The lobby had filled with the amber glow of evening by the time Jim finished his conversation with the elder Spock. His transmission to Starfleet was left neglected and forgotten, completely and utterly unable to distract him from their exchange. A few times someone would attempt to call Spock away from the screen, but he invariably sent them off, remaining seated before him instead.
Jim decided that part of the reason he liked the guy so much was probably because Spock seemed to genuinely like him. He wasn't sure how he could even tell, really, except that it was strangely obvious, showing through in the warmth of his voice and the encouraging welcome of his demeanor. Why don't you call me more often? his body language seemed to say, and for the life of him Jim couldn't think of a good reason not to.
They talked mostly about Vulcan meditation. Given that he didn't really know much about even the human forms of meditation, Jim felt a bit like a fish out of water for a lot of it, but Spock was pretty good at breaking things down. He learned that Vulcans had a kind of precision control over their brains which would seem terrifying to most humans. They could consciously commit suicide, for example, which was a startling little revelation. Virtually all of their bodily functions were within their power to command – things which humans had no hope of telling what to do, like their heartbeats. Meditation helped them to organize these complex structures, to keep their minds clear and make certain that their consciousness really was controlling them.
"You mean he could get distracted and forget to have his heart beat?" Jim had asked incredulously at one point. But Spock assured him that, no, unless he made an effort to stop his heart then it would do its job. Which was a relief.
He also learned that one of the reasons why Vulcans were so worked up over their emotions was that their brain was structured differently around them. Whereas a human could feel something like intense rage and – while still feeling that same rage – consciously exert an effort to stop themselves from acting on it, Vulcans apparently sucked at that. It was easier for them to suppress the emotion itself than the actions it compelled – sort of like trying to stop a stream of water from hitting the ground. Humans had a bucket; they could catch the water as it poured. Vulcans, however, did not. If they wanted to stop it, they had to turn it off at the source. Spock, according to himself, had the equivalent to a very crappy, beat-up, tiny bucket, and bad coordination with it.
Jim got the impression as he was being told this that it wasn't the kind of thing you'd tell just anybody. Going off of how little Vulcans in general seemed to share about themselves, he was actually surprised at the depth of insight which the elder Spock was willing to share with him. It silently floored him that he seemed to think he could be trusted that much.
He couldn't help but wonder, though, if the other Spock would be mad. After all – they were his secrets too.
"Are you sure you should be telling me all of this?" he finally asked at one point, unable to escape the question he'd posed to himself. "I mean, it's really helpful, I just don't want to make the other you – you know – uncomfortable about it."
Old Spock raised his eyebrows at him slightly. Then, slowly, he seemed to come to some internal realization, and relaxed. His eyes were very fond when they met Jim's.
"You make a valid point," he agreed.
Not long after that note they ended the transmission, something finally succeeding in calling Spock away from the console. Jim was sorry to see him go at first, but then he realized that his 'several hours' ban from the other Spock's presence may very well have been met. Just the same he got himself a quick dinner from the restaurant before he headed up – firstly because he was hungry, and secondly because it was probably better to err on the side of caution.
The rooms were quiet and still when he walked in. The lights had been dimmed again, the window covers shut, and the faint flicker of candles provided the majority of illumination. He hesitated, wondering if he should wait longer still – but then decided against it. If what the other Spock had told him was true, then he'd probably already interrupted Spock's mediation when he opened the door.
He found his first officer sitting cross-legged on the floor, just where he'd found him that morning. His hands were arranged in the familiar 'V' of the Vulcan greeting gesture, but with his fingertips and thumbs pressed together.
At Jim's soft approach he didn't seem to stir at all, and so it took him a moment to notice that Spock's eyes had opened, and that he was watching him inscrutably.
"So…" Jim said, shifting a little on his feet. "How's it going?" He felt uncomfortable just standing there while Spock was on the ground. After a beat, he decided to hell with it, and sat down across from him.
For a moment they simply sat there, regarding one another. Jim took in the odd scents of the candles, and noted that it was kind of peaceful – but also kind of tense. He wasn't sure if that was just him, though.
Eventually, Spock answered his question. His voice was low and soft when he did. "I have had less success than would be ideal," he admitted.
Here, now, Jim decided, was the awkward part. He was good at bluffing. But genuine deception wasn't his forte. However, he couldn't let Spock know that he had spoken to his future self – he wasn't sure what kind of effect that would have, and he wouldn't risk all of space-time over it. Still, this would have been much easier if he could have gotten the two Spocks to just talk with each other.
