Hey guys! :D I wanted to post this before I leave for a 4-day skiing trip, which is why I may not be able to reply to comments for an itty bit *trembles in fear of lack-of-internets* but I hope to get back to Computer Land soon enough!
Also this baby is 9K, WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?
Chapter Thriteen: Celeritas Et Veritas
The landing was rough, and not in the good way.
If a word had to do it justice it wouldn't be 'wham' but 'clang', elbows digging into his ribs and knees banging uncomfortable places, not to mention Spock's hipbones leaving bruises that would burn deliciously for a multitude of reasons he really shouldn't be getting into right now.
Inelegant as their positions may be, though, Jim couldn't help but notice that Spock had twisted around at the last second to cushion most of the fall himself.
Why did he have to be such a fucking gentleman? The result of this act of kindness on Spock's part was that Jim's stunned brain registered only a few facts at a time, and in the wrong order.
First was: Spock is under me. This prompted the logical deduction: I am on top of Spock.
Third was: we're sprawled on a desk, followed closely by: why am I lying on my stomach?
And finally: …I can't move.
A few of the short-term effects of sudden gravity onset are weakened limbs, dizziness and disorientation, as well as nausea and migraine. Unfortunately for Jim, he was now feeling all of them, which did not make for fun times.
By some suspiciously freaky random happenstance Jim had not ended up on his back; instead Spock's clavicle was digging into his neck and cutting off his air supply, and he'd very nearly flattened his face against the desk. The slow and steady rise and fall of Spock's chest was almost ridiculously arousing, which in Jim's opinion was just more proof that this was all about his slow descent into madness and not at all about liking his First Officer way more than was proper.
Spock's arm was around him, heavy and hot and… and the only good thing about Jim's suddenly sluggish state was that it didn't really allow for any part of his anatomy to stand to attention, despite the definite interest he'd felt a few seconds ago (and was still feeling, why lie at this point, really?).
Groans and muffled sounds slowly began filling the room as soon as people could make them, but he couldn't really see much besides the smooth polished surface, and until he could will his limbs to fucking move already, he was stuck.
In lieu of anything else to do, Jim tried to assess the extent of the damage done to his person… but unfortunately discovered that most of his person felt pretty beat up, which one might argue could be interpreted as familiar and comforting in some ways, and yet still sucked.
"Kirk," a voice hissed close to his ear.
Jim started and turned his head slowly and painfully. God, he ached everywhere.
It was Moss, leaning into… no, clutching the desk to remain upright, eyes bloodshot and movements clumsy but still somehow rather frightening.
"Please, please please get off of Commander Spock!"
Jim had been attempting to do just that since before he'd even come to be on Commander Spock, and rather resented the implication that he wasn't doing his absolute best to achieve this goal.
"Honey, it's not what it looks like," he said thickly, giving it another try. Moss was apparently unimpressed by both this attempt at humour and the feeble movement Jim's groaning muscles produced.
"I'm serious, Kirk. I need you out of there now."
'There' being, of course, the amazing feel of Spock's angles fitting into his body, lean muscles pressed snugly against every inch of him—okay he should totally get away this instant.
With barely cooperating arms and a lot of willpower Jim managed to lift himself up so he was on all fours (still on top of Spock, obviously… oh well) and looked down at his First Officer to exchange an awkward look or something, maybe grin ruefully and make an inappropriately sexual comment that Spock would pretend not to understand but secretly despair at…
But Spock's eyes were closed.
"Spock?" He murmured tentatively, feeling something sharp lodge in his windpipe. "Spock?"
The Vulcan's eyelids didn't open to reveal Spock's quietly bemused stare.
Jim's gut went cold and breathing was suddenly very difficult again, as though the air was being sucked right out of his lungs. He searched Spock's face with wide eyes for a sign, any sign that Spock was alive and the universe was allowed to exist. "Spock! Wake up!"
He wanted to shake the guy but even in this situation he had the sense to remember that if there was indeed a head-injury it would be best not to move Spock at all.
"Kirk, please, the paramedics will handle this…"
But Jim tuned out Moss' voice with the rest of the background sounds. His vision had sharpened and tunnelled so that only Spock's face existed and until he could get the bastard to prove that he was all right, no one was going to wrench Jim away.
He leaned down gently, covering Spock's body with his in a kind of protective crouch, so that his mouth was a hair's-breadth away from Spock's curved ear.
"Spock," he snapped, strict and commanding; his 'I-demand-thoughtless-obedience' tone.
And finally, goddamn finally Spock opened his eyes blearily and Jim's heart didn't slow its unsteady tripping rhythm but it did allow him to breathe again, which was a bit of a relief.
"Captain," Spock said evenly. Of course the obnoxious cretin was completely unsurprised by the fact that he was waking up with his commanding officer on his knees straddling his hips.
Oh, which reminded said commanding officer that Spock's hand was still draped around Jim's waist, almost as though it felt too heavy to lift or move away, and there was a very important reason why Jim needed to put some space between them immediately.
