You guys. This chapter has 10,180 words. What the what?
Chapter Ten: In Vino Veritas
Jim stepped into the busy Sickbay still dazed by what had happened (both outside and inside his head) and consequently nearly tripped over several pieces of equipment. Also people. Thankfully, it was a wide room, despite the slightly claustrophobically low ceiling.
"You're here? On time? Today is officially backwards day."
Jim couldn't help but vigorously (yet silently) agree with Nurse Chapel's astonished declaration.
She was standing next to a bed where a middle-aged man looked rather green, and not in a pretty Vulcan way.
Hey, he really did have a thing for the colour green, didn't he? Jim rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand in an attempt to get back to the real world.
Didn't work.
"Dr McCoy is down there." Chapel nodded down the rows of beds at the other end of the long bright room. Jim squinted and, sure enough, recognized his friend talking to two other doctors.
"Thanks, Christine. You wanna join a group of us for dinner later?"
She seemed surprised to be asked, but shook her head with a smile. "I volunteered to help out here for a while. They have some pretty cool equipment."
Jim nodded; the action made his headache spike painfully, but he ignored it. "Well, have fun violently sticking hypos into people."
The patient gave him a vaguely terrified look and he heard Chapel's chuckles as he made his exit, which she tried to conceal by faking a coughing fit that fooled no one.
As Jim passed the miscellanea of patients in their beds (most of them asleep, although some were eating dinner and gave him shy nods in greeting) to get to McCoy, he realized that he recognized one of them. Not because he knew her face, but she had distinctively long brown hair and the last time he'd seen it it had been soaked in blood...
He hesitantly stopped before her bed. She was obviously sleeping, starch white sheets tucked up to her chin, but besides being kind of pale her vitals looked okay to his eyes. Not that Jim was a medical expert or anything, but you picked up some stuff when you were in Sickbay as often as he was (because his best friend was the CMO, of course...).
"She'll be fine."
Jim turned to McCoy with a relieved smile. "Yeah?"
"Plenty of tissue regeneration was required and she had a skull fracture, but no brain damage. Just bed rest for the next few days. And she said she'd actually listen to what the doctor recommended. Amazing what patients know to do these days."
"I'm glad to hear it." Jim smiled even wider and they started walking back to the entrance at the same time.
"You know this isn't a social visit, right?" McCoy said raising the medical case in his hand and then pointing at something in front of Jim. "That empty bed over there has your name on it."
"Hey, I came willingly, didn't I?"
"Right. Oh, Spock was here a couple of minutes ago, I think."
Jim froze in his tracks.
"Somethin' about a small burn on his hand. Why wasn't he with you? That girl from the other day came with him, Tara whatshername."
"Is he okay?"
McCoy glanced back and motioned for him to keep walking.
"I think so, yeah. There's this other doctor here, Dr M'Benga, who actually interned in Vulcan, although I have no idea how he got them to let him."
Jim nodded robotically. "Oh. That's good."
That was probably why he'd only used the one arm to hold him up...
"You feeling okay, Jim?"
"Uh... I..."
In a heady rush the images all came at him at the same time; the fall, the catch, Spock's arm wrapped around him and then Spock's body pressed against his own, the goosebumps on his neck that were still there from Spock's steaming breath, the way they'd suddenly drawn away and the air had gone ice-cold... the parting nod from his friend without a single word.
And then more, other times, other pictures; "I do not love you" and that adorable indignant little frown Spock got when he was adorably indignant, Spock's mouth closing over the fork with a piece of sugary pastry and Jim being unable to tear his gaze away from the sight, Spock touching him the few times he'd been forced to ignore his instinctive disregard for physical contact, Spock's eyes glinting in the light of a planet with three suns, Spock's body bent over his scanner back at the Enterprise and the way Jim's train of thought usually stuttered to a stop whenever that happened...
Very slowly, Jim shook his head, eyes wide and earnest.
To his indignation, his friend snorted with laughter and didn't seem to take Jim's utterly dismayed look too seriously.
"You look like someone hit you in the head. Hard. With a bat," McCoy said lightly, steering him toward the bed again.
"Well, that's more or less what happened," Jim confessed, mind still a whirlwind of mosaic-like memories.
The jovial mood vanished disturbingly quickly to be replaced by a scowl. "You'd better be joking, Jim."
"The bat was metaphorical."
"... Oh, that's good, then."
Hm. His tone was a bit off there. Jim narrowed his eyes at McCoy and frowned. Did the bastard know that Spock was hot?
And he hadn't told Jim?
"Sit down, Kirk."
Jim sat at the edge of the thin mattress, still squinting suspiciously.
"Bones?" he said finally while McCoy rummaged around his case for a medical tricorder.
"Yes?"
"You know I like Spock, don't you?"
What? Jim wasn't a complete idiot, despite what recent events might seem to indicate.
"Of course. I like him too."
There was a frozen second when Jim almost died from a sudden and brutal anxiety attack before he heard McCoy continue.
"Not that I'd ever tell that damn elf, but everyone likes Spock, Jim."
He'd found the tricorder and began scanning Jim's torso with it.
"Right. Well, yes. But… I… I like Spock…" it sounded like the beginning of a sentence, but the moment he started it Jim realized that he wasn't quite ready to end it because he didn't know how to yet, and the pause just kept growing, longer and longer until saying anything else would have been weird, and so he just let the incomplete phrase hang there like some sort of half-finished thing that he prayed Bones would understand.
"… I thought we'd established that."
A curious light in the doctor's eye told Jim that his friend was being deliberately dense, maybe to ensure Jim meant what McCoy thought he meant, and not to just suddenly prompt a premature revelation that led to the inevitable panic attack.
