Chapter Six

STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE

HIGH PRIORITY

STARDATE 2253.10.25

LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR

CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR

CC: SPOCK

Captain,

I did exactly as you asked and contacted Ms. Fiona Ray. I attempted to buddy her up so that she'd be a lot more amendable and empathic to my urgency to speak face to face with Dr. Karidian, as so to make personal arrangements.

Unfortunately, during my exchange with Ms. Fiona Ray, she regrettably mentioned that I had just missed Dr. Karidian.

Apparently he's dropped all his appointments to fly out to Dallas, Texas, where his oldest daughter, Carly, is giving birth to her first child. Which means he isn't going to be available until the near beginning of November.

But, it's not a complete loss. Ms. Fiona Ray promised to contact me as soon as he gets back to his office, and that I'd be a priority client. She'll pull some strings on my behalf, but the communiqué will happen as far as we're concerned.

I'll be sure to notify you and Commander Spock when I've made the proper arrangements on my end so we can move from there. I understand the ball is basically in my court, and since I couldn't reach him like we'd hope, we're kind of at a standstill for now.

Uhura

888

Four days before the Halloween Bash, as they wake with the rising sun, Rand, right out of the blue, says, "Hey, you like me right?"

Jim smiles. They're lying on their sides, Rand spooning her from behind. She was just daydreaming about a green pepper, cheese, and mushroom omelet before he spoke. Her stomach growls and she replies, "Yeah—you're alright I suppose. I would probably like you even more if you made me an omelet."

"Oh, well, I feel special," Rand grumbles as he buries his nose into the crook of her neck. He likes doing that for whatever reason. Guys are strange. He says, "I certainly didn't hear any complaining last night when you were bouncing up and down on my co—"

"I swear I'll cut it off if you finish that sentence," Jim warns, but the threat kind of loses its heat because she's laughing and blushing in embarrassment and arousal, just by the sheer memory. "And anyway—you didn't seem to mind either as I recall."

"It's you," Rand softly replies. His fingers curl along the curvy line of her waist as he presses his forehead into her shoulder blade. He's pawing at her like a man without his sight would. "I never mind when it's you."

"Well now I feel special," she remarks dryly. She sucks on her bottom lip until it feels swollen and wet and not at all dry and crackly as it had before. She makes a mental note to hunt down some lip gloss or a lip balm.

Rand hums as he rubs his lips against the back of her arm. "Rock, paper, scissors for your hand in marriage?"

"What?"

"What?"

Jim rolls onto her other side so that she can look at Rand plainly. He blinks innocently back at her, but she's not fooled. His hair is sticking up every which way in an adorable manner, and it dulls her exasperation slightly. She studies his face for a long while before she carefully explains, "You're proposing to me."

"Huh?"

"Proposing. You. To me."

"How do you mean?"

"You just fucking said rock, paper, scissors for your hand in marriage, Jan."

"Um—yeah," Rand says timidly as he flushes and fidgets. He props his upper body up by his elbow and he ducks his head, looking up at her through thick lashes in that boyish sort of manner that Jim falls for sometimes. Sometimes. "Best two out of three?"

Jim chokes at the sheer audacity before she pounces on top of him and wraps her small hands around his thick neck and squeezes because what the ever living fuck?

Rand doesn't really respond kindly to her attempts of suffocating him. Of course why would he—or why would any one for that manner? He gags while he flails in panic and surprise, and they go rolling off his bed, tangled limbs and all.

They make quite a commotion too because while Rand is no ace in wrestling, he sure is one squirmy little bastard that Jim has a hard time holding onto. With the both of them being naked, its probably not helping matters.

This impromptu wrestling match lasts for a suitable eight minutes.

"Oh my God, Jan!" Jim laughs as he pins her flat on her back. He crowds in close until he's the only thing in her vision. "What the utter hell? What are we even doing?"

"I don't know!" Rand pants in exasperation. His eyes are widened and his cheeks are flushed by the exertion he had to use to pin Jim down. It's no easy feat—he must know this from experience. Somehow he's learned how to pin her on her back like this. "I just tried to propose to you and you attempted to kill me like some kind of fucking black widow."

"Aha! You were proposing, you sneaky fucker!" Jim exclaims with unconcealed triumph, even though he has her wrists pinned above her head. She wiggles a bit as she tries to process his confession. This has to be a joke. It has to—but he isn't laughing, which is a worrisome thing. "Are you high? Is that it? God, this is like even stranger than that time I woke up and you drew purple dragons up and down my back with sharpies and I'm not saying it wasn't cool because it totally was but I had my doubts then that you might've been secretly huffing little ole Mary Jane and—"

"I'm not high," he argues sharply in offense. His eyebrows are scrunched in irritation and his mouth sits unhappily on his handsome face. "I'm not!" he repeats when he notices the way Jim eyes him skeptically.

"Yeah, about that," she drawls as she keeps her gaze narrowed. "I'm not so sure because you were just trying to ask for my hand out of nowhere. What's that about?"

"What do you mean? It's not random," Rand maintains with a frown. He looks adorably confused and discouraged. It makes him seem younger than he actually is. "I want to marry you. Sounds simple to me."

Jim's eyebrows lift in speculation. Simple? How bizarre that he would think so. "You want to marry me? Since when?"

"I don't know," Rand replies with a weary sigh. He studies her face like he's trying to figure out who she is before he looks at her bare chest, flushes and looks back up again. Man's got priorities, Jim can respect that much. "How does anyone really know the exact moment something clicks?"

"I imagine it's something like getting shot in the foot. You kinda have to notice something like that."

"Alright fine. Clearly you're right. I mean I guess I have to say that it started when I began doodling James Tiberius Rand in my diary," Rand dryly retorts. That is pure irritation in his voice. "I think that's when it really stuck. And then I thought, hey, let's make that a thing."

Jim tries to bite his shoulder but he manages to dodge it. She huffs and says, "I'm serious. This isn't a joke. Marriage is a big deal. It's not like deciding if you want to put a lease on a house or—"

"I'm not really joking."

Jim stops short as she stares up at him.

"Marry me."

"Janice Austin Cowboy Texas Rand. You are insane."

Rand's gorgeous cobalt blue eyes are gleaming with unshakeable certainty that it damn near frightens her.

Jim knows that look. She's seen it plenty of times before. Usually this is where things took a turn for the worse because she'll be forced to put an end to that look.

He says, "You are—the best thing that ever happened to me. Don't you know that you're better than bottle rockets and rollercoasters and green peppermint candy canes combined?"

"You love green peppermint candy canes," Jim mumbles vaguely as she looks up at him in confusion. She feels stuck, unhinged, and lost. What is this? "You literally told me once that when you died, you wanted your casket to be filled with them."

Rand laughs with a sound that comes right from his gut and reaches into his eyes. "I have a pension for over-exaggeration, yes, but—one thing I could never exaggerate, not in a million years, is how much I love you. And I do, Jim. I love you. So marry me. Marry me for all the right reasons. Marry me for all the wrong reasons. Just marry me."

"Don't say that," Jim says as she pushes against his grip. She feels caged and trapped and sad. He eases up and she quickly sits up as she grabs the sheets from off his floor bed and wraps them around herself like a makeshift dress. Why'd he have to go and ruin things like this? It's not fair. How could he just go and decide that they should spend the rest of forever together? The absolute nerve of him. "Look—Jan. What we have is cool and it's been cool. We've had lots of sex—creative sex—great creative sex. But it's not really enough for you to decide that you want to make me your wife."

"Is it the commitment that you don't like?" Rand asks as he rubs his jaw before he rubs the back of his neck. When he does things like that, it makes him look as young as he is—and Jim feels bad suddenly, like she's taking advantage of him somehow.

"Commitment," she blankly echoes.

"Yeah. I just always felt like we countered each other well. I'm happy when I'm with you and you're happy when you're with me. I just—I'm happy."

"It's not the commitment. It's the everything. We've known each other for less than three months," Jim argues. Why can't he see how chaotic this is?

"Some people can know each other for two weeks and decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together."

"Yeah but we're not some people."

"No, we're not," Rand agrees. "We're us. You're you, and I'm me. And I love everything about you. I would spend the rest of my life getting to know you and enjoy every second of it."

"My face has its charms. And my body is pretty spectacular too. But how shallow is that?" she questions and doesn't miss the way his face sags into a glower at her words. "I don't mean it like that. I'm not calling you shallow by any means. But come on. You can't know that I'm the one. You can't just decide—"

"There's a lot of things that I don't know," Rand interjects gently and he touches his hand to her wrist before he laces their fingers together. The touch feels stale—one dimensional. He says, "But I know how I feel when I look at you. I know how I feel when I wake up beside you. I know how I feel when you smile at me."

"Those things are physical, Jan," Jim reasons as she removes her hand from his and stands. She's upset—she can't really think. Things are happening too fast. It's making her mind too muddled and crowded. "What you're feeling is infatuation. Not love."

"I politely disagree. You can't tell me about how I feel. Its my heart—I know what it wants," Rand easily returns as he stands and looks down at her. He cups his hands over the curve of her jawline but she pushes his hands away. He sighs sadly. "Tell me something—anything. You have to know that there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I knew love found me when I found you. I'm no poet, but I don't know how else to explain how I feel."

"Jan," Jim whispers sadly. She's wretched with utter guilt and agitation. He's so young and so stupid. He doesn't get it, she thinks, he doesn't understand who I really am.

"Marry me," he says and it's not a question—it's a request, a plea.

It's not always like this, Jim thinks at him as she stares silently at his lips. You don't always get to keep the good things. It'll get taken from you somehow. I'm not meant for this—for anyone. You deserve better.

Rand huddles in closer, ignorant to her internal debate. "When I'm with you, every part of me wants to burst into a trillion molecules of ecstasy. Jim—the hair on the back of my neck sings when I think about you. How can I not be sure?"

"James Tiberius Rand," Jim mumbles as she looks up at him with miserable blue eyes. "That sounds fucking awful."

Rand chuckles and kisses the corner of her mouth—a warm little promise, his last plea.

Jim shudders and closes her eyes. She's too aware of him now, too logically imbedded in her mind on his physicality that she can't really consider much else, let alone the heart and soul that lies underneath flesh and bone. Any attraction she's had has suddenly soured in the wake of his proposal.

Ruined. It's all ruined. He's getting too close.

"Or, you know—Janice Kirk has a nice ring to it too," Rand offers lightly and smiles his way into a kiss that does nothing more than lick streaks of guilt and apprehension into her gut.

Jim tries, she does. You can't say that she doesn't, because she does. She imagines for a moment what it might be like to have a life with him. To have him carry her surname and vice versa. To call him hers and to be called. To careen into old age with him, loving every fine line and grey hair. She imagines and she doesn't want it. She swallows and pulls back, and then she says, "It wouldn't be honest. If I said yes—it wouldn't be honest. Not even once. I can't marry you."

Rand rubs the back of his neck and nods wordlessly. For one so tall, the little gesture makes him seem small. There's disappointment laced into dejected loops in his face and eyes.

