Looking For Shooting Stars Chapter Two
Title: Looking For Shooting Stars
Author: Miss Meh
Universe/Series: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, Amanda/Sarek
Warnings: AU, language, angst, h/c, implied past non-con
Word Count: 6365
Status: WIP
Summary: Spock and his family have moved to Earth. He has accepted this. But when Jim Kirk moves in next door and Spock accidentally gets a glimpse of the younger boy’s pain, Spock refuses to accept the fact that he cannot help. It may be illogical, but he will unravel the mystery that is Jim Kirk.
A/N: Yay! New chapter! I finished this up last night and the best beta in the world (yes, that would be delu) got it back to me today. A note about Jim and Spock’s ages: Spock is 17 and a junior in high school; Jim is 14 (almost 15) and a freshman in high school. One of my reviewers (thank you Kitty Howell!) was a bit concerned about their age gap and the fact that Jim is only 14. I would like to let all of you know that nothing is going to happen between them for a while. At this point in the story, Jim is emotionally unavailable and Spock still thinks that his observation of Jim is scientific in nature.
Oh, and I based my stardates on the ones used in STXI, not those in TOS. I have absolutely no clue how to come up with TOS stardates, so I just added 15 (Jim is turning 15) to 2233 and used the day of the year out of 365. All of the events in this chapter take place on 2248.44 which would be February 13, 2248.
Other warnings: Spock stalking Jim in a hopefully believable way, off-screen Jim/OFC sex (I really didn’t want to, but it’s needed to push the story along), and mentions of non-con
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Chapter Two: Never Been
“…Said she’d never been in love before
Tried the best she could to hide herself away…”
Observation Log, Stardate: 2248.44
Subject: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim
Age: 14.91 years
Current Location: Cafeteria, Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa
The subject is seated at a table at a distance of approximately 6.7419 meters. He has chosen to partake of what appears to be a meatball sub and a brownie. His appetite, however, seems to be as absent as ever, as he has once more left his food untouched on his plate. Overall, his tendency toward abstaining from the 2500 calorie diet necessary for a human male of his age is rapidly becoming his most perturbing and repetitive trait.
I have also catalogued several new contusions (one to the right side of his jaw, one around his right wrist, and one over his left clavicle that may indicate a break), as well as a recently incurred laceration that extends 3.2591 centimeters onto his forehead. Total length of the injury is unknown as it is obscured by the subject’s hair.
Spock sighed and saved his most recent entry to the James Kirk Observation Log on his PADD. The lunch period would conclude in exactly 3 minutes, which meant that any further observations would have to wait until after his classes had concluded for the day. Spock stood and straightened his already meticulous pile of books before picking them up and leaving the cafeteria.
2.3961 minutes after his departure, the personal communicator of every student assigned to the current lunch rotation let out a single, piercing tone, signaling the end to the time allotted to them for the ingestion of their midday meal. A horde of students surged out of the cafeteria, clamoring and pushing each other out of the way to get to their assigned storage space in the five minutes they had before their communicators would notify them of the recommencement of classes.
Spock was already seated for his next class.
He had perfected this particular method of physical contact avoidance on his second day in a human learning institution. Walking through the school hallways at any given time was taxing for Spock, but the crowd that formed immediately following lunch was daunting. At first, he had attempted to utilize his usual methods for avoiding the touch of his peers as it seemed to work well enough between classes. Unfortunately, Spock had failed to take into account the fact that teenaged humans were not only far more sedate during morning classes-his mother had explained this phenomenon by saying that most teenagers were “night owls”-but they were also quite excitable and energetic after they had eaten lunch. These two effects combined to make walking to class after lunch a negative experience for which Spock had no wish to repeat. Providing he departed the cafeteria prior to the conclusion of the lunch period, he was able to avoid the substantial amount of bodily contact it necessitated.
Spock looked over the entries he had made in his observation log while he waited for his teacher and classmates to arrive. Jim was beginning to worry him. It was only after many hours spent watching the human that Spock allowed himself to admit to feeling such an unnecessary emotion. Spock had been watching Jim Kirk for three weeks now, observing him both during their shared lunch period as well as after school. While he was still no closer to figuring out how the human had managed to get past his shields, this question was ceasing to be his most pressing concern in regards to Jim Kirk.
Jim was exhibiting a disturbing amount of behavior that could be considered abnormal for a 14-year-old human male. The most obvious of these deviations from the norm was his lack of appetite and the injuries he seemed to incur on a daily basis. There was no way for Spock to know what or how much Jim ate when he was not at school, but through careful observation, he had deduced that whatever he was eating, he was not eating very much of it. Jim must be ingesting the bare minimum required to keep himself alive, and Spock was worried that if that did not change soon, the human was going to end up in a hospital.
Spock considered this thought for a moment. Perhaps it would be best if Jim were to go to a hospital. The human had the innate ability to collect cuts and bruises, and Spock was sure that it was not because he was clumsy or because of the altercations he had participated in over the past three weeks. Spock had made observation concerning each of the five fights, but it had been a struggle for him to forcibly prevent himself from interfering. He was sure that Jim would not welcome his intervention, as in each case he had been the first to become physically violent, but the more often the human fought and the more bruises he accumulated, the more difficult it was for Spock to stop himself from stepping in.
As he read over the notes he had made on his PADD, Spock realized that while a few of the contusions he had observed were obvious matches to the blows Jim had sustained during his fights, there were many more bruises in places Spock was sure his opponents had not touched him. Jim was getting hurt in some other manner that Spock had yet to discover. This puzzled him as, aside from his required hours at the school, Jim spent almost all of his time secluded in his bedroom, something Spock could say with absolute certainty as their bedroom windows stood directly opposite each other.
Spock’s brows drew together in consternation. Something was amiss with his findings, and while he had a few theories as to why that might be, theories were of no value to him unless there was proof to substantiate them.
He opened a new file on his PADD and began to type out all of the things he knew or had deduced about Jim Kirk, hoping that if he wrote it down, saw all of his evidence and conclusions situated adjacent to each other, he would be able to connect the pieces and form a coherent picture of what was occurring.
Spock let out a nearly imperceptible sigh and turned off his personal PADD as his teacher strode into the classroom. As tempted as he was to simply continue attempting to comprehend the enigma Jim Kirk represented, he knew that this class was not one in which he would be able to do so without consequences. Most of his teachers had accepted the fact that the Vulcan education system was far superior to that of Earth and that, as a result, Spock was years ahead of the other students. In fact, some had even indicated that he was allowed to bring alternative study materials containing more challenging coursework if he wished to.
This particular teacher was not so accommodating, and Spock knew from experience that if he did not project an air of anything but rapt attention as the man spoke, he would find himself in front of the principal, even if his eidetic memory meant that he could repeat the entire lecture back to the man verbatim. On the first day of class, he had made the mistake of actually doing so when the teacher had expressed irritation at Spock’s lack of note-taking and demanded to know whether he had been listening. Spock replied that he had, indeed, been listening, and then, proceeded to “prove it” at the man’s request.
