[Fic] Under the Dark [Chapter Five]
Under the Dark
kototyph
» Classification(s): Supernatural, Mystery, Suspense, Romance, Action/Adventure
» Summary: Spock might be Riverside's first ever vampire, but forgive Deputy Kirk for not being overly enthusiastic about it.
Chapter Five - Echo
It rained for weeks after that.
The forecasters who had been predicting a long drought and advising local farmers to look into irrigation equipment switched to 24-7 coverage of the rising levels of the English and Iowa Rivers. They interspersed images of volunteers stacking sandbags with photographs of the flood of 1924, when the river had climbed twenty feet and swallowed half of Riverside and all of River Junction.
On suspension, deprived of the opportunity to even work off his energy outside, Jim paced the house like a caged animal. He spent a lot of time in front of the television, but he'd never been the kind of man who could spend hours surfing through the sports channels, and adding insult to injury the only things in season were golf and NASCAR. The unrelenting rain and persistent sameness of every single day were driving him slowly crazy.
He was two more Black and Lumpy meals away from committing matricide, but had a feeling his mother was much, much closer to killing him. She glared outright as he shuffled into the living room late one afternoon, fresh from a damp and pointless trip into town. In a placating gesture, he held out the bag of chips and salsa he'd gotten at the supermarket, and asked, "What's on?"
She continued scowling at him, but snatched the food from his hands and moved over just enough for him to join her on the couch. "Becka's mother just found out that her boyfriend is a vampire, and that he might have actually been her great-great grandfather before he was turned." Her look dared him to comment on her choice of television.
It was amazing how often the undead seemed to pop up, now that he was trying to avoid the subject at all costs. On television, in the paper, on the radio- popular culture was obsessed with the mystery of the vampire, and even in his own house he couldn't escape it.
Hell, even in his own head he couldn't escape it. Jim had dreams now, horribly erotic nightmares that left him shaking with fear and coming in his sleep, gasping into wakefulness with the edge of ecstasy just barely fading. He wanted to see Spock. He never wanted to see Spock again in his life. Onscreen, Armand swept a swooning Becka into his arms and promised her his eternal, undying love, and Jim wondered what it would feel like to let himself be consumed.
Winona's voice drew him back into the present. "Jimmy?"
He blinked, and looked up. "Hm?"
"You okay over there?"
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and leaned back into the couch. "Uh, yeah. Fine."
Her glare hadn't quite subsided, but she did look concerned. "Nothing's bothering you?"
He lifted an eyebrow.
"Okay, maybe that's a stupid question," she admitted. "When was the last time you went out to visit Gaila?"
"Two days ago. No change."
Gaila had lost consciousness in the ambulance and had yet to regain it, almost two and a half weeks after the attack. Jim visited her on a fairly regular basis, and of course there was Bones, who worked in the hospital. Every time Jim showed up, Bones was there, flipping through her medical charts, reading to her, refilling vases and tending the potted plants people had sent.
"I work here, of course I'm here all the time," the doctor had blustered when Jim had mentioned his unusual dedication.
"Bones?" he'd asked, a light dawning. "Were you two…?"
Bones had just given him his patented You're lucky you're so pretty look. "Might have been, if I thought she'd respect me in the morning. And I don't share, Jim."
Jim glanced up at the screen just in time to hear the music rise and see Armand's fanged mouth descend to Becka's bared neck. His hand clenched involuntarily, and the remote snapped in two.
"What the-" Winona started, getting up.
"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, gingerly opening his fingers and assessing the damage. "Damn."
That was another thing about vampire blood. After days of broken tools and crumpled sheet metal, it only took him one session with the weights he kept in the basement to finally realize that his body strength was roughly twice what it had been. He was looking better, too, and it wasn't his own vanity. Smiling at himself in the mirror, he looked like a poster child for eating your Wheaties or using Colgate: wholesome and healthy, hair a little more golden blond, skin smooth, blue eyes sparkling and bared teeth a bright, even white.
All from what probably amounted to less than a quarter-pint. Jesus Christ.
"Jimmy, did you hurt yourself?" Winona asked, and Jim shook his head.
"No, just the remote," he said, letting the pieces fall onto the coffee table. "Guess we'll have to order a new one from the cable company."
