Alejandro
AN: Inspired by "Alejandro" by Lady Gaga. I've been making quite the villain out of our Vulcan and I decided it was the Captain's turn.
Disclaimer: SSDD
Rating: T
He knew he couldn't do this anymore. He sighed and walked out, not knowing what to say. He had taken this a bit too far, and he tried to make himself regret what he had done, but there was just something inside of him that prevented such a thing. He didn't look back; he didn't need to. He could see the mess he was leaving behind in his mind, the image clear. Everyone reacted to betrayal the same way.
He just wished that his secret hadn't been found out.
Yet, he was grateful, even though he caused so much pain here tonight, that at least one person could see him for what he was and hopefully be able to move on from him. He really hoped that was the case.
He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and walked out, trying to ignore the voice behind him that finally sounded so weak.
He wouldn't be able to look back, afraid to pull that broken man back into a lie he couldn't escape from.
Somewhere, buried with everything else he's always tried to forget, where all his scars lay, he knew the person he was leaving behind loved him, something no one else in this entire world had ever expressed towards him. It made his heart twist, but he couldn't help that he couldn't return it, not in the way he should. By leaving tonight, he knew he was only doing what was the best, but he hid whatever love he could confess secretly with the man intently watching his back as he retreated.
He didn't want to admit it, but he had that man wrapped around his finger. Love always had that quality that made you so vulnerable. He tried again to make himself regret what he had done, but he couldn't, and he shook his head dejectedly, heading down the hall, punching the code in without thinking.
His best friend was sitting at his desk doing some paperwork when he came down on him, straddling his hips and locking their lips together. Bones didn't ask questions; he just seemed to know that something was wrong and just let go of the argument and protest in his head.
Jim couldn't get enough. His hands roamed under McCoy's shirt, feeling the heated skin under his palms and fingertips as his tongue wrestled with the doctor's, his breath coming short and ragged. He was desperate and angry and quickly pulled their shirts off, tossing them somewhere behind his friend, bringing his lips to that place where the jaw line meets the ear, but he remembers that it was Spock who was sensitive there and moves on, trying to focus, but he couldn't. McCoy's hands slide up along his back, causing him to shiver, goosebumps rising on his skin and he leaned in closer, pressing their bared chests together as their lips met a second time.
They made quick work of fully undressing, and soon Jim couldn't see anything but white and his let his mind shut down for a while, but when it was all over, his best friend told him what he was doing was wrong.
He knew it was true. He just didn't want to hear it.
He cleaned himself up as best he could without a shower and redressed, heading for the door. Bones called him back, but he couldn't hear it and he left.
He wandered the halls for a while after that, finally settling on the Observation Deck, not yet ready to return to his quarters even though the night was slowly dwindling and he would eventually run out of time.
He expected to be alone this late, but he was met with the unwelcome sound of heels echoing throughout the large room, reverberating off of the walls and his empty heart, and he turned to see Janice, her long blonde hair loose around her shoulders. She ran her hands up his arms, whispering endearments he couldn't listen to with the way he felt, and he told her that now wasn't a good time.
She leaned up and kissed him, her arms slipping around his neck, but he gently unwound her and backed away, still holding her wrists delicately in his calloused hands. She looked at him with a bewildered expression, eyes wide and beautiful. He only shook his head and released her. She studied him for a while, and with angry tears in her eyes, she turned around and walked away, leaving him alone again.
He spent the entire night there, staring out into nothing, unsure of what to do. He was starting to lose whatever tentative grasp he had on everything. He was losing everything, and at this point, he was going to have to make a decision. He had to choose what he was going to do before nothing was left.
He was shaking and was glad for once that he wasn't on Alpha shift. He finally retreated to his quarters, careful to avoid conversation. Knowing Spock was indeed on Alpha, and undoubtedly already on the Bridge, he stepped into the shower trying to wash off the horrid feeling that rested on his skin that made him feel unclean. He scrubbed his skin until it went red, and stood under the water until the shower automatically turned off, and he collapsed onto the floor of the stall, staring at the sterile walls, trying to make sense of all of this.
