FIC: TRUTH (ST:XI, K/S)
Title: Truth
Author carolinablu85
Rating: R
Word Count: 6,360
Characters: Kirk/Spock, Uhura, Sulu, McCoy
Summary: The measure of a man can come at the strangest of times. The truth of his feelings can be even stranger.
Disclaimer: I disclaim. I own nothing.
A/N: Written for frances_veritas’s birthday- Happy Birthday, Moey! My first ever K/S fic. It’s... weird. But you’re weird, so hopefully it’ll be a good match. Like Jim topping Spock, am I right? :P So so so so so so so so SOOOOOOOOO sorry it’s late, I hate being late. But I realized this sucked and had to fix it as best as I could, which isn’t much but I hope is enough. Let’s pretend to time warp back a week so it’s not so late and so sucky? Okay? I'll even make it up to you by attempting to write some Pinto. Okay? Okay. Good. Happy birthday again, hon. Love you muchly!
Now
This was not easy. He scrambled over terrain, finding it problematic with only one hand available to climb. However, considering his other hand was busy keeping his Captain from possibly plummeting to his death, Spock could see no alternative.
“How- how much... further?” said Captain gasped out next to him. Or behind him. He was slowing down again.
“Farther,” Spock corrected, grasping Kirk by the shoulder once more, pulling him along.
“What?” Kirk nearly stumbled, and Spock was concerned to note that it appeared he was stumbling over nothing but his own feet. This was also problematic. The Captain was oftentimes... frustratingly graceful even in the most frenzied of circumstances. Today was not one of those circumstances, apparently. Spock filed this away for later thought.
“Farther,” he said again, assisting Kirk in climbing up a higher ledge. A few more meters up, and Spock thought they may find a safe place to regroup. “‘Farther’ is used to describe physical distance, ‘further’ denotes advancement in a degree, such as-”
“I hate you. Right now, I hate you,” Kirk half-groaned, either from pain or frustration Spock wasn’t quite sure. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
His voice started to lower and drift at the end, which was alarming enough for Spock to turn back to him. Kirk was faltering again, stumbling, eyes almost closing-
“Captain,” Spock raised his voice. Not out of worry; there was nothing to worry about. But out of practicality- he had to keep Kirk awake.
“I’m here,” Kirk forced his eyes open again, waved a hand. “I’m here.” He stumbled again. “Don’t know how much longer I can climb though, Spock.”
“No need,” he kept his tone calm, professional. “We can find shelter here until you feel well enough to climb again.” Neither of them were inclined to point out that they didn’t know when that would be. He led Kirk into one of the small caves dotting the mountainside, assisting him in sitting on the ground.
“They still following us?” Kirk grunted, easing his legs out on front of him, head resting back against the rocks behind him.
Spock peered out of the cave entrance. “I cannot be sure,” he admitted. Light was falling fast, and the dense terrain made it difficult to pick out any moving shapes around them. “However, it would be illogical for them to search for us in this darkness. We should have the night to rest safely.”
Kirk simply grunted again, trying to fight against his eyes falling shut. “They surprised us before,” he reminded him, lowering to a grumble.
Spock had to concede that that was true.
***
Hours Earlier
“Do you think if I yell ‘We come in peace,’ they’ll maybe, I don’t know, put their guns away?” Jim shouted over the din of gunfire and crashing rocks. He didn’t really expect any response, so the half-hearted glare from Uhura was a pleasant surprise. He fired back a few more rounds, then checked on what was left of his team. Two red shirts down. Shit. One security officer left, plus Uhura, Sulu already sporting a wound to his shoulder, and him. Not good odds.
Not that, now that he thought about it, the odds had ever really stopped him before.
“Any chance of us getting off this planet in the next thirty seconds?” he shouted again, hoping for an actual reply this time.
Luckily, Uhura knew the difference. “Everything’s still jammed,” she growled back, and if he wasn’t (mostly) sure that her anger was directed towards the... things, whatevers, shooting at them, he’d be pretty terrified right now.
So. Tactical retreat time. “Everyone fall back, try to get some cover in the-” Another shot, this one barely missing his own head. “Oh shit. Try to get some cover in the trees, maybe if we can get clear of this place, we can-”
Jim had never considered himself a believer in many things- not any god, not destiny, not (until recently? maybe?) true love and all that- but irony was something he could always count on. It never let him down. Like right now, just as the ‘get out of here alive’ was leaving his mouth, the whatevers managed to surround them, close in on them, take aim, and fire.
***
Now
Spock dragged some more brush into the entrance of their cave, disguising it as best he could. Not perfect, but adequate. Now there was just the matter of- “Captain,” he made his tone sharp again. Kirk’s eyes had closed, his body still. It was more than a little disconcerting.
“Hey Spock,” Kirk’s eyes stayed shut. “I think we’re working past official office hours at this point. And it’s just the two of us.”
Spock almost allowed himself to smile. There was something strange (and pleasant) about understanding what this human was actually saying, even when he was indirect about it. “Jim,” he corrected himself. “Do not fall asleep.”
“’M not,” he protested, though his eyes still wouldn’t open.
Spock settled on the ground next to him, regarding him closely. “I cannot allow you to fall asleep. Not until I know more of your condition.”
Jim snorted. “My condition? We’re stuck on a hostile planet with no food, hiding in a cave where no rescue team can find us unless these stupid personal locater things work,” he indicated the faintly blinking light on Spock’s receiver, “and they never do. My arm hurts and my legs are stupid and it feels like Scotty rewired the engineering of my head and-”
“Jim,” Spock said his name again, just as quietly. “You...” he fished for the correct term. “Are babbling.” And he was being honest. That was also worrisome.
Jim let out the smallest of laughs, finally opening his eyes. Instead of being relieved, Spock frowned. His eyes were hazy, almost glassy. “You want me to stay awake or not?”
“I do,” he answered honestly. With only the slightest hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand against Jim’s forehead, first ascertaining for a fever, then just to give (and receive) comfort. He finally gave in to the relief he had be holding back since pulling Jim out of that cell an hour ago. “Jim,” he said it again.
He liked how it sounded, how it felt.
Jim must have too. He smiled, tilted his head more into Spock’s hand. “You’re worried,” he blurted out.
They both blinked. “Yes,” Spock answered after a moment of silence, surprised yet again that Jim was willing to say that out loud. He turned, moved in closer, started to examine Jim for any injuries McCoy must have missed in that first, cursory assessment. “Where are you hurt?”
Jim rolled his eyes, trying to slap Spock’s hand when it began testing his ribs. “My pride,” he mumbled.
Spock did his very best not to glare. “Lieutenant Uhura said they interrogated you. Did they hurt you?”
“Yes,” Jim answered, once again too quickly for someone like Jim, who usually hedged and avoided and misdirected until one could forget about any gushing stab wounds or third-degree burns or occasional impalement by native spear.
Spock fought against narrowing his eyes or reacting too strongly. He recalled Jim’s ‘babbling’- my arm hurts. There were no injuries to Jim’s arm. None that he could see, at least. Quickly, quicker than Jim obviously expected, Spock grabbed his nearest forearm, running his fingers along his skin.
“Hey,” Jim tried to squirm away, but Spock tightened his grip. He ignored the sensations shooting through his finger tips that always came from touching Jim, searching for... Nothing. He picked up Jim’s other arm, ignoring another protest. “I’m ticklish. Spock-”
And there it was. Miniscule, almost invisible pinpricks on the underside of Jim’s arm. Multiple points, made by what one could logically surmise was a needle. “Captain,” he slipped back into professional tone, if only to disguise the slight panic building in him. “Did they drug you?”
Another honest answer. “Yeah.”
***
Hours Earlier
It took far too long for the away team’s distress signal to reach the Enterprise. And it took even longer for them to form a rescue operation and beam down to the planet. Approximately eight hours and forty-two minutes after the original team had departed the ship.
Far too long.
When he and the Captain (Jim, he reminded himself. As he was often lectured, he worked with the ‘Captain,’ he was in a relationship with ‘Jim’) had first begun this, they were both aware of the risks. The nature of their jobs, the nature of themselves, meant it would not be easy. Spock had been prepared for that. He had just been unprepared for how deeply he would fall.