While he knew that it was unlikely the principal would punish him should he end up in his office again, Spock did not wish to necessitate both he and the principal wasting their time if he was able to prevent it. So instead, he pulled out the PADD that contained the textbook for his current class and listened to every word the man said.
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Observation Log, Stardate 2248.44
Subjects: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim, and human female, appellation unknown
Ages: 14.91 and approximately 16 years, respectively
Current Location: Locker 549, South Hallway, Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa
The subjects are conversing at a distance of 4.2635 meters from myself and 0.5183 meters from each other. The unknown human female has been attempting to coerce Jim into speaking for the past 2.5986 minutes. Jim appears to be reticent and unwilling to speak with the female.
*I must note that this is another abnormality in his behavior as compared to that of his peers. It seems as though human males in this age group have a peculiar weakness for females with some age differential to their own.
The female is now inclining her body toward Jim and curling one of her long tresses about the forefinger of her left hand. Jim’s expression has not changed, but he is sweeping his hand forward in a gesture which I believe indicates that she is to follow him. If I am not mistaken, the female has utilized a seduction technique, one which is apparently highly effective.
Spock saved the file. He was not sure where Jim and the unknown female were going as he had been unable to hear more than a few words of their conversation due in part to the distance between Spock and those he was eavesdropping on, but also because of the noise created by so many humans attempting to hasten their own departures.
The current situation did not make sense to Spock. He certainly did not know Jim on a personal level, but he had been observing the human, and while this behavior did not seem to be abnormal for a human male of Jim’s age, it was atypical of Jim, who appeared to abhor both touching and speaking with other humans at a level that even Spock had not obtained. He tried to come to some sort of understanding of what was occurring, but it proved to be impossible for him. Though he was not completely aware of what exactly he was missing, Spock did know that he was not currently in possession of all relevant data needed to comprehend Jim’s actions. This frustrated Spock, but he recognized the fact that, as with any scientific endeavor, his observation of Jim would require patience and an abundance of time.
In spite of this, Spock could feel the negative emotions inside of him trying to get out. Frustration was the most prominent, but there was also concern over Jim’s aberrant behavior as well as a hint of something else, something that was strengthening within him. The emotion threatened to overwhelm the others when Spock noticed the human girl attempt to slip one hand into Jim’s, and only the fact that Jim pulled his hand away kept it from actually doing so.
Spock shook himself. This was neither the time nor the place to be examining these sentiments; such scrutiny was better left to the privacy of his meditations. While he knew that humans possessed no abilities that would enable them to access his current thoughts, his Vulcan principles, though no longer unduly disturbed by Spock’s acknowledgement of his emotions, still demanded solitude for these considerations.
So, instead, Spock simply tried to ignore the unnamed emotion that was currently coursing through him and followed Jim and the unknown female out of the school.
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Spock was surprised when he realized that Jim was leading the girl back to his own house. Based on what he had seen at the school, he had come to the conclusion that the girl was interested in a non-platonic relationship with Jim. As he had also been under the impression that the human convention they referred to as “dating” was something that took place in a social setting outside of the participant’s respective domiciles, he was finding that he may need to do some reevaluating of what he thought he knew about human interaction.
After Jim had disappeared through his front door, Spock walked quickly past the Kirk house and over to his own. He was in such a hurry to get upstairs and gain some understanding of what he had witnessed that he did not even notice that his mother was there until she put a hand on his shoulder as he was about to ascend the staircase.
“Spock,” she said, smiling at him.
“Mother,” he replied. “You are not supposed to be home.”
“My part in the project has come to a standstill for today, so I came home. Where are you off to in such a rush?” Amanda chuckled, pulling him away from the stairs and toward the kitchen. “Come. Have some tea with me. We haven’t talked in a while.”
Spock felt a nearly overwhelming urge to pull away from her so that he would be able to continue his observation of Jim, but as strong as that urge was, it was not enough to cause him to turn his back on his filial duties. This was his mother, and it was true that they had not spoken beyond exchanged pleasantries in what Spock was now realizing was an inordinate amount of time. Between her work and his growing fascination with Jim, there had been no time to do so. Spock sighed, giving his mother a remorseful look and allowing her to press him down into one of the kitchen chairs.
As with the previous times they had spoken in the past three weeks, Amanda’s first question after she had poured the tea was, “How is Jim?”
Spock was unsure how to answer. When she had asked him before, he had deflected, telling her that he did not have enough data to draw a conclusion on the status of Jim’s welfare. Now, Spock was genuinely worried about Jim Kirk, and while he did not want to cause his mother unnecessary anxiety, he also had nobody else to whom he could bring these apprehensions.
“I do not believe that Jim is well, Mother. I have been monitoring him for three weeks now, and the behavioral patterns I have observed are extremely concerning.” A line formed between Amanda’s brows, and her lips turned down. Before she could request clarification, Spock continued, “I have never seen him consume either food or drink in public, though I have occasionally observed him eating in his room. He is constantly covered in bruises, and though some of them are a result of the physical altercations he has taken part in, many of them are unexplained. Previously, he refused to speak with any of his peers, and the only occasions during which he had any physical contact were the aforementioned altercations. And then, today…”
Spock stopped speaking abruptly, unsure whether he should tell his mother about what he had witnessed that afternoon. A part of him did not want to, as that would necessitate his telling her about the feeling he had experienced and still could not name. Even if he did not tell her directly, he knew that she would realize he was holding something back and attempt to draw it out of him. Spock was fairly certain that this innate ability had something to do with the emotional bond they shared, though even that could not account for how she always knew. It was simply a part of life that he had learned to live with.
“What happened today?” Amanda prompted.
Spock took a deep breath and told her, “Jim departed the school in the company of a human female. They are currently at the Kirk residence. Her intentions appear to be carnal in nature.” Spock ignored the fact that his jaw grew increasingly tense as he spoke. “I am uncertain as to why Jim would arbitrarily decide to allow her to accompany him, though, when he had previously been shunning all human contact. Are his actions indicative of feelings toward this female?”
An emotion took root in his chest, the same one that had threatened to overwhelm him when he had seen the unknown female attempt to take Jim’s hand. It really was quite disconcerting how far his Vulcan control must be slipping if his illogical frustrations had managed to make themselves known through physical outlets, Spock thought as he forced his fists to unclench and lay placidly in his lap. He sincerely hoped that for once his mother had somehow missed the tense set of his shoulders and how his mouth had hardened into a tight, flat line. He did not wish for her to know that Jim Kirk was causing lapses in his emotional control; it would spawn a whole host of questions that Spock knew he was not willing or currently able to answer.