Jim lays her palm flat along his chest and over his heart. She feels the faint thump and says, "If I loved you half as much as you loved me—you wouldn't even have to convince me. I'd just—" Ruin you. I always ruin things. I'm like dark ink—I stain. But she doesn't say this aloud. How could she? She takes a moment to look down at his Adam's apple, gathering herself before she shrugs sadly. She drops her hand and curls it in the sheets wrapped around her like a makeshift toga. "I'm sorry," she says and she means it, right down to her toes. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Rand admits with a sad smile. "Why should I be? You're beyond the scope of amazing, Jim. I couldn't have imagined falling in love with someone better." He snorts and ruffles his hair a bit self-consciously. "Sure this will suck and I'll have to eat my pain away and we'll have to end this little thing we have because it'll be awkward now that I've proposed and you've rejected, but—I wouldn't change anything about anything. There are only good things to remember about what we had. There's nothing to regret, because it's you."

"Oh."

Rand frowns as he notices her bewildered expression. "Jim, do you—" he pauses as he really looks at her. "Do you really not know how wonderful you are?"

Jim flushes before she can help it. Stupid, stupid Jim—she can be too transparent sometimes. "No. I just, um—it's complicated and—"

Rand doesn't tease her. He seems to understand. There's something soft and unspoken in his eyes. He reaches out and pulls her into a hug. This one is different—it's for comfort, not to keep her. "Why are you so heavy-hearted?" he asks.

Jim doesn't say anything—she's not sure what she can say. She laughs bitterly and internally punches against the swell of self-loathing and uncertainty that tries to tie a knot in her chest and gut.

"You're so guarded all the time. Even when you seem really happy," Rand goes on to say. "You've got a whole castle around your heart, complete with moats and a fire-breathing dragon. What are all those walls for, I wonder. Who are you trying to keep out?"

Jim shudders against his words. He's too close to the truth and it's unnerving. She doesn't like this. "I have to go," she says suddenly and pulls back. She avoids his eyes for a moment, trying to put up the proper defense in her expression, and when she finds an acceptable medium she looks at him again. She asks, "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm always okay. And if I'm not I'll find a way." Rand's cobalt blue eyes assess her with a palpable sort of concern. "You?"

Jim smiles softly, even though she feels like she's breaking apart like sand on the inside. "I'm always okay," she lies, and it rests bitter on her tongue. "And if I'm not I'll find a way." That part is the truth.

"Okay," Rand simply says as he tucks her long bangs behind her left ear for her. He seems frozen in thought for a moment as he stares at the curve of her ear—it's reminiscent almost. There's an intensely tangible sort of farewell in his touch. He swallows, and the regret he feels is seeping like ink in his normally jovial expression as he pulls his hand back. It's like a knife to Jim's heart to know that she's put it there. He says, "You'll think about what I said, right? I meant that. All of it."

"I—yeah," Jim agrees with some reluctance. "Friends still?"

"Until the end of time," Rand promises, and he looks as if he really means it. "I just could use a bit of space. Gotta give a guy some time to get over you, you know?"

Jim nods quietly. She's unsure of what to do here. "Let me just—get dressed."

Rand turns away to give her some privacy, and she quickly fetches her clothes.

After Jim slips on her flip-flops, she gives Rand an awkward goodbye before she exits his tent. Her feet kind of wander for a while after that, and before she can realize what she's doing, she ends up at Uhura's tent.

Something must be written across her face because when Uhura sees her, she says, "Wow—okay. Um—give me a minute and I'm all yours for the rest of the day." She disappears inside her tent for an even ten minutes before she reappears again.

Jim doesn't protest when Uhura shuffles her off to the Enterprise. She certainly doesn't say anything when they ransack the kitchens for every cold sugary confection they can find, or when Chapel coincidently meets them outside of Uhura's private quarters with an extra large laundry bag full of candy, two bottles of lemon flavored vodka, and cans of whipped cream.

Many hours later and they're all down on the carpeted floor of Uhura's living room area, covered by empty ice cream cartons, candy boxes, and one and a half bottles of vodka. They're tipsy, alcohol settling in their veins and loosening the apprehension of their tongues. Before anyone can say who started it, they begin swapping personal stories until they end up talking about their first sexual experiences as they lie on their backs.

Jim shoves a handful of chocolate milk duds into her mouth before she confesses, "I was fourteen and edging into fifteen. This guy—I called him Johnny-Boy. Knew him all my life practically. Like all the way back to the sandbox. And I don't know. I guess I picked him cause he was soft—easy to push around. And I didn't want some arrogant asshole taking my virginity and spilling all the seedy details to his friends."

"Here, here," Chapel chimes as she shakes a can of whipped cream and squirts a nice little swirl over an Oreo.

Uhura hums her agreement as she takes bite from a green twizzler.

"So we were going to high school together, you know. We had biology, and there was this science project we were supposed to do. We decided to do it at his house since his parents were out of town and there was no way I wanted him to meet Frank. And anyway, he had no idea that I just wanted to fuck and not do a diorama of a tulip's anatomical makeup. I had the condoms and everything, and I think about fifteen minutes after we settled into his room, I kinda pounced him. He was so scared." Jim takes a moment to laugh and shake her head. "He fumbled around—he didn't know where to put his hands or how to put on a condom. I had to do it for him."

"No way," Chapel says with a mouthful of whipped cream.

"Yes way. It was so sad. He tried to stick it in six times before he found the right hole and I'm just so done at this point, I don't even care anymore. I mean he gets it all the way in and then he just cums. Just like that. And he can't even get it up again because he's too busy crying." She goes on to say, "There was a moment when I literally thought he might be having a gay crisis or something. But that whole two weeks after, he kept following me around like a lost puppy, and I was still pissed at him for that shitty first experience. But I bucked up, moved on, and I haven't had any bad sex since."

"My first time was with an abstinence speaker," Chapel admits with a self-satisfied curl to her lips that could rival the Cheshire's. "I was sixteen and three of my friends dragged me to this like Christian youth center. I thought I was getting a movie and free pizza, but it turns out we came on the wrong night—or maybe it was the right night." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively until Uhura and Jim laugh. "Anyway, her name was Laurie Kate Fisher, and she was this really uptight redhead with big boobs and delicious freckles that went everywhere. I kind of cornered her after her little seminar and the next thing I know is we're in her car with our hands down each other's pants. She had such a talented tongue and it's only been like fifteen minutes and I'm halfway into my third orgasm. Just—perfect." Chapel lies back and feigns a swoon as she puts a hand over her chest. "Never saw her after that. Think she was ashamed or something. I think maybe I heard she moved to Utah and became a nun or some crazy shit like that. Oh well."

"You know—that totally sounds like you to lose your v-card like that," Jim notes with undisguised amusement. She faintly thinks about the little make out session they had a few months back when Chapel all but cornered Jim against her door. "You're not all that innocent as you come off."

"Never claimed to be innocent. I just don't say much," Chapel corrects haughtily as she squirts more whipped cream in her mouth. "I just watch. And stalk. And wait. Like a panther."

Uhura snorts. "You're just a regular Amazonian princess, aren't you?"

"You know it. Not it's your turn, missy. So please do tell how you and Spock lost your virginity to each other," Chapel coos in a squeaky and bubbly voice that makes Jim flush.

"I don't know if I should hear this," Jim mumbles and crams as many chocolate milk duds in her mouth as she can. She'd rather suffocate than listen to a love story involving Spock and Uhura. Just—no.

"No, no," Uhura says between chews, coincidently enough. "Firstly, Spock and I did not lose our virginity to each other. I mean I wasn't his first but he was mine."

Jim gets a sudden thought, and she looks at Uhura so fast that her neck almost gets whiplash. "Wait so when we met in that bar that one time—you were a virgin?"

Uhura makes a noncommittal sound.

"Oh my God, I could've been you're first!" Jim exclaims in realization. Then her expression turns dark. "Fucking Cupcake," she curses. "I'm beginning not to like him again."

"Shut up, Kirk. Don't be so sure of yourself," Uhura rebukes as she smacks Jim's cheek with one of her twizzlers.

"Oh babe, I know for sure you would've been mine," Jim purrs as her tongue chases after the tip of the twizzler. "I would've ate you until you cried."

Uhura flushes and flashes Jim the middle finger as Chapel and Jim laugh their asses off.

"Okay, okay," Chapel pants as she gets herself under control. "Seriously though. What's the story with that? We shared ours. Now it's your turn. Girl code."

"Fine, fine," Uhura grudgingly consents. She takes a deep breath and mutters. "Alright. So. Spock and I were six months into our relationship—"

"Wait, how old are you?" Jim interrupts.

"Twenty-two."

"So you were nineteen."

"Yes, now shut up and listen before I change my mind," Uhura warns with a graceful huff. "So as I was saying. Spock and I were six months into our relationship, and I decided that he was the one that I wanted to—be with in that way. And he was really understanding about my needs and attentive to my body and there was wine and rose petals and it was a real fairy tale. The end."

"You totally rushed through the details," Chapel mutters as she tears into a pixie stick.

"Maybe it's for the best," Jim decides as she shifts uncomfortably. She really doesn't want to know—no matter how intriguing the thought of Spock and Uhura naked, together and—

She cuts off that thought viciously as she reddens. She grabs the half empty bottle of lemon vodka and downs the rest until the floor feels like it's moving.

"Hey," Chapel says. "Spock used to be a teacher at the academy right?"

"Yeah," Uhura confirms between chews. "Advanced phonology. I was his TA. That's how we met."

"I bet he was something as a teacher," Chapel supposes.

"More than something," Uhura admits as she polishes off her last green twizzler. "It was one of the reasons I fell for him. He has this thing—a kind of warm glow in his voice when he's giving and explaining information he cares about. It makes you feel like he's divulging some kind secret information to you and you alone, and it's because he trusts you."

Jim wordlessly agrees. She knows all too well what Uhura means. It's by far Spock's most attractive trait—and she will never admit that aloud.

Chapel sighs forlornly. "Wow—you know if I actually cared about the function of a dick, I'd hop on his in a heartbeat."

Uhura chokes and swats at Chapel. "You're the worst kind of friend!"

"I don't think so," Chapel purely responds as she shakes up a can of spray cheese and swirls it on top of an oatmeal cookie.

Uhura makes a face. "Oh that's gross."

"Your boobs are gross."

"You're almost twenty-six. How can you still be so immature?"

"Your boobs are immature."

Uhura huffs and rolls her eyes as she starts eating some green apple skittles.

A companionable silence filters in and blankets them. Each one of them is left to their own alcohol-induced thoughts as the hours of the day wind down and settle into night.

Jim feels the pleasant hum of alcohol thrumming through her bloodstream before a darkened cloud of sadness forms inside of her ribcage. Eyes growing hot, she covers her face with her trembling hands and says, "Rand proposed."

Chapel and Uhura still before they glance at her sharply. They scramble into a sitting position around Jim's head and stare down at her with wide eyes.