Damn paradox stuff.
"So listen, I was thinking," he began, deciding that there was nothing for it but jump in feet-first. "You know how you said that you were having problems because of Vulcan, right?"
Dark eyes watched him inscrutably. He shifted again – it shouldn't be this awkward. He'd spun bullshit over less important and more dangerous subjects before.
"Well, I was thinking," he repeated. "What if you didn't use Vulcan? I mean, obviously it's not really that… suitable anymore. What if you tried meditating with a different focus? Like, say, Earth?" He punctuated this idea with a pat on the floor, as if to indicate the planet's soil far below them.
Spock considered him for a long moment.
"…Such a concept has occurred to me," he admitted. "But it is unsuitable."
Confused, Jim regarded him with open curiosity. "Why?" he asked.
"It is a complicated matter," Spock replied tonelessly, before closing his eyes, as if to pointedly dismiss Jim. "If you require rest, you may remain. Otherwise I would ask that you leave me to further solitude."
Shut down, Jim thought, surprised by this unexpected little wrench in his plans. But the old Spock had insisted that changing the focus would work – so why did his younger self seem so dismissive of the idea? He had to admit, it made sense to him. Just simple logic. If something was no longer capable of performing its function, you fixed it if possible, and replaced it if not.
"I'm pretty sure it would work, Spock," he insisted, despite the fact that he'd been all but told to piss off.
Spock's eyes remained closed. "Your understanding of my meditative process is highly limited. I appreciate that it is your intent to aid me, but you are not in a position to do so."
Feeling the beginnings of frustration, Jim curled the hand which was resting against the tight-woven carpet into a tense fist. "Then talk to me about it," he insisted. "You said it doesn't work – tell me why. Who knows? Maybe you just need an outside perspective." Or maybe I have knowledge about how your brain works because your future self just spent the last few hours chatting about it.
That little muscle in Spock's jaw tightened again – he was starting to think that happened when he grit his teeth. "While you are quite intelligent, Captain, this is not something you can comprehend."
It took Jim a minute to recover from the surprise of being called 'captain'. For the past few days, Spock had been addressing him as 'Jim' with seemingly little difficulty.
"You're supposed to call me Jim," he insisted, taking a risk and moving a little closer. "And what could it hurt to try? Okay, so, it's hard to replace Vulcan with Earth-"
"It is impossible to replace Vulcan," Spock snapped, his eyes opening to lock sharply onto him, swirls of badly suppressed anger and hurt dancing behind them.
And just like that, Jim got it.
Spock wasn't even trying to use a different focus point. He couldn't bring himself to do it. "You won't change it, will you?" he said aloud, speaking the understanding which had suddenly coursed through him. "You're afraid that if you let go of your focus on it, you'll never get it back. That if you try and replace it with Earth, you'll lose another tie to your home," he reasoned. And then he summed it up.
"You can't let go of your emotional attachment to Vulcan."
Bright eyes clashed against dark as Jim stared Spock down. The irony of the revealed situation wasn't lost on either of them. He watched as Spock suddenly rose to his feet, in that fluid, unstilted motion of easy practice.
"I must again request that you leave," he said.
Jim remained seated stubbornly on the floor. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until you let me help you."
He wasn't expecting the strong arm which closed around his shirt and hauled him bodily to his feet. He didn't really struggle against it, though – he wasn't purposefully looking to antagonize. He'd never tried to walk the fine line between being stubborn and being an ass before. It was trickier than it looked. "You cannot," Spock said, his voice breaking slightly out of its monotone format. Then he made to give Jim a somewhat gentler shove towards the door, the message of 'leave' written all over his actions.
No, Jim thought, and before Spock's hand to could release his shirt, he reached up to clasp it. "I can try," he said.
Spock yanked away as though he had been burnt by the touch, his expression suddenly darkening and weakening all at once. Then, before Jim could react, he moved towards him. With impressive speed his first officer stepped neatly into Jim's personal space and closed his hands around his upper arms, causing channels of warmth to shoot through his body where his touch had connected. Their faces was close, breathing ragged as Jim reflexively gripped him back, half worried that Spock was going to keel over and half worried that he would attack him. Spock's expression was unfathomable, darkly intense and, for a moment, unguarded. A shudder traveled down his spine, and his eyes widened as he felt a familiar tingle of excitement sing through his veins.