Amanda pursed her lips and looked at him searchingly for a moment before giving him a small, knowing smile. Spock expected her to ask him about his feelings, but she didn’t, correctly interpreting his expression, as usual. “Spock,” she said gently. “Humans are not like Vulcans when it comes to relationships. There is no way for us to sense our mental compatibility with another. As a result, many humans, especially young humans, value physical compatibility instead. I couldn’t begin to tell you what Jim was thinking, but it is normal for a boy his age to…”
“No, Mother,” Spock interjected, shaking his head. Amanda looked at him in shock; he had never before interrupted her when she was speaking. “I apologize for the interruption, but there is something wrong with Jim, and I have been unable to ascertain what the exact problem is.” He sighed, his frustration with himself coming to the surface once more. “I could feel it on the day we met; Jim needs my help.” Spock stared at his mother, hoping that she would be able to understand in spite of his inability to articulate everything.
Amanda looked slightly alarmed, but her expression was also one of concern and unconditional support. “Spock, I am sure that if anyone can figure out a way to help Jim Kirk, it will be you.” She sighed. “I am worried about him, too. Though I haven’t been stalking him. Oh, I’m sorry, I meant ‘scientifically and impartially observing’ him…”
Her lips twitched in amusement, and Spock mock-glared at her, though he was inwardly a bit relieved that his mother had managed to dispel some of his lingering tension with her admittedly odd sense of humor. His mother apparently found his perfectly logical fascination with Jim Kirk to be, in her own words, “adorable and hilarious”.
Spock was sure that there was not another being in existence who would ever agree with that assessment.
Amanda cleared her throat and continued in a more serious tone. “I do have to ask, though. I can understand that there is cause to worry about Jim,” she said, pinning Spock with a look and studying his expression. “But why are you admitting to being worried? Even though I am your mother and you know that I can read you like a book, you would usually at least pretend to be the epitome of a calm and logical Vulcan. What is it about Jim Kirk that has made you forget about the pretense?” Spock did not even open his mouth. He knew that he had nothing to say. He did not know the answer to her questions. Seeming to sense this, Amanda shook her head and gave him an affectionate smile. “You don’t need to give me an answer, but figure out the answer for yourself.” Still unable to articulate a reply, Spock simply nodded.
Obviously considering the conversation over, Amanda stood up and stretched. “Ah, the tea’s gone cold. It’s a shame neither one of us remembered to drink it while it was hot,” she said regretfully as she picked up their tea cups. Spock stood stiffly and watched as she poured the tea into the sink before turning to leave the room, positive that this was the first time in his life he had ever finished a conversation with his mother more confused than when he started it.
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Though he had only been downstairs with his mother for 25.9204 minutes, Spock knew almost immediately upon entering his room that he had missed something. The first indication was the girl’s scream, which Spock’s sensitive ears detected as he opened the door to his room. As he rushed through the entrance-he was illogically worried that if something had hurt the human female, Jim may have been harmed as well-he heard Jim groan, which only made Spock hasten his steps toward his bedroom window. He had taken to keeping it open because Jim’s was always open, and doing so facilitated his observations. Even though it was approaching a temperature nearly intolerable to his Vulcan body, the current situation validated the irrational urge that had caused him to leave the window ajar. He needed to make himself available to assist in case Jim was…
Oh. Spock’s internal thoughts froze, and for 32.4682 seconds, his mind was completely clear of coherent thoughts. It appeared as though Jim and the unknown human female had engaged in sexual congress while Spock had been conversing with his mother. They were not currently in the act of coitus, but through Jim’s open window, Spock could see that they were both naked and still intimately connected, the girl over Jim in the slumped position to which she had fallen post-completion.
His brain seemed to restart upon realizing that the humans were naked and his sense of decorum, which had fled in the wake of his disturbing and accidental voyeurism, finally returned to him. The restoration of his senses brought along with it another overpowering wave of the emotion for which he had no name.
Ashamed for both what he had seen and what he had allowed himself to feel, Spock quickly moved himself to the side before either Jim or the female had a chance to get a glimpse of him and lowered himself to sit against the wall below the window. Spock attempted to rationalize his need to stay, telling himself that he wanted to be certain that neither was injured before he departed the room to give them privacy.
“I love you, Jim,” Spock heard the female whisper. His heart sank. It appeared as though this occurrence was not merely a satiation of physical urges as he had attempted to assure himself that it must be.
Spock knew that it was time for him to leave the humans in peace. He had wanted to know, to understand what was happening, and now he did. Based on the evidence presented-the matter of their intercourse and the words that had just been spoken-Spock came to the conclusion that Jim and the teenaged female were… lovers. Spock recalled all of the observations he had made since he had met Jim. He was bemused. How was it possible that he had missed such a thing?
And then, Jim snorted out a hard laugh completely bereft of the humor Spock would usually expect such a noise to convey. “Yeah, right. Love doesn’t exist. It’s just a fucking lie other people use as a tool to manipulate you. In real life, the people who are supposed to be there leave and the people who are supposed to care don’t give a shit. That’s how the world works.”
Spock felt sadness course through him at the bitterness in Jim’s tone, but the female giggled as though she thought he was joking. “And you were supposed to say it back? C’mon, it’s not that hard,” she cajoled.
“Maybe next time you want to fuck, you should find someone who’ll let himself be bought with a few cheap words.” Jim’s words were low and harsh. “Now get the fuck out.”
“God, you’re such a dick!” the girl screeched. Spock heard the bed groan as she rolled off of it and the rustle of clothing as she dressed.
Jim breathed out a soft “heh” and said, “Well that was all you wanted anyway, right? A dick?”
The sound of a sharp crack caused Spock to move quickly so that he could peer over the window ledge. Jim was sitting on his bed, one hand pressed to his cheek as he watched the female slam the door behind her.
Spock was shocked by the display of unwarranted violence that had taken place just 3.9243 meters away from him. He had seen Jim participate in conflicts before, but this one had occurred in his home, and that one fact made everything different in some way. Spock had always seen his home as a sanctuary, a respite from the judgments and criticisms of his peers, a place where he would be free from the expectation of harm.
The human female had just violated Jim’s sanctuary, and Spock knew that, as much as he may desire to, there was nothing within his power that would correct the situation.
Spock examined Jim’s expression with as much precision as he could from such a distance, and what he saw was cause for concern. The human’s face was blank. Spock was sure that even his father, to whom he had always looked up to as the quintessential Vulcan, could not look so completely emotionless as Jim did at that moment.
A moment later when emotions flooded back onto the human’s features, Spock was fairly certain that he had never felt more relieved.
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Jim sat on the edge of his bed and pressed a cold hand to his cheek. God damn it, that stung. He’d already had a fucking bruise on that cheek from the same fucking fight she was so “in love” with him over; did she really have to go and put another bruise on top of it just because she was pissed he didn’t love her back? Who the fuck fell in love with someone they had never even had a conversation with over one shitty lay?
He still didn’t know why he had even brought her home with him in the first place. He didn’t know shit about her-hadn’t even gotten her name, though he was sure she had said it at some point-and he didn’t want to either. When she had first come up to him in the hallway after his final class of the day, Jim had tried to just ignore her, getting the books out of his locker and letting her jabber at him without responding.
Unfortunately, this tactic hadn’t worked. At all.
