Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans | STXI | PG-13 | 8/?
Title: Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans (8/?)
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~7,800
Warnings: Jim is on everyone’s Shit List.
Summary: A 21st Century AU; In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But, dammit, this is real life - not an episode of The X-Files!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N1: This chapter is dedicated to orgy_of_death, who has had a difficult week. She has been a great fangirl to me and makes the most darling fanart too.
A/N 2: Check out aelite’s fanart of the last chapter - so adorable!
Chapters: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII
What it looked like wasn’t actually what it was.
Because despite the fact that Jim was wrapped around Spock like an anaconda, and Spock’s wig had somehow fallen to the floor and both their hair was unruly and spiked - Jim was freaking the fuck out.
A casual romp once in a while was fine - hell, Jim even did the relationship gig from time to time - but this. This standing at the precipice and knowing that Jim was going to fall no matter how abruptly he flung his body back - that was frightening.
Despite what the Captain and Tennille song claimed love will not, in fact, keep us together. Jim saw that time and again.
Love didn’t stop the person you cared about from dying. It didn’t stop a son leaving his sick mother and struggling brother. Love didn’t stop a wife from divorcing her husband and leaving him to care for their partially deaf daughter. It didn’t magically cure loneliness or selfishness or anger.
And love absolutely did not keep someone from leaving and - oh, y’know - flying into fucking space.
So in conclusion, this was all a big pile of bullshit - and Jim was not going to stand for it.
When Nyota popped her head into the doorway and light streamed in to the humid laundry room, Jim was already loosening his hold on Spock. Not that he didn’t want to continue making-out or anything - no, it was because he desired the very opposite he was tempted to bolt.
Not that considering retreat made him a coward. It totally didn’t. This was self-preservation at its finest. Jim needed to get a firm hold on that slippery, elusive emotion that was twirling around inside him. Once that was achieved, he could go back to freely flirting with Spock without consequence.
As for Spock...well.
Jim untangled himself from Spock’s hold and hopped off the dryer like it was no big thing.
Nyota leaned in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with muted amusement. “I assumed you were demonstrating to Spock the reproductive habits of the face-huggers from Alien.”
Jim smirked. “Ha-ha.”
Spock had brusquely disengaged himself from Jim, and was pointedly straightening his costume. His rigid back was to Nyota as he realigned his skewed wig, and pressed his lips into a stern line. His eyes were still glassy, indicating his mildly choco-drunk state - but Jim had a suspicion that Spock’s Vulcan physiology wouldn’t allow him to remain smashed for very long.
Jim gave Spock’s hand a reassuring squeeze, even as his heart constricted and twisted in attempts to wretch free of the largely uncomfortable emotion entrenched in his chest.
Or maybe that was just an alien waiting to burst free. Jim could only hope.
“I was officially welcoming Spock to Riverside, is all.”
“Uh huh,” Nyota replied noncommittally, and blew her long, thick bangs from her eyes. “Well, why don’t you show Spock how we drink in Riverside? Gaila’s moaning for beer pong.”
“Oh!” Jim may or may not have squealed as he clapped his hands.
Two things: One, beer pong was fun. And no Jim hadn’t grown out of it - which he blamed on his never officially attending a college or university.
Okay, he’d crashed plenty of frat parties in the past, but that was beside the point.
Two, beer pong was a hell of a good diversion. Jim needed a distraction that wasn’t Spock - particularly now, when Jim’s lips were still swollen and his skin still hummed, and he remained in danger of saying something chick-flick that he might regret later.
The problem didn’t lie with falling in love. Jim had been open to love loads of times - well, he had been open to ‘serious relationships’. Whatever the hell that meant - because who wanted a relationship to be boring and serious, really?
Anyway, the point was that Jim didn’t think he was particularly freaked out by love. It simply hadn’t been in the cards for him yet, and that was fine. He wasn’t going to chase that kind of thing.
The problem laid with who Jim was potentially falling for. This concern didn’t stem from Spock being an alien - although, let’s face it, that kind of thing had ‘shenanigans’ written all over it.
No, it was the fact that Spock was leaving.
Jim had his fair share of delusions in life - Heroes would return for another season, Sam and Frodo actually ended up together, and Mufasa never really died. But one of them was not a scenario that involved himself, Spock and Happily Ever After. That was simply not a possibility Jim was willing to allow himself to entertain.
Unfortunately, his cursed heart seemed to have an ulterior agenda, and that was going to be a problem.
So Jim did the only thing he could do to remain in control of the situation. He let go of Spock’s hand, tugged the hem of his shirt down and swept past Nyota with a half-smile. “C’mon Spock - let’s get me hammered.”
And boy did Jim ever. He was excellent at beer pong - not difficult to believe - and it didn’t help matters that Gaila was at his side, egging him on. They’d both always had borderline alcoholism in common, at least.
Jim was not surprised that Spock didn’t join in. He remained on a futon some feet away, conversing with Nyota and surveying Jim’s downward progression into Fratboy Douchebag. In the few instances that their gazes caught from across the room, Spock’s stare would sober and still - while Jim would deflect with a wink, and feel desperation and discomposure twist his gut.
Or was that the Milwaukee’s Best sloshing and frothing around his innards? Ugh. That was some nasty-ass beer - when would Jim ever learn?
Story of his life.
Gaila reintroduced tequila shots, and a Halloween episode of Supernatural miraculously flicked on the flatscreen. Players of Supernatural Shots had to take a shot for each time Dean bellowed, ‘Sam/Sammy!’, Dean got slammed into a wall, and Dean and Castiel had eye-sex.
Needless to say, things got fuzzy real quick for Jim; and soon the evening dissolved into a sea of spinning faces and muddled, nonsensical conversation.
“Jimmy! I hear you... seven minutes in heaven... Spock?”
“Dude... -on’t think you should... more... Bagel Bites.”
“Kirk, can I talk to you for... about Spock... don’t pull him along like a puppy on a lea... don’t think you reali... strong feelings for y... I have no ide... Ugh, my shoes! Goddammit, Kirk you’re paying for -”
“CAN WE PRETEND THAT AIRPLANES IN THE NIGHT SKY ARE LIKE SHOOTING STARS!”
“Let’s not, Jim. Let’s not.”
“JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK, GET OFF OF THAT TABLE. IT’S FROM IKEA..”
“I’ll take those keys... no way... driving...”
Large, familiar hands teased the small of Jim’s back.
Spock.
“Spock!”
“Yes, Jim.” He sounds weird. Kinda funky, for Spock. Funky town.
“Won’ you take m’to Funky Town?”
“I do not understand that reference.”
Jim snorted. “’Kay, Cas.” His shoulder pummelled into the corridor wall, and a picture frame wobbled, tipped and fell on his head. Luckily, it didn’t hurt at all! Jim was like a goddamned superhero with how he didn’t feel any pain.
“Are you well, Jim?”
“I think I’m Superman,” Jim whispered conspiratorially, leaning into Spock’s side.
“I see.”
“Act’lly, no. You’re Superman. Alien an’ all - an’ awesome powers. Sexy. Triple-X Sexy - that’s very sexy! What a great word. Sexy. Sssss...”
“I assure you that I am not a caped crusader.”
“You’re wearin’ a cape now.”
“It is a cloak and you forced me to wear it.”
Jim found himself guided to a bed - when had they arrived in an unlit bedroom? Whose place was this, anyway?
The moment Jim’s head hit the downy pillow, the world groaned and swayed before his eyes once more. It became a lot more difficult to string together coherent thoughts and sentences. So instead, Jim grabbed blindly for Spock, and sighed happily when he felt a comforting weight cave the mattress beside him.
“Spock,” Jim murmured, trying to simultaneously wrap all of his limbs around Spock while still lying on his side. “Soft Spock, warm Spock, little pointy ears. Happy Spock, sleepy Spock, purr purr purr.”
“Nrg,” was the reply.
Jim was pushed back to the bed. He huffed a little laugh and slurred, “Like you too damn much. When ya leavin’ me?”
There was a long moment of silence in which Jim nearly nodded off, before Spock carefully enunciated in the dark, “I do not believe that now is the proper time to have this discussion.”
Jim hummed noncommittally, because he could only partially recall what question Spock was answering in the first place.
A few seconds more and Spock’s voice sounded scraped-out and hollow, even to Jim’s bungled senses. “Taking in to account the fact that I repaired my communicator and broadcasted a distress signal before leaving for the party, I hypothesise that I will depart in five to twelve days.”
When Jim shot up to a sitting position on the bed, the whole world was tipped on its axis and his stomach went with. He bore down on the roiling in his gut and hissed, “What? What now what? You didn’ tell me! Why? An’ wh-”
Jim gagged and tripped from the bed, skittering into the adjacent bathroom with only enough time to lift the toilet seat and spew Bagel Bites and Milwaukee’s Fucking Best and Jose Cuervo and chocolate and god knows what else.
Spock pointedly did not follow to help. Jim would have lingered on the million whys whirling around his head if he hadn’t been so busy ejecting his major organs into the plumbing. And after he was spent, it was a bit too late for thinking, because Jim passed out on the icy, tiled floor.
***
Jim felt like road kill. At least, that was the first coherent thought he scraped up as he groaned and rolled onto his back. He squinted blearily up at the ceiling, his eyes crusty and angry with the daylight infiltrating the room.
His head pounded, his stomach roiled, and his spine felt more or less mangled from a night spent on the floor. But on the plus side, Jim realised an afghan was tangled around his legs and a pillow punched behind his head.
Hallelujah - someone cared!