But Jim had that part covered. He'd already had two.
"Bones. I mean that I like like Spock. As in, wouldn't mind seeing naked—"
"Okay, okay, I get it! Please stop now!"
Sensing an opportunity for perfectly justified revenge, Jim kept talking.
"In the shower—"
"Don't be revolting," McCoy hissed, his face a mask of agonised torment.
"All steamy and wet, water dripping down his hair and pointy ears…"
Ah. Um. Yes, well, maybe he should stop.
"There will be a special hell for you and your people."
"My 'people'?" Jim shook with laughter, careful not to be too loud (two people were asleep in the adjacent beds). "That's great. It's probably gonna be the coolest, awesomest—"
"No such word."
"Shut up, it's a word. Awesomest hell ever. I wonder what yours will be like…?"
McCoy squinted at the results from his scan and his brow cleared. "This is my hell," he muttered absent-mindedly. Jim chuckled, feeling cheered. "Your healing looks good, Jim."
"'Course it does. I said I'd be a good boy."
This earned him an eye-roll. "Yeah yeah, all right. Listen, I'm not coming up to dinner today; Uhura called to ask if I wanted to join but there's too much work here."
"Okay. Don't worry about it."
McCoy shot him a sideways glance and a smirk. "… So you like like Spock, huh?"
Jim gulped, completely thrown by how much of a fifteen-year-old girl he was probably being. "Eh… yes, well, it's a temporary thing."
"Is it now?"
Yes. It had to be. He'd already decided that he wasn't going to do the pining thing; he was going to move on. He wasn't about to even consider any other option. And… maybe if he said the words enough times they would become true? He certainly hoped so.
"Yeah, totally. I mean, can you imagine if I let this go on? With the trial and everything… not to mention trying to run the Enterprise with a ridiculous man-crush on my First Officer. Shit's confusing enough as it is, I don't need more complications."
"Yes, because this sort of thing is completely under your control, obviously."
"Right! Thank you, Bones!" He sighed in relief and leapt off the bed. "I feel way better after talking about it, actually."
The doctor smacked an open palm over his face in exasperation, and spoke in a muffled voice. "You're actually going to…? Oh, forget it."
"What was that?"
"Nothin'. Go eat some dinner."
"That's the plan. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah. See ya."
They exchanged gruff and manly pats on the shoulder and Jim left.
Unfortunately his slightly improved mood had vanished about four seconds after stepping outside the Sickbay. Not only did walking into the corridor remind him of the events that had transpired there mere minutes ago, but the prospect of actually facing Spock again within the next few minutes was suddenly very daunting.
Would they act as though it had never happened? Was that even an option? Would Spock explain why he hadn't said a word to Jim after? Would Jim be able to hide this newfound appreciation for the curve of Spock's… ears?
By the time the doors of the turbolift opened onto the deck Jim couldn't deny that he was nervous. Very nervous. So nervous it was almost showing.
His pace was normal and confident as always, but there was no heart behind that fake self-assurance, and the instant he spotted Spock's profile standing next to the door of Room 14 he stopped even trying.
Jim's steps slowed as he took in the sight of his First Officer's gleaming features. Spock really was beautiful. He was a mix of softness; in his lips and the careful grace of his movements, and strength; the undeniably masculine jaw, prominent nose and piercing dark eyes.
The hunger in his chest unfurled again without his permission, making his heartbeat stutter erratically and a strange fluttering sensation settle in his stomach...
Wait.
Fluttering... like butterflies?
Oh God.
"Hey Spock!" he called with forced cheer.
Spock's stance didn't change, and nor did his expression, but something about the way he looked at Jim seemed to tighten further, to compress and contract.
"Captain." Spock's serious face was too difficult to decypher, and his deep voice was low and controlled. "It is... fortuitous to encounter you here."
In spite of himself and of the ringing in his ears, Jim couldn't help but smirk at that. "Fortuitous? We said we'd meet here. Stop being pretentious."
The meticulously guarded grip on Spock's emotions might have relaxed the tiniest bit as he stepped toward his Captain.
"It was not my intention to sound... I was not being 'pretentious'."
"Yes you were. You were very good at it." He resisted the urge to nudge Spock on the shoulder and winked at him instead. "Shall we go in?"
"Very well."
They walked into the cafeteria just as a couple was exiting, so Spock immediately stepped back to avoid any contact.
"Hey, listen—"
But the words died in his throat as it was then that Jim remembered something vitally important, something that, in his less-than-alert state, he'd somehow managed to forget. Something that changed everything.
Spock was a touch telepath.
He knew.
He must know that Jim had felt... he must have realized what Jim had felt and obviously been disgusted, or sad or even afraid, but he was too polite to mention it and that was why he hadn't said anything. Spock had probably expected it even less than Jim had. Oh, this was even worse than that time when he'd been locked in a cramped Jeffries tube for nine hours with the oxygen supply slowly dwindling...
"Yes, Jim?"
Should he ask him? No, of course he shouldn't. That would either be the emotionally healthy thing to do or what Jim considered a more likely option: suicide.
"I, uh, Bones said you hurt your hand. You okay?" He spoke over his shoulder as he led the way to an empty table large enough for when the others got there. Distantly, he was glad to note that even in the crowded room, they were mostly ignored now. People were getting used to the novelty.
"A second-degree electrical burn. Not damaging or in any other way restricting my dexterity."
Ah, yes, that... was not a good word, nor was it a mental image he needed to be having when Spock was a foot away. Behind him. Jim futilely tried to block it, then to ignore the thought by sheer pig-headed tenacity, but it was impossible; like someone saying 'purple elephant'. You try not to think of the damn purple elephant.