Winona was still looking worriedly at him, and he hauled himself out of his well-settled cushions. He needed something to do, to work on. He always thought more clearly when he had his hands on something. "Think I'll head over to Scotty's, see what Ny's up to."
Apparently, Winona's worry didn't outweigh her desire to get Jim out of the house, or her concern for Nyota. "I hardly ever see that girl anymore," she huffed.
"She's going to school and working full-time, Momma. I'm surprised we see her at all."
Winona hadn't touched the salsa, so he grabbed it. There was a wide bowl of miscellaneous spheres made of twine and straw and metal next to it; he looked at it sideways on his way to the kitchen and decided he was calling a family meeting to talk about this blatant decorating of his Man Cave. Spheres and settees, and the lamp made entirely of curly-cues he'd just noticed in the corner; what the hell were they thinking?
Jim spent as much time at Scotty's as he did at home these days. It had taken him a while to be able to shrug off the stares and whispers people made when he walked by- of course the whole town knew he was suspended and under suspicion for three murders; keeping secrets in Riverside was all but impossible and good gossip spread like a wildfire. There wasn't anything he could do about it.
He'd mentioned how angry and powerless it made him feel to Ny, once. She'd only looked at him and said, "Welcome to the club."
After that, it was hard to feel all that sorry for himself, and easier to just be angry at the world they lived in.
He pulled his truck around back, near where Scotty's trailer sat amidst a field of scattered engine parts, and nearly pissed himself when a massive shape with a mouthful of inch-long fangs leapt against the driver's side window, snarling with rabid fierceness.
"Holy-" Jim reached for his absent gun even as his mind realized, dog, and after some consideration added, really really big dog. The thing bayed like a hellhound and scratched madly at the glass, and his heart tried to climb out his esophagus.
A flash of white through the drizzle caught his eye, and Jim looked up to see Nyota crouch down in the open doorway, beckoning the dog away from the truck. Jim waited until the thing dropped below the window and was trotting back towards the bar before he risked opening the window a crack.
"Aren't you a good boy?" she was cooing, rubbing its sopping grey fur and laughing when it tried to lick her face. It was nearly as big as she was. "Such a good guard dog, such a good boy, yes you are. Jim, you should be fine now."
A weak, "What the fuck?" was all he managed, once he'd edged past the distracted beast and into the back hallway of the bar.
Nyota shrugged, the twitch of her lips betraying her amusement at his expense. "I think he might be a stray that Scotty's feeding. I used to see a little terrier from time to time."
"It probably ate it," Jim muttered, watching the dog lope away into the rain with its tail held high.
The first thing he did on entering the bar proper was make a beeline for his usual stool, tucked in a dark corner and half-hidden from the entrance by a complicated bit of carved wood paneling and the cash register. The second was order a neat double.
A neat double was somehow transmuted into something tall and virulently green, fizzing away in its glass like a third-grade science experiment. Scotty, who'd been out in the rain as well if his wet-haystack coiffure was any sign, set it down in front of him with a flourish.
"I wanted whiskey," Jim said stubbornly.
The Scotsman gave him a stern look. "It's three in th' afternoon, boyo. You're gettin' a phosphate, an' maybe a sandwich, an' liking it."
That was the danger of coming in to Scotty's during lunch hours. The man had a real thing for sandwiches (the more experimental and odd the better), and before Jim knew it he'd also been served something gooey with purple chunky bits. Scotty was smiling encouragingly over the bar at him, saying, "Go on, give 'er a try."
Jim held half the sandwich up to the light, eying it dubiously. "You're not going to tell me what's in this before I eat it, by any chance?"
"Jus' take a bite, ya big baby."
He made a face, and did just that.
"… mus'rooms?" he asked around his mouthful.
Scotty clapped his hands excitedly. "Yes! Specifically, grilled portabella in raspberry aioli with melted brie."
"This fetish of yours is disturbing," Jim told him, but he took another bite.
Nyota, who had come up while he was distracted by imminent sandwich-related poisoning, snaked an arm around him and grabbed the second half, taking a huge bite. "I looooove these," she said blissfully, spraying crumbs everywhere.
"No eatin' on th' job, missy," Scotty scolded, and she laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. Jim watched a pleased pink blush rise in the man's cheeks and mentally rolled his eyes.