He sat back, feeling the controls of the shower digging into his back and he focused on that as he tried to ground himself. He was so angry with himself that he didn't know what to do, and he just stayed there.
He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but there was a knock on the door, and it startled him awake. He ran his hand over his face, and shivered, cold as the hot water on his skin and the steam in the room cooled his skin. He rapped his head against the wall behind him, the movement driving the controls further into his skin and he jumped forward, feeling the spot, checking for blood, but there was nothing and he pushed himself up, groaning as his muscles fought against the movement after having been stuck in such an uncomfortable position for so long.
He left the bathroom, ignoring the knock that came again and he checked the chronometer, seeing that he had barely a half an hour before his shift started. He pulled his clothes on and stepped out of the room, sparing a passing glance at the door he had walked through yesterday before his escapade. He held his hands clenched tight at his sides as he passed and continued on to the Bridge.
He fought the urge to keep looking over his shoulder because he knew Spock wasn't going to be there, and that was probably for the best now anyways. Somewhere along the line, he starting thinking about last night, and he felt so wicked about the way he left things. He had barely said anything, listening to the broken accusation and the pain he caused, but not denying the information, nor apologizing for it. Those dark eyes looked so betrayed as he stood there. Spock didn't say anything after that, and just looked at him, waiting for him to say something, but he didn't, he just left.
God.
And why, why, after everything, did he have to love him? Dammit, karma's a bitch.
He ran his fingers through his hair roughly, trying to ignore the passes Janice made at him during the shift. After a few denials, she gave up.
When the shift ended, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He paced in the hallway, knowing he looked completely out of his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for admittance, and he couldn't bring himself to just brush it off. He needed to do something about the guilt rising up inside of him.
He ended up falling against the wall in between their doors, sliding to the floor, slamming his fist onto the ground and biting his tongue to avoid shouting or screaming, or whatever it was that was rising in his throat.
He thought, sardonically, that now he was stuck on the other side of unrequited love, Spock's only revenge against the treason he had performed against him. He deserved this. And McCoy had been right about this from the start. He had said that he would only end up with too much to handle and no way of getting out. He was truly stuck and that was the worst feeling.
The door to his right slid open, and he fought the urge to look that way, even when his name was called. He was helped up onto his feet, and though he hid it well, he felt as if he were about to collapse again to the floor, his contempt for himself making his knees weak.
Spock asked him if he was alright. He scoffed, and though the gesture was directed at himself, Spock didn't see it that way. He looked upset, as upset as he would let himself look out here in the hallway, but Jim knew he was troubled.
He felt like he was on fire. His skin felt hot, too hot, and everything hurt. He broke away and headed for his door, but Spock followed him and followed inside. Spock's hands grabbed his wrists, and the blaze there deadened. He looked up with wide blue eyes, and tried to retract his arms.
He asked Spock to let him go when his own efforts failed. He said that he needed to burn from the inside out; it was the only way to fix this. But Spock told him that he didn't have to be a martyr. He smiled, though it was twisted. That was exactly what he needed to be. It was the only way to make right what he had done. He would try to burn it all of out of him, devastating everything in the hopes of starting over again.
But Spock wouldn't hear it. In something so uncharacteristic, he held him, cradled him against that fiery chest that killed the flames inside of him, putting them out to a weak puff of smoke that wound around his throat and brought tears to his eyes. He shakily drew his arms around the Vulcan, pulling them as close as possible and words choked him.
His broken voice whispered out an apology, holding Spock tightly. He said that he was sorry for what he had done. It had taken him a long time to admit, but it was better late than never. He was let go then, and let Spock take a step back, himself taking one in turn.
Jim said out loud, mustering as much conviction as he could, that he loved him. He was afraid that meant nothing now, but Spock's eyes softened and he felt that perhaps all wasn't lost.