"It merely required some tissue-regeneration."
"Well, I'm glad to hear it."
When Spock sat down facing him, Jim couldn't help his eyes straying to said hand, equal parts worry about his First being in pain and, well, Spock's long, dexterous fingers. But there was no scarring that he could see, and... he knew better than to try and touch Spock anymore.
It was a thought that left him curiously bereft, this notion that those easy days were over. He would need to watch himself constantly from now on; no more traces of hot skin against his own...
With yet another mental shove, Jim focused. All right, he would need to seriously consider whether this new awareness of Spock's existence was going to be a problem. His resolve to have it pass as soon as possible strengthened.
"I have to admit that I'm surprised you decided to go to Sickbay, though. Bones practically has to drag you by your hair to get you down there when we're on the ship."
Spock shot him a look. "It was not my initial intention, however, the team insisted a visit to the Hospital Bay was necessary and Miss Dalle offered to accompany me."
They were getting dangerously close to broaching the topic...
"That is why I was there when we—"
"I'm sorry I ran into you."
"—met."
There was a tense silence, and then Jim resolved to sort this out now that he had the chance.
"I know that as a touch telepath it's very uncomfortable for you to, well, touch people. And I'm sorry."
Spock tilted his head to the side slightly. The tendons of his neck stretched and Jim found his eyes riveted to the sight. What was wrong with him? This couldn't be normal. It was as though now that he knew he couldn't touch Spock the urge was ten times stronger. Oh yes, very mature, Kirk.
"Apologies are unnecessary. Your Human coordination was not sufficient for you to foresee the possible accident."
"Oy, I'm perfectly coordinated. But seriously," Jim Kirk was nothing if not very brave. Or very stubborn. One of the two, definitely, "getting all those impressions... of people's emotions... that must suck, right?"
A single line of confusion appeared on Spock's brow. Clearly he wasn't on the same wavelength as Jim as to the subtext of this conversation.
"While physical contact is preferably to be avoided, I assure you my mental shields are sufficient to ensure I do not read other's minds, Jim. We have discussed this before."
"Yes, but... are you absolutely, positively sure?"
Spock still seemed puzzled and Jim gave up trying to be subtle about it; it had never been his thing, anyway. "You didn't get an impression of me... nothing?"
There was a pause, longer than usual. Jim's gut clenched in dread. "No," Spock replied finally. "I was occupied by other thoughts of my own."
Phew. Either Spock was a brilliant actor and a Class A liar or he was simply telling the truth, and Jim was inclined to believe the second option. He could see the plain sincerity in those gorgeous obsidian eyes.
Oh, there he went again.
"Great. So where's Uhura and the rest?"
"Late, I presume. If you are in need of food, you may consume..."
"Nah, we should wait for them. I think I can last another five minutes without collapsing on the floor."
Spock was unimpressed by this idea, clearly, even though it had been a joke. Jim grinned widely at him.
"Hey, I met another Vulcan today."
At that Spock's eyebrows rose marginally in surprise, although he was clearly humouring Jim on the sudden change of subject. "A Starfleet officer?"
"Nope. A journalist."
The distaste in his First's expression was almost comical, and Jim was happy to revel in a moment of lightness.
"Yeah that's more or less what I thought too."
Spock collected himself with his usual speed. "You cannot know my thoughts," he said firmly. Jim thought it was a bit strange that he'd chosen that particular point to latch onto.
"... 'Course not. I was just saying. I mean, I was just trying to agree with you."
"I understand," Spock replied smoothly, a hint of apology in those dark eyes. Jim smiled at him exasperatedly.
"It's okay. He seemed nice, though. Not that it's easy to tell with you people. For all I know you hate my guts, you're just very good at hiding it," he teased.
"I believe a list of evidence might suggest otherwise, Captain," Spock pointed out. Jim felt his jaw drop and his stomach lurch, unable to believe The List of Doom had been mentioned. Why had he been so worried about being around Spock again? It was brilliant, he actually felt great; happiness expanding his chest so much he felt about to choke on it...
Oh, right. That was why.
He ran a hand through his hair and ducked his head, suddenly unable to meet Spock's eyes.
"Well, who am I to argue against the evidence?" he said, hoping it didn't come out as flustered (he wasn't willing to contemplate the possibility of a blush, that was just embarrassing).
"There you are!"
Scotty and Uhura were making their way to the table with loaded trays.
"So much for waiting for you guys to eat. Sulu and Chekov not here yet?" Jim stood to get some food too, suddenly starving, and Spock copied him.
"They'll be here in a few minutes," Uhura replied, sitting down. "They said to go ahead and start. It's pretty late."
The four of them were about halfway through the meal when Sulu finally arrived, followed by Chekov a couple of minutes later. Apparently, they'd been in Deck 19 trying out some flight-simulator techniques and gotten distracted, something Jim could totally understand.
While Spock's presence remained in Jim's mind for the entire time, he was able to let the conversation distract him pleasantly. He got to tease Scotty about not wanting to leave the Enterprise that first couple of days, which was fun. The topic of the trial thankfully went unmentioned and so, while he never forgot about it properly, it became simpler not to think of it. Even after they were done and the group walked companionably toward their assigned quarters everything was starting to feel more normal, although everyone expressed their regret that McCoy wasn't there to join them.
"Well, this was fun but I'm super tired. Goodnight, everyone." Uhura waved, typing in the code to her quarters. The door swished open and Jim gaped; they were at least twice the size of his and the open bathroom door revealed an antique tub.
"Hey, wait a second! How come your room is so awesome?"
She winked at him and twirled. "This stupid dress had to be of use sometime, right?"
