What Part of Forever: Chapter Two
Title: What Part of Forever (Chapter 2)
Author & Mixer: Kairi (feels_like_fire) Did my own mix for this, which you can find here.
Artist: kauniainen did a beautiful piece of artwork that you can see HERE, I will make sure she sees all of your comments!
Betas: This fic would not EXIST if it were not for the efforts of tmysha, rainjewel, and linzeestyle. I CAN NEVER THANK YOU ENOUGH.
Series: AOS/Reboot, slight AU
Character/Pairing(s): Kirk/Spock, McCoy, Rand, Chapel, Pike, Winona Kirk, Sarek, T'Pring, Harry Mudd, with cameos by Scotty and Number One
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word Count: ~85k total; this part, 17,382
Summary: Vulcan is considering seceding from the Federation; Spock decides now is a good time to catch up on being Human. So he hires Jim Kirk as his guide, with predictable results. Pretty Woman redux, now with more sex. In this chapter, Spock and Jim do many inadvisable things, Bones has a bad day, Rand mocks Jim shamelessly, and Captain Pike makes an appearance.
Chapter One can be found here.
As it turned out, Vulcans, even half-Human ones, have a difficult time appreciating the "amusement" part of "amusement" parks. Or maybe that was just Spock, and Jim was extrapolating unfairly upon the entire species, but regardless it was all pretty entertaining.
Well, Jim thought it was entertaining. Spock thought it was fucking stupid. At least, that was what Jim gathered when Spock swept past him on the way to the exit, his face a distinct shade of green, snapping something about "a pointless waste of time and energy, yielding nothing more productive than a temporary rush of endorphins."
"Awww, come on, don't be like that," Jim called, walking after him with another apologetic wave to the startled park attendant at the gate. Jim couldn't exactly blame her; it's not every day you had to deal with a super-strong Vulcan lurching off the roller-coaster you run and puking into the nearest trash can. Now, in addition to knowing beyond the furthest shadow of a doubt that Vulcans (or at least Spock) didn't care for roller-coasters, Jim also knew the particular shade of chalky green Spock turned when he got motion-sick. Apparently, Vulcans and Humans shared a physiological reaction to disorientation and over-sensitivity of the inner ear. Not exactly a viable avenue of scientific inquiry, but then Spock was the one on the journey of enlightenment here, not Jim.
"I am not 'like' anything," Spock said, in a tone of voice that he would almost certainly protest at being described as "fussy." "I am stating a scientific fact."
"You gonna publish that theorem in one of your scientific digests?" Jim asked, not really expecting an answer. He had to hurry to keep up with Spock, who seemed intent on breaking land-speed records back to their transport. "Vulcan Scientist Proves Conclusively That Humans Are Stupid, Have Ridiculous Pastimes. News at eleven." Spock said nothing, but the glance he threw over his shoulder at Jim could have said anything from 'why did I let myself get talked into this' to 'how can I kill this Human and hide his body without being arrested for the crime,' and just kept walking.
Jim knew one thing for certain, though. Seeing Spock dent the handle bars of the Kingda-Ka when they were plummeting from the top of the first metal hill was totally worth getting asked to leave Six Flags.
* * * * *
"I have already stated my reasons for not wishing to engage in the activities you speak of, Mr. Kirk."
"It's Jim, god, how many times do I have to tell you? Mr. Kirk is my brother, I'll give you his number if you wanna talk to him so bad. And I'm just saying that if you want to get a feel for the full range of Human behavior, you need to at least do a cursory investigation into Human sexuality."
Across the top of his glass of orange juice, Spock gave Jim a look that could have curdled pure spring water. "Jim," he said, choosing his words like an assassin choosing a murder weapon, "may I inquire why, when I requested a guide to pursue my mother's Human history, you persist in thinking of sexual activities?"
Jim opened his mouth, shut it again, and then leaned back in his chair, capable of recognizing a temporary defeat when he'd been bludgeoned in the head with it. "Yeah, okay," he said at length, stirring his straw around the few remaining melting ice-cubes. "I don't want to think about my mom and dad having sex, either."
"Indeed," Spock said, and drained the rest of his juice.