Jim sniffs and cries a little before she drops her hands to her sides with a miserable headshake. "I couldn't say yes. I tried to imagine—I always try to imagine what it would be like and I just can't. I couldn't." She inhales a shuddering breath as more hot tears slide from her eyes and down the sides of her temples to her ears. "Three times. I've been proposed to three times and I couldn't say yes to any of them. God, what's wrong with me?" She covers her face and cries softly.

Uhura pulls her up and hugs her, shushing her gently. "Nothing at all. And you're an idiot for thinking otherwise. Obviously those three people think you'd make perfect marriage material," she remarks. "Hell, that's three more than I've been asked."

"I concur the hell out of that," Chapel quips quite seriously. "Damn, Jim. Three? Who were the other two if you'll let me be nosy."

"Um—Gaila. Like a day before the whole Nero thing—"

"No she fucking didn't!" Uhura hisses in sheer surprise. "She actually did? I mean she told me she was, but you knew Gaila—she'd propose to anyone who could finger her—uh. You know what I mean."

Jim laughs sadly and nods. "Yeah. No, it's okay. I know. She was planning to go back to her home planet after graduation and she wanted me to go with her. She said I would've really liked it. She wanted to get married there—well in the way that her people do. And she was very serious about it too. But I just couldn't," she says. "I loved her too much like a sister."

"Who else?" Chapel presses with curious eyes.

"Um, Bones—kinda," Jim admits and sniffs as she dries her face with the back of her hands.

Chapel blinks rapidly as she looks up at Jim as though she were a unicorn. A red, sparkly-dipped unicorn. "Okay. Yeah, okay. That's a big deal," she decides with barely concealed incredulity. "I mean that's—God, no wonder Nyota called me and said that you looked like you had the expression of a woman who'd found out she was pregnant and she never meant to be."

"I'm not pregnant," Jim huffs and knocks her shoulders into Chapel's.

"Well, you know, I didn't really think so," Uhura retorts defensively. "But you did have that kind of look."

Jim gives a meager shrug as she clears her throat and blows out a breath of air. She quietly thanks Uhura when she hands her a box of Kleenex.

"So," Uhura marvels softly. "Rand proposed."

Jim nods, and then gives another shrug.

"Stop shrugging, shrugger. Tell us what happened," Chapel urges, stealing a few of her milk duds. "You're crying. Why are you crying about it? And they're not really happy tears. What happened?"

"Nothing much to tell," Jim grunts as she lies back and stares up at the ceiling. She presses her small hand to her stomach. "It was really out of the blue. We woke up, and talked for a bit—then he says rock, paper, scissors for your hand in marriage."

"Dear God." Uhura makes a face as if she doesn't approve. She shakes her head and mutters something that bemoans the idiocy of the male species.

"Yup. Then he tried to pretend that he didn't say it, but then he does again and I kind of panic and start to choke him. Next thing I know is that we're rolling across the floor, completely naked until he has me pinned under him."

Chapel grins playfully with a leer. "Go on…"

Jim huffs a watery laugh as she dabs under her eyes.

"Cool your jets, Christine. This is serious," Uhura rebukes and says nothing when Chapel rolls her eyes in disappointment. She then looks down at Jim and motions for her to continue.

"Then he asks me for real this time. And he—he just sounds so sure. Like I was all he ever wanted and he knew that without a doubt," Jim goes on to say. She rubs her fingers along her bottom lip. "He says I was the best thing to ever happen to him, and all I can think about is the great sex we've had and how I'd miss it since he decided to be serious. But—but there was this one second where I let myself see it, you know—saying yes. And—I couldn't. Despite knowing deep down inside of me that he and I could probably last for years. I didn't want it, and I don't know why I wouldn't."

"He's probably not meant for you. That's not a big deal," Chapel supposes, trying to understand it all herself. Her beautiful face twists in contemplation. "It's no reason to be upset, though. Did you end things on good terms?"

"Yeah," Jim sighs.

"Well there you go," Chapel says, as if it's just that simple. She grabs the second bottle of vodka and pours herself a shot.

"You don't understand," Jim insists. "Three times, and I've never said yes. I mean, is this going to be me for the rest of my life? The woman who says no."

"But why do you keep saying no? What is it really?" Uhura asks as she focuses the brunt of her attention on Jim. "If you could be a hundred percent honest with yourself—what would you say is the reason why you say no?"

Jim hesitates. Her heart is fluttering anxiously. She sighs shakily and says, "I think—I'm waiting." And as soon as she say it she flushes in embarrassment because she feels silly for even saying it.

"For what?" Uhura asks gently.

"Or for who?" Chapel adds.

Jim covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. This is too much.

"Come on, you can tell us," Chapel assures. "We love you and we wouldn't use any thing you say to hurt you."

"I'm sure we can relate on some level," Uhura guarantees.

Jim sighs shakily again and says, "I don't know. I just—I don't know," she admits. "I think its because I want to be happy and not think about why I should be. I want to be with someone who can help me forget myself. And Rand—he's the closest I've ever came, and it's scary and frustrating, and I knew deep down that what we had wasn't it. I knew I wasn't completely happy. I'm just a miserable sad sack of pathe—"

Uhura swats her arm with a glare. "Shut your mouth, Kirk. You're anything but miserably pathetic." She shakes her head as her face goes sad. "I don't know who hurt you—but you can't keep treating the people who care about you like they'll do the same. It's your heart. Yours. Throughout life people will make you mad, disrespect you, and treat you bad. But that's life, right? That's the price of having the kind of cognitive makeup that we do. And I can't say why things are like this or that or any way. It's hard for me too, it's hard for all of us."

"You're not alone in that," Chapel reports as she looks to Uhura and then to Jim. "We all have our bad spots. But you have to know that you're stronger than you think—and you deserve the best but you have to let yourself have it."

"My grandmother used to say that it's no small wonder if you don't understand what it is to love someone as much as they love you. Not being able to do that now isn't a shortcoming," Uhura goes on to say and she gives Jim sticky fingers a comforting squeeze. "We're young, and we've got to grow into plenty of things. We're supposed to fuck up sometimes. If you find it in your heart to care for somebody else, you will have succeeded in that area. But if you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Say no to a hundred, a thousand, a million proposals if you have to. It's your heart, Jim. Let it decide for you like you've been doing. You'll know when things click the way it's supposed to."

"And remember—if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love," Chapel reasons. She pauses and blinks. "Goddamn that's deep," she chimes in utter awe. "I amaze myself sometimes. I need to write a book."

"Oh shut up," Uhura laughs as she grabs a couch cushion and hurls it at the curvy nurse. "I don't even know how I put up with you."

"Because I'm your best friend and you love me and secretly want to get into my metaphorical pants," Chapel drawls as she flutters her eyelashes with her best 'come hither' look.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that last part," Uhura refutes and steals the bottle of vodka, taking a quick swig.

"We should do this more often," Jim decides as she tucks her hands behind her head. "I never really had a lot of female friends growing up, so—this'll be a learning experience. Plus there's a million things I can never talk to Bones and Spock about, no matter how much I consider them my absolute best friends."

Uhura licks her lips as she peers at Jim thoughtfully. "Okay, I am seriously dying to know this," she says suddenly. "But tell me how you really feel about Spock leaving—well, the possibility anyway."

Chapel looks at Jim with curiosity as well. "Yeah I heard about that."

Uhura frowns. "How? I never said."

"How do you think? Rumors spread like wildfire down there," Chapel points out. "I heard from Leonard, who heard from Chekov, who heard from Sulu, who heard it from Scotty, who heard it from Giotto, who heard it from Hoyt, who heard it from Leila Kalomi, who's apart of the city's horticultural construction, and while she was out showing some of the Vulcans and some of our officers where most of the groundwork of where the trees and plants should be planted in the city without disrupting the balance of the buildings and the roads with the aid of Dr. Cruise, she happened to overhear Lana and Jane talking with Bill, who's with piping, say that Kevin told him that his girlfriend Genevieve, who was told by Spencer through Tim, who's rivals with Kathy from plotting and had heard from Eve and Scout, who personally know Sam who knows Muriel who knows Ferdinand, who is the cousin of Teresa, who happens to be assisting Sybok with implementing Vulcan texts within a super computer with the additional aid of Sarek, who supposedly is also Sybok's father and Spock's half-brother, but it's rumor and no one knows, and anyway they were discussing Spock's supposed job offer to be the head of the xenopology department." She takes a deep breath. "Phew. Mouthful. But yeah, that. All of that."

Uhura just stares at her before she turns her attention back to Jim. "Back to you," she says.

"Mm, yes. Do tell, Captain," Chapel quips cheekily as she looks to Jim as well.

Jim flicks her gaze between them before she sighs and snags the bottle of vodka from Uhura. She takes a nice, long swig, coughing against the burn that winds its way down the length of her esophagus. She wipes the back of her hand against her mouth before she says, "I'll only be honest with you guys if you promise to not bother me with this again."

"Deal," Uhura agrees as Chapel nods.

Jim marks an invisible 'x' over her heart and says, "That means your scout's honor."

Uhura rolls her eyes but she nods in compliance.

Chapel merely snorts and takes back the vodka bottle.

"Okay," Jim says and takes a deep breath. "I am fucking pissed and sad. I don't want him to leave. Of course I don't want him to leave. That guy is phenomenal in so many ways. And the fact that he's even considering leaving is kind of like a stab in the back. I mean, I thought we were doing well. I thought we were making progress. And then he just wants to—" She cuts herself off because she can't even find the right words. She throws up her hands in frustration. "I can't understand that Vulcan."

"Trust me, none of us can. He's got to be the most spontaneous Vulcan to ever be made," Uhura decides with a fond frown. "You should tell him all that, though. Tell him how you really feel. He'd stay if he knew you didn't want him to go."

"How could I? How could I tell him not to do what he wants? It just sounds childish and selfish," Jim clarifies. "And I wouldn't want him to resent me if he didn't get to decide what he wanted on his own, you know?"

Uhura lowers her eyes thoughtfully and sighs. "Yeah. That's—I never thought of it like that," she admits, albeit a bit guiltily. "But I don't want him to leave either."

"I don't think any of us do. It'd be a great loss," Chapel decides with a sympathetic face. She makes another face as she stumbles to her feet. "Bathroom break!" she exclaims as she flies into Uhura's bathroom with great urgency.

Jim and Uhura are left behind in a comfortable silence.

"I wish I was as understanding as you," Uhura says as she lies down on her stomach and looks down at Jim. "But I'm really kind of willful. I'd make Spock stay if it were up to me."

"Sometimes you have to let people decide what they want for themselves. It's what I'd want, so," Jim says with a shrug. "I'm putting my feelings aside because Spock is my friend and I care a great deal about him. I want him to be happy."

"I can toast to that," Uhura mutters. She begins to stare at Jim with indecipherable look. "You know, sometimes he looks at your eyes when you're not looking," she randomly remarks.

Jim lifts an eyebrow.

"Like really looks," Uhura continues. "It's almost as if he's trying to figure out how to steal them without hurting or inconveniencing you."