Jim gasped in mock horror. "With great looks come great responsibility, Uhura..."
"Oh, shut up," she chortled, and the door swished shut in his face.
"She always does that," Jim grumbled. Spock was looking at him funny. "What?"
"You do not have a tub?"
"I have a sonic shower, like everyone else," Jim said. Then he realized what the question implied. "Wait, you also have a tub? Like in the old days when they'd waste all that water?" Spock merely blinked, but it was enough. Jim groaned. "Life is so unfair!"
"Aye aye, Captain," Chekov lamented.
"And our rooms are connected, too. Karma hates me, doesn't it? Unless you also used your amazing looks to seduce Barnett's secretary?"
Oops. A rather stunned silence followed Jim's words, but through pure desperation he managed to keep smiling.
"Which one is it, Spock?"
"I think karma is probably the best guess," Sulu said, voice a bit higher than normal, as though he was fighting the urge to laugh. Scotty was staring into space with possibly no idea of what was going on, but Chekov's eyes were round as saucers.
Spock merely looked disbelieving. "Perhaps it is time to retire to sleep, Captain. Tomorrow we are expected to wake early."
"Yeah, all right, we should be getting back." They were staying at a different part of the deck than the rest of the crew, of course. "See you guys."
A chorus of bye's and the other three started down the long corridor, each to his own room. Jim and Spock's section of the living quarters was only accessible through a sideways turbolift ride, so they stopped in front of the first one they saw and waited.
Normally, Jim would have no trouble starting up a conversation, or even remaining in companionable silence, but now he was finding it difficult to maintain either. It was the damn purple elephant again.
The headstrong part of him that didn't believe in no-win scenarios refused to give up, of course. This was all his fault, so he had to at least try to fix it. He turned to Spock determinedly, with every intention of trying to open with a joke...
And the words died in his throat.
Spock looked very tired. Jim had gotten this impression once before already, the night they'd played chess, and just like this time there was no evidence to help support his claim, but he was also convinced that he was right. For some reason that Spock didn't want him to know, the same reason he'd apologized to Jim for his 'personal issues' outside the corridor to Moss's office only two days ago, he was exhausted.
"Spock..." he began, with no idea on how to continue. Well, he knew he meant to offer his help, of course, but Spock probably didn't need his curious Human friend poking into his personal life right at this moment. Especially not if said Human friend was having some difficulty handling some problems of his own, namely problems that had to do with the appeal of the aforementioned Spock, who was now looking at him and waiting.
"Nothing. Sorry, let's just get some sleep."
Anyway it wasn't in Spock's nature to need Jim to lean on or anything. In fact, Spock didn't even do things like lean against furniture or various other surfaces. It would look... strange.
Or maybe somewhat interesting. Suddenly the image of a dimly lit corridor and Spock, eyes as dark and impenetrable as always, appeared unbidden in his mind. There would be nothing casual about his pose, of course, just the usual languid grace this gravity gave him, and maybe at the most a hint of weariness in the set of his shoulders, or the tilt of his dark head. Arms crossed and back curved slightly, one leg bent for support.
Shadows would cast his shape in relief against the white wall and obscure one side of his face, leaving the other half for Jim to stare, to keep for himself, to revel in, the strength of his jaw and the line that went from tip of his ear down to his neck...
It was a few moments later, still waiting for the lift, that Jim snapped out of his reverie under the distinct impression that he'd just gotten turned on by the image of Spock leaning.
And that was when he decided, quite firmly, that he needed to get laid. What sort of sex-depraved creep started having thoughts like these when he suspected that his best friend was troubled?
Poor Spock was just the ignorant victim of Jim's crazy libido. And he wasn't going to let it ruin this. What they had, their jobs and their friendship, was too important for his stupid sex-drive to tear them apart. In fact, he wasn't going to let this weird magnetism attraction thing grow, or even continue. He was going to fight it every step of the way, and he was going to win, dammit, because there was no way he would let it matter. He had to turn it off. He had to get rid of it right now.
"I think I'll head off to the bar before going to bed," he said casually. Spock turned to regard him without offering a response.
"I just need some..." alcohol "...alone time, I guess."
"It is unlikely you will be left entirely alone, Jim. You have a tendency to attract... attention."
Well, that was the plan. Jim forced a smile. "I think I can handle it. Don't you worry."
The lift finally arrived and the Vulcan stepped inside.
"Spock..."
Spock turned around expectantly. Looking at him now, his First Officer as a gentle, innocent soul that needed to be protected from Jim, the big bad wolf, would really be a hilarious notion if it wasn't mortifyingly close to the truth (at least to the slightly strange version of the truth, that was actually quite far from the real truth, that Jim thought he knew).
"Goodnight."
Spock's eyes warmed and Jim forcefully ignored the pleasant shudder that travelled down his spine at the sight. "Goodnight, Jim."
x
Oh and, and... and, as far as Jim knew Spock didn't even like men! It was like so totally out of the fucking question. Nothing could ever, ever happen between them. Ever. Obviously the universe was a conspiratorial hater who didn't want Jim to have really hot sex with Spock. Yes. Clearly the universe blew, big time.
So really his plan to work on not thinking about Spock seemed to be heading toward a great big epic fail, but really... really, Spock was too hot to just be into girls! Right? Or, his clothes were too tight. Or it was the eyebrows. Possibly his super sexy mouth could not only be meant for kissing Uhuras on transporter pads right in front of poor, stunned Jims who had totally not expected that to happen ever?
All in all, it was a good thing that so far he'd been left well enough alone (he suspected because his I-am-having-a-self-pity-fest vibes created a lovely aversion field); he wasn't even very drunk, it was just that... God, thinking of Spock sucked so bad. It was like, fucking painful. Like someone sweetly digging a rusted nail into his eyeball.
