any better?"
Quickly he glanced up, saw Christine watching, her brow furrowed with worry. On either side of her were security officers, most of them human, none of them Klingon. All of them Starfleet. The dark prisonship corridor had been replaced by the clean white walls of a well-lit hallway.
“What happened?" He couldn't remember, had no idea why it looked like they were in a hospital.
"That's a great question." The nurse shook her head. "But you're gonna hate the answer."
xxx
Christine stepped far enough into the room for the doors to close behind her, stopped so her eyes could accustom to the low lighting.
In a small medical room were two biobeds, both occupied. The monitor readouts glowed with data indicating the patients were alive but in critical status. A menagerie of equipment accompanied each individual, accessories designed to facilitate life in a visual testament of near-death need. Temperature-regulating blankets concealed all but the faces of those they aided.
Spock and Michael were very still, very quiet.
Seated between her two children, Amanda turned, hearing the doors whisper open, close. "He didn't want to see her?"
“Oh no, he did," she assured, walking over. "He tried every way he could think of. Unfortunately, he had a reaction to a medication before that. He was delusional when he first became conscious. Security was involved. As soon as the reversal med resolved his symptoms, he became compliant, but they were grumpy over how bad he'd made them look. He's confined to his room now." She didn't mention how that was only a small part of why Ash wasn't there; it didn't seem like the right time to mention he was a Klingon. Glancing at the Vulcan man beside Amanda, she asked, "Can you talk to security so they'll let him visit?"
Sarek replied, "Medical personnel are in the best position to determine when it will be suitable for Ash to visit Michael."
Nine hours had passed since the disastrous conclusion of the awards ceremony. In that time she'd experienced every emotion a human possessed, and all the shades between. Her entire life had been upended right before her eyes, left her with dead loved ones, demolished dreams, dwindling hope that she'd be able to hang on to anything. She was exhausted in every way imaginable. Also important: she was out of patience and very, very angry.
With a sigh she headed for the chair waiting at Spock's bedside, tripped over nothing and nearly went sprawling. Amanda gasped, quickly tried to catch her. Sarek was faster, managed to stabilize her before any worse happened than a painful bump to the hip.
"You have to rest, ko-fu,” Amanda urged. "You've been taking care of others but neglecting yourself. Please, will you eat something? Or at least have some tea?"
Amanda was an amazing person. She'd known before, of course, but since the attack, she’d watched Spock and Michael's mom demonstrate what it meant to be kind and gracious under stress. The woman had selflessly ensured everyone around her was as comfortable and cared for as possible, even people she’d never previously met. If I’m ever a mom, I want to be like her.
If she was ever a mom.
She'd gotten off light, as far as physical injuries from the attack were concerned: a ricocheted phaser blast to her left forearm, deep contusions to her left thigh and shoulder from landing on them after a fall, a mild concussion from hitting her head in the same fall. The gestation hadn't been affected. At this point, her true problem was the bond: the tie between her and Spock had saved his life from what otherwise would’ve been a fatal injury, was now keeping him stabilized, farther away from death. It was taking a harsh toll on her, but she didn't care. She needed him to live.
She needed Michael to live, too – but that was looking less and less likely. Spock's sister had already been in a precarious physical state because of Velec’s death and the ongoing effects of being a prisoner. Michael had taken a phaser wound to the abdomen and another to the shoulder, both glancing or else she would’ve died in moments, both serious enough that even a fully healthy person would’ve needed weeks to recover. For the captain to have survived this long was a miracle, and another reason Ash needed to be there.
“I know, you're right," she told Amanda. "But I'm worried about Ash. Will you go see him? It's just, he doesn't have any family. It was only him and his mom. She died while he was at the Academy, but you remind him of her a lot. He needs to be with Michael. I–“ She stopped, cleared her throat. "Please?"
"Of course," Amanda nodded. "I'll stay with him for a while, let him know how she's doing." She gave Sarek a pointed look, to which the ambassador inclined his head, understanding. "Try to get some rest." Brushing a kiss across her forehead, Spock's mom left.
She and Sarek silently regarded each other for a minute before she told him, "I want you to go do whatever is necessary for Ash to be here."
The ambassador relocated Amanda's chair closer to her, sat down. "There are doubtlessly reasons he is being monitored separately."
Not good ones. "Michael may not make it. They need each other. Please."
“It is illogical to believe his presence would benefit her as she is in an unconscious state."
"Since you can't prove that theory, how about you go do it anyway."
He didn't bother answering.
"Okay, here's the deal," she explained. "You haven't always been a great father to Michael, especially recently. You knew she needed help since we returned from the mirror universe, maybe even before, since you share a katra. But you didn't help her. You didn't prevent her from being sent to commit genocide. You didn't try to keep her from being reincarcerated. You didn't insist the matriarch take her side over Velec’s. You didn't fight Starfleet from drafting her into delegate status. Michael didn't ask for your help because she knew you wouldn't, and she saw that as proof of her shortcoming as a daughter instead of your shortcoming as a parent. She needs your help now so her chosen bondmate can be with her. Don't let her down again."