* * * * *
Spock gazed around the half-full auditorium with interest, eyes flickering from one theatre-goer to the next. "Tell me again how you came to be aware of this evening's activities," he said. "This place is not even discernible as a performance space from the street, and I saw no information advertising either the show or the performance group."
"That's because they only do word-of-mouth advertising, and they like to move from space to space and adapt the show to wherever they happen to be," Jim said, not bothering to keep from sounding smug. One of the performers was out, mingling with the audience before the start of the show, and when he caught sight of Jim up in the seats he brightened, waving. Jim smiled and waved back, and Spock's attention swiveled around to focus on the young man Jim was waving at.
"You are acquainted with that individual?" he asked, cocking his head slightly. Jim found the gesture oddly endearing, as though Spock were a particularly large and opinionated bird. Spock would stone-cold murder him if Jim ever voiced that observation, but it didn't stop Jim from entertaining the idea.
"Jerry? Oh yeah. He's an old regular of mine. That's how I found out about the show in the first place."
"A regular client?" Spock clarified. Jim nodded. "Intriguing. Are you on friendly terms with all of your regular clients?" From anyone else, Jim might have suspected an ulterior motivation to that line of questioning, but Spock had asked with equal interest about why Humans were so amused by what amounted to bathroom humor, so Jim couldn't really read anything into it.
"What? Oh, no, not really. I mean, one or two, but Jerry is about the nicest guy you could ever hope to meet, so I really couldn't turn him down when he invited me to come see his show. And he turned out to be really fucking good at this improv shit, which is why I brought you here tonight."
"'Improv shit'? Please clarify." Jim laughed at the faint note of consternation in Spock's voice.
"Yeah. They have a bunch of skits, all bare-bones outlines that they can change as they need to, depending on how the audience reacts and what order they choose to perform the skits in. That way it's always fresh and no two shows are the same."
"Fascinating." Spock looked again at the single-sheet flier they'd been passed as they entered the auditorium, which bore nothing more than the title of the performance (Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind) and a few simple instructions for audience participation in the show. "It looks to be a most instructive experience."
"Yeah, and fun too. Beats the pants off that lecture you wanted to go tonight, I'll bet."
"The discussion on warp theory would have been most instructive-" The lights dimming abruptly cut off Spock's protest, aided by the way Jim elbowed his guest in the ribs as he hurried to sit down.
"Shh, show's starting! Lecture me on being a stupid Human later!" Spock pursed his lips, but took his seat without further complaint. Which was good, Jim reflected, as Jerry had a habit of calling out people who talked during their performances by shaming them into coming onstage and participating in the skit of the moment. And somehow, he didn't think that would go over real well with Spock. Though it would be entertaining.
* * * * *
"Jim, while I appreciate your efforts to gain us access to the members-only section of the museum's collection, I must express my doubts as to the wisdom of your proposed plan."
"You are like the Scully to my Mulder, Spock," Jim observed, seemingly apropos of nothing. "Why don't you believe in me? Why can't you just believe that the truth is there, and I'll be able to find it for us?"
"I do not doubt that the truth is 'out there,' or at least, that the rest of the exhibit is there," Spock said patiently. "But I have noticed you have a fondness for using your sexual attractiveness as a means to an end, and that the proceedings do not always go as you intend."
Jim shrugged, a gesture that Spock was coming to learn could mean a great many things. "It's not my fault that women find me so irresistible. Besides, it's just a little harmless flirting, Spock."
"Harmless flirting with a woman whom we have already seen talking to her husband, who, might I note, is twice your size."
"Just trust me, Spock."
"It is the fact that I have seemingly chosen to do that exact thing that troubles me," Spock said to himself, watching as Jim turned and walked purposefully towards the museum's curator, who was standing at the far end of the hallway talking to a security guard. Whether or not Jim intended it, Spock was already learning far more about Humans than he would have by himself.
* * * * *
"No."
"Spock! Come on! Where's your spirit of adventure?"