Oh.
Oh, no, no, no. It couldn't be. He… they… it really couldn't…
But suddenly, it all clicked together. Those little moments. Those inexplicable feelings which just seemed to ambush him, and then vanish before he could pin them down. The way he became almost hyper-aware of Spock when he touched him, and how the man could flay him open with just a few careful words of rejection. It made sense – so much sense that he wondered how he could have missed it.
He was attracted to Spock.
Which was terrifying.
Jim's breath died as those dark eyes met his own, and for one instant he thought that Spock would lean forward, that their lips would meet in a kiss that was certain to sear his mouth. His mind was a jumbled mess of confusion and realization and fear as the second was stretched for all it was worth.
Then Spock threw him across the room.
Loathing and disgust were written clearly across the half-Vulcan's features as Jim hit the opposite wall, the breath knocked out of him for an entirely different reason now. The back of his skull cracked against the hard surface and he saw stars, his back screaming protests at him before he slumped to the floor. He looked at Spock, his own expression the very picture of hurt confusion, but his first officer was still wearing that dark, bleak look.
Jim was terrified. What if he'd… oh, shit, what if Spock knew? Was that why he'd thrown him? He'd somehow been able to pick up on Jim's attraction, and it… it sickened him. He'd known what he wanted, seen him lean forward – had he leaned forward? – and with his emotions so close to the surface, his reaction had been complete.
Utter, instinctive rejection.
He couldn't process this. It was all too much, too soon, and too strange. Raising himself shakily onto his legs, he did something which, in truth, he didn't do very often.
He ran away.
Not looking back, not bothering to risk a single thought, he pelted out the door and didn't stop running until he was safely ensconced in the turbolift. His heart was pounding and his head was swimming as he leaned against the rounded walls, stopping the lift mid-floor as he tried desperately to regain his grip on his own sanity. What the hell just happened? he asked himself, even though he was almost certain he knew. His hands were shaking a bit as he lifted them to his head, wincing at the pain which pulsed through it. It was echoed by a beat from his shoulders, and he had the sneaking suspicion that he would be black and blue along there for a while.
That hadn't exactly been the reaction he'd anticipated. But in a way he was almost relieved that it had been the one he got. Not because he wasn't terrified that Spock hated him now – because he very much was. But no, if it had gone… differently… he wasn't sure how he'd handle that either.
Because it didn't make any sense. Spock was his friend! Jim didn't feel attracted to his friends. Seriously, it tended to be a major turn-off for him. As soon as he started to get to know a person, he stopped entertaining ideas of taking them to bed. Besides which, Spock wasn't exactly his type. For one thing, he was male – not unprecedented in Jim's experience, really, but a little atypical. He usually went for females, sexually confident – even aggressive – fast, and casual. The sorts of girls who didn't care if he called the next day, or even preferred that he didn't. That was who he went for. Not reserved (or, well, generally reserved) men with narrow builds, pale skin, and dark, expressive eyes. So that part was odd. Not 'never in a million years' odd, just – if you'd put Spock in a line-up a year ago and told Jim that one of the people there would eventually set his blood on fire, he never would have guessed him.
But the part which was almost paralyzing him with fear was that he liked Spock. A lot. He didn't think he could sleep with him and then just cut and run – and he'd never felt that sense of mingled attraction and attachment before.
You know he'd take that shit seriously, Jim thought, leaning the side of his head against the lift's wall and trying to even out his breathing. Provided, of course, that he would ever actually consider Jim in those terms – and it looked like the very idea of it disgusted him.
Well, what else did he expect? It was shocking enough that he seemed to appreciate Spock on that level – hoping for reciprocation was moronic. Because if Spock wasn't his usual type, then Jim sure as hell wasn't Spock's.
He sucked in a deep breath and tried to sort this whole mess out. Okay, so, he was capable of finding Spock attractive – he was probably reading too much into that. After all, it really had been months since he'd gotten laid, and he was practically infamous for his libido. He'd been spending a lot of time with Spock. Granted, that usually had the opposite effect on his hormones, but maybe his system was just all messed up because it had been so long since his last fling.
His eyes slipped closed, and he recalled that look of loathing on Spock's face right when he'd thrown him away.