Scotty bustled off, happy as a Scottish clam, and before Nyota could go back to her tables Jim put a hand on her arm. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"Hm? Sure thing."
"Have you, ah…" He lowered his voice. "Have you heard from Spock? Lately, I mean?"
Her gaze went flat and suspicious. "Why? For the last time, Jim-"
He held up his hands. "I'm suspended, remember? I can't investigate jack. I just want to know."
"… he's fine, as far as I know," she said finally, still frowning at him. "I met him just last night, for help with my Swahili exercises. He's an amazing linguist."
"Yeah," Jim said distractedly. In his mind he was thinking of the lascivious "Bet you'll have a talented tongue" he'd teased Nyota with when she'd declared her major. Thinking about Spock's talented tongue did bad things to his blood pressure.
At that moment, the bell on the door jingled and Nyota looked up, her eyebrows shooting up before she grimaced. "Agent Asshole and Co., six o'clock," she muttered to Jim.
As she walked away to seat them, he turned a little in his chair so he could watch them come in: Komack and Morrow talking animatedly, Giotto trailing along behind them, Sulu and Chekov bringing up the rear, their long faces speaking volumes. Chekov glanced towards the bar, saw Jim and made point like a prize bird dog. Jim had to hide a grin behind his hand.
Sulu, a little more circumspect, followed the younger man's line of sight and gave Jim a subtle nod. He said something to Komack, then tugged Chekov with him towards the back corner, where another hallway led to the bathrooms, storerooms and Scotty's cramped little office.
Jim waited a few minutes, taking the time to polish off his sandwich and- phosphate? Didn't they stop making those in the fifties?- before meandering over.
Sulu and Chekov were waiting for him in the walk-in pantry, sitting at the wobbly old table where they sometimes played poker. There was a bucket on the table, to catch the rainwater leaking in through the ceiling. Here, out of the buzz of conversation, the sound of the rain was an audible low drone on the old roof.
"So," Jim said.
"So," Sulu agreed. "Feds are pretty much universally dicks, and Cupcake is a champion ass-kisser."
"Is like Russia," Chekov said gloomily. "FSB is KGB with new letters."
"Feats of ass-kissing the likes of which have not been seen since Hurricane Katrina," Sulu continued. "He could ass-kiss for England. Or arse-kiss, I guess."
"So, do you have anything to tell me?" Jim prompted, folding his arms over his chest.
"Komack's still looking at you, and that vampire Nyota hangs around with. Speck? Spot?"
"Spock," Jim corrected absentmindedly. "What about Morrow?"
"He seems really hung up on Dr. McCoy. I mean, there's way less circumstantial evidence connecting him to the crimes, but apparently the doctor's ex-wife disappeared or something a month ago. He thinks it might be related."
Jocelyn had disappeared? It fed in with what Komack had told him, but Jim couldn't believe Bones wouldn't have mentioned it. "Have they found any new physical evidence? What about the stuff the CSIs collected, and Gaila's- kit, at the hospital?"
Sulu shrugged. "It's processing. DNA analysis has come back on Marlena, finally, and it's inconclusive."
"So useful, that DNA analysis," Jim muttered.
"Is one thing," Chekov mused. "The attack on Miss Gaila? Was different. Was at home, across threshold. Is hard for vampire to do, yes?"
"Yeah," Jim mused. "I wonder-"
The door to their impromptu meeting room was flung open, and Nyota rushed in, stopping short when she saw the three of them. "Oh," she said in surprise, then burst into tears.
Jim was moving for her before the door swung all the way shut. "Oh, baby. Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, gathering her into his arms.
"D-don't call me b-b-baby, you chauvinist asshole," she sobbed into his shirt.
He kissed the top of her head and rocked her. "Okay, my darling self-empowered feminist. What's the matter, huh?" He glanced up to see that Sulu had frozen in that primordial male fear of feelings, and Chekov looked as though he might start sympathetically bawling at any moment. Some help you are, he mouthed.
Nyota never had been much of a crier; her sobs were already subsiding into unsteady breaths and the occasional hiccup. She rubbed her face a little harder into his shoulder, and sighed.
"Ny."
"What?"
"You'd better not be wiping snot on my clothes."
A sniffle. "Fuck you, Jim Kirk."
