Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans | STXI | NC-17 | 11/16
Title: Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans (11/16)
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~7,050
Warning: Ke$ha and blood. Not together, thankfully.
Summary: A 21st Century AU; In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But dammit, this is real life - not an episode of The X-Files!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: Thank you, thank you to everyone who continually encouraged me to write this story. Thank you for the random messages at my LJ and Tumblr. Thank you for the love. I know it’s been a long time, but I’m back. The story is back. I adore you all.
MASTERPOST
Banner by KittieKool at DA.
Jim did not wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy. In fact, upon popping one eye open, he got the distinct impression that he may have been struck with a bout of plot-forwarding amnesia. He could have sworn he’d gone to bed with a Vulcan snuggled beside him.
PS: It turned out that Spock was a cuddler.
Anyway, in Spock’s stead, there was a drowsy Springer Spaniel. Although Gumby was like Jim’s number one man - this was awkward.
Jim squinted blearily at Gumby. The dog blinked back.
“What’ve you done with my boyf- Spock. Shit. Shit, man. I’m fucked, fucked in the head. If you hear me saying that word again, you have my permission to bite me on the ass.”
Gumby’s only response was to lift his head from his paws and loll out his tongue. Jim groaned and flopped onto his back. He stared at the frozen blue shadows on the ceiling and said, “You’re no help.”
He didn’t know if he was talking to the dog or himself.
Jim peered past his shoulder at the green glowing numbers of the clock. Twenty minutes until his alarm. He might as well get up now, unless he wanted to lie in bed and sulk. Jim was a lot of things - charming, irresistible, brilliant, and he could do an excellent robot dance - but he was not a sulker. Just as a rule.
With a sigh and some cracking joints - dammit, he was too young for creaking bones - Jim swung his legs off the bed and focussed on the blurry wall ahead. As his brain began to reboot he dressed slowly, mechanically layering up and reminding himself to turn up the heat. He couldn’t have his southern sister-in-law freezing her ass off. Spock, too.
Jim stumbled downstairs, dragging his feet through the still house. Only Gumby’s nails clicking on the hardwood and Jim’s yawn echoed down the hall. Frowning to himself as he passed through the empty living room, Jim meandered into the kitchen and found it dark and empty as well. A spike of panic punched between his ribs.
“Spock?” Jim whispered, already feeling his face go hot. His heart was beginning to stutter as he threaded through rooms. The air was utterly still.
No. Spock wouldn’t.
Desperation clogged Jim’s throat, thick and suffocating. Spock wouldn’t disappear. Not like this. Not without a goodbye. Jim meant more to Spock than that.
Maybe not.
Jim stood in the grey dawn light of the kitchen and unconsciously fisted a hand in the flannel over his heart. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as his thoughts scrabbled and scattered for order and reason.
How was he... how was he supposed to act right now? Nonchalant - take it with a grain of salt? Recognise this as following the inevitable path of everyone in his life? Dad, Mom, Sam...
Maybe if it was daylight Jim would have been able to scowl theatrically and say, Well, this sucks balls. But it wasn’t and he couldn’t.
Jim fixated on the tiles at his socked toes as he went numb and still.
Gumby scratched and whimpered at the back door. Jim looked up from his daze, wandered over, and opened the door to shoo out the dog.
And there was Spock, in the distance.
Jim inhaled sharply, a harsh gasp scraping down his throat as if he’d been under water for the past minutes. Sound rushed past his ears in waves - Gumby’s collar tags jangling as he bounded outside, the sound of Jim’s heart thudding at his temples, and the distant tick of the old grandfather clock in the living room.
And there was Spock.
Spock, who was bundled up in that fleece jacket he’d adopted as his own. Spock, with his hat and gloves on, leaning against a shovel with his profile tilted to the shadow-smudged sky. His face radiated with a subtle expression of wonder.
It was snowing.
Great, puffy cotton balls floated to the ground in flurries. It was that ridiculously magical snow from the movies, the kind that was clearly contrived by the talent of set design or whatever. Perfect snow that was almost suspended in air, teasing the ground as it drifted down and swept back up on a gentle wind. It was like standing in a snowglobe.
Had Jim mentioned that Spock was there?
Coat forgotten, hat and gloves and boots far from his mind, Jim stepped outside.
Spock turned as if on cue, his face moon-pale in the waxing winter light. White flakes whirled and played around his tall, staid form as Jim approached with increasing speed. Before Jim could register his actions, he was off and running; his feet crunching on the fallen snow and his breath coming out in thick clouds. He squealed to a halt as he came toe to toe with Spock - and just stared. He wanted to look at this man forever.
Snow melted on Jim’s cold-flushed cheeks as he canted his chin to meet Spock’s eyes. The warmth and affection reflected there was enough. Spock cocked his head silently, as if he too understood that dawn didn’t require words.
Jim’s breath expelled in a great plume of fog as he broke into a smile and launched himself at Spock. Jim slung his arms around Spock’s neck with a short laugh, and the shovel dropped with a thump. Strong hands came to bracket Jim’s hips, then slid around to cup his ass and pull him closer. Jim’s lips curved as he stole short, eager kisses and stepped his frigid, soaked, socked feet onto Spock’s boots. Their knees clacked awkwardly together and Jim felt like a little kid dancing with a grown-up, but fuck if he cared.
“You seem to have misplaced your shoes,” Spock said against Jim’s lips. His thumbs caressed distracting little circles at the small of Jim’s back. “And hat. And jacket.”
“Hey, I can take it,” Jim said with a lopsided grin. He stepped off Spock’s shoes and onto the thin crust of snow.”I was just -” Jim looked around. “Thanking you. For helping out with the farm work. And stuff.”
Spock’s eyebrow arched. “Perhaps it would be wise to put on more environment-appropriate outerwear.”
“Yes, well...” Jim nodded and backed up a pace. He was still grinning like an idiot.”That was the plan. Is the plan. I’m going to -” He jerked a thumb back to the house. “Yeah.”
What an idiot he’d been, Jim thought as he turned his red face from Spock and scurried out of the snow and into the house. For the millionth time in the months since growing to know Spock, Jim reminded himself that they weren’t attached to each other. Scratch that - couldn’t be attached to each other. Not really.
It was okay that they play house for the time being, as long as Jim remember that Spock didn’t belong to him.
Not that Jim could say the same about himself, in reverse.
Anyway, Spock wasn’t going to just up and go without word, without reason. Even though he had a reason - the whole E.T. Phones Home and Goes Home reason.
Fuck, Spock did have a reason.
This morning was a reminder of reality, something that Jim acknowledged he needed on a daily basis, to be honest. One day, Spock would leave. Just like everyone else. Jim had to be prepared for that.
At the same time, it gave Jim an excuse to go all-out on their remaining time together. Hell, if they were going to crash and burn, there might as well be a brilliant, fiery fall.
When Jim returned, rallied and properly dressed, he and Spock divvied up the remainder of the chores. Jim insisted that Spock be graced with the gift of his iPod. For all the intellectual shit Spock could pull out of his ass, Spock couldn’t tell the difference between a power ballad and a pop song. Which was like... no. Not allowed.
“I do not enjoy this one,” Spock said, with his nose subtly scrunching.
Jim tromped over and checked the iPod screen. “Dream On? What? No way, man - that is like quintessential ballad badassery. Tyler hits notes that only dogs and sonar can hear, y’know?”
“I do, unfortunately.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Poor unfortunate soul. Let’s trying something -” Jim thumbed through the songs with his head bent towards Spock. A soft inhale sounded in his ears, and he couldn’t help his cheeks from heating when he realised that Spock had smelled his hair. “Smoother,” Jim finished with a rasp. “Lower.”
He pressed play and looked up, intently waiting for Spock’s reaction. Over the course of a few seconds, Spock’s expression shifted to something thoughtful, watchful as he peered at Jim and cocked his head.
“Yes,” Spock said at a murmur. “I like this.”
Jim smiled. “Guess we have a Leonard Cohen fan.”
He turned away with the picture of Spock’s faintly curved mouth etched in his mind.
After some time, Spock said from a distance away, “Is this... music?”
“Who?”
“I am unsure. Keh-dollar sign-ha.”
Jim’s dropped his shovel and tripped over to where Spock was frowning at the iPod screen. “Yeah, you don’t want to listen to that.”
“You listen to this music?” Spock asked with his eyebrows high.
Jim shrugged and grinned. “I do what I want.” With that, he plucked one bud from Spock’s ear and popped it into his own. “What you got, boy, is hard to find - I think about it all the time! I’m all strung out, my heart is fried - I just can’t get you off my mind. ‘Cause your love, your love, your love, is my drug!”
Spock was making a face like he’d just spent the morning shovelling out the barn - which, he had, but still. Jim dissolved into laughter and shook his head as he flicked through his playlist and switched songs. He felt like a kid acting out on the playground to impress their crush. And hell, it felt kind of good. He and Spock being relatively normal for once? Yeah, Jim wasn’t going to fight that.
Riding on the high of his excellent early morning, Jim finished his jobs before Spock. After giving Spock an obnoxiously loud, smacking kiss on the mouth and watching his face scrunch up, Jim headed inside.