No way. He couldn't afford to be attracted to Spock – it would ruin everything. He'd lose his first officer. He'd lose his friend. Raising a fist, he pounded it in frustration against the nearest wall. It was just his stupid, goddamn sex-drive that was screwing him over here. He'd been ignoring it before – not consciously, but just taking all of the hints it dropped and blatantly refusing to see what they were saying. But now that he'd noticed, he knew he wouldn't be able to do that anymore. He needed to deal with this situation.
It was the only way he'd get Spock to look at him without that hatred again.
Jim thought about it for a few minutes, and then restarted the lift. Sex – that was the problem. So he'd get it out of his system. He'd go find someone who was his type, and he'd get this – this impulse gone. Neutralize the issue. He was sure now that it was just his over-active libido latching onto the slightest bit of perceived encouragement. But if he could sate that beast, then he could come back and convince Spock that it wasn't a problem. Maybe even that it had never existed. Then he might be able to salvage their friendship.
When the lift reached the ground floor he stalked out, shoulders hunched and head ducked low as he made his way straight out of the building. He felt strange as he hit the open street, the air cold against his skin and his body protesting his movements. It was like he was detached, disconnected from himself. Why? he couldn't help but wonder. Why did he have to ruin every good thing? This wasn't Spock's fault. Granted, the throwing him against the wall and the emotional instability was – even if he couldn't exactly control it – but the thing that was going to ruin them? That looked like it was all Jim. Dammit! Why couldn't he resolve to help Spock and then actually manage to help him? What was it about him that just seemed to like to complicate almost all of his attachments?
His expression was stony as he made his way down the street, eyes trained to find a suitable establishment. Some kind of bar scene, a place likely to have a crush of people looking to escape their daily stresses and let loose. The more crowded the better.
It took him a while to hunt down a suitable place, but once he had he simply drifted inside, not even bothering to read the name of it or pay much attention to its set-up. There was noise and music and alcohol and a suitable buzz of life. That was all that mattered. He made his way over to the bar, and for a moment he hesitated before he ordered his drink – he'd decided earlier that day that he wasn't going to get drunk. But he figured he could bend his own resolution. He didn't plan to go back for a while, anyway.
Picking someone up proved to be a little bit harder than usual, however. Apparently it was trickier when you looked like you'd been knocked around a bit, and your normally charismatic personality had taken a similar beating. Most of the other patrons were warily avoiding him, and so he found himself left largely to his own devices.
The image of Spock's face wouldn't leave his mind, that horrible expression he'd worn, like he couldn't believe that something so vile was actually real. But Jim wasn't that bad, was he? Most people seemed to think he was pretty handsome, even if they didn't really go for him. He'd never had to worry about disgusting a potential partner before.
"Vulcans are different," he quoted under his breath to his glass, and downed its contents, trying to chase away that face. Somehow, the drink only seemed to make it clearer. So did the next one. And the one after that.
"It's not working," he complained to a woman as she slid into the bar next to him. At least, he was pretty sure it was a woman – his head hurt, and that made it hard to pay attention. He was only half trying, anyway. "How am I supposed to drown my sorrows when it just makes it worse?"
A laugh, kind of bitter but also amused. "I think you're just supposed to wallow in it," the woman replied, now almost definitely female. He looked over at her, and then at the glinting reflection of light in his glass.
"That's bullshit," he noted emphatically. It earned him another laugh, and he winced a bit as the sound grated his ears. But he ordered another drink all the same.
"Hey, you know," his neighbor said, as the bartender set a new, sparkling glass before him. "You look kind of like that guy – Kirk, or whatever his name is. The one who stopped those crazy Romulans from blowing us up."
He downed his glass, the liquid burning and soothing at the same time as it slid down his throat. "Yeah. That's me," he replied, wondering again why everyone seemed to recognize him. Spock had been the one who flew his ship into the Narada and almost died. Now, Jim certainly had his own contributions to the whole thing, but Spock was the one who did the really dramatic part. He got the big explosion and everything.
"Sure you are," the woman agreed. "The captain who saved the world is sitting in this bar, getting drunk and doing a bad job of chatting me up. So where's your ship, Mr. Bigshot?" she asked somewhat mockingly.
Jim shrugged. "Space dock," he replied. "It's complicated. Dust was involved."
A snort, now. "Uh-huh. Dust. Well, I'll give you points for being original – I've never heard that one before," she told him, and then her hand came down to clap him on the shoulder. He winced.