The exclamation in his head took more energy than Jim had anticipated, and so he spent a good ten minutes more lying there and gauging whether or not he was going to puke again. When Jim smelled pancakes in the distance and his stomach made a Chewbacca gurgle, he figured he was in the clear.
Careful not to upset his haywire equilibrium, Jim gingerly sat up with his head in his hands. The room rocked once, but Jim had experienced worse.
Shower first. Jim’s head felt like one of those ashtrays that not only had cigarette butts, but also napkins and peanut shells and all manner or shit - and he probably smelled just as appetising.
With a level of dexterity that actually surprised Jim, he wobbled to his feet and flicked the shower dial to scalding. Undressing revealed several scattered bruises - none of which Jim recalled getting. There was also a scrap of paper with a phone number in his pocket from a ‘Matt’.
Matt. Matt? Douche Matt? Gross. Jim would rather date Steve Buscemi.
Ducking beneath the boiling spray with a hiss and a moan, Jim leaned against the still chilled tiles and allowed the water to sluice away the Halloween grime.
And then Jim remembered.
Well okay, he didn’t necessarily recall much after Dean had been slammed into a wall for the third time - but there were snippets and stuff.
There was Spock.
Spock who, Jim was fairly certain, had spent much of the evening with Nyota while Jim got shit-faced and ran amok of the festivities. Spock who, Jim was absolutely certain, put him to bed while Jim had rambled on about god knows what.
Spock, who was leaving.
If Jim recalled correctly, Spock had not been happy towards the end of the evening. Who would be?
Oh yeah - Jim was a major league fucktard.
Jim resisted banging his head against the tiles, because that really wouldn’t help the situation. Although, it was possible that he couldn’t get any more brain damaged, so...
With a clear head, a guiltier conscience, and smelling like Nyota’s cucumber and lemongrass body wash, Jim stumbled out of the shower. Not wanting to put on his smelly Han Solo clothes just yet, Jim settled for his boxer-briefs and tied a daisy printed sheet around him like a toga.
See, attending those frat parties had taught him something.
With a sour look twisting his face, Jim opened the door of his room - just as Gaila, clad in a long t-shirt and panties, padded through her doorway from across the hall. They exchanged balefully hung-over looks and wordlessly headed straight for the kitchen.
Spock and Nyota were already there, of course. Nyota faced the softly sizzling griddle with her back turned to the doorway, while Spock sat at the small kitchen table with a mug of tea cupped in his palms. He was barefoot, dressed in the tight forest green Legolas pants, and a clinging t-shirt that must have been borrowed from Nyota because it had kanji printed across the front. It was then that Jim noticed how shaggy Spock’s hair had gotten in the past several weeks - the tips of his ears were just barely concealed.
In the brief second before their eyes met, Jim recalled the heated drag of those hands across the small of his back. He shivered when Spock’s indecipherable gaze clashed with his, and then quickly returned to the table top without a flicker of recognition.
Despite Jim’s feeble attempt to keep a hold on his heart, it slipped through his fingers and fell with a sickening splat. Jim felt awful, and he hated that another person had the power to make him feel that way with one fucking look. That wasn’t right, that shouldn’t be allowed.
In the periphery of Jim’s attention, Nyota was saying, “Well, I’m the only girl among five brothers, so it fell on me to help my mom with meals every day. Actually, Ghedi enjoyed helping too, and he tended to burn food far less than I ever did. I know enough to get by. Anyway, I’m sure my mother would be flattered if I handed down some family recipes to you.”
Before Spock could reply - and, thankfully, before Jim was forced to speak - Gaila swept past Jim and plopped in the seat across from Spock with a dramatic sigh. “I feel like shit! Nyota, are those banana pancakes I smell?”
Nyota cast an amused glance over her shoulder. “It is, but you get the first batch because the first is always the worst, and our guest gets the second.” Her expression chilled several degrees when she saw Jim. “Kirk gets fed last.”
Dammit, he was on the Shit List.
“What did I break?” Jim croaked as he scooted into the seat beside Gaila. No way could he stomach sitting beside Spock right now. Unfortunately, having a view of his damn good-looking face across from Jim wasn’t any help either - especially when Jim was still feeling like something that crawled out from the garbage disposal.
Nyota’s pointed look at Spock’s profile told Jim enough. He’d trashed something worse than an Ikea table, then.
“You threw up on my shoes,” Nyota added as she flipped some oddly-shaped pancakes onto a purple plate. She set the dish before Gaila, who didn’t even bother with toppings or utensils. She just ripped off a piece and stuffed it in her mouth.
“Sorry,” Jim grumbled. He propped his elbow on the table and laid his cheek upon his palm as he observed Nyota pour batter on the griddle. Anything to distract him from Spock. What the hell could he say to him, anyway? Nothing that wouldn’t make Jim look like a fool. “Anything else?”
“The table.”
“And the table. I’ll pay you back.”
Nyota snorted a short laugh. “You don’t have an option.”
Jim’s lips curved slightly. “I mean, I’ll pay you back and pay you back with one thousand kisses.”
Nyota turned, leaned against the counter, and menacingly waved a spatula in Jim’s direction. “Oh, don’t you start quoting Rent to soften me up, James Kirk.”
Gaila snickered into her pancakes and murmured, “Ooh, someone is in trouble.”
“Gaila,” Nyota snapped, but she was grinning and rolling her eyes as she turned back to her cooking.
“So,” Gaila continued on as she played with her food. “Spock. Did you enjoy a good old American house party?”
Spock looked up from his tea, his expression carefully blank. “It was enlightening.”
Gaila blew a raspberry and tossed a crumb at him. “Sure, but did you have fun?”
Spock took a sip of his tea as if that would buy him time. He flicked a glance to Jim - who, having been caught staring, looked away - and said, “There were certain enjoyable elements to the evening, but I do not find I would be amenable to the experience again.”
Jim’s heart writhed on the floor, and he imagined it was picking up a lot of dust and hairs and gross shit from all that rolling around underfoot. His heart would probably never be clean or pristine after this was over. Christ, this sucked - what kind of sick bastards pursued this feeling?
“Aw,” Gaila murmured with a pout and returned to her food. “You’re one of those.”
The legs of Jim’s chair abruptly scraped across the linoleum floor as he stood. For a second he hadn’t realised he’d even done it, until Gaila asked, “What’s up, babe?”
“I need to...” Jim swallowed, instinctively searching out Spock even as he cursed himself for it. Spock’s pupils were flared wide and dark, and Jim had to tear himself away from his attempts to decode Spock’s thoughts. “Actually, I don’t think I’m hungry,” Jim continued shakily, offering a twist of lips that barely constituted as a smile. “I think I’m gonna get dressed and get ready to go. The farm never sleeps. Well, I mean the animals do, but then they get hungry and...”
Jim was already backing out of the room as he rambled his excuses. His lungs felt tight, like trying to inhale water on a humid summer day. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but Jim absolutely felt like he would choke and die on his words if he attempted to speak to Spock.
Not to be melodramatic or anything.
The problem laid in the fact that Jim rarely felt guilty for anything. He tried to live his life in a way that guaranteed an easy ride - and if Jim found himself at a fork in the road and he had the time to consider his path, he always chose the one he was most comfortable with. That didn’t necessarily mean it was the right path, or that it was the kindest path, but all the same it was what Jim could deal with.
And so he’d gone through life being kind of a self-important jerk, in the way that he cared more about his own emotional security than anyone else’s - and, in turn, Jim rarely experienced guilt.
But he was feeling it now, like a ton of bricks settled on his chest.
Unfortunately, Jim didn’t know how to apologise for the night before. Apologising meant not only admitting that he was wrong - which was no fun - but it also meant that he’d have to, y’know, explain why he ignored Spock for an entire night after avidly sucking-face with him in a laundry closet.
And the why was what weighed so heavily upon him.
Jim wasn’t going to think about it right now. Instead he concentrated on getting back into his old, grubby clothes and finding his keys. He didn’t know if Spock would want a ride home with him - but if he didn’t, Jim was sure Gaila or Nyota would give him one later.
It was entirely possible Spock didn’t want to have anything to do with Jim right now, and he couldn’t blame him. What Jim had done was a shit thing to do - especially considering how he felt about Spock.
Especially considering how Jim realised Spock felt about him. That was certainly the kicker. It wasn’t like Jim hadn’t figured out Spock’s little crush. Who wouldn’t like Jim, right? And Spock was an alien, so he was probably just as enamoured with the uniqueness of Jim as Jim was fascinated by the newness of Spock. The feeling was mutual.
But if what Nyota told him last night during his drunken stupor was true - maybe Spock wasn’t just curious about Jim. Maybe there was more.
And maybe that made things even worse.
How the hell was Jim going to fix this and come out unscathed?
Jim was about to leave the room when there was a short rap at the door. More like a single thump - as if the person on the other side had re-thought said knock halfway through, and only managed one knuckle before they’d chickened out.
Despite the circumstances, Jim almost smiled. He wasn’t the only nervous person in the house.
“C’mon in,” Jim called, and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room with his arms folded over his chest. As expected, Spock poked his head in with a guarded expression. When Jim gestured impatiently with one hand that Spock come in, he finally did - but he stood a good three feet away from Jim.
To Jim’s surprise Spock spoke up immediately, with his tone hollow and deep. “I wish to apologise for my untoward behaviour on the previous evening. My attention was not to offend you, and I believe it is clear that we both regret the incident.”
Oh. Oh.
Words and reassurances clamoured and clawed up Jim’s throat, but it seemed like not a one could break free. When had Jim ever really had a heart-to-heart with a partner? Not that Spock was his partner, but the essence was the same.