“Morning.”
Jim paused in the doorway and blinked at Sam, who sat at the kitchen table with a mug. “Hey.”
They hadn’t really spoken since yesterday morning. When Sam and Aurelan had finally come through the door last night with a great gust of bitter wind, Jim and Spock had been on the couch watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island on Nick at Nite. The hour had been late enough that when the pair of them popped their heads in to say hello and goodnight, Jim had been practically comatose and even Spock only offered a tired nod.
“How was your morning?” Sam said.
Jim figured he couldn’t hightail it now, since he’d been asked a question and all. With a shrug, he slunk into the room and moved to the sink to wash his hands.
“Above average,” Jim said. He barely held back a grin as he mentally relived what had occurred on the countertop right beside him. Oh, if only Sam could read minds now. That would be fucking entertaining. “You?”
“It was... really good,” Sam said, as if he’d genuinely thought it over. “Better than expected.”
“Why?”
“Things went well with Mom,” Sam said as Jim dried his hands and turned around. Sam’s expression was quiet, pensive as he looked into his steaming mug of coffee. “We talked for hours, and she got on with Aurie like wildfire.”
Jim leaned against the edge of the counter and folded his arms. “I’d say that’s because they’re both awesome chicks.” He considered Sam’s profile closely. “You picked well. Can’t say the same about her, though.”
Sam smiled into his coffee as he brought it to his lips. “No accounting for taste.”
“Hell no.”
A hollow clack sounded as Sam set his cup down. “Speaking of, uh...”
“Taste?”
“You’re with Spock, right?”
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Right now I’m hangin’ with you, bro.”
“Bro, really?”
“What’s wrong with bro, brotato chip?”
Sam huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Are you trying to distract me from my question? Because it’s not working.”
Jim held up his palms innocently, all smiles. “I bron’t know, am I?”
“But really,” Sam said, searching Jim’s face. “You two are... dating?”
You know about as much as I do, buddy.
“Have you seen us go on a date?”
“Jim.” Sam sighed. “I’m just trying -”
“To look out for me?” Jim snorted. “Wow, thanks, but I really don’t need a babysitter.”
“I babysat you for a good ten years of my life, Jim. I want to repeat that about as much as you do.”
“So fuck off,” Jim said with more heat than he’d anticipated. “Trust me, you’re awesome at it.”
Sam’s mouth opened and then snapped shut. His ruddy cheeks darkened, and Jim errantly thought that Sam would probably make a good Santa when he was sixty and fat.
“I just -” Sam drummed his fingertips on the table, his lips twisted in concern that rose Jim’s hackles. “Spock is an unusual person -”
“No more unusual than that one chick I dated with the tattooed va-”
“And I want to make sure you’re not getting into any trouble.” Sam paused and cleared his throat. “Or that he’s getting you into any trouble.”
Jim stilled his instinctive retort and aimed a narrow look Sam’s way. While it was like his brother to try and play the Daddy Warbucks card, it wasn’t like him to insinuate or assume that it was Jim’s other half who was the bad influence.
Unless Sam had somehow caught wind of...
“How would Spock get me into trouble? Have you met the guy? He’s a fucking boy scout. Probably never missed a day of school, never talked back to his parents. He’s perfect.” Jim inwardly cringed. This was getting gross. He needed to evacuate and never consider the depth of emotion in his little speech ever, ever again - amen. “I’m gonna shower.”
“There’s something about him, Jim,” Sam said with his brow furrowed.
“And how would you know that?” Jim said, with his voice cracking. “How? And why is it that I’m the only person within a twenty-mile radius who remembers that you all are as fucked up as I am? Why is it okay for everyone to delude themselves into believing they know what’s best for me when we’re all just as clueless as each other?”
“Because Spock is dangerous.”
Jim froze, with his expression a mirror of Sam’s red-faced shock at the outburst. “What?”
“I mean - I think he’s hiding something, Jim. He never answers a question straight, he’s got those strange -”
“Fuck off,” Jim said with a sharp curl of a smile.
Sam’s face went hard and he stood up from his chair, sending the wooden legs screeching across the floor. “I’m worried about you.”
A slither of fear snaked around Jim’s heart and squeezed. “You’re a lot of things, Sam, but a liar isn’t one of them. I got all those genes.”
Sam’s jaw clenched. “Pike.”
Jim blinked. “Come again?”
“A Sergeant Pike.” Sam’s expression was grave as he fisted his hands in his pockets. “He called me a while back. Introduced himself before I could hang up on him. At first, I thought he might’ve been an old friend of Dad’s.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Riiight, okay, Sam,” Jim said, carefully. He wasn’t about to lead this conversation anywhere he didn’t want it to go. This would remain about Sam now. Not Jim, not Spock, not Jim-and-Spock.
Sam sucked in a breath, his gaze unwavering and open. “He got around to telling me that he had a reason to believe you were aiding and abetting a criminal. Someone apparently so important that the military wanted their hands on him.”
They stood through a heartbeat of terse silence, before Jim choked out a laugh. The second bubble of humour came easier as he smiled and arched his eyebrows in the picture of disbelief.
“Are you hearing yourself, man? And I thought I inherited the crazy in this family.”
Sam’s jaw twitched. “Jim.”
“Sam.” Jim gave a lopsided grin, while his heart thundered with war drums. “You can’t be serious.”
“What else would I be?”
Jim swallowed the hard lump in his throat and flung his hands about as he spoke. “The only reason I’m not laying into you right now is because of the lunacy of your accusation. Like, you might as well claim that Spock is an alien from outer space, for all the credibility your story holds. Get real, bro - who even is this Sergeant Pike character? He sounds like an extra from a Band of Brothers remake. Not that anyone could ever outdo such a piece of masterful cinema, but -”
“I’m sorry for keeping this from you,” Sam said, as if Jim hadn’t spoken at all. “But I had to look out for you. I had to know - and now I do. Spock is... there’s something wrong with that guy.”
Jim’s smile faded as quickly as he’d taped it on; his mouth went thin and tight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And hey, fuck you very much for spying on me, big brother. What a help. We should win family of the year!”
“Stop, Jim. Just stop.” Sam gestured between them emphatically. “Talk to me.”
“Stop or talk? Which do you want?” Jim said with his arms clamped over his chest.
“About Spock.”
“He’s not your business,” Jim said sharply, “He’s not mine either, for that matter.”
“I’m making him my business,” Sam said softly. “And I’m contacting Pike.”
Red, red, red flooded over Jim’s eyes, thick on his tongue, filling his lungs and limbs and heart. Unable to register the first crack of his knuckles across Sam’s cheek, Jim snarled and dove forward with the same stinging fist.
Sam crashed into the counter with a choked whoosh of breath. His hand slapped over his mouth in the same moment that Jim realised he’d connected with teeth and cut his own fingers up on them.
Their eyes locked for a flash, and then Sam was back in it with a punch to Jim’s nose. Stars shot white-hot in Jim’s vision as he hissed in pain, his shoulders colliding with a wall. Sam’s massive hands pushed Jim’s chest back-back and further back-even when he could go no farther than slamming into the wallpaper over and over.
This was childhood, Jim remembered in a daze, as he launched himself at his always older, always bigger brother. Despite Sam’s attempts at responsibility, there were times when the two of them were just too much for each other and it would all kick off. And when it began, there had been little to stop them.
A wordless, grunting scuffle ensued - nothing like the fistfights of films. This was all grazing punches and awkward positions, bared teeth and scraped-up breathing, errant bruises and ugly expressions.
“Fuck you, Sam!” Jim squirmed as Sam mounted him and straddled his stomach, using his weight to tower over Jim and glower. “Fuck your stupid fucking ideals of - of honour or - or, I don’t know what. You want to protect me?” Jim gurgled on his own blood, spat it up and at Sam’s face, but missed and hit his shirt. “Then leave me the fuck alone. Do what you do best and let me take care of me.”
“I love you, you fucking idiot,” Sam said with booming force. His mouth was bleeding and his left eye was swelling like an overripe fruit. He gave Jim’s shoulder a shove. “Can you stop being unrelentingly pissed at me for two seconds to get that I’m sorry? I’m sorry, Jim - shit, I am sorry for leaving. I know I said I wasn’t, but I said it wrong, okay? Don’t you ever express yourself like a stupid kid rather than an adult? Don’t you ever make a douchebag decision and find that you learn something from it, anyway?”
“Whatever.” Jim refused to acknowledge the waver in his voice, the dampness of his eyes as he struggled to sit up under the crushing weight of his brother. “You are such a royally fucked up dick, you know that?”
“Yeah,” Sam said softly, his expression drawn as he leaned back. He tipped and dropped onto his ass, freeing Jim. “Yeah, I do. But I’m going to be a father, and I kind of want -” He shrugged and, in that moment, looked almost unnervingly like Jim. “I don’t know. I want us to be a family again. And if I did anything to tear us up -”
“You did.”
