The tornado had passed within one thousand meters of the farm house. Had it been a direct hit, they may not have survived. According to the global weather service, the storm had actually been the irrigation front, however an unexpected alteration in the jet stream brought hot air off the gulf into the area, resulting in the development of violent storms at the head of the front.
Once electrical interference had died down, Spock, through Star Fleet, managed to get the head of the Earth Terraforming Conglomerate on the communicator, and boy did he chew that man out, in a very Spock fashion of course. Jim almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.
Now, it was just raining, thick sheets of silver rain falling from the sky as he climbed the stairs, cane in one hand, railing in the other. The fear exhausted Jim, though he was at loathe to admit it. It would be better once he was physically back to where he used to be. He'd feel more in control.
Jim took the last few steps, making the turn towards the sound of water pouring into the house.
Both his mother's bedroom and his brother's bedroom were compromised, the roof had torn away in places. Water was dripping from the ceiling in his brothers room, but he could actually see some of the sky in his mother's room, and water wasn't dripping, it was rushing.
He grabbed a bucket from the bathroom and some musty towels from the linen closet. Wiping up the puddle on the floor of his brothers room, he placed the bucket underneath the drip, solving the problem for now.
He almost just wanted to shut the door to his mother's room and ignore the problem, but then the rest of the house would be ruined (more than it already was).
"Spock," he shouted, and the man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "In the basement there's a couple plastic tarps and a staple gun. Can you grab them?"
"Yes Captain," Spock intoned, and disappeared into the basement. Jim, shaking his head in the this-is-not-a-starship way, returned to the breach. This is the room where the window had blown in, and using the worst smelling towels he did his best to mop up the excess water and glass fragments, tearing down the billowing curtains that kept hitting him in the face.
Spock appeared after a few moments, and didn't need any instruction once he saw the state of the room. He was tall enough to staple the tarp to the ceiling and the window, sealing off the room. He then took the towel from Jim, proceeded to mop up the rest of the water and glass, throw the towel in the trash, and usher Jim out of the room, closing the thick door behind him.
"Jim, you need rest. Why do you not lie down?" Jim was about to argue, but a yawn cut him off, and when he could see again, Spock was raising that damn eyebrow.
"Fine," he sighed, "but don't let me sleep too long."
"I will not Captain."
"Sure," Jim chuckled, knowing full well Spock would not wake him if he was soundly asleep.
His room was miraculously undamaged by the near-miss, though it was on the far side of the house. It was just as empty as he remembered it, sun lightened desk on one side, double bed crammed between the two windows, bureau with his pants and closet with his shirts and jackets. Absently he wondered if his old clothes would still fit as he touched his stomach. He'd bulked up in star fleet, and not just muscle. Less alcohol and more food can do that to you.
Jim sat on the edge of his bed, which creaked ominously, unlacing his boots and tugging off his socks, throwing his fatigue shirt across the room and dropping his pants before climbing into bed.
God it was humid, but his bed really was very comfortable, and he barely shook out the dusty sheets before collapsing to the pillow and falling into an exhausted sleep, something he had been doing too much of since he had died.
He awoke slowly, (a new feeling, as he had not slept without drugs since his rebirth) to a scratching on the floor. Automatically he sat up, scrabbling on his nightstand for his phaser, which was painfully absent.
"Captain, I am sorry to have awoken you, that was not my intention." Spock's stooped figure comes into focus as he continued dragging... A mattress into the room.
"Don't sweat it. Why are you brining a mattress in here though?" Not that Jim was complaining. A soft breeze shook the room, splattering the drizzle against the screen of the now open window. It was night, but a light glowed from downstairs, the wireless power station must be back online.
"The other bedrooms are all compromised to the elements. If you do not wish me to sleep in the same quarters as you, I will move downstairs."
"No, no I don't mind at all." Jim's heart jumped slightly at the idea of sleeping in the same room as Spock, just a few meters of space between them, surrounded by darkness and lacking clothing.
Remembering his current state of dress, Jim decided to capitalize on the opportunity, rolling out of bed and standing up, walking around the room and collecting his scattered clothes, trying to get a check out, a look, a glance, anything, but if Spock looked, he managed to without Jim noticing.
Finished arranging the mattress, Spock stood. "I have prepared dinner Captain, if you are hungry."