Jim was... Jim was unparalleled.
There was no one like him, not for Spock. And while maybe that meant he was emotionally compromised, that was fine. He thought of his mother, her capacity for love and emotion, the way she- even in death- kept her husband and son together. He thought of her smile and how Jim at his most mischievous reminded him of her, and Spock had to think that there were worse things in the universe than being compromised by love.
The crew must have agreed, supported, or at least understood. Because not a single one of them objected to him leading the rescue team planet-side. Not even Dr. McCoy, who insisted on coming along as well. With three bridge officers captured- one of whom was notorious for getting into trouble- Spock thought it a logical move.
It was a crudely made, makeshift building. Dispensing of the guards was simple enough, but Spock still found himself wanting to rush around every corner, burst through every door. He held himself in check though, meticulous and careful. He would not risk his crew- Jim’s crew- because of haste.
There was a long hallway, a row of prison cells, below ground. The few guards in their way were not in their way for long. They continued their silent search of the cellblock, and just when Spock was about to allow himself the feeling of frustration, the next door opened to reveal three figures.
Lieutenant Sulu was standing in a ready stance, brandishing a slightly bent food tray like a club, ready to strike. His position in front of the other two was protective, angry, and eager for a fight. Spock disregarded him immediately in favor of the two being protected.
Lieutenant Uhura was kneeling on the ground, face just as murderous until she recognized them. Her arms, however, were not up and ready to fight. They were instead wrapped around Jim (Captain, he was the Captain right now), who was huddled on the floor next to her. He was bruised. Bleeding from a few gashes. Shaking. Spock was not pleased with any of this.
“Lieutenant, stand down,” he snapped at Sulu, perhaps a little harsher than he intended. Luckily Sulu was already stepping back, dropping his weapon, relief painting his features. Spock and McCoy were already stepping past him.
Uhura pulled Kirk up into more of a sitting position, but did not release him from her hold. He fought against raising an eyebrow, not sure whether to be intrigued or worried. The Lieutenant and the Captain had developed an interesting relationship over the past year, and while Spock was certain they were completely devoted to each other in friendship, in almost a familial bond between siblings, both usually preferred to mask it with sarcasm and teasing. This was obviously not one of those times.
“What happened?” McCoy demanded before he could. The doctor was already looking Kirk over, doing a quick field examination, pulling out a hypo.
Uhura glanced back and forth between them and Kirk, almost reluctantly letting go. “I don’t know. He offered himself up to be interrogated. So they’d leave us alone.” Her voice was short, to the point. Heavily controlled. Spock saw Sulu grimace out of the corner of his eye.
Kirk had offered himself up. To protect his crew. Of which there were only... “Where is the security team?” he finally found his voice. A small part of him wished he could have used it to ask the Captain how he was, or express his relief that he- they- were alive, but he could not. Not now.
“Dead,” Kirk finally spoke as well. And while it sounded tired, in pain, it was not the worst Spock had ever heard him. At least there was that.
“Captain?” Spock addressed him, putting as little and as much into the question as he could.
“I’m here,” he waved away the helping hands, glaring at McCoy when the hypo came in to sting his neck. Spock stopped himself from pointing out that that was actually not a valid response to his question.
McCoy just shrugged, unrepentant, as he continued his assessment, now talking to Spock. “He’ll need some time in a biobed, but nothing serious as far as I can tell. He can walk. Which means he can leave.”
“He’s right here,” Kirk waved again, this time for attention. Like he needed more. “He’s still the Captain, remember?”
“Yes dear,” McCoy sighed, nodding for Spock to take over while he did quick exams on the two Lieutenants.
Spock pulled Kirk up carefully to his feet, glad for the opportunity to steady him for a moment. He kept his hands on Kirk’s arms, brushed his fingers through a rip in a sleeve to touch bare skin, trying to gain and project comfort through the point of contact. Kirk locked eyes with him, gave him a lopsided smile and a nod. “Nice to see you too, Commander.”
Spock wondered if he would ever be at the point of taking that for granted- that Kirk could read him so well. He nodded instead, permitting a small smile. “If you are finished with your Sabbatical, Captain, you are needed back on the ship.”
“Too bad,” Kirk groaned just slightly as Spock took one of his arms over his shoulders, supporting him as they fled the room, the hallway, the building. “I was just starting to like this vacation. Warm temperatures, attentive staff, nice view...” he winked at Uhura as he said this, gaining strength with each step.
She glared without any heat. “Captain, try to shut up and not die in the next five minutes, okay?” He simply saluted back at her.
Possibly they were all too relieved or relaxed, because the group of hostiles outside the building surprised them all. And the ensuing chaos and pursuit had them splintered running at full speed, which left the Captain lagging behind. Spock, despite his Captain’s orders, stayed at his side. Even when it took them away from the rest, up hill, into the caves...
***
Now
“Seventy-three thousand, four hundred and ninety-one,” Spock kept his tone commanding, as though that made a difference.
Possibly it did. Jim did not lift his head from Spock’s shoulder, but he moved it around slightly, resettling, as he mumbled under his breath for a moment. “Two-seven-one-point-oh-nine,” he answered after a few more seconds. Quieter, “If you’re not even gonna try to make it hard...”
He had been throwing out numbers for Jim to find the square root of for the last twenty-three minutes. And while the game may have been keeping Jim awake, he was still gradually becoming listless, his body sagging into Spock’s more and more with each passing minute.
Spock pretended to think for a moment for the next number. “Four.”
He felt Jim’s laugh more than he heard it. “Don’t be cute.”
Spock readjusted his grip, both arms wrapped around Jim’s upper body, his shoulders and torso. He had stopped pretending eleven minutes ago that this position was for logical reasons. It was not logical, but it was necessary. Occasionally, and increasingly more often, touching Jim felt more than necessary. It felt right.
Jim seemed to agree based on his own position, curled into the warmth Spock produced. “We should’ve been back on the ship by now,” he murmured.
“We will find the rest of the team in the morning,” he assured.
Jim laughed. “It’s not like you to be so optimistic.”
“Nor you to be so pessimistic,” he pointed out, tightening his hold a fraction. Jim was shivering still. Yet it was not cold in the cave.
Jim continued as though he had not heard. “You’ve usually got your ‘three point nine percent chance of survival’ stuff. And the, like, listing of protocol in these situations. And then I argue, and then you throw the book at me, and then-”
“I have never thrown anything at you,” Spock argued. He moved one hand to the back of Jim’s neck, rubbing lightly.
Another laugh, even as he sank more into the embrace. “I’ve always wondered if you do that just to fuck with me.”
“Do what?” Slowly, gently enough for Jim not to notice, Spock maneuvered them into a more comfortable position, sneaking one of his legs around Jim’s body, pulling him closer against his chest.
“Pretend to misunderstand me,” Jim accused. “Take my stupid-human idioms literally. You think I don’t realize it, but I do. I’m observant.”
Spock nodded in return, still getting Jim settled against him without him noticing. “You are very observant.”
“So you admit you’re just fucking with me,” Jim nodded decisively.
“At the moment, no. I would of course like to fuck with you. Later,” he lowered his voice. “Once we are safely back on board the ship.”
Jim was still for a moment, then groaned. “I think I hate you again.”
“You do not,” Spock countered firmly.
“You’re a tease,” his voice was drifting again, low and soft. “I knew it. You’re only with me for my body.”
“That is entirely untrue,” Spock shook his head just slightly, frowning now. The fingers of one hand were brushing close to Jim’s meldpoints, and he could sense both the honest feelings behind that innocuous sentence, and the haziness of the drug in Jim’s system. He liked exactly neither of them.
“Mm-hm,” Jim’s mind was sinking into the drug’s effects finally. He had had no food, no counter-treatment. “I know I’m pretty. I know that’s what people see. Then they see what I am and that’s that.”
“What you are?” Spock echoed. He debated for a moment with moving around to study Jim’s face, but found he was too comfortable where he was. As was Jim, his head starting to loll back to Spock’s shoulder, soft hair brushing the underside of Spock’s chin. Spock allowed himself to bow his head, brush his cheek against the top of Jim’s head. An extra buzz of comfort went through both of them.