"You'd better count your lucky stars that you're okay," he said without even trying to sound menacing.
"I do not own any planetary bodies, nor is the concept of 'luck' in any way logical given the fact that the statistical likelihood of events can be deduced from…"
As Spock was talking Jim slid off of him and then off the desk, and succeeded in not landing on his ass, although it was a near thing. Stumbling to stand and feeling unusually clumsy, he took a quick survey of the room now that he could.
Emerett was talking into a communicator and doing a great job of looking busy and important. Sulu was only a few feet away and trying to stand up while clutching his head with a grimace. Uhura, Bones and Scotty were back in their chairs, the latter looking unfairly perky in Jim's eye, although as Chief Engineer Scotty was obviously way more used to this sort of thing happening.
Areel was sitting on a pile of datapads and trying to sort through them with the help of her two assistants, and Moss… Moss was still looking at Jim with an expression that managed to convey both concern and anger.
Jim ignored him and walked to Spock's side.
To his unease Spock hadn't moved an inch, he just lay there breathing deeply and slowly, eyes unblinkingly following Jim's movements.
He might be injured, too, which was why Jim painfully bit the inside of his cheek when the sudden image of him crawling back atop that body appeared unbidden in his mind.
"Are, uh, you okay? Did you hit your head?"
"I impacted with negligible force, Captain, do not trouble yourself. I believe I am simply suffering the after-effects of the gravity-shifts, and it may take another minute to adjust."
"Oh, right." Relief washed over him like a wave, not that Jim had ever been to the sea. "Of course. Your body is used to a much lower gravity setting so zero-G plays havoc with your metabolism, doesn't it?"
"Precisely."
Jim grinned. "Well, at least you're finally the damsel in distress! Being rescued all the time gets boring," he added with a cheery wink.
Spock didn't have enough energy to quirk an eyebrow yet, but his eyes seemed to suggest he was thinking of giving it a try.
"Kirk," Moss interrupted impatiently.
Damn, he kept forgetting other people existed when Spock was around. "What?"
"I need you to step away now, get Dr McCoy and leave."
Jim clenched his jaw. On one hand, he could see that Moss was making sense and a look at the jury had confirmed that most of them were staring at their table, but Spock was looking at him with a carefully guarded expression and unable to move…
"This is a perfect opportunity and you'll do as I say," Moss instructed him quickly. "Get Dr McCoy and leave to help fix this problem, I'm sure Commodore Emerett will let you take your Chief Engineer to Main and work with the officers there—"
"Is anyone severely injured?" Emerett's loud voice drowned out the rest of Moss's frantic speech. No one answered the Commodore but Jim's balance was back and he was definitely feeling more normal. He ground his teeth together and knew he needed to do the safe thing and not the right thing, despite his instincts rebelling against the idea.
"Come on, Kirk. Go."
Spock nodded once, slowly, and Jim huffed an angry sigh.
"Yeah, okay."
He spun around without another word, making his way through the crowd of people standing up from their chairs, until he reached his friends.
"You guys okay?"
Uhura nodded. "Yes, but I don't understand what's happening. Did another circuit malfunction…?"
"Yeah, we think from that first overload. I'll explain properly later—"
"Wait, where's Spock… is he okay?" She frowned with worry, looking over his shoulder.
Jim glanced back, just for a second, and saw Spock slowly sitting up, Moss and a now-recovered Sulu hovering next to him.
"He might need a hypo, I think he hasn't been sleeping too well and this was just a bit much," he muttered, wishing he could be the one to help Spock up and put an arm around his shoulders…
"I'll go take a look," McCoy said, taking out the emergency medical kit from under his chair. Jim couldn't help a snort of laughter.
"I can't believe you take that with you everywhere you go. Is there a dent on your mattress from when you go to bed?"
But the doctor obviously wasn't buying Jim's bullshit, and could tell that he was worried. "Shut up and be grateful."
Jim shot him an apologetic look and turned to Scotty with raised eyebrows. "I'm here to kidnap you and take you to Main Engineering. Any objections?"
Scotty leapt up and shook his head vigorously. "No, Captain!"
"Excellent. We're leaving, then."
Before following Scotty outside, Jim shuffled his feet nervously and poked McCoy lightly on the arm.
"You are gonna go check on Spock, right?"
"'Course."
"Stay with him, make sure he's okay. The fact that he can control the pain doesn't mean something's not wrong, so you should really—"
"Jim, it's just a little bump and some exhaustion. Also I'm a doctor, remember?" Jim resisted the urge to look at Spock again. "He'll be fine," McCoy added gruffly, and set out to the front of the room.
"Uh…"
Uhura was blocking his path, arms folded across her chest and a considering stare pinning him in place. For a moment Jim was almost sure she was going to make some sort of comment that shattered the perception of life as he knew it, but then she seemed to think better of it, motioning towards Scotty by the door.
"I think he's waiting for you, Captain."
"Yeah. See you later, Uhura."
She nodded and stepped aside.
Just as Jim reached Scotty at the entrance, however, Emerett banged his gavel twice and the room quietened.
