FIC: Smoke
‘If you continue to behave in such an illogical manner, than I will be forced to leave you here and attend alone - I trust that you will not object?’ the words are not loud but their frostiness bites into his flesh like knives. It is the cue to shut up and be a good boy. The argument is over. There is no problem. It’s your problem. And that’s always the problem, isn’t it? It’s never Spock’s problem. The self-imposed silence in his mind howls.
‘If you persist in refusing to speak to me, then I shall have to assume that you have no objections.’ To anyone else the Vulcan is calm and collected but Jim hears his voice every single day for the last four years. There’s an edge to Spock’s even voice, it’s the way he stood, hands behind his back, stiff and straight -Spock disapproves, fucking disapproves, like he is a stupid fucking child throwing a tantrum. And Spock is serious. That betrayal stings worst of all and no matter how he rationalizes it, the censure tears through him like a voracious beast until he’s hollow and cold.
Fine, go to your stupid dinner, Jim wants to say. What he manages instead is a quiet mutter. ‘Well that’s what you want, isn’t it?’
He is relieved that his voice is cold, disdainful. It’s what he wants Spock to feel - the distance, lack of desire, indifference. Jim doesn’t flinch when the Vulcan faces him and stares him down. He stares back and dares Spock to make the first move, to have it out between them. This has been brewing ever since they arrived on New Vulcan and it’s time to get it out, clear the air. He is sick of this shit, sick of biting his tongue and swallowing it down, sick of being wrong.
Jim needs to punch something. He wants to curl up in a corner and bleed.
‘That is a preposterous suggestion.’ Spock states flatly, ‘You are welcome to either accept or decline any invitation as you so wish.’
Jim reads between the lines: dinner starts in an hour and I need to be dressed so be logical, control yourself and stop fucking up the schedule. ‘Yeah well I kind of don’t feel like attending any of them when you’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m inappropriate, and that every problem I have with something is just me being fucking illogical. Shit Spock, you could have told me this a little earlier, just told me that-’he chokes on the scathing words, feels them lodge in his throat. ‘I apologize for being such a complete fucking nuisance.’
It’s shocking how fine he sounds, all that contempt, like he’s not dying inside. It’s a precarious lie, skin-deep. One tender touch and he’ll crumble.
Spock’s face is neutral but something in his eyes flickers. ‘That is not what I said.’
Bitterness seeps into his mouth and coats Jim’s throat, thick and tar-like, suffocating him. Jim takes deep breaths and wonders why he feels like he’s being crushed. The only thing he manages is a toneless whisper, ‘So I’m making things up now?’
Spock’s face is so close to him they could be kissing. The words are quiet, firm and tear through Jim’s gut like a sharp butchering knife. ‘That is not what I said, Jim.’
But that’s what you meant. Jim swallows thickly as the strain increases, the pressure building until he’s barely holding onto his dignity. The last thing he needs is to lose it, to show weakness and give Spock the satisfaction of “I told you so” because Jim is really an uncontrollable, illogical, irrational, STUPID Human. He flinches when he sees Spock lifting his hand up to touch him, the act of tenderness contrasted with his pinched lips, his tight face, his lack of remorse. Something inside of him twists. Someone is going to win this argument and it’s not going to be him.
‘Don’t touch me.’
‘Jim.’ The grip on his arm is strong and he reacts without thinking, old fears crashing through him - thoughts of being trapped, forced to go where he doesn’t want to go, do what he doesn’t want to do. He shoves at Spock with a panicked grunt and wrenches his arms away as Spock reaches for him. The sudden pressure in his mind - he chokes at the deliberate mental touch. It’s unwanted, unneeded - and it hurts so fucking bad, the desperation that fills him at the reminder of what he’s missing, at the absence of what should be there.
Spock’s hands are like iron on his upper arms, and the tenderness in his voice makes Jim want to throw up. ‘If I have wronged you, then you have reason to despise me, but to my knowledge I have done no such thing to warrant your disdain…’ Jim wants to spit in Spock’s face, because he doesn’t get to play the calm-and-caring card, not today. He doesn’t get to frame Jim as the crazy one, the foolish one, the bad cop to his good cop. Spock searched his face, his confusion plain. Somehow it would have been better if Spock wants to hurt him, but this fucking ignorance, this is worse. ‘This is not logical, Jim, and if you are deliberately attempting to “make a point” then I will gladly concede to you -’
The words trigger a tidal wave of contempt. ‘You fucking bastard, I don’t want you to concede, I want you to-!’ Jim clamps his lips shut. He can only take so much and he’s at his limit - another word and he’ll deflate. Jim takes a shaky breath and the room spins but he can’t lose it, can’t cry and scream and wail because that never works with Spock. All that will do is reinforce everything that Spock says about him, make him right and make Jim wrong, and Jim fucking can’t. He can’t. Even if this anger is crushing his soul.
