AN: We're sorry it's late! We kind of got busy and lost track of time. But anyway enjoy!

Chapter 4

The next morning, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy joined their three guests for breakfast.

"Hey, guys," Kirk said, sitting down next to Dean. "Sleep well on your first night aboard the Enterprise?"

"Oh, we didn't have any trouble sleeping," Dean said. "Those mattresses are amazing."

"Only the best for guests on the Enterprise," Kirk said with a smile.

McCoy coughed.

"So what's the agenda for today, Captain?" Dean asked.

"You're going back to Engineering, Dean," Kirk answered. "And Spock, I was thinking you could take Sam and Cas and find out where their skills would be the most useful. Dean thinks Cas would do best in Communications or Science, but it's your call, Commander."

"Of course, Captain," Spock said, and he straightened slightly at Kirk's use of his title.

"I have bridge duty this morning, but I'll join you in Engineering this afternoon, Dean," Kirk added with a smile.

"Looking forward to it," Dean said, smiling back.

Spock stiffened and Cas wouldn't look up from the table. Sam and Bones sighed simultaneously and the doctor looked up at Sam, surprised. Dean and the captain could be such idiots sometimes.

When the silence started to become awkward, Sam coughed and said, "So. Um. Captain. I know this request is going to sound somewhat unconventional but do you have any, uh, guns or knives Dean and I could borrow?"

Kirk's eyes shot from Dean to his brother. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you see–" Sam started, but Dean cut in, giving Sam his patent I got this look.

"We'd feel more comfortable with weapons we know how to use. Not that we couldn't figure out how to use a phaser. Normally we're like walking armories, but we got zapped here while we were sleeping and all our weapons got left behind. I feel like I'm naked. If you wanna know our real skill set, put a gun or a knife in our hands."

"Ji– Captain," Spock said. "I would advise against giving them possession of weapons of any kind. They are–"

"Do you want us to help with the Klingons or not?" Dean interrupted, a little harshly. "You've got to trust us a little."

McCoy grunted. "That's a pretty tall order."

"We don't have weapons like that on board," Kirk said, ignoring McCoy's comment. "But I can probably get you phasers."

"Captain, I do not think–" Spock started, but Kirk cut him off.

"Spock. I know you've got your reasons for mistrusting these people. I even understand them. But honestly? Think about this logically. They already have the capability to destroy the ship and everything in it – and I got that from your own mouth, so don't you fucking deny it. If they were gonna kill us, they would have done it by now! A phaser or two isn't going to make a significant difference to their destructive capabilities as a unit—as individuals, yeah, which is why I'm inclined to give them a goddamn method to defend themselves if they get caught in a tight situation—but not as a unit. And if they were going to destroy the Enterprise or disable her crew – well, trust me," he said, letting out a little laugh, "they'd be doing it as a unit."

Spock's lips thinned. "Captain, I would still advise–"

But Jim was on a roll. "And don't you fucking 'Captain' me, Spock! We've been at this for months now – me trying to draw you closer, into the kind of rapport a command team needs, and you're always pushing me away! We need a relationship outside of our professional one – and you're the one who started the chess games, so don't you say you don't know it. You need to stop doing it – I mean, look at us! Months, and you're still the only person on the bridge who doesn't call me by my first name when we're off-duty—I mean, except for Uhura, but that's an inside joke, really—come on, Spock! One day and Dean's got a closer relationship with me than we've built in the entire time we've known each other–"

Jim was cut off by Spock abruptly standing and stepping away from the table. He was walking quickly to the door when he hesitated as if remembering something and turned back around.

"Forgive me, Cap– Jim," he said, bowing his head respectfully before turning on his heel and walking out of the mess hall so fast he was practically running.

They all sat in stunned silence for a few moments after he left.

McCoy was the first to break the silence. "Damn it, Jim. What did you do that for?"

"What?" Jim asked defensively.

"You should go after him," Dean said.

"Why?" Kirk asked, a little louder than was necessary. He unconsciously slumped a bit, hunching his shoulders defensively.