"Yeah," he said, smiling. "You wanna tell me what all that was about?"
"It's K-komack," she said, and Jim stiffened. "Someone told him."
He had a bad feeling, but he still asked, "Told him about-?"
"Me," she said miserably, and Jim immediately decided that Giotto was going to die in the most painful way he could possibly devise. His mind flashed briefly to James Bond with a laser aimed at his dick and Nyota laughed weakly, hiding her face in his chest a moment longer before lifting her head and looking at him.
"I've had people think nasty things around me before, but not deliberately at me, about me, and- he just- and Gaila is- I just can't," she moaned, eyes squeezing shut.
"Here's what I'm going to do," he told her, leaning in to put another gentle kiss on her forehead before motioning Chekov to bring a chair over and settling her down in it. "I'm going to go murder a federal agent in broad daylight, these fine gentlemen will help me chop the body into tiny pieces, and we'll feed him to the catfish once the river goes down. How's that sound?"
She gave another watery laugh. "That sounds wonderful."
The door opened a second time, and Scotty poked his head around the jam. "If ye're all done partyin' on ma dime-"
Then he caught sight of Nyota's tear-stained face, and the Scotsman's expression underwent a frankly terrifying transformation. "I'll kill 'em," he growled, and Jim jumped after him as he disappeared from the doorway.
He caught up just as Scotty reached the table where the agents and Giotto were seated, his hands clenched into tight fists. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm gonna have te ask ye t' leave now," he said with admirable calm. "Dunna come back, or I won't be responsible for ma actions, ye ken?"
"Are you threatening me, Mr. Scott?" Komack asked, as if genuinely interested. Jim put a hand on Scotty's shoulder to keep those fists at his sides.
Under Jim's touch, Scotty drew himself to his full height and said, "Y'might take it like tha', aye. If I ever catch ye… talking to Miss Uhura like tha' again, there'll be consequences an' no mistake." His gaze was pure steel.
Komack held his eyes for another moment, then slowly rose, setting his napkin aside. Morrow, eyebrows somewhere around his hairline, followed suit, and the agents exited the bar to the general hubbub of onlookers.
Giotto remained, standing next to the table with his Smokey Bear in hand. "Would you tell Miss Uhura that I'm sorry?" he asked, gruff and awkward. "I didn't think- well. I didn't think he'd do that." I didn't think she could really hear him went unspoken.
Jim let him hang for a moment, then said, "I'll tell her."
He gave a tight-lipped nod. "Thank you." He set the hat on his head. "And if you could remind Sulu and the Russki that they're on the clock, that'd be good, too."
Well, there was probably only so much niceness someone like Cupcake could handle without hurting themselves. "Go kiss ass, Cupcake. You do that best."
Giotto glared at him, but turned to leave. He paused, turned back, grabbed his half-eaten portabella-mushroom-raspberry-whatever sandwich, and after a thoughtful pause, the untouched sandwiches from the other plates on the table as well.
"It's good," he said defensively as Jim stared at him. Scotty looked slightly mollified and even pulled a bag out of his apron for Giotto to put the sandwiches in.
Sulu and Chekov were just emerging as Jim and Scotty headed back to the pantry and Nyota, and Jim stopped to talk with them as Scotty continued on.
"Dispatch just radioed us," Sulu said in disgust. "Old Man McCullough's barns again."
"That man needs a hobby."
Sulu snorted. "He's got one, didn't you notice? Anyway, we're out. And Jim," he said, lowering his voice, "We'll let you know if there's any important headway in the case, as much as we can. Just, don't go off on your own? This isn't a Die Hard movie, Detective McClane."
"Fine, Mom."
"Shut up, jackass."
Chekov watched them bicker with a happy smile, and popped in with a cheerful, "Motherfucker!" Jim and Sulu were surprised into outright laugher, and Chekov beamed.
They left, and Jim made for the back hallway with a fervent prayer to whoever was listening that the tears were done for now. He was opening the pantry door just as Scotty was saying in a rush, "-and after the meetin', if ye'd like, I was thinkin' we could stop at th' pie place. If ye want to. We dunna have to."
Nyota didn't look sad or weepy. She looked bemused, and scared, and a tiny, brilliant smile was flirting with the corners of her mouth. "That sounds lovely, Mr. Scott."