“What I am,” Jim echoed. “People see a name. Or see a face. An outline. They make up what they want to fill in the rest.”
“I do not do that,” Spock could not raise his voice if he tried.
“I know. It scares me.”
Spock picked up Jim’s hand where it had dropped carelessly to the ground and held it. “Why does it frighten you?”
“If you don’t fill it in, there’s nothing here,” Jim answered as though it were the most obvious answer in the universe.
Spock was hardly a talkative person, but he was rarely speechless. “Jim.” He stopped, attempted again. “That is not all you are. I refuse to believe that.”
“Yeah, well,” he was drowsy, faint. “Thought you’d figure it out by now. Thought you had right away.”
***
Months Earlier
Contrary to what some thought, Spock did not actually possess superhuman powers. And while he derived some enjoyment in letting Ensign Chekov believe otherwise, his hearing was not that much stronger than an average human’s. Except, he had to surmise, when he went into a bar. Because he could not believe his shipmates would willingly spend time in such a small space that was so loud.
And yet, here Kirk was, leaning one elbow against the bar itself, hip jutting out just so, talking to an unfamiliar man next to him. No one from Starfleet, Spock was sure. No one from Starfleet would think it acceptable to... to ogle a Captain in that manner, shore leave or no.
Spock watched from the doorway as Kirk laughed at something the man said. He felt his eyes narrow when the man leaned in close, whispering in the Captain’s ear, and Kirk did not move away. He might have even leaned in as well.
He should have done what he had grown accustomed to in these situations, what he had grown accustomed to ever since realizing his feelings for James T. Kirk went beyond normal camaraderie. He should have buried that red hot burn in his chest even deeper- controlled it- and gone about his business.
But the Captain’s hip was still jutting out invitingly. And the man next to him was reaching out, his fingers brushing against that hip. It was unacceptable. He could see the man’s face from here, and the things he was whispering to Kirk... also unacceptable. Kirk just laughed, bantered something back, let those hands continue to touch-
There were several things Spock should have done. But instead he found himself striding over to the bar, coming up behind Kirk, staring the unfamiliar man down. “Captain.”
“Spock!” Kirk turned in what should have been a drunken manner based on the way he was smiling, but was actually smooth, almost sensual. Spock’s eyes were drawn to the movement, as were the unidentified man still lurking there. “What are you- hey! You’re in a bar! Spock in a bar, can you believe that?” he asked the unwelcome third party.
“...No...” the pest was still there, massively confused and massively annoying to Spock. His hand was resting on the bar, very close to Kirk’s.
“Captain,” he said again, injecting his tone with the right amount of blandness and threat. “Your presence has been requested back on the ship.” Not technically a lie. “We should go immediately.” Also not a lie.
To his satisfaction (and relief), Kirk slid away from the bar with barely a glance back at the human nuisance. “Is there something wrong with the ship? Is someone-?” He stopped, frowning at Spock’s frown. “What?”
“You are not intoxicated,” Spock stated. He most definitely did not accuse.
Kirk’s eyes narrowed, confused. “No. I mean, that was the plan at some point, but not if you need me back onboard. Why do you have that eyebrow-y look on your face?”
He would not attempt to repeat that phrase. “I have a look?”
“Not usually,” Kirk snarked back. “But you look- not confused, heavens forbid, but... inquisitive, maybe. What’s up?”
There should be no way Kirk could know that simply by looking at his face. “When I first entered the bar, you seemed intoxicated. The man you were speaking with thought you were.” And so had Spock.
Kirk shrugged, still following Spock out of the bar. “I know. That’s why I pretended. It’s easier that way, gets us both what we want.”
He almost slowed his walk at that. “I do not understand.” The air was cooler, quieter, outside. Spock took a deep, grateful breath and focused on Kirk.
Kirk was leaning back against the wall of the bar, still as casual as can be. “He wanted to hookup with someone. I did too. It’s easier to approach, and to leave when it’s done, if you can blame it on being drunk, Spock. It gets us both what we want.”
The explanation, while seemingly logical, just confused him more. He moved closer, blood pressure picking up when Kirk did nothing to move away. His hip jutted out just so. Spock reached past it, bracing his hand on the brick behind Kirk’s body. “There is no emergency on the Enterprise,” he confessed quietly, bringing his eyes up to meet Kirk’s directly. “I wanted you to leave the bar with me. Not him.”
“I know,” Kirk slid one of his own hands back to grasp Spock’s wrist, to hold him there or anchor him, possibly.
“You know?” Spock, again, felt dumbfounded.
“Yeah.” There was that smirk that was not quite a smirk. More genuine, open.
“And yet you left with me anyway,” it gave Spock the encouragement to say.
“Like I said,” Kirk moved in closer, eye to eye and nose to nose. And, importantly, lips to lips. “It gets us both what we want.”
***
Now
“What were you asked while interrogated?” Spock was practically cradling Jim at this point. One small compartment of his brain (detached, or maybe the least detached, maybe the only part never detached?) marveled that they each had a hand over the other’s heart. His flat on Jim’s chest, Jim’s curled into Spock’s shirt at his side.
“No idea,” Jim mumbled, slurred, trembled. “Once they figured out I don’t speak the language of the Whatevers, they got kinda mad.” He was- Spock did not want to use the term ‘cuddling’ but it was the closest description. “’M really thirsty.”
Dehydration. Possible allergic reaction (this was Jim, after all). It could be any number of things. “We will be back on the ship soon and will get you water then,” he offered, attempting the same tone he was sure his mother would use. Calm, soothing.
He felt the breath of Jim’s laugh across his neck. “There’s that optimism again. You’re counting your chickens b’fore they hatch, Commander.”
“We are not in a barn, Captain,” he replied immediately.
There was a beat of silence, of Spock silently pleading please Jim, please, please, please, before Jim huffed again. “Fucking with me.”
I love you, he wanted to say next, but did not. It was perhaps not the time to say it, though inevitable to feel it. “Statistics never apply with you,” he murmured into Jim’s ear, hoping the softness of his voice would quell some of his trembling. “All previous experience points to our survival now. And I... I do not permit you to fail now.”
“Okay,” he said, so simply. Another bit of quiet, as Spock readjusted his sonic receiver once more, hoping to find any signal, any sign of life, any hope. Then Jim spoke again. “I don’t pretend with you.”
There was something on the receiver. Faint. “Pretend?”
Jim twisted his fingers even more, as though hoping the fabric of Spock’s shirt would mask the shaking. “I don’t try to be something else. I don’t know how, with you.”
The signal was still faint, but repeating. Cyclical. Stronger each time, as though searching. Spock let go of Jim’s hand, typing at the screen, boosting their location signal. “You of all people should never be someone else.”
“I like that,” Jim’s voice was fainter than the signal. “I love you.”
There was a tight, silent flash of light, and they were beamed on board the Enterprise before Spock could reply.
***
Later
It hadn’t been his worst near-death experience, Jim had to admit. Or, more accurately, had gotten Bones to admit. It couldn’t have been that bad, he reasoned, because Bones only called him ‘kid’ once. He only did that when he was worried, so it couldn’t have been really scary.
He just wished he could remember.
It was fuzzy. He remembered Spock and Bones and all them barging into that cell, he remembered running with Spock, hiding with Spock, talking to him. But the details weren’t there.
It was really fucking annoying.
Bones released him about six hours after he and Spock were beamed back on board. (About six, he thought. He tried competing with Spock’s ‘seventeen point three eight minutes’ thing, and so far he was failing spectacularly.) Jim debated going straight to the bridge, if only to check on Sulu and Uhura, but the idea of a shower, a real bed, and his blue blanket that smelled like him and Spock (and a little like Iowa, for some reason) was way way more enticing.
He let out a I’m-getting-too-old-for-this-shit groan as he walked out of the shower and settled into bed, stretching and relaxing muscles one by one. With his eyes closed, he just smiled and waved when the door opened and someone sat on the edge of his bed.
“You should not go to sleep with wet hair.”
“Who said I’m sleeping?” he smirked, but then opened his eyes, sat up, and took the towel he knew Spock would be holding out. Running it through his hair, “Bridge?”