"The court is adjourned until this problem is fixed, when we shall resume this line of questioning. Now, the Hospital Bay has been notified and there will be a compulsory hypospray shot when you exit the room. Please do not exit yet."
The door was already open and Scotty just shrugged.
"If you say ye're fine, I don't think it's absolutely necessary."
"Let's go."
In the chaos no one seemed to notice them leave, or if they did, no one really cared.
x
Engineering remained, to this day, the only job no one had figured out how to accomplish without ending up covered in grime, soot and flecks of oil. Jim decided this in exasperation as he carefully operated under one of the Main Panel's circuits and felt the slick, black drops of lubricating solution plaster his shirt to his chest.
He had ended up acting as Scotty's second the entire time they spent down at Main Engineering.
At first he was instructed to help out by passing tools and holding wrenches, which he did without protest, much to the surprise of the guy who'd called him Captain Pretty-Boy to his face. But by the end Jim was fixing the individual relays himself, organising the work and directing the other officers of the Starbase according to his Chief Engineer's garbled instructions (the Enterprise engineers had become accustomed to Scotty's fast and thickly accented orders, but clearly the ones here needed a mediator).
He had easily become part of the team by not just telling them what to do, but also assisting in those duties, and got the distinct impression that most of the people he met were pleasantly surprised by the fact that he wasn't, in fact, a total imbecile.
Warp-core mechanics and astrophysics had been his two favourite subjects at the Academy, not that many people outside of his crew knew that. And even though those two dealt with more large-scale Starship workings, Jim was good at tinkering with stuff, and his excellent instincts combined with that knowledge made him a far cry from useless.
They actually managed to completely redo the quick patch-up job from the last incident, and even rewired the system to avoid another over-heating thanks to one of Scotty's brilliantly insane ideas (so brilliant that afterward Jim had to kindly pry his Chief away from the adoring younger interns, who seemed rather starstruck).
Five long, hard-worked hours later, he ran up to the mess hall in Deck 7, thinking to snatch a sandwich (the replicators in his quarters didn't have mustard and Jim wanted mustard, mustard tasted spicy and awesome. Jim was not ashamed of substituting mustard for sex) and then have at least two sonic showers. However, having lost track of time, he didn't realise the place would be packed for dinner.
His entrance was as dramatic as it could have been; the door swished open and the room hushed immediately as every single person inside turned to gape.
Engineering had had no uniforms to spare and instead of making someone go replicate more clothes for him, Jim had grabbed the first two items of semi-protective clothing he could find.
Starfleet's youngest Captain was wearing precariously low, baggy black pants (that had started out as dark-blue) and sleeveless, tight grey undershirt (guess what colour that one used to be) that was at least one size too small for him. Hair dishevelled and caked with dirt, beads of sweat still slowly rolling down his neck, he started to walk toward the pile of trays in the corner, and couldn't help but notice how every pair of eyes followed his movements in detail. A woman licked her lips unconsciously and one man forcefully looked away, blushing, and shook his head as though trying to convince himself that nothing was wrong.
And then suddenly there was the abrupt grinding sound of a chair scraping backwards; which was odd since Jim had noted that in this particular mess hall, the chairs were bolted to the floor. It would take a rather impressive feat of strength... Vulcan strength.
It was Spock.
It was Spock standing up from the remains of his seat and leaving, eyes straight ahead, gaze intent on something that very determinedly wasn't Jim. In no time the Vulcan strode over to the furthest door, then disappeared through it. Gone.
... The hell?
Jim stood there slacked-jawed for several seconds, trying to come up with an explanation for Spock's behavior. Was he mad at Jim for some reason? Spock sometimes struggled with controlling his anger, but still, to have to actually vacate the room was a bit extreme. Why... why on Earth would he just get up and leave without even acknowledging Jim's existence? Or maybe he hadn't seen Jim at all, but that was extremely unlikely... and the violently uprooted metal nails spoke of some sort of urgent business...
Confused, worried and trying not to think too hard on this issue before his brain steered him in a direction that was unrealistic and stupid and not healthy, Jim forgot all about his mustard sandwich. After people finally seemed to get tired of gawking at him so openly (which didn't stop them from sneaking more covert glances every now and then, but he could pretend not to notice those), he put the tray back in its place and left through the same door he'd come inside, the one opposite from where Spock had stepped out.
He'd have to ask someone from Maintenance to fix that chair, though.
Mentally making a few calculations, Jim opted to start his search back in Deck 5, where their quarters were. Going to the Science Department this late wasn't unheard of from Spock but seemed unlikely, plus, their quarters would be private so that they could talk, and Jim fully believed that Spock would be able to explain this strange scene in a way that was perfectly logical.
Because otherwise Jim was utterly stumped.
Cause: Jim enters the room looking like someone smeared grease all over him, which was more or less what happened (except with more sweaty men in their fifties asking him to do their dirty work and less sexy female Engineers in impractically short skirts).
Consequence: Spock stands up so abruptly he fucking breaks the chair, then exits the room.