Ouch. Way to go for macabre there.
Jim glared at the drink in his hand and tried to will himself to think of something else. Really, anything else. Please?
It was a pathetically weak attempt and it wouldn't work; even he could tell. Spock was just too hot and way too probably heterosexual for him.
Sigh.
"... because of my age! Dammit, it's so annoying when some old geezer thinks he's seen it all and therefore my opinions are automatically invalid. Experience isn't everything, you know. It takes a bit of brains too, and guts."
Huh? That sounded weirdly like something he would say.
Jim looked up from the shiny stainless-steel counter of the bar and attempted to identify the source of the oddly familiar speech. Multi-coloured lighting, sparkling drinks and varying degrees of eccentric civilian clothing made him fleetingly wonder whether a rainbow had exploded in there when his back had been turned (see: hunched over the bar wallowing). Good thing it wasn't too bright or someone would be having an epileptic fit soon.
The place was pretty busy, it being a Saturday night, so he had to crane his neck around to try and see.
"Who else would have even dreamed of taking on this case? It's practically suicide, don't think I don't know it."
"No one, Ari... we know."
The music pumping from the speakers was too low to confuse that nickname, and Jim's gut clenched in irrational and misdirected anger. Well, only slightly misdirected.
He had them a second later, a group of four people who'd just entered the place. It was Areel Shaw and three of her friends.
"... Yeah. So when I ask for a little respect it's not like..." she faltered when their eyes met. Jim stared at her, daring and possibly a little frightening also, but her eyes wrenched away and she seemed to focus very hard on staring forward as she walked by, then passed him...
"You really need to stop pretending I don't exist," Jim said loudly. She froze in her tracks with her back to him.
"I mean, come on." He lowered his voice, knowing it would be bad to cause a scene and also knowing she'd hang onto every word. "Not even a 'hello, my name's Areel and you're getting drunk because of me right now'?"
The three who were with her seemed ready to beat Jim into a pulp, which he definitely wasn't looking forward to, but she shook her head at them.
"I'll be there in a second," he heard her say firmly. "He's doing it on purpose, to try and see if he can discredit me. Just let me handle this."
A few reluctant nods and some more murderous glares later, they were alone (at least relatively).
"What do you want, Kirk?"
"Such a vague question," Jim said, secretly thinking he wanted to be able to say 'I don't like Spock' and not be lying.
He took another long drink. "How about an evening alone with an Orion girl? Nope, wait, been there, done that. Um... the... Moon?"
For some reason this made her giggle. Jim turned to look at the woman properly for the first time and surprised himself by realising that she was probably a very nice person in real life.
"You try so hard to sound like an idiot," she said finally, her eyes still shining with laughter. "Don't get me wrong, you succeed with flying colours, but really, Kirk... 'done that?'"
And what was even more surprising... he smiled back at her, and suddenly there was a weird feeling of camaraderie between them and he had to fight the urge to explain that he really hadn't meant the stupid comment at all, and that he'd known an Orion girl who'd died and he felt terrible for how he'd treated her.
"All of this isn't because I..." 'rejected' had too many syllables, and despite his mostly even clarity of mind Jim was really starting to feel the numbness in his tongue. "...spurned your advances, is it?"
"Spurned...? Wait, my advances...?" She seemed torn between laughing again and being really annoyed. "I asked you for one dance, if I recall correctly... are you..? You're kidding, right?"
"Nope. Many women have been unable to handle me saying 'no' to them," he informed her, deadpan. Of course now he was kidding, which thankfully Areel understood.
"You said 'no' often, then?" She asked with a smirk that told Jim she already knew the answer. He chuckled quietly and landed a clumsy arm on her shoulder (good thing too; he had sucky aim when he was drunk, something Uhura could probably atest to).
"You know, if your job wasn't to destroy my career and separate me from my best friend I think I'd quite like you," he informed her philosophically.
At this, however, the playfulness in the young woman's eyes left and Areel's head dropped with a sigh. "Look, it's really nothing personal, you know. I could care less about..." she started to smirk again. "...I mean, that you thought that because you wouldn't dance with me once it would turn me into this vengeful scorned woman—"
"Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned by James Kirk in favour of his First Officer," Jim said wisely.
Areel raised a brow in a horribly bad impression of Spock.
"That a confession, Kirk?"
"No way. Plus I'm pretty sure that batting your lashes at me and using your feminine charms doesn't count, no matter how hot you are."
The hand that was still resting on her shoulder was then gingerly removed with an eye-roll (in Jim's defense he'd honestly forgotten it was there).
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Areel warned.
"Oh it's not flattery. I do it too, and it works, like, ninety-eight point six two four three percent of the time."
She laughed again. "Has anyone ever told you you're incredibly conceited?"
"I'm just realistically aware of my effect on people," Jim said with a grin and another gulp that burned his throat.
"Very aware, I can see." She smiled and pretended to narrow her eyes and size him up. "You're pretty, Kirk, but you're not that pretty."
A challenge! Let it not be said that the Captain of the Enterprise would ignore (look for, deliberately provoke, often imagine it had been issued) a challenge.
Jim slid off his stool and steadied himself against the bar, somehow retaining his grace in doing so. Then he slowly turned to Areel to give her his best piercing gaze. Now Jim did not know this per se but the look that came so naturally to him was a lethal combination of 'I'm bored but my big blue eyes are eating you up from under my lashes' and 'You want to jump me right now and I know it. I'm okay with it, too.'
"Yes I am," he murmured in a deep, ragged voice.