"Because," Dean said, waving his hands in a manner that was clearly intended to indicate some kind of emotion.

The captain raised his eyebrow slightly, but didn't smile.

"You should," Dean insisted. He gave Kirk a little push on the shoulder. "Go on."

"He's right, Jim," Leonard said. "Now get your ass out of that chair before I pull it out from under you."

"No," he replied, a little petulantly. "Not unless you can give me a good reason."

Sam sighed loudly.

"He needs you," Cas offered unexpectedly. "He has been emotionally compromised and requires both the authority of a captain and the support of a friend to ground him."

Jim turned to him, confusion creasing his features. "And why the hell is that? The whole problem's that he isn't feeling."

"I can assure you that he is," Castiel replied.

"How do you know?"

"Empathy is a strange sensation, isn't it?" Cas asked Sam, refusing to acknowledge Kirk's question directly.

"Do you have any idea what they're talking about?" Kirk asked Dean.

"Not a clue." Dean was avoiding having to explain – Sam could tell. He was wearing his I'm-maneuvering-out-of-chick-flick-territory face.

"Look guys, even if I knew why you want me to go after him I couldn't because I have to be on the bridge in five minutes," Kirk said. "Scotty will be expecting you in Engineering, Dean. I'll see you all later."

He left hurriedly, and Sam could tell from the way his eyebrows furrowed that Kirk was just as blind as he wanted to be.

...which was pretty damn blind.

Well, fuck.

The Bridge was subzero all through Alpha shift that day.

As Jim checked their ETA with Chekov for the third time in twenty minutes (it was still 2100 hours tomorrow, no matter how many times he asked), he noticed Spock shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

It was the first expression of, well, anything since Jim's little outburst at breakfast, and before he could think better of it, he jumped on the opportunity.

"Something to say, Commander Spock?" He kept his voice strictly professional, and Spock did not visibly react to his question.

"Negative, Captain."

Jim frowned. What was wrong with him, anyway? He hadn't said a thing all shift, even to report an anomaly in subspace readings that occurred almost an hour ago – and Jim knew it'd happened, because Uhura had called it out. Not before giving Spock the opportunity to do it first, though, because that was technically the Science Officer's duty.

He let it slide, for once. Somehow he sensed that Spock wouldn't do well with a confrontation, professional or otherwise, right about now.

The Bridge temperature hadn't lifted by the time his shift ended, so he was still distracted when he walked into Engineering.

"Captain," Dean greeted, saluting him with a smile that did funny things to his stomach.

"Hey, Dean." Dean seemed to sense that he was distracted, so they spent the time in Engineering mostly in silence.

Finally, Jim coughed awkwardly. They were each down to their waists in adjoining ventilation tubes, and their voices echoed as they talked. "Seriously, what's wrong with Spock?"

"Hey, I have a policy," Dean's voice answered. "No chick flick moments unless one of us is dying or drunk."

"Chick–"

"Sappy movie."

"Seriously, Dean? You're labeling this conversation 'sappy' in a lame attempt to avoid talking about your feelings?"

"Oh, you're one to talk."

Jim popped out of his tube, a little surprised. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the one who's acting all mopey instead of just talking to Spock."

"I'm not mopey," Jim grumbled.

"Whatever you say, man."

They ended up staying in Engineering until well after dinner, so they decided not to go down to the mess hall.

"Do you want to come have a drink with me in my quarters?" Jim asked.

Dean shrugged. "Sure. Can I tell Sammy first though? Don't want him to freak when I don't show up. Not that he usually does, but this is kind of a unique situation."

"Sure," Jim replied. "You can use my comm if you want to."

"Thanks," Dean said, accepting it out of his hand and flipping it open. He grinned at the chirping sound it made.

Jim shot him a sideways glance.

"I've always wanted to do this," he admitted a bit sheepishly. "Now..." He looked down at the device. "How do you work this exactly?"