"Is there a reason you're saying this or is it the liquor talking?" Jim questions.

"Maybe," Uhura merely says. "But his favorite color is blue—and if you can't figure out what I'm trying to say then I'm worried that the liquor may be impairing your brain."

Jim sighs and manages not to roll her eyes in exasperation. "Nyota—Spock and I are friends, okay? Nothing more, nothing less. I wish you and everyone else would just understand that."

"Yeah, sure," Uhura deflects. "You two couldn't be more obvious and oblivious at the same time—it's almost painful." She gives Jim this all-knowing look that grates on Jim's nerves. "Go ahead and lie if you want—but you can't say that you've never at least thought about it."

"I actually haven't," Jim replies truthfully. "All I've ever wanted was to be his friend. I saw the potential in that."

"So you never thought about having sex with him or having his kids or kissing him—human or Vulcan way?" Uhura presses.

"Oh my God. No. I never let myself because it would be incredibly awkward," Jim reports with a mortified expression. "And anyway I couldn't—can't have children."

"What?"

"I can't have children," Jim reiterates blankly. "Turns out starvation is never good on a growing girl's developing body. Case and point, Tarsus took more from me than my childhood innocence."

Uhura doesn't say anything at first, she looks as though she's processing Jim's words. Finally, after three minutes of awkward silence, she says, "I got my tubes tied when I was seventeen."

Jim gawks at her.

"It was a conscientious decision. I don't want to be a mother. It's not for me," Uhura admits with a graceful shrug. "I can get them untied anytime if I ever change my mind. And you know, if you and Spock ever need a surrogate mother, I'll be more than happy to—"

Jim pounces on Uhura and squirts whipped cream all over her gorgeous face. "You don't fucking listen!" she yells in exasperation.

Uhura laughs uncaringly and screeches as she tries to squirm from out under Jim.

"Puppy pile!" Chapel quips, appearing out of nowhere, and dives on the both of them until the three of them are rolling around in puddles of whipped cream.

They push away from each other and laugh hysterically as they lie on Uhura's carpeted floor like starfishes. Eventually they settle down enough to smile like idiots, and it's obvious that the three of them are a little more than tipsy.

Jim's not sure how long they lay on the floor like that, but eventually Uhura stumbles to her feet and messes with the stereo system she has crammed in the corner.

A familiar pulsing beat begins to pound through the speakers and thrum through the floors. It's Beyoncé's 'Grown Woman'.

Jim lets out a shocked and happy laugh as Uhura wraps a fluffy feather scarf around her neck and put on large sunglasses.

Chapel claps in excitement and nudges Jim.

Uhura looks right at them and sings, "I remember being young and brave, I knew what I needed." She strikes a pose and continues, "I was spending all my nights and days laid back day dreaming." She points at Jim with utter seriousness and sings, "Look at me, I'm a big girl now, said I'm gone do something. Told the world I would paint this town." She snaps her fingers in 'z' formation and sings, "Now bitches I run this!"

Chapel hops up and gyrates her hips mock seriousness as she sings with Uhura. "'Cause I put it (down like that, down like that). And I'm making (all these racks, all these racks). And I'm moving (round like that, round like that). When I do it (I don't look back, don't look back)."

They stare at Jim and urge her to get up and join them.

Jim is flushed red with her laughter and she declines with a wave of her hands and a headshake.

Chapel rolls her eyes and grabs Jim by the wrist, yanking her to her feet.

Uhura keeps singing but she glares at Jim with a pointed look that says 'I put this on for you, the least you could do is sing too!'. She wraps her scarf around Jim's neck.

Chapel looks at her expectantly as well.

Jim sighs long-sufferingly before she bellows, "I'm a grown woman! I can do whatever I want."

Uhura and Chapel smile and high-five her as the two of them begin dancing circles around Jim as they all sing until the song reaches completion.

By the time it's over, they're all out of breath from singing as loudly and obnoxiously as they can (Uhura and Chapel more so since they were dancing too).

Jim collapses to the floor, dizzy with her giddiness.

Chapel falls down beside her and curls into her side with a happy sigh as Uhura sits down on the other side of Jim. She says, "What're you wearing to the Halloween Bash?"

"I'm going as Catwoman," Uhura replies with an eager grin.

Chapel frowns thoughtfully and says, "Halle Berry's Catwoman or Anne Hathaway's Catwoman?"

Uhura scoffs. "Are you kidding? Michelle Pfeiffer's Catwoman of course," she retorts as she bites off the top of a green twizzler. "What about you?"

"Marie Antoinette."

"Classy."

Chapel snorts and tosses a chocolate milk dud at her. She looks over at Jim and asks, "And how about you, Captain Kirk?"

"It's a surprise," Jim mumbles with a yawn.

"Boo," Chapel sighs as she sits up and steals one of Uhura's twizzlers. She says to her, "What kind of makeup are you doing?"

Uhura shrugs. "I don't know yet. I think I'll just worry about my lips if anything. Maybe do like a cinnamon red."

"Oh, no way. Do sunset red."

"No, it's too light for my skin tone."

"Whatever. It's so not. It'll be fine."

"Um, I think I would know, Christine."

"Not so sure about that, Nyota."

Jim falls asleep against the sound of Uhura and Chapel debating the best shade of red for lipstick.

She dreams of rivers made of whipped cream and a sky made of the same shade of blue as her eyes. She stands along the riverbank of the whipped cream river, crouched down and running her fingers through the sloshing stream.

The clouds are made of cotton candy and the sun is the swirling head of a lollipop.

It's a candy paradise and Jim feels content to stay there forever.

A shadow crosses overhead and there's the unmistakable sound of flapping wings.

Jim tenses at the definite presence behind her. She carefully rotates her body, shaking the whipped cream from her fingers, until she comes face to face with the largest creature she's ever seen.

It's a raven, as tall as her (even taller) and wide like an eagle with a sharp beak and beady black eyes. It has jet-black feathers with translucently colored tips like a rainbow and wow, those feet. Those are huge feet. And those wings. They were large and wide like the wings of a Pegasus. The wingspan was massively long.

Jim gapes. What the hell else can she do? "I'm so dreaming. Right? Aren't I dreaming?"

"You are," the creature confirms with the deep tenor of a man, and how was that possible? "I do not believe you would be able to handle my true form. Dreams are the better option when it comes to communicating with mortals—lest I pull your soul from your body and communicate with you that way. But I do not wish to. Not yet." The Raven leans in closer and cocks its head, peering at her from its right eye. "I hope you are not afraid. I've come not to harm you. I have been watching you since the moment you've come into existence."

"You—what?" Jim asks as she blinks.

"Are you an owl, girl? Why do you blink so much?"

"I'm surprised!" Jim exclaims in offense and stops herself from blinking altogether. "What are you?"

"I'm a bird for now. Don't be stupid."

Jim glares. "I can see you're a bird. Who are you?"

"I know who I am, silly girl. The question is—who are you?"

"I am about three seconds from being done with this conversation if I don't get some answers," Jim snidely retorts and crosses her arms. "What or who are you?"

The Raven cocks its head. "I am infinite, being of nothing and everything. I am the beginning and the end. I am truth."

"Truth is not a bird," Jim murmurs incredulously. She almost wants to laugh at the thought—at the mere poetry. "If truth were a bird, then what would that make me?"

"You, James—you are stardust. Every living creature is stardust. And it remains permanently sealed inside of you until you become deceased," the Raven replies as it cocks its head again. "And it is not until then or near so, can you see my full form. This bird is merely my vessel. I am the Watcher—your children sing nursery rhymes about me. Your people worshiped me in the old religions. It has been many millennia since then. I believe the last idol was taken down after the fall of Babylon."

"Um," Jim says vaguely. She feels stuck—confused. She watches in fascination as the Raven folds its wings in. "You're—" she says as she studies the large bird. "How long have you been around?"

"I am not a product of time. I know no age," the Raven explains. "My origins is of little importance. I have come to warn you."

"Warn me?"

The Raven nods and yeah, birds aren't supposed to be able to do that. "The soft-footed boy you call friend will push the hand of Fate and get himself killed if he is not careful. Though if he leans into the knife, his gut will swallow it in a less than harmful manner."

Jim stares at the raven for a long moment. "I have many soft-footed friends—I think. Which one do you mean?"

"I mean the one that I mean," the Raven retorts curtly.

"You're not really as helpful as you think."

"And you are as difficult as always. So many questions. Q was quite right about that."

"Q? Who is Q?"

The Raven sniffs and shakes its feathers. "Ah, that's right. He has not restored your memory of him to you."

Jim feels a headache forming. "Who are you—that you would invade my dreams and warn me?"

"I call you friend," the Raven replies. "How long has it been since you last prayed to me? I have not forgotten, though it seems you have."

Jim stills and swallows dryly. "Death?"

The Raven cocks its head.

Jim gapes. "But—death isn't—it isn't anything but death."

"Death is truth," the Raven agrees. "I am Death—therefore I am truth."

Jim gapes again.

"You do enjoy pushing me, I find," the Raven remarks as it cocks it heads. "How many times have I had to come and hide you away from my sight? Such an interesting individual—but only I know when your time has come to an end. No one can take you but me—not the gods of old or the gods of new and certainly not the hands of men."

Jim feels dizzy. "I don't even pray to you anymore," she faintly points out.

"Should that matter?" the Raven questions rhetorically. "There is a halo of importance hovering over your soul. You have work to do, James. Much work. You will restore the balance."

"What balance?" Jim hisses in confusion.

The Raven ignores her question and says, "You will wake soon, and you will not remember this. But your soul will, and the rest, I believe, shall be left to Fate." He goes on to say, "Save the soft-footed boy. He is important in the grand scheme of things as well. There is a war coming and I must prepare myself for the reaping of the masses."

Jim watches as the raven flaps its wings and disappears in a gleam of translucent stardust.

When she wakes up, she doesn't remember a thing and she's pleasantly hung-over.

888

The day before the Halloween Bash finds Jim hauling a four level cart full of sac lunches around the city to hand out to her officers and to Captain Daily's officers as well. No one could ever say she was the type to idly stand by and not offer her assistance in some kind of a way.

Jim's the greatest Captain ever, okay? You could not convince her otherwise.

She loves her crew and her officers. She has, like, feelings.

They're motherly, prideful, possessively protective feelings.

There's nothing that Jim would not do for them because they've made it clear that there isn't anything they wouldn't do for her. They've stuck by her throughout the entirety of this crazy year when, at anytime, they could have petitioned for a transfer. But they didn't. They stayed.

How awesome is that?

So of course Jim would be making her rounds, staying in their faces, making absolute sure they're comfortable and well-fed and treated properly. She jumps from construction site to construction site in attempts to show them all that she does care. That they're more than a name on duty roster.

They are loyal and dedicated and hardworking and hers.

It's those facts alone that makes Jim smile in earnest as she hands out these sac lunches (with the aid of Chekov who is pushing the refreshment and snack cart). She high-fives them and tells them to keep up the good work.