The answer was never.
Jim had never had a barf-worthy lovey-dovey conversation with anyone in his life. He opened up to his mother from time to time when he was either forced to through the threat of bodily harm, or when he was particularly distraught about something. But those moments were few and far between.
So yeah, right about now Jim was wishing he’d watched more Oprah and less Jerry Springer. Because the former would have helped him immensely in his current quest not to be even more of an asshat.
“Spock, that was - er, I don’t - I didn’t -” Jim fumbled, clenching his fists at his sides. He took a step towards Spock, but abruptly paused when he saw Spock swallow. It was a subtle gesture, but it screamed ‘terrified’ to Jim - and consequently, set Jim at ease a single notch.
Jim’s brow scrunched as he openly frowned at Spock. “I don’t regret last night.” Well, he regretted everything after the kissing part. “Well, no - actually, that’s not true. What I mean -”
Spock’s eyes snapped at Jim like stones from a slingshot. “I see. Well, as we have an accord on the subject, I believe you wished to depart.”
“Wait, you’ve got it wr-”
“I would appreciate it if you transported me back,” Spock curtly concluded. Without another word or second glance, he spun on his heel like a regular soldier and marched from the room.
Jim stood like a statue, and was fairly certain Spock had stepped on his heart on the way out.
This would take a while to clean up. Jim had a feeling that hearts tended to stain.
Shortly after that complete disaster, Jim and Spock made their stilted goodbyes to Gaila and Nyota. The former remained oblivious to the tension as she watched Saturday morning cartoons, while Nyota gave Jim the You’re On My Shit List look before he could finally escape.
The ride back was about as fun as a trip to the dentist. It was about as fun as watching that movie The Miracle of Life, where you’re forced to watch a baby being born with like a zoom camera.
In other words, the ride back was seven kinds of suck and Jim was fucking ecstatic when he unloaded Spock at the front door. Jim had quickly decided on the silent car-ride that he needed his mama, and so he didn’t bother to get out of the car. He just pealed out of the driveway as soon as Spock was indoors.
When Jim slunk in to his mother’s halfway house, he was grateful for Maria being on the phone. He was able to sneak away with a hasty wave and a half-hearted smile - but regardless of that small gift, Jim’s body still cried with the tension his muscles were carrying.
Each step he took towards his mother’s door made him surer that this wasn’t the best decision he’d ever made. Because really, as close as he and Mom had been growing up, Jim wasn’t really sure how comfortable he was talking about his relationships with her. His romantic life had always been a hand he’d kept close to his chest.
But hell, Jim had dropped the entire fucking deck of cards, and he needed someone to help him pick them up again. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it. At least Mom wouldn’t make him feel like a dipshit for it.
Moments later he was being pulled into Mom’s room of light and paper cranes, and being enfolded in thin, warm arms.
“Hey Mama.”
“Kiddo!” Mom held Jim back at arm’s length and grinned. “Good to see you. You’re looking -” she paused and inspected Jim as if she’d smelled something foul. “Well actually, you look like shit.”
Jim had to laugh. In the Kirk household, telling someone they looked like shit was their way of asking if you were okay. “I’ve always admired your tact more than anything.”
“You love it. Stop complaining and tell me what’s up.”
Jim offered a wavering smile, toed off his shoes, and flopped back on the bed. Jim stared at the ceiling. He watched a faded paper crane that was once a Smashmouth CD cover lazily spin in a draft. “You know how it goes. One of Nyota’s parties and I’m paying the price.”
Mom sat on the bed in her usual meditative pose, leaned forward and blocked Jim’s vision of the cranes. She frowned down at him. “You didn’t drink and drive did you?”
“Mom,” Jim sputtered, “I’m like, twenty-five! I think I can handle the basics like not killing myself in a fiery crash of intoxicated idiocy.”
She didn’t look convinced in the slightest, but at least she leaned back and gave Jim space again. “Well kiddo, it’s not like you’ve ever been the most street-smart boy.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That was always Sam.”
Mom hummed in agreement, and picked at a tattered hole in the knee of her jeans. “Still is.”
Sure, Jim had picked up a few life skills on his excellent adventure towards adulthood. How to win a bar fight - don’t stay still for long and find the nearest exit. How to handle being hit with a chair - turn your body so that only your arm gets hit, and go with the flow of the blow. How to drive a bus at high speed - wait no, not that one.
The point was that while Jim had learned a thing or two in his existence of endless shenanigans, it had never really come naturally for him. He’d been book-smart and intellectual, with a penchant for blurting out the first thing that came to his mind - no matter how offensive or socially awkward.
Okay, not much had changed since then - but at least now Jim had a patchwork filter. He had learned through sitcoms and movies and the general media what was politically incorrect, and what made people want to punch him in the face so often. It hadn’t helped that his mom also tended to lack intrinsic grace or poise, and she had rarely corrected his idiosyncrasies over the years.
Sam, however, had always been self-assured and strong. He held a room by walking into it, and not because he was boisterous or ostentatious. He’d been forced to grow up so quickly, that Jim sometimes imagined Sam had never been a kid at all - he’d been Jim’s hero for so long.
When Jim broke his arm falling off a bicycle and Mom had still been at work, it was nine year-old Sam who tossed Jim into his bright red wagon and wheeled him to the hospital. When Jim refused to cry the first time he was bullied at school for skipping a grade and being shorter than everyone else, it was Sam who had told him that it was okay for little brothers to cry, but not the big ones. When Jim went through his angsty teen phase and had punched a hole in the dining room wall, it was Sam who stared at him with disappointment dull in his eyes as he murmured, I’m sure you’d make Dad proud.
Sam always had his head on his shoulders. He always knew himself inside and out. He was a regular superhero where Jim never could be. This was why there was no changing his mind when he decided to abandon Riverside- no matter how much Jim begged. Sam had said, I’m not rotting here, and then he was gone.
Some fucking hero.
Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, he still is.”
A pause stretched like a rubberband at breaking point, and Jim knew what his mother would say before she even asked, “Have you heard from him?”
Jim heaved a sigh. “Not lately, Mom. You know I’d tell you if I did.” How hard was it to send Mom a postcard once in a while? Sam regularly sent a portion of his paychecks, so why couldn’t he send a fucking note? Was he really that sick of this family?
Mom’s voice went subdued as she shifted on the bed and ran slim fingers through Jim’s hair. “Of course. Of course.” She laughed humourlessly, and it pierced straight to Jim’s heart. “He’s so like his father with that independent streak of his.”
Jim instinctively angled his head against the palm of her hand, as his scalp tingled pleasantly from the attention. “I’ve got that too.”
“Not like Sam or George. They’re more, well, selfish than you have ever been.” Mom’s fingers slid away as fondness and regret warred in her tone. “Their independence ran wild, to the point that they didn’t care who they left so long as they could breathe.”
Aren’t you the very same?
Jim bit back the accusation with grinding teeth. He could say a lot of hurtful things when he was in a temper or wasn’t thinking - but there were just some thoughts he could never forgive himself for voicing aloud. That petty part of him which snapped at his heels and hissed snotty things in his ear was just his aching scars. Like anyone else, Jim had a lifetime of pains and struggles under his belt - living half your life with no father and half a mom could do that to a person. But it didn’t mean Jim had any right to lash out at someone as awesome as his mother.
So he opened his eyes and offered his mom a gentle curve of lips. “We’re all selfish, Mama.”
Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, thanks Obi Wan. It’s not like you to be so cryptically introspective. What the hell happened to you? Are you really my son?”
Now that the time to talk about Spock was here, Jim was thinking it wasn’t such a good idea. “I’m fine,” was his half-assed assurance as he sat up with a bright smile that would have fooled anyone but his mother. “Hey, I brought a slasher movie for our viewing pleasure! Halloween H2O. I bought it in the bargain bin at Blockbuster like five years ago for two bucks, and it’s total crap. We get to see Tyra Banks die though, so that’s a pl-“
“Jimmy, get over here.” Mom yanked him into a forceful, crushing hug that was more of a threat of impending violence if he didn’t cooperate, than actual parental affection. She released him and allowed Jim to suck in a desperate breath as she demanded, “Spill it. We can do it in two ways. I listen and refrain from commenting, or I listen and comment.”
Jim made a stupid face, but said, “You can listen and comment.”
Mom nodded brusquely and folded her hands atop her lap. “Okay. Hit me.”
They stared at each other intently. Jim was the first to blink, and he shrugged. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“It doesn’t matter as long as you spit it out.”
Jim fought the urge to squirm and failed. “I mean, I just... ugh.” He took a breath and met his mother’s steady eyes. “Okay. Spock.”
There, he’d fucking said it. This was going to be a miserable conversation, Jim could already tell.
Mom looked taken aback. “Spock?”
“Spock.”
“Right...” she nodded slowly as she processed the information. “What happened with Spock?”
Jim dragged a hand through his hair, and struggled for the words to describe what a total dick he actually was. It was funny, because he’d been told it enough times that he should be able to spout something by rote. “Well, we...”
Mom’s eyes bugged out. “What, already?”
“What - no - what?” Jim choked. Now he remembered why he never talked to the woman about his love life. “Mom, we kissed okay! Jesus Christ, don’t make me disable the comment feature.”
“So you two kissed and then?”