Areel rolled her eyes again but her cheeks were unmistakeably flushed. "Oh, fine. You win."
"Thank you," Jim acknowledged with a satisfied nod, and then proceeded to try and get back on said bar stood while battling gravity at the same time. His legs definitely felt a little unsteady.
"So listen, we probably won't get another chance to talk like this..." she began hesitantly.
Jim frowned, knowing it was true, and motioned for her to continue.
"And for what it's worth, I'd just like to say..." Areel stuck out her hand. "Good luck."
He shook it. "Thanks. I... know it's not your fault. S'not fair of me to blame you for what's going on."
She patted his broad shoulder and shrugged. "Hey, so you're having a bit of a transference thing going on. I get it. If it had happened to me I'd probably be passed out on the floor by now."
"Liar." Jim pointed a mock accusatory finger at her. "You're one of those people who remain sober the entire night and take note of everything that happens so that they can torture their friends the next morning."
More laughter. "Seriously, it's a real pity we can't be friends."
"Yeah, it is."
"Well... bye."
With a sad smile she waved at him and started to walk away.
"I'm sorry," he called out.
"It's... forget about it."
Jim nodded and decided he had already bypassed the pleasant buzz stage a while back; he might as well keep going. It would have all been so much easier if Areel had been a horrible, stuck-up bitch that he could hate on sight. Instead she was pretty funny, definitely very smart and probably a goody-two-shoes who took impossible-seeming cases to fight the system without caring what they'd do to her reputation. Which made her reckless, too. Although, Jim reflected morbidly, if she won (and there was a chance she would, of course there was), she'd become the most famous prosecutor in the Federation. And that meant she was ambitious, or at least very brave.
She kind of reminded him of himself, in fact; a politer, neater, female version. Maybe with less gaping quantities of stupid. Areel wasn't attracted to her best friend who she definitely wasn't allowed to be attracted to, for sure.
Nope, that was aaaaaall Jim.
"Well, well. What have we here?"
Jim blinked owlishly at the woman who'd just perched herself on the barstool next to his in an agile little leap.
"Mara?"
"Princess Kali of Cybelon II, actually."
She was wearing a short black skirt and a tight blue tank top, like a weirdly sexy version of the science uniform.
"You're not funny," he grumbled, motioning to the bartender for another drink. He was definitely getting drunk now. Or, uh, drunk-er.
"Sure I am," Mara said lightly. "You're not funny."
"What do you want?"
She put a hand over her mouth. "Why, Captain Kirk... what are you offering?"
Jim felt his headache spike sharply at the thought of her using that same coquettish tone with Spock. And then he had to remind himself that that was a stupid, stupid notion because he had no right to be concerned or protective or whatever the fuck it was that made his stomach churn with anger at the thought of a woman (any woman) trying to get close to his First Officer that way.
The next drink went down in one.
"Aw come on, Kirk. Whatever have I done to you?" She moved in a little closer, a daring look in her eye. "Besides keep your Spock a little longer than I should have?"
Jim had grown up by a very shaky (and often non-existent) reference for a moral code, yet it had been there. If he wished to, he usually found smart ways of bypassing said code, or otherwise using it in his favour, but he'd never before found himself wanting to tell morality to go screw itself.
In other words, pulling pigtails was one thing, but he'd never before wanted to actually hit a girl.
He ended up settling for grinding his teeth, of course, because Mara was petite and pretty and not as mean as she seemed because she didn't know about his awful, awful twisted desire to grab Spock by his perfectly-cut hair and-
"Seriously Mara. I'd just rather be alone right now."
"Nah, I don't think you would." This time she genuinely looked kind. "And I don't either, so how's about we keep each other company, yes?"
Jim sighed tiredly. "Will it make a difference if I say 'no'?"
"Look, I was never really gonna try and fuck your imaginary boyfriend."
The indignant splutter and consequent coughing fit were cut off by Mara's authoritative tone.
"And spare me your little excuses. I mean, you say you're not together? Fine, whatever, but don't tell me you're not dying for a piece of that ass because that is just some unrealistic bullshit right there—"
"Shut up!" Jim whispered frantically. "Shut up, it's not..." And then he had an idea. "Okay, fine, who isn't dying for a piece of that... who wouldn't? But please be quiet."
For added effect he looked around him, but not many people were within earshot and those who were didn't seem to be paying any attention to the pair.
"So you admit it then?" Mara said with wide eyes.
Jim shrugged nonchalantly and thought that the level of alertness and caution required for this conversation was way too high given the amount of alcohol he'd ingested. "Sure. But it's not like that. He's a friend first."
"Oh." She was clearly still suspicious, but Jim hoped she'd end up buying it. "I understand."
"Still wanna commiserate together, then?" he asked, lowering his voice to an intimate invitation without even knowing what he was saying. Then he realized his hand was brushing her thigh. Oh well, he'd decided it would do him some good to fool around with someone, right? The fact that he felt like curling up in shame for doing this was irrelevant. No one would care if he slept with Mara. No one.
Certainly not Spock, anyway.
Mara cocked her head to the side and looked at him with a calculating gleam in her eye, as though this was a game and she was deciding whether or not to play.
"... Yeah, all right," she said finally, with the tone of a girl who knew exactly what his intentions were.
Some time (and a few more drinks) later they left the bar, but Mara was still wearing the same, strange expression of amused incredulity. When she took his hand and keyed open a room that turned out to be a storage closet Jim tugged her arm and kissed her, sinking a hand into her jet-black hair.
A moment later she pulled away to whisper; "Who do you think about when you do that?"
Jim was immediately stunned into stillness.
"... Did I say something wrong?"
"You love messing with my head, don't you?" he accused, knowing his voice sounded slurred.