The girl had then started flirting with him in the most obvious manner Jim had ever seen. When she eventually realized that Jim was not reciprocating her attempts at conversation, she had leaned toward him, as if they hadn’t already been way too fucking close to begin with. She told him that she had seen him win that fight the other day and asked him if he agreed that winners deserved some kind of reward, throwing in an extremely unsubtle and flirtatious leer in his direction. His first instinct had been to tell her that if she wanted to fuck someone, she should go fuck herself.
Then, he thought about it. Why the hell not? he wondered. It wasn’t like he had any innocence left to lose and a part of him was genuinely curious about what it would be like to be with a girl.
So, he had nodded and led the girl back to the house, knowing that Frank wouldn’t be there. His step-father was a creature of habit-that asshole didn’t have the brains to be anything else-and while he did come home drunk on most nights to beat the shit out of Jim, he usually did most of the actual drinking out in bars.
Usually, Jim scoffed, brushing his fingers over the cut on his forehead. Frank had come back to the house last night at his usual time, but he had brought a fucking bottle home with him-a bottle that had eventually been broken and then thrown at Jim in rage. Jim had managed to duck in time to keep the bottle from going into his neck, but he hadn’t ducked far enough to keep it from grazing the top of his head, leaving a gash that was way too fucking deep to not need stitches.
Of course, Jim hadn’t gotten stitches. He had barely been able to drag himself into the upstairs bathroom before locking the door and passing out on the tile floor. The only reason he had managed to pull himself off of the floor that morning was because he knew his mother read his fucking attendance reports and would yell at Frank if Jim missed school. While he didn’t particularly care if Frank got bitched out, he knew that his step-father would be even more pissed off than he usually was and would take it out on him.
Jim scowled and slumped back onto his bed, rolling over to bury his face in the messy sheets before remembering what had just happened on them and jumping back to his feet in disgust. Ugh, it still smelled like sex, a bizarre and disturbing combination of his own smell and the girl’s. Jim stripped the bed, unwilling to spend the rest of the night being reminded of it.
Just thinking about it made him feel dirty. He had thought that sex would be different if he forced himself to want it, but though the feeling was different now that he had done it of his own free will, it was just another version of the same self-hatred he had felt before. It was the same feeling that made his mind scream at him that he deserved everything that had happened because he was too dirty to ever be clean, too undesirable to ever be wanted for more than his body, and in so many pieces that he would never be whole again.
Jim shuddered. He was burning those sheets as soon as he had a chance.
He quickly remade the bed with one of several spare sheet sets he had shoved in his closet when they moved in. Even after fourteen years as her son, he still had no fucking clue why his mom could make sure he had a bazillion sets of sheets that fit his bed, but couldn’t find a fucking caretaker that would buy him new clothes when he had a growth spurt or actually keep food in the house (the moldy bread his mother had bought before she left didn’t count) or, you know, not hit him in a fit of drunken rage. Winona had never believed Jim or Sam when they tried to tell her what Frank was doing; she knew they had never liked him and obviously didn’t put it past them to make things up in an attempt to get rid of him. Jim knew that his mother was aware of Frank’s drinking; he had heard them arguing about it. To Jim, it seemed as though she cared more about having someone to dump her kids on than she did about whether that someone was going to treat them well while she was gone.
Jim allowed himself a moment of self-pity before shaking his head. There was no use dwelling on things he couldn’t change.
He threw himself back down on the (clean) bed and stared at the ceiling. Instead of thinking about things he couldn’t change, he should be thinking about things he could. That Vulcan, Spock, had been following him again that afternoon. It had started a while ago. He hadn’t been sure at first, but when he had noticed that the Vulcan made every single fucking stop Jim did on the way home from school a few days ago, he had been certain. The Vulcan was stalking him. It wasn’t like the guy was good at blending in, either. In fact, it didn’t even look like Spock was trying to be inconspicuous.
Jim still didn’t know what he was going to do about that. He should just go up to Spock and tell him to stop stalking him, but a very big part of Jim wanted to know why the guy was watching him. It wasn’t like his life was so fascinating or he was so interesting as a person that it would warrant this level of intense scrutiny.
Maybe it was some kind of Vulcan mating ritual or something. Jim actually considered that thought for a moment-after all, who knew what kind of freaky shit aliens got up to when they were looking for a mate-but then snorted. Even if he was at the age where that kind of thing would be allowed, he wouldn’t be a good mate for anyone, especially not an oh-so-perfect and ever-fucking-logical Vulcan.
His thoughts were interrupted as his stomach growled loudly. Jim absently rubbed a hand over his abdomen as he realized that he hadn’t eaten since last night before Frank got home, and then, he had ended up throwing up most of what he had eaten after the man hit him with that bottle. He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t known he was hungry before then; he was still as numb to hunger pains now as he had been when he had first trained himself to ignore them the previous year.
Jim sighed as he rolled over to reach under the bed to grab a can-huh, looks like he was having peaches tonight-from his food stores. He was going to need to be a bit more careful about his food intake. The last year or so had fucked him up, sure, but the last thing he needed was to be trapped in the fucking hospital again because he had forgotten to eat and ended up passing out.
Jim trembled slightly. God, that would be horrible. He still couldn’t stand to keep his windows shut, even in the middle of fucking February, because it made him feel like the walls were closing in on him. Being stuck in a hospital room, even if it wasn’t the one that had originally caused his fear, would drive him fucking insane. No, he really needed to do what he could to keep that from happening, which meant he needed to eat more often.
The problem was that Jim couldn’t eat outside of his room. He had tried once, but it was impossible for him. Sure, he knew somewhere in the back of his head that the food in the fucking high school cafeteria was probably safe, but Jim had thought the same thing about the food he had offered him and just look where that had gotten him. Damaged, broken, bloody, and left for dead.
There were rules after that. He didn’t eat unless it was safe, unless he was huddled among those he trusted, hidden away in their little shelter, so that they could make sure that if there were drugs in any of the food, well, at least there was someone to stand guard over his helpless body until the effects wore off.
There wasn’t anybody to save him now, but that was okay. Frank was bad, but Jim had had worse. As long as the bruises were only skin deep, he would live through it and come out the other side intact. Frank wasn’t like the other man, the one with the thinning brown hair and the full beard and the laughing eyes who said, “Here, take it. I’m sure you’re hungry,” but then Jim ate it and the bottom dropped out of his stomach and his whole body went limp and god, the pain…
Jim curled in on himself. God, he just needed to put the whole fucking thing behind him. The past was in the past, and the man was dead now; Jim had seen it himself.
For some reason, that thought made Jim attempt to clench his arms even tighter around himself in misery. Even if he was dead, it didn’t matter because Jim was already damaged goods.
How was he supposed to just put it all behind him and move on when he was still broken inside?
Chapter One: Next Door | Masterpost | Chapter Three: Calling Out
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A/N: Well, I hope you guys liked it. If you did, please review. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and helps me write faster. :P Either way though, I’ll start working on the next chapter right away and get it up as soon as I can. Thanks for reading!