Sam looked up sharply, but the corner of his bloodied mouth twitched. “Then I want to be the one to fix it, like an adult. Like the man that Dad would’ve wanted me to be.”
Jim sat up with a wince. He bunched up the hem of his t-shirt and brought it to his nose, where he felt the cloth becoming soaked through. “At least you know what Dad expected of you,” he said, his voice muffled and pathetic. Yes, he was definitely sounding pathetic. “No one’s ever expected shit from me.”
“And you’ve acted like a little shit because of it.”
Jim glared, but didn’t argue. His everything hurt too much to argue. Sniffling back some blood, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His face stung, but not as much as his chest. Jim eyed Sam warily. “Don’t think I forgot why I socked you in the first place.”
Sam matched his stare without wavering. “I hadn’t thought you did. I’m not changing my mind.”
Jim’s nostrils flared, his heart hammering anew. “Why can’t you just believe -“
“Jim, your entire reaction has been proof that Spock has something to hide,” Sam said with exasperation tight in his voice. “Can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
“If you have an explanation that would change my mind, then change it.” Sam held out his hands, and then dropped them back to the tile with a slump of his shoulders. “What else can I do with this?”
“What the heck is going on in here?” Aurelan’s voice rung out, high and appalled.
Jim jerked his attention to the doorway, his brother doing the same. He was sure their expressions were twin ones of oh shit.
“Oh, Lord,” Aurelan said, frozen and wide-eyed in the doorway. “What on earth have you done to each other?” And just like that, she went from damsel to She-Hulk as she snapped her icy gaze to Sam. “George Samuel Kirk, explain yourself right now before you get a black eye to match the first.”
“Uh,” Sam said helpfully.
“Your husband is an asshole,” Jim said easily, as he lurched to his feet, using the countertop for leverage.
Aurelan folded her arms over her pink, fuzzy robe and eyed Jim. “And you’re entirely innocent?”
“Uh,” Jim said extra-unhelpfully, shuffling his feet. Okay, so maybe he and Aurelan hadn’t known each other long - definitely not long enough for Jim to expect her to take his side on anything. Especially with Sam looking the way he did.
“Leave it,” Sam said as he stood. Jim wasn’t sure if that had been meant for him or for Aurelan. Regardless, the latter was rushing to her husband’s side, her mouth in a line, but her eyes shining with concern as she led him to the sink and began to soak a tea towel in cold water.
Jim just wavered in the centre of the kitchen like a loser. Impotent anger and fear still simmered beneath his skin, and he didn’t know how the hell to chill out. Apparently he no longer got the same kick, the same relief, from using a smack-down to alleviate frustration.
Standing there, blood dripping down his chin and speckling his shirt, Jim was lost. His words hadn’t saved him and neither had his fists. What more did he have in his arsenal?
The slam of the back door clattering shut had Jim’s eyes widening. Oh, crap.
Jim didn’t know exactly how Spock would react upon seeing his face all gross and stuff, but he could make a pretty damn educated guess. He was a scientist, too, after all. Spock might not have been a violent guy - hell, he was obnoxiously pacifistic - but Jim got the feeling in two seconds’ time, he’d have a raging Vulcan on his hands.
Danger, Will Robinson!
Without a word to Sam or Aurelan, Jim un-stealthily slipped out the other end of the kitchen and straight into the living room. If he was lucky, Spock would go up the stairs without searching for Jim.
No, Jim was totally not running away. He preferred to think of it as a tactical retreat. He was certain that Han Solo had pulled that off at some point.
When he heard Spock pause in the hallway, Jim knew it was all fucked. A pounding headache was swelling and pushing against the back of Jim’s eyes. His nose felt like he’d snorted wasabi. Spock was definitely seeing the damage Jim had inflicted on Sam. This was going downhill on a sled doused in gasoline and set on fire.
Aureln’s voice came first. “Spock? Do you know what’s going on here?”
Silence, then, “Where is Jim?”
There was the sound of a chair scraping back, and Sam grunting as he sat. “He ran that way. He was always the punch and run type.”
“Hey!” Jim stormed back into the room, a finger pointed in accusation. “Fuck you, not true. I don’t have any stories that come to mind to back that up at the moment, but I will have them on your desk by tomorrow morn-”
“Jim?”
Jim turned toward Spock in what felt like slow motion, a stiff smile frozen on his face. “Yes, hi.”
Spock’s eyes were dark, dark like a villainous Disney characters’, and that didn’t bode well. Funnily enough, it also made Jim’s stupid fucking Cinderella heart go pitter-patter. Then he was no longer thinking about Disney, because Spock was whirling on his heel with a face like a brick wall and barrelling straight for Sam.
“You did th-”
“Woah woah woah, hold up.” Jim jumped in between them, and thank god Aurelan was there to act as a buffer as well. Unfortunately for Jim, his job wasn’t as easy as simply standing in front of Sam. Stopping a Vulcan on a mission was as easy as forcing Superman into underwear made of Kryptonite. When Jim put his hands out, he was met with a plough of force - which would have nearly knocked him back had he not hissed, “Spock, stop.”
Much to Jim’s surprise, that actually worked. He’d never really dealt with someone who so often listened to reason - or, simply listened at all. Anyway, Spock did stop, but he didn’t look happy about it. Instead, Spock shot daggers over Jim’s shoulder, his glower silently fixated on Sam.
“Spock,” Jim said again, calmly. He lightly rested his hands upon Spock’s shoulders. “It’s no big deal. Brothers fight, okay? It’s a thing they do. We did it. Let’s all just -” The last thing Jim was going to do was move on from this, but he couldn’t let Spock in on Sam’s plans for once more fucking his life over. That would... not go well. The less Spock knew, the better. “Move on,” Jim said with what his throbbing face allowed for a smile.
Spock’s jaw twitched as he flicked black eyes between Jim and Sam. “Jim,” Spock said finally.
Jim dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged with a crooked curve of lips. “Don’t worry about it, man.” He brushed past Spock, didn’t look back to his brother or anyone else. “I’m gonna go for a shower.”
Okay, so maybe Jim did punch and run. Who really cared?
The answer came in the faintest brush of Spock’s fingertips at the small of Jim’s back. Jim nearly laughed. He didn’t know why he felt the giggle bubbling up - relief, frustration, whatever. All the same, it was there as he strode from the room with his chin jut high and his eyes dry.
Sam’s voice called from the other room, “You’re just going to leave it like this?”
“When have I ever?” Jim said as casually as he could. He didn’t wait for a retort, he just rocketed up the stairs. He felt ten fucking years old again, on the losing side of an argument with his ever-more-logical big brother.
At the top of the landing, everything hit at once. Jim swayed on his feet, a thundering ache brewing and swelling behind his closed eyelids. He sucked in a breath and slumped forward, his hands resting on his knees as he blinked at the scarred floor planks.
What the hell was he going to do? What could he do? When had Jim ever really had to stand up for anyone other than himself? How did a person even go about being a hero? Fuck if Jim knew. He’d always related better to the handsome fictional characters of indistinguishable morality.
Spock’s booted feet stepped into Jim’s vision and a warm palm softly landed atop Jim’s head, long fingers sifting through his hair.
“J-“
“Don’t worry about it, Spock,” Jim said as he righted himself with a sharp jerk. He wrenched himself away from Spock’s reach and offered a smile in the face of Spock’s still-outstretched hand and faintly searching expression. “Sam and I haven’t agreed on anything in a long time.”
That wasn’t quite true. When Jim and Sam weren’t arguing, they actually got on like wildfire. But Jim would say what was necessary. Heroes lied, right? Batman did - Superman did.
Spock visibly hesitated, then nodded. “Come,” he said quietly, with his hand still outreached.
Jim balked a bit. “What - where? I said I’m fine.”
“You are shaking.”
Jim’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need you to help me shower, Spock. I’m fine. What’s Vulcan for fine, so I can get this across to you?”
Spock didn’t rise to the jibe, though. He merely took Jim by the shoulders with a strength of command that had Jim further shivering, and turned him to face the bathroom door. Spock’s words were warm in Jim’s ear. “Even in my tongue, ‘fine’ has variable meanings. None of which I ascertain depict your current state.”
Jim felt like jumping out of his skin, like he no longer fit here - within himself, within this house, anywhere. He rolled a shoulder, a feeble attempt to brush off Spock’s heavy hand, but to no avail. He was pinned.
“Have you always been this fucking stubborn?” he said between gritted teeth as he yanked on the doorknob.
“I could pose the same query,” Spock said, his voice bland as he followed Jim’s dragging feet into the bathroom. Spock shut the door with a quiet click.
Jim whirled around with a sour expression that he didn’t want to admit probably looked like McCoy’s. “Okay, I’m here now, you can go.”
Leave me alone, leave me the fuck alone, I can’t let go around you - around anyone. Not really.
Spock held Jim’s glare for a long, quiet moment. Just as the distant roaring in Jim’s ears reached a crescendo, Spock began to slip off his fleece jacket. Jim watched with distant fascination as Spock kicked off his shoes and stripped layers of cotton and plaid from his lean, sculpted torso. Socks came next, scrunched back over pale feet and set aside in the cavity of one boot.