“Running smoothly, as usual,” Spock added pointedly. “The Lieutenants are also performing their duties as normal and have been given a full clearance from Dr. McCoy.”
“Good,” he nodded. Both for his ship and his crew. “Good.”
“Dr. McCoy says you are well?” Spock asked, taking the towel back.
Jim raised an eyebrow. (What, it’s not like Spock owns the patent on that look, right?) “You already talked to him?”
Spock did that thing where he was smiling without smiling. “Possibly.”
“You don’t trust my extremely well-honed good judgment?” he held a hand, wounded, to his chest.
“I had questions.” He wasn’t smiling now.
And neither was Jim. “What happened when I was fu- drugged up?” He tried not to curse around Spock, especially when they were alone. Like it felt undignified or something.
“The drug you were administered contained traces of thiopentalam,” Spock told him straightforward, honest. Jim loved that about him.
“Thiopentalam?” Jim searched his brain. “That’s like, like a truth serum.”
“Somewhat,” Spock nodded. Shit. Now he was being tactful.
“Well, fuck.” So much for dignified language. “What did I say?”
Spock sat closer to him, brushing against his hip. “You... do you feel as though you have to be something you are not to get-” Spock struggling for words was just plain freaky. “-Affection?”
“Fuck.” He had to say it again. “Look, I... maybe I-”
“Jim,” his voice was surprisingly warm. “You told me that you do not pretend with me. So you do not have to now.”
“I...” he sighed for just a moment as he tried to figure this out. “It’s not affection. Okay? It’s sex. It’s just for sex. Was just for sex.”
“For you or for them?”
“Same thing,” Jim shrugged. “They want that, what I’m good at.” This conversation had probably been so much easier when he was drugged.
“That is not-” Spock stood up abruptly, hands bunched into fists. One of the few outward indications he had that showed he was pissed off. Except for that whole choking people to death on the bridge thing, but Jim was pretty sure that was one time deal. He hoped.
“Yeah, it’s sad,” Jim didn’t see the big deal. “It’s pathetic and it’s obvious me and all parties involved have issues.” He sat up further (farther? further? Jim still didn’t know) and swung his legs around the edge of the bed to face Spock. “But I don’t care. I’m okay with it. That was how I got through things.”
“No,” was all Spock said. But in that disapproving ‘it’s wrong’ way he had. The same way he responded to Scotty’s enthusiastic engineering suggestions, to Sulu and Pavel playing catch on the bridge, to Jim’s repeated insinuations that a dog would be totally awesome on a ship. Which, hey. It’s not like he still wanted a horse or anything.
“Spock, it’s really not-”
“No.” And then Spock spun around with his eyes all flashy and dark. Jim blinked, shutting up. He could feel Spock’s anger. Not sense it, or understand it, but feel it. Whoa. “That is unacceptable. You are neither pathetic nor simply useful for another’s gain. No. You are one of the most illogical, stubborn, enduring, caring humans I have ever met. You are many things, Jim. Sometimes too many. But empty, a plaything, is not one of them.”
That twisty, burning feeling in his gut, that buzz that filled him all the way up to his brain, was back. His face hot, Jim couldn’t help but smile. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”
“Yes,” Spock answered, looking like he was fighting against lifting an eyebrow.
“Oh?” Oh. Drugs. “Shit.”
Another eyebrow movement, a quirk, this one less pointed and more humoring. “Your ‘less profanity’ practice could use more work.”
“You telling me I was using proper language when I was drugged?” Jim pointed out.
“Our definitions of proper language may differ,” Spock hedged his answer again. He sat down then, calmer, their legs just touching. “Do you regret telling me?”
“No,” he said immediately, honestly, certainly. “Don’t like that I don’t remember it, though.”
“I remember it,” Spock said quietly. “I will not forget.”
Jim watched him for a moment, thinking. “You had me alone in a cave doped up on truth serum. You could’ve asked me anything.”
“I did not.”
“I know,” Jim summoned all of his bravado to look Spock in the eye. “But you could have. I don’t pretend with you, right? And I trust you when I can’t do things or can’t remember things. Right?”
“I fail to see where you are going with this,” Spock’s heat was so close to Jim’s skin, so close.
He moved into Spock’s side, leaning into his shoulder, smiling when Spock’s arm came around him to brace him. “I’m just saying- I don’t do the normal stuff couples do, okay?” He waved a hand between them. “I don’t know how. I’d fuck it up, probably, and make that tiny vein in your forehead pop out.”
“I do not have a tiny vein,” Spock’s voice was a little strangled. He still wasn’t completely used to being teased, which is why Jim loved doing it so much.
“Yeah you do. It pops out when you get really frustrated. Not normal ‘Jim you’re being illogical’ frustrated, but the ‘I don’t understand why you’re not as smart as me’ frustrated. That vein and your eyebrows are the only way I know what you’re thinking sometimes,” Jim grinned. “Anyway, I don’t pretend with you. And I trust you. That’s how I’m going to show it, all right?”
Spock stared at him. “What are you showing?”
“That I love you.” Jim had faced down Klingons, Romulans, civil wars, Whatevers, and everything in between. He could face down an adult relationship.
Spock was quiet for a moment. “You put two spoonfuls of sugar in your coffee, except for the mornings after you have had a nightmare. Then you drink it black.” He turned to face Jim directly, arm still wrapped around him. “You have nightmares after away missions when someone on your crew is hurt, excluding yourself.” He leaned in and kissed Jim’s temple. “You crack the knuckles of your left hand when you are bored on the bridge and about to suggest something others would deem ‘crazy’ to pass the time.” A kiss to his forehead. “You gave Ensign Chekhov one of your books because you knew he’d like it, even though the book belonged to your father.”
Jim tilted his head up, catching the next kiss on his mouth. “That’s sweet but very very creepy, Spock. We’re going to have to talk about your stalker tendencies, because to the average person that’s-”
He’d deny it later, but it was possible he let out an un-Captain-like squeak when Spock all but threw him back, flat on the bed. His vision suddenly boiled down to two very dark eyes and one quirked eyebrow. “As we have already established that you are in fact not an ‘average person,’ I see no problem with knowing as much about you as I can.”
Showoff, Jim wanted to say. Or would have said, if he wasn’t so distracted by Spock’s hands wandering down his chest, two fingers brushing across his heart, his ribs to his hips. The Vulcan’s a romantic, I knew it. I bet-
Silenced again, this time by Spock slipping his hand passed the elastic of his briefs, tugging them away. “Is this... really the time?” he tried to fight back a gasp as those hands continued to explore. “I mean, I- fuck- I just got out of sickbay. I’m recovering. I’m- oh shit- I’m fragile. I might- mmph-”
Spock practically devoured his mouth, shutting him up real quick. “You are babbling again,” he murmured across his lips, nipping at them for good measure.
Or, you know, great measure. “You like it when I babble,” he said with absolute certainty. The faint green tinge to someone’s face told him he was right. “Ha! You do, don’t you? You like me being totally, crazily, babblingly human. You like-”
Half of the fun of babbling was getting Spock to shut him up. “Babblingly is not a word,” Spock informed him after they broke apart for air.
Jim looked up at him, working up the willpower for a smirk. “I just used it. So it is a word. Maybe not by your official Standard Terran Language dictionary, but I gave it meaning and purpose, didn’t I? So therefore-”
This time he completely lost his train of thought, and most other brain functions, by the time Spock let him breathe again, his body covering Jim’s like a blanket, warm and wanting. Jim managed a lazy smile, hooking a leg up to pull him even closer. “Jim,” he heard his name exhaled, somehow quiet and strong at the same time.
He heard everything else in it. The ‘I love you’, the ‘I was worried’, the ‘I understand’, even the ‘I will now commence with fucking your brains out’ (his interpretation, of course).
Sometimes, words were overrated. Sometimes, the truth came in knowing how someone took their coffee, in knowing that someone carried a mother’s necklace in their pocket on what would have been her birthday. In knowing that someone would be next to you in the morning when you woke up.
So he smiled again, brushing two of his fingers against the ones holding his hips down on the mattress. “Show me what you got.”