Author: Miss Meh
Universe/Series: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, Amanda/Sarek
Warnings: AU, language, angst, h/c, implied past non-con
Word Count: 6365
Status: WIP
Summary: Spock and his family have moved to Earth. He has accepted this. But when Jim Kirk moves in next door and Spock accidentally gets a glimpse of the younger boy’s pain, Spock refuses to accept the fact that he cannot help. It may be illogical, but he will unravel the mystery that is Jim Kirk.
A/N: Yay! New chapter! I finished this up last night and the best beta in the world (yes, that would be delu) got it back to me today. A note about Jim and Spock’s ages: Spock is 17 and a junior in high school; Jim is 14 (almost 15) and a freshman in high school. One of my reviewers (thank you Kitty Howell!) was a bit concerned about their age gap and the fact that Jim is only 14. I would like to let all of you know that nothing is going to happen between them for a while. At this point in the story, Jim is emotionally unavailable and Spock still thinks that his observation of Jim is scientific in nature.
Oh, and I based my stardates on the ones used in STXI, not those in TOS. I have absolutely no clue how to come up with TOS stardates, so I just added 15 (Jim is turning 15) to 2233 and used the day of the year out of 365. All of the events in this chapter take place on 2248.44 which would be February 13, 2248.
Other warnings: Spock stalking Jim in a hopefully believable way, off-screen Jim/OFC sex (I really didn’t want to, but it’s needed to push the story along), and mentions of non-con
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Chapter Two: Never Been
“…Said she’d never been in love before
Tried the best she could to hide herself away…”
Observation Log, Stardate: 2248.44
Subject: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim
Age: 14.91 years
Current Location: Cafeteria, Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa
The subject is seated at a table at a distance of approximately 6.7419 meters. He has chosen to partake of what appears to be a meatball sub and a brownie. His appetite, however, seems to be as absent as ever, as he has once more left his food untouched on his plate. Overall, his tendency toward abstaining from the 2500 calorie diet necessary for a human male of his age is rapidly becoming his most perturbing and repetitive trait.
I have also catalogued several new contusions (one to the right side of his jaw, one around his right wrist, and one over his left clavicle that may indicate a break), as well as a recently incurred laceration that extends 3.2591 centimeters onto his forehead. Total length of the injury is unknown as it is obscured by the subject’s hair.
Spock sighed and saved his most recent entry to the James Kirk Observation Log on his PADD. The lunch period would conclude in exactly 3 minutes, which meant that any further observations would have to wait until after his classes had concluded for the day. Spock stood and straightened his already meticulous pile of books before picking them up and leaving the cafeteria.
2.3961 minutes after his departure, the personal communicator of every student assigned to the current lunch rotation let out a single, piercing tone, signaling the end to the time allotted to them for the ingestion of their midday meal. A horde of students surged out of the cafeteria, clamoring and pushing each other out of the way to get to their assigned storage space in the five minutes they had before their communicators would notify them of the recommencement of classes.
Spock was already seated for his next class.
He had perfected this particular method of physical contact avoidance on his second day in a human learning institution. Walking through the school hallways at any given time was taxing for Spock, but the crowd that formed immediately following lunch was daunting. At first, he had attempted to utilize his usual methods for avoiding the touch of his peers as it seemed to work well enough between classes. Unfortunately, Spock had failed to take into account the fact that teenaged humans were not only far more sedate during morning classes-his mother had explained this phenomenon by saying that most teenagers were “night owls”-but they were also quite excitable and energetic after they had eaten lunch. These two effects combined to make walking to class after lunch a negative experience for which Spock had no wish to repeat. Providing he departed the cafeteria prior to the conclusion of the lunch period, he was able to avoid the substantial amount of bodily contact it necessitated.
Spock looked over the entries he had made in his observation log while he waited for his teacher and classmates to arrive. Jim was beginning to worry him. It was only after many hours spent watching the human that Spock allowed himself to admit to feeling such an unnecessary emotion. Spock had been watching Jim Kirk for three weeks now, observing him both during their shared lunch period as well as after school. While he was still no closer to figuring out how the human had managed to get past his shields, this question was ceasing to be his most pressing concern in regards to Jim Kirk.
Jim was exhibiting a disturbing amount of behavior that could be considered abnormal for a 14-year-old human male. The most obvious of these deviations from the norm was his lack of appetite and the injuries he seemed to incur on a daily basis. There was no way for Spock to know what or how much Jim ate when he was not at school, but through careful observation, he had deduced that whatever he was eating, he was not eating very much of it. Jim must be ingesting the bare minimum required to keep himself alive, and Spock was worried that if that did not change soon, the human was going to end up in a hospital.
Spock considered this thought for a moment. Perhaps it would be best if Jim were to go to a hospital. The human had the innate ability to collect cuts and bruises, and Spock was sure that it was not because he was clumsy or because of the altercations he had participated in over the past three weeks. Spock had made observation concerning each of the five fights, but it had been a struggle for him to forcibly prevent himself from interfering. He was sure that Jim would not welcome his intervention, as in each case he had been the first to become physically violent, but the more often the human fought and the more bruises he accumulated, the more difficult it was for Spock to stop himself from stepping in.
As he read over the notes he had made on his PADD, Spock realized that while a few of the contusions he had observed were obvious matches to the blows Jim had sustained during his fights, there were many more bruises in places Spock was sure his opponents had not touched him. Jim was getting hurt in some other manner that Spock had yet to discover. This puzzled him as, aside from his required hours at the school, Jim spent almost all of his time secluded in his bedroom, something Spock could say with absolute certainty as their bedroom windows stood directly opposite each other.
Spock’s brows drew together in consternation. Something was amiss with his findings, and while he had a few theories as to why that might be, theories were of no value to him unless there was proof to substantiate them.
He opened a new file on his PADD and began to type out all of the things he knew or had deduced about Jim Kirk, hoping that if he wrote it down, saw all of his evidence and conclusions situated adjacent to each other, he would be able to connect the pieces and form a coherent picture of what was occurring.
Spock let out a nearly imperceptible sigh and turned off his personal PADD as his teacher strode into the classroom. As tempted as he was to simply continue attempting to comprehend the enigma Jim Kirk represented, he knew that this class was not one in which he would be able to do so without consequences. Most of his teachers had accepted the fact that the Vulcan education system was far superior to that of Earth and that, as a result, Spock was years ahead of the other students. In fact, some had even indicated that he was allowed to bring alternative study materials containing more challenging coursework if he wished to.
This particular teacher was not so accommodating, and Spock knew from experience that if he did not project an air of anything but rapt attention as the man spoke, he would find himself in front of the principal, even if his eidetic memory meant that he could repeat the entire lecture back to the man verbatim. On the first day of class, he had made the mistake of actually doing so when the teacher had expressed irritation at Spock’s lack of note-taking and demanded to know whether he had been listening. Spock replied that he had, indeed, been listening, and then, proceeded to “prove it” at the man’s request.