The smiles and grateful thanks that they return to her are fantastically priceless.

Jim sweats under the unyielding hot surge of the sun, and she beams as she continues to hand out lunches, and she doesn't think about her problems for the moment. It feels nice to just find a way out of her own head and think about other people.

"I'm not stupid."

Jim tenses at the distinct voice and quickly covers her reaction as she hands over the last few lunches to the remaining officers who are apart of the horticultural reconstruction.

She turns away from them and starts hauling the steel cart back to the direction of the human camps, and says, "Any particular reason why you're bestowing me with this very interesting bit of information, Commander Riley?"

Leighton scowls as he stays hot on her heels. "Don't play games with me, Jimmy. I'm not ignorant to the eyeballs following me around. And it hasn't escaped my notice that you've been real passively quiet considering things," he gripes.

Jim's fingers tighten around the bar handle of the cart angrily. "Just doing what you asked, Tommy," she replies airily as she keeps her gaze forward.

"Horse shit," Leighton snaps viciously. He's practically frothing at the mouth with his fury. "I've already warned you to stay out of it. Don't pull any tricks—this is mine. Do you understand that? Can you wrap your pretty little brain around the concept of minding your own fucking business?"

"You should've never brought him here with no clear indication that you knew just which one he was. AndI'm not the one confronting you about anything, now am I?" Jim smartly counters and winces when he yanks her roughly by the arm, forcing her to look him in his one good eye. They've made it no further than the newly built infirmary. It's a tall structure made of clay stone and copper. "You fucking stop that, you idiot. You're drawing the wrong kind of attention," she hisses in a low tone.

Leighton's upper lip curls in a sneer as he glares around at the onlookers (both Vulcan and human alike) before he turns that scowl onto her. "Ask me if I fucking care. I don't. You and yours have nothing to do with me—and I'll knife the first person who tries anything," he warns.

Jim makes a noise of frustration before she tangles her fingers in the front of his shirt and yanks him inside the infirmary for some privacy.

The long stretch of corridor and black linoleum floor solidifies the dark contrast of the low lighting above their heads. The infirmary is completely vacated, and Jim being alone with him in this building is a very bad idea but she has little options.

Leighton refuses to let up the grip he has on her arm. "What's the matter, Captain Kirk? Don't want your lapdogs to think any lesser of you? Though that's a laugh. You've sunk into some seedy depths haven't you? Any lower and you'd be melted by this planet's core."

"You're rabid," Jim says and shakes her head. "Let me go."

Leighton tightens his grip spitefully and steps in so close that Jim gags at the undeniable smell of alcohol on his breath. The fucker has been drinking. "You don't want to listen to me? Fine. I'll just weed him out and bring him to you. He's gonna cut you open, Jamie," he whispers. "Like a fucking trout or a wild buck. He's gonna do to you what you helped him do to those boys. And I'm gonna let him—I'm gonna let him do it. But I won't let him eat you—I'm not so cruel. No. Right before you die, I'm gonna cut his heart out and throw him right on you so you can die together."

Jim's stomach curls in horror at the visual and her shoulders shake in utter revulsion. "What is wrong with you?" she questions with intangible unease. "Do you hate me so much?"

Leighton swallows shallowly and curls his free hand around the front of her neck as he stares at her collarbone. His fingers are rough and calloused and cold. "I hate myself," he mutters. "I hate the hole inside of me that Kodos put there when he took Riley from me. And I hate Riley for loving you more—for loving you enough to die for it." He lifts his eye. It's swimming in a film of moisture. "Do you understand that?"

Jim looks at him quietly before she says, "Yes."

Leighton swallows again and something like shame flashes across his expression. "I'm no good to anything. Killing Kodos is all I got, and you're trying to take that from me. I won't condone it. I meant what I said, Jimmy. I will bring him to you. Anything remorseful or kind or sympathetic—anything human, died with Riley on Tarsus. Don't think I care about you or what happens to you." He squeezes his fingers hard enough that Jim colors with the struggle to breathe. "Why should you live and good people are forced to die?"

There is a moment, just a brief moment, where she thinks about not fighting him. She thinks about letting those fingers tighten until she can't feel her fingers and her toes, until spots dance in front of her sad blue eyes, until she's no longer a threat or problem or an issue for anyone. It would be no lesser than what she deserved right? For all the things she'd done—for the innocents she'd led astray like a lamb to the slaughter. She could let him have this—she could let go and let—

A movement out of the corner of her eye startles her into awareness and the press of heat at her back, the earthy smell of tea leaves, and the way the bond in her mind purrs in relief, drifts her back into sanity again.

Spock's pale fingers reach out from behind her and curl around Leighton's wrist with a vindictive squeeze until the unmistakable sound of a snap is heard.

Leighton chokes on his pain and bites down on the top of his tongue, causing blood to seep from his mouth as he yanks his hands off of Jim to cradle his broken wrist against his chest.

Jim blinks and glances up at Spock over her shoulder. She's surprised to see the blatant thunderous expression that is lying in wait on the planes of his usually stoic face.

"Commander Riley, you will not place your hands on Captain Kirk in such a manner or any manner of the kind," Spock coldly advises. His tone is laced with icy fury and his face is set in livid stone.

"You broke my wrist, you pointy-eared fucker!" Leighton yells in outrage.

"Be grateful that this is all I have broken," Spock coolly retorts. "Had I shown you any less kindness, I would have broken the ligaments of both of your hands as well as your wrists. Such damage requires an elongated fraction of recuperation. I do not believe you would find such a circumstance ideal."

Leighton glares, even though he pales three shades whiter.

"I advise you to seek medical attention for your broken wrist," Spock uncaringly suggests.

"Fuck you and her," Leighton mutters furiously as he storms out of the empty infirmary.

Jim breathes a little easier and relaxes her shoulders.

Spock is furiously silent behind her.

Jim stomps down the urge to run and hide. She's gonna have to be a big girl about this. She's made a very bad mistake, and she can practically feel Spock's anger edging along his end of the bond—a testament to how upset he must be to let his emotions seep tangibly. She swallows, takes a moment to gather her own shields, and says, "How'd you know that we—"

"Ensign Chekov made me privy to the information when he observed your unsettling exchange with the Commander," Spock briskly interrupts, and wow, he sounds very livid. "Jim, why did you allow him to put his hands upon you in such a way?"

"I didn't really mean to," Jim mutters as she stares ahead. She feels ashamed. "I could've—I don't know. I didn't mean to."

"There are a lot of things you do not mean to do it seems," Spock notes icily. "Yet this is the second time you allowed him to be physically aggressive with you. I have witnessed your ability to defend yourself numerous times, and I also know that you were the assistant instructor in advanced hand-to-hand combat. You must forgive me if I cannot comprehend the reasoning behind your actions concerning your confrontations with the Commander, which leaves you more scathed than he, when statistically, it should be the reverse."

Jim closes her eyes and laughs bitterly. "I don't know, Spock. I don't know," she says. "Maybe there was a second that I thought I deserved it," she admits.

Spock mutters something Vulcan that sounds as close to a curse that she's ever heard. He curls his hot fingers into her shoulders and physically turns her so that they are face to face. His dark eyes study the expressive lines of her face avidly as he keeps his hands on the bare skin of her shoulders and his lips tighten in disapproval while his expression darkens by the second.

"You better not be reading my feelings with your hands," Jim weakly warns as she stares up at him. She feels vulnerable like this, under his penetrating stare. She feels stretched and exposed. What can he see? What does he know? She doesn't want to know—doesn't want to know. "Don't read me," she says/begs.

"You leave me with little choice," Spock replies distantly. "I cannot fathom the reasoning behind your suicidal behavior. You refuse to take up for yourself when you have every right to do so. You are a most singularly troublesome human."

"I'm not asking you to deal with me," Jim angrily remarks, feeling the fight in her spark in desperation and cowardice. He's the wrong person she should be fighting against, but he's learning her—he's learning her too well and she doesn't know if she can handle that. "You don't have to care. And I—I'm sorry but you'll never understand how it feels to be someone who's had a past like mine. I'm running from myself, Spock. I'm always running because I can pretend and hide all I want but eventually what I really am at the end of it all is a shitty, no good, murderer." Hot tears coast the line of her lower eyelids. God, she's going to cry and she doesn't fucking want to. "I don't know how to forgive myself. I don't know how to take up for myself. How can I? I'm trying everyday. I'm trying to be different. To prove—"

"You have nothing to prove," Spock gently interjects. "Your heart is pure, and well met by your lasting good intentions—it is not mere bravado or valiancy. There is purpose and worth to each and every life. Yours is of exceeding value. You're continuing existence offers more substance than your death would. I have witnessed this countless times. You are important."

Jim blinks as her tears fall warmly down her flushed cheeks. She hates this feeling of broken sadness, but his words plugs something solid and unshakeable in the empty spaces of her gut and heart. Her fingers twitch at her sides. "Do you—really think that?" she asks quietly, warily.

"I would not say it if I did not think it so," Spock affirms. His dark gaze remains steadily fixed upon her as if he has no plans of looking anywhere else anytime soon. "No good could come of your absence in this life. It grieves me that you would think otherwise."

Jim inhales sharply, breath punching out as though she's been struck. His confession assaults the malleable sore spots of her heart. It spreads inside and overflows like a cup, pouring out the sides and flowing across the curves of her bones.

I'm important, she thinks with desperate hope that makes her feel both ashamed and elated at the same time as she curls her small fingers into the front of his blue shirt in a sort of daze. I'm important. I'm important. I'm important. Important. Importantimportantimportantimportan—

Jim swallows again and drops her hand when she realizes where she has it.

Spock says nothing. He continues to gaze at her, through her, with a patient silence.

Jim calms herself until she feels okay. She does. She feels more than that. She just hopes that he can feel it too. "I—thank you," she says and lowers her eyes as her cheeks heat. She feels more embarrassed than sad now. "Are you upset with me?"

Spock doesn't say anything at first. It's obvious he's withholding his actual opinions in order to keep things amiable between them. "Bruises are disagreeable on you," he finally says. It's obvious where he's looking.

Jim looks down at her arm where there are fingerprint-shaped marks overlapping the old ones. She reaches up and caresses the front of her neck, where she's sure there's a lovely handprint there too. "Yeah," she murmurs in faint agreement. "They are."

"Jim," Spock says.

Jim pulls her gaze up to him. "Spock," she replies.

"I am aware that you have not led an easy life, and your thoughts may be frequented by morbid inclinations," Spock states. "But I would like to inform you that you are not alone. It is no manner of difficulty for me to remind you of why you are needed. Your good health, whether mental or physical, is important to numerous amounts of individuals. Please remember this."

"You're going to make me cry again," Jim jokes and grins at the stern look he gives to her. "I promise," she says placatingly. "I'll come to you if I need a shoulder to cry on."

Spock seems to take her words to heart, despite the arbitrary nature of them, and he relaxes his already loose hold on her shoulders before he drops his hands altogether and tucks them behind himself. "May I escort you to Dr. McCoy?" he asks.