"Mr. Kirk-Jim-my 'spirit of adventure,' as you call it, does not extend to taking psychotropic drugs that are not even likely to have the intended effect upon my person. I have no desire to make myself ill-"
"Look, just because you can't get drunk you have your panties in a knot-"
"-I am certainly not wearing panties, Jim, as I am sure you are aware-"
"-no, I'm not, actually, you offering?" Jim had to stop himself from actually ducking, the glare Spock leveled at him was so nasty. It was lucky for him that the cafe they were in was noisy, so no one really noticed Jim doing the inter-species equivalent of poking an angry bear with a stick. "Spock, it's just marijuana! It's like, the most harmless drug in the history of drugs! It's not even illegal!"
"No. I too would have preferred to attend the UCLA lecture on humanoid psychosomatic afflictions tonight, but we could not have foreseen instructor illness. Pick a different activity."
Jim sighed and slumped back into his chair, resigned. He hadn't really expected Spock to go for the pot brownies, but it had still been worth a shot. "Okay," he said after a moment. "I know you don't want to participate in Human sexual activities, but how would you feel about going somewhere that watching others is acceptable?"
Spock said nothing for a moment, merely raising one eyebrow at this statement. Jim kept quiet, and had to bite back the smile. Three days and he was already getting good at telling when Spock was interested in something.
"I hesitate to encourage your apparent determination to include me in activities of questionable moral and educational value," Spock said finally, "but go on."
* * * * *
Jim put the hover-car in park, slumping into the driver's seat with a low groan. Next to him in the passenger seat, Spock gazed out the window, then turned to look back at Jim.
"Is now a more appropriate time to inquire why that woman had such a negative reaction to your presence?"
Jim glanced over at him, surprised more by the seeming lack of annoyance Spock was showing than the question itself. "Donna? Uh. She, uh. Yeah, she's kind of... a former client."
Spock raised one eyebrow, an expression that was becoming quite familiar at this point and could mean anything from 'you are an intriguing new form of life' to 'I am incapable of even parsing how anyone as stupid as you could possibly be alive.' "She was carrying a whip. She seemed intent on using it on you. She also seemed to think that you would enjoy such an activity, despite your protestations to the contrary."
Jim winced. "Yeah, about that... look, you're probably better off not knowing." Spock's second eyebrow raised to join the first. "Really. But it was awesome of you to drop that bouncer like you did. What did you do to him, anyway? That guy was built like a brick shit-house."
Spock looked as if he wanted to ask what the hell that description was supposed to mean, but chose to answer Jim's question instead. "I administered the Vulcan nerve-pinch. It is an effective neutralizing method on unruly individuals, particularly those who are unaware of the maneuver."
"No shit. Can you teach me how to do that?" Jim leaned back in his seat, grinning over at Spock now. They'd have to get going again soon-Jim was pretty sure parking at the beach was frowned on by the police at 2 in the morning-but they still had a few minutes.
Spock seemed to consider this question for several moments before he answered. "I think, Jim," he said gravely, "that that would be unwise."
"Why?" Jim was indignant.
"You are the sort of individual to inspire a woman in four-inch heels to run after you wielding a bull-whip and shouting threats to your general well-being," Spock pointed out. "I feel that teaching you such a formidable technique would be... ill-advised. So, as unexpectedly illuminating as this evening turned out to be, I must decline to teach you the nerve-pinch."
Jim made a face. "Spoil-sport," he muttered, and reached to put the car back in gear. Spock said nothing, but as he turned his gaze out the window again, Jim could have sworn he saw the faintest twitch at the corner of Spock's lips.
Bastard.
* * * * *
"Okay," Jim said, sitting up on the bed and propping his PADD on his half-folded legs. "We've done Six Flags, we've done the Metropolitan Art Museum, we have listened to more discussion about semiotic theories of the image than I ever wanted to hear. We've seen three comedies and three dramas."
Jim and Spock were back at Spock's hotel suite. Spock was sitting very stoically at his computer desk, presumably looking through his messages or some other such activity; Jim really wasn't sure. Jim, for his part, was paging through their revised list of activities. In addition to "Amusement park," they'd also attended several museums, visited a sex club (boy, hadn't that been a clusterfuck), gone to three plays, one symphony performance, and three free humanities lectures held by UCLA. Jim wasn't entirely sure that they were accomplishing anything Spock had set himself to find out, but Jim would have to lie long and hard before he could convince anyone, even himself, that he wasn't enjoying himself regardless, even if his more regular work was flagging in the meantime.