‘I admit that I am… confused with your treatment of me.’ He recognizes hurt and bewilderment and it makes him want to laugh until he’s sick, and apologize with kisses and explanations, and scream at Spock until he’s blue in the face. His fists are clenched so hard that he’s certain he is going to break his fingers.
‘My treatment of you?’ He parrots, incredulous and disappointed.
‘You’ve become… distant.’ Spock says evenly, eyes darkening. ‘And you no longer enjoy my presence. If there is something which you wish to say, then I would appreciate your transparency.’ Spock is angry, he realizes, a little afraid. Its righteous anger - because he isn’t meant to misbehave like this, because they are bonded and he can’t take that away from Spock, can’t lock Spock out in the cold, because Spock has been good to him, Spock loves him, cares for him, and to be spurred like this; Spock will not stand for it. And there’s fear, fear of what he is hiding from Spock, fear that this is something he’ll never recover from. But mostly it’s anger, fierce and demanding.
Jim doesn’t react well to demands, and even worse to threats. ‘You did it first.’ He hisses, pressing forward till their bodies are pressed up against one another, his eyes hard. Something inside of him dies a little more. ‘You expressed your disappointment, you drew away from me, you told me I was inappropriate - what the hell, Spock? I do this shit on the Enterprise all the time and now suddenly we’re on New Vulcan, it’s not okay? It’s not a Vulcan thing, Spock, it’s just you being-’
Spock’s hands tighten, ‘You must have misunderstood me.’
Jim clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches because Spock did, he fucking did and he’s not allowed to excuse himself, this is not Jim’s fault, not his human irrationality jumping to conclusions. The memory bursts into new life and sends a new blow through him, and he can’t take it anymore, the blasé attitude that Spock levels at him - he’s serious, doesn’t Spock get that? Jim pictures a hammer and several nails, calls upon the mental door that keeps Spock out and then Jim does what he never dares. The nails sink in, more meaningful than a lock and twice as painful. Spock freezes in shock.
‘Your emotional reaction is disproportionate to the event which caused you such displeasure,’ Spock’s voice is hoarse, unsettled. For a moment there’s a vicious sense of satisfaction but then regret, misery, self-reproach gnaw their way through him until he wants to double over and throw up for real.
Jim fucking buries these feelings along with all thoughts of backing down. He ploughs on because he’s already a seething mass of sores and wounds and what the fuck does it matter if there’s one more? He realizes that he has been holding his breath, because to exhale would mean to whimper or scream. Jim closes his eyes and regains control through sheer force of will, because he can’t lose now. ‘Do you like it, Spock, embarrassing me?’ Scaring him, putting him in his place, to behave or else (or else I’ll leave you, discard you, ignore you, replace you) - Jim silences his thoughts as he forces his eyes away, his vision blurring even as he swallows it down, blinks furiously, pours fuel on his hatred and feels his heart squeeze. ‘What you said…’ His voice is gone now, just a raw whisper because he can’t, he can’t repeat what Spock said, not word for word.
He flinches when Spock reaches for his cheek and snaps to look the other way. ‘Don’t.’
The hand freezes mid-air and changes direction, smooths over his shoulder, warm and heavy. ‘I truly was unaware that you were so displeased.’ Spock says and for the first time, there’s uncertainty. Jim trembles at the curl of those fingertips on his shoulder, soft against the base of his neck, and the heaviness of Spock’s gaze but he can’t look at those dark eyes. He can’t fold, not this time.
Spock’s hand wanders over the side of his neck, and then moves to caress his face.
‘Don’t,’ He whispers weakly. If Spock touches him he’ll shatter.
The hand wavers, resolve crumbling, and then he sees it, the moment when Spock stops trying - the fingers curl as the hand drops down by the Vulcan's side, and then disappears behind his back. A shadow falls across Spock’s face but he says nothing, does nothing. Jim wonders why the sight of that well-known face barely restrained with emotion makes him so vulnerable. His eyes flick away.
‘I need air.’ He says hoarsely, and moves to leave.
Spock’s grip tightens. ‘Jim.’