While he knew that it was unlikely the principal would punish him should he end up in his office again, Spock did not wish to necessitate both he and the principal wasting their time if he was able to prevent it. So instead, he pulled out the PADD that contained the textbook for his current class and listened to every word the man said.
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Observation Log, Stardate 2248.44
Subjects: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim, and human female, appellation unknown
Ages: 14.91 and approximately 16 years, respectively
Current Location: Locker 549, South Hallway, Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa
The subjects are conversing at a distance of 4.2635 meters from myself and 0.5183 meters from each other. The unknown human female has been attempting to coerce Jim into speaking for the past 2.5986 minutes. Jim appears to be reticent and unwilling to speak with the female.
*I must note that this is another abnormality in his behavior as compared to that of his peers. It seems as though human males in this age group have a peculiar weakness for females with some age differential to their own.
The female is now inclining her body toward Jim and curling one of her long tresses about the forefinger of her left hand. Jim’s expression has not changed, but he is sweeping his hand forward in a gesture which I believe indicates that she is to follow him. If I am not mistaken, the female has utilized a seduction technique, one which is apparently highly effective.
Spock saved the file. He was not sure where Jim and the unknown female were going as he had been unable to hear more than a few words of their conversation due in part to the distance between Spock and those he was eavesdropping on, but also because of the noise created by so many humans attempting to hasten their own departures.
The current situation did not make sense to Spock. He certainly did not know Jim on a personal level, but he had been observing the human, and while this behavior did not seem to be abnormal for a human male of Jim’s age, it was atypical of Jim, who appeared to abhor both touching and speaking with other humans at a level that even Spock had not obtained. He tried to come to some sort of understanding of what was occurring, but it proved to be impossible for him. Though he was not completely aware of what exactly he was missing, Spock did know that he was not currently in possession of all relevant data needed to comprehend Jim’s actions. This frustrated Spock, but he recognized the fact that, as with any scientific endeavor, his observation of Jim would require patience and an abundance of time.
In spite of this, Spock could feel the negative emotions inside of him trying to get out. Frustration was the most prominent, but there was also concern over Jim’s aberrant behavior as well as a hint of something else, something that was strengthening within him. The emotion threatened to overwhelm the others when Spock noticed the human girl attempt to slip one hand into Jim’s, and only the fact that Jim pulled his hand away kept it from actually doing so.
Spock shook himself. This was neither the time nor the place to be examining these sentiments; such scrutiny was better left to the privacy of his meditations. While he knew that humans possessed no abilities that would enable them to access his current thoughts, his Vulcan principles, though no longer unduly disturbed by Spock’s acknowledgement of his emotions, still demanded solitude for these considerations.
So, instead, Spock simply tried to ignore the unnamed emotion that was currently coursing through him and followed Jim and the unknown female out of the school.
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Spock was surprised when he realized that Jim was leading the girl back to his own house. Based on what he had seen at the school, he had come to the conclusion that the girl was interested in a non-platonic relationship with Jim. As he had also been under the impression that the human convention they referred to as “dating” was something that took place in a social setting outside of the participant’s respective domiciles, he was finding that he may need to do some reevaluating of what he thought he knew about human interaction.
After Jim had disappeared through his front door, Spock walked quickly past the Kirk house and over to his own. He was in such a hurry to get upstairs and gain some understanding of what he had witnessed that he did not even notice that his mother was there until she put a hand on his shoulder as he was about to ascend the staircase.
“Spock,” she said, smiling at him.
“Mother,” he replied. “You are not supposed to be home.”
“My part in the project has come to a standstill for today, so I came home. Where are you off to in such a rush?” Amanda chuckled, pulling him away from the stairs and toward the kitchen. “Come. Have some tea with me. We haven’t talked in a while.”
Spock felt a nearly overwhelming urge to pull away from her so that he would be able to continue his observation of Jim, but as strong as that urge was, it was not enough to cause him to turn his back on his filial duties. This was his mother, and it was true that they had not spoken beyond exchanged pleasantries in what Spock was now realizing was an inordinate amount of time. Between her work and his growing fascination with Jim, there had been no time to do so. Spock sighed, giving his mother a remorseful look and allowing her to press him down into one of the kitchen chairs.
As with the previous times they had spoken in the past three weeks, Amanda’s first question after she had poured the tea was, “How is Jim?”
Spock was unsure how to answer. When she had asked him before, he had deflected, telling her that he did not have enough data to draw a conclusion on the status of Jim’s welfare. Now, Spock was genuinely worried about Jim Kirk, and while he did not want to cause his mother unnecessary anxiety, he also had nobody else to whom he could bring these apprehensions.
“I do not believe that Jim is well, Mother. I have been monitoring him for three weeks now, and the behavioral patterns I have observed are extremely concerning.” A line formed between Amanda’s brows, and her lips turned down. Before she could request clarification, Spock continued, “I have never seen him consume either food or drink in public, though I have occasionally observed him eating in his room. He is constantly covered in bruises, and though some of them are a result of the physical altercations he has taken part in, many of them are unexplained. Previously, he refused to speak with any of his peers, and the only occasions during which he had any physical contact were the aforementioned altercations. And then, today…”
Spock stopped speaking abruptly, unsure whether he should tell his mother about what he had witnessed that afternoon. A part of him did not want to, as that would necessitate his telling her about the feeling he had experienced and still could not name. Even if he did not tell her directly, he knew that she would realize he was holding something back and attempt to draw it out of him. Spock was fairly certain that this innate ability had something to do with the emotional bond they shared, though even that could not account for how she always knew. It was simply a part of life that he had learned to live with.
“What happened today?” Amanda prompted.
Spock took a deep breath and told her, “Jim departed the school in the company of a human female. They are currently at the Kirk residence. Her intentions appear to be carnal in nature.” Spock ignored the fact that his jaw grew increasingly tense as he spoke. “I am uncertain as to why Jim would arbitrarily decide to allow her to accompany him, though, when he had previously been shunning all human contact. Are his actions indicative of feelings toward this female?”
An emotion took root in his chest, the same one that had threatened to overwhelm him when he had seen the unknown female attempt to take Jim’s hand. It really was quite disconcerting how far his Vulcan control must be slipping if his illogical frustrations had managed to make themselves known through physical outlets, Spock thought as he forced his fists to unclench and lay placidly in his lap. He sincerely hoped that for once his mother had somehow missed the tense set of his shoulders and how his mouth had hardened into a tight, flat line. He did not wish for her to know that Jim Kirk was causing lapses in his emotional control; it would spawn a whole host of questions that Spock knew he was not willing or currently able to answer.