"Oh, wow, thank you Spock, I'll be right down." With a curt nod Spock turned on his heel and exited the room. Once he was out of Vulcan earshot, Jim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was sure to make a fool of himself if he kept this up.
He had to remember Spock was a Vulcan. Attraction worked differently, dating worked differently, sex worked differently. Supposedly a full Vulcan could only get it up for a week every seven years, and he had no idea if that applied to Spock, though he and Uhura had gotten it on some how.
Uhura. Right.
Ignoring his shaking hands, they never seemed to stop, he rifled through his old clothes, pulling on what used to be his favorite pair of jeans and his star fleet fatigue shirt from earlier today, padding down the stairs. He purposefully left his cane leaning against the bed frame. He needed to ween himself off of it.
Already things were different.
The thick layer of dust that had coated everything, that was gone. The picture that had fallen in the hall was hanging again, glass fragments cleaned up. The kitchen was bright with fluorescent light and smelled like food instead of mold. The cobwebs were gone, the window was open, and God, he'd scrubbed and organized the cabinets.
"Spock, have you been cleaning?" Jim asked, sliding to the opposite side of the table from where the man was checking his Padd.
"Yes Captain. I deemed it necessary because-" Jim held up his hand.
"Thank you Spock, I appreciate it. But you should have waited for me to wake up before doing all this work!" Jim dug into his burger and fires because, yes, Spock had replicated him just what he thought he wanted, though instead of beer there was Bones's prescribed milk, which made him feel ten, but it was a small sacrifice.
"It was not too arduous a task, and you needed rest and the house needed cleaning. There are many more things to be done Captain." His own response was obstructed by food so Jim went with a nod instead. God, he was hungry. Dropping off a four thousand calorie diet was rough.
Spock was eating an (unpleasant) looking salad, the kind with a lot of weeds, as he liked to call them, though they were probably some gourmet greens. Really too quickly he'd finished his meal, and Spock wasn't halfway done with his.
Rather jittery after such a long nap, Jim jumped up and ran his dish and silverware through the infrared scrubber, placing them back in the cabinet. No need for the replicator to have to make the same utensils again. He then sat back down at the table, watching Spock methodically cut and chew his rabbit food- salad.
He didn't even realize he was drumming his fingers and tapping his foot until Spock looked up at him, right eyebrow raised this time.
"Jim, why don't you attempt to fix the cleaning bot,"
"Good idea," Jim went over to where the small round disc was lying belly up on the counter, dropping it on the table before hunting for his tool box, retuning to where he was eating a moment before, opening the cover, and inserting himself wrist deep into wiring, machinery, and circuitry.
Soon the world faded away, and it was just comforting wiring and circuitry. He realized it probably only needed batteries, but he planned on making the machine more efficient so it would need only one or two working batteries rather than the ten it required now. He was so engrossed in this pleasant distraction he only noticed Spock standing beside him when he placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I suggest moving this," Spock leaned in across Jim, unplugging a wire, twining it with another, and plugging it into a different port."Here. That should up the efficiency by twenty-one percent, approximately."
"Yes, I see," Jim grinned at Spock, half thrilled at the new ideas flooding into his mind, half buzzing from the slight brush of contact across his front. He really didn't know why he got so high from light brushes with Spock. He touched people all the time, and was touched back, some times intimately, quite often. He should be desensitized to simple things like an elbow brushing across his chest, or the whisk of air that followed his movements, scented with Spock's subtle pheromones. Maybe that was it. Vulcan ph-
"I am going to retire Captain." Spock had retreated to a more usual distance during Jim's musings. "Do you require nothing else of me?" Jim wanted to drop his head into his hands, but they were covered in grease.
"We're friends right now Spock, not officers. I don't require anything of you, at anytime." But Spock was already walking up the stairs.
For the first time, Jim wondered if he could break Spock's shell. Was it impossible, even for Jim Kirk? Could he get this man to love him?
When he realized what he just thought, Jim placed the pair of tweezers down and leaned back in his chair.
"Is that really what I'm trying to do here?" He murmured to himself, gripping the edge of the table very tightly. "Am I trying to seduce Spock?"
Seduce wasn't the right word though. He didn't just want to sleep with Spock, but he was definitely not opposed to the idea. Jim seduced beautiful women into bed by smiling and complimenting them and flexing his star fleet rank and awards. That wasn't what he was doing with Spock, or even wanted to do with the man.