When Spock’s fingertips gripped at the button and zipper of his jeans, Jim jolted from his daze. Up until now, he’d never actually watched Spock undress, and it was - yeah, it was kind of really distracting.
But it didn’t make Jim forget that he needed some space. Room to air his thoughts, a place to plan a new angle of attack. He’d told Sam he wasn’t going to let this go, and he wasn’t. But Jim couldn’t think when Spock was here, being so fucking... disarming.
Jim was a guy with an itchy trigger finger; someone who burst into everything with guns blazing. Spock made him clumsy.
“Spock, I...” Jim swallowed hard and felt his sore face sting. “You really need to -”
“Jim,” Spock said, his eyes shadowed as he stepped forward, his hands fisted at his sides. “I respect your privacy. More than any Human, I understand the necessity of emotional restraint. But you are also -” Spock’s mouth clamped shut as he searched Jim’s owlish expression, “someone whom I hold in great regard. I have reason to believe you consider me in the same context.”
“Yeah,” Jim said with a brief, wavering grin, “You’re alright, I guess.”
Spock’s eyes narrowed. “Then we have an accord as to my being unable to leave you.”
“Uh.” Jim nearly swallowed his tongue - which would have been a seriously unfortunate time for that to happen. His brain buzzed with a hundred different replies. Some heartfelt, some completely douchey, others utterly pathetic. “Yeah,” Jim said shakily, after a time. “I guess we do.”
Then, like a dream in sluggish, syrupy motion, Spock began to undress him. Jim looked down, his heart in knots, as Spock began to unbutton his shirt; one careful flick of thumb and forefinger at a time. Jim wondered if Spock could feel the knock of his pulse against his ribcage, or if it was only deafening to him. Either way, Spock seemed intent on discarding each layer that separated him and Jim from skin on skin.
This just felt like a pantomime. Spock had already shed those layers which most protected Jim, and they weren’t his Nintendo boxers.
Jim wasn’t sure what Vulcan mojo Spock was working on him, but every touch, every smooth of palm to flesh was like a lulling drug to his system. When Spock slowly stripped Jim of his last article of clothing, it wasn’t arousal he felt, but comfort, warm and soothing from the inside out. He watched with dumb silence as Spock turned the shower on screaming hot and let the steam plume in humid clouds.
Even as Jim struggled for the words that tended to flow naturally, he felt simply tired. Exhausted from playing Han Solo, the Comedian, the Disney prince, the genius with a criminal record, the loyal son, the bratty brother -on and on and on.
Here, right now, Jim could be bare. Before today, the one person who’d ever seen Jim in such a state was Gumby, and he was a dog.
“Gumby’s gonna be jealous,” Jim said groggily as he stepped under the spray and, with water in his eyes, watched Spock slip out of his remaining clothes.
Spock looked up to Jim and flicked an eyebrow, but wisely enough, didn’t ask. Instead, he got in the bath and pressed up against Jim, enough to dip his head beneath the sharp, sweltering spray. Jim’s hands went to Spock’s waist to keep them both steady, but he felt heady and faint with Spock’s feel and scent.
Who was this Spock who knew what Jim needed, even when Jim himself didn’t know?
Jim went to nuzzle his nose against the wet crook of Spock’s neck, but ended up hissing in a sharp fit of pain.
“Fuck my fucking nose, fuck.”
Spock pulled back and considered Jim with a critical eye. “It is not broken.”
“Oh well, great, thank you for that diagnosis. Now it’ll hurt less.”
Spock’s eyebrows shot up, but again, he didn’t take the bait. Apparently he wasn’t even going to give Jim the pleasure of a banter battle. Jim watched with what definitely was not a sulk as Spock stuck his hand out of the shower and came up with a washcloth. He soaked it beneath the spray and moved in to place it on Jim’s face.
Jim jerked back instinctively, and this time Spock pinned him with a tart look. “What had you told me on the night we had met? ‘You are a huge fucking baby’,’ Spock said with the droll narration of someone from the National Geographic channel.
“Hey, okay, well -“
“‘You are, like’,” and, for the record, Spock sounded fucking terrifying and actually alien when quoting Jim, “‘a shittier alien than E.T. You -’”
“Jesus Christ, alright - yes, I am a big baby, too,” Jim said with his arms folded across his chest and water clinging to his eyelashes. “I got it, you win.” He sighed and tilted his chin, ignoring the totally smug look on Spock’s face.
And, to be completely honest - and Jim never really was - it was relaxing to have someone care for him. Jim let his heavy eyelids fall as Spock lightly pressed the towel to his sore nose. The sodden terrycloth gently swept down the abused bridge and rested on his top lip, wiping away the itchy and clotted blood.
When Jim’s face was clean, and his headache started to subside, he bit back a whimper as Spock removed the towel. Opening his eyes, Jim followed the wet, glistening lines of Spock’s form as he reached for a bottle of shampoo.
“I think I can manage that,” Jim said in a voice more hoarse than he’d expected. “I was punched, not crippled.”
Spock just gave him A Look and squelched a blob into his palm. Jim just sighed and tipped his chin down, allowing Spock to massage firm fingertips against Jim’s scalp in neat, slow circles. Immediately waves of comfort soothed through the sinews of Jim’s neck, loosened the angles of his shoulders, and brought out a soft sigh of relief.
Jim hummed with mellow delight, then quietly said, “If you wanted to know what happened between me and Sam - I mean, if you really wanted to - you could just look into my brain, couldn’t you?”
Spock’s hands faltered, then restarted their sudsy massage. “I would never do that to you, Jim.”
“But you could. And, had you not taken an epic nosedive into my field, you would’ve done it to whatever poor sap you were initially sent to programme.”
Spock went silent, but continued the methodical movement of his fingers and palms. Jim half groaned as he leaned into Spock’s space, his mind trying to hook onto the line of conversation he’d started, while his body continued to slip into some kind of half-comatose bliss.
When Jim tipped his head back beneath the spray to rinse away the fragrant foam, he faintly heard Spock say, “I will never look into you for information that I wish to hear from you.”
“Uh huh.” Jim cocked his head, his gaze intent on Spock’s reticent expression. “Well, either way.”
“What?” Spock’s brows fell. “Either way, what?”
Jim shrugged. “Nothing.”
Jim couldn’t say it, because he didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t want to ruin this kind of weirdly calm moment between them. He’d always been that guy who said the wrong thing at the wrong time, especially with those he cared about.
So, he couldn’t say it.
Either way, the people that I love the most are those who I don’t know if I can trust.
Sam, with his parental well-meaning. Spock, with his alien ulterior motives. Was there no person who was completely on Jim’s side? Hell, Jim didn’t know if he was on his own side. With the way he threw himself into the wood-chipper of life time and again, he was doubtful.
Stealing away his inner monologue bullshit, Jim wiped water from his eyes and smiled quizzically at Spock. “Did you just wash my hair with Aurelan’s shampoo? Because as much as I wouldn’t fault some extra luminosity and fullness to my locks, I’m pretty sure I smell like... I don’t know, a field of daffodils or something.”
Spock flicked an eyebrow. “Shampoo is shampoo.”
“This is chick shampoo.”
Spock looked downright disapproving. “Shampoo does not have a gender connotation.”
Grinning, Jim leaned in and slung his arms around Spock’s neck. “You just want me to smell like a Disney princess.”
Spock sunk into Jim’s playful embrace as if they’d been doing it for years, his palms slick and slippery over the wet curve of Jim’s ass. Spock tone was low, soothing, very late-night talk radio. “I enjoy your scent regardless of the designation you place upon it.”
For whatever reason, the stupid compliment left Jim wanting to tackle Spock, Gumby-style, and shower him with adoration. Although, he would not lick Spock - okay, maybe he would. Just not the face.
Jim felt his brow wrinkle as he peered at Spock, sifting his fingers through Spock’s sodden cap of hair. “So, thanks, I guess.”
Spock’s lips pursed faintly. “I believe I have lost the line of this conversation.”
“For, y’know -” Jim waved a hand between them, taking a step back under the full force of the shower spray. “Being here, even when I didn’t want you to be.”
Spock’s gaze flitted to the side, where he lingered on the tile wall with an unreadable expression. Jim could’ve sworn it wasn’t the sweltering steam in the room that had Spock’s cheeks flushing mint, as he said, “For as long as I am able, I will be here, Jim.”
Something split within Jim’s chest - and, to be honest, it wasn’t all that bad. There was no pain. More like, the overwhelming relief that followed a spine-crackling stretch. Jim’s ribcage felt like it was expanding, opening up after a lifetime of clenching in on itself.
“Yeah,” Jim said with a croak. Taking Spock’s hand and tugging him beneath the spray, Jim laced his fingers with Spock’s and heard his breath catch.
Spock was frowning adorably, his gaze hooded and his eyelashes in long, thick spikes. “Jim?”
“Yeah,” Jim said again, his curved lips coming up to meet Spock’s downturned ones. “I mean, I know.” Jim sighed against Spock’s mouth, his words slurred and love-drunk. “I get it.”