And then the shit hit the fan. “And then I was a total dick,” Jim grumbled and melodramatically flung himself back to the mattress. “I basically ignored him for the rest of the night, only to pull him back when I was mind-numbingly drunk and tried to, like - I don’t fucking know - sing songs and cuddle him. I think that’s what happened at least. It’s kind of -” Jim looked at his mother’s foreboding expression. “Of... uh...” He swore her eyes were glowing slightly red. “Blurry.” He whipped his arms over his head and whined, “I know - I know, okay? It was a shitty thing to do.”
Mom gave her classic but rarely-used I Am Disappoint Face #3. “Yes Jim, it was. That was classic Kirk selfishness on display. Spock - hell, no one is your toy. You can’t throw people’s emotions around. That’s how you break or lose the people you love. Trust me, I would know.”
Jim didn’t really think now was a good time to argue that he wasn’t necessarily in love, so he settled for, “I know.”
His mother shook her head and offered a faint smile. “No, I don’t think you do, honey. I mean, I’ve seen you plough through your boyfriends and girlfriends. Don’t think that because you don’t talk about them means I don’t know or hear about them. Moms are born with eyes and ears in places you don’t even want to think about, all right.”
“Great visual,” Jim muttered, but Mom was already marching forth.
“I mean, it’s like harvest time comes along and you chop people off at the ankles under the disguise of some care-free, no-strings-attached James Kirk - when I absolutely know that’s not who you really are. You farm relationships with about as much heart as you treat corn.”
Jim’s face burned and he couldn’t breathe. He had not been expecting that, even from his mother. It was like she’d been desperate to get that message across, but had never found the right opening.
Jim propped himself up on his elbows and scowled at his mother. “Okay, comments are officially disabled because you’re a bitch.”
“A crazy one at that,” Mom added with large, comically manic eyes. “You can’t stop me now.”
“Mom -”
“Jim -”
“I dunno what you’re talking about. People love me. I might be a dick sometimes, but I’m not actually heartl-”
“Listen,” she snapped, and Jim instantly clamped his mouth shut. Mom nodded curtly. “You’re upset because you know what I’m saying is true. That’s natural. But let me tell you something.
“You’re my baby - my kiddo. And I know what my own kid is like. I know I haven’t always been around, but I still understand you and no one can tell me otherwise. I’m only being straight because you’re an adult and you deserve it. Would you prefer if I tiptoed around your delicate man-pain like everyone else?”
Jim huffed, but replied, “No.”
“Okay then,” Mom said triumphantly. She cocked her head at Jim. “So then, what’s the problem?”
Unable to sit still any longer, Jim lurched from the bed and to his feet - his hands already wildly gesticulating as he spoke. “The problem is Spock is leaving and I fuckin’-” Jim screwed up his face as his heart thrashed against any admittance of weakness. He whirled to face his mother. “I really like him and he’s leaving - so how do I repress the like and deal with the leave?”
Mom frowned at Jim and shrugged. “Why do you have to? Why don’t you like him while you can and cry when he leaves? What’s stopping you from giving yourself over, if not for a few really amazing days?”
Because that sucks.
“Because -” Jim stalled as he swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth. His jaw ached from its fight to clamp shut. In a small voice that Jim would deny to his grave, he murmured, “’Cause I’m scared, I guess.”
“Of what?”
“Just... I don’t know.”
Of being alone. Of the people I love always leaving me - they always do.
Jim didn’t want to perpetuate that cycle. He left before anyone else ever could - and now, when Jim finally felt home with someone, the guy was the first to ditch him.
Jim stared at a crack in the far wall without really seeing it. “Maybe I like him so much because he’s leaving. You know, the novelty or something.”
“Maybe,” Mom replied without sounding like she believed that for a second. “Or maybe you just like him, Jimmy. And maybe you should stop pretending to be easy-going and actually be it for once. Just go out there and be happy for a while. God knows that shit gets harder to do the older you are.”
Jim shrugged. That was a lot to take in, and most of it Jim wasn’t so sure would do any good in his situation. He had to mull it over on his own, without people’s well-meaning pokes and prods. “I dunno. Maybe you’re right. For once, I mean.” A pillow hurtled through the air and thwacked him upside the head.
“I think you mean always, you ingrate! Now stop with the Lifetime movie vibes and let’s watch Tyra Banks get sliced and diced.”
***
Riding on the high of his mother’s words - because damn if she didn’t know what she was talking about, even when she had that murderous glint in her eye - Jim sped home with the radio jangling cheerfully. He was still unsure about how to handle That Spock Thing, but his thoughts were less jumbled on the matter now.
His mom could be right. Falling for someone like Spock wasn’t so bad - like, Jim could have picked way worse people to lose his love virginity to. Spock wasn’t the type of person who would hurt Jim, that was for certain. So what did Jim really have to lose?
Jim could like Spock in whatever way he chose - and when Spock left, yeah it would suck, but the world would keep spinning. Jim would find someone else one day in the future. Fuck - Spock was from space, so it wasn’t like he and Jim were destined to be together in the first place.
If Jim thought about it that way, Spock was like a bonus - and Jim was always one to appreciate the extras in life.
Hell, that was why he always bought the director’s cut DVDs.
It was while Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ played on the radio that Jim resolutely decided that he would feel however the hell he wanted, and he would be wholly unapologetic for it.
He just hoped Spock wouldn’t mind.
When Jim arrived home he was greeted by a bouncy, twirling Gumby - and silence otherwise. Jim called Spock’s name twice while he discarded his jacket and shoes, but when he got no reply he went on a search for Spock.
Jim found Spock in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with the laptop propped before him. Spock had only discovered the Internet recently. He tended to spend an hour or two a day hemming and hawing and generally scoffing at the inaccuracies of Wikipedia and whatnot. Jim knew that Spock secretly enjoyed complaining because he probably didn’t get to do much of it back home, so Jim humoured and encouraged him to scour the web.
When Jim entered the room - the door was open, but Jim knocked on the panelling anyway - Spock immediately closed the computer and looked up at Jim with blank eyes. His expression was reminiscent of their first few days together, and Jim felt a trickle of panic slither down his spine.
“Um - hi,” Jim began lamely. Super lame. Lame-o Calrissian.
Spock didn’t reply. He just stared at Jim like some creepy-ass android that hadn’t been switched on yet.
Jim huffed a breath and allowed his shoulders to sag. He was slowly learning that playing like he didn’t care took more energy than just caring. “Can we talk?”
“We have the ability of speech, yes,” Spock intoned frostily. He wouldn’t look Jim in the eye.
Jim breathed a short, soft laugh that didn’t necessarily diffuse the situation, but Jim always had a bad habit of laughing when he was nervous or angry. “I know it has to be the human side of you that talks this much shit, because there’s no way a Vulcan would.”
Wrong thing to say. Spock stiffened on the bed and clenched his jaw like a steel trap. Apparently he wasn’t even going to respond to that.
Jim scrubbed his hands over his face, muttering, “So damn sensitive,” and then dropped his palms uselessly at his sides. He offered Spock a crooked smile, one he prayed was charming enough to melt the first coat of ice encasing the Vulcan. “Okay, so let me just start by admitting that I’ve been a total doucheb- incredibly imprudent regarding my manner of conduct the past two days.”
Spock didn’t move from his place on the bed - nor did he speak. But his inky eyelashes swept up as he met Jim’s gaze with a discerning glint.
Jim saw an opening here. He just knew that using fancy words would be better than flowers or food any day. At least, for a Vulcan. Jim wondered if Spock had ever realised just how emotional he was for someone who claimed to be so controlled. Jim hoped Spock never came to that conclusion, because then he might try to change it - and Jim liked him exactly this way. Overly-sensitive and everything.
Er, not that Spock was sticking around much longer, Jim reminded himself with chagrin.
He cleared his throat and inched toward the bed as casually as he could. Which wasn’t very casual at all, and looked more like Jim was preparing a sneak-attack of some sort. “I wanted to clarify what I said earlier. Y’know, about regrets and all.”
When Spock remained silent - and this was actually kind of nice when he wasn’t jumping to ‘logical’ conclusions all over the fucking place - Jim gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. “Uh, what I meant was that I had regretted everything after the, er, kissing and groping. The part where I was an insensitive jerk - which, for the record, I hear I actually am more often than I thought.”
Jim wet his lips in an old habit of nerves, and searched Spock’s face for any spark of warmth. “Look, I’m not good with this Lifetime movie crap. I know I can talk a load of shit, but that’s different. I don’t do this.” Jim flailed his hands emphatically between them, and Spock followed the motion with his eyes. “And I certainly don’t do this. Whatever the hell is going on here. But I...”
Taking a chance, Jim placed a hand on Spock’s knee and refused to do it tentatively. Jim squeezed Spock’s leg firmly. “I guess if I had to do this with anybody, it’d be -”
The doorbell rang.
The doorbell fucking rang.
Spock shifted to stand. “Jim.”
“Ignore that,” Jim snapped, and clamped down on Spock’s thigh.
No way some asshole was going to ruin another possible moment with Spock. This was simply not happening. Jim’s life was not a sitcom. Hilarious happenstance did not actually exist -and if it did, it certainly didn’t happen to Jim.
Except the doorbell rang again. And again. Like the fucker knew Jim was home and was just going to wait him out.
“For fuck’s sake...” Jim grumbled as he jerked from the bed with a mournful look Spock’s way. “If this is another character of the week I swear to god I will eat my Gandalf hat.”
“What a particularly specific punishment,” Spock murmured under his breath as he followed Jim down the stairs.
Jim’s heart leapt with the hope that at least him and Spock could get back on the rails. Or if possible, on an entirely new track.
He was smugly smiling to himself when he whipped open the door - until a fucking a-bomb dropped, and its name was -
“Sam?”