A few drinks later, and he'd stopped talking, but the woman next to him kept up something of a conversation with herself. Presumably he was somehow connected to it, although he wasn't really clear on what part he was actually playing. She dubbed him a 'good listener'. You couldn't have gotten him to remember what she'd said if his life depended on it. At some point he started to wonder if she'd brought her twin along, but then his vision evened out again.
Drinking and head injuries weren't a good mix.
Finally, at some point, she made an invitation he recognized. He turned in his seat, and gave her a thorough once-over. Not bad. Kind of tall, with pretty dark hair and a wide mouth.
"Okay. You'll do," he replied, and she smirked at him.
"Gee, thanks," she said, but then her hand closed around his arm – too cold, and too close to where he'd been injured. It was uncomfortable. All the same, he didn't pull away as she led him from the bar, her lips moving close to the cup of his ear, perfumed scent filling up his nose. "Your place or mine?" she asked.
It was her place, of course.
They were a tangle of limbs when they made their way through her door, sloppy kisses and hands made awkward by alcohol and unfamiliarity. What ensued was a desperate, almost pathetic tumble, their voices bereft of encouragement or endearment as they fell into the bedroom and tried to release themselves from their physical urges. Jim buried his face into her dark, dark hair. She called him the wrong name. Neither one of them cared. It was rough and down to business, but it got the job done.
When it was over, Jim felt no better.
Physically sated, yes. But no better.
He wanted to leave, but he was tired and spent, and so instead he gave in to his body's longing for unconsciousness, slipping away atop the unfamiliar sheets and with unfamiliar breathing in his ear.
He woke with a shock hours later, when a glass of cold water was unceremoniously dumped onto his face. He flailed, panicked and disoriented as the water clogged his senses and for one brief, terrifying instant made him think he was drowning as it slipped inside his nose and mouth. With a desperate, sputtering cough he fell off of the bed.
"Time to beat it, sunshine," a rough female voice informed him, and he could only curse blearily behind her as his 'date' sauntered into an attached bathroom and pulled the door shut.
Frowning, he tried to get his bearings past the unrepentant, sharp pain in his skull. He felt like he'd been jammed into a blender. The night before was a disjointed, jumbled blur – but he could remember why. That damn puzzle had finally clicked into place, and he'd figured it out. About Spock. And him. And then Spock had given him that look – it was like it had been burned into his mind – and thrown him across the room.
Fun times. Jim pulled himself together enough to shrug back into his clothes, fighting back his nausea and figuring that he must look like hell. He didn't want to stick around, though. He'd done what he needed – he'd gotten it out of his system. But for some reason he didn't feel like he'd be able to look Spock in the eye any easier.
Tough shit, he thought, and then he stumbled out of the door. Even if he hadn't already resolved to go back, his stuff was still at the traveler's facility. Besides – he couldn't just leave Spock alone. The guy was unstable.
It was impossible to retrace his steps from the night before, but luckily, this whole part of the city was still pretty close to where he and Spock were staying. It had been a sound plan, he assured himself, as he ignored the uncomfortable glances of a few passersby and made his way back down the street. He'd try and kill whatever dysfunction it was that made him think Spock, of all people, was a suitable candidate for a role in the sack, and then he'd get back to being his friend and trying to help him out. Because the alternative was giving the whole thing up – and he'd already decided that he wasn't going to do that.
No, this was just a temporary set-back – he'd taken care of it now, he was sure. All he needed to do was convince Spock that things were good, and that he really did need to pick a different focus point for his meditation. Easier said than done, probably, but Jim was good at challenges.
Not the mention the fact that he didn't take well to losing.
When he finally made his way back to the traveler's facility, any doubts he had about how shitty he looked were wiped away by the expression on the Andorian concierge's face.
"Rough night?" she asked, as he wondered why the sun had to be so bright – even when he was inside.
He grunted by way of response, ready to just make his way up to the room and let himself run under the shower for a while. It's not like he wasn't already wet, after all. But the friendly woman raised a hand to halt him.
"Hold up," she said, and then walking around the desk, guided him into a plush grey chair. "I'll get you something. Don't go anywhere."
So Jim was left to his own devices for a minute, muttering about how everyone kept man-handling him and bossing him around. He was the captain, dammit. It was about time he started bossing people around.