For once, Jim really felt like he got it.
To Be Continued...
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~7,050
Warning: Ke$ha and blood. Not together, thankfully.
Summary: A 21st Century AU; In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But dammit, this is real life - not an episode of The X-Files!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: Thank you, thank you to everyone who continually encouraged me to write this story. Thank you for the random messages at my LJ and Tumblr. Thank you for the love. I know it’s been a long time, but I’m back. The story is back. I adore you all.
MASTERPOST
Banner by KittieKool at DA.
Jim did not wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy. In fact, upon popping one eye open, he got the distinct impression that he may have been struck with a bout of plot-forwarding amnesia. He could have sworn he’d gone to bed with a Vulcan snuggled beside him.
PS: It turned out that Spock was a cuddler.
Anyway, in Spock’s stead, there was a drowsy Springer Spaniel. Although Gumby was like Jim’s number one man - this was awkward.
Jim squinted blearily at Gumby. The dog blinked back.
“What’ve you done with my boyf- Spock. Shit. Shit, man. I’m fucked, fucked in the head. If you hear me saying that word again, you have my permission to bite me on the ass.”
Gumby’s only response was to lift his head from his paws and loll out his tongue. Jim groaned and flopped onto his back. He stared at the frozen blue shadows on the ceiling and said, “You’re no help.”
He didn’t know if he was talking to the dog or himself.
Jim peered past his shoulder at the green glowing numbers of the clock. Twenty minutes until his alarm. He might as well get up now, unless he wanted to lie in bed and sulk. Jim was a lot of things - charming, irresistible, brilliant, and he could do an excellent robot dance - but he was not a sulker. Just as a rule.
With a sigh and some cracking joints - dammit, he was too young for creaking bones - Jim swung his legs off the bed and focussed on the blurry wall ahead. As his brain began to reboot he dressed slowly, mechanically layering up and reminding himself to turn up the heat. He couldn’t have his southern sister-in-law freezing her ass off. Spock, too.
Jim stumbled downstairs, dragging his feet through the still house. Only Gumby’s nails clicking on the hardwood and Jim’s yawn echoed down the hall. Frowning to himself as he passed through the empty living room, Jim meandered into the kitchen and found it dark and empty as well. A spike of panic punched between his ribs.
“Spock?” Jim whispered, already feeling his face go hot. His heart was beginning to stutter as he threaded through rooms. The air was utterly still.
No. Spock wouldn’t.
Desperation clogged Jim’s throat, thick and suffocating. Spock wouldn’t disappear. Not like this. Not without a goodbye. Jim meant more to Spock than that.
Maybe not.
Jim stood in the grey dawn light of the kitchen and unconsciously fisted a hand in the flannel over his heart. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as his thoughts scrabbled and scattered for order and reason.
How was he... how was he supposed to act right now? Nonchalant - take it with a grain of salt? Recognise this as following the inevitable path of everyone in his life? Dad, Mom, Sam...
Maybe if it was daylight Jim would have been able to scowl theatrically and say, Well, this sucks balls. But it wasn’t and he couldn’t.
Jim fixated on the tiles at his socked toes as he went numb and still.
Gumby scratched and whimpered at the back door. Jim looked up from his daze, wandered over, and opened the door to shoo out the dog.
And there was Spock, in the distance.
Jim inhaled sharply, a harsh gasp scraping down his throat as if he’d been under water for the past minutes. Sound rushed past his ears in waves - Gumby’s collar tags jangling as he bounded outside, the sound of Jim’s heart thudding at his temples, and the distant tick of the old grandfather clock in the living room.
And there was Spock.
Spock, who was bundled up in that fleece jacket he’d adopted as his own. Spock, with his hat and gloves on, leaning against a shovel with his profile tilted to the shadow-smudged sky. His face radiated with a subtle expression of wonder.
It was snowing.
Great, puffy cotton balls floated to the ground in flurries. It was that ridiculously magical snow from the movies, the kind that was clearly contrived by the talent of set design or whatever. Perfect snow that was almost suspended in air, teasing the ground as it drifted down and swept back up on a gentle wind. It was like standing in a snowglobe.
Had Jim mentioned that Spock was there?
Coat forgotten, hat and gloves and boots far from his mind, Jim stepped outside.
Spock turned as if on cue, his face moon-pale in the waxing winter light. White flakes whirled and played around his tall, staid form as Jim approached with increasing speed. Before Jim could register his actions, he was off and running; his feet crunching on the fallen snow and his breath coming out in thick clouds. He squealed to a halt as he came toe to toe with Spock - and just stared. He wanted to look at this man forever.
Snow melted on Jim’s cold-flushed cheeks as he canted his chin to meet Spock’s eyes. The warmth and affection reflected there was enough. Spock cocked his head silently, as if he too understood that dawn didn’t require words.
Jim’s breath expelled in a great plume of fog as he broke into a smile and launched himself at Spock. Jim slung his arms around Spock’s neck with a short laugh, and the shovel dropped with a thump. Strong hands came to bracket Jim’s hips, then slid around to cup his ass and pull him closer. Jim’s lips curved as he stole short, eager kisses and stepped his frigid, soaked, socked feet onto Spock’s boots. Their knees clacked awkwardly together and Jim felt like a little kid dancing with a grown-up, but fuck if he cared.
“You seem to have misplaced your shoes,” Spock said against Jim’s lips. His thumbs caressed distracting little circles at the small of Jim’s back. “And hat. And jacket.”
“Hey, I can take it,” Jim said with a lopsided grin. He stepped off Spock’s shoes and onto the thin crust of snow.”I was just -” Jim looked around. “Thanking you. For helping out with the farm work. And stuff.”
Spock’s eyebrow arched. “Perhaps it would be wise to put on more environment-appropriate outerwear.”
“Yes, well...” Jim nodded and backed up a pace. He was still grinning like an idiot.”That was the plan. Is the plan. I’m going to -” He jerked a thumb back to the house. “Yeah.”
What an idiot he’d been, Jim thought as he turned his red face from Spock and scurried out of the snow and into the house. For the millionth time in the months since growing to know Spock, Jim reminded himself that they weren’t attached to each other. Scratch that - couldn’t be attached to each other. Not really.
It was okay that they play house for the time being, as long as Jim remember that Spock didn’t belong to him.
Not that Jim could say the same about himself, in reverse.
Anyway, Spock wasn’t going to just up and go without word, without reason. Even though he had a reason - the whole E.T. Phones Home and Goes Home reason.
Fuck, Spock did have a reason.
This morning was a reminder of reality, something that Jim acknowledged he needed on a daily basis, to be honest. One day, Spock would leave. Just like everyone else. Jim had to be prepared for that.
At the same time, it gave Jim an excuse to go all-out on their remaining time together. Hell, if they were going to crash and burn, there might as well be a brilliant, fiery fall.
When Jim returned, rallied and properly dressed, he and Spock divvied up the remainder of the chores. Jim insisted that Spock be graced with the gift of his iPod. For all the intellectual shit Spock could pull out of his ass, Spock couldn’t tell the difference between a power ballad and a pop song. Which was like... no. Not allowed.
“I do not enjoy this one,” Spock said, with his nose subtly scrunching.
Jim tromped over and checked the iPod screen. “Dream On? What? No way, man - that is like quintessential ballad badassery. Tyler hits notes that only dogs and sonar can hear, y’know?”
“I do, unfortunately.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Poor unfortunate soul. Let’s trying something -” Jim thumbed through the songs with his head bent towards Spock. A soft inhale sounded in his ears, and he couldn’t help his cheeks from heating when he realised that Spock had smelled his hair. “Smoother,” Jim finished with a rasp. “Lower.”
He pressed play and looked up, intently waiting for Spock’s reaction. Over the course of a few seconds, Spock’s expression shifted to something thoughtful, watchful as he peered at Jim and cocked his head.
“Yes,” Spock said at a murmur. “I like this.”
Jim smiled. “Guess we have a Leonard Cohen fan.”
He turned away with the picture of Spock’s faintly curved mouth etched in his mind.
After some time, Spock said from a distance away, “Is this... music?”
“Who?”
“I am unsure. Keh-dollar sign-ha.”
Jim’s dropped his shovel and tripped over to where Spock was frowning at the iPod screen. “Yeah, you don’t want to listen to that.”
“You listen to this music?” Spock asked with his eyebrows high.
Jim shrugged and grinned. “I do what I want.” With that, he plucked one bud from Spock’s ear and popped it into his own. “What you got, boy, is hard to find - I think about it all the time! I’m all strung out, my heart is fried - I just can’t get you off my mind. ‘Cause your love, your love, your love, is my drug!”
Spock was making a face like he’d just spent the morning shovelling out the barn - which, he had, but still. Jim dissolved into laughter and shook his head as he flicked through his playlist and switched songs. He felt like a kid acting out on the playground to impress their crush. And hell, it felt kind of good. He and Spock being relatively normal for once? Yeah, Jim wasn’t going to fight that.
Riding on the high of his excellent early morning, Jim finished his jobs before Spock. After giving Spock an obnoxiously loud, smacking kiss on the mouth and watching his face scrunch up, Jim headed inside.