Amanda pursed her lips and looked at him searchingly for a moment before giving him a small, knowing smile. Spock expected her to ask him about his feelings, but she didn’t, correctly interpreting his expression, as usual. “Spock,” she said gently. “Humans are not like Vulcans when it comes to relationships. There is no way for us to sense our mental compatibility with another. As a result, many humans, especially young humans, value physical compatibility instead. I couldn’t begin to tell you what Jim was thinking, but it is normal for a boy his age to…”
“No, Mother,” Spock interjected, shaking his head. Amanda looked at him in shock; he had never before interrupted her when she was speaking. “I apologize for the interruption, but there is something wrong with Jim, and I have been unable to ascertain what the exact problem is.” He sighed, his frustration with himself coming to the surface once more. “I could feel it on the day we met; Jim needs my help.” Spock stared at his mother, hoping that she would be able to understand in spite of his inability to articulate everything.
Amanda looked slightly alarmed, but her expression was also one of concern and unconditional support. “Spock, I am sure that if anyone can figure out a way to help Jim Kirk, it will be you.” She sighed. “I am worried about him, too. Though I haven’t been stalking him. Oh, I’m sorry, I meant ‘scientifically and impartially observing’ him…”
Her lips twitched in amusement, and Spock mock-glared at her, though he was inwardly a bit relieved that his mother had managed to dispel some of his lingering tension with her admittedly odd sense of humor. His mother apparently found his perfectly logical fascination with Jim Kirk to be, in her own words, “adorable and hilarious”.
Spock was sure that there was not another being in existence who would ever agree with that assessment.
Amanda cleared her throat and continued in a more serious tone. “I do have to ask, though. I can understand that there is cause to worry about Jim,” she said, pinning Spock with a look and studying his expression. “But why are you admitting to being worried? Even though I am your mother and you know that I can read you like a book, you would usually at least pretend to be the epitome of a calm and logical Vulcan. What is it about Jim Kirk that has made you forget about the pretense?” Spock did not even open his mouth. He knew that he had nothing to say. He did not know the answer to her questions. Seeming to sense this, Amanda shook her head and gave him an affectionate smile. “You don’t need to give me an answer, but figure out the answer for yourself.” Still unable to articulate a reply, Spock simply nodded.
Obviously considering the conversation over, Amanda stood up and stretched. “Ah, the tea’s gone cold. It’s a shame neither one of us remembered to drink it while it was hot,” she said regretfully as she picked up their tea cups. Spock stood stiffly and watched as she poured the tea into the sink before turning to leave the room, positive that this was the first time in his life he had ever finished a conversation with his mother more confused than when he started it.
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Though he had only been downstairs with his mother for 25.9204 minutes, Spock knew almost immediately upon entering his room that he had missed something. The first indication was the girl’s scream, which Spock’s sensitive ears detected as he opened the door to his room. As he rushed through the entrance-he was illogically worried that if something had hurt the human female, Jim may have been harmed as well-he heard Jim groan, which only made Spock hasten his steps toward his bedroom window. He had taken to keeping it open because Jim’s was always open, and doing so facilitated his observations. Even though it was approaching a temperature nearly intolerable to his Vulcan body, the current situation validated the irrational urge that had caused him to leave the window ajar. He needed to make himself available to assist in case Jim was…
Oh. Spock’s internal thoughts froze, and for 32.4682 seconds, his mind was completely clear of coherent thoughts. It appeared as though Jim and the unknown human female had engaged in sexual congress while Spock had been conversing with his mother. They were not currently in the act of coitus, but through Jim’s open window, Spock could see that they were both naked and still intimately connected, the girl over Jim in the slumped position to which she had fallen post-completion.
His brain seemed to restart upon realizing that the humans were naked and his sense of decorum, which had fled in the wake of his disturbing and accidental voyeurism, finally returned to him. The restoration of his senses brought along with it another overpowering wave of the emotion for which he had no name.
Ashamed for both what he had seen and what he had allowed himself to feel, Spock quickly moved himself to the side before either Jim or the female had a chance to get a glimpse of him and lowered himself to sit against the wall below the window. Spock attempted to rationalize his need to stay, telling himself that he wanted to be certain that neither was injured before he departed the room to give them privacy.
“I love you, Jim,” Spock heard the female whisper. His heart sank. It appeared as though this occurrence was not merely a satiation of physical urges as he had attempted to assure himself that it must be.
Spock knew that it was time for him to leave the humans in peace. He had wanted to know, to understand what was happening, and now he did. Based on the evidence presented-the matter of their intercourse and the words that had just been spoken-Spock came to the conclusion that Jim and the teenaged female were… lovers. Spock recalled all of the observations he had made since he had met Jim. He was bemused. How was it possible that he had missed such a thing?
And then, Jim snorted out a hard laugh completely bereft of the humor Spock would usually expect such a noise to convey. “Yeah, right. Love doesn’t exist. It’s just a fucking lie other people use as a tool to manipulate you. In real life, the people who are supposed to be there leave and the people who are supposed to care don’t give a shit. That’s how the world works.”
Spock felt sadness course through him at the bitterness in Jim’s tone, but the female giggled as though she thought he was joking. “And you were supposed to say it back? C’mon, it’s not that hard,” she cajoled.
“Maybe next time you want to fuck, you should find someone who’ll let himself be bought with a few cheap words.” Jim’s words were low and harsh. “Now get the fuck out.”
“God, you’re such a dick!” the girl screeched. Spock heard the bed groan as she rolled off of it and the rustle of clothing as she dressed.
Jim breathed out a soft “heh” and said, “Well that was all you wanted anyway, right? A dick?”
The sound of a sharp crack caused Spock to move quickly so that he could peer over the window ledge. Jim was sitting on his bed, one hand pressed to his cheek as he watched the female slam the door behind her.
Spock was shocked by the display of unwarranted violence that had taken place just 3.9243 meters away from him. He had seen Jim participate in conflicts before, but this one had occurred in his home, and that one fact made everything different in some way. Spock had always seen his home as a sanctuary, a respite from the judgments and criticisms of his peers, a place where he would be free from the expectation of harm.
The human female had just violated Jim’s sanctuary, and Spock knew that, as much as he may desire to, there was nothing within his power that would correct the situation.
Spock examined Jim’s expression with as much precision as he could from such a distance, and what he saw was cause for concern. The human’s face was blank. Spock was sure that even his father, to whom he had always looked up to as the quintessential Vulcan, could not look so completely emotionless as Jim did at that moment.
A moment later when emotions flooded back onto the human’s features, Spock was fairly certain that he had never felt more relieved.
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Jim sat on the edge of his bed and pressed a cold hand to his cheek. God damn it, that stung. He’d already had a fucking bruise on that cheek from the same fucking fight she was so “in love” with him over; did she really have to go and put another bruise on top of it just because she was pissed he didn’t love her back? Who the fuck fell in love with someone they had never even had a conversation with over one shitty lay?
He still didn’t know why he had even brought her home with him in the first place. He didn’t know shit about her-hadn’t even gotten her name, though he was sure she had said it at some point-and he didn’t want to either. When she had first come up to him in the hallway after his final class of the day, Jim had tried to just ignore her, getting the books out of his locker and letting her jabber at him without responding.
Unfortunately, this tactic hadn’t worked. At all.