Author carolinablu85
Rating: R
Word Count: 6,360
Characters: Kirk/Spock, Uhura, Sulu, McCoy
Summary: The measure of a man can come at the strangest of times. The truth of his feelings can be even stranger.
Disclaimer: I disclaim. I own nothing.
A/N: Written for frances_veritas’s birthday- Happy Birthday, Moey! My first ever K/S fic. It’s... weird. But you’re weird, so hopefully it’ll be a good match. Like Jim topping Spock, am I right? :P So so so so so so so so SOOOOOOOOO sorry it’s late, I hate being late. But I realized this sucked and had to fix it as best as I could, which isn’t much but I hope is enough. Let’s pretend to time warp back a week so it’s not so late and so sucky? Okay? I'll even make it up to you by attempting to write some Pinto. Okay? Okay. Good. Happy birthday again, hon. Love you muchly!
Now
This was not easy. He scrambled over terrain, finding it problematic with only one hand available to climb. However, considering his other hand was busy keeping his Captain from possibly plummeting to his death, Spock could see no alternative.
“How- how much... further?” said Captain gasped out next to him. Or behind him. He was slowing down again.
“Farther,” Spock corrected, grasping Kirk by the shoulder once more, pulling him along.
“What?” Kirk nearly stumbled, and Spock was concerned to note that it appeared he was stumbling over nothing but his own feet. This was also problematic. The Captain was oftentimes... frustratingly graceful even in the most frenzied of circumstances. Today was not one of those circumstances, apparently. Spock filed this away for later thought.
“Farther,” he said again, assisting Kirk in climbing up a higher ledge. A few more meters up, and Spock thought they may find a safe place to regroup. “‘Farther’ is used to describe physical distance, ‘further’ denotes advancement in a degree, such as-”
“I hate you. Right now, I hate you,” Kirk half-groaned, either from pain or frustration Spock wasn’t quite sure. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
His voice started to lower and drift at the end, which was alarming enough for Spock to turn back to him. Kirk was faltering again, stumbling, eyes almost closing-
“Captain,” Spock raised his voice. Not out of worry; there was nothing to worry about. But out of practicality- he had to keep Kirk awake.
“I’m here,” Kirk forced his eyes open again, waved a hand. “I’m here.” He stumbled again. “Don’t know how much longer I can climb though, Spock.”
“No need,” he kept his tone calm, professional. “We can find shelter here until you feel well enough to climb again.” Neither of them were inclined to point out that they didn’t know when that would be. He led Kirk into one of the small caves dotting the mountainside, assisting him in sitting on the ground.
“They still following us?” Kirk grunted, easing his legs out on front of him, head resting back against the rocks behind him.
Spock peered out of the cave entrance. “I cannot be sure,” he admitted. Light was falling fast, and the dense terrain made it difficult to pick out any moving shapes around them. “However, it would be illogical for them to search for us in this darkness. We should have the night to rest safely.”
Kirk simply grunted again, trying to fight against his eyes falling shut. “They surprised us before,” he reminded him, lowering to a grumble.
Spock had to concede that that was true.
***
Hours Earlier
“Do you think if I yell ‘We come in peace,’ they’ll maybe, I don’t know, put their guns away?” Jim shouted over the din of gunfire and crashing rocks. He didn’t really expect any response, so the half-hearted glare from Uhura was a pleasant surprise. He fired back a few more rounds, then checked on what was left of his team. Two red shirts down. Shit. One security officer left, plus Uhura, Sulu already sporting a wound to his shoulder, and him. Not good odds.
Not that, now that he thought about it, the odds had ever really stopped him before.
“Any chance of us getting off this planet in the next thirty seconds?” he shouted again, hoping for an actual reply this time.
Luckily, Uhura knew the difference. “Everything’s still jammed,” she growled back, and if he wasn’t (mostly) sure that her anger was directed towards the... things, whatevers, shooting at them, he’d be pretty terrified right now.
So. Tactical retreat time. “Everyone fall back, try to get some cover in the-” Another shot, this one barely missing his own head. “Oh shit. Try to get some cover in the trees, maybe if we can get clear of this place, we can-”
Jim had never considered himself a believer in many things- not any god, not destiny, not (until recently? maybe?) true love and all that- but irony was something he could always count on. It never let him down. Like right now, just as the ‘get out of here alive’ was leaving his mouth, the whatevers managed to surround them, close in on them, take aim, and fire.
***
Now
Spock dragged some more brush into the entrance of their cave, disguising it as best he could. Not perfect, but adequate. Now there was just the matter of- “Captain,” he made his tone sharp again. Kirk’s eyes had closed, his body still. It was more than a little disconcerting.
“Hey Spock,” Kirk’s eyes stayed shut. “I think we’re working past official office hours at this point. And it’s just the two of us.”
Spock almost allowed himself to smile. There was something strange (and pleasant) about understanding what this human was actually saying, even when he was indirect about it. “Jim,” he corrected himself. “Do not fall asleep.”
“’M not,” he protested, though his eyes still wouldn’t open.
Spock settled on the ground next to him, regarding him closely. “I cannot allow you to fall asleep. Not until I know more of your condition.”
Jim snorted. “My condition? We’re stuck on a hostile planet with no food, hiding in a cave where no rescue team can find us unless these stupid personal locater things work,” he indicated the faintly blinking light on Spock’s receiver, “and they never do. My arm hurts and my legs are stupid and it feels like Scotty rewired the engineering of my head and-”
“Jim,” Spock said his name again, just as quietly. “You...” he fished for the correct term. “Are babbling.” And he was being honest. That was also worrisome.
Jim let out the smallest of laughs, finally opening his eyes. Instead of being relieved, Spock frowned. His eyes were hazy, almost glassy. “You want me to stay awake or not?”
“I do,” he answered honestly. With only the slightest hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand against Jim’s forehead, first ascertaining for a fever, then just to give (and receive) comfort. He finally gave in to the relief he had be holding back since pulling Jim out of that cell an hour ago. “Jim,” he said it again.
He liked how it sounded, how it felt.
Jim must have too. He smiled, tilted his head more into Spock’s hand. “You’re worried,” he blurted out.
They both blinked. “Yes,” Spock answered after a moment of silence, surprised yet again that Jim was willing to say that out loud. He turned, moved in closer, started to examine Jim for any injuries McCoy must have missed in that first, cursory assessment. “Where are you hurt?”
Jim rolled his eyes, trying to slap Spock’s hand when it began testing his ribs. “My pride,” he mumbled.
Spock did his very best not to glare. “Lieutenant Uhura said they interrogated you. Did they hurt you?”
“Yes,” Jim answered, once again too quickly for someone like Jim, who usually hedged and avoided and misdirected until one could forget about any gushing stab wounds or third-degree burns or occasional impalement by native spear.
Spock fought against narrowing his eyes or reacting too strongly. He recalled Jim’s ‘babbling’- my arm hurts. There were no injuries to Jim’s arm. None that he could see, at least. Quickly, quicker than Jim obviously expected, Spock grabbed his nearest forearm, running his fingers along his skin.
“Hey,” Jim tried to squirm away, but Spock tightened his grip. He ignored the sensations shooting through his finger tips that always came from touching Jim, searching for... Nothing. He picked up Jim’s other arm, ignoring another protest. “I’m ticklish. Spock-”
And there it was. Miniscule, almost invisible pinpricks on the underside of Jim’s arm. Multiple points, made by what one could logically surmise was a needle. “Captain,” he slipped back into professional tone, if only to disguise the slight panic building in him. “Did they drug you?”
Another honest answer. “Yeah.”
***
Hours Earlier
It took far too long for the away team’s distress signal to reach the Enterprise. And it took even longer for them to form a rescue operation and beam down to the planet. Approximately eight hours and forty-two minutes after the original team had departed the ship.
Far too long.
When he and the Captain (Jim, he reminded himself. As he was often lectured, he worked with the ‘Captain,’ he was in a relationship with ‘Jim’) had first begun this, they were both aware of the risks. The nature of their jobs, the nature of themselves, meant it would not be easy. Spock had been prepared for that. He had just been unprepared for how deeply he would fall.