“Morning.”
Jim paused in the doorway and blinked at Sam, who sat at the kitchen table with a mug. “Hey.”
They hadn’t really spoken since yesterday morning. When Sam and Aurelan had finally come through the door last night with a great gust of bitter wind, Jim and Spock had been on the couch watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island on Nick at Nite. The hour had been late enough that when the pair of them popped their heads in to say hello and goodnight, Jim had been practically comatose and even Spock only offered a tired nod.
“How was your morning?” Sam said.
Jim figured he couldn’t hightail it now, since he’d been asked a question and all. With a shrug, he slunk into the room and moved to the sink to wash his hands.
“Above average,” Jim said. He barely held back a grin as he mentally relived what had occurred on the countertop right beside him. Oh, if only Sam could read minds now. That would be fucking entertaining. “You?”
“It was... really good,” Sam said, as if he’d genuinely thought it over. “Better than expected.”
“Why?”
“Things went well with Mom,” Sam said as Jim dried his hands and turned around. Sam’s expression was quiet, pensive as he looked into his steaming mug of coffee. “We talked for hours, and she got on with Aurie like wildfire.”
Jim leaned against the edge of the counter and folded his arms. “I’d say that’s because they’re both awesome chicks.” He considered Sam’s profile closely. “You picked well. Can’t say the same about her, though.”
Sam smiled into his coffee as he brought it to his lips. “No accounting for taste.”
“Hell no.”
A hollow clack sounded as Sam set his cup down. “Speaking of, uh...”
“Taste?”
“You’re with Spock, right?”
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Right now I’m hangin’ with you, bro.”
“Bro, really?”
“What’s wrong with bro, brotato chip?”
Sam huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Are you trying to distract me from my question? Because it’s not working.”
Jim held up his palms innocently, all smiles. “I bron’t know, am I?”
“But really,” Sam said, searching Jim’s face. “You two are... dating?”
You know about as much as I do, buddy.
“Have you seen us go on a date?”
“Jim.” Sam sighed. “I’m just trying -”
“To look out for me?” Jim snorted. “Wow, thanks, but I really don’t need a babysitter.”
“I babysat you for a good ten years of my life, Jim. I want to repeat that about as much as you do.”
“So fuck off,” Jim said with more heat than he’d anticipated. “Trust me, you’re awesome at it.”
Sam’s mouth opened and then snapped shut. His ruddy cheeks darkened, and Jim errantly thought that Sam would probably make a good Santa when he was sixty and fat.
“I just -” Sam drummed his fingertips on the table, his lips twisted in concern that rose Jim’s hackles. “Spock is an unusual person -”
“No more unusual than that one chick I dated with the tattooed va-”
“And I want to make sure you’re not getting into any trouble.” Sam paused and cleared his throat. “Or that he’s getting you into any trouble.”
Jim stilled his instinctive retort and aimed a narrow look Sam’s way. While it was like his brother to try and play the Daddy Warbucks card, it wasn’t like him to insinuate or assume that it was Jim’s other half who was the bad influence.
Unless Sam had somehow caught wind of...
“How would Spock get me into trouble? Have you met the guy? He’s a fucking boy scout. Probably never missed a day of school, never talked back to his parents. He’s perfect.” Jim inwardly cringed. This was getting gross. He needed to evacuate and never consider the depth of emotion in his little speech ever, ever again - amen. “I’m gonna shower.”
“There’s something about him, Jim,” Sam said with his brow furrowed.
“And how would you know that?” Jim said, with his voice cracking. “How? And why is it that I’m the only person within a twenty-mile radius who remembers that you all are as fucked up as I am? Why is it okay for everyone to delude themselves into believing they know what’s best for me when we’re all just as clueless as each other?”
“Because Spock is dangerous.”
Jim froze, with his expression a mirror of Sam’s red-faced shock at the outburst. “What?”
“I mean - I think he’s hiding something, Jim. He never answers a question straight, he’s got those strange -”
“Fuck off,” Jim said with a sharp curl of a smile.
Sam’s face went hard and he stood up from his chair, sending the wooden legs screeching across the floor. “I’m worried about you.”
A slither of fear snaked around Jim’s heart and squeezed. “You’re a lot of things, Sam, but a liar isn’t one of them. I got all those genes.”
Sam’s jaw clenched. “Pike.”
Jim blinked. “Come again?”
“A Sergeant Pike.” Sam’s expression was grave as he fisted his hands in his pockets. “He called me a while back. Introduced himself before I could hang up on him. At first, I thought he might’ve been an old friend of Dad’s.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Riiight, okay, Sam,” Jim said, carefully. He wasn’t about to lead this conversation anywhere he didn’t want it to go. This would remain about Sam now. Not Jim, not Spock, not Jim-and-Spock.
Sam sucked in a breath, his gaze unwavering and open. “He got around to telling me that he had a reason to believe you were aiding and abetting a criminal. Someone apparently so important that the military wanted their hands on him.”
They stood through a heartbeat of terse silence, before Jim choked out a laugh. The second bubble of humour came easier as he smiled and arched his eyebrows in the picture of disbelief.
“Are you hearing yourself, man? And I thought I inherited the crazy in this family.”
Sam’s jaw twitched. “Jim.”
“Sam.” Jim gave a lopsided grin, while his heart thundered with war drums. “You can’t be serious.”
“What else would I be?”
Jim swallowed the hard lump in his throat and flung his hands about as he spoke. “The only reason I’m not laying into you right now is because of the lunacy of your accusation. Like, you might as well claim that Spock is an alien from outer space, for all the credibility your story holds. Get real, bro - who even is this Sergeant Pike character? He sounds like an extra from a Band of Brothers remake. Not that anyone could ever outdo such a piece of masterful cinema, but -”
“I’m sorry for keeping this from you,” Sam said, as if Jim hadn’t spoken at all. “But I had to look out for you. I had to know - and now I do. Spock is... there’s something wrong with that guy.”
Jim’s smile faded as quickly as he’d taped it on; his mouth went thin and tight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And hey, fuck you very much for spying on me, big brother. What a help. We should win family of the year!”
“Stop, Jim. Just stop.” Sam gestured between them emphatically. “Talk to me.”
“Stop or talk? Which do you want?” Jim said with his arms clamped over his chest.
“About Spock.”
“He’s not your business,” Jim said sharply, “He’s not mine either, for that matter.”
“I’m making him my business,” Sam said softly. “And I’m contacting Pike.”
Red, red, red flooded over Jim’s eyes, thick on his tongue, filling his lungs and limbs and heart. Unable to register the first crack of his knuckles across Sam’s cheek, Jim snarled and dove forward with the same stinging fist.
Sam crashed into the counter with a choked whoosh of breath. His hand slapped over his mouth in the same moment that Jim realised he’d connected with teeth and cut his own fingers up on them.
Their eyes locked for a flash, and then Sam was back in it with a punch to Jim’s nose. Stars shot white-hot in Jim’s vision as he hissed in pain, his shoulders colliding with a wall. Sam’s massive hands pushed Jim’s chest back-back and further back-even when he could go no farther than slamming into the wallpaper over and over.
This was childhood, Jim remembered in a daze, as he launched himself at his always older, always bigger brother. Despite Sam’s attempts at responsibility, there were times when the two of them were just too much for each other and it would all kick off. And when it began, there had been little to stop them.
A wordless, grunting scuffle ensued - nothing like the fistfights of films. This was all grazing punches and awkward positions, bared teeth and scraped-up breathing, errant bruises and ugly expressions.
“Fuck you, Sam!” Jim squirmed as Sam mounted him and straddled his stomach, using his weight to tower over Jim and glower. “Fuck your stupid fucking ideals of - of honour or - or, I don’t know what. You want to protect me?” Jim gurgled on his own blood, spat it up and at Sam’s face, but missed and hit his shirt. “Then leave me the fuck alone. Do what you do best and let me take care of me.”
“I love you, you fucking idiot,” Sam said with booming force. His mouth was bleeding and his left eye was swelling like an overripe fruit. He gave Jim’s shoulder a shove. “Can you stop being unrelentingly pissed at me for two seconds to get that I’m sorry? I’m sorry, Jim - shit, I am sorry for leaving. I know I said I wasn’t, but I said it wrong, okay? Don’t you ever express yourself like a stupid kid rather than an adult? Don’t you ever make a douchebag decision and find that you learn something from it, anyway?”
“Whatever.” Jim refused to acknowledge the waver in his voice, the dampness of his eyes as he struggled to sit up under the crushing weight of his brother. “You are such a royally fucked up dick, you know that?”
“Yeah,” Sam said softly, his expression drawn as he leaned back. He tipped and dropped onto his ass, freeing Jim. “Yeah, I do. But I’m going to be a father, and I kind of want -” He shrugged and, in that moment, looked almost unnervingly like Jim. “I don’t know. I want us to be a family again. And if I did anything to tear us up -”
“You did.”
Sam looked up sharply, but the corner of his bloodied mouth twitched. “Then I want to be the one to fix it, like an adult. Like the man that Dad would’ve wanted me to be.”
