Notes: What (some) of you have been waiting for ;)

Again

"Oh shit," Jim said – and half a second later, the rain hit.

It wasn't just rain, it was rain. Indian monsoons had nothing on that rain, and it drummed down like it was solid, not liquid. In half a minute, the entire formerly-busy lakeside (it was, after all, noon on a Saturday) was cleared of people and the parking lot was humming with engine activity.

The sprint back to the car was only five or six seconds, but by the time they reached it, they could not possibly have been wetter, not even if they'd gone swimming. The leather on the seats didn't make a sound against their slick clothing, and Jim groaned.

"My shoes are filled," he said when Spock shot him an odd look.

"I see."

"Jesus Christ," Jim muttered, peering out at the sky. "How about we just call it a day? That shit isn't going anywhere."

"Agreed."

"So, shall I drop you off at home?" Jim asked tentatively as he put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking space. "I mean, you probably want to get a shower and change and everything, so…"

"We could watch television at my house," Spock offered – and quite out of the blue. He had been careful, thus far, to keep Jim away from his box.

"You have geeky science fiction box sets?" Jim asked, deliberately casually.

"Yes."

"Okay. Sure. If I can borrow a towel, anyway," Jim grimaced at the wet, cloying feeling in his socks. "This is pretty disgusting. Socks are gross."

Spock, perhaps wisely, didn't ask what on earth he was talking about, and merely gave calmly-delivered directions until they pulled up in his neighbourhood again.

The box hadn't changed since Jim's sneaky visit in January, but it didn't occur to him until he was walked across the threshold that he was going to see the inside as well.

"I am in need of a shower," Spock admitted. "Please feel free to make yourself a drink or use the kitchen."

"Sure; I'll grab the bathroom after you," Jim shrugged, and waited until the bathroom door closed behind Spock before stripping off his shoes and socks on the mat and exploring.

There wasn't a great deal to explore: the box wasn't a Tardis. It really was as small on the inside as it looked on the outside – if not smaller. The main 'box' was made up of a tiny kitchenette that could barely fit a grown man, and a living area that was entirely dominated by a two-seater, threadbare couch and a small television set that had definitely been bought second hand. There weren't really any personal effects – the odd book, and a potted cactus on top of the television. But then, of course, he had left everything at Jim's, and never come back to collect it. He'd never even asked about it – maybe that whole Buddhist thing meant that he didn't really care, but it still felt wrong to stand in the middle of his house and not have a clue that it was his house.

Off from the main box were the closed door that indicated the bathroom, and another, ajar door that led to a small bedroom. It was graced with a large window with a view down the street, and was bright and airy, but otherwise was just as cramped and soulless as the rest of the box-house. It contained a chest of drawers right out of a Swedish furniture catalogue, a folded ironing board leaning sadly against the bare wall, and a narrow, steel-framed single bed that had been made to military precision, and probably within an inch of its life.

There was nothing of Spock in this room.

The pipes suddenly shut off, and Jim zipped back into the main room to flick the kettle on and dig around in the (gratifyingly cluttered) cupboards for mugs and teabags. Strange: before Spock, he'd never really drunk tea, but even after they'd split up, he'd continued to make it and occasionally even drink it.

That was here. The house smelled like it was Spock's: tea permeated everything.

"If you wish to use the shower…"

He turned – and hastily turned back from the seriously-difficult-to-resist sight of Spock standing in the bathroom doorway, towel wrapped around his hips and dripping water. His libido, quite suddenly resurrected after over a year of being utterly comatose, began to cry pathetically and ineffectively slap his reasoning skills with all the strength and might of a four-year-old girl.

"Um, yeah, thanks," he stammered.

"There are towels in the cupboard under the sink."

He waited until the bedroom door clicked shut before darting in the bathroom and nearly slamming the door. It was a tiny room with a shower stall that was completely fogged up, and familiar shampoo and shower gel bottles on the shelf inside that still lingered in Jim's house despite the fact he didn't typically use them.

"No," he told his cock firmly. "No jacking it in Spock's bathroom."

When he emerged, redressed in a spare shirt and loose sweatpants that Spock had left on the side for him, the smell of fresh tea had pierced the main room and Jim's clothes were draped over a clothes rack in the bedroom doorway. Spock was sitting on the couch, legs curled up under himself in a contented lotus position, mug of tea in hand and attention fixed on the news reel that was discussing some bus crash in Argentina.

"Thanks," Jim said, dropping down onto the couch. "I feel much better. What's going on?"

"Thirteen dead, including an American ex-patriot," Spock said quietly.

"Oh," Jim glanced around. "So…did you move in here right after…?"

"Not immediately," Spock said. "I rented an apartment for three months beforehand, but decided to change locations after I was burgled six times in three months."

"Jesus!"

"I had nothing of value, merely windows to break."

"Still," Jim winced. Nobody burgled anybody else in Riverside, simply because half the population was armed and the entire population knew everyone else. It was just a dumbass career choice. "Do you get burgled here?"

"Occasionally, but not so often," Spock shrugged, gaze still fixed on the television.

"Good," Jim frowned. "You should probably proof this up a bit more; that..."

"Jim."

He stopped, brought up short by the flat interruption, and the television babbled in the gap for a moment before:

"In your letter, you mentioned feelings of inferiority because you no longer saw yourself as able to provide for me."