"Aye?" the Scotsman said with a note of surprise, before he recovered himself. "I mean, aye, o' course it does. 'Tis ma plan, after all, and I've been thinkin' it over for ages." He colored. "Er, I mean-"
Nyota giggled, giggled, and Jim shut the door as quietly as he could and grinned foolishly wide at the landscape painting on the opposite wall.
Spock looks up at him from the warped floor of the Grayson foyer, the wood splintering and cracking underneath him. "Will you come to me?" he asks, just as it gives way and sends him plummeting into darkness. Jim scrambles back against the wall, but the floor is falling and Jim follows shortly-
- he's a child again, and he's in the old graveyard and he can't find Sam. Did Sam leave him here? He does that. He's such a bastard. The name on the grave in front of him is Spock Grayson, and the adult inside the child thinks, but that's not what's in the DMV database-
-and he lands, finally (he's been falling for ages) and Spock catches him, and smiles, and says, "You came." They're on a bed, and the bed is covered with rose petals or maybe those are bloodstains-
- Gaila answers the door in her uniform, black shorts and apron, and a green shirt emblazoned with "Scotty's!". She looks faintly puzzled but not scared and says, "Well, this is unexpected. What can I-?" and her eyes go comically wide as he reaches for her-
- and Spock lifts his head, his mouth red with blood and a dazed, heated look in his brown, brown eyes. "James," he moans, licking at his lips like they're coated in honey. "Please, please, let me."
"Yes, yes," Jim begs breathlessly, even though he knows, knows that if Spock takes any more-
- Spock bares his fangs, the delicate points of them gleaming in the low light, and when he buries them in Jim the fire consumes them both.
Jim jerked awake with a gasp, hand flying up to his neck. Under his fingers, a low burning throb ebbed slowly away, the skin above it smooth and unbroken. Unbroken. God.
He collapsed back onto the couch, panting, and winced at the all-too-familiar feeling of come soaking through his boxers. This was all so fucked up. Fucked. Up. He wasn't a fangbanger, he didn't get off on blood and pain and imminent death.
Except that apparently he did, and his unconscious mind had latched onto Spock as a likely provider of all three- mustn't forget, after all, that even if Spock wasn't a freaking vampire there remained the whole murder suspect angle, as yet unaddressed.
"Fuck," he groaned into his hands.
"Jimmy?" Winona appeared in the doorway, in a dress for once and actually wearing heels. "Are you almost ready to go?"
"… let me change."
She scoffed at that. "You look fine, and we're already running late! There won't be chairs left and we'll have to stand-"
"I'll be just a second, okay?" he snapped in embarrassment, and rolled off the couch to find some clean pants to wear.
"What the hell crawled up your ass and died?" his mother yelled after him. "And for God's sake, if you have to piss do it quick."
"Stay classy, Momma," he yelled back, and heard her snort.
The social engagement of the evening was the much-anticipated town hall meeting, on the subject of whether or not the town was ready for its own Walmart, one link in a long chain of proposed superstores out by the highway. Real estate development was what passed for political intrigue in a town as small as Riverside, and so nearly all one thousand-odd residents had turned out to the elementary school's gymnasium. All four of the retractable bleachers had been extended, and a veritable sea of folding chairs covered the basketball court. The air had turned hot and close from so many bodies packed in, the doors open to tempt a breeze in only adding to the sticky humidity.
As Winona predicted, there were very few seats left, but as they passed the bleachers Bob Wesley popped up like a jack-in-the-box and insisted Winona take the seat next to his at the end of the first row. Jim stood next to her, with a hip braced on the metal railing.
The mayor had already started his introductory speech, and Jim let the man's strident tones and the busy hum of a hundred quiet conversations wash over him without penetrating. He scanned the room, picking familiar faces out of the crowd and cataloguing their positions.
Scotty and Nyota were near the front of the gym, sitting with their shoulders touching and knees angled towards each other. Jim watched as the man oh-so-casually stretched, letting his arm fall on the back of Ny's chair. Her head tilted in Scotty's direction, and he could only imagine the look on her face. The Scotsman gave her a sheepish grin and left his arm where it was.