Jim sat up with a wince. He bunched up the hem of his t-shirt and brought it to his nose, where he felt the cloth becoming soaked through. “At least you know what Dad expected of you,” he said, his voice muffled and pathetic. Yes, he was definitely sounding pathetic. “No one’s ever expected shit from me.”
“And you’ve acted like a little shit because of it.”
Jim glared, but didn’t argue. His everything hurt too much to argue. Sniffling back some blood, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His face stung, but not as much as his chest. Jim eyed Sam warily. “Don’t think I forgot why I socked you in the first place.”
Sam matched his stare without wavering. “I hadn’t thought you did. I’m not changing my mind.”
Jim’s nostrils flared, his heart hammering anew. “Why can’t you just believe -“
“Jim, your entire reaction has been proof that Spock has something to hide,” Sam said with exasperation tight in his voice. “Can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
“If you have an explanation that would change my mind, then change it.” Sam held out his hands, and then dropped them back to the tile with a slump of his shoulders. “What else can I do with this?”
“What the heck is going on in here?” Aurelan’s voice rung out, high and appalled.
Jim jerked his attention to the doorway, his brother doing the same. He was sure their expressions were twin ones of oh shit.
“Oh, Lord,” Aurelan said, frozen and wide-eyed in the doorway. “What on earth have you done to each other?” And just like that, she went from damsel to She-Hulk as she snapped her icy gaze to Sam. “George Samuel Kirk, explain yourself right now before you get a black eye to match the first.”
“Uh,” Sam said helpfully.
“Your husband is an asshole,” Jim said easily, as he lurched to his feet, using the countertop for leverage.
Aurelan folded her arms over her pink, fuzzy robe and eyed Jim. “And you’re entirely innocent?”
“Uh,” Jim said extra-unhelpfully, shuffling his feet. Okay, so maybe he and Aurelan hadn’t known each other long - definitely not long enough for Jim to expect her to take his side on anything. Especially with Sam looking the way he did.
“Leave it,” Sam said as he stood. Jim wasn’t sure if that had been meant for him or for Aurelan. Regardless, the latter was rushing to her husband’s side, her mouth in a line, but her eyes shining with concern as she led him to the sink and began to soak a tea towel in cold water.
Jim just wavered in the centre of the kitchen like a loser. Impotent anger and fear still simmered beneath his skin, and he didn’t know how the hell to chill out. Apparently he no longer got the same kick, the same relief, from using a smack-down to alleviate frustration.
Standing there, blood dripping down his chin and speckling his shirt, Jim was lost. His words hadn’t saved him and neither had his fists. What more did he have in his arsenal?
The slam of the back door clattering shut had Jim’s eyes widening. Oh, crap.
Jim didn’t know exactly how Spock would react upon seeing his face all gross and stuff, but he could make a pretty damn educated guess. He was a scientist, too, after all. Spock might not have been a violent guy - hell, he was obnoxiously pacifistic - but Jim got the feeling in two seconds’ time, he’d have a raging Vulcan on his hands.
Danger, Will Robinson!
Without a word to Sam or Aurelan, Jim un-stealthily slipped out the other end of the kitchen and straight into the living room. If he was lucky, Spock would go up the stairs without searching for Jim.
No, Jim was totally not running away. He preferred to think of it as a tactical retreat. He was certain that Han Solo had pulled that off at some point.
When he heard Spock pause in the hallway, Jim knew it was all fucked. A pounding headache was swelling and pushing against the back of Jim’s eyes. His nose felt like he’d snorted wasabi. Spock was definitely seeing the damage Jim had inflicted on Sam. This was going downhill on a sled doused in gasoline and set on fire.
Aureln’s voice came first. “Spock? Do you know what’s going on here?”
Silence, then, “Where is Jim?”
There was the sound of a chair scraping back, and Sam grunting as he sat. “He ran that way. He was always the punch and run type.”
“Hey!” Jim stormed back into the room, a finger pointed in accusation. “Fuck you, not true. I don’t have any stories that come to mind to back that up at the moment, but I will have them on your desk by tomorrow morn-”
“Jim?”
Jim turned toward Spock in what felt like slow motion, a stiff smile frozen on his face. “Yes, hi.”
Spock’s eyes were dark, dark like a villainous Disney characters’, and that didn’t bode well. Funnily enough, it also made Jim’s stupid fucking Cinderella heart go pitter-patter. Then he was no longer thinking about Disney, because Spock was whirling on his heel with a face like a brick wall and barrelling straight for Sam.
“You did th-”
“Woah woah woah, hold up.” Jim jumped in between them, and thank god Aurelan was there to act as a buffer as well. Unfortunately for Jim, his job wasn’t as easy as simply standing in front of Sam. Stopping a Vulcan on a mission was as easy as forcing Superman into underwear made of Kryptonite. When Jim put his hands out, he was met with a plough of force - which would have nearly knocked him back had he not hissed, “Spock, stop.”
Much to Jim’s surprise, that actually worked. He’d never really dealt with someone who so often listened to reason - or, simply listened at all. Anyway, Spock did stop, but he didn’t look happy about it. Instead, Spock shot daggers over Jim’s shoulder, his glower silently fixated on Sam.
“Spock,” Jim said again, calmly. He lightly rested his hands upon Spock’s shoulders. “It’s no big deal. Brothers fight, okay? It’s a thing they do. We did it. Let’s all just -” The last thing Jim was going to do was move on from this, but he couldn’t let Spock in on Sam’s plans for once more fucking his life over. That would... not go well. The less Spock knew, the better. “Move on,” Jim said with what his throbbing face allowed for a smile.
Spock’s jaw twitched as he flicked black eyes between Jim and Sam. “Jim,” Spock said finally.
Jim dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged with a crooked curve of lips. “Don’t worry about it, man.” He brushed past Spock, didn’t look back to his brother or anyone else. “I’m gonna go for a shower.”
Okay, so maybe Jim did punch and run. Who really cared?
The answer came in the faintest brush of Spock’s fingertips at the small of Jim’s back. Jim nearly laughed. He didn’t know why he felt the giggle bubbling up - relief, frustration, whatever. All the same, it was there as he strode from the room with his chin jut high and his eyes dry.
Sam’s voice called from the other room, “You’re just going to leave it like this?”
“When have I ever?” Jim said as casually as he could. He didn’t wait for a retort, he just rocketed up the stairs. He felt ten fucking years old again, on the losing side of an argument with his ever-more-logical big brother.
At the top of the landing, everything hit at once. Jim swayed on his feet, a thundering ache brewing and swelling behind his closed eyelids. He sucked in a breath and slumped forward, his hands resting on his knees as he blinked at the scarred floor planks.
What the hell was he going to do? What could he do? When had Jim ever really had to stand up for anyone other than himself? How did a person even go about being a hero? Fuck if Jim knew. He’d always related better to the handsome fictional characters of indistinguishable morality.
Spock’s booted feet stepped into Jim’s vision and a warm palm softly landed atop Jim’s head, long fingers sifting through his hair.
“J-“
“Don’t worry about it, Spock,” Jim said as he righted himself with a sharp jerk. He wrenched himself away from Spock’s reach and offered a smile in the face of Spock’s still-outstretched hand and faintly searching expression. “Sam and I haven’t agreed on anything in a long time.”
That wasn’t quite true. When Jim and Sam weren’t arguing, they actually got on like wildfire. But Jim would say what was necessary. Heroes lied, right? Batman did - Superman did.
Spock visibly hesitated, then nodded. “Come,” he said quietly, with his hand still outreached.
Jim balked a bit. “What - where? I said I’m fine.”
“You are shaking.”
Jim’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need you to help me shower, Spock. I’m fine. What’s Vulcan for fine, so I can get this across to you?”
Spock didn’t rise to the jibe, though. He merely took Jim by the shoulders with a strength of command that had Jim further shivering, and turned him to face the bathroom door. Spock’s words were warm in Jim’s ear. “Even in my tongue, ‘fine’ has variable meanings. None of which I ascertain depict your current state.”
Jim felt like jumping out of his skin, like he no longer fit here - within himself, within this house, anywhere. He rolled a shoulder, a feeble attempt to brush off Spock’s heavy hand, but to no avail. He was pinned.
“Have you always been this fucking stubborn?” he said between gritted teeth as he yanked on the doorknob.
“I could pose the same query,” Spock said, his voice bland as he followed Jim’s dragging feet into the bathroom. Spock shut the door with a quiet click.
Jim whirled around with a sour expression that he didn’t want to admit probably looked like McCoy’s. “Okay, I’m here now, you can go.”
Leave me alone, leave me the fuck alone, I can’t let go around you - around anyone. Not really.
Spock held Jim’s glare for a long, quiet moment. Just as the distant roaring in Jim’s ears reached a crescendo, Spock began to slip off his fleece jacket. Jim watched with distant fascination as Spock kicked off his shoes and stripped layers of cotton and plaid from his lean, sculpted torso. Socks came next, scrunched back over pale feet and set aside in the cavity of one boot.
