Fic: Speed of Falling
Title: Speed of Falling
Fandom: STXI
Pairing: Spork!
Rating: PG (I think...)
Summary: "He's going 125 miles per hour and the wind is whipping so hard around his ears, he screams just to be able to hear himself."
Notes: Heh, this came out of nowhere.
He's going 125 miles per hour. The top of the convertible flies off and the wind whips so hard around his ears he screams just to be able to hear himself.
Nothing can hurt him.
Not the death of his father five minutes into his birth; not his mother's abandonment before he even reached ten; not Sammy's desertion as soon as he was old enough to leave; not Frank's claims that he was a useless, unwanted ingrate; and certainly not the rubble cutting into the soft flesh of his palms as he scrabbles over the side of the cliff, while the red, antique automobile hurtles towards certain doom below him.
"Citizen, what is your name?"
He straightens himself, chin up, eyes hard. "My name is James Tiberius Kirk!"
Not the judging eyes of his peers and educators; not the punches that rain on him for sleeping with someone already taken; not the endless insults thrown his way because he's both a genius and a smartass; and definitely not his mother's tears when she comes home to find her baby in the hospital for alcohol poisoning. The fifth time.
Still, he's unbelievably lucky. No matter how many times he goes down, he's comes back just as quickly. Whatever luck that had been robbed from his father must've passed down to him.
He can get into bar fights and come out with an offer to join Starfleet. He can doze through his classes and still get top grades. He can sleep with half the campus and still be on good terms with everyone, even the boyfriends. He can sometimes even persuade the boyfriend to join in. He can beat the unbeatable Kobayashi Maru exam. He can cheat without getting expelled. Instead, he becomes the youngest Starfleet captain in history.
And contrary to popular belief, James Tiberius Kirk hasn't changed much from the arrogant cadet. He is simply now an arrogant captain, but his crew buys his bullshit so it's okay.
Except that it's not, because his First Officer is a half-Vulcan and impervious to cognitive dissonance, which simply means that while everyone just sees the precocious upstart from Iowa who got lucky, Spock can see the boy who cried when his brother left, who punched his knuckles bloody the first time he spent the night behind bars, who apologised to the first girl he slept with, who slammed the door shut because he's afraid of what he would see.
So Jim avoids those brown eyes; believes that if he keeps to himself, Spock won't realise, won't postulate; Spock won't figure out what his older self already knows.
"The Jim I knew was not this broken."
The voice is soft, warm and everything Jim's ever wanted. But this half-Vulcan already belonged. To another Jim; a better Jim.
The answer is a deprecating chuckle. "Well, he must've had something I didn't then."
"Yes," the older half-Vulcan retorts calmly. "He had me."
Impossible. No one wants a broken wind-up doll. Least of all the most perfect First Officer in Starfleet. So Jim Kirk does what he does best: he self-destructs.
Jim walks, nearly runs when he sees Spock at his heels. He lunges towards the transporter pad but is pulled away a millisecond before the beam activates, and is trapped between a wall and his First Officer.
He thrashes against a hot Vulcan embrace that refuses to release him; insistent whispers over his ear that he is human and therefore fragile; fingers that tighten over his throat and constricting his airway unless he desists in his reckless ways.
Let me go, let me go, please just let me go.
He's a time bomb. If only Spock would understand. He'd rather sacrifice himself on a mission than crumble in front of his crew. He's Jim Kirk. People believe him invincible and he would go down having them continue believing that by thunder! Screw Vulcans and their superior strength. Jim still manages to wrestle an arm free and assails Spock.
Light blows are all he can afford in this proximity and with one arm. He shouts when the one arm is popped out of its socket because pain in searing up his side and making his eyes water. Jim kicks, kicks, because one dislocated shoulder isn't going to hold him back. He's fought through much worse. He writhes and twists and yells but then Spock slams his head against the wall and pins him with those eyes that can see him for the pathetic boy he really is. And those eyes, those hateful, too human eyes, are softening in pain.
"Jim."
Warm, earnest.
Sobs wrack his frame. He isn't even aware he's losing it as he continues to fight back weakly. Silent tears run down his face messily and his punches are losing their effect. Jim breaks slowly in Spock's arms.
And all it had taken was a name.
Hot breath against his face. When did he get so close?
"Do not be so quick to leave me."
Jim keens. So sweet those words. Tell me. Give me more.
His world minimises to just them. His harsh breaths, the fingers around his neck and Spock, who is not acting the way Jim thought he would. He's afraid. Has not been so terrified in his life. Not when Frank took a bottle to him; not when some druggie tried to push a needle into his arm; not when he was threatened with expulsion from the academy. Spock has one hand around his frantic heart and right now, Jim does not have the strength to wrench him away.
A small sound. The voice of a young Jim Kirk hiding in a corner. Why do you want me?
"My Jim."
Something touches his mind. A bond; a rope; a tether.
The convertible falls, 125 miles per hour. Jim Kirk jumps out just in time, hands tight around the rope, and climbs out.. Below him, the car crumples, broken and irreparable. Jim smiles.