Closer to the back of the gym, Sulu and Chekov sat together in civvies, heads close as they carried on a whispered exchange. He was glad to see that his partner had taken the new deputy under his wing; on top of the dull boredom and anger he felt over the suspension, there was also the lingering guilt of having abandoned the Russian to his own devices. Sulu was a good guy. He'd do right by Chekov.
Further down the same row Jim found the two FBI agents, and with them Giotto and Finnegan. The interim sheriff and deputy were focused on the mayor like good little public servants. Morrow was surreptitiously typing something into his phone. Komack's eyes were traveling restlessly over those assembled, much like Jim's, and as Jim watched something caught the agent's attention in a knot of people milling around the westernmost door.
The people themselves did nothing suspicious; they fidgeted, played with their hair, fanned themselves with the programs the Women's Auxiliary had printed. They wiped at their sweaty foreheads and leaned in to grouse to their neighbors about the heat. They shifted from foot to foot, side to side to ease the pain of standing for so long. Children darted through them and they parted and reformed around the giggling troublemakers like a school of fish.
Conspicuous by his stillness, a dark-haired figure stood at rigid attention in the center of all that movement. Across the gym and over the heads of the crowd, Spock's eyes met his and Jim gasped, the small sound swallowed by the mayor's final ringing point and a half-hearted round of clapping.
Jim tore his eyes away to see Komack rise from his seat, gaze fixed firmly on Spock's position. Spock saw him too, posture changing subtly as he registered the threat. To Jim's great surprise, however, the vampire elected to turn and walk away at a slow-to-normal speed, one which Komack had no problem matching. When Spock slipped outside the man was close behind him, and they disappeared from view into the darkening evening.
His curiosity thoroughly piqued, Jim wavered, torn. He'd been avoiding Spock and dodging Komack individually for weeks, so it made no sense to seek them out when they were together. And they might have a perfectly bland, cordial discussion; the most logical explanation for Spock's unspoken acquiescence and retreat was that he simply wanted to be interrogated privately. Perhaps so he could kill the man and make it look like a car accident. God.
"Be back in a sec, 'kay?" he murmured to Winona, and slipped out the nearest doors to follow the two.
A warm, muggy gust of wind accosted him as he stepped out into the blue twilight, sky the color of a deep old bruise. The oversaturated sod squelched unpleasantly underfoot. He leaned back against the school's rough cinderblock and fleetingly wished he still smoked, as Komack's unctuous voice came from just around the corner.
"-very hard man to track down, Mr. Spock."
"I must beg your understanding," Spock replied stiffly. "My current residence is being renovated and I do not currently have access to long-distance communication devices."
"Right," Komack said easily. "I've heard that you were new in town. Where're you from, originally?"
"East," Spock said succinctly.
"East," Komack repeated, voice losing none of it's good-ol'-boy charm. "Well, Spock, that's a little vague."
"If you know anything of my kind, you must know that we guard our homes well."
Komack chuckled. "As it happens, I'm something of an expert on 'your kind'. Part of the reason I'm here. But let's talk about you, Spock. Where are you really from? What're you doing here? We don't have many vampires running around this part of the country."
It was hard to gauge Spock's mood from his voice alone, especially when it was as flat and achingly civil as it was now. "The Grayson farm passed into my custody, and I had been looking to make a change in my life."
"You're mainstreaming." The agent pronounced the word like it was an insult.
Spock seemed unfazed. "That was my intention, yes."
"And how's that going?" Komack asked, tone verging on outright mockery. "Found a job? Make any friends?"
"You wish to antagonize me." There was no question, or even censure in Spock's voice, only a sort of polite interest. "Why?"
"Because, Spock, I find damn interesting when a vampire serial killer pops up in Bumfuck Iowa," Komack said, apparently tired of beating around the bush. "And it so happens that I've been tracking this little bastard from east to west. Back when my daddy was in the service I could have shot you where you stand and been hailed as a hero. Hell, they even had a medal for it."
They did. George Kirk had received thirteen such medals before his death resulted in a Purple Heart, all of which were collecting dust in a locked trunk in the attic.
"Not anymore, though," Komack continued, sounding wistful. "Now, I've got to prove justifiable cause before I shoot you."
"I respect human law, and the law states that I have the same privileges and protections as any other American citizen, as well as the responsibilities," Spock said. "To that end, I will submit myself to questioning and other tests you may wish to perform, but I believe it would be best to end this conversation before it becomes any more… rancorous," he said carefully.