When Spock’s fingertips gripped at the button and zipper of his jeans, Jim jolted from his daze. Up until now, he’d never actually watched Spock undress, and it was - yeah, it was kind of really distracting.
But it didn’t make Jim forget that he needed some space. Room to air his thoughts, a place to plan a new angle of attack. He’d told Sam he wasn’t going to let this go, and he wasn’t. But Jim couldn’t think when Spock was here, being so fucking... disarming.
Jim was a guy with an itchy trigger finger; someone who burst into everything with guns blazing. Spock made him clumsy.
“Spock, I...” Jim swallowed hard and felt his sore face sting. “You really need to -”
“Jim,” Spock said, his eyes shadowed as he stepped forward, his hands fisted at his sides. “I respect your privacy. More than any Human, I understand the necessity of emotional restraint. But you are also -” Spock’s mouth clamped shut as he searched Jim’s owlish expression, “someone whom I hold in great regard. I have reason to believe you consider me in the same context.”
“Yeah,” Jim said with a brief, wavering grin, “You’re alright, I guess.”
Spock’s eyes narrowed. “Then we have an accord as to my being unable to leave you.”
“Uh.” Jim nearly swallowed his tongue - which would have been a seriously unfortunate time for that to happen. His brain buzzed with a hundred different replies. Some heartfelt, some completely douchey, others utterly pathetic. “Yeah,” Jim said shakily, after a time. “I guess we do.”
Then, like a dream in sluggish, syrupy motion, Spock began to undress him. Jim looked down, his heart in knots, as Spock began to unbutton his shirt; one careful flick of thumb and forefinger at a time. Jim wondered if Spock could feel the knock of his pulse against his ribcage, or if it was only deafening to him. Either way, Spock seemed intent on discarding each layer that separated him and Jim from skin on skin.
This just felt like a pantomime. Spock had already shed those layers which most protected Jim, and they weren’t his Nintendo boxers.
Jim wasn’t sure what Vulcan mojo Spock was working on him, but every touch, every smooth of palm to flesh was like a lulling drug to his system. When Spock slowly stripped Jim of his last article of clothing, it wasn’t arousal he felt, but comfort, warm and soothing from the inside out. He watched with dumb silence as Spock turned the shower on screaming hot and let the steam plume in humid clouds.
Even as Jim struggled for the words that tended to flow naturally, he felt simply tired. Exhausted from playing Han Solo, the Comedian, the Disney prince, the genius with a criminal record, the loyal son, the bratty brother -on and on and on.
Here, right now, Jim could be bare. Before today, the one person who’d ever seen Jim in such a state was Gumby, and he was a dog.
“Gumby’s gonna be jealous,” Jim said groggily as he stepped under the spray and, with water in his eyes, watched Spock slip out of his remaining clothes.
Spock looked up to Jim and flicked an eyebrow, but wisely enough, didn’t ask. Instead, he got in the bath and pressed up against Jim, enough to dip his head beneath the sharp, sweltering spray. Jim’s hands went to Spock’s waist to keep them both steady, but he felt heady and faint with Spock’s feel and scent.
Who was this Spock who knew what Jim needed, even when Jim himself didn’t know?
Jim went to nuzzle his nose against the wet crook of Spock’s neck, but ended up hissing in a sharp fit of pain.
“Fuck my fucking nose, fuck.”
Spock pulled back and considered Jim with a critical eye. “It is not broken.”
“Oh well, great, thank you for that diagnosis. Now it’ll hurt less.”
Spock’s eyebrows shot up, but again, he didn’t take the bait. Apparently he wasn’t even going to give Jim the pleasure of a banter battle. Jim watched with what definitely was not a sulk as Spock stuck his hand out of the shower and came up with a washcloth. He soaked it beneath the spray and moved in to place it on Jim’s face.
Jim jerked back instinctively, and this time Spock pinned him with a tart look. “What had you told me on the night we had met? ‘You are a huge fucking baby’,’ Spock said with the droll narration of someone from the National Geographic channel.
“Hey, okay, well -“
“‘You are, like’,” and, for the record, Spock sounded fucking terrifying and actually alien when quoting Jim, “‘a shittier alien than E.T. You -’”
“Jesus Christ, alright - yes, I am a big baby, too,” Jim said with his arms folded across his chest and water clinging to his eyelashes. “I got it, you win.” He sighed and tilted his chin, ignoring the totally smug look on Spock’s face.
And, to be completely honest - and Jim never really was - it was relaxing to have someone care for him. Jim let his heavy eyelids fall as Spock lightly pressed the towel to his sore nose. The sodden terrycloth gently swept down the abused bridge and rested on his top lip, wiping away the itchy and clotted blood.
When Jim’s face was clean, and his headache started to subside, he bit back a whimper as Spock removed the towel. Opening his eyes, Jim followed the wet, glistening lines of Spock’s form as he reached for a bottle of shampoo.
“I think I can manage that,” Jim said in a voice more hoarse than he’d expected. “I was punched, not crippled.”
Spock just gave him A Look and squelched a blob into his palm. Jim just sighed and tipped his chin down, allowing Spock to massage firm fingertips against Jim’s scalp in neat, slow circles. Immediately waves of comfort soothed through the sinews of Jim’s neck, loosened the angles of his shoulders, and brought out a soft sigh of relief.
Jim hummed with mellow delight, then quietly said, “If you wanted to know what happened between me and Sam - I mean, if you really wanted to - you could just look into my brain, couldn’t you?”
Spock’s hands faltered, then restarted their sudsy massage. “I would never do that to you, Jim.”
“But you could. And, had you not taken an epic nosedive into my field, you would’ve done it to whatever poor sap you were initially sent to programme.”
Spock went silent, but continued the methodical movement of his fingers and palms. Jim half groaned as he leaned into Spock’s space, his mind trying to hook onto the line of conversation he’d started, while his body continued to slip into some kind of half-comatose bliss.
When Jim tipped his head back beneath the spray to rinse away the fragrant foam, he faintly heard Spock say, “I will never look into you for information that I wish to hear from you.”
“Uh huh.” Jim cocked his head, his gaze intent on Spock’s reticent expression. “Well, either way.”
“What?” Spock’s brows fell. “Either way, what?”
Jim shrugged. “Nothing.”
Jim couldn’t say it, because he didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t want to ruin this kind of weirdly calm moment between them. He’d always been that guy who said the wrong thing at the wrong time, especially with those he cared about.
So, he couldn’t say it.
Either way, the people that I love the most are those who I don’t know if I can trust.
Sam, with his parental well-meaning. Spock, with his alien ulterior motives. Was there no person who was completely on Jim’s side? Hell, Jim didn’t know if he was on his own side. With the way he threw himself into the wood-chipper of life time and again, he was doubtful.
Stealing away his inner monologue bullshit, Jim wiped water from his eyes and smiled quizzically at Spock. “Did you just wash my hair with Aurelan’s shampoo? Because as much as I wouldn’t fault some extra luminosity and fullness to my locks, I’m pretty sure I smell like... I don’t know, a field of daffodils or something.”
Spock flicked an eyebrow. “Shampoo is shampoo.”
“This is chick shampoo.”
Spock looked downright disapproving. “Shampoo does not have a gender connotation.”
Grinning, Jim leaned in and slung his arms around Spock’s neck. “You just want me to smell like a Disney princess.”
Spock sunk into Jim’s playful embrace as if they’d been doing it for years, his palms slick and slippery over the wet curve of Jim’s ass. Spock tone was low, soothing, very late-night talk radio. “I enjoy your scent regardless of the designation you place upon it.”
For whatever reason, the stupid compliment left Jim wanting to tackle Spock, Gumby-style, and shower him with adoration. Although, he would not lick Spock - okay, maybe he would. Just not the face.
Jim felt his brow wrinkle as he peered at Spock, sifting his fingers through Spock’s sodden cap of hair. “So, thanks, I guess.”
Spock’s lips pursed faintly. “I believe I have lost the line of this conversation.”
“For, y’know -” Jim waved a hand between them, taking a step back under the full force of the shower spray. “Being here, even when I didn’t want you to be.”
Spock’s gaze flitted to the side, where he lingered on the tile wall with an unreadable expression. Jim could’ve sworn it wasn’t the sweltering steam in the room that had Spock’s cheeks flushing mint, as he said, “For as long as I am able, I will be here, Jim.”
Something split within Jim’s chest - and, to be honest, it wasn’t all that bad. There was no pain. More like, the overwhelming relief that followed a spine-crackling stretch. Jim’s ribcage felt like it was expanding, opening up after a lifetime of clenching in on itself.
“Yeah,” Jim said with a croak. Taking Spock’s hand and tugging him beneath the spray, Jim laced his fingers with Spock’s and heard his breath catch.
Spock was frowning adorably, his gaze hooded and his eyelashes in long, thick spikes. “Jim?”
“Yeah,” Jim said again, his curved lips coming up to meet Spock’s downturned ones. “I mean, I know.” Jim sighed against Spock’s mouth, his words slurred and love-drunk. “I get it.”
For once, Jim really felt like he got it.
To Be Continued...