Jim was... Jim was unparalleled.
There was no one like him, not for Spock. And while maybe that meant he was emotionally compromised, that was fine. He thought of his mother, her capacity for love and emotion, the way she- even in death- kept her husband and son together. He thought of her smile and how Jim at his most mischievous reminded him of her, and Spock had to think that there were worse things in the universe than being compromised by love.
The crew must have agreed, supported, or at least understood. Because not a single one of them objected to him leading the rescue team planet-side. Not even Dr. McCoy, who insisted on coming along as well. With three bridge officers captured- one of whom was notorious for getting into trouble- Spock thought it a logical move.
It was a crudely made, makeshift building. Dispensing of the guards was simple enough, but Spock still found himself wanting to rush around every corner, burst through every door. He held himself in check though, meticulous and careful. He would not risk his crew- Jim’s crew- because of haste.
There was a long hallway, a row of prison cells, below ground. The few guards in their way were not in their way for long. They continued their silent search of the cellblock, and just when Spock was about to allow himself the feeling of frustration, the next door opened to reveal three figures.
Lieutenant Sulu was standing in a ready stance, brandishing a slightly bent food tray like a club, ready to strike. His position in front of the other two was protective, angry, and eager for a fight. Spock disregarded him immediately in favor of the two being protected.
Lieutenant Uhura was kneeling on the ground, face just as murderous until she recognized them. Her arms, however, were not up and ready to fight. They were instead wrapped around Jim (Captain, he was the Captain right now), who was huddled on the floor next to her. He was bruised. Bleeding from a few gashes. Shaking. Spock was not pleased with any of this.
“Lieutenant, stand down,” he snapped at Sulu, perhaps a little harsher than he intended. Luckily Sulu was already stepping back, dropping his weapon, relief painting his features. Spock and McCoy were already stepping past him.
Uhura pulled Kirk up into more of a sitting position, but did not release him from her hold. He fought against raising an eyebrow, not sure whether to be intrigued or worried. The Lieutenant and the Captain had developed an interesting relationship over the past year, and while Spock was certain they were completely devoted to each other in friendship, in almost a familial bond between siblings, both usually preferred to mask it with sarcasm and teasing. This was obviously not one of those times.
“What happened?” McCoy demanded before he could. The doctor was already looking Kirk over, doing a quick field examination, pulling out a hypo.
Uhura glanced back and forth between them and Kirk, almost reluctantly letting go. “I don’t know. He offered himself up to be interrogated. So they’d leave us alone.” Her voice was short, to the point. Heavily controlled. Spock saw Sulu grimace out of the corner of his eye.
Kirk had offered himself up. To protect his crew. Of which there were only... “Where is the security team?” he finally found his voice. A small part of him wished he could have used it to ask the Captain how he was, or express his relief that he- they- were alive, but he could not. Not now.
“Dead,” Kirk finally spoke as well. And while it sounded tired, in pain, it was not the worst Spock had ever heard him. At least there was that.
“Captain?” Spock addressed him, putting as little and as much into the question as he could.
“I’m here,” he waved away the helping hands, glaring at McCoy when the hypo came in to sting his neck. Spock stopped himself from pointing out that that was actually not a valid response to his question.
McCoy just shrugged, unrepentant, as he continued his assessment, now talking to Spock. “He’ll need some time in a biobed, but nothing serious as far as I can tell. He can walk. Which means he can leave.”
“He’s right here,” Kirk waved again, this time for attention. Like he needed more. “He’s still the Captain, remember?”
“Yes dear,” McCoy sighed, nodding for Spock to take over while he did quick exams on the two Lieutenants.
Spock pulled Kirk up carefully to his feet, glad for the opportunity to steady him for a moment. He kept his hands on Kirk’s arms, brushed his fingers through a rip in a sleeve to touch bare skin, trying to gain and project comfort through the point of contact. Kirk locked eyes with him, gave him a lopsided smile and a nod. “Nice to see you too, Commander.”
Spock wondered if he would ever be at the point of taking that for granted- that Kirk could read him so well. He nodded instead, permitting a small smile. “If you are finished with your Sabbatical, Captain, you are needed back on the ship.”
“Too bad,” Kirk groaned just slightly as Spock took one of his arms over his shoulders, supporting him as they fled the room, the hallway, the building. “I was just starting to like this vacation. Warm temperatures, attentive staff, nice view...” he winked at Uhura as he said this, gaining strength with each step.
She glared without any heat. “Captain, try to shut up and not die in the next five minutes, okay?” He simply saluted back at her.
Possibly they were all too relieved or relaxed, because the group of hostiles outside the building surprised them all. And the ensuing chaos and pursuit had them splintered running at full speed, which left the Captain lagging behind. Spock, despite his Captain’s orders, stayed at his side. Even when it took them away from the rest, up hill, into the caves...
***
Now
“Seventy-three thousand, four hundred and ninety-one,” Spock kept his tone commanding, as though that made a difference.
Possibly it did. Jim did not lift his head from Spock’s shoulder, but he moved it around slightly, resettling, as he mumbled under his breath for a moment. “Two-seven-one-point-oh-nine,” he answered after a few more seconds. Quieter, “If you’re not even gonna try to make it hard...”
He had been throwing out numbers for Jim to find the square root of for the last twenty-three minutes. And while the game may have been keeping Jim awake, he was still gradually becoming listless, his body sagging into Spock’s more and more with each passing minute.
Spock pretended to think for a moment for the next number. “Four.”
He felt Jim’s laugh more than he heard it. “Don’t be cute.”
Spock readjusted his grip, both arms wrapped around Jim’s upper body, his shoulders and torso. He had stopped pretending eleven minutes ago that this position was for logical reasons. It was not logical, but it was necessary. Occasionally, and increasingly more often, touching Jim felt more than necessary. It felt right.
Jim seemed to agree based on his own position, curled into the warmth Spock produced. “We should’ve been back on the ship by now,” he murmured.
“We will find the rest of the team in the morning,” he assured.
Jim laughed. “It’s not like you to be so optimistic.”
“Nor you to be so pessimistic,” he pointed out, tightening his hold a fraction. Jim was shivering still. Yet it was not cold in the cave.
Jim continued as though he had not heard. “You’ve usually got your ‘three point nine percent chance of survival’ stuff. And the, like, listing of protocol in these situations. And then I argue, and then you throw the book at me, and then-”
“I have never thrown anything at you,” Spock argued. He moved one hand to the back of Jim’s neck, rubbing lightly.
Another laugh, even as he sank more into the embrace. “I’ve always wondered if you do that just to fuck with me.”
“Do what?” Slowly, gently enough for Jim not to notice, Spock maneuvered them into a more comfortable position, sneaking one of his legs around Jim’s body, pulling him closer against his chest.
“Pretend to misunderstand me,” Jim accused. “Take my stupid-human idioms literally. You think I don’t realize it, but I do. I’m observant.”
Spock nodded in return, still getting Jim settled against him without him noticing. “You are very observant.”
“So you admit you’re just fucking with me,” Jim nodded decisively.
“At the moment, no. I would of course like to fuck with you. Later,” he lowered his voice. “Once we are safely back on board the ship.”
Jim was still for a moment, then groaned. “I think I hate you again.”
“You do not,” Spock countered firmly.
“You’re a tease,” his voice was drifting again, low and soft. “I knew it. You’re only with me for my body.”
“That is entirely untrue,” Spock shook his head just slightly, frowning now. The fingers of one hand were brushing close to Jim’s meldpoints, and he could sense both the honest feelings behind that innocuous sentence, and the haziness of the drug in Jim’s system. He liked exactly neither of them.
“Mm-hm,” Jim’s mind was sinking into the drug’s effects finally. He had had no food, no counter-treatment. “I know I’m pretty. I know that’s what people see. Then they see what I am and that’s that.”
“What you are?” Spock echoed. He debated for a moment with moving around to study Jim’s face, but found he was too comfortable where he was. As was Jim, his head starting to loll back to Spock’s shoulder, soft hair brushing the underside of Spock’s chin. Spock allowed himself to bow his head, brush his cheek against the top of Jim’s head. An extra buzz of comfort went through both of them.
