Characters: Jim Kirk, Spock, Bones, Carol Marcus, Amanda Grayson
Warnings: Violence, language, references to drug and alcohol abuse
Summary: Hello, criminal underworld. Jim Kirk is here to fuck your shit up.
It’s a slow night, to say the least. His usual route hasn’t yielded a single “intervention.” If anything, he’d think he’d already finished up here.
And there’s something different about the air. It feels like a storm is brewing, or has just blown through. The air is filled with static electricity; his hair has been on end since he first stepped out tonight, and he’s not sure he likes the feeling. He feels like a porcupine, skin burning like a hundred needles are on every inch him.
And between constant allergy shots and pricking himself on his mother’s needles his whole life, he’s had more than enough of that.
There’s a commotion a few blocks down, and where a normal person’s instincts would tell them to run away, his force him towards it. He takes off in a sprint, skin spasming with the static in the air. It’s heady and brilliant, adrenaline coursing through him, and then, he is whipped off his feet by something he didn’t even remotely see coming.
He catches himself and pivots on his elbow, trying to figure out where it came from. He doesn’t know what he’s up against here, but he knows he hasn’t dealt with it before. He jerks his head around, catching a glimpse of one of Gire’s men being thrown past him and a surge of blue light – electricity, he thinks, though he’s never seen a bolt so bright or wide. He forces himself to his feet, pulling out a plasma handgun.
“You won’t need that, Mr. Kirk,” a calm voice rings out, and a bolt of electricity shocks his hand. He can’t help but drop the weapon. His eyes finally lock onto a tall man, one with pointed ears and a green tinge to his cheeks. Vulcan, he realizes with some measure of surprise. He wouldn’t have expected to see one in a place like this. And then, belatedly, he notices something else.
“Is that spandex?” he blurts out. Not the most inspired introduction, but it’ll have to do. The Vulcan shakes his head, but it's definitely spandex. “And a pair of goggles? What the hell kind of outfit is that?”
The Vulcan raises one pointed brow. “I’ve already patrolled this district. I’ll need to be on my way now if I’m to keep my schedule. You would do well to go home.”
“Screw that,” Jim snaps, leaning over to pick up his gun. “I’ve been doing this for six years now. I’m not quitting tonight!”
The Vulcan stares, and for a moment it feels like he’s facing down one of Carol’s insults. “Yes, Mr. Kirk. I am well aware of your exploits,” he says evenly. “However, in six years, you have only managed to reduce crime rates by 7.4 percent. While this is far exceeds any other attempts by an individual or even by organizations for the greater good, this does not stand to eliminate the source of the many problems this city faces. I stand a far greater chance of doing so, and I cannot risk having you in the way. I trust a man of your intelligence, regardless of how misappropriated that intelligence may be, can understand this.”
“My intelligence is ‘misappropriated?’” he asks, though it really comes as no surprise to hear it. He’s heard it (or some variation of it) since he was in grade school. “This coming from a Vulcan who not only thinks he can ‘eliminate the source’ of all the crime in this city, but who also thinks he can do so with static electricity and in a spandex jumpsuit?”
Another bolt of electricity snaps against his hand, and this time he barely manages to keep a grip on his gun. The Vulcan doesn’t break eye contact. “It is not ‘static electricity.’ It is a controlled extension of my body’s natural electric field. It has very few limits and, unlike your crude methods, will not incur any loss of life.”
Okay, Jim can’t really argue that one. He’s had to do some pretty regrettable things, and this guy clearly knows that. But he can’t quite let this conversation end yet. “A ‘controlled extension’ of your body’s electric field, and it has no limits? No way. Everything has limits.”
“I said few limits, not none,” the Vulcan corrects in that infuriatingly even tone of his. “And you are correct; like everything else in the universe, it has its limits. These are, however, substantially fewer than yours.”
“Whatever,” Jim snorts, holstering the gun. “What’s your name? Or are you going to hide your ‘alter ego’ from the world? Because if that was the plan, form-fitting materials were a bad start, giving away your species was a worse continuation, and using such a rare ability as this might as well have been the last nail in the metaphorical coffin for that.”
The Vulcan raises his eyebrow again. “Concealing my identity has never been my intent. I am Spock, son of Ambassador Sarek,” he explains. “And I really do not have time for this foolishness.”
“Spock,” Jim says, the name all too foreign in his mouth. He decides he doesn’t like it. “Spock. Spock, son of Sarek. Electric Spock. And spandex? Really? If you’re not concealing your identity, why spandex?”