"Can you promise to protect me from hypos and lectures?" Jim counters with a reluctant frown.

"I do not believe so," Spock states truthfully as his expression withdraws into something more neutral. His dark eyes are still dimmed with his concern, however. He turns and leaves as though he's sure she will follow.

Jim sighs long-sufferingly and follows him out into the sun. They make it to the med tent with minimal difficulty, and Spock lingers long enough to watch Bones use his regenerator to remove the bruises.

Surprisingly enough, Bones doesn't say much about the contusions, even after Spock explains the causes for them.

Jim thinks it might have something to do with the fact that Leighton had to swing by and get sent up to the Enterprise with a few of Bones's lesser experienced lackeys so they could get to work with setting his wrist right. He might be counting the fact they'll be fumbling around sickbay without his guidance and input, trying to set Leighton's wrist right, only to come up short a few times until they get it right as punishment enough.

After Jim's skin is made completely blemish free, Scotty waltzes in with bloody hands and a bloody back, grinning like a loon.

Spock takes that as his cue and leaves, returning to whatever he might've been doing before this whole mess started.

Jim refuses to admit she's disappointed to see him go. And she also refuses to think about how she still doesn't know what his final decision is concerning his indiscriminate job offer.

"You keep poutin' like that and your face'll get stuck that way," Bones grumbles while he stitches up a rather nasty cut that's long and deep on Scotty's back.

Since Jim's got nothing better to do, she decides to linger. She enjoys watching her best friend in 'Doctor Mode' anyway. She says, "I can pout all I want." She crosses her arms as she swings back and forth lazily on a wheelie chair. "And I'm not pouting."

Bones snorts, barely throwing her a cursory glance as his gaze burns with concentration while his steady hands continue to thread Scotty's red flesh together. His latex gloves are riddled with blood.

Scotty doesn't seem bothered in the least.

"Are you going to the Halloween Bash?"

"No," Bones grumbles.

"Why not?"

"I don't have the time."

"Liar—your such an introvert, it's painful."

Bones doesn't bother defending himself on that point. "I'm hailing Joanna," he distantly explains, but it's more than enough.

Jim decides not to push the issue. "So what did you do this time, Mr. Scott?" she asks, steering the attention from Bones to her jovial chief engineer.

That gets Bones to glance at her gratefully before he goes right back to his stitching.

"Well, it's funny really," Scotty replies and says nothing else.

Jim laughs and shakes her head. "You're not going to tell me?" she supposes.

"Not as much as I would if I had wanted to say as I meant with the purpose of divulging indirectly but that's not entirely how much can be said if it were wanted to," Scott says in a roundabout sort of way that makes even Bones chuckle.

"You are the cheekiest bastard I've ever had the pleasure of knowing," Jim says with a thoroughly amused smile.

Scotty flushes and beams. "You flatter me much, Captain. Making sure I don't go away either, ey?"

The smile on Jim's face dies like a weak flame.

"Ah," Scotty says as he shifts uneasily. "I've gone and said the wrong thing now, haven't I?"

"It's fine," Jim mutters as her mouth sinks into unhappy curves.

"It can't be. You've gone back to brooding," Scotty points out, unhelpfully.

Jim rolls her eyes. "I'm not brooding," she maintains.

"Captain, you're brooding. I would know too—I've had my fair share of unhappy days," Scotty says. "Why not tell the Commander you don't want him to leave?"

"Because it would be selfish. And—Spock's already sacrificed enough," Jim says. She fidgets and rubs her stomach. She's developing a stomachache because of this. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. He can do what he wants."

"She's stubborn," Bones huffs. "She'd eat a barrel of raspberries before she'd admit she was allergic to them."

Jim sticks her tongue out at him. "Whatever," she mutters.

"Yeah, yeah," Bones gripes back as he starts to clean the area around Scotty's wound.

Jim spends the rest of the day in the med tent watching Bones shuffle back and forth doing his medical duties.

And she does not brood the whole time.

She doesn't.

If she's frowning loudly while she thinks about stuff, well, that's just a coincidence.

Pure coincidence.

888

The day of the Halloween Bash is one that Jim believes everyone has been anticipating with equal eagerness.

The party doesn't start until nine pm—plenty of time for people to do their usual daily duties and return to their tents to get ready—and it falls on a Saturday, which means everyone will have all of Sunday to sleep off the effects.

Sunday is the only off day anyone has.

The construction and completion of Nu Shi'Kahr is really a pressing matter.

Jim spends all hours before the party with her favorite female bosom buddies, Chapel and Uhura. They hide away in Jim's private quarters this time, killing time by playing dominoes, chatting about different topics, taking jello shots, and generally getting the party started earlier in their own way.

They don't actually start getting ready for the party until six o'clock.

Chapel gets outfitted in a period dress with a powder wig that looks as ridiculous as it sounds, and some ample cleavage she's quite proud of. She makes a stunning Marie Antoinette really.

Uhura's costume takes a lot more effort because Jim and Chapel have to help her slide into the skintight leather with white stitching everywhere—a true tribute to Michelle Pfeiffer's rendition of the cat suit. She looks super hot.

Jim hides away in her walk-in closet to slip on her costume. It's a Victoria Secret boxing outfit, complete with dark blue silk shorts with a red band around the waist and a white 'VS' on the front, a sparkly red sequin pushup bra with black edging (the boxing gloves match to it, right down to the sequins), some high heel red high top shoes, and a dark blue hooded silk robe with white lining. She struts her way out of her closet and does an obnoxious bow when Chapel and Uhura catcall and clap.

Three more jello shots later and they're all crammed in the bathroom.

Since Jim has the largest bathroom on the ship (partially because she has to share with Spock), it makes sense that the three of them stand side-by-side and share the mirror.

Chapel fusses and fusses until Uhura lets her do her makeup. She actually does Uhura's makeup really well and she preens when Uhura praises her for her efforts.

"Was there ever any doubts, lovie?" Chapel purrs as she begins working on her own makeup.

Uhura snorts and watches her.

Jim does her own makeup, and then she curls her blonde hair in loose spiral curls. She has a very long internal debate with herself about whether or not she should just wear her hair down. She doesn't usually when she's not alone. But she ends up making a compromise with herself to wear it down, but only because she's going to keep her hood up. When she's satisfied by the full effect of how she looks, she hands her PADD to Uhura, stands against a blank wall and posses.

(photo can be found through the links of LJ and AO3 account in profile)

After Jim picks a perfectly acceptable picture she likes, they pass her PADD between them, snapping photos with wild poses and laughing over them.

When Chapel and Uhura make Jim promise to forward all the photos to their PADDs, they leave a quarter to nine and beam down onto the surface of New Vulcan.

They stumble and lean on each other as they make their way to the expanded Mess tent, which has been decked inside and out with spooktacular Halloween themed decorations. They go through the mouth flaps and are instantly immersed into a kaleidoscope of lights.

Since Jim is the designated DJ of the night, she ambles her way over to the DJ booth in the back that sits high on a low stage with large speakers and turntables. She hooks up her PADD and goes through her music library for songs she deems acceptable, and she goes out of her way to pull from each and every decade. She places some overly large headphones around her neck and starts playing music as she blends genres together with the help of the turntables.

An hour into the party and the expanded tent comes alive with the mass of costumed bodies. It's quite a turnout, but Jim knew it would be and she's glad that she and Sulu had anticipated the occupancy with the proper accommodations.

Just as she thinks of Sulu, he appears. He climbs into her booth and he's dressed as someone he explains is called Kakashi from a manga called Naruto—and yeah, Jim doesn't have a clue about it.

"Nerd," Jim teases as she sticks out her tongue at him and pulls away from the turntables long enough to give him a hug while tugging at a grey strand of his wig.

"Whatever, Jim," Sulu shouts over the music and pulls back to study her with the one eye he has exposed from under ninja bandana and mask. "Should I have security scaling this booth? I don't want anyone climbing in here to get at you. I mean, damn, Jim—you went all out didn't you?"

"No, shut up," Jim laughs and shoves at his shoulder as he laughs too. "I'll take that as a compliment due though. Isn't this crazy?" She gestures out to the crowd before she switches tracks to a blended track of 'The Fight' by Sia and the 'Call Me Remix' by Blondie 2.0. "Looks like everyone is here."

"I know!" Sulu bellows with an elated grin. "I'm so pumped about that. It's better than I could've hoped. This is why I want us to keep doing things like this. It'll be fantastic for morale."

Jim nods in agreement as she presses one of her headphones to her ear and bobs to the music. "Well I'm behind you a hundred percent on that," she says after a while. "Where's Chekov?"

"Over there with Scotty at the refreshment tables. They're debating about something, I don't know. They're always debating," Sulu huffs and makes a face that says 'what can you do, really?' and rolls his eyes.

Jim snorts as she flicks her blue eyes over to them.

Scotty is costumed as leprechaun, curly red beard and all, (Keenser is dressed as his pot of gold) and he's gesturing wildly at Chekov, who's costumed as an adorable bear.

"Awe," Jim says and snickers. "He looks so cute."

"I know right? He says he wasn't aiming for that but," Sulu shrugs. "Well there you have it. Listen I'm gonna let you do your thing, I don't want to distract you."

Jim waves him off with careless frown as she switches tracks to something a little more current. 'Automatic' by Roman Clutch begins to blare.

"Aw, yeah. That's my jam right there." Sulu gives her the thumbs up before he leaves.

Jim snickers before turns her attention back to her playlist and she watches in satisfaction as everyone dances and responds positively to her choice of music.

The night sails on and the party really picks up around midnight.

Chapel and Uhura decide to grace Jim with their presence around that time and they press lipstick kisses to Jim's cheeks.

Jim rolls her eyes because it's obvious that they're drunk if they're so ready to invade her personal space like this. She's a bit envious, to be truthful. She wishes she could throw back some shots like that.

"You're the best DJ ever," Chapel slurs as she sits on the chair in the corner. "I mean that—I do. You are the best. Sexy and multi-talented. Hitting all my kinks."

"Personally," Uhura says as she points her finger in no particular direction with the attempt of appearing serious about what she was trying to say. "Personally—I always thought that your taste in music suck. No, I mean like, I thought that your taste in music might suck. But I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I'm happy I'm wrong. I love you, Jamie. I do. I love you and your stupid beautiful face. You are so pretty and I love you."

Jim laughs and rolls her eyes as she switches track. She's not at all surprised when Uhura stumbles up behind her and wraps her arms around her shoulders in a sloppy hug.

"Boop," Uhura quips as she pokes Jim's breast and laughs for no obvious reason besides utter inebriation. She whispers, "You are my favorite to boop. You better not never tell nobody. I wont boop you anymore if you do." Louder, she proclaims, "You know I told Spock to come. This is his party too. He should be around and have fun with us cause he's apart of our crew. He's in our clique. And no one fucks with the clique. He better come."

"I don't think he's interested. I haven't seen him," Jim says in a distracted fashion as she switches tracks again.