Chapter Nine
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~7,800
Warnings: Jim is on everyone’s Shit List.
Summary: A 21st Century AU; In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But, dammit, this is real life - not an episode of The X-Files!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N1: This chapter is dedicated to orgy_of_death, who has had a difficult week. She has been a great fangirl to me and makes the most darling fanart too.
A/N 2: Check out aelite’s fanart of the last chapter - so adorable!
Chapters: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII
What it looked like wasn’t actually what it was.
Because despite the fact that Jim was wrapped around Spock like an anaconda, and Spock’s wig had somehow fallen to the floor and both their hair was unruly and spiked - Jim was freaking the fuck out.
A casual romp once in a while was fine - hell, Jim even did the relationship gig from time to time - but this. This standing at the precipice and knowing that Jim was going to fall no matter how abruptly he flung his body back - that was frightening.
Despite what the Captain and Tennille song claimed love will not, in fact, keep us together. Jim saw that time and again.
Love didn’t stop the person you cared about from dying. It didn’t stop a son leaving his sick mother and struggling brother. Love didn’t stop a wife from divorcing her husband and leaving him to care for their partially deaf daughter. It didn’t magically cure loneliness or selfishness or anger.
And love absolutely did not keep someone from leaving and - oh, y’know - flying into fucking space.
So in conclusion, this was all a big pile of bullshit - and Jim was not going to stand for it.
When Nyota popped her head into the doorway and light streamed in to the humid laundry room, Jim was already loosening his hold on Spock. Not that he didn’t want to continue making-out or anything - no, it was because he desired the very opposite he was tempted to bolt.
Not that considering retreat made him a coward. It totally didn’t. This was self-preservation at its finest. Jim needed to get a firm hold on that slippery, elusive emotion that was twirling around inside him. Once that was achieved, he could go back to freely flirting with Spock without consequence.
As for Spock...well.
Jim untangled himself from Spock’s hold and hopped off the dryer like it was no big thing.
Nyota leaned in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with muted amusement. “I assumed you were demonstrating to Spock the reproductive habits of the face-huggers from Alien.”
Jim smirked. “Ha-ha.”
Spock had brusquely disengaged himself from Jim, and was pointedly straightening his costume. His rigid back was to Nyota as he realigned his skewed wig, and pressed his lips into a stern line. His eyes were still glassy, indicating his mildly choco-drunk state - but Jim had a suspicion that Spock’s Vulcan physiology wouldn’t allow him to remain smashed for very long.
Jim gave Spock’s hand a reassuring squeeze, even as his heart constricted and twisted in attempts to wretch free of the largely uncomfortable emotion entrenched in his chest.
Or maybe that was just an alien waiting to burst free. Jim could only hope.
“I was officially welcoming Spock to Riverside, is all.”
“Uh huh,” Nyota replied noncommittally, and blew her long, thick bangs from her eyes. “Well, why don’t you show Spock how we drink in Riverside? Gaila’s moaning for beer pong.”
“Oh!” Jim may or may not have squealed as he clapped his hands.
Two things: One, beer pong was fun. And no Jim hadn’t grown out of it - which he blamed on his never officially attending a college or university.
Okay, he’d crashed plenty of frat parties in the past, but that was beside the point.
Two, beer pong was a hell of a good diversion. Jim needed a distraction that wasn’t Spock - particularly now, when Jim’s lips were still swollen and his skin still hummed, and he remained in danger of saying something chick-flick that he might regret later.
The problem didn’t lie with falling in love. Jim had been open to love loads of times - well, he had been open to ‘serious relationships’. Whatever the hell that meant - because who wanted a relationship to be boring and serious, really?
Anyway, the point was that Jim didn’t think he was particularly freaked out by love. It simply hadn’t been in the cards for him yet, and that was fine. He wasn’t going to chase that kind of thing.
The problem laid with who Jim was potentially falling for. This concern didn’t stem from Spock being an alien - although, let’s face it, that kind of thing had ‘shenanigans’ written all over it.
No, it was the fact that Spock was leaving.
Jim had his fair share of delusions in life - Heroes would return for another season, Sam and Frodo actually ended up together, and Mufasa never really died. But one of them was not a scenario that involved himself, Spock and Happily Ever After. That was simply not a possibility Jim was willing to allow himself to entertain.
Unfortunately, his cursed heart seemed to have an ulterior agenda, and that was going to be a problem.
So Jim did the only thing he could do to remain in control of the situation. He let go of Spock’s hand, tugged the hem of his shirt down and swept past Nyota with a half-smile. “C’mon Spock - let’s get me hammered.”
And boy did Jim ever. He was excellent at beer pong - not difficult to believe - and it didn’t help matters that Gaila was at his side, egging him on. They’d both always had borderline alcoholism in common, at least.
Jim was not surprised that Spock didn’t join in. He remained on a futon some feet away, conversing with Nyota and surveying Jim’s downward progression into Fratboy Douchebag. In the few instances that their gazes caught from across the room, Spock’s stare would sober and still - while Jim would deflect with a wink, and feel desperation and discomposure twist his gut.
Or was that the Milwaukee’s Best sloshing and frothing around his innards? Ugh. That was some nasty-ass beer - when would Jim ever learn?
Story of his life.
Gaila reintroduced tequila shots, and a Halloween episode of Supernatural miraculously flicked on the flatscreen. Players of Supernatural Shots had to take a shot for each time Dean bellowed, ‘Sam/Sammy!’, Dean got slammed into a wall, and Dean and Castiel had eye-sex.
Needless to say, things got fuzzy real quick for Jim; and soon the evening dissolved into a sea of spinning faces and muddled, nonsensical conversation.
“Jimmy! I hear you... seven minutes in heaven... Spock?”
“Dude... -on’t think you should... more... Bagel Bites.”
“Kirk, can I talk to you for... about Spock... don’t pull him along like a puppy on a lea... don’t think you reali... strong feelings for y... I have no ide... Ugh, my shoes! Goddammit, Kirk you’re paying for -”
“CAN WE PRETEND THAT AIRPLANES IN THE NIGHT SKY ARE LIKE SHOOTING STARS!”
“Let’s not, Jim. Let’s not.”
“JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK, GET OFF OF THAT TABLE. IT’S FROM IKEA..”
“I’ll take those keys... no way... driving...”
Large, familiar hands teased the small of Jim’s back.
Spock.
“Spock!”
“Yes, Jim.” He sounds weird. Kinda funky, for Spock. Funky town.
“Won’ you take m’to Funky Town?”
“I do not understand that reference.”
Jim snorted. “’Kay, Cas.” His shoulder pummelled into the corridor wall, and a picture frame wobbled, tipped and fell on his head. Luckily, it didn’t hurt at all! Jim was like a goddamned superhero with how he didn’t feel any pain.
“Are you well, Jim?”
“I think I’m Superman,” Jim whispered conspiratorially, leaning into Spock’s side.
“I see.”
“Act’lly, no. You’re Superman. Alien an’ all - an’ awesome powers. Sexy. Triple-X Sexy - that’s very sexy! What a great word. Sexy. Sssss...”
“I assure you that I am not a caped crusader.”
“You’re wearin’ a cape now.”
“It is a cloak and you forced me to wear it.”
Jim found himself guided to a bed - when had they arrived in an unlit bedroom? Whose place was this, anyway?
The moment Jim’s head hit the downy pillow, the world groaned and swayed before his eyes once more. It became a lot more difficult to string together coherent thoughts and sentences. So instead, Jim grabbed blindly for Spock, and sighed happily when he felt a comforting weight cave the mattress beside him.
“Spock,” Jim murmured, trying to simultaneously wrap all of his limbs around Spock while still lying on his side. “Soft Spock, warm Spock, little pointy ears. Happy Spock, sleepy Spock, purr purr purr.”
“Nrg,” was the reply.
Jim was pushed back to the bed. He huffed a little laugh and slurred, “Like you too damn much. When ya leavin’ me?”
There was a long moment of silence in which Jim nearly nodded off, before Spock carefully enunciated in the dark, “I do not believe that now is the proper time to have this discussion.”
Jim hummed noncommittally, because he could only partially recall what question Spock was answering in the first place.
A few seconds more and Spock’s voice sounded scraped-out and hollow, even to Jim’s bungled senses. “Taking in to account the fact that I repaired my communicator and broadcasted a distress signal before leaving for the party, I hypothesise that I will depart in five to twelve days.”
When Jim shot up to a sitting position on the bed, the whole world was tipped on its axis and his stomach went with. He bore down on the roiling in his gut and hissed, “What? What now what? You didn’ tell me! Why? An’ wh-”
Jim gagged and tripped from the bed, skittering into the adjacent bathroom with only enough time to lift the toilet seat and spew Bagel Bites and Milwaukee’s Fucking Best and Jose Cuervo and chocolate and god knows what else.
Spock pointedly did not follow to help. Jim would have lingered on the million whys whirling around his head if he hadn’t been so busy ejecting his major organs into the plumbing. And after he was spent, it was a bit too late for thinking, because Jim passed out on the icy, tiled floor.
***
Jim felt like road kill. At least, that was the first coherent thought he scraped up as he groaned and rolled onto his back. He squinted blearily up at the ceiling, his eyes crusty and angry with the daylight infiltrating the room.
His head pounded, his stomach roiled, and his spine felt more or less mangled from a night spent on the floor. But on the plus side, Jim realised an afghan was tangled around his legs and a pillow punched behind his head.
Hallelujah - someone cared!