Jim listened, waiting for Komack to strike back, but to his surprise all he heard was a dry rasp of paper, and the man saying, "My card, for future reference."
"Thank you."
"Goodnight, Mr. Spock. Please expect to be contacted in the next few days for your interview. Don't skip town."
"Your colloquialism obscures your meaning, but I believe I understand you."
"Good."
There came the sound of grass squelching, and footsteps on the concrete sidewalk, moving away at a crisp, quick pace. Jim stood with his shoulder against the gray wall, and waited to hear a second set. But, would Spock deign to make noise? Unless that had been Spock stomping away just now. But Jim doubted it. It was hard to make steps sound petulant, but somehow-
"James?" Spock asked quietly.
Jim froze.
"You are there, yes?"
"Ah, yeah," he said, propping himself upright just as Spock peered around the corner.
Up close, the vampire looked more gaunt than Jim remembered, faint hollows in his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes.
"You don't look good," he blurted, and mentally kicked himself.
Surprisingly, Spock only nodded in response. "These past days have been trying. There is much to be done with the house, and I must continue to play host to T'Pring and Stonn."
"They're still here?" Jim asked, glancing towards the dark treeline.
"You are in no danger," Spock said calmly. "I have made it clear that I would consider it a grave trespass should they harm you." Spock's possessive "He is mine" echoed between them. "Even if I no longer hold any rank within the Vulcan clan, they will respect my wishes."
Jim pushed himself away from the wall and ambled idly in the direction of the soccer field. "You said you wanted a change? From what, exactly?"
He was aware of Spock in his periphery, drifting along beside him with his hands clasped behind his back. "One rash act of emotionality on my part caused unimaginable consequences for my clan. It was decided that I should be exiled."
"That sounds nothing like 'I needed a change,'" Jim protested.
Spock was looking out over the town, over the rolling fields and beyond. "I left voluntarily. I was too ashamed to stay, after what transpired."
It was barely eight, but night came earlier under dense cloud-cover. The last of the weak sunlight faded out of the sky as they stood there, staring out at the horizon in companionable silence.
"And now you mainstream," Jim said after a time. "How's that coming?"
"…it is difficult," Spock said. "Much more difficult than I imagined it would be. Humans are so very peculiar."
Jim had to laugh at that, and Spock favored him with a strangely warm look.
"You, most peculiar of all," he added softly.
The downstairs lights were all on when Jim drove up to the farmhouse, meaning Winona or Nyota or both were home from the meeting. Jim wondered if that pie place date ever materialized Scotty, and then had the odd thought that he'd just been on something of a date himself- an awkward first date, with all the trimmings: sitting out under the stars, talking shit, loosing time, staring at each other's mouths and wondering if the other was thinking what you were thinking.
In the seat beside him, Spock looked serene and pensive, gazing distantly out the window and showing no sign of getting out. "Well, here we are," Jim said pointedly.
"Ah. Yes," Spock muttered, and proceeded to have the exact same problems getting the seatbelt off as he'd had getting it on.
"Oh my God, give me that," Jim said impatiently, and wrestled the buckle away from him. A vampire's truest weakness was safety harnesses, who knew?
They climbed out of the car, and Jim cleared his throat. "So, I guess I'll see you… around," he finished lamely.
The gracelessness of the comment was lost on the vampire, who had turned towards the house with a faint frown. "James..."
"What?"
Spock looked back at him, eyes troubled. "Something is wrong."
"What?" Jim glanced to the house, back to Spock's face. "What's wrong?"
"James. I smell blood."
Jim ran for the porch and of course he didn't have his gun, he'd left it on the floor when he ran away from Spock. That'd been weeks ago.
The threshold stopped and held Spock back but Jim flung himself across it and into the preternaturally quiet foyer. "Nyota? Winona?" he called, striding into the parlor, then the living room, casting glances all around. "Answer me, damn it!"
The kitchen, out of all the other rooms on this level, was dark. Jim's hand went automatically to the switch and there, for a moment, the only sound in the room was the low buzz of the florescent bulbs.
"Momma?" he breathed into the silence.
Author Note:
I hate this chapter SO MU-UH-UCH. Somebody tell me I'm pretty. ;___;
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