Jim wasn't blind. He could tell what almost everyone in that mess hall was thinking when he walked in, hips swaying slightly, muscles toned and rippling after such exertion. But despite popular opinion, he wasn't all that conceited either. Yeah, he knew he could use his looks when he wanted to and it would work on most people, but Spock wasn't most people. Spock was… Spock. His friend Spock.
His heterosexual friend Spock.
Objectively speaking, of course, he could understand how it might be difficult to come up with an explanation that came even close to being 'perfectly logical' if one excluded the option Jim was unwilling to consider. But it wasn't an option at all. He recalled Spock saying once: "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." The problem was that in this case what remained was also impossible. There was just no way his rational, collected Vulcan, would…
So he was left with nothing, and how can there be a hypothesis with no data?
Okay, he was shoving this train of thought away until he talked to Spock because it was no good getting his thoughts all scrambled and messed up.
Unfortunately, and despite the mental 'Not thinking about it, la la la la la, not thinking about it' chant, Jim was feeling feverish and jittery as a school-boy by the time he stood outside the door to Spock's quarters, heart pounding.
Was it completely insane for him to imagine that, maybe, just maybe, Spock could...? Was it really that crazy?
With sweaty palms he pressed the electronic buzzer on the tactile screen, and wanted to slap himself for this sudden onset of nerves. He was James T. fucking Kirk, he didn't—
The door hissed open to reveal Spock's frame and Jim... Jim was no quitter; the very notion of giving up when meeting an obstacle was what made him try to sneak his way around the conventional methods and find another path (carving it himself if he had to) to achieve his goal. Nevertheless, looking into Spock's pitch-black eyes right now, he couldn't shake the feeling that this battle against Spock's attractiveness was already over, and he had been thoroughly and profoundly KO'd.
"Hey."
Spock stayed silent for a few seconds, then stepped inside and motioned for Jim to do the same.
"Good evening, Captain."
"How are you feeling?"
"Completely recuperated. Thank you. I presume you wish to discuss the events that have just transpired?"
Like a sharp hypo stuck into a sparkly helium balloon, Jim's theory that his appearance had in any way affected Spock collapsed and smacked the floor pitifully, dying as suddenly as it had come to life.
His First Officer was regarding him, cool and collected as always, without even a hint of discomfort, and seeing this made Jim feel like laughing at himself, the extent of his madness suddenly and bitterly clear.
God, this was starting to spiral out of control, wasn't it? How could he have imagined, even for one second, that Spock might...?
"Captain?"
"Sorry, yeah. I didn't imagine you leaving the mess because of me right now, did I?"
"Obviously not. It was my intention to discuss something with you later tonight, however, not in a public setting."
Still reeling from his little bout of momentary insanity, Jim plopped himself on Spock's bed (grime, sweat, oil-stains and all) without asking for permission.
"What happened, then?"
Spock swallowed carefully and walked over to his desk chair, but didn't sit down.
"I was forced to leave."
Jim frowned. "By who?"
"Forgive me, my sentence was vaguely phrased; circumstances forced me to leave."
Talk about vaguely phrased. Jim narrowed his eyes and examined Spock's posture; despite the calm in his features, something lurked behind the stiff limbs and in the weary inclination of his head. He just needed to figure out what.
In this case the way to get information would need to be delicate. Subtle. With Spock, a direct approach didn't always yield results because it could just make him close up and refuse to cooperate, so Jim had to carefully formulate a question that—
"... So what got shoved up your ass that you can't talk to me about?"
Or not.
Spock blinked twice, then seemed to give up on a clarification.
"I spoke to Mr Moss in length today, and he is not content with our first day," he said finally. "According to him, our behavior was passable but circumstances did not allow us to make a positive first impression on the jury. He was experiencing an emotional outburst at the time he informed me of these observations, but it is my belief that this fact does not lessen their credibility."
This wasn't said as a question, exactly, but the way Spock's gaze slanted Jim's way told him that he wasn't entirely certain angry rants from Humans counted as reliable facts. Jim gave him a tight smile and a nod, to indicate that Moss had probably been pissed but sincere.
Spock went on. "He claims he asked us to continue acting normally, but that he meant normal by real standards, not our own, and that we must endeavor to... look at each other less. Furthermore, he claims we are not... 'believable' as mere friends, and that he is most displeased by the fact that we have chosen to spend ninety-five percent of our free time together."
This wasn't exactly true, Jim thought weakly, but he didn't voice his objections. It was close enough.
"He consequently concluded that we must spend less time in one another's company in an attempt to subdue rumors. Apparently, there have been more cases of false sightings of us engaged in... sexual activities. It is possible that Commodore Emerett was not lying on our first meeting, simply misinformed."
Having finished his speech, Spock neatly folded his hands and looked at his Captain expectantly.
"So... sexual activities, huh?" Jim said, aiming for extra nonchalance.
Spock's lips pursed and unexpected humor lit his eyes. "I should have anticipated that you would adhere to that part of my explanation."
Jim snorted and wiped his dirty palm on his even dirtier trousers. "What, like people saying they've found us making out in storage-closets, that sort of thing?"