The exclamation in his head took more energy than Jim had anticipated, and so he spent a good ten minutes more lying there and gauging whether or not he was going to puke again. When Jim smelled pancakes in the distance and his stomach made a Chewbacca gurgle, he figured he was in the clear.
Careful not to upset his haywire equilibrium, Jim gingerly sat up with his head in his hands. The room rocked once, but Jim had experienced worse.
Shower first. Jim’s head felt like one of those ashtrays that not only had cigarette butts, but also napkins and peanut shells and all manner or shit - and he probably smelled just as appetising.
With a level of dexterity that actually surprised Jim, he wobbled to his feet and flicked the shower dial to scalding. Undressing revealed several scattered bruises - none of which Jim recalled getting. There was also a scrap of paper with a phone number in his pocket from a ‘Matt’.
Matt. Matt? Douche Matt? Gross. Jim would rather date Steve Buscemi.
Ducking beneath the boiling spray with a hiss and a moan, Jim leaned against the still chilled tiles and allowed the water to sluice away the Halloween grime.
And then Jim remembered.
Well okay, he didn’t necessarily recall much after Dean had been slammed into a wall for the third time - but there were snippets and stuff.
There was Spock.
Spock who, Jim was fairly certain, had spent much of the evening with Nyota while Jim got shit-faced and ran amok of the festivities. Spock who, Jim was absolutely certain, put him to bed while Jim had rambled on about god knows what.
Spock, who was leaving.
If Jim recalled correctly, Spock had not been happy towards the end of the evening. Who would be?
Oh yeah - Jim was a major league fucktard.
Jim resisted banging his head against the tiles, because that really wouldn’t help the situation. Although, it was possible that he couldn’t get any more brain damaged, so...
With a clear head, a guiltier conscience, and smelling like Nyota’s cucumber and lemongrass body wash, Jim stumbled out of the shower. Not wanting to put on his smelly Han Solo clothes just yet, Jim settled for his boxer-briefs and tied a daisy printed sheet around him like a toga.
See, attending those frat parties had taught him something.
With a sour look twisting his face, Jim opened the door of his room - just as Gaila, clad in a long t-shirt and panties, padded through her doorway from across the hall. They exchanged balefully hung-over looks and wordlessly headed straight for the kitchen.
Spock and Nyota were already there, of course. Nyota faced the softly sizzling griddle with her back turned to the doorway, while Spock sat at the small kitchen table with a mug of tea cupped in his palms. He was barefoot, dressed in the tight forest green Legolas pants, and a clinging t-shirt that must have been borrowed from Nyota because it had kanji printed across the front. It was then that Jim noticed how shaggy Spock’s hair had gotten in the past several weeks - the tips of his ears were just barely concealed.
In the brief second before their eyes met, Jim recalled the heated drag of those hands across the small of his back. He shivered when Spock’s indecipherable gaze clashed with his, and then quickly returned to the table top without a flicker of recognition.
Despite Jim’s feeble attempt to keep a hold on his heart, it slipped through his fingers and fell with a sickening splat. Jim felt awful, and he hated that another person had the power to make him feel that way with one fucking look. That wasn’t right, that shouldn’t be allowed.
In the periphery of Jim’s attention, Nyota was saying, “Well, I’m the only girl among five brothers, so it fell on me to help my mom with meals every day. Actually, Ghedi enjoyed helping too, and he tended to burn food far less than I ever did. I know enough to get by. Anyway, I’m sure my mother would be flattered if I handed down some family recipes to you.”
Before Spock could reply - and, thankfully, before Jim was forced to speak - Gaila swept past Jim and plopped in the seat across from Spock with a dramatic sigh. “I feel like shit! Nyota, are those banana pancakes I smell?”
Nyota cast an amused glance over her shoulder. “It is, but you get the first batch because the first is always the worst, and our guest gets the second.” Her expression chilled several degrees when she saw Jim. “Kirk gets fed last.”
Dammit, he was on the Shit List.
“What did I break?” Jim croaked as he scooted into the seat beside Gaila. No way could he stomach sitting beside Spock right now. Unfortunately, having a view of his damn good-looking face across from Jim wasn’t any help either - especially when Jim was still feeling like something that crawled out from the garbage disposal.
Nyota’s pointed look at Spock’s profile told Jim enough. He’d trashed something worse than an Ikea table, then.
“You threw up on my shoes,” Nyota added as she flipped some oddly-shaped pancakes onto a purple plate. She set the dish before Gaila, who didn’t even bother with toppings or utensils. She just ripped off a piece and stuffed it in her mouth.
“Sorry,” Jim grumbled. He propped his elbow on the table and laid his cheek upon his palm as he observed Nyota pour batter on the griddle. Anything to distract him from Spock. What the hell could he say to him, anyway? Nothing that wouldn’t make Jim look like a fool. “Anything else?”
“The table.”
“And the table. I’ll pay you back.”
Nyota snorted a short laugh. “You don’t have an option.”
Jim’s lips curved slightly. “I mean, I’ll pay you back and pay you back with one thousand kisses.”
Nyota turned, leaned against the counter, and menacingly waved a spatula in Jim’s direction. “Oh, don’t you start quoting Rent to soften me up, James Kirk.”
Gaila snickered into her pancakes and murmured, “Ooh, someone is in trouble.”
“Gaila,” Nyota snapped, but she was grinning and rolling her eyes as she turned back to her cooking.
“So,” Gaila continued on as she played with her food. “Spock. Did you enjoy a good old American house party?”
Spock looked up from his tea, his expression carefully blank. “It was enlightening.”
Gaila blew a raspberry and tossed a crumb at him. “Sure, but did you have fun?”
Spock took a sip of his tea as if that would buy him time. He flicked a glance to Jim - who, having been caught staring, looked away - and said, “There were certain enjoyable elements to the evening, but I do not find I would be amenable to the experience again.”
Jim’s heart writhed on the floor, and he imagined it was picking up a lot of dust and hairs and gross shit from all that rolling around underfoot. His heart would probably never be clean or pristine after this was over. Christ, this sucked - what kind of sick bastards pursued this feeling?
“Aw,” Gaila murmured with a pout and returned to her food. “You’re one of those.”
The legs of Jim’s chair abruptly scraped across the linoleum floor as he stood. For a second he hadn’t realised he’d even done it, until Gaila asked, “What’s up, babe?”
“I need to...” Jim swallowed, instinctively searching out Spock even as he cursed himself for it. Spock’s pupils were flared wide and dark, and Jim had to tear himself away from his attempts to decode Spock’s thoughts. “Actually, I don’t think I’m hungry,” Jim continued shakily, offering a twist of lips that barely constituted as a smile. “I think I’m gonna get dressed and get ready to go. The farm never sleeps. Well, I mean the animals do, but then they get hungry and...”
Jim was already backing out of the room as he rambled his excuses. His lungs felt tight, like trying to inhale water on a humid summer day. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but Jim absolutely felt like he would choke and die on his words if he attempted to speak to Spock.
Not to be melodramatic or anything.
The problem laid in the fact that Jim rarely felt guilty for anything. He tried to live his life in a way that guaranteed an easy ride - and if Jim found himself at a fork in the road and he had the time to consider his path, he always chose the one he was most comfortable with. That didn’t necessarily mean it was the right path, or that it was the kindest path, but all the same it was what Jim could deal with.
And so he’d gone through life being kind of a self-important jerk, in the way that he cared more about his own emotional security than anyone else’s - and, in turn, Jim rarely experienced guilt.
But he was feeling it now, like a ton of bricks settled on his chest.
Unfortunately, Jim didn’t know how to apologise for the night before. Apologising meant not only admitting that he was wrong - which was no fun - but it also meant that he’d have to, y’know, explain why he ignored Spock for an entire night after avidly sucking-face with him in a laundry closet.
And the why was what weighed so heavily upon him.
Jim wasn’t going to think about it right now. Instead he concentrated on getting back into his old, grubby clothes and finding his keys. He didn’t know if Spock would want a ride home with him - but if he didn’t, Jim was sure Gaila or Nyota would give him one later.
It was entirely possible Spock didn’t want to have anything to do with Jim right now, and he couldn’t blame him. What Jim had done was a shit thing to do - especially considering how he felt about Spock.
Especially considering how Jim realised Spock felt about him. That was certainly the kicker. It wasn’t like Jim hadn’t figured out Spock’s little crush. Who wouldn’t like Jim, right? And Spock was an alien, so he was probably just as enamoured with the uniqueness of Jim as Jim was fascinated by the newness of Spock. The feeling was mutual.
But if what Nyota told him last night during his drunken stupor was true - maybe Spock wasn’t just curious about Jim. Maybe there was more.
And maybe that made things even worse.
How the hell was Jim going to fix this and come out unscathed?
Jim was about to leave the room when there was a short rap at the door. More like a single thump - as if the person on the other side had re-thought said knock halfway through, and only managed one knuckle before they’d chickened out.
Despite the circumstances, Jim almost smiled. He wasn’t the only nervous person in the house.
“C’mon in,” Jim called, and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room with his arms folded over his chest. As expected, Spock poked his head in with a guarded expression. When Jim gestured impatiently with one hand that Spock come in, he finally did - but he stood a good three feet away from Jim.
To Jim’s surprise Spock spoke up immediately, with his tone hollow and deep. “I wish to apologise for my untoward behaviour on the previous evening. My attention was not to offend you, and I believe it is clear that we both regret the incident.”
Oh. Oh.
Words and reassurances clamoured and clawed up Jim’s throat, but it seemed like not a one could break free. When had Jim ever really had a heart-to-heart with a partner? Not that Spock was his partner, but the essence was the same.