He didn't even blink. "Your accusation lacks merit and cannot be substantiated. It is a result of physical exhaustion and emotional distress."
"Oh, are you asking for proof? Sure," she nodded. "She lived with Velec’s extortion for years because she knew you wouldn't help her with it. You proved her right by not standing up for her with the matriarch. After T’Pau chose Velec over her, she induced her own death in an attempt to break the bond herself. She was that desperate." She leaned forward, asked, "Know what Velec did? He got angry. He forced his way into her mind, found every terrible memory she had and made her relive them all at once. She begged him to stop, and even when he didn't, she still didn't waste the effort of asking you for help." She gave him her best Disappointed Nurse face. "You're going to start making it up to her, beginning with getting things fixed so she can be with Ash."
Silently he continued to look at her, not a single hint of emotion in his expression.
"If you don't, I'm going to inform Amanda you sent both her children to commit an act of genocide, one which was almost guaranteed to get them killed in the process," she added.
"Perhaps she is already aware," he mildly challenged.
"We're gonna find out." A part of her wondered where this was coming from, what she thought she was doing. Maybe it really was just a consequence of exhaustion and stress; maybe it was the result of being totally fucking furious at the universe. Correction: the multiverse. Huh – I wonder if this is what Michael's been feeling like.
Slowly Sarek said, "You overestimate my ability to influence decisions made by medical personnel. An ambassador has no authority in a Starfleet medical facility."
"You're a persuasive person. I have faith in you," she smiled.
The room was very quiet after Sarek left. Not oppressively quiet: comfortably quiet. These were two of the quietest people she knew. She'd give anything for them not to be quiet now.
Taking both chairs, she set them side by side between the siblings: one for her, one for Ash.
Her family.
xxx
Tyler sat on the biobed, stared at the hypo the medic had left beside him. The green liquid reminded him of Protocol 12, but it wasn't. It was painkiller, one strong enough to handle the agony he was in, or so the medic had claimed. He'd take it if not for its somnolent effects; he couldn't risk missing–
The doors slid open, admit a security officer and Amanda.
Michael's mom was tragically beautiful, her dark hair and gown emphasizing her obvious grief. She was pale, her eyes swallowed by shadows to the point of looking bruised. He knew why she was there. He couldn't blame Christine for not being able to tell him herself. All he could do was stare at the floor, shake his head.
"No, she's not. I promise, Ash." Amanda was suddenly beside him, soothing him like he was a child. "Michael's not dead. Christine asked me to check on you, that's all. It's alright, officer. You can go. Thank you."
Not until the doors opened and closed again did he look up from the floor. "Sorry."
Amanda shook her head. "I can imagine how awful this is for you. I made a call to a friend, and asked if he might be able to arrange for you to be with us in Michael and Spock's room. How are you? It looks like you're in pain."
"I'm okay. Will you tell me how they're doing? Do you know how anyone else is?" He was desperate for every scrap of info available, starting with Michael, branching out from there.
"Of course, sa-fu.” She sat down beside him on the bed, frowned, reached beneath her to remove the hypo. "This must be for you. Shouldn't you use it?"
Michael's mother had barely started to tell him what she knew of her children's status when the doors opened again, this time for Enterprise’s first officer and Noonian-Singh. The first officer looked tired and pissed; Noonian-Singh looked awful. And wonderful, because she was alive.
The security chief was on her feet – barely. She was still in a Discovery uniform, though it was in considerably worse condition than hours before. A medical brace was set over the entire length of her right leg, upper thigh to ankle. A binder encircled her ribs. Her right arm was in a sling, some sort of device covering from above the elbow to wrist, with splints over her fingers. Her typical frown was in place as she gave him a once-over.
"Think we should’ve skipped the ceremony?" he asked dryly.
“Among other things." She didn't exactly smile, but her frown eased. "You remember Commander Chin-Riley."
The commander nodded shortly to him, turned her attention to Amanda. "April is speaking with security about your request, but Marie is arguing against it. I thought you might like to join the conversation."
"Thank you, yes." Amanda stood, briefly squeezed his hand. "I'll be back for you soon."
Noonian-Singh didn't go with the commander and lady, stood stiffly by the doors. She's got to be in pain. Just looking at her made him want to wince. He waved towards the room’s one chair. "Make yourself comfortable."
“I'm fine."
He went to get the chair, earned himself a shock of agony by carrying it to her. "Sit down before you fall down."
"You're the one on the verge of blacking out from pain. And stupidity." Gingerly she sat, shifted in search of the least uncomfortable position.
He went back to the bed, did the same, held up the hypo in silent offer.