He decided he would start with his own head. This was the second morning he'd woken up feeling like there was a jack-hammer in his skull, and it was not fun. Although he'd take yesterday's headache over this one in a heartbeat. Stop that pounding, he commanded his brain.
It didn't work.
His mouth wouldn't stop feeling like he'd swallowed a tribble, either. And then chased it with some steel wool. Damn, what did he drink last night?
A lot, his memory offered helpfully.
His head was in his hands when the Andorian returned, her hands gripping a datapad and a tall glass of something bright blue and frothy.
"Drink it," she instructed him, thrusting the glass towards his face. He flinched back reflexively, and then gave it a suspicious look.
"What is it?" he asked, as she grabbed one of his hands and wrapped it around the slick surface.
"Well, it's not a hypo full of detox formula," she replied. "But it's still a pretty potent hangover remedy."
He started down through the top of the glass, watching as a few foamy bubbles blinked and popped in and out of existence. The wisdom of drinking something unfamiliar, as presented to him by a virtual stranger, warred with the compelling idea that it might do something about the carnival of hell which his body had become.
Plugging his nose, he downed the entire thing in one go, and then shuddered at the slime-slick feeling of it sliding down his throat.
"What did you do, anyway?" the concierge asked as he handed her back the empty glass, looking vaguely impressed.
Jim pulled a face. "First tell me what I just drank," he countered. A vile aftertaste was starting to fog up his mouth – and he did mean 'fog'. It was really the best descriptive word for the sensation. But she only gave him a bland look.
"Trust me, you don't want an ingredient list," she informed him. He noted that his head was starting to get a little less heavy, though, so at least there was that. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"
Jim scowled, rubbing at his temples in an effort to speed up this apparent process of pain-relief. "Yeah, pretty much," he agreed, feeling his stomach do an unpleasant flip. He wasn't sure if it was because of the unpleasant memory, or because of the anxious thought of what kind of reaction he could expect from Spock, or because of what he'd just ingested. Maybe all of them.
"You just can't catch a break, can you?" she noted sympathetically.
A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. "Nope," he agreed. "Not that that's anything new," he couldn't help but add.
"Well," she said, her tone rising in a more optimistic fashion as she handed him the datapad. He blinked at it. "At least there's a bit of good news for you – I managed to get you access to a private vehicle."
"No shit?!" he exclaimed happily, and accepted the proffered item with some interest. She gave him a nod.
"After that story you told yesterday, a couple of people wanted to help. You'll have to see that it's sent back here in at least a week, but in the meantime, it's all yours," she explained. Then she gave him a careful assessment. "Maybe you should let the Vulcan drive, though."
Jim knew what she meant by it, but just then he couldn't help the turn his thoughts made onto the concept of Spock with road rage. It wasn't an encouraging idea.
"I'll think about it," he hedged, inwardly resolving that Spock was absolutely not going to drive.
He took an extra minute to let his head clear a bit, then, as the concierge told him rather loosely where to find the car before she left him to his own devices. Once he felt a little more stable, he gathered his resolve, and headed up.
It occurred to him as the turbolift rose that Spock could have left sometime during the night.
He swallowed, hard, as he thought about that prospect. Never even mind his current opinion of Jim, Spock wouldn't approve of his own violent outburst. He could take it as a sign that he'd been completely right about them parting ways. Last time… hadn't he said he'd thought about leaving while Jim was busy?
Crap, he thought with feeling, now almost positive that he'd get to the room and find absolutely no Spock. He was in such a fatalistic mood that he was actually surprised when the doors swooshed open and there he was – just inside the room, putting away his candles by the looks of things.
For a moment Jim simply hovered in the doorway. Spock's mouth was just the tiniest bit slack, and his eyebrows had gravitated towards his hairline. His hands had paused mid-motion.
Indecision reigned. Then Jim broke it, taking a step inside and letting the automatic doors slide shut behind him. It's just Spock, he told himself. And it was. But that didn't seem to help the fact that his heart was beating like mad, and his voice seemed to have taken an extended leave of absence. Or maybe the remnants of that hangover fix had just glued his mouth shut. Either way, for a moment he found his mind drifting, for a change, not to the expression of utter disgust which his friend had worn the other night – but to the moment before then, when they had hung to one another, all hot breath and warm hands.
No! he told himself sternly. He was supposed to have gotten that out of his system!