The girl had then started flirting with him in the most obvious manner Jim had ever seen. When she eventually realized that Jim was not reciprocating her attempts at conversation, she had leaned toward him, as if they hadn’t already been way too fucking close to begin with. She told him that she had seen him win that fight the other day and asked him if he agreed that winners deserved some kind of reward, throwing in an extremely unsubtle and flirtatious leer in his direction. His first instinct had been to tell her that if she wanted to fuck someone, she should go fuck herself.
Then, he thought about it. Why the hell not? he wondered. It wasn’t like he had any innocence left to lose and a part of him was genuinely curious about what it would be like to be with a girl.
So, he had nodded and led the girl back to the house, knowing that Frank wouldn’t be there. His step-father was a creature of habit-that asshole didn’t have the brains to be anything else-and while he did come home drunk on most nights to beat the shit out of Jim, he usually did most of the actual drinking out in bars.
Usually, Jim scoffed, brushing his fingers over the cut on his forehead. Frank had come back to the house last night at his usual time, but he had brought a fucking bottle home with him-a bottle that had eventually been broken and then thrown at Jim in rage. Jim had managed to duck in time to keep the bottle from going into his neck, but he hadn’t ducked far enough to keep it from grazing the top of his head, leaving a gash that was way too fucking deep to not need stitches.
Of course, Jim hadn’t gotten stitches. He had barely been able to drag himself into the upstairs bathroom before locking the door and passing out on the tile floor. The only reason he had managed to pull himself off of the floor that morning was because he knew his mother read his fucking attendance reports and would yell at Frank if Jim missed school. While he didn’t particularly care if Frank got bitched out, he knew that his step-father would be even more pissed off than he usually was and would take it out on him.
Jim scowled and slumped back onto his bed, rolling over to bury his face in the messy sheets before remembering what had just happened on them and jumping back to his feet in disgust. Ugh, it still smelled like sex, a bizarre and disturbing combination of his own smell and the girl’s. Jim stripped the bed, unwilling to spend the rest of the night being reminded of it.
Just thinking about it made him feel dirty. He had thought that sex would be different if he forced himself to want it, but though the feeling was different now that he had done it of his own free will, it was just another version of the same self-hatred he had felt before. It was the same feeling that made his mind scream at him that he deserved everything that had happened because he was too dirty to ever be clean, too undesirable to ever be wanted for more than his body, and in so many pieces that he would never be whole again.
Jim shuddered. He was burning those sheets as soon as he had a chance.
He quickly remade the bed with one of several spare sheet sets he had shoved in his closet when they moved in. Even after fourteen years as her son, he still had no fucking clue why his mom could make sure he had a bazillion sets of sheets that fit his bed, but couldn’t find a fucking caretaker that would buy him new clothes when he had a growth spurt or actually keep food in the house (the moldy bread his mother had bought before she left didn’t count) or, you know, not hit him in a fit of drunken rage. Winona had never believed Jim or Sam when they tried to tell her what Frank was doing; she knew they had never liked him and obviously didn’t put it past them to make things up in an attempt to get rid of him. Jim knew that his mother was aware of Frank’s drinking; he had heard them arguing about it. To Jim, it seemed as though she cared more about having someone to dump her kids on than she did about whether that someone was going to treat them well while she was gone.
Jim allowed himself a moment of self-pity before shaking his head. There was no use dwelling on things he couldn’t change.
He threw himself back down on the (clean) bed and stared at the ceiling. Instead of thinking about things he couldn’t change, he should be thinking about things he could. That Vulcan, Spock, had been following him again that afternoon. It had started a while ago. He hadn’t been sure at first, but when he had noticed that the Vulcan made every single fucking stop Jim did on the way home from school a few days ago, he had been certain. The Vulcan was stalking him. It wasn’t like the guy was good at blending in, either. In fact, it didn’t even look like Spock was trying to be inconspicuous.
Jim still didn’t know what he was going to do about that. He should just go up to Spock and tell him to stop stalking him, but a very big part of Jim wanted to know why the guy was watching him. It wasn’t like his life was so fascinating or he was so interesting as a person that it would warrant this level of intense scrutiny.
Maybe it was some kind of Vulcan mating ritual or something. Jim actually considered that thought for a moment-after all, who knew what kind of freaky shit aliens got up to when they were looking for a mate-but then snorted. Even if he was at the age where that kind of thing would be allowed, he wouldn’t be a good mate for anyone, especially not an oh-so-perfect and ever-fucking-logical Vulcan.
His thoughts were interrupted as his stomach growled loudly. Jim absently rubbed a hand over his abdomen as he realized that he hadn’t eaten since last night before Frank got home, and then, he had ended up throwing up most of what he had eaten after the man hit him with that bottle. He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t known he was hungry before then; he was still as numb to hunger pains now as he had been when he had first trained himself to ignore them the previous year.
Jim sighed as he rolled over to reach under the bed to grab a can-huh, looks like he was having peaches tonight-from his food stores. He was going to need to be a bit more careful about his food intake. The last year or so had fucked him up, sure, but the last thing he needed was to be trapped in the fucking hospital again because he had forgotten to eat and ended up passing out.
Jim trembled slightly. God, that would be horrible. He still couldn’t stand to keep his windows shut, even in the middle of fucking February, because it made him feel like the walls were closing in on him. Being stuck in a hospital room, even if it wasn’t the one that had originally caused his fear, would drive him fucking insane. No, he really needed to do what he could to keep that from happening, which meant he needed to eat more often.
The problem was that Jim couldn’t eat outside of his room. He had tried once, but it was impossible for him. Sure, he knew somewhere in the back of his head that the food in the fucking high school cafeteria was probably safe, but Jim had thought the same thing about the food he had offered him and just look where that had gotten him. Damaged, broken, bloody, and left for dead.
There were rules after that. He didn’t eat unless it was safe, unless he was huddled among those he trusted, hidden away in their little shelter, so that they could make sure that if there were drugs in any of the food, well, at least there was someone to stand guard over his helpless body until the effects wore off.
There wasn’t anybody to save him now, but that was okay. Frank was bad, but Jim had had worse. As long as the bruises were only skin deep, he would live through it and come out the other side intact. Frank wasn’t like the other man, the one with the thinning brown hair and the full beard and the laughing eyes who said, “Here, take it. I’m sure you’re hungry,” but then Jim ate it and the bottom dropped out of his stomach and his whole body went limp and god, the pain…
Jim curled in on himself. God, he just needed to put the whole fucking thing behind him. The past was in the past, and the man was dead now; Jim had seen it himself.
For some reason, that thought made Jim attempt to clench his arms even tighter around himself in misery. Even if he was dead, it didn’t matter because Jim was already damaged goods.
How was he supposed to just put it all behind him and move on when he was still broken inside?
Chapter One: Next Door | Masterpost | Chapter Three: Calling Out
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A/N: Well, I hope you guys liked it. If you did, please review. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and helps me write faster. :P Either way though, I’ll start working on the next chapter right away and get it up as soon as I can. Thanks for reading!