"Oh he'll show up," Uhura maintains as she plays with Jim's curls.

Chapel is passed out and hanging off the foldout chair. Her wig has somehow ended up on the floor.

"What makes you so sure he'll show up?" Jim asks over the music.

Uhura cups her hands over Jim's ear as if to tell a secret. "Because I forwarded a picture of you to him. Trust me. He'll show," she says confidently.

Jim opens her mouth to say something smart and sarcastic, but she spots a speck of blue in the crowd and it derails her line of thought for a fraction of a second.

Spock is making his way to the booth.

Jim blinks and watches him maneuver his way through the crowd.

Uhura pulls away with a sloppy grin and she looks so intensely smug that it's sickening. "Ears burning? We were just talking about you," she says as he climbs into the small booth with them.

Spock's eyebrow quirks in question and he flicks his gaze between her and Jim before he says, "I am unsure as to how to interpret that statement."

Uhura shrugs and leans up to kiss him on the cheek. "Don't worry about it, Spock. I'm glad you could make it to the festivities—even if it is three hours late," she says. She turns and walks over to Chapel, shaking the curvy nurse awake and ushering her to her feet. "I'm gonna see Christine out. I think she's tapped out for the night. Jim, we're gonna crash in your tent—is that alright with you?"

Jim nods and watches them stumble out of the booth with silent amusement. She puts on 'Thriller' by Michael Jackson and the crowd roars in excitement as they begin to do the dance.

Spock steps up beside her and they're shoulder to shoulder almost. His dark eyes are studying the equipment with unrestrained curiosity.

Jim smiles fondly and removes her headphones. She puts them around his neck before he can protest and says, "You should try it. I need a break anyway. You know what to do right? It's easier than it looks, and since you're a highly intelligent being, I know you can figure it out."

Spock furrows his brow and says, "I am familiar with the concept, but I do not believe it would be wise for me to take charge in your stead."

"Is that a pretty way of saying your afraid to be the DJ?" Jim teases and laughs when Spock graces her with a flat look. "You'll be fine. It's just one song—or three. I know you have to know at least one good one. Type the title in the search bar." She points to the screen of her PADD. "And let your inner DJ shine, because I know you have one. You have too much rhythm in your shoulders to not."

"No rhythm resides in the vicinity of my shoulders," Spock remarks with a confounded frown.

Jim laughs as she puts on her sparkly boxing gloves. "You're cute, but I know that. And I think you know what I meant, but whatever. Just do this one thing for me please? I am thirsty and I have to pee and do other humanly things or I'll die," she begs with an exaggerated pout. "Look, I have complete and utter faith in your ability to hold everything down." She lightly punches his arm with a wink before she climbs out of the booth before he can convince her to do otherwise.

Jim navigates through the crowd of gyrating bodies, dodging a plethora of drunken grabby hands (both male and female alike), and she finally finds her way outside. Finding the nearest porta-potty is easy enough, and she spends the next three minutes draining her bladder before she returns to the expanded Mess tent.

There are so many bodies, like an entire sea, and it takes a bit of maneuvering on Jim's part to find the refreshment table. She makes it there unscathed and she begins grabbing handfuls of candies while simultaneous cramming her greedy mouth with cookies and cupcakes.

Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty come to her with flushed faces and inebriated grins.

"Wonderful turnout, Captain, really, and I mean that," Scotty declares over the pulse of music and he grins when Jim doesn't fight the urge to fiddle with his faux curly red beard. "And pardon my confusion, but I could swear that Commander Spock is up in the DJ booth. But of course he isn't, because he wouldn't and I'm obviously hallucinating."

"No that's him," Jim confirms between chews as she glances over at her First Officer. His face is blank as ever as he manipulates the turntables with expert grace that Jim usually only sees when he's at his station aboard the Enterprise. It's a compelling thing to watch.

"It cannae be him," Scotty slurs in disbelief, his accent deepening with the sticky slowness of his tongue.

"She just said it was. You need glasses, Monty," Sulu quips as he takes another sip from his soda can.

"I told you!" Chekov hisses triumphantly, his blackly colored nose twitching in agitation when Scotty waves him off.

"How'd you get him to do that?" Scotty asks with a bemused expression as he strokes his faux beard.

"I don't make him do anything. He does what he wants," Jim simply reports. She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth before she says, "Hey, any of you have your PADD on you? Mine is being utilized right now."

"Hikaru has been taking the pictures all night," Chekov exclaims and nudges Sulu, who grumbles with an agreeable nod as he compliantly hands his PADD over.

"Forward those pictures to me," Jim demands as she points a stern finger at him while she takes it.

"You and everyone else seems to be trying to wring my photography skills dry," Sulu sardonically remarks, but he nods nonetheless.

Jim aims his PADD at the DJ booth towards Spock, and she uses her thumb and index finger to zoom in on his upper body. She waits until he looks up and over at her before she sticks her tongue out at him and snaps the photo.

Spock's face is priceless.

Jim snickers to herself as she forwards it to her PADD and erases it from Sulu's library. He doesn't get the luxury of having such a golden moment, and so what if Jim is being selfish. If Spock will be leaving them soon, she might as well keep some things to remember him by.

"Alright, I'm done," she proclaims as she hands Sulu back his PADD. She puts on her sparkly boxing gloves and poses for him when he asks.

Two pictures later, Scotty and Chekov are jumping in beside her, striking ridiculous poses that make her laugh explosively.

Sulu snaps away and captures every single moment of it.

Next thing they know, Lieutenant Giotto comes along, costumed as a giant cupcake, frilly pink frosting, glitter tights and all. He smiles wryly and winks at Jim because he knows that she is the only one that gets the joke.

Giotto wins major cool points in her book.

Jim absolutely has to take some pictures with him, and she does—giving him high-fives and crouching on one knee to take a pose where she pretends to be gnawing at the bottom end of his cupcake costume.

She takes a few photos with Sulu, and then all of them, with the outside aide of one of her many officers, before she waves goodbye. She returns to the DJ booth, despite the protests she garners from her fellow peers and she also has to stop along the way when she's petitioned for group photos by her junior officers. She climbs in the booth and saddles up beside Spock, taking the DJ reigns from him, much to his unspoken relief apparently.

"You did good," Jim laughs as she wraps the headphones around her neck.

Spock straightens his posture at the praise and tucks his pale hands at the base of his spine. "While I have no qualms about offering you an opportunity for momentary rest, I find that I do not enjoy this activity. I find the general task unappealing. I believe the appropriate human metaphor is 'not being one's cup of tea'," he clinically states.

"Maybe you're missing the point," Jim suggests as she switches track to a milder beat. "It's about the joy of catering to the musical whims of the masses. It's a bit of a learning curve too, since a person can't possibly know the music taste of each and every individual. I'm basically acting as a happy medium."

"I see," Spock simply murmurs as he watches her hands move across the turntables and to her PADD.

Jim doesn't believe him for a second. "You should've wore a costume," she says. "I bet you'd be a sight for sore eyes in a pirate get-up."

"I would have presumed such a thing to be something more of your preference," Spock counters passively. "You had favoring ideals for them in your youth."

Jim flushes and shoots him a glare that he pretends not to notice as he gazes into the crowd. "Don't tease me, okay? I happen to still think pirates are the grandest individuals, and that's nobody's business but ours. So I'll thank you not to use it as ammunition," she huffs with mortified sincerity.

"Forgive me, Captain. It was not my intention to jest," Spock stoically replies, but the amused gleam in his eye is far from innocent or repentant. "I have accounted many occasions where you have used your personal knowledge of me as a means to garner a specific response. It was my initial belief that you would respond in kind to my equated efforts."

"An eye for an eye, huh?" Jim clarifies as she snorts. "Why, Mr. Spock—are you saying that I'm to blame for your superfluous behavior?"

"Such an inquiry is unnecessary. You comprehend well enough," Spock states with a lifted brow.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," Jim sings as she switches tracks and blends two slow songs together to end the party on a good note.

Spock cocks his head towards the entrance of the booth where Rand is stumbling up the steps.

"The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge!" Rand slurs, cheeks flushed red with his inebriation. There is a carefree grin on his lips as holds up a plastic skull that is befitting to his renaissance rendition of the Hamlet costume. "Mr. Spock. Ms. Kirk. It is good to see you with my eyes. I'm not here to be a bother or anything. I just need to do a little note passing." He reaches inside his sleeve and says, "I was told with the greatest urgency to give this to you by this person who was wearing a grim reaper costume. And that you can't look at it until you're by yourself. So promise that."

Jim ignores the fact that Rand is obviously drunk and says, "I promise. Hand it over."

Rand does, and does a sloppy curtsey/bow before he stumbles away with nothing further add.

"Peculiar," Spock remarks lowly as he watches after Rand for a long moment. "I was unaware that you and Yeomen Rand were on speaking terms."

"Why wouldn't we be on speaking terms?" Jim questions as she stuffs the folded note into the side of her sparkly bra.

Spock doesn't respond, but he does turn his attention to her with mild curiosity in his dark eyes.

Jim narrows her blue eyes and says, "You know about the proposal. You read it off of me the other day, didn't you?"

"Inadvertently," Spock concedes, evenly. "I cannot pick and choose what information is relayed to me through you by touch. There was a considerable abundance of unfiltered information received. The body is much more honest than the individual themselves. That sole reason alone is why Vulcans refrain from initiating all manner of physical contact that requires the use of our hands."

Jim's cheeks redden in mortified horror. "What exactly did you pick up?" she squeaks.

Spock looks decidedly uncomfortable and guilty. He turns his gaze elsewhere. "This is not the proper place for such a discussion," he carefully says.

"Oh my God," she mumbles, and feels queasy enough that she might throw up. If she does, she'll certainly aim at Spock because fucking fuck of fuck. He knows too much—more than she would want him to know at present. Fuck.

Sulu appears a moment later, much to her relief, and he asks her to set up the microphone so he can address the crowd.

Jim does and eases out of the booth with Spock in tow.

"Haikei, everyone. I hope you had a good time," Sulu says and the crowd cheers an affirmative that makes him smile. "Awesome. See that's what I like to hear." He gives an approving nod as they clap again. He goes on to say, "Unfortunately, this party is coming to a close. No worries, however. This is just the first of many events to come—"

Jim doesn't stick around to hear the rest. She's pretty sure it would only go in one ear and out the other, anyway. She'd be too worried about other things to really listen.

She walks out into the night air and shivers anxiously against the muggy heat.

Spock walks silently beside her as they tread toward the Southern Mountains.

The jagged outline of this massive heap of rock can be faintly seen. Even in the darkness of the night.

There are small lamps set up to and fro throughout both Vulcan and human camps.

Jim keeps a steady pace as the spread of the artificial lights of the camps loses its reach on them as the night starts to swallow them in inky darkness. Somehow Jim thinks it'll make little difference for Spock.

Bones had told her once that a Vulcan's periphery vision is much like a cat's. They have ability to see, even in the darkest of places.

Jim supposes that this might be the reason they refrain from using bright colors of any manner. It could be distracting.