“What I am,” Jim echoed. “People see a name. Or see a face. An outline. They make up what they want to fill in the rest.”
“I do not do that,” Spock could not raise his voice if he tried.
“I know. It scares me.”
Spock picked up Jim’s hand where it had dropped carelessly to the ground and held it. “Why does it frighten you?”
“If you don’t fill it in, there’s nothing here,” Jim answered as though it were the most obvious answer in the universe.
Spock was hardly a talkative person, but he was rarely speechless. “Jim.” He stopped, attempted again. “That is not all you are. I refuse to believe that.”
“Yeah, well,” he was drowsy, faint. “Thought you’d figure it out by now. Thought you had right away.”
***
Months Earlier
Contrary to what some thought, Spock did not actually possess superhuman powers. And while he derived some enjoyment in letting Ensign Chekov believe otherwise, his hearing was not that much stronger than an average human’s. Except, he had to surmise, when he went into a bar. Because he could not believe his shipmates would willingly spend time in such a small space that was so loud.
And yet, here Kirk was, leaning one elbow against the bar itself, hip jutting out just so, talking to an unfamiliar man next to him. No one from Starfleet, Spock was sure. No one from Starfleet would think it acceptable to... to ogle a Captain in that manner, shore leave or no.
Spock watched from the doorway as Kirk laughed at something the man said. He felt his eyes narrow when the man leaned in close, whispering in the Captain’s ear, and Kirk did not move away. He might have even leaned in as well.
He should have done what he had grown accustomed to in these situations, what he had grown accustomed to ever since realizing his feelings for James T. Kirk went beyond normal camaraderie. He should have buried that red hot burn in his chest even deeper- controlled it- and gone about his business.
But the Captain’s hip was still jutting out invitingly. And the man next to him was reaching out, his fingers brushing against that hip. It was unacceptable. He could see the man’s face from here, and the things he was whispering to Kirk... also unacceptable. Kirk just laughed, bantered something back, let those hands continue to touch-
There were several things Spock should have done. But instead he found himself striding over to the bar, coming up behind Kirk, staring the unfamiliar man down. “Captain.”
“Spock!” Kirk turned in what should have been a drunken manner based on the way he was smiling, but was actually smooth, almost sensual. Spock’s eyes were drawn to the movement, as were the unidentified man still lurking there. “What are you- hey! You’re in a bar! Spock in a bar, can you believe that?” he asked the unwelcome third party.
“...No...” the pest was still there, massively confused and massively annoying to Spock. His hand was resting on the bar, very close to Kirk’s.
“Captain,” he said again, injecting his tone with the right amount of blandness and threat. “Your presence has been requested back on the ship.” Not technically a lie. “We should go immediately.” Also not a lie.
To his satisfaction (and relief), Kirk slid away from the bar with barely a glance back at the human nuisance. “Is there something wrong with the ship? Is someone-?” He stopped, frowning at Spock’s frown. “What?”
“You are not intoxicated,” Spock stated. He most definitely did not accuse.
Kirk’s eyes narrowed, confused. “No. I mean, that was the plan at some point, but not if you need me back onboard. Why do you have that eyebrow-y look on your face?”
He would not attempt to repeat that phrase. “I have a look?”
“Not usually,” Kirk snarked back. “But you look- not confused, heavens forbid, but... inquisitive, maybe. What’s up?”
There should be no way Kirk could know that simply by looking at his face. “When I first entered the bar, you seemed intoxicated. The man you were speaking with thought you were.” And so had Spock.
Kirk shrugged, still following Spock out of the bar. “I know. That’s why I pretended. It’s easier that way, gets us both what we want.”
He almost slowed his walk at that. “I do not understand.” The air was cooler, quieter, outside. Spock took a deep, grateful breath and focused on Kirk.
Kirk was leaning back against the wall of the bar, still as casual as can be. “He wanted to hookup with someone. I did too. It’s easier to approach, and to leave when it’s done, if you can blame it on being drunk, Spock. It gets us both what we want.”
The explanation, while seemingly logical, just confused him more. He moved closer, blood pressure picking up when Kirk did nothing to move away. His hip jutted out just so. Spock reached past it, bracing his hand on the brick behind Kirk’s body. “There is no emergency on the Enterprise,” he confessed quietly, bringing his eyes up to meet Kirk’s directly. “I wanted you to leave the bar with me. Not him.”
“I know,” Kirk slid one of his own hands back to grasp Spock’s wrist, to hold him there or anchor him, possibly.
“You know?” Spock, again, felt dumbfounded.
“Yeah.” There was that smirk that was not quite a smirk. More genuine, open.
“And yet you left with me anyway,” it gave Spock the encouragement to say.
“Like I said,” Kirk moved in closer, eye to eye and nose to nose. And, importantly, lips to lips. “It gets us both what we want.”
***
Now
“What were you asked while interrogated?” Spock was practically cradling Jim at this point. One small compartment of his brain (detached, or maybe the least detached, maybe the only part never detached?) marveled that they each had a hand over the other’s heart. His flat on Jim’s chest, Jim’s curled into Spock’s shirt at his side.
“No idea,” Jim mumbled, slurred, trembled. “Once they figured out I don’t speak the language of the Whatevers, they got kinda mad.” He was- Spock did not want to use the term ‘cuddling’ but it was the closest description. “’M really thirsty.”
Dehydration. Possible allergic reaction (this was Jim, after all). It could be any number of things. “We will be back on the ship soon and will get you water then,” he offered, attempting the same tone he was sure his mother would use. Calm, soothing.
He felt the breath of Jim’s laugh across his neck. “There’s that optimism again. You’re counting your chickens b’fore they hatch, Commander.”
“We are not in a barn, Captain,” he replied immediately.
There was a beat of silence, of Spock silently pleading please Jim, please, please, please, before Jim huffed again. “Fucking with me.”
I love you, he wanted to say next, but did not. It was perhaps not the time to say it, though inevitable to feel it. “Statistics never apply with you,” he murmured into Jim’s ear, hoping the softness of his voice would quell some of his trembling. “All previous experience points to our survival now. And I... I do not permit you to fail now.”
“Okay,” he said, so simply. Another bit of quiet, as Spock readjusted his sonic receiver once more, hoping to find any signal, any sign of life, any hope. Then Jim spoke again. “I don’t pretend with you.”
There was something on the receiver. Faint. “Pretend?”
Jim twisted his fingers even more, as though hoping the fabric of Spock’s shirt would mask the shaking. “I don’t try to be something else. I don’t know how, with you.”
The signal was still faint, but repeating. Cyclical. Stronger each time, as though searching. Spock let go of Jim’s hand, typing at the screen, boosting their location signal. “You of all people should never be someone else.”
“I like that,” Jim’s voice was fainter than the signal. “I love you.”
There was a tight, silent flash of light, and they were beamed on board the Enterprise before Spock could reply.
***
Later
It hadn’t been his worst near-death experience, Jim had to admit. Or, more accurately, had gotten Bones to admit. It couldn’t have been that bad, he reasoned, because Bones only called him ‘kid’ once. He only did that when he was worried, so it couldn’t have been really scary.
He just wished he could remember.
It was fuzzy. He remembered Spock and Bones and all them barging into that cell, he remembered running with Spock, hiding with Spock, talking to him. But the details weren’t there.
It was really fucking annoying.
Bones released him about six hours after he and Spock were beamed back on board. (About six, he thought. He tried competing with Spock’s ‘seventeen point three eight minutes’ thing, and so far he was failing spectacularly.) Jim debated going straight to the bridge, if only to check on Sulu and Uhura, but the idea of a shower, a real bed, and his blue blanket that smelled like him and Spock (and a little like Iowa, for some reason) was way way more enticing.
He let out a I’m-getting-too-old-for-this-shit groan as he walked out of the shower and settled into bed, stretching and relaxing muscles one by one. With his eyes closed, he just smiled and waved when the door opened and someone sat on the edge of his bed.
“You should not go to sleep with wet hair.”
“Who said I’m sleeping?” he smirked, but then opened his eyes, sat up, and took the towel he knew Spock would be holding out. Running it through his hair, “Bridge?”