"I still find the Human concept of 'humor' to be quite puzzling," Spock remarked. "It will certainly merit further investigation if I am to arrive at any sort of understanding of the concept."
Jim raised his eyes from his PADD and looked over at Spock, a small smile playing around his mouth. "Well, no worries, we can definitely do that."
"Worry is a Human emotion, an illogical stress reaction to situations beyond the control of the individual in question, and not something that Vulcans are prone to experiencing-"
"-and you're half-Human, so you just won the lottery, didn't you?" Jim's smile only widened when Spock tore his gaze away from the computer screen to aim an arched eyebrow in Jim's direction. "It was just an idiom anyway, Spock. I didn't actually mean to imply that I thought you were literally worried."
"An idiom." Spock paused, apparently contemplating the term. "I believe I have heard this term before. An expression, word, or phrase that has a figurative meaning that is comprehended in regard to a common use of that expression that is separate from the literal meaning or definition of the words of which it is made."
Jim blinked slowly. Spock's tendency to barf up definitions seemingly straight from the Oxford English Dictionary was taking some getting used to. "....Yeah, that."
"Fascinating. I find it puzzling that so much of Human interaction is based upon saying something other than what is actually intended. Would it not be more beneficial to simply state what one means, rather than to veil one's intended meaning with obscure or indistinct statements?"
"It might be, but that's not how Humans function," Jim pointed out. "I mean, sometimes we do. But-uhh, well- Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate is a hell of a lot more romantic than saying 'Hey, I think you're hot, wanna fuck?'"
Spock cocked his head at Jim. "Romance is another Human concept which I find very intriguing, though it is several degrees more discernible than humor. From my understanding, it is a segment of Human interaction that is particularly prone to idioms, euphemisms, and other peculiarities of Human language."
Jim laughed. "Yeah, it is. But if you're hoping to figure out love, Spock, you're probably shit outta luck." Spock opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment his computer pinged, and his face smoothed back to that expressionless mask. Jim wondered what it would be like to live in a culture that taught such a complete repression of emotion, and found it difficult to imagine. "Somethin' the matter?" Jim asked, when Spock's eyebrows drew closer together by several whole millimeters. For Spock, it was practically a full-on scowl. Jim was privately rather pleased at how quickly he was learning to read between the lines of Spock's statements and expressions, as it were. Spock was wholly unlike anyone Jim had ever met. It sure kept things interesting.
"Your query is indistinct," Spock said distractedly. "I have received a communication from one of my Human contacts, requesting my presence at a dinner tomorrow evening. It is not my preferred use of my time, but it would be... impolitic to decline his invitation."
"Not your preferred use of time, huh?" Jim couldn't help his smile at that. Spock's mode of speaking was weirdly charming, even if he sounded more like an Earl transported straight out of Regency-era England than anything else. If English Earls had computers for brains, that is.
"Affirmative." Spock straightened, and Jim would have sworn the Vulcan was pursing his lips. "I find most social events to be tiresome and ultimately pointless. My time would be better spent in pursuit of some other activity."
"For once, I agree with you. The kind of, uh, social obligation you're talking about, anyway." Jim sat up and stretched, letting the PADD slide to the bed for the time being. "When is this dinner that you don't want to go to?"
"Tomorrow evening, at 1930 hours, at a restaurant in downtown Los Angeles 1.75 miles from here." Suddenly Jim found himself being regarded by a very intense pair of dark eyes, as though Jim were a heretofore unknown specimen that Spock wanted badly to study more closely. "The invitation mentions that it is permissible for me to bring a companion, should I choose to do so. I would like you to accompany me."
"Buh-" Jim snapped his mouth shut before any more idiotic noises could fall out. The request wasn't that surprising, was it? "Uh... sure, why not."
"I can of course provide additional payment, as it does not fall on a day we have previously agreed upon to meet. I am aware that evening hours are typically when you conduct a great deal of your business." Spock's voice was all calmness and precision, betraying none of the innuendo someone else's might have carried if any Human had said the exact same thing to Jim. Jim squelched the desire to squirm, wondering why such a simple statement of fact could be so disconcerting.