"It would appear so. In his outburst of frustration Mr Moss declared one of the rumors to be of us engaging in sexual intercourse inside a locked turbolift."
Wouldn't you know, this had gone from 'funny' to 'uncomfortable' in a heartbeat.
Jim forced a laugh. "Well first of all, please never say 'intercourse' again, it's—" weirdly and insanely hot "—very disturbing, and second, if that actually happened, how would anyone even know about it?"
Spock seemed to seriously consider this. "The security feeds, I believe, would provide enough evidence," he replied finally with a thoughtful expression.
Oh yeah, totally hot and bothered. Jim's earlier suspicions weren't to do with wishful thinking. Nope, he hadn't blown things out of proportion at all.
"Right." Jim sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. "So let me get this straight: because some idiots are making up stories about us and their environmental control systems suck, we're not allowed to hang out anymore?"
Spock's mouth turned down at the corners and he nodded gravely. "That is Mr Moss' assessment."
Of course, that explained why Spock had left the mess so quickly. And the whole chair-ripped-off-the-floor incident was probably from exhaustion; it must be hard to watch your strength all the time and, just for a moment after a gruelling day, Spock had been careless.
See? Perfectly logical after all.
Jim stood up and put his hands on his hips, mostly to keep his pants from sliding down.
"Are you going to do what he says?" he asked the floor, knowing what the answer would be but unable help himself.
"Obviously, his entire statement is filled with rampant emotionalism," Spock was quick to clarify.
"Obviously."
"However... I must defer to his expertise in this case."
Jim nodded dumbly. "Yeah, 'course. I agree."
They were both silent for a few moments, until Jim realised he was starving, and also he desperately needed that shower.
"So I'll get going, I think?" he said, stretching one-armed so as to prevent something embarrassing from happening (those pants seemed intent on sliding past his ass, seriously). "And, uh, probably won't see you until… oh hey, do you know when the trial's set to start again?"
Spock nodded. "Mr Moss was told that your testimony will resume tomorrow at 1200 hours. I have also been informed that you and Mr Scott directed a commendable feat of engineering this evening, which is what enabled the normalisation of Starbase activity ."
"Oh. Yeah, Scotty did a great job."
The silence was tense this time, until Jim broke it.
"Okay, so see you tomorrow."
He started to leave, wondering what it would be like not to have his meals with Spock again for some time, or having to stop playing chess. Not being able to talk about the stuff he only shared with him, having to be formal and tense around each other all the time, never alone, always in public.
"I guess I'll just have to do with Bones to protect me from Stavok for now," he said, striving for lightness with a grin over his shoulder, but suddenly Spock went very still.
"Stavok."
"Yeah." Jim paused and half-turned, his hand still extended toward the panel. "The reporter, remember?"
"Broadcast researcher," Spock corrected almost absent-mindedly. Dark eyes narrowed. "You had not mentioned his name to be 'Stavok' before."
"Really?" Jim's brow furrowed as he tried to remember. Huh, maybe they'd both been saying 'reporter' or 'journalist' all this time. He propped himself against the wall next to the door, arms crossed.
"Indeed. I have what you would refer to as eidetic memory. I would recall such a name."
"And why is that? Did you know him?"
Spock seemed to be choosing his words with extra-care when he spoke next.
"It is possible that he is not the Stavok I am… acquainted with. Vulcan was a planet with nearly six billion inhabitants."
Jim's shoulders slumped slightly at the mention of Vulcan and he felt that familiar aching pain in his chest. "But it's also possible that he is this guy you think," he said with a softer voice. "How did you know him?"
"Stavok was in the same educational centre as I."
"You went to school together! Wow, that's…"
He'd been about to say 'great.' 'Lucky,' even. But then he remembered.
Once, playing chess, they'd gotten to talking about Jim's childhood. It was never a topic he cared to reflect on much, especially the times when his mother had been off-planet, but Spock's natural curiosity being what it was, Jim had found himself unable to deny the man what he so frankly wanted to know. So he told him all about his brother Sam leaving, about Frank's verbal abuse and stealing his car, and the day when his mother had finally snapped to her senses and told the idiot to get lost. About seeing Winona slowly get better during his late teens but still needing to put his restless energy somewhere, anywhere, wild and uncontrolled and nearly crushed under the weight of his father's name.
They'd talked for a long time, maybe not comfortably, not yet, but it was honest.
And then Spock had offered some insights of his own.
He spoke in clipped sentences and an even tone, still guarded (this was the early days when the word 'friendship' was still a foreign concept), but not editing anything either. Spock had been bullied at school, up to the point where he'd been severely emotionally compromised and ended up breaking one kid's nose.
"Jim?"
"Sorry. I just remembered… was he one of the kids who bullied you?"
"… The Stavok whom I had met as a child did indeed attempt to elicit an emotional response from me."
