A/N: This was written while listening to Avril Lavigne's "I'm With You". I warned you my plot Tribble feeds on music. The song belongs to Miss Lavigne; Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, JJ Abrams, Paramount, and other assorted goodies. If you recognize it, it's not mine. Please don't sue.

James Tiberius Kirk tugged half-heartedly at his bow tie and looked around. It was so dark on this part of the campus. He couldn't hear the sound of the small stream babbling below him; the sounds of the party were too far in the distance to make out. The moonlight broke through and reflected off the footbridge beneath him, sparkling from the gentle rain that had been falling all night.

Every few moments, Jim would look back towards the auditorium, as if expecting someone. Well, he was expecting someone. He just wasn't sure who that someone was. His head was beginning to clear a bit from the alcohol-induced fog, leaving plenty of space for memories of his first disastrous mission in space.

He shivered, wishing he had brought his coat outside. The rain had soaked through his shirt, plastering it to his skin. For a second, his heart raced and he strained to make out any noise whatsoever. He had been gone from the party for well over a half hour now. Hadn't anyone noticed him leave? Didn't anyone wonder where he was? All he wanted was to go home.

When he was little, Jim would imagine better times and situations. Whether they had basis in reality or were made up out of whole cloth, this pretend time would always soothe him. Tonight, Jim let his mind drift as he imagined what would happen when someone realized he had left the party.

The person would no doubt see his jacket lying on the chair. Maybe he's cold, the person would think. Where did he go, the person would wonder. Then he would pick up the jacket and follow the barely noticeable footprints away from the auditorium and down to the path leading to the park. He would use his superior night vision to find the young captain.

Captain, his voice would toll, and it would not shatter the silence of the night. Instead, it would complement it, caress it. I could not help but notice you were not at the social function. Are you well?

Jim shook his head. When did this fantasy become about Spock? Of all the people Jim would hope to receive sympathy from, the Vulcan officer wasn't one. But wouldn't it be great? What if he did show up?

The fantasy resumed. Spock reached out one elegant hand. Sir, you are inebriated. In addition, the ambient temperature has dropped significantly and your shirt has been saturated. You will undoubtedly become ill if you remain in this condition.

But I don't know you like that, Jim would protest. I can't just take your hand.

Come. Spock would be insistent. Let me help.

Where had that phrase come from? Jim racked his mind, and though he couldn't understand its significance, that phrase meant a great deal more than at first glance. If Spock said it, it would mean something so powerful, so overwhelming, that Jim would be forever changed.

And while we're at it, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny have tea on Tuesdays. For some reason, in Jim's fantasies, Spock was always more open and expressive. He was still guarded, but there were signs that only Jim could see. The affection in his eyes. The small quirk at the edge of his mouth. The set of his shoulders. The way he stood at his viewer.

And that wasn't even counting the trove of goodies held in what he said, or rather, what he didn't say. That deep baritone would measure out words carefully, every statement precise and efficient.

But Jim shook himself from his reverie again. Baritone? Spock's voice was deep, but not that deep. It was almost as if Jim was getting Spock confused with someone else. But who else could that be? A face that could show emotion almost freely. A deep, comforting voice. A heart that openly cared about Jim. Who was that?

Whoever it was, he wasn't here. There was no one here. Jim's life was enough of a mess without conjuring up a boyfriend who would never exist in this lifetime. Why was his mind doing this to him? What good did it do? Another shiver ran down his spine, and he wrapped his arms around himself.

"Captain." Great, now his fantasy sounded like Spock. Jim hung his head. But suddenly, a cool hand lay on Jim's arm. He looked up, blinking away the droplets of rain. Spock stood there, the mist sparkling on his raven hair. Jim's abandoned jacket was draped over his other arm.

"Sir, you have been gone 51.68 minutes. The precipitation and ambient temperature are not conducive to human health. You did not bring your outer wear. And Admiral Pike is looking for you." The statements had a very professional quality to them, as if he were making a report. But it was 100%, undoubtedly Spock. Jim grinned unabashed.

"Thanks." He slipped on his jacket and shook the moisture from his hair. "Hey, if it's bad for humans it's got to be ten times worse for a Vulcan. Let's go back inside."

Spock looked the young officer over once, and then nodded his assent. He gestured smoothly with one hand. Jim motioned for Spock to go ahead.

"I'm with you."