Every Hypothesis Needs Evidence
love-child-1403
Summary: Jim Kirk has a type - not that he'll admit it - and his best friend is beginning to realise that this may present a problem...
Warnings: Allusions to sexual situations; MxM; some mild swearing; possibility of purple prose (knowing me as well as I do)
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of the characters herewith (apart from the few that I allude to very briefly... Basically, if you recognise it then it's probably not mine)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well. Well then. Wow. Sorry. I wandered off to do something else and forgot about this for... five years? Whoops. That's totally my bad. Move aside, Darth Vader, I am truly the villain of this piece.
I received a review from someone last month, and only read it today - and I was inspired! So this story is done, and it's almost entirely down to Izlandi randomly reviewing this story five years down the line.
So thank you, Izlandi. This one's for you - Merry Christmas.
"Oh, shit - I'm in love with Spock, aren't I?" Jim seemed to be in shock, which accounted for his lack of denial and his generally calm demeanour. Bones simply nodded grimly in reply, not feeling it necessary to say any more. Now that it was all out in the open he didn't know what else to do. He knew that if he wasn't careful the next thing to come out of his mouth would be extremely sarcastic and, though only in jest, would probably not help matters much. Kirk began to pace the doctor's office, stopping occasionally to run a hand through his hair.
After a moment Jim did speak, but it wasn't quite what Bones had been expecting. The usually calm and confident demeanour had fallen away, and Jim seemed to almost be pleading with him,
"Bones, how am I meant to deal with this?" The boy was asking him for advice? On how to… what - seduce a Vulcan? The doctor leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows.
"How the hell should I know, kid?" he said softly, pity seeping into his voice in spite of his best efforts. God knew he wanted nothing but good things for Jim but he didn't make it easy. Kirk stopped pacing entirely, folding himself into a comfortable chair usually reserved for patients and putting his head in his hands.
"What if I can't stop?" he said after a while, muffled slightly by his own fingers. "Even if I do love him, it's not like he's gonna feel the same way. I don't even know if he's able." Jim looked up then and his eyes were red, but there were no tears. Bones knew he wasn't afraid to cry (another reason he couldn't understand the man's closeness to Spock) but this was more of a dry-eyed panic, which wasn't necessarily any better or more healthy.
"Well, you don't know that. Hell, nobody ever knows what he's thinking, for all we know he's got pictures of you all over his bedroom wall." That elicited a laugh from the brooding captain, which was a step in the right direction.
"Ah, c'mon, Bones," Jim said, standing up again, obviously unable to keep still for too long. He was vibrating with nervous energy. "He's my friend now, and I'm lucky to have him on board with even that. He'll just distance himself if he finds out, and I'm not going to jeopardise a perfectly good friendship and working relationship for… whatever this is." The Doctor laughed. He couldn't help it; this was so like Jim. No matter how smart he was, or how much confidence he managed to project, all he wanted was for people not to run.
"Well you're the genius, apparently," Bones said, standing up himself and walking round the desk to place a hand on the man's shoulder. "But you're an idiot if you think I haven't been watching both of you." Jim's head had been hanging slightly in defeat, but it immediately shot up at that, and his baby blue eyes were wide and hopeful.
"What? Bones-" But McCoy was leaving, trying not to smile and give himself away. Of course he hadn't been watching Spock - but Jim didn't know that.
The lie had been just what Jim needed. Over the next week, he kept trying to corner Bones at every opportunity, but there was always an unfortunate medical emergency (and McCoy was incredibly thankful to whatever imbecile had managed to contract and spread an unknown alien STI to half the engine crew) and if he had to then he'd resort to the ever-present threat of a hypospray or two.
Fortunately it didn't get that bad, because something happened to change Jim's mind as to the interest of his fair Science Officer.
It was just another day and another planet, and Kirk was doing what he did best - namely, getting shot at. Of course, the Captain liked nothing better than a battle scar (McCoy was certain he had started intentionally putting himself in harm's way just to collect a few more, which was typical) so this was pretty routine, but what nobody had expected on this particular day was that the alien planet would be home to a group of expert, long-distance knife throwers.
Jim ended up with an entire cutlery drawer embedded in his torso, and all hell broke loose shortly afterwards.