Jim flashed back to the image of the Vulcan who had seemed so distant and blank. Instead of blocking what he was feeling, Stavok had seemed completely empty of emotion, in a way that was very different from Spock. Yes, the immeasurable loss that happened the day Nero destroyed his planet made Stavok someone to be pitied, but it didn't excuse him from being a bad person.
"Is he the one whose nose you broke?"
Spock's gaze flitted to the floor and back up, probably in embarrassment. "Yes," he said curtly.
"Good. He deserved it." Jim remembered perfectly well what Spock had explained about that loss of emotional control and what had triggered it. "Have you seen him since you were both kids?"
"No. I was not aware that his application to the Vulcan Science Academy had been denied, nor that he pursued this line of work instead."
Jim frowned, perturbed. Spock, seeing this, took a couple of steps forward and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Jim, I cannot ignore your facial expression."
"What's wrong with my face?" Jim asked, suddenly scrunching up his nose to make Spock smile. Obviously, that didn't actually happen, but Spock got that look that said he definitely wasn't smiling.
"Nothing is 'wrong' with your face, Jim. However, you appeared to be concerned on my behalf."
"I'm not concerned. I'm just…" concerned. "…I'm, uh, disappointed that I didn't realise what a giant douche-master Stavok really is." But this wasn't true and Spock knew it.
His First took another step toward him and shook his head, once. "Do not be distressed over me. You attribute Human aspects to Stavok which he does not have. Vulcan children do not possess the levels of emotional control required in adults."
"Still. He's a racist."
For a second Spock's eyes seemed to glint in the low light, as though he was touched by Jim's irritation on his behalf, but then it was gone. "As a child, perhaps. He will be ashamed of his behaviour now."
Jim was unconvinced but he nodded. "Okay. But if I see him again and he's mean to you I might have to punch him."
This time the expression was more obvious, but it wasn't gratitude; instead Spock appeared vastly entertained, as though he found the very idea of Jim defending him adorably ridiculous.
"An unlikely notion, Jim. I assume you are using humour."
Needless to say, Jim was not impressed by this assessment.
"Are you saying I couldn't get in a single punch?" he said indignantly.
"... Yes."
He clutched his hand over his heart in mock-pain.
"Ow, Spock!"
Spock looked sideways at nothing and back at him. He was so close to provoking that eye-roll!
Then he had an idea.
"Hey. Um, listen, I know it's against the rules and all..." Jim said, not meeting Spock's eyes. "But if you wanted to chat for a while, maybe let me explain to you just how epic my fighting skills are... and if, you know, you haven't had dinner yet, we could eat together? Here? I mean, I know they could technically locate us but it's not like someone's tracking our every move on the computers or anything. That would just be creepy."
"Perhaps. Also illegal."
Jim grinned. "That a 'yes?'"
Spock didn't even pause before answering. "Indeed. Although I might suggest a... change of clothing, perhaps."
The look of distaste his clothes got from Spock, after the half-Vulcan said this, told Jim that his First didn't have much appreciation for them.
"Right." He chuckled. "This is your polite way of saying I stink, isn't it?"
"No. However, your appearance—"
"It's okay, Spock. I know I look like hell."
"You look like..." Spock stopped mid-sentence. Jim waited for it to continue, but when he spoke next Spock's brain seemed to have completely rebooted itself. "I must finish some reports for the Enterprise spacedock maintenance, and will await your presence here."
"O-kay. Remember I need to go over those, though, before sending them off."
"Very well."
Spock took a PADD from his desk and wrote something on it.
"Will there be anything else you require before coming, Captain?"
A strange time to revert back to rank, and that sentence was just too good to resist.
"Nope." He winked, unable to help himself. "You know I'm easy like that."
Spock let out a breath that could be interpreted as a huff of annoyance and turned away.
With a parting wave at Spock's back Jim left the room through the adjoining door between their quarters and immediately reached to peel his shirt off over his head. Before he could complete the maneuver, however, he heard a thud behind him, suspiciously like a PADD hitting the surface of the table.
He spun around clumsily and nearly fell over, the fabric still twisted around his neck and tangled in his arms so that he couldn't see. He did hear the door hiss shut (oh, it hadn't been closed yet?) and then silence.
For a split-second he contemplated asking Spock whether everything was okay, but then realised how stupid that would sound. And Spock's back had been to him, so he couldn't have been so scandalised by Jim's abrupt strip-tease that he'd dropped the PADD.
With a dog-like shake of his head Jim decided he was overthinking everything and tugged down his pants, stepped out of them and left them on the floor.
x
The next morning Jim and Spock ate breakfast facing each other, but at two separate tables in opposite ends of the largest mess hall.
On one hand, Jim knew it was for their own good and Moss was right; they weren't getting any attention at all, as opposed to the many glances they drew whenever they were out together in public.
On the other hand, covertly watching Spock methodically eat his celery made Jim come to a realisation that was rather unfortunate, but really, food couldn't receive such loving treatment and just expect everything to be all right.
He was going to have to change his criteria regarding what qualified as pornographic from now on.