Jim's mouth went dry in a moment, the moisture leeching out of it until it resembled a desert.

"Was that true?"

"...Yeah," Jim croaked, ducking his head and scrubbing at his hair nervously. "I...yeah. Yeah, it was."

"...Why?"

Jim's face twisted. "Shit, Spock, I don't know. It's just...that's what I'm supposed to do, you know? If I could do things for you – your birthdays trips, vacations, just...spoil you, whatever, then...then..."

He swallowed and shook his head.

"I never...you know, I never thought about it until I wouldn't be able to do it anymore, after I got fired, but...Spock, you gotta understand that you are...way out of my league, you know? I'm a mechanic in the middle of nowhere, and you're a trilingual gonna-be lawyer, and...and I guess I thought if I could just...keep spoiling you and making you feel special, then..."

"Jim," Spock said quietly, "I did not need a vacation to know that you loved me."

Jim shrugged. "I dunno, Spock, I'm not...I'm not explaining it so good. Like...it wasn't even just that. I guess it's just a stupid guy thing – I'm supposed to look after you. I just felt like I was supposed to be able to give you anything you wanted, and like I should be able to spoil you, and..."

"You once...expressed it as a desire to feel useful."

"...Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's what it was," Jim could feel himself flushing. "You were just so brilliant and independent and capable. You didn't need me."

"I always needed you."

"What?"

Spock took a measured breath. "I am...unused to the ways and mannerisms of Americans. I am often uncomfortable with my colleagues. I am separated from my family, and have little in the way of contacts. With you, I did not recall any of my history or concerns. I was simply myself, and you loved me for that self."

The air had been sucked out of the room; Jim couldn't breathe for the lack of it.

"I did not need you to provide for me financially. I did not need regular vacations or celebrations. I needed you, and when everything changed, I did not understand."

Jim unfolded his tense limbs and shifted sideways on the narrow couch to peer at Spock's face.

"Early on," he said slowly. "I think I knew that. But...later? I don't know. Maybe I lost sight of that."

"Perhaps I let you."

"Maybe," Jim hedged, unwilling to begin to assign blame. "But I think I just needed to feel useful sometimes, you know? You remember how everything would be just...a little bit more okay if I was bringing you heat packs for your migraines, or...or when I had to drive you to work that couple weeks you broke your hand?"

"Yes."

"I just...I just need to be doing things for you sometimes," Jim said. "Well, needed to."

"You were about to recommend locking mechanisms for my home; I think it is safe to say that you still have that need."

The mood eased ever so slightly, and Jim cracked a smile and a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, okay, maybe I do," he admitted. "Maybe you could...indulge me sometimes? I dunno. Just...let me? Now and then?"

Spock did that thing, when he was calculating, somewhere behind the eyes, but Jim found that he didn't mind the stare – and eventually, it resulted in a quiet, "Perhaps."

"So. Where's those sci-fis you promised me?"

The DVD ran to credits, and Jim glanced at his watch.

"Whoa, shit. I'm meant to be checking out at six," he jumped up off the sofa and seized his clothes off the drying rack. "Um, do you mind if I return these next weekend?"

"No," Spock said, rising gracefully and turning off the television. "You are welcome to them."

"Thanks," Jim grinned, stuffing his feet clumsily into his sneakers.

"Have a safe journey," Spock offered, following him to the front door to see him out.

"Thanks," Jim said – and quite suddenly, without thinking, turned and kissed him.

It was as though they had never quit. It was as though they stood in the hall of Jim's house on a grey Iowan morning, and Jim was trying to kiss-talk Spock into staying home from work, even though they both knew the attempt would be futile. It was as though they were still them, and for a brief moment, Jim's soul returned to his body and settled warmly back in the middle of his heart.

Then he realised exactly what he was doing.

"Shit!" he stepped back hastily, breaking the kiss. "Oh my God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't – I didn't mean to! I just didn't think, and…and I'm so sorry, I swear, I'm not trying to…"

"Jim."

"I – what?"

"Be quiet."

And then a large, smooth hand slid around the back of Jim's neck, and Spock's lips were back on his, surprisingly soft and just a little chapped, the way they'd always been, like home territory that no matter how far you wandered, you always recalled perfectly – familiar and warm and brilliant…

There was a thump as Jim dropped the armful of clothes he held, and his hands hesitantly found their way to grasp at Spock's elbows and tug him just a hair closer.

"Spock…" he breathed into the seams of a wonderfully familiar mouth, and he felt the muscles twitch as Spock suppressed a smile.

"You have to check out of your hotel," Spock murmured. When Jim dared to open his eyes – hell, when had he closed them? – Spock's were closed. "You have work in the morning."

"Fuck work," Jim breathed, and chuckled almost like a shy teenager. "This is a bit more important."

"You have to go," Spock insisted quietly, still not tensing up or raising his voice. He was relaxed and languid, all the tension and unhappiness wrung out of him. This was the man that Jim had missed so badly.

"When I come back," Jim mumbled, "would you go out with me? Like, proper? On a date out?"

They were the exact words he'd said before – the babbling list of questions he'd put to an office intern in Iowa City in the middle of winter, nearly three weeks before Christmas all those years ago – and when Spock huffed a low, quiet laugh, he knew that they both remembered.

"Will you?" Jim prompted – as he had all those years ago, and Spock finally opened his eyes to stare at him with those dark, unfathomable depths.

"Yes."