"Yes," Mara said. "Because you're so dumb."
"You're mean."
"Maybe. Or just very perceptive."
"M'money's on both," Jim mumbled, angry. He felt awful, really, like this was a betrayal or something. But a betrayal of who? Spock. Wouldn't. Care.
Dammit. Then why did Jim?
She kissed him again, standing on tip-toe to twine her fingers in his hair and yank him down, and Jim tried to forget, he honestly tried as best as he could to just let go... he used to be so good at this sort of stuff.
It was probably a bad thing, and he shouldn't be wishing he could somehow get that ability back.
She gave a little moan as he kissed her neck without much finesse. "Kirk..."
"Jim," he snapped almost immediately. "Say 'Jim'."
"Jim..."
But she said it wrong; it didn't sound like a precious gift when the word escaped Mara's lips, it didn't sound special at all.
He pressed his body against hers, trapping her between himself and the shelves, feeling off-balance and clumsy and almost sure that the room was spinning on purpose (...wait).
"So if I were to slip my hand between your legs...?" he heard himself say.
Mara gave a sharp intake of breath, chest heaving. "Well then..." she whispered. "I'd think you're even stupider than you look."
Her eyes locked with his suddenly, unexpectedly, and Jim's confused brain was too slow to react and before he could stop himself he thought: black, darker than Spock's, unless he was angry which was how Jim could tell; because they became intense and piercing and...
"But I'd let you."
He was tempted. Oh, yes, very tempted, and it had been so long... but in the end he couldn't. Wretched misery made him push her away and think 'This is not what I'm like anymore. This was never what I'm really like.'
"No."
Jim shook his head even though it made the floor lurch under his feet.
"I'm sorry... no. I've gotta go."
The worst thing was the look she gave him. No anger, not even frustration. Just pity with a hint of triumph.
She'd won.
"Leave, then."
And so he did.
x
As he walked down the empty corridor Jim extended his arms at either side of him for balance, very scientifically noting how wide the space was here, and very determinedly not thinking about what he'd just done (or not done). Back in the Enterprise they couldn't afford to have hallways like the ones in a Starbase, and yet his ship felt anything but cramped. It felt like home.
If only he could get back to it he was sure this confusing attraction thing would go away and he'd stop thinking about Spock and wanting to do things to him, inappropriate things which were making him crazy and nevertheless felt much more important than breathing right now. Ugh.
So hey, what was the equation for trans-warp beaming again…?
The code to his room proved obstinate and the tactile screen didn't seem to like Jim's uncooperative fingers much, but at least it recognized his prints, which meant he had ten attempts before an intruder alarm rang.
And hey, for once the universe had seen fit to give him a break and Spock was nowhere to be seen, so at least there was tha—
"Jim?"
"Seriously?"
Something flickered in Spock's eyes that was immediately extinguished, and in his current state Jim was unable to catch it and figure out what it meant. Even so, the Vulcan's tense posture suggested weariness.
"My apologies. I heard you having difficulty entering your room and postulated you might benefit from assistance."
"M'sorry Spock. I wasn't... didn't have 'nything to do with you. I always like seeing you. Always. Anytime. All the time. If I could, I'd love to see you..." he clamped a hand over his mouth because that seemed to be the only way to stop.
"You are inebriated," Spock stated, eyebrows coming up in mild surprise. Jim wished there existed a way to use the trans-warp beaming formula with willpower alone.
"Yes. In case you were wondering; it doesn't help to make you forget things. Or even to put them into perspective. Mostly it sucks. I suck. You should totally leave me here to die outside my room from total suckage. Is that a word? Probably not. I should stop saying 'suck', shouldn't I? Bad, bad thoughts... so evil..."
Spock approached him cautiously with a hint of amusement, which Jim hadn't expected at all. He'd have thought disgust was in order, or at least a hint of distaste.
"You don't suck, you're awesome," he blurted out. Then he bit his lip. "I say this in a way that is not homosexual."
And that was the word with more than four syllables that he could pronounce. Of course it was.
There were theories about using the trans-warp beaming formula in a way that could cause a time-warp if coordinated in a sling-shot effect by circling around a star...
"Imma figure out how to go back in time. You just wait."
Spock's eyebrows rose even higher and he seemed, to Jim's mind, to be fighting the urge to smile.
"I do not doubt that you would succeed, Captain." Yes, it was definitely brimming laughter in those betraying eyes. He took a few steps closer and they were now only a couple of feet apart; not good, not good Jim, not far enough, not if he could see the shadow Spock's eyelashes cast on his cheekbones... "I believe the correct course of action now is to escort you to your bed. Perhaps with a glass of water for hydration."
"Mhmm," Jim said, chewing on the inside of his cheek to prevent another blunder. "I think I can handle the bed part, but if you could help me with my door?"
"What is the code?"
Jim told him, but then realized he'd already tried to open it twice and the machine wouldn't like another set of prints.
"Wait...!"
He tried to grab Spock's hand before it touched the scanner but Spock was faster; he jerked it back with amazing speed and stepped away, all to prevent them from touching.
Jim cursed himself internally. "Sorry."
Spock waited, clearly expecting an explanation for the apparently sudden urge to hold his hand his Captain had developed.
"Fingerprint recognition?" It ended up sounding something like 'fingrepit rognition?' but Spock got the gist, and typed the other user code first.
Finally the door opened and Jim sighed in both exhaustion and blissful relief.
"I honestly think that I could, at this very moment, kiss you."
"I would ask that you refrained from performing such an action, Captain," Spock answered immediately, sounding somewhat alarmed.