"Nah, it's cool. It's just dinner, right? Unless you're expecting me to provide you with a blow-by-blow commentary on the finer points of Human dinner etiquette..."
"Negative; that was not my intention."
Right. Okay. Had he just been congratulating himself on being able to read Spock? Because right now Jim had no fucking idea what Spock was thinking. Good job, Kirk. Jim glanced over at Spock again, unable to help himself. "So what is your intention, then?"
Spock considered a moment before answering. "The invitation stated I could bring a companion, and I would find it useful to hear your input on the conversation, as a Human." He paused, then added, "Also, the prospect of a sympathetic companion makes the idea of the dinner less unpleasant."
Jim let out a little laugh at that despite himself. "Right, then. No payment necessary." A little voice in the back of Jim's head was trying to demand why exactly he wasn't asking Spock to pay him for this. No payment meant it was purely voluntary, pleasure and not business, and Jim made it a point to never mix the two. Not in his line of work. But then, Spock wasn't his more typical client-there wasn't even any sex involved in the services he'd hired Jim for. What did it matter if he joined Spock for dinner at some stuffed-shirt convention?
Jim shoved that thought aside. Over-thinking it again. Not that it mattered in the long run.
"As you wish." Spock inclined his head. "I am gratified at your acceptance. I will notify Captain Pike that I will indeed be bringing a guest."
Jim couldn't completely hide his reaction to the words Captain Pike, stiffening involuntarily as an unpleasant taste flooded his mouth. Spock wasn't even looking at him, so for a moment Jim thought he'd escaped unnoticed, but he must have made some noise because Spock glanced up at him from the message he was typing out. "Have I said something of concern?"
"No, no, s'fine, I just-didn't realize it was going to be a Starfleet thing, is all." Jim strove to keep his voice carefully casual, letting the usual easy smile slip into place, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. Spock gazed at him, his expression unreadable. So much for being able to judge Vulcans.
"Is attending a Starfleet-sponsored event undesirable in some way? If there is a negative association with Starfleet or the Federation for Humans I must admit my ignorance of it."
"No, seriously, it's nothing like that. Just kind of surprised." Jim shrugged. "I mean, I'm curious why you'd want to bring a guy like me to a formal event with a Starfleet Captain."
Spock cocked his head, as if Jim had just announced that he thought the moon was made of Swiss cheese. "Again I must admit to not understanding your concern. I would not have invited you had I thought you unsuitable for the event in any way. And while I have not met Admiral Komack, I have many associates who have confirmed my general impression that Captain Pike is, as I have heard Humans say, 'easy to get along with.'"
"Easy to get along with." Jim grinned, relaxing slightly. Spock's assessment of Jim's nervousness was off-base, but Jim had no desire to relieve him of his mistaken conclusion.
"Indeed. He is one of the few Humans with whom I have regular contact whom I do not also find to be distasteful. He was an acquaintance of my mother's, and has visited as a representative to Vulcan on more than one occasion."
"Gotcha." Jim paused, digesting that. "...Distasteful, huh. If you're half-Human and you're this unimpressed with Humans, I hate to see what everyone else on your planet thinks of us."
Spock had returned his attention to his computer screen, presumably to pen the message Captain Pike, but now he paused, glancing back over at Jim with an expression that would pass for mild indigestion on any other Humanoid, confirming Jim's private guess that Spock hadn't actually realized what he'd said until Jim pointed it out to him. When he spoke, it was after several moments of silence that (in Jim's opinion, at least) did not bode well for what was coming next. "While it is true that Vulcans prefer largely to keep to ourselves in most matters, the fact that Vulcan was a key founder of the Federation should make Vulcan's stance regarding other species self-evident."
"And you want me to believe that Vulcans don't engage in politically expedient double-talk? Sure, Spock. Whatever you say." Spock frowned minutely, but Jim was outright grinning, bouncing one leg crossed over the other as he regarded Spock from across the distance between bed and desk.
"I do not understand your reaction. I did not mean to give offense in my stated reaction to most Humans whose acquaintance I have made, but you seem amused rather than insulted."