Swallowing, for example, was something people did all the time. And it was normal, and not exactly hardcore X-rated material. Therefore, logically, it should be seen as a common, every-day occurrence. And someone who was swallowing from a very long distance was even less note-worthy than, say, someone who was swallowing from a very short distance.
Nevertheless, when Spock did it, it became disturbingly obscene. Which just spoke volumes of the levels of pathetic Jim was achieving.
He was nothing if not a record-breaker.
Spock wasn't alone, however. With him sat Uhura, and he was talking to her in that gentle manner of his that Jim had only seen him exhibit with people who he was very familiar with or who he trusted. And that was good, great even, because they were friends. A mean little voice in Jim's ear whispered that they were friends who'd been dating only slightly more than a month ago. And the dating had probably involved sex. Well duh, one only had to look at Spock to... um, that is, Uhura was very hot, too. But that was beside the point. Jim was totally happy that they were getting along so well. Spock obviously still liked her, although not like that, unless he did and they were going to get back together any day now. But that probably wasn't going to happen. Seriously though, if it did happen he was going to squeeze maturity and friendly support from somewhere and force himself to feel them.
Only once did Spock look up from his plate and happen to stare straight into Jim's eyes.
Jim sat with McCoy and Sulu, who were both supportive and wonderful as always. Sulu had even promised to get him a spot with the flight-simulator in a few days, although Jim thought it was unlikely he'd have the time, and the second the trial was over he was warping out of here, one way or another.
Towards the end of their meal two women smiled shyly at him and waved from a table a couple of rows to the left of Spock's. Belatedly, Jim remembered seeing them at Engineering yesterday, although they were both computer-techs and more into software programming. The brunette had offered to go out for a drink tonight and Jim had said no a bit more firmly than usual (not that he usually said 'no' when he was off-ship, but he'd already been reminded of this once that week).
It wasn't just that he didn't really feel like sleeping with anyone, he thought as he violently attacked his toast with the round fork thingy ("Dammit Jim, why are you eating toast using cutlery?"). It was that he didn't really feel like sleeping with anyone who wasn't Spock.
And this could only mean that he was turning involuntarily monogamous.
For someone who didn't even see him that way.
Didn't it count for anything if this whole thing was happening against his will? He didn't want to only want to be with Spock, it didn't make any sense! But lately it felt like that wasn't even his choice.
Soon he'd start running out of bad adjectives to use to describe just how... atrocious it was. Jesus.
x
By the time they met Moss inside the courtroom of Deck 16 Jim was suitably nervous again, but less so than the last time. Yes, he really did have a crush on Spock. But it would be fine. He knew the question now. That helped, because he also knew the answer. He wasn't in love with Spock. He liked Spock… he was attracted to Spock, sure, he wouldn't mind sleeping with—focus. He wasn't in love with the man. He'd never even been in love before, not ever.
"This court is now in session."
'In love' meant commitment and he knew he couldn't pull that off. Jim Kirk and 'marriage' in the same sentence was just laughable. And the point was moot anyway, because this was someone who could never return his feelings. Not because Spock didn't have feelings… but simply because they weren't directed at Jim, and never would be, not in that way.
"In light of the events that occurred yesterday in this courtroom at 1430 hours, Captain Kirk will resume his testimony…"
He wasn't the sort of good, caring person Spock deserved, anyway. He was working hard at being better, yes, but that didn't make him good. Or at least… at least he knew that it didn't make him good enough.
"… then Mr Moss with the defence. Captain Kirk?"
"Yes."
"You may take the stand."
Jim stood up and walked with as much confidence as he could muster, which was actually quite a lot, at least on the surface.
"Miss Shaw? You may continue your line of questioning," Emerett called, waving at Areel to walk over. It was almost as though this was the end of some parentheses and suddenly he was back to yesterday, and nothing at all had happened in between.
"Good evening your honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I believe that before we were so rudely interrupted by the gravity compensators I had asked you a question, Captain Kirk?" Areel said with a faint smile.
Jim waited.
"A very important question, actually. Some might say it was the question that could sentence this entire affair, if—"
"Objection, we all know what the question is, if the defendant could please be allowed to answer it?" Moss said with an annoyed eye-roll.
"Sustained. Get to the point, Miss Shaw."
"My apologies, your honour."
Areel smiled more broadly and Jim was struck by a horrible gut feeling, not completely unlike the one he'd felt yesterday when the air had tasted wrong.
"Are you in love with Commander Spock, Captain Kirk?"
"No."
He felt every head turn to the lie-detector and held his breath—
"Correct."
But Areel's smile never wavered, as though this had been expected, all part of her plan, and Jim's flare of happiness vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"Well, that just verifies what the defendants have been telling us all along, doesn't it?" She turned to the jury, that gleam of triumph in her eye making Jim nauseous. "Mr Kirk—I'm sorry, Captain Kirk is not in love with his First Officer."
There was a pause as the entire room realised, almost unanimously, what came next.
"Well… Captain Kirk believes he's not in love with his First Officer."