‘Let go.’ He growls, a threat and a warning.
‘That is not an adequate solution for your obvious distress.’ The words are soft-spoken, wistful and ruin him completely.
Jim looks up for just a glance and is helpless to stop it, the first embarrassing noise, followed by the second, until he’s gasping, breathless, panting and the world bursts into blurry splotches of color. ‘I’ve kept quiet… I said nothing… every time it happens I tell myself it doesn’t really matter…and every time it matters… but I tell myself, you don’t mean it… I tell myself, he doesn’t mean it that way… and shit,’ He smiles painfully, ‘I know my own problems, Spock, what gets me spooked and so you know, I think - no, wait, you’re overacting, you’re over-thinking, projecting, whatever, this is fucking Spock we’re telling about. Either way I’m wrong. But it happens again… and then I think, I think-’
Nothing should hurt this bad…
‘And then, when I bring it up with you… just consider the possibility of saying something to you....’ He holds Spock’s eyes and finds himself wavering, not sure if he is mad or embarrassed or sorry. ‘Shit, Spock, I can hear what you’re going to say in reply before I even say anything…and always, every scenario I turn in my head…you make me feel so ashamed of myself I-’ he chokes as he remembers again. It takes a force of will to swallow down the inevitable swell of bitterness, rejection and frustrated despair that comes upon him with the force of a hurricane.
‘If you had informed me, this would not have happened. Hiding this from me, Jim, it is…’ Spock goes silent.
The word cuts him even though it never leaves Spock’s mouth. It never used to hurt, but that word is tainted by the memory of Spock’s callous mutter and he refuses to have it leveled at him like a weapon. ‘You don’t get to use that word right now.’ His voice is so strangled he doesn’t recognize it. ‘How could I tell you Spock? Has there been a single fucking moment when you’re not working, not planning, not dragging me to some public function?’
He closes his mouth, aware that he’s getting upset again and they’re about to rehash everything and they don’t need to, fuck, he doesn’t want it. It hurts too damn much. Jim frees himself even though Spock doesn’t want to let him go but he forces it, knees and elbows shoving and jostling, because he’s humiliated himself enough for one day and he doesn’t need to completely lose it.
‘Fuck it.’ He says, and flees like a coward.
--------
His eyes flutter open, confused by the sway of the bed. Spock is back, he thinks sleepily and a surge of longing coils through him. He turns before he has time to think about it and wriggles across the bed, driven by a need to be close to Spock. Jim presses his cool cheek into naked flesh and the warmth makes him shudder violently and then abruptly he’s awake. The evening’s events flies through his mind, repeating every wound until he’s ready to break all over again. He is meant to ignore Spock, wait Spock out, make Spock come back to him groveling or whatever it is that Vulcan’s do when they’re in the dog house. His fingers spread across the plain of Spock’s back, and something inside of him shivers in want.
Spock shifts and Jim holds his breath, waiting for the Vulcan to realize who’s touching him and move away. Jim feels like his hands are burning against Spock’s skin; he isn’t meant to take comfort from his body heat, not when they’re enemies and the lines were already drawn. There is meant to be payment, there is meant to be remorse, admittance of grievances - how does he expect to get Spock to fucking get it when he just caves? Jim can almost see it now, the next time they argue - Spock with that eidetic memory, listing all the things that Jim has ever done and he’ll say: do you remember, Jim, that time on New Vulcan when you willfully misbehaved and then came crawling back to me?
The sensation of being trapped increases. For his own self-preservation, he needs to shove Spock away right now and tell him to get the fuck out. Spock shifts again and then turns, and Jim closes his eyes in resignation, wondering if Spock will do this the hard way or the easy way, with his words or with his body. Inside an unbearable pressure begins to build as he waits for the inevitable. A familiar stroke along the back of his head startles him badly enough that he flinches. Something inside of him unclenches, because he is so certain… so sure…
He breathes deeply, shaken and comforted by that dry smell of Spock’s, a little herbal and slightly smoky, like lightening building in the atmosphere. Spock presses tighter against him, and then like usual they complete their bedtime ritual. Jim rolls over to lie on his other side and lets Spock settle behind him. This is the moment when they close their eyes to sleep but tonight neither of them can do it. A warm hand trails down his side and rests lightly on a hipbone.
end
*sigh* never would have written it if it wasn't for support from friends like karmic_fic and jademac2442 because it's not exactly the type of thing people want to read in fanfiction - and I'm not a big fan of angst, but it just had to be written