The answer was never.
Jim had never had a barf-worthy lovey-dovey conversation with anyone in his life. He opened up to his mother from time to time when he was either forced to through the threat of bodily harm, or when he was particularly distraught about something. But those moments were few and far between.
So yeah, right about now Jim was wishing he’d watched more Oprah and less Jerry Springer. Because the former would have helped him immensely in his current quest not to be even more of an asshat.
“Spock, that was - er, I don’t - I didn’t -” Jim fumbled, clenching his fists at his sides. He took a step towards Spock, but abruptly paused when he saw Spock swallow. It was a subtle gesture, but it screamed ‘terrified’ to Jim - and consequently, set Jim at ease a single notch.
Jim’s brow scrunched as he openly frowned at Spock. “I don’t regret last night.” Well, he regretted everything after the kissing part. “Well, no - actually, that’s not true. What I mean -”
Spock’s eyes snapped at Jim like stones from a slingshot. “I see. Well, as we have an accord on the subject, I believe you wished to depart.”
“Wait, you’ve got it wr-”
“I would appreciate it if you transported me back,” Spock curtly concluded. Without another word or second glance, he spun on his heel like a regular soldier and marched from the room.
Jim stood like a statue, and was fairly certain Spock had stepped on his heart on the way out.
This would take a while to clean up. Jim had a feeling that hearts tended to stain.
Shortly after that complete disaster, Jim and Spock made their stilted goodbyes to Gaila and Nyota. The former remained oblivious to the tension as she watched Saturday morning cartoons, while Nyota gave Jim the You’re On My Shit List look before he could finally escape.
The ride back was about as fun as a trip to the dentist. It was about as fun as watching that movie The Miracle of Life, where you’re forced to watch a baby being born with like a zoom camera.
In other words, the ride back was seven kinds of suck and Jim was fucking ecstatic when he unloaded Spock at the front door. Jim had quickly decided on the silent car-ride that he needed his mama, and so he didn’t bother to get out of the car. He just pealed out of the driveway as soon as Spock was indoors.
When Jim slunk in to his mother’s halfway house, he was grateful for Maria being on the phone. He was able to sneak away with a hasty wave and a half-hearted smile - but regardless of that small gift, Jim’s body still cried with the tension his muscles were carrying.
Each step he took towards his mother’s door made him surer that this wasn’t the best decision he’d ever made. Because really, as close as he and Mom had been growing up, Jim wasn’t really sure how comfortable he was talking about his relationships with her. His romantic life had always been a hand he’d kept close to his chest.
But hell, Jim had dropped the entire fucking deck of cards, and he needed someone to help him pick them up again. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it. At least Mom wouldn’t make him feel like a dipshit for it.
Moments later he was being pulled into Mom’s room of light and paper cranes, and being enfolded in thin, warm arms.
“Hey Mama.”
“Kiddo!” Mom held Jim back at arm’s length and grinned. “Good to see you. You’re looking -” she paused and inspected Jim as if she’d smelled something foul. “Well actually, you look like shit.”
Jim had to laugh. In the Kirk household, telling someone they looked like shit was their way of asking if you were okay. “I’ve always admired your tact more than anything.”
“You love it. Stop complaining and tell me what’s up.”
Jim offered a wavering smile, toed off his shoes, and flopped back on the bed. Jim stared at the ceiling. He watched a faded paper crane that was once a Smashmouth CD cover lazily spin in a draft. “You know how it goes. One of Nyota’s parties and I’m paying the price.”
Mom sat on the bed in her usual meditative pose, leaned forward and blocked Jim’s vision of the cranes. She frowned down at him. “You didn’t drink and drive did you?”
“Mom,” Jim sputtered, “I’m like, twenty-five! I think I can handle the basics like not killing myself in a fiery crash of intoxicated idiocy.”
She didn’t look convinced in the slightest, but at least she leaned back and gave Jim space again. “Well kiddo, it’s not like you’ve ever been the most street-smart boy.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That was always Sam.”
Mom hummed in agreement, and picked at a tattered hole in the knee of her jeans. “Still is.”
Sure, Jim had picked up a few life skills on his excellent adventure towards adulthood. How to win a bar fight - don’t stay still for long and find the nearest exit. How to handle being hit with a chair - turn your body so that only your arm gets hit, and go with the flow of the blow. How to drive a bus at high speed - wait no, not that one.
The point was that while Jim had learned a thing or two in his existence of endless shenanigans, it had never really come naturally for him. He’d been book-smart and intellectual, with a penchant for blurting out the first thing that came to his mind - no matter how offensive or socially awkward.
Okay, not much had changed since then - but at least now Jim had a patchwork filter. He had learned through sitcoms and movies and the general media what was politically incorrect, and what made people want to punch him in the face so often. It hadn’t helped that his mom also tended to lack intrinsic grace or poise, and she had rarely corrected his idiosyncrasies over the years.
Sam, however, had always been self-assured and strong. He held a room by walking into it, and not because he was boisterous or ostentatious. He’d been forced to grow up so quickly, that Jim sometimes imagined Sam had never been a kid at all - he’d been Jim’s hero for so long.
When Jim broke his arm falling off a bicycle and Mom had still been at work, it was nine year-old Sam who tossed Jim into his bright red wagon and wheeled him to the hospital. When Jim refused to cry the first time he was bullied at school for skipping a grade and being shorter than everyone else, it was Sam who had told him that it was okay for little brothers to cry, but not the big ones. When Jim went through his angsty teen phase and had punched a hole in the dining room wall, it was Sam who stared at him with disappointment dull in his eyes as he murmured, I’m sure you’d make Dad proud.
Sam always had his head on his shoulders. He always knew himself inside and out. He was a regular superhero where Jim never could be. This was why there was no changing his mind when he decided to abandon Riverside- no matter how much Jim begged. Sam had said, I’m not rotting here, and then he was gone.
Some fucking hero.
Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, he still is.”
A pause stretched like a rubberband at breaking point, and Jim knew what his mother would say before she even asked, “Have you heard from him?”
Jim heaved a sigh. “Not lately, Mom. You know I’d tell you if I did.” How hard was it to send Mom a postcard once in a while? Sam regularly sent a portion of his paychecks, so why couldn’t he send a fucking note? Was he really that sick of this family?
Mom’s voice went subdued as she shifted on the bed and ran slim fingers through Jim’s hair. “Of course. Of course.” She laughed humourlessly, and it pierced straight to Jim’s heart. “He’s so like his father with that independent streak of his.”
Jim instinctively angled his head against the palm of her hand, as his scalp tingled pleasantly from the attention. “I’ve got that too.”
“Not like Sam or George. They’re more, well, selfish than you have ever been.” Mom’s fingers slid away as fondness and regret warred in her tone. “Their independence ran wild, to the point that they didn’t care who they left so long as they could breathe.”
Aren’t you the very same?
Jim bit back the accusation with grinding teeth. He could say a lot of hurtful things when he was in a temper or wasn’t thinking - but there were just some thoughts he could never forgive himself for voicing aloud. That petty part of him which snapped at his heels and hissed snotty things in his ear was just his aching scars. Like anyone else, Jim had a lifetime of pains and struggles under his belt - living half your life with no father and half a mom could do that to a person. But it didn’t mean Jim had any right to lash out at someone as awesome as his mother.
So he opened his eyes and offered his mom a gentle curve of lips. “We’re all selfish, Mama.”
Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, thanks Obi Wan. It’s not like you to be so cryptically introspective. What the hell happened to you? Are you really my son?”
Now that the time to talk about Spock was here, Jim was thinking it wasn’t such a good idea. “I’m fine,” was his half-assed assurance as he sat up with a bright smile that would have fooled anyone but his mother. “Hey, I brought a slasher movie for our viewing pleasure! Halloween H2O. I bought it in the bargain bin at Blockbuster like five years ago for two bucks, and it’s total crap. We get to see Tyra Banks die though, so that’s a pl-“
“Jimmy, get over here.” Mom yanked him into a forceful, crushing hug that was more of a threat of impending violence if he didn’t cooperate, than actual parental affection. She released him and allowed Jim to suck in a desperate breath as she demanded, “Spill it. We can do it in two ways. I listen and refrain from commenting, or I listen and comment.”
Jim made a stupid face, but said, “You can listen and comment.”
Mom nodded brusquely and folded her hands atop her lap. “Okay. Hit me.”
They stared at each other intently. Jim was the first to blink, and he shrugged. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“It doesn’t matter as long as you spit it out.”
Jim fought the urge to squirm and failed. “I mean, I just... ugh.” He took a breath and met his mother’s steady eyes. “Okay. Spock.”
There, he’d fucking said it. This was going to be a miserable conversation, Jim could already tell.
Mom looked taken aback. “Spock?”
“Spock.”
“Right...” she nodded slowly as she processed the information. “What happened with Spock?”
Jim dragged a hand through his hair, and struggled for the words to describe what a total dick he actually was. It was funny, because he’d been told it enough times that he should be able to spout something by rote. “Well, we...”
Mom’s eyes bugged out. “What, already?”
“What - no - what?” Jim choked. Now he remembered why he never talked to the woman about his love life. “Mom, we kissed okay! Jesus Christ, don’t make me disable the comment feature.”
“So you two kissed and then?”