They were getting hammered and their communications were being unintentionally jammed by something in the planet's atmosphere. Spock was attempting to work around that particular flaw in their plan, and Kirk was busy on all-fours, coughing up blood. That was never a good sign. What breaths he was able to take were shaky and rattled in his chest. Bones was behind a sizeable rock, bloody but still alive, and Spock was…
Well, the closest word would have to be 'enraged', but that wouldn't quite do justice to the anger radiating off the (usually calm and collected) man. He had knives in various parts of his body and thick, green blood was beginning to ooze from various cuts and grazes, but he was stronger than the rest of them and carrying Jim's bloody body out of the path of a shower of daggers was nothing to him.
Behind the same rock McCoy was using for cover, the Vulcan placed his friend gently on the ground and practically ripped the doctor's shirt in his attempt to pull him closer to Kirk's shuddering form.
"Doctor, I require your assistance in assessing the Captain's wounds," he said tersely, but there was no hiding the desperation that laced every syllable. McCoy wouldn't have dared refuse, even if Kirk hadn't been his best friend; it would probably be the end of him. Bones hopped to it, his mobile equipment fortunately undamaged by the onslaught of sharp metal objects that could still be heard ricocheting off the blessedly tall rocks.
The assessment didn't take long. Spock had managed to contact The Enterprise, and they were about to be beamed up, but McCoy had a feeling that the look in his own eyes was telling. Jim was fading fast and they needed him in the med bay now.
Before the wisps of circling light had completely enveloped them, McCoy saw Spock lean over the Captain and touch a pale hand to his face. He only whispered one word, which he'd never heard before. He could only guess at its meaning, though he somehow thought he understood.
"T'hy'la."
When Jim awoke a few days later, it was without fanfare or any kind of drama. He just sat up and asked if anyone had been saving him pudding while he'd been out, in response to which McCoy rolled his eyes and pushed him back down to take his vitals. (This wasn't really necessary, as he'd been doing this every five minutes at Spock's request until he'd managed to force the First Officer out of the sick bay. "Damn it man, I'm a Doctor, not a wind-up toy.")
"C'mon, Bones - tell me you saved me pudding," Jim said, grinning and checking himself over - probably looking for new scars, the menace.
"Of course I saved you pudding, you clown. Now stay still or I'll have the nurses hold you down - and that's not as sexy as you'd think it is," the Doctor said sternly. In truth, Jim could walk out of here right now and he'd be right as rain, but if Spock found out that he hadn't followed protocol… Well, he shuddered to think what he'd do. He was even more fastidious than usual where the Captain was concerned.
Once he was completely assured that all of Kirk's limbs were where they were meant to be, he sent him off with a clean bill of health.
"Your First Officer wanted to speak to you as soon as you were up and about," he said, almost as an afterthought, as Jim quickly got dressed behind him. He didn't look up from the chart he was perusing, even though he knew that Jim was staring at him. After a few moments of silence (which was all the Captain was capable of), the questions started coming thick and fast.
"Spock wants to see me? Why? He's okay right? I mean, of course he's okay, the guy's practically a robot," he snorted, rubbing a hand over his face. "I must have been hallucinating down on that planet because I could've sworn he said something to me before we beamed up. It sounded Vulcan but I didn't recognise it…"
"T'hy'la." McCoy looked up so fast he practically gave himself whiplash. Spock was standing primly inside the doorway of the med bay, and if he didn't know better the doctor would've sworn the tips of his ears were flushed a pale emerald.
Jim was staring at him, transfixed. After a few moments of unbroken eye-contact, McCoy sighed and put down his chart.
"Captain, you are cleared for duty - please get the hell out of my sick bay," he said curtly, raising an eyebrow and indicating the door. Jim flicked his eyes back for a second and nodded wordlessly, standing and walking towards Spock with grim determination. McCoy, the most sensible crew member on any ship ever manufactured by Starfleet, turned back to his chart and studied it with an intensity he had never before been able to produce in himself.
When he eventually turned around they were both gone.
"Where the hell have you been - Sulu said you gave him command of the Bridge for six hours today without any explanation," McCoy demanded as Jim sat down across from him, plate piled high with what could have been either mashed potatoes or incredibly soggy cauliflower. Jim smiled beatifically and began to eat his food with relish. It was horrifying to watch.
Eventually he deigned to answer.
"I found out what t'hy'la means," he said happily, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a small smile.
"And?" The smile widened.
"It's definitely a good thing."
McCoy later remembered his ignorance with fondness, and wished he could go back to a time when Jim hadn't yet regaled him with an excruciatingly detailed descriptions of Spock's dick. Those were happier times.