"They let you keep that?"
"It's painkiller, not 12."
"It looks the same." She shifted. "During the attack, you dosed me with 12. Why me rather than someone else?"
He didn't remember doing it. The last clear image he had was of seeing Michael and Pike, collapsed on stage, unmoving; everything after that was splintered fragments. "I needed someone who'd give the others the best chance for survival."
"Medical said I'm probably alive because you did." She didn't sound particularly happy about it.
“Is everyone else?" Christine had told him Michael and Spock were alive. He wasn't surprised when Noonian-Singh shook her head. "Who did we lose?"
"Reynolds, Baccay, Hakimi, and Martin so far. Uhura, M'Benga, Stamets, and Christine are going to live. Everyone else…” She shrugged.
Jamal and James were dead. They made it through the fucking mirror universe but not an awards ceremony. If he had more energy he'd be enraged; instead all he felt was a cold fury. "Who's responsible?"
Her expression became frustrated disapproval. "All they have are theories. There were four shooters, but once our people were down, the aggressors terminated their own lives, their remains reduced to irradiated ashes. Their weapons, too. Security vids show four Starfleet ensigns, all human, who didn't arrive or sit together."
"No group’s claimed responsibility? Who are the main suspects?" This was Earth; there had to be something.
"The sleeper spy is the obvious choice. Attacking medical personnel and eloping through the facility didn't exactly clear you. Neither did shouting in Klingon."
“It was a med reaction. I was a POW, you know." But he knew the optics were awful for him.
"You're not a top candidate, otherwise you'd already have been transferred to a secured facility. They're reaching for any explanation right now. Scuttlebutt is everywhere." She hesitated. "I highly suggest you avoid news feeds."
He frowned. "Why do you–” The answer came to him in the next instant. "The press are saying it's Michael's fault?" An alarm began to chirp from the monitor over his bed.
"Calm down. You'll never see her if security thinks you're unstable," Noonian-Singh snapped.
Dammit– He closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths. The alarm deactivated. "She was given the Legion of Honor not five minutes before the attack. What the hell are the press using for evidence?"
"Her. It's an interesting story if the mutineer deceived Starfleet in order to publicly assassinate the flagship captain, or some ridiculous nonsense like that. It's far more compelling than her being the main target." Her tone was pure disgust.
He hated the press. "Stars forbid they acknowledge Pike was the main target, since he was shot first."
She shook her head. "That's what I thought, too, until I saw the recordings. Initially, three of the four aggressors targeted Michael and Spock, with the fourth targeting Pike. Then it went Detmer, us and Ortegas, everyone else. I’ve repeatedly watched every angle available and seen multiple holo representations. Michael and Spock were the primary targets." She shifted, adjusted positions. "Pike was smiling at the crowd until microseconds before the first shot. It seemed like he saw something, or, maybe, unconsciously recognized something in the audience because he stopped smiling. He managed to push Michael just enough to prevent her from taking a direct hit. Michael–" She bit down on whatever she'd been about to say.
"Just tell me." The request came out more like a demand than he'd meant it to. "Please," he added.
The doors split open; in the hallway stood Amanda, Chin-Riley, and four or five security officers. None of them looked happy.
“Michael's room isn't far. Do you think you can walk?" Amanda asked him, offering a tired smile.
Quickly nodded, got up, shot Noonian-Singh a grateful look. "Thanks for the update."
The hallways he walked through beside Amanda all looked exactly the same. He didn't bother to attempt keeping track of the route, confident security would be escorting him everywhere for the foreseeable future. When they finally halted, only a set of security officers at the nondescript doors marked the location apart from any other.
The room's soft lighting was mostly provided by monitors above two biobeds. Someone between the beds stood, turned to face them, hardly more than another shadow.
"Over here." Christine waved him towards her.
Slowly he walked across the small room, his gaze focused on the floor – so he wouldn't trip over anything important, not because he didn't want to see the people on the beds. Not because he was terrified of what he might see, or might not see. Not at all.
"Spock's here." Christine brushed his left hand. "Michael's here." She brushed his right hand. After a minute, she added, "It just looks like they're sleeping. Peaceful, I mean. They're definitely more at peace than we are. Stupid Vulcans and their peacefulness."
He choked on a mouthful of desperate laughter, slanted her an incredulous, grateful smile.
xxx
After Ash lost the fight against sleep, collapsed on a cot; after Sarek disappeared to wherever c+ parents went when they weren't with their children; Amanda sat on the small couch, reading, while Christine alternated staring at the readouts over Spock and Michael's beds. She'd love to get some rest, knew she needed to, but even blinking too long made her worry she'd miss something crucial and one of them would suffer. Sleep was pretty much off the menu.