That is not him anymore.
Fandom: STXI
Pairing: Spork!
Rating: PG (I think...)
Summary: "He's going 125 miles per hour and the wind is whipping so hard around his ears, he screams just to be able to hear himself."
Notes: Heh, this came out of nowhere.
He's going 125 miles per hour. The top of the convertible flies off and the wind whips so hard around his ears he screams just to be able to hear himself.
Nothing can hurt him.
Not the death of his father five minutes into his birth; not his mother's abandonment before he even reached ten; not Sammy's desertion as soon as he was old enough to leave; not Frank's claims that he was a useless, unwanted ingrate; and certainly not the rubble cutting into the soft flesh of his palms as he scrabbles over the side of the cliff, while the red, antique automobile hurtles towards certain doom below him.
"Citizen, what is your name?"
He straightens himself, chin up, eyes hard. "My name is James Tiberius Kirk!"
Not the judging eyes of his peers and educators; not the punches that rain on him for sleeping with someone already taken; not the endless insults thrown his way because he's both a genius and a smartass; and definitely not his mother's tears when she comes home to find her baby in the hospital for alcohol poisoning. The fifth time.
Still, he's unbelievably lucky. No matter how many times he goes down, he's comes back just as quickly. Whatever luck that had been robbed from his father must've passed down to him.
He can get into bar fights and come out with an offer to join Starfleet. He can doze through his classes and still get top grades. He can sleep with half the campus and still be on good terms with everyone, even the boyfriends. He can sometimes even persuade the boyfriend to join in. He can beat the unbeatable Kobayashi Maru exam. He can cheat without getting expelled. Instead, he becomes the youngest Starfleet captain in history.
And contrary to popular belief, James Tiberius Kirk hasn't changed much from the arrogant cadet. He is simply now an arrogant captain, but his crew buys his bullshit so it's okay.
Except that it's not, because his First Officer is a half-Vulcan and impervious to cognitive dissonance, which simply means that while everyone just sees the precocious upstart from Iowa who got lucky, Spock can see the boy who cried when his brother left, who punched his knuckles bloody the first time he spent the night behind bars, who apologised to the first girl he slept with, who slammed the door shut because he's afraid of what he would see.
So Jim avoids those brown eyes; believes that if he keeps to himself, Spock won't realise, won't postulate; Spock won't figure out what his older self already knows.
"The Jim I knew was not this broken."
The voice is soft, warm and everything Jim's ever wanted. But this half-Vulcan already belonged. To another Jim; a better Jim.
The answer is a deprecating chuckle. "Well, he must've had something I didn't then."
"Yes," the older half-Vulcan retorts calmly. "He had me."
Impossible. No one wants a broken wind-up doll. Least of all the most perfect First Officer in Starfleet. So Jim Kirk does what he does best: he self-destructs.
Jim walks, nearly runs when he sees Spock at his heels. He lunges towards the transporter pad but is pulled away a millisecond before the beam activates, and is trapped between a wall and his First Officer.
He thrashes against a hot Vulcan embrace that refuses to release him; insistent whispers over his ear that he is human and therefore fragile; fingers that tighten over his throat and constricting his airway unless he desists in his reckless ways.
Let me go, let me go, please just let me go.
He's a time bomb. If only Spock would understand. He'd rather sacrifice himself on a mission than crumble in front of his crew. He's Jim Kirk. People believe him invincible and he would go down having them continue believing that by thunder! Screw Vulcans and their superior strength. Jim still manages to wrestle an arm free and assails Spock.
Light blows are all he can afford in this proximity and with one arm. He shouts when the one arm is popped out of its socket because pain in searing up his side and making his eyes water. Jim kicks, kicks, because one dislocated shoulder isn't going to hold him back. He's fought through much worse. He writhes and twists and yells but then Spock slams his head against the wall and pins him with those eyes that can see him for the pathetic boy he really is. And those eyes, those hateful, too human eyes, are softening in pain.
"Jim."
Warm, earnest.
Sobs wrack his frame. He isn't even aware he's losing it as he continues to fight back weakly. Silent tears run down his face messily and his punches are losing their effect. Jim breaks slowly in Spock's arms.
And all it had taken was a name.
Hot breath against his face. When did he get so close?
"Do not be so quick to leave me."
Jim keens. So sweet those words. Tell me. Give me more.
His world minimises to just them. His harsh breaths, the fingers around his neck and Spock, who is not acting the way Jim thought he would. He's afraid. Has not been so terrified in his life. Not when Frank took a bottle to him; not when some druggie tried to push a needle into his arm; not when he was threatened with expulsion from the academy. Spock has one hand around his frantic heart and right now, Jim does not have the strength to wrench him away.
A small sound. The voice of a young Jim Kirk hiding in a corner. Why do you want me?
"My Jim."
Something touches his mind. A bond; a rope; a tether.
The convertible falls, 125 miles per hour. Jim Kirk jumps out just in time, hands tight around the rope, and climbs out.. Below him, the car crumples, broken and irreparable. Jim smiles.
That is not him anymore.