…Well, maybe it just took a while. Or maybe now that he'd noticed that Spock had – was – could be attractive, it was just a little harder to un-notice. For now. But he'd fix that. He wasn't going to ruin this, dammit! He'd never had much experience with unrequited attraction, but he'd tried to deal with people after he'd slept with them in the past. It never went well. Invariably they parted ways on bad terms, disappointed in him and his ways. But even though it was, perhaps, a little strange, he didn't want to part with Spock. Not yet.
Spock's voice broke him out of the strange spiral of his thoughts.
"You came back," he said, as if he couldn't exactly believe it, despite being presented with clear evidence.
Jim stumbled for words inside his mind – a suitable response, something that fit. His gaze flitted briefly over the room.
"I left my bag," he settled for at last. Truthfully, he didn't mean it as it sounded – he meant more in the sense that Spock should have known he would come back, because he hadn't taken his belongings when he left. But the half-Vulcan immediately stiffened, closed off.
"Of course," he said, as if it all made sense now. "I will depart soon. If you wish to linger and… see to yourself, do not be concerned that my presence will impede you."
"No," Jim insisted, taking a step forward and extended a hand reflexively towards Spock. He then caught himself, and retracted it. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean – of course I came back. I always meant to."
Spock paused again, his eyes not quite meeting him. "Why?" he asked, almost under his breath, as if the word had escaped him. Jim swallowed, and then made a face when a fresh wave of that vile flavor hit him. Ug. How long was that supposed to last, anyway? He was starting to suspect that something was breeding in his mouth.
Which was utterly secondary to the current situation, of course, but still a little distracting.
"Okay, look," Jim began, extending both of his hands but keeping his distance – as if he half expected Spock to make a run for it, and intended to stop him when he did. "I'm just going to say some things, and you'll listen, and then we'll talk some more – but first I have to say some things, alright?" he insisted, wincing a bit at the scratchy, uncomfortable sound of his own voice.
Spock just stood there. After a moment, he took it as a sign of consent, and began.
Deep breaths, he thought. "Right. Okay. First off – I'm sorry," was his beginning. His first officer's reaction was to look just about as shocked as he had when Jim walked through the door. "Yeah, I know you're thinking I shouldn't say that since you tossed me across the room, but I understand. It's all the funny wiring in your brain – until you get sorted it's hard not to lash out. So I am sorry. I just… I didn't mean to, you know, make you uncomfortable and stuff. I swear I didn't mean anything by it, and I still want us to be friends, and I still really want to help you. And I know – I know you don't think I can, or maybe that it's none of my business, but I'm not backing down," he insisted, planting his hands on his hips, even though he knew full well that he probably just looked ridiculous. Disheveled, tired, beat-up and worn down. But he wasn't knocked out of the game yet. "You need help, and there's – stuff – I can find out for you, but please don't ask me how. You're my first officer, and I am not going to replace you, so we've got to do something. You've got to listen, Spock, because it's not working when you try it on your own, and I need you to help me be a good captain. I want you to be my friend."
There was silence once he'd finished, and Jim really wanted to sit down, but he forced himself to stay standing. He had to seem resolute, dammit.
Spock looked at him like he was something that he'd never seen before, and then – surprisingly – averted his gaze.
After a while, Jim found he was getting really tired of seeming resolute. "Well?" he asked, wondering if Spock was ever going to say anything.
"You have completed your requested moment of speech?" he said. Jim wondered if this was the part where he finished off the whole show by saying 'thanks, but no thanks' and walking out the door.
"Yeah," he admitted, resisting the urge to slump against the wall. He felt like he hadn't slept in a week.
"Then," Spock said. "I believe it is my turn to apologize." He finally lowered the candle he had been holding – Jim realized that it had been frozen mid-motion since he walked in. "I am aware that you seem to find such words distasteful. Given that I cannot in good conscience fail to provide suitable repentance for my misdeeds, however, I shall instead force myself from this point to abstain from actions which necessitate them."
It took Jim a moment, but when he caught up with the Spock-speak and realized that he was essentially saying that he didn't intend to go running off, it was his own turn to be surprised. He'd been expecting more of a fight, really. Much more.
Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "I am sorry, Jim," he said sincerely. "Each and every one of my actions the previous evening were inexcusable. I could no longer deny the severity of my situation after I nearly… after I injured you," he amended, and Jim wondered what he was about to say before that. But he didn't ask. "You were correct. In all of your assessments. I had not anticipated your forgiveness – nor do I believe it is merited. My conduct was unforgiveable."
