Warnings : Mentions of abuse, slash
AN1: Un'beta'd, will get it done when beta is back from holiday.
AN2: Done as part of a challenge me and a friend (A FRIEND! A FRIEND! IS THAT ALL I AM!!!! I HAVE A NAME YOU KNOW! AND A PEN NAME! It's DementedViper, missy! Or Kitten to you! and you are so in the dog house now! ~Huffs~. Mini Rant Over) are doing, music on random and each write a fic to the song we get. First was Hollywood Undead - Black Dahlia.
AN3: I don't really like this but the idea stuck with me and I had to do it, lol, I actually feel bad writing it :(
I wish I could I could have quit you.
I wish I never missed you,
And told you that I loved you, every time I fucked you.
Look at what I made for you, it never was enough and the world is what I gave to you.
I used to be love struck; now I'm just fucked up.
Pull up my sleeves and see the pattern of my cuts!
The funny thing is, Jim did use to love him. Unconditionally, passionately and with every fibre of being that he possessed. He used to think that he had found the one, as corny as that concept had always been to him, and he had thought that it was permanent. Well, he guessed it was permanent, just not in the way that Jim had imagined.
Spock was always there, even when he wasn t in the room, hell, even if he wasn t on the ship. Jim had never really understood the idea of bond mates and the connection that it caused until he was subjected to it. For someone like Jim Kirk, it was more finitely than he could handle, and that was even before you added in the other level of abuse that it added to the relationship.
There wasn t many people on the ship that would believe you if you said your lover was abusive. Even more so when you said that your lover, the stoic and seemingly emotionless Vulcan, made you feel lower than the smallest ant and beat you a lot more thoroughly than your step dad ever could. Of course, no one could ever see the physical abuse, Spock knew far too much about the human anatomy to leave anything that could be seen above his uniform. That didn t stop him from feeling it all through the day, the throb and sting of cuts to his arms, the bite as the muscles on his legs pulled against fresh bruises. It didn t stop the internal (because he was damned if he was going to show it on the Bridge) wince every time he sat down on the Captains chair. Still, in some ways Jim preferred the beatings, even the sexual abuse, because in the end, it was only superficial. He had spent his childhood enduring the same treatment, it was more like a return to home than anything new.
It was the mental abuse that got to him, the degradation and the humiliation of someone being able to get to him like Spock did. Who ever said words can t hurt you was wrong, because Jim dared anyone to not feel something when your lover called you out on every insecurity you had. Not even the small ones, that you could brush off because they were the surface ones. No, he was talking about the ones deeper down, the ones that you didn t tell anyone, that you barely knew yourself because you refused to admit to them. The type that when you even so much as ghosted over them, caused your blood to run cold and your heart to race as you desperately tried not to think of them.
Vulcan s are amazing things. Mind melds aren t so much. Jim learned pretty soon on that there was nothing he could hide from the man, nothing that he could push down far enough that Spock couldn t find. It didn t matter how Jim fought, it didn t help, it didn t really take long before he stopped trying.
He had only ever trusted one person with the knowledge of what Spock did to him and even that had taken time, lots of time. Trust was the first thing to go, Jim learned. Jim had expected anger and rage and swearing, he hadn t gotten either and wasn t that like a punch to the gut? Realising that he not only expected it but thought he deserved it.
Why do you stay?
That was the most common question, probably asked every other night, sometimes every day if it was a particular bad week. It was a good question, why did he stay? He could name a hundred reasons why he shouldn t, why he should leave. He often did name then, when his body was bruised past a point he could ignore and his mind was broken past a point he could function. When he would drag his feet and force himself from the room they shared, only once Spock had left, never before, he could never leave before. Drag himself to the only place where someone listened, to the only place he could find even the smallest shred of help.
The first few times there had been words, not angry words, but words all the same cursing Spock, sometimes cursing him, but the words we always just that, it was the hands that he sought. The hands that guided him as he crashed, that steadied him as they healed him, no where deep enough or close enough but healed him enough that he would eventually be able to leave again. The times now, there are no words. Even in the early hours of the morning when the ship is dark and the air is quiet, as they sit on the nearest surface that his body will let him reach. Sometimes it s a chair, sometimes it s a bed, more often it s a floor, backs to the wall.
Why does he do it?
That s a less common question, most times asked with no intent of an answer, but its at least one he can answer more easily. No less painfully but more easily. Who ever said Vulcan s had no emotions was wrong, they had plenty of emotion, just hidden. Bottled beneath the surface, tucked away, festering. Jim wasn t sure whether it was the imbalance of being half human, but there was something in Spock that wasn t balanced in the slightest. Jim knew he was an outlet, somewhere for every feeling Spock felt to be flung at. Every comment he made about Jim, was a comment that he could brush off from himself. There was a moment, somewhere in their past, when Jim had stopped being his friend, lover, confident and had become his punch bug, stress tool, pet.
Why does he do it?
Because he can.
Why do you stay?
Two years, that s how long it takes before you can answer that question. Two years of abuse, of hatred. One and a half years of being asked, of someone trying to help him, build him back up. A year and a half of hands keeping him from falling, of words trying to keep him above the surface.
One and a half years of love that he couldn t even feel.
Why do you stay?
Because I love him.
Four words and he knows without a doubt that he is broken, that the surface he thought he was floating above was never as close as he wanted. In the quiet of sickbay, pressed together in the corner with the lights low and his head cradled against a strong chest, his breath hitches over the words.
Because I love him Bones.
Two years of abuse broke Jim Kirk. One word broke Leonard McCoy.
Review please?