"You might have t—" he cut himself off by biting his lip again, only this time the action was so forceful that a stab of pain sliced through it and he tasted blood. He winced and Spock immediately stepped even closer.
If only he didn't completely lack the willpower to push his First Officer away. Man, Spock was gorgeous when he was worried but trying to hide it... intense eyes fixed on Jim's lips, following the path of the single drop of crimson that had trailed down his chin...
"Ow," Jim said softly, looking up with wide eyes.
This jerked Spock out of his intense...ness? (hey, impaired mental faculties and all that) and he instructed Jim to tilt his head so that Spock could observe the injury meticulously but, as always, careful not to let his fingers come into contact with Jim's skin.
Or so it seemed until he extended one hand toward Jim's face and Jim stumbled backwards, the fear of being discovered a roar in his ears...
"Sorry, but... I... can't..." he swayed where he stood, or at least the earth swayed, but he was finding it very easy to remember what a terrible thing it would be if Spock caught even a whiff of Jim's emotions right now.
"It was not my intention to touch you, Captain," Spock said blankly.
"Oh. Really? Good, okay."
"Or to read your thoughts. That is never my intention."
"I'm sorry. I know that, it's just that... this is actually not allowed at all, so I'll just leave now." Spock still looked confused and Jim walked backwards into his room (quite a feat, given his coordination levels right now), willing his friend to understand. "It's not... not allowed. It's forid... fobid... forbidden. Don't tell on me, 'kay?"
"Do not tell who? I do not comprehend your reasoning."
Jim tapped the side of his head. "No epic reasoning skills right now, sorry. It's probably just brain being stupid. I'll explain tomorrow?"
One fist clenched and unclenched quickly, then Spock nodded. "Very well. I shall await your explanation."
Wonderful. He was really going to hate himself for this in the morning.
The door started to hiss shut but Jim waved an arm forward so that the sensor in the side wouldn't let it close. They sort of stared at each other in silence for a moment, and Jim wondered why he'd done that. This would have been a good point to just call it a night and say boodbye.
In the awkward silence Spock's gaze dropped to Jim's probably swelling, bloodied lip and he breathed in and out once, deeply.
And then he stepped inside.
"W-whut... what are you doing?" Jim stammered.
"Our rooms are adjoining," Spock replied, because that just made perfect sense, didn't it?
Oh wait, 'course it did.
"But... but..."
"You may lie on the bed." Now, Jim may be drunk, but he knew an order hidden as a suggestion when he heard one.
"You're not gonna undress me or anything, are y—ow!"
He'd bitten his lip yet again. Spock ignored him, walked up to the replicator built into the wall and started giving it instructions.
Jim slumped on the bed and stared at his First Officer moving around his room. He was still in uniform, even though it was so late and he should have been sleeping. His movements didn't denote a hint of weariness, of course, there was just that something... something so contained and measured about Spock. Something so... meticulously guarded.
Something Jim wanted. Badly. Desperately, even.
Oh shit, damn you, purple elephant.
A few seconds later, the Vulcan advanced toward him with a couple of fluffy white bandages and some disinfectant solution. No fancy hypos for personal quarters, but hey, Spock cleaning his lip by hand was...
A potentially deadly situation.
"No!" Jim sat up, wiping his mouth hastily with an open palm. His hand was slashed by a smear of red and he cursed, colourfully.
Spock had paused in his steps and was probably wondering what the fuck his Captain had drunk. Jim looked up at him sheepishly. "Um... I'll visit the Sickbay first thing tomorrow? Promise."
"I do not much care for your promises when they are related to the Hospital Bay, Jim," Spock said, sitting down on the floor in a fluid movement and dabbing the fluffy white compress with the liquid.
Jim snatched it from his hand before it came near him. Their fingers brushed and Spock's jaw clenched tightly.
"I must admit I had not anticipated your stubborn nature to remain so firm in this state."
Obviously the only logical thing for Jim to reply was: "You've thought about what I would be like as a drunk?"
Spock very nearly rolled his eyes. Jim mentally high-fived himself; he figured if he drove the man crazy enough, it was bound to happen eventually. He knew he was getting closer all the time.
With a couple of rough wipes his lip felt slightly numb and no longer bled, which was good, and then Spock tossed the wipes in the appropriate incinerator chute.
"Okay, now I'm taken care of. You can go sleep."
"...Yes."
Spock started to turn away and Jim, without thinking, grabbed the hem of his blue shirt. A little tug and Spock had stopped.
"Promise you'll sleep. I want you to get better."
For a very long time, Spock was silent.
"...You cannot know my thoughts."
Jim frowned. His head was really starting to hurt and Spock was being all cryptic again. "I don't. I just want you to get better. Honest."
His friend nodded once, almost to himself, then gently pulled his shirt out of Jim's grip. "Good night, Captain."
"Hey, isn't that illogical? For you to wish me a good night's sleep?" Jim said with a smile, then yawned hugely.
Spock walked all the way to the door that connected their rooms without answering. He opened it, walked to the other side, and turned to look at Jim. His eyes were cast in shadow but Jim could almost feel the soft, wonderfully fond expression of affection emanating from them.
In a rather resigned but realistic sort of way he wondered whether he should just admit defeat once and for all.
"Yes," Spock said, just as the door closed.
Jim rolled over so his face was muffled by his pillow and groaned.
Okay, universe. This round went to you.
You guys, there is some GORGEOUS fanart of this chapter (specifically the "Spock leaning" part of it... yeah) from the super-talented and awesome Swing-21 that you should check out! The link is in my profile and it's really amazing! :D
Also this is about as angsty as this story gets, I'm very sorry! *hides* Drunk!Jim being adorable and acting like a teenage girl thanks you for your time and patience?