Jim sighed dramatically, but couldn't help his mouth quirking up at the sides. "Just say your last name to his last name. So... Winchester to Winchester. It should open a connection to your rooms."

"But I'm not programmed in yet, am I?" Dean asked.

"I got you three in yesterday," he replied.

"Oh." There was an awkward pause. "Winchester to Winchester," he said into the comm unit.

"Sam here."

"I'm gonna go spend some time with the captain. Probably get drunk and shit. So don't freak when I don't show–"

He could hear Sam's snicker echo through the device. "Okay." He laughed again. "Stay safe, kids. Don't forget proper hygiene–"

Dean rolled his eyes, refusing to look at Jim. "You're a bitch, you know that, Sammy?"

"Like you're a jerk, Dean," came the predictable answer.

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't wait up for me, alright?" Dean flipped the comm closed and turned to Jim, gesturing for him to lead the way.

"Welcome to my humble abode," said Jim. He ducked his head awkwardly, a strangely nervous flicker of a smile flitting across his face. It made Dean's breath catch in his throat.

He cleared it. What was wrong with him? "Humble? This is the captain's quarters on a starship."

A slight blush rose to Jim's cheeks as he waved off the comment. "Yeah, but I'm still a regular guy. I don't ask for anything special in my quarters."

"Except for me, right?" Dean said with a wink.

He'd meant it as a joke, but Jim didn't seem to take it that way. He just looked at him for a moment and said, "Yeah. Except you."

Dean blinked.

Jim frowned.

"So," the captain said. "What d'ya like? I haven't got any real stuff in here – I usually sneak it from Bones or Scotty. I've programmed a subroutine into my replicator for the plainer alcoholic beverages—haven't figured out how to do the Saurian stuff yet, which is a shame—anyway, it always tastes a little off. The whiskey's decent, though." He shrugged.

"I'll just have whatever you're having," Dean answered.

"Alright," Jim said, turning to the replicator. When he turned back around with the drinks, Dean was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. "Go ahead and sit," he told him.

"Right. Thanks." Dean sat down on the couch. Jim sat next to him and handed Dean his drink. "So," Dean said, then hesitated for a second before continuing, "What's up with the Klingons? I mean, no offense, but that doesn't seem like the type of problem that would normally call for reinforcements from God."

Jim sighed and took a sip of his drink before answering. "You're right. It's not. But this isn't an ordinary Klingon problem."

"What, then?" Dean's eyebrows knit together – because honestly, he'd spent his entire childhood watching this guy do his thing (well, the parts not spent killing things, protecting Sammy, finding food, fucking girls, and getting as goddamned shitfaced as he could without being too out of it to be there if his baby brother needed him).

Jim shook his head, as if he were trying to clear it. "It's... it's Sam, you know?" And he sounded so fucking young that Dean's heart gave a painful little squeeze in his chest.

Then the words registered.

"What?"

"My brother," Jim clarified, not looking up from the drink he was swirling around in his glass. "The planet we're going to go check out—Deneva Prime—that's where he's stationed."

Dean couldn't help it. He got stuck on that first bit.

"Your brother's name is George."

The captain finally looked up. "Well, yeah, but his middle name's Samuel. After my dad died, I couldn't–" He stopped there, and had the audacity to look ashamed. His gaze seemed drawn to the floor.

"Oh, no," Dean half-laughed, reaching over to lift Jim's chin and make him look at him. "This guy here? The stunningly handsome one sitting right next to you?" Jim's mouth twitched up the tiniest bit. "He has the most unhealthy, fucking codependent relationship with his brother you can imagine. And I have watched him–" His voice hitched, but he soldiered on. "I have watched him die, go through things more terrible than you can fathom – hell, most of it was my fault, in the end. I mean, we made it through, but we have both gone through some literal hell – mostly for each other. You don't get to be ashamed for worrying the Klingons have your Sam."

Jim finally made eye contact. "Okay." He took a shaky breath. "Okay," he repeated more firmly, and Dean saw a resolution form in his eyes.

Dean nodded with almost military formality, retracting the hand he had just realized was still on the captain's face. "So."