Standing at Spock's bedside, she reached down to brush an errant lock of hair back into place. The bond was quiet – dormant, like a tree in winter. I'm here with you, she thought to him. Aloud she murmured, "'I’m with you in Rockland where you’re madder than I am, I’m with you in Rockland where you must feel very strange.'”
"That's Ginsburg." Amanda's skirt ruffled softly as she came to stand beside Spock's bed.
She nodded. "It's my favorite poem. Spock said you introduced him to it when he was young."
Amanda smiled ruefully. "He didn't like it because it wasn't logical enough. It's interesting you feel drawn to that piece. Do you like all types of poetry?"
"I hardly know anything about it," she admitted, feeling her cheeks turn hot. "I had to take a class in the Academy for my degree. ‘Howl’ just – made sense."
"It does, doesn't it. It makes a tragic, despairing kind of sense," Amanda nodded. She went to retrieve her PADD from the couch, hit several keys, held it out. "Here, try these authors. See if their styles appeal to you."
It was the perfect idea, would keep her at the right level of occupied. Except– “Weren't you reading?"
"I'll borrow Sarek's PADD," Amanda smiled.
The biobeds weren't designed to accommodate multiple people. Even if there’d been enough space, she wouldn't have crashed with Spock – equipment settings were annoyingly easy to accidentally alter, and thermo blankets tended to malfunction for any tiny excuse. She collected the room’s chairs, lined them up in a double row between the siblings’ beds, grabbed a pillow and blanket to create the "camping bed" she and her sister had made as children. Maybe it was stupid, but it felt like she was sharing a happy memory with them as she reclined on the camping bed and explored Amanda's reading list.
"Christine."
Her eyes snapped open. She unfolded herself from the ball she'd curled into, stiff and aching in ways she didn't remember the camping bed having caused when she was a kid. Her gaze found Amanda's worried face, quickly shifted to the monitors. The readouts were the same grim but consistent ones she'd seen at her last check, two hours ago. "What's wrong?"
“I need to talk with you and Ash." Amanda nodded towards the cot where the security chief sat, bleary-eyed and yawning.
Taking her blanket, she went to plop down next to Ash, dreading what Amanda had to say.
"Sarek was just informed the matriarch is coming here. She's already on her way," Spock's mom told them.
Is that bad? "It sounds like you're not happy about it."
"T’Pau hasn't left Vulcan in dozens of years. For her to do so now is profoundly concerning," Amanda explained. "She's declined to disclose the reason for her visit, but I can assure you, it's not for emotional support. All decisions concerning Spock and Michael will become hers when she arrives."
Ash shook his head. "No."
"It's not a matter of debate. She's the head of the House of Surak. The Vulcan High Council has been known to bend to her will." Amanda paused. "Vulcan law is complex. When she learns of the true circumstances surrounding Velec's death – and I believe she will – there are going to be serious repercussions."
She almost asked how the matriarch would find out, then realized it probably had something to do with humans who couldn't shield their thoughts and Vulcans who couldn't lie.
"Michael's on the verge of death. What else does she want," Ash growled.
"In this instance, it isn't Michael I'm concerned for." Amanda's eyes slid to her.
Coldness settled in her chest. If I'm in prison, I won't be here if Spock–
"Christine's not going down for Velec." There was a dark promise in the security chief's voice.
"You may not be available to help her," Amanda cautioned. "Captain Batel believes you were involved with the attack, and is using classified information to justify why you should be arrested pending investigation. She's nearly gained the support needed to do so."
Ash scowled. "Why’s she targeting me? I don't even know who she is."
"She's with the Judge Advocate General's Office. She and Pike are together," she explained, looked at Ash with something close to fear. "This is really bad. Batel doesn't fuck around: when she goes after someone, she gets them."
"Spock holds a similar opinion of her," Amanda confirmed. "Vice Admiral Pasalk is supporting her. Even more concerning, so is Admiral Patar, the head of Starfleet Intelligence."
Oh shit. Intelligence Division could make Ash disappear, no arrest needed.
Amanda went to get her long, black scarf from where it sat neatly folded on the couch, brought it to Ash.
She felt like her jaw might literally hit the floor when Ash unfolded the scarf to reveal a pair of Vulcan phasers. "How’d you get those in here?"
"Diplomatic privilege." Amanda smiled thinly, glanced at Ash, adding, "Unfortunately, privilege won't protect you from arrest. Captain Pike is very ill. Marie Batel isn't able to help him, so she's determined to find who harmed him. She's decided it's you. I know she's wrong."
Spock's mom reached for Ash's hand, then hers. "My children are kind and loving, but above all else, they’re intelligent. They chose the two of you for life mates. I trust their judgments, and your hearts." She squeezed their hands. "Spock and Michael were nearly murdered on Earth, during a Starfleet ceremony to honor them, while surrounded by hundreds of officers. They're not safe here. Neither are you."
Amanda divided an earnest gaze between her and Ash. "I need you to take them and run."
XXX