Jim had loved people before. He had loved his mom for a while, until she stopped being his mom and became Winona. He loved Sam, wherever he was. He'd even loved a few girls, or thought he loved them, for a short period of time, until they either rejected him or he realized they weren't all they seemed to be up front. But Jim had never tried to make someone love him, well, except his mom really. Jim doubted it was possible-it seemed like something predetermined, something he couldn't influence.
Jim groaned, delving back into work to distract himself from yet another no-win scenario. At least he could fix this bot and worry about the incorporeal later.
He wasn't sure exactly when he finished working, but it seemed very late, judging by the amount of crickets and location of the recently revealed moon. Still, he was satisfied, and placed the now whirring robot on to the floor, watching with a triumphant smile as it buzzed away.
Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he climbed the stairs with growing anticipation, excited to see Spock's face relaxed in sleep. Jim ever so quietly threaded across the creaky floor, turning off the light in the hall before entering the room.
Spock's eyes flicked open as the door swung in. He wasn't even sleeping, just sitting cross legged on his mattress. Meditation. He vaguely remembered that as part of Vulcan culture in xenosociology.
"Hello Jim," Soock said, voice as cool and calm as usual, no fuzziness from sleep like that night when Nyota stopped by. But he did say Jim, which was good enough.
"Hey Spock," Jim said, shuffling across the very dark room, hands extended in front of him until his shin bumped into his bed. Moving around to the far side he shirked his jeans and shirt, sighing as the cool breeze washed across his skin. He didn't even bother with an enticing dance, it was too hot and too dark.
"Jim, may I inquire as to why you are undressing?" Spock had yet to lie down, and was still sitting uncomfortably straight on the coverlet of the mattress.
"Well it's really hot, and this is how I usually sleep. If it makes you uncomfortable I can find something to wear," The last thing Jim wanted was to scare Spock off.
"It does not make me uncomfortable."
"Good, because I wasn't planning on putting clothes on anyway," Jim crawled across his mattress, flinging the loose sheet across his body. As Jim's eyes adjust to the faint moonlight, he watches Spock's silhouette recline on his own mattress, perfectly in the center, arms neatly folded, just like a corpse.
They lie in silence for a few minutes before Jim blurted,
"Did you talk to McCoy today?" There is a short pause.
"No. Why the query?" Jim sits up in bed and looks at Spock. He can't see his face clearly, but he can make out the shimmering of light across s dark eyes.
"You can't tell him about the panic attack today." Spock sits up.
"Jim, it is illogical to hide things from ones physician. That will prevent them from treating you effectively. Especially because Doctor McCoy is your friend." Jim groans and flops back onto his bed.
"No Spock, you don't understand. You can't tell him, or I'll lose the ship."
"Jim, I fail to see how informing Doctor McCoy of the event today will endanger your captaincy." Spock was getting irritated but Jim couldn't let him.
"Well lets see. I touched a wall of glass and had a violent flashback of when I was trapped in the reactor. I fell over in the hall at and couldn't get up again, which sent me into a panic so intense it gave me symptoms of a heart attack. A tornado is bearing down on us and suddenly I'm so scared I can't think straight and you have to physically shake me out of it. Do you see a pattern here, Spock? For some reason, I can't seem to handle stress anymore. And what is the point of being a Starship Captain?"
"To lead the crew in times of crisis," is the very quiet reply.
"Exactly," to Jim's horror, his voice cracks. He couldn't help it. The thought of losing everything, losing everyone, having the Enterprise taken away from him after having sacrificed everything for her, it was Hell. If that happened, Jim would prefer to be dead. "Do you see why no one can know how fragile I am right now? Not even Bones can know." There is a long pause, and Jim knows Spock is weighing his options. He stares at the ancient ceiling fan, spinning endlessly around.
"I acquiesce, I will not inform the Doctor. And Jim, you simply need time. Nurse Wang did not inform you of this, but she stated to me that you have suffered great emotional injury, and just like a physical injury, it requires time to heal. I believe you will be well again soon, but it is illogical to expect immediate results." Jim smiled faintly at the use of illogical.
"Thank you Spock, for believing in me."
"No thanks are necessary."
"Well, Night."
"Goodnight, Captain."
Hey sorry I haven't updated in a few days, I've just been busy!
Natcat