Jim snorts drolly. Now she really wonders what they must think of her—what with her bright hair, bright eyes, and tendency to sport neon color schemes in her wardrobe.

"I have been told by countless individuals that you were disagreeable to my attempts to contemplate the job offered to me," Spock says, breaking the shallow silence between them. "However, your actions have been less than candid. You led me to believe that you were indifferent. Why?"

Jim takes a moment to put on her sparkly boxing gloves, just because she can, just because she feels awkward and out of place. Concentrating on something other than the upset she can scarcely perceive in his voice is helping her own resolve remain steady. She says, "I wasn't trying to be dishonest." She turns until they are standing face to face. "I was trying not to be selfish, Spock. But I was also upset because I couldn't really figure out why you would want to accept it. Logistics aside—I felt like you were saying more to me than what you really were. Like maybe this is your way of telling me that this little camaraderie we have isn't working and you want out."

"I cannot comprehend how you are able to misread my actions for such a negative indication," Spock stiffly comments. "If you had been direct about your feelings, we could have absolved the misunderstanding."

"Don't say it like that. Like it's that easy. Nothing's ever been easy when it comes to us," Jim retorts angrily. "I put my feelings aside for you—because I didn't want to be the bitch that never let you breathe. So if you wanted to stay, fine. If you wanted to leave, fine. The point was to let you decide what you wanted for yourself, regardless of what I thought because who am I to you that I should keep you from doing what you want or what you think is right. Who am I?" She touches her gloves together as she goes on to say, "I'm your captain. I'm your colleague. But I'm always your friend first. Always."

"I will say this," Spock brusquely states with a serious frown. "Friends need not agree in everything or go always together, or have no comparable other friendships of the same intimacy. Everything that is decided between us as friends is for the purpose of altering consciousness. Our friendship, Jim, is not established on political correctness and enforced conformity of thought. I chose to be your friend out of mutual respect, honesty, and understanding. I value your judgment for those very reasons as well."

"Fine," Jim merely says. She's frustrated now because she feels cornered, and he's treating her like some kind of delicate child that needs to be soothed with gentle words.

"It is not 'fine'," Spock severely corrects. "This does nothing to litigate the fact that you have been less than forthcoming."

"Don't lecture me, Spock. Not now. Not about this. I can name plenty instances when you were less than forthcoming about your feelings. Oh, excuse me—nonexistent emotions," Jim tersely replies. She blows out an impatient breath before she rests her gloved hands on the crown of her head. "We need to really cut the bullshit and talk. Sit down. I'm not going to stand and do this." She plops down on the ground and folds her legs under her.

Spock reluctantly follows and he mirrors her.

Jim yanks off her boxing gloves and scoots forward until their knees are touching. She then folds her hands in the dip of her open thighs and tries to make out the curves of his face. It's too dark, and she can only see the tips of his ears, his black hair, his eyebrows and his science shirt.

Spock's gaze, however, is burning right through her. It makes her feel like she has a thousand neon lights beaming her way and all at once. She can sense him scrutinizing her with little difficulty, and though he remains silent, the lines of his shoulders sit with a palpable edge of curiosity and apprehension.

Jim takes a steadying breath before she says, "We're going to really talk, okay? I mean really talk. This exchange has to be fair and candid. If we're going to take this one chance to be completely honest with each other then we're going to do it right," she unchangingly decides.

"Very well," Spock concedes with predictable reluctance, but there is something almost soft in his monotone voice—like sentiment. It's confusing.

Jim pulls her hood down and finger combs her hair into messy bun on the top of her head with the aid of the yellow rubber band around her wrist. She sighs again and uses her fingers to smooth the wily short hairs of her neatly arched eyebrows. Then, when she knows she can no longer avoid it, she carefully dismantles the apprehension and fear she feels swelling in her gut and finds the courage to say what she's been meaning to.

Spock wordlessly cups his hands over the curve of his knees. His hot fingers lightly brush the grooves of her bare knees.

Jim fidgets, but she doesn't mind the touch. She focuses on the sensation of the heat of the night and the warmth of the ground. The quiet air between them is different—things feel different now somehow. It's strange, but its also alluring in its own way—it appeals to the appetite of Jim's curiosity.

It feels as if they're standing on the respective sides of their fences, waiting for the other to make a move.

"I would hate it if you left and I'll probably cry. There. I said it," Jim confesses with pink cheeks she knows he can see and that's just so unfair. She pushes on regardless. "I'll support your decision either way. You know I will. Even if I don't like the outcome, and I have a feeling I might not. But I'll respect the decision you make and I won't contest it. Now—your turn."

"I am unsure of what it is I should say," Spock states with unmistakable reservation.

"You can start by telling me what it is your people have been saying about you," Jim cleverly suggests.

Spock pauses, and she can hear the frown. "I—have misled you," he says.

"About what?" she calmly asks.

"It is not on my behalf that they aim their negative remarks. The intention is to disrespect you, and our association to each other," Spock professes.

Jim's hands tighten into fists reflexively as her shoulders and eyebrows tighten in anger. "Ugh, I could just choke you sometimes," she exclaims as she glares at him. "You should have told me!"

"I did not want you to be troubled by the matter. You were already preoccupied by the very assumption of their judgments toward you," Spock points out, unhelpfully. "And I must ask that you make no attempts of asphyxiation."

"Concern or not, you should have told me," Jim insists. She makes another frustrated sound as she knocks her knees into his hands intentionally. "And to think I felt sorry for you and offered to stick up for you! I must have looked like an idiot. God."

"I apologize. It was not my intention to make you feel foolish," Spock assures.

"Well it's too late to say sorry now," Jim huffs. She shakes her head angrily as she fidgets with her upset. "That's it. I'm learning Vulcan. I can't stand this. I've been driven to learning your language. And you're to blame for it as well. I don't like people talking over my head about me. And what about your brother huh? What was all that stuff you two were talking about during his impromptu visit?"

"I would rather not say," Spock curtly utters. It's obvious she's struck some kind of sore point.

"Oh no you don't. Honesty hour, remember? Now tell me."

Spock's shoulders huddle and expand with his agitation as his fingers twitch. "He has plans to challenge me if I do not make my claim for you blatant."

"What? What am I—land? No one's claiming anything," Jim heatedly declares. "If people don't like the fact that we're friends, then that's their problem. No one is going to push us to do anything we aren't comfortable with. You can tell your brother he can shove all that presumptuousness up his ass."

"Jim," Spock gently rebukes, but the corners of his lips are twitching.

Jim snorts and says, "I see that almost smile, Spock. You totally agree."

"Whether I agree is of little importance. Sybok will petition T'Pau for the right to challenge me, and since we have not participated in a unifying ceremony, she will be unable to refuse. Such is the ways of our people," Spock explains. The tone of his voice is interlaced with a quiet apology.

"You're not fighting for my honor. I won't have it," Jim stubbornly remarks as she crosses her arms petulantly. "I can fight for my own honor."

"Vulcan strength is nearly twenty times greater than that of a human's," Spock warns with a disapproving tone.

"I never said I was going to physically brawl with him. There must be other ways—civilized ways to combat his proposition. I'm sure I'll come up with something," Jim says with impermeable confidence.

"Very well. I trust your judgment," Spock simply states.

"Oh do you?" Jim challenges. "Why's that?"

"You were the topmost student of all your courses, one of which was Advanced Theory and Relative Tactics," Spock says in that intellectual tone that's both annoying and intriguing to Jim.

"How the fuck do you know that?"

Spock, ignoring her profanity, says, "I studied your academic profile before we convened in Admiral Pike's office to litigate your disreputable endeavor to cheat throughout the Kobayashi Maru simulation."

"Still pissed about that huh?" Jim grins slyly as she thinks on the memory with smug fondness. "Admit it—I got you good on that one."

"I will not admit to anything," Spock firmly replies. "Your methods were both unsubstantiated and depraved."

"Depraved? I took an unwinnable scenario and made it winnable. How could that be unsubstantiated? The whole simulation itself was a cheat," Jim argues, hackles rising as her cheeks flush angrily. "You know that it was baseless!"

"Nevertheless, I do not condone cheating," Spock stoically sustains.

"Stuffy Vulcan," Jim mutters as she gently shoves his shoulder as her anger cools off into amused affection. "Just admit that I managed to pull one over on you."

"You pulled nothing over me," Spock mulishly disputes.

"Yes I did," Jim sings mockingly. "I bet it still burns you too. You want to know how I did it, don't you?"

Spock says nothing, but his silence is completely telling.

Jim snickers and then laughs explosively when she feels his tempered glare. "You're such a sore loser," she decides.

Spock says nothing still. He is festering in his agitation apparently.

"It's not going to make you any happier to know that I did it all with just a bobby pin and an old gaming chip," Jim whispers as she leans toward him and uses his shoulders to push herself to her feet before she stumbles back. She swipes her sparkly boxing gloves off the floor and shoves them under her right armpit.

Spock stands with a lot more grace and says, "Was it a beta version?"

Jim grins as she walks backwards toward the human camps. "What? The bobby pin? No, I got it from a dollar store for sixty-five cents."

"Your humor is unappreciated," Spock somberly clarifies as he matches her step for step.

Jim laughs and shrugs cheekily. "You just haven't realized how great my humor is," she corrects.

Spock refrains from commenting and, instead, turns her by her shoulders so that she's facing the appropriate way before he releases the hold completely. He explains that he is ensuring that she doesn't injure herself by walking backwards.

Jim just rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulders into his with a wordless thanks.

She doesn't say anything when he escorts her to her tent and leaves with a reserved goodnight. And she doesn't enter her tent right away, instead, she watches after Spock as he wanders over to the Vulcan camps and disappears from sight.

Jim sighs and slides inside her tent, rolling her eyes at the way Chapel and Uhura are sprawled across her bed in their underwear, barely leaving any space.

She strips down to her panties and frowns when she hears the soft clatter of the folded note hitting the floor when she unhooks her bra and takes it off. She leaves it there for a moment in order to shuffle into an orange tank top. Afterwards, she picks up the folded note and clutches it as she ambles over to her crowded bed and wiggles between Chapel and Uhura.

With the two of them pressing their backs into both of her sides, she unfolds the note and reads the contents.

My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth

A bird that will revenge upon you all:

And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,

Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.

Jim frowns with drowsy confusion, and she chants the contents of the note in her mind over and over, turning it with a small hope that she can find clarity in the vaguely familiar words.

She sighs and closes her eyes, scratching at her neck as she turns onto her stomach while she drifts into sleep as the sun begins to peek up over the horizon.

Jim feels the press of something coming, even in her sleep.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

The flap of wings and the ringing caws—it all calls to her soul and reminds her of things she has forgotten but cannot grasp.

Of birds and fire and death.

Omens—all of them.


Author's Note: I am in such a rush. School will be starting in a month or so, and I have a full course load—which means there might be some major long gaps in updates and such. Hopefully I can finish this part of the series before then.

Say something guys, don't leave me hanging.