"So," Jim echoed, and Dean wondered if he hadn't broken the guy. Ha – as if. Him, break the great James T. Kirk? He didn't think so.

Then Jim chugged his entire glass of whiskey, and he wasn't so sure. "So," he said again, much more loudly this time. "Do you know how to play 3-D chess?"

Dean groaned. "Is that the only way you know how to communicate?"

Tragically, he could not hold his ground against the patent Jim Kirk baby blues.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But only as long as you go easy on me."

Spock returned to his quarters that evening to find them not as peaceful as he had expected. One of his walls was emitting unpredictable bursts of noise.

"That's not going easy!" was one of the few complete sentences he managed to discern – this one registered as a high-pitched noise, not unlike a child's excited squeal.

Most of the sounds, however, were easily identifiable as borderline raucous bursts of laughter. After a few moments of listening, he recognized the voices as belonging to Jim and the 'visitor' known as Dean Winchester.

He felt a crack in his emotional repression that he would normally solve by meditating, but he could hear the source of his emotional turmoil from his room and he was unsure where else to go. Trying to ignore it as well as he could, he started to change out of his uniform.

But then he heard something come through the wall that cracked his armor even further.

"Check mate."

Dean and the captain were playing chess. It was an innocent enough thing to do, but it wounded Spock in ways even he didn't understand.

The night wore on and Spock could still hear Dean in Jim's room. From the sound of it, both men were clearly inebriated. And then, more horrifying and heartbreaking than anything he'd heard yet, he heard the unmistakable sounds of sex. This time his armor didn't just crack, it shattered.

Illogically, Spock covered his ears with his pillow—anything to drown out the sound—but it didn't work.

"Dean!" Kirk moaned. It was becoming too much to bear.

"God, Jim," Winchester panted. Spock curled into a ball at the sound of the captain's—his captain's—first name being spoken in such a manner. "I—holy shit, feels good—I've never—fucking hell, right there—never done this before–"

Spock couldn't hear what Jim said in response (it was too quiet), but suddenly he was at the door to the bathroom, his fists clenched so hard the tips of his fingers went white. One of the two men let out a wholly indecent groan, and Spock stopped himself from opening the door. This was – was – he should not be doing this. Jim (no, the captain) had every right to be–

He surprised himself with a growl. No, Jim did not have the right to be engaging in sexual intercourse. He did not, he could not, Spock would not let him–

But he was not Spock's to command.

Regulations, his mind insisted where it was floating somewhere off in the distance. Quote regulations, find a rule against it.

But there were none.

Helplessly, he retreated back to his bed and curled back into a ball. He didn't get any sleep that night.

The next morning, Dean woke to find the captain's sleeping face just inches from his. It startled him for a moment and then memories of the night before came flooding back.

"Oh, God," he groaned, rolling onto his back. "What've I done?"

He felt Jim stir, and flinched away from the feel of the captain's skin moving against him. They were both naked (though relatively clean – Dean vaguely remembered something about Jim and a washcloth from when he finally drifted off to sleep the night before), leaving no room for the hope that it had all been a dream.

"Hey," Jim murmured sleepily, scooting closer to plant a lazy kiss on Dean's lips.

Dean jerked away, scrambling out of the bed and falling flat on his ass on the floor. His ass, which was... oddly sore.

...fuck. He hadn't remembered they'd gotten that far.

Now he did.

And fuck him (well, don't) if it hadn't felt goddamned fucking awesome.

"Dean?" Jim said in surprise, sitting up and peering down at him. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied awkwardly. "I just–"

Dean groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. It didn't help that he was hungover and had one hell of a headache.

"Oh God," Jim said, standing. "You regret last night, don't you? This was a bad idea. We were both drunk and it's never a good idea when you're drunk–"

"It's not your fault," Dean interrupted, getting awkwardly to his feet. "It's just that I've never..." He pointedly avoided looking at Jim's conspicuously bare crotch, ignoring the blush sure to be reddening his face.