"You weren't…" he began, but trailed off at the expression on Spock's face.
"My instability is also my responsibility. I allowed myself to deteriorate. I refused to pursue alternate, promising solutions to my own dilemma. I compromised myself, and in doing so I endangered the man who is my captain – and my friend."
I'm doomed, Jim thought, as his heart leapt into his throat. As soon as the thought came to him, however, he pushed it aside. He liked Spock – he already knew that. He could like him without wanting to jump him, even if now that he thought of it the idea did seem – no. None of that. If he jumped Spock, it would not go well. He'd probably get thrown into another wall.
Kinky, his rebellious and perverted half decided.
Oh, goddammit!
But no, the point was that Spock would not welcome such advances – and Jim wasn't going to antagonize him with them. He was already having trouble. Making it worse would just be cruel in the extreme.
"Spock," he said instead, still keeping his respectful distance. "I'm glad that you've changed your mind about, well, your position on some things, but I really do get it – you've been through a lot. I'm sure plenty of the Vulcans at the colony are going through similar things. You're half Vulcan. You're not a robot," he pointed out reasonably.
If it had been Earth, he wondered, how would he have felt? If Nero had gone after Earth first, instead of Vulcan? If he'd lost his mother… Sam… almost everyone he'd known growing up, good or bad. His whole home, every wide field and tall mountain and sprawling city…
Yeah. He'd be as much of a mess as Spock was. Maybe even worse.
Spock still wouldn't quite meet his gaze, however. "Your assessment is a sympathetic one," he noted.
"I'm telling the truth!" Jim insisted.
"I do not doubt that you are sincere," Spock replied evenly, finally looking up. It took him a moment to figure out what was wrong with his eyes.
They were wet.
Not that Spock was crying, per se. But he looked like his tear ducts were making a sincere bid for it. In fact it was actually a little surreal – the rest of his posture, his expression, it was all perfectly normal. Jim figured he should look away or pretend like he hadn't noticed. That was what he usually did the odd time or two when he saw another guy crying, or near to it. He knew Spock especially wouldn't want him to see. But he couldn't. Because if he did, then it would seem like he didn't want to see Spock's emotions – and he would have to be able to see them, if he was going to help. See them and show that it didn't bother him.
I can take it, he thought. I'm human. If you ask most Vulcans, all we do is run around and be emotional on everything.
"Look, Spock," Jim said at length. "Vulcans are good at suppressing emotions, but they're really shitty at dealing with them. I've done stupid things when I was angry. I mean, I told you about the car, right?" he reminded him. "That wasn't exactly my finest hour. So cut yourself some slack. This is new territory for you."
Spock stiffened slightly. "I would not even be in this position if I had behaved logically from the start," he pointed out.
"Everybody fucks up," Jim replied eloquently. "Even prodigies."
"You are correct. However, my 'fuck ups' remain my responsibility, as do their consequences."
There was a moment of dead and utter silence. The kind which can only be born when someone is trying very hard not to burst into laughter. It was a battle lost before it even began for Jim, as first he snorted, and then he chuckled, and then he had good cause to regret the whole thing as he held his sides and wondered why there was an echo in his head. "I can't believe you said 'fuck ups'," he gasped when he could finally breathe.
Spock tilted his head at him slightly. "Your incredulity is unmerited," he said. "I was, after all, only quoting you."
Jim finally got a hold of himself, pressing his palm against his forehead to try and stop the ringing that was now in his ears. "That was awesome," he assured Spock. "Do you think you could 'quote me' some other time? Like, say, when we were on the bridge? Or during a ship-wide announcement?"
A raised eyebrow was the only answer he got to his question. "Jim. I believe that is irrelevant to the conversation at hand," he pointed out.
"What? You mean there's more?" Jim asked, straightening up a bit.
"Indeed," Spock replied.
---
Author's Note: You guys have got me well-trained. Even though I'm having a blast with my sister, I still felt bad about slowing down the updates – and it's only a day late! Luckily, she's a Trek fan, so she was willing to sit and comment on this with me while I wrote it. This chapter marks the lowest low point in the story – it's all uphill from here. So please don't shoot me. I tried to keep Jim's 'fling' as vague as I reasonably could.