“Running smoothly, as usual,” Spock added pointedly. “The Lieutenants are also performing their duties as normal and have been given a full clearance from Dr. McCoy.”
“Good,” he nodded. Both for his ship and his crew. “Good.”
“Dr. McCoy says you are well?” Spock asked, taking the towel back.
Jim raised an eyebrow. (What, it’s not like Spock owns the patent on that look, right?) “You already talked to him?”
Spock did that thing where he was smiling without smiling. “Possibly.”
“You don’t trust my extremely well-honed good judgment?” he held a hand, wounded, to his chest.
“I had questions.” He wasn’t smiling now.
And neither was Jim. “What happened when I was fu- drugged up?” He tried not to curse around Spock, especially when they were alone. Like it felt undignified or something.
“The drug you were administered contained traces of thiopentalam,” Spock told him straightforward, honest. Jim loved that about him.
“Thiopentalam?” Jim searched his brain. “That’s like, like a truth serum.”
“Somewhat,” Spock nodded. Shit. Now he was being tactful.
“Well, fuck.” So much for dignified language. “What did I say?”
Spock sat closer to him, brushing against his hip. “You... do you feel as though you have to be something you are not to get-” Spock struggling for words was just plain freaky. “-Affection?”
“Fuck.” He had to say it again. “Look, I... maybe I-”
“Jim,” his voice was surprisingly warm. “You told me that you do not pretend with me. So you do not have to now.”
“I...” he sighed for just a moment as he tried to figure this out. “It’s not affection. Okay? It’s sex. It’s just for sex. Was just for sex.”
“For you or for them?”
“Same thing,” Jim shrugged. “They want that, what I’m good at.” This conversation had probably been so much easier when he was drugged.
“That is not-” Spock stood up abruptly, hands bunched into fists. One of the few outward indications he had that showed he was pissed off. Except for that whole choking people to death on the bridge thing, but Jim was pretty sure that was one time deal. He hoped.
“Yeah, it’s sad,” Jim didn’t see the big deal. “It’s pathetic and it’s obvious me and all parties involved have issues.” He sat up further (farther? further? Jim still didn’t know) and swung his legs around the edge of the bed to face Spock. “But I don’t care. I’m okay with it. That was how I got through things.”
“No,” was all Spock said. But in that disapproving ‘it’s wrong’ way he had. The same way he responded to Scotty’s enthusiastic engineering suggestions, to Sulu and Pavel playing catch on the bridge, to Jim’s repeated insinuations that a dog would be totally awesome on a ship. Which, hey. It’s not like he still wanted a horse or anything.
“Spock, it’s really not-”
“No.” And then Spock spun around with his eyes all flashy and dark. Jim blinked, shutting up. He could feel Spock’s anger. Not sense it, or understand it, but feel it. Whoa. “That is unacceptable. You are neither pathetic nor simply useful for another’s gain. No. You are one of the most illogical, stubborn, enduring, caring humans I have ever met. You are many things, Jim. Sometimes too many. But empty, a plaything, is not one of them.”
That twisty, burning feeling in his gut, that buzz that filled him all the way up to his brain, was back. His face hot, Jim couldn’t help but smile. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”
“Yes,” Spock answered, looking like he was fighting against lifting an eyebrow.
“Oh?” Oh. Drugs. “Shit.”
Another eyebrow movement, a quirk, this one less pointed and more humoring. “Your ‘less profanity’ practice could use more work.”
“You telling me I was using proper language when I was drugged?” Jim pointed out.
“Our definitions of proper language may differ,” Spock hedged his answer again. He sat down then, calmer, their legs just touching. “Do you regret telling me?”
“No,” he said immediately, honestly, certainly. “Don’t like that I don’t remember it, though.”
“I remember it,” Spock said quietly. “I will not forget.”
Jim watched him for a moment, thinking. “You had me alone in a cave doped up on truth serum. You could’ve asked me anything.”
“I did not.”
“I know,” Jim summoned all of his bravado to look Spock in the eye. “But you could have. I don’t pretend with you, right? And I trust you when I can’t do things or can’t remember things. Right?”
“I fail to see where you are going with this,” Spock’s heat was so close to Jim’s skin, so close.
He moved into Spock’s side, leaning into his shoulder, smiling when Spock’s arm came around him to brace him. “I’m just saying- I don’t do the normal stuff couples do, okay?” He waved a hand between them. “I don’t know how. I’d fuck it up, probably, and make that tiny vein in your forehead pop out.”
“I do not have a tiny vein,” Spock’s voice was a little strangled. He still wasn’t completely used to being teased, which is why Jim loved doing it so much.
“Yeah you do. It pops out when you get really frustrated. Not normal ‘Jim you’re being illogical’ frustrated, but the ‘I don’t understand why you’re not as smart as me’ frustrated. That vein and your eyebrows are the only way I know what you’re thinking sometimes,” Jim grinned. “Anyway, I don’t pretend with you. And I trust you. That’s how I’m going to show it, all right?”
Spock stared at him. “What are you showing?”
“That I love you.” Jim had faced down Klingons, Romulans, civil wars, Whatevers, and everything in between. He could face down an adult relationship.
Spock was quiet for a moment. “You put two spoonfuls of sugar in your coffee, except for the mornings after you have had a nightmare. Then you drink it black.” He turned to face Jim directly, arm still wrapped around him. “You have nightmares after away missions when someone on your crew is hurt, excluding yourself.” He leaned in and kissed Jim’s temple. “You crack the knuckles of your left hand when you are bored on the bridge and about to suggest something others would deem ‘crazy’ to pass the time.” A kiss to his forehead. “You gave Ensign Chekhov one of your books because you knew he’d like it, even though the book belonged to your father.”
Jim tilted his head up, catching the next kiss on his mouth. “That’s sweet but very very creepy, Spock. We’re going to have to talk about your stalker tendencies, because to the average person that’s-”
He’d deny it later, but it was possible he let out an un-Captain-like squeak when Spock all but threw him back, flat on the bed. His vision suddenly boiled down to two very dark eyes and one quirked eyebrow. “As we have already established that you are in fact not an ‘average person,’ I see no problem with knowing as much about you as I can.”
Showoff, Jim wanted to say. Or would have said, if he wasn’t so distracted by Spock’s hands wandering down his chest, two fingers brushing across his heart, his ribs to his hips. The Vulcan’s a romantic, I knew it. I bet-
Silenced again, this time by Spock slipping his hand passed the elastic of his briefs, tugging them away. “Is this... really the time?” he tried to fight back a gasp as those hands continued to explore. “I mean, I- fuck- I just got out of sickbay. I’m recovering. I’m- oh shit- I’m fragile. I might- mmph-”
Spock practically devoured his mouth, shutting him up real quick. “You are babbling again,” he murmured across his lips, nipping at them for good measure.
Or, you know, great measure. “You like it when I babble,” he said with absolute certainty. The faint green tinge to someone’s face told him he was right. “Ha! You do, don’t you? You like me being totally, crazily, babblingly human. You like-”
Half of the fun of babbling was getting Spock to shut him up. “Babblingly is not a word,” Spock informed him after they broke apart for air.
Jim looked up at him, working up the willpower for a smirk. “I just used it. So it is a word. Maybe not by your official Standard Terran Language dictionary, but I gave it meaning and purpose, didn’t I? So therefore-”
This time he completely lost his train of thought, and most other brain functions, by the time Spock let him breathe again, his body covering Jim’s like a blanket, warm and wanting. Jim managed a lazy smile, hooking a leg up to pull him even closer. “Jim,” he heard his name exhaled, somehow quiet and strong at the same time.
He heard everything else in it. The ‘I love you’, the ‘I was worried’, the ‘I understand’, even the ‘I will now commence with fucking your brains out’ (his interpretation, of course).
Sometimes, words were overrated. Sometimes, the truth came in knowing how someone took their coffee, in knowing that someone carried a mother’s necklace in their pocket on what would have been her birthday. In knowing that someone would be next to you in the morning when you woke up.
So he smiled again, brushing two of his fingers against the ones holding his hips down on the mattress. “Show me what you got.”