"Done it with a guy before?" Jim finished. "Yeah, I know."

"I'm straight," Dean said, telling himself as much as he was telling Jim. "I like women. I'm not gay."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Just because you like having sex with women doesn't mean you can't like having sex with men. There is a thing called bisexuality, you know. And in the modern age, pansexuality's even more common." He shrugged, seemingly sensing Dean's discomfort. "I'm pan," he offered.

Dean felt a little better. This was James T. Kirk, after all. If he was pansexual, there really couldn't be anything wrong with it – not that he'd thought so before, but he'd just never... considered any of it in relation to himself. "Does this – am I bi?"

Jim smiled gently. "Only you can say for sure. If I were to judge, I'd say so." He blushed, obviously recalling the night before. "But it's not my place to say."

Dean closed his eyes tightly. "I just – I need some time to think. Can I–" He motioned toward the bathroom. "I mean–"

"Sure," Jim replied easily. "I've got some painkillers in my desk when you're done."

"Thanks," Dean said, heading toward the door.

"Wait!" Jim called, catching his arm. "You don't regret it, do you? 'Cause I can back off, pretend it never happened if you want..." He trailed off, realizing he was babbling.

"I don't, really," Dean replied. "It was... educational."

Jim laughed.

"And fun," Dean added.

Jim smiled.

Dean turned away, grinning despite his headache. The bathroom door slid open at his approach, and he stepped inside.

He took a piss, washed up in the sink because that shower was damned confusing, and was about to return to Jim's room when the other bathroom door slid open and he found himself face-to-face with Spock. He was suddenly painfully aware of just how naked he still was. Spock's face was turning turning dark green to match Dean's bright red one and neither man said anything for a moment, both too stunned to speak.

Spock was the first one to break the awkward silence. "Excuse me," he muttered and retreated quickly back into his room. By the time he was gone, Dean was already almost tripping over himself to get back to Jim's room.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked when he saw Dean's face.

"I – I just–" Dean stuttered, staring wide-eyed at the man. How could he have forgotten? Jim was – well, not exactly taken, but definitely claimed.

"What?" Jim asked more insistently.

"I–" He still couldn't speak. "Damn it!" Dean shouted suddenly, slamming his hand onto Jim's table in an effort to dissipate some of the tension. "I'm so, so sorry, and this won't happen again, I promise. I'd totally forgotten, don't know how I managed to do that when Charlie's on about it all the time, I'll stay away from you, I swear, just tell him not to kill me and please, please go follow him right now, it's gotta be hurting like a bitch, you can't let him hurt like that, you have to go explain, tell him it was nothing–"

He was shocked silent by Jim's gentle kiss.

"What are you talking about?" The captain murmured as he pulled away from Dean's frozen form. He ran his hands up and down his arms, making Dean shiver. Blue eyes met green and Dean could feel his heart speeding up—he had to stop this, right fucking now, because damn, Spock was out there, hurting, and he was Commander fucking Spock, damn it, and him freaking out—because Dean knew he would—was unacceptable.

"Spock," Dean hissed at him, but it came out throatier than he'd intended.

Jim flinched and let his hands fall to his sides. "What about him?" He sounded as suspicious as Dean had ever heard him.

"He's – you're–" Dean suddenly stopped, obviously confused. "You're not?"

"We're not what?" Jim asked.

"You know…" Dean made the same hand gesture he'd tried yesterday.

Jim did not know.

"Together?" Dean squeaked.

"Together?" Jim repeated. "Me and Spock? No. What gave you that idea?"

"Nothing. Forget I even said anything. You know what? I've gotta go. Scotty's probably expecting me in Engineering soon," he said, picking his pants off the ground where they'd been thrown the night before.

"Dean, wait."

"Don't worry about it." Just because the captain didn't see it, didn't mean that Dean couldn't. They may not be a couple, but Spock clearly had feelings for Jim and he didn't want to get in the way of that. "I'll see you around."

"Dean–" But the door was already swishing shut behind him.