And then the shit hit the fan. “And then I was a total dick,” Jim grumbled and melodramatically flung himself back to the mattress. “I basically ignored him for the rest of the night, only to pull him back when I was mind-numbingly drunk and tried to, like - I don’t fucking know - sing songs and cuddle him. I think that’s what happened at least. It’s kind of -” Jim looked at his mother’s foreboding expression. “Of... uh...” He swore her eyes were glowing slightly red. “Blurry.” He whipped his arms over his head and whined, “I know - I know, okay? It was a shitty thing to do.”
Mom gave her classic but rarely-used I Am Disappoint Face #3. “Yes Jim, it was. That was classic Kirk selfishness on display. Spock - hell, no one is your toy. You can’t throw people’s emotions around. That’s how you break or lose the people you love. Trust me, I would know.”
Jim didn’t really think now was a good time to argue that he wasn’t necessarily in love, so he settled for, “I know.”
His mother shook her head and offered a faint smile. “No, I don’t think you do, honey. I mean, I’ve seen you plough through your boyfriends and girlfriends. Don’t think that because you don’t talk about them means I don’t know or hear about them. Moms are born with eyes and ears in places you don’t even want to think about, all right.”
“Great visual,” Jim muttered, but Mom was already marching forth.
“I mean, it’s like harvest time comes along and you chop people off at the ankles under the disguise of some care-free, no-strings-attached James Kirk - when I absolutely know that’s not who you really are. You farm relationships with about as much heart as you treat corn.”
Jim’s face burned and he couldn’t breathe. He had not been expecting that, even from his mother. It was like she’d been desperate to get that message across, but had never found the right opening.
Jim propped himself up on his elbows and scowled at his mother. “Okay, comments are officially disabled because you’re a bitch.”
“A crazy one at that,” Mom added with large, comically manic eyes. “You can’t stop me now.”
“Mom -”
“Jim -”
“I dunno what you’re talking about. People love me. I might be a dick sometimes, but I’m not actually heartl-”
“Listen,” she snapped, and Jim instantly clamped his mouth shut. Mom nodded curtly. “You’re upset because you know what I’m saying is true. That’s natural. But let me tell you something.
“You’re my baby - my kiddo. And I know what my own kid is like. I know I haven’t always been around, but I still understand you and no one can tell me otherwise. I’m only being straight because you’re an adult and you deserve it. Would you prefer if I tiptoed around your delicate man-pain like everyone else?”
Jim huffed, but replied, “No.”
“Okay then,” Mom said triumphantly. She cocked her head at Jim. “So then, what’s the problem?”
Unable to sit still any longer, Jim lurched from the bed and to his feet - his hands already wildly gesticulating as he spoke. “The problem is Spock is leaving and I fuckin’-” Jim screwed up his face as his heart thrashed against any admittance of weakness. He whirled to face his mother. “I really like him and he’s leaving - so how do I repress the like and deal with the leave?”
Mom frowned at Jim and shrugged. “Why do you have to? Why don’t you like him while you can and cry when he leaves? What’s stopping you from giving yourself over, if not for a few really amazing days?”
Because that sucks.
“Because -” Jim stalled as he swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth. His jaw ached from its fight to clamp shut. In a small voice that Jim would deny to his grave, he murmured, “’Cause I’m scared, I guess.”
“Of what?”
“Just... I don’t know.”
Of being alone. Of the people I love always leaving me - they always do.
Jim didn’t want to perpetuate that cycle. He left before anyone else ever could - and now, when Jim finally felt home with someone, the guy was the first to ditch him.
Jim stared at a crack in the far wall without really seeing it. “Maybe I like him so much because he’s leaving. You know, the novelty or something.”
“Maybe,” Mom replied without sounding like she believed that for a second. “Or maybe you just like him, Jimmy. And maybe you should stop pretending to be easy-going and actually be it for once. Just go out there and be happy for a while. God knows that shit gets harder to do the older you are.”
Jim shrugged. That was a lot to take in, and most of it Jim wasn’t so sure would do any good in his situation. He had to mull it over on his own, without people’s well-meaning pokes and prods. “I dunno. Maybe you’re right. For once, I mean.” A pillow hurtled through the air and thwacked him upside the head.
“I think you mean always, you ingrate! Now stop with the Lifetime movie vibes and let’s watch Tyra Banks get sliced and diced.”
***
Riding on the high of his mother’s words - because damn if she didn’t know what she was talking about, even when she had that murderous glint in her eye - Jim sped home with the radio jangling cheerfully. He was still unsure about how to handle That Spock Thing, but his thoughts were less jumbled on the matter now.
His mom could be right. Falling for someone like Spock wasn’t so bad - like, Jim could have picked way worse people to lose his love virginity to. Spock wasn’t the type of person who would hurt Jim, that was for certain. So what did Jim really have to lose?
Jim could like Spock in whatever way he chose - and when Spock left, yeah it would suck, but the world would keep spinning. Jim would find someone else one day in the future. Fuck - Spock was from space, so it wasn’t like he and Jim were destined to be together in the first place.
If Jim thought about it that way, Spock was like a bonus - and Jim was always one to appreciate the extras in life.
Hell, that was why he always bought the director’s cut DVDs.
It was while Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ played on the radio that Jim resolutely decided that he would feel however the hell he wanted, and he would be wholly unapologetic for it.
He just hoped Spock wouldn’t mind.
When Jim arrived home he was greeted by a bouncy, twirling Gumby - and silence otherwise. Jim called Spock’s name twice while he discarded his jacket and shoes, but when he got no reply he went on a search for Spock.
Jim found Spock in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with the laptop propped before him. Spock had only discovered the Internet recently. He tended to spend an hour or two a day hemming and hawing and generally scoffing at the inaccuracies of Wikipedia and whatnot. Jim knew that Spock secretly enjoyed complaining because he probably didn’t get to do much of it back home, so Jim humoured and encouraged him to scour the web.
When Jim entered the room - the door was open, but Jim knocked on the panelling anyway - Spock immediately closed the computer and looked up at Jim with blank eyes. His expression was reminiscent of their first few days together, and Jim felt a trickle of panic slither down his spine.
“Um - hi,” Jim began lamely. Super lame. Lame-o Calrissian.
Spock didn’t reply. He just stared at Jim like some creepy-ass android that hadn’t been switched on yet.
Jim huffed a breath and allowed his shoulders to sag. He was slowly learning that playing like he didn’t care took more energy than just caring. “Can we talk?”
“We have the ability of speech, yes,” Spock intoned frostily. He wouldn’t look Jim in the eye.
Jim breathed a short, soft laugh that didn’t necessarily diffuse the situation, but Jim always had a bad habit of laughing when he was nervous or angry. “I know it has to be the human side of you that talks this much shit, because there’s no way a Vulcan would.”
Wrong thing to say. Spock stiffened on the bed and clenched his jaw like a steel trap. Apparently he wasn’t even going to respond to that.
Jim scrubbed his hands over his face, muttering, “So damn sensitive,” and then dropped his palms uselessly at his sides. He offered Spock a crooked smile, one he prayed was charming enough to melt the first coat of ice encasing the Vulcan. “Okay, so let me just start by admitting that I’ve been a total doucheb- incredibly imprudent regarding my manner of conduct the past two days.”
Spock didn’t move from his place on the bed - nor did he speak. But his inky eyelashes swept up as he met Jim’s gaze with a discerning glint.
Jim saw an opening here. He just knew that using fancy words would be better than flowers or food any day. At least, for a Vulcan. Jim wondered if Spock had ever realised just how emotional he was for someone who claimed to be so controlled. Jim hoped Spock never came to that conclusion, because then he might try to change it - and Jim liked him exactly this way. Overly-sensitive and everything.
Er, not that Spock was sticking around much longer, Jim reminded himself with chagrin.
He cleared his throat and inched toward the bed as casually as he could. Which wasn’t very casual at all, and looked more like Jim was preparing a sneak-attack of some sort. “I wanted to clarify what I said earlier. Y’know, about regrets and all.”
When Spock remained silent - and this was actually kind of nice when he wasn’t jumping to ‘logical’ conclusions all over the fucking place - Jim gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. “Uh, what I meant was that I had regretted everything after the, er, kissing and groping. The part where I was an insensitive jerk - which, for the record, I hear I actually am more often than I thought.”
Jim wet his lips in an old habit of nerves, and searched Spock’s face for any spark of warmth. “Look, I’m not good with this Lifetime movie crap. I know I can talk a load of shit, but that’s different. I don’t do this.” Jim flailed his hands emphatically between them, and Spock followed the motion with his eyes. “And I certainly don’t do this. Whatever the hell is going on here. But I...”
Taking a chance, Jim placed a hand on Spock’s knee and refused to do it tentatively. Jim squeezed Spock’s leg firmly. “I guess if I had to do this with anybody, it’d be -”
The doorbell rang.
The doorbell fucking rang.
Spock shifted to stand. “Jim.”
“Ignore that,” Jim snapped, and clamped down on Spock’s thigh.
No way some asshole was going to ruin another possible moment with Spock. This was simply not happening. Jim’s life was not a sitcom. Hilarious happenstance did not actually exist -and if it did, it certainly didn’t happen to Jim.
Except the doorbell rang again. And again. Like the fucker knew Jim was home and was just going to wait him out.
“For fuck’s sake...” Jim grumbled as he jerked from the bed with a mournful look Spock’s way. “If this is another character of the week I swear to god I will eat my Gandalf hat.”
“What a particularly specific punishment,” Spock murmured under his breath as he followed Jim down the stairs.
Jim’s heart leapt with the hope that at least him and Spock could get back on the rails. Or if possible, on an entirely new track.
He was smugly smiling to himself when he whipped open the door - until a fucking a-bomb dropped, and its name was -
“Sam?”
Chapter Nine