Oh, she was good. She was very, very good, Jim thought dazedly as a frenzied whispering started and Moss stood up and said: "Objection! Relevance! And can we please assume that the defendant is intelligent enough to know whether he is or isn't in love with someone? This is conjecture, and bad conjecture at that!"
"Silence!" Emerett shouted, banging his gavel. "Objection sustained."
He looked at Areel with a frown.
"Miss Shaw, you'd better have a good follow-up to this."
If her smile became any wider she'd start to laugh, Jim mused in a horrified, distant sort of way. He didn't think he could handle turning to look at Spock, even though he knew that all he'd see would be a mask of control.
"Of course, your honour." Areel nodded respectfully. "Captain Kirk didn't lie when he said he's not in love with Mr Spock, but all this tells us is what he believes to be true. The machine cannot interpret facts, it can only detect when a subject is not being honest; and therein lies it's inefficiency, as we all know."
She glanced at Jim before continuing.
"Captain Kirk has demonstrated time and time again that he becomes emotionally compromised whenever his First Officer is involved; his judgement is not sound, his decisions are clouded by emotion. Granted, it's an emotion he clearly does not consider love, but that doesn't matter. Kirk's personal life ends where the safety of the ship and its crew begins. And in this case, his opinion is irrelevant. The facts speak for themselves. And the many, many instances of disobedience cited in the list of evidence are more than enough to prove this point.
"The relationship between Captain and First Officer has become detrimental to the workings of the Starship Enterprise, and needlessly endangering the lives of over four-hundred people is not acceptable."
Jim waited for her to finish before raising his eyebrows in an expression of mildly mocking confusion.
"Oh, is it my turn to make a dramatic pronouncement now?"
Areel glared at him. Jim pushed down his own emotions and smiled condescendingly.
"I mean, was that a question or…?"
She interrupted him with strained professionalism in her voice. "Imagine the following scenario, Captain Kirk."
"I'll do my best," he said graciously, sitting back and stretching a little to get more comfortable. Out of the corner of his eye Jim caught at least three members of the jury smiling exasperatedly.
"Excellent."
Areel took a steadying breath before continuing (if there was something Jim had always been brilliant at, it was driving people slowly and irrevocably insane).
"Please answer me this," she said through gritted teeth. "Mr Spock is unable to get back to the ship in time and you have been ordered to abandon him. What do you do?"
Jim's first, instinctive thought was 'Get Spock back, no matter the cost.' But of course he couldn't say that, because that cost, those orders, could be to take the ship to a colony of sick civilians awaiting medical assistance, and every second he delayed departure could mean deaths.
And yet he also knew that if he replied 'Leave Spock and follow orders' the machine would say he was lying.
In a split second he digested all of this, and finally decided on the complete truth.
"That depends."
Areel blinked. "You're kidding me." Suddenly she seemed to remember where she was. "I mean… please elaborate."
"You haven't given me enough detail of the situation to make an informed decision. Why am I being ordered to abandon a crewman to die?" A quick glance at Moss told him he was doing well. "Furthermore, what kind of situation is this that only my First Officer is stranded? Where's the security detail that beamed down with him?"
"I don't—they died."
"Then I repeat, why am I being ordered to leave…?"
"There's an emergency."
"What kind of emergency?"
"I…" She hesitated. "Just… an emergency."
"Are there lives at stake?"
"Yes."
"Why? How far away are they? And will a quick delay—"
Areel clenched her fists. "Just answer the question, Kirk."
"But I can't until you tell me why—"
"Does it matter?"
And finally, for once, Jim knew he had her. Because this room was full of military and ex-military personnel and Areel's last question had been very, very stupid.
"Of course it matters," he said, strong and bright-eyed and firm. "Lives are at stake here. As Captain, I'm the one who's supposed to make these kinds of tough decisions. If I can save Spock by delaying an order for ten minutes without loss of life, then I'll do it. When you're there… when you're in the middle of a situation like this, not reading about it from some desk, it's different."
The room was quiet, the crowd hanging onto his every word.
"It often depends, Miss Shaw, and it always, always matters."
Moss was beaming at Jim proudly and Spock's eyes brimmed with respect.
"Are there any more questions from the prosecution?" Commodore Emerett said after a short pause.
Areel looked shaken, but not broken. "Yes. One more," she said.
Then she squared her shoulders and tried to appear in control again, although she knew perfectly well how much she'd lost in the past minute. Jim spared a moment to feel sorry for her, but that disappeared immediately after her next question.
"Do you wish there was any kind of romantic involvement between you and Commander Spock?"
OMG! I KNOW! I've tried to fight about my addiction to cliffhangers ('tried' being the key word here), but it's just… it's sooooo irresistible… *wibbles*
BUT LOOK, THERE'S CHRIS PINE WHO I OBJECTIFY IN LIKE EVERY OTHER SCENE! *chinhands* Ain't he pretty? And what about our darling Mr Quinto with his camera eye-fucking? (NO SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS, that's no 'making sweet love to it', that's some hardcore eyesex right there)
AHA! And now that you've been totally and effectively distracted by all the PRETTY, instead of hating me for this you want to comment on it! Right? :D