Spock is quiet for a moment. “You are unnecessarily fixated on the material I’ve chosen to wear,” he says. “And it is not spandex. It is a Kevlar-Melysian silk weave. It is able to withstand the current around me with limited wear. I also find it allows me free range of motion. It is a matter of functionality.”
Jim smirks. “You should try wearing shorts. Same effect. Less clichéd.”
Five days later, Carol can’t stop gushing about Spock.
Jim finds he’s rather more than annoyed. If it’s not bad enough that this guy has infringed on his turf, he’s doing it so effectively that Jim can’t help but feel completely inadequate. In six days, Spock has done more to fight crime in the city than he was able to in six years. True to his word, the man in efficient, and there has been no loss of life since he started. There’s been barely anything to do the past week. Since getting Tollik off the planet, there’s been nothing Spock hasn’t already taken care of.
And damn, but he has it easy. Just a point in the right direction, and he’s done. No dirt. No mess. No bruises or cuts or burns.
A new name starts floating around two months after Spock comes to town. Jim doesn’t know where he first hears it or in what context, but just judging from what comes with the name, he knows it’s got to be bad. The name is whispered, like something feared or sacred – perhaps both, in the same sort of way malevolent gods and dictators are regarded. And for drug pins, hit men, and the scum of the city in general, that takes more than brute strength or brains.
This is about someone powerful.
Even Carol seems scared, if only for him. She catches him by the elbow when he tries to leave, fingers trembling in her firm grip and wrinkling his sleeves. She always looks like she has something to say, but so far, there’s been nothing. Bones watches them, and he’s always awake when Jim comes back.
He’s not scared, but he really ought to be.
Whoever Ayel is, he’s brought some bad news with him. Crime rates are up again, despite Spock’s constant efforts and Jim actually finding shit to take care of again. At first, he thinks they’re back where they used to be.
They’re not. They’re higher.
He bumps into Spock after a six-hour patrol, and he can’t decide which of them is worse off. He certainly feels worse than the other man looks; his shoulders ache and his legs are lead in his boots. Spock’s shoulders are the slightest bit curved.
He decides Spock’s worse.
“Take a break already,” he spits out. “You’re no good to the city if you work yourself into a coma.”
For a moment, he sounds like Carol. Fancy that, he thinks. Spock apparently takes the criticism the same way he does, though. He straightens his back in defiance and holds eye contact for a moment. “The crime rate needs to get back under control,” the man says evenly. “My own wellbeing is a non-priority in comparison.”
Jim frowns, feeling his stomach turn. Just looking at him makes him want to sprint headfirst through a window, if only because it would give him something else to fucking think about. “I thought you people weren’t rash about anything,” he sneers. “Isn’t that one of the things you criticize us about?”
“You are operating under the assumption that I am fully Vulcan,” Spock says lightly, and Jim feels his eyelids stretch in their sockets. “My mother is from this city. She spoke very highly of your father while she lived on Vulcan, and she was very troubled by his passing, even though they had never met.”
Jim finds himself speechless for a moment. Then, the words come to him. “You’re part human.”
“Indeed,” Spock confirms. “And despite my father’s status and attempts to persuade the council, Vulcan is prepared to leave the world to its own devices at this point.”
Jim’s shoulders tense, all pain forgotten. Vulcans have been assisting with human activity for over a century now, guiding, leading, and advising. Some of the greatest advancements in the past century have been due to Vulcan guidance. The thought of losing that help – the driving force of much of the planet’s growth – paralyzes him.
He’s never cared for Vulcans, to be honest. They hold humanity back at times, even when they’re claiming to help. It’s because of the Vulcan Advisory Council that humankind has only begun exploring regions outside its own solar system, and even then they’ve manipulated their way into those affairs as well. The only movements humans make in space are on transporter vessels. Despite human proclivity to search out and explore the unknown, they’ve been stuck on their own planet years after the ability to leave and explore became a reality.
But for all that Jim personally dislikes them, Vulcans are a source of relief for so many people. The inevitable uproar and chaos that would sweep earth were the Vulcans to abandon them altogether is beyond Jim’s imagination, and he can imagine quite a lot. He can’t let it happen.
“Fuck,” Jim whispers. Spock turns on his heel. “It’s not gonna happen, Spock. Ever.”
Spock doesn’t turn around, but Jim can see him shake his head. His back burns, a hot flush traveling up his neck onto his ears and cheeks.
He can do it. Even if Spock will never believe it.
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