"Plenty of people tell me that all the time." Jim stood up, stretching as he rose off the bed, arching until several vertebrae in his back popped at once, and he grunted. Spock's eyes narrowed, and Jim sighed, coming over to stand next to Spock and the desk. "Spock, seriously, it's fine. I just... you clearly don't care for Humans much, and neither do most of your people, from what I can tell, but your father married one and you're here trying to find out more about your mother's people. I think it's pretty admirable, actually." Jim shrugged.
Spock stared up at him, faint smears of color riding high on his face. "I see," he said finally. Jim found himself vaguely disappointed when Spock averted his gaze again, staring at the computer screen in front of him, leaving Jim to contemplate the suddenly-awkward silence.
"Right, so. How formal is this dinner that we're talking about? Do I need to wear a tux?"
"I am not familiar with what a tux is, but yes, the dinner will be a formal affair, at an establishment that has received a five-star designation, according to the invitation sent me by Captain Pike."
"Five-star, huh? Shit, okay." Jim ran a hand through his hair, staring out the window. He didn't own anything fancier than a pair of jeans with no holes in it (and usually he was putting some care into things if he made sure there were no visible stains before he wore them out). His idea of a fancy dinner was usually just his favorite Korean joint in Culver City. "Right. Where do you want me to meet you? At the restaurant itself?"
Spock paused. "It is my understanding that it would be more appropriate for us to arrive together; therefore, if you do not object, I would prefer to collect you and have us arrive at the same time. I will procure a transport. Is 1830 hours an acceptable time to collect you?"
"6:30? Yeah, okay." Jim couldn't help the grin creasing his face. "That's fine. You can 'collect' me if you want."
"Have I said something humorous?" Spock popped that elegantly-arched eyebrow at Jim again, and Jim had to laugh.
"No, Spock. You're fine." Somehow, Spock didn't look convinced.
* * * * *
It took Jim exactly forty-five minutes after getting home to determine beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt that he did not own even one article of clothing suitable for a really fancy dinner at goddamn Chez Panisse. It took fifteen minutes beyond that to confirm that none of McCoy's suits would work, either; Jim sometimes borrowed his housemate's clothing, but McCoy was significantly broader in the chest and shoulders than Jim. The last damn thing Jim needed was to show up to dinner looking like a little boy who'd raided Daddy's closet. Jim shook his head, swiping his hand across his face distractedly as he mentally reviewed his options.
He could comm Spock and tell him he'd forgotten he had other obligations; he doubted Spock would be offended, and even if he was, who cared? It wasn't like Spock was some important family friend of Jim's. This was probably the smartest option, but Jim found himself very reluctant to cancel now that he'd already said yes, so he left it alone for the moment and kept going. If he attended, he didn't want to show up in plain old jeans and a t-shirt. That meant finding suitable clothing in the next... twenty-four hours. Great.
"Shitfuck," Jim muttered. He rubbed both hands across his face, a quick up-down gesture akin to a man working out a roll of bread dough, as though the answer lay just below the upper level of dermis, waiting only for Jim to coax it to life. McCoy would be at work for the next fifty years to make up for the three days off he'd taken, so no help there. Jim stood in the hallway for another thirty seconds before turning and heading back to his room, grabbing up his comm unit from the bed, paging through his contacts till he found the name he wanted. He threw himself backwards onto the bed, shoving his foot into the pile of covers at the edge of the mattress and listening to the ringing in his ear. "Come on, come on, come on..."
Finally a woman's voice picked up at the other end. "Jim Kirk. This had better be good."
Jim beamed, pumping his fist as he rolled onto his side. "Jenny! Boy am I ever glad you answered."
"I just bet," said Janice Rand drily, and Jim could practically hear her rolling his eyes. "Alright, spit it out. I guess I should be pleasantly surprised you aren't drunk-dialing me, but that only makes it more suspicious."
"Hey, c'mon, give me some credit, that was just the one time-"
"Three times, Jim."
"Two were the same night, you can't count them separately, and one of them was New Year's and you were drunk too."
"And this changes things how?"
"I'm just saying that if I hadn't been drunk on New Years, something would have been very wrong. Anyway! Hey, ah, what are you doin' tonight?"
"I was hoping to avoid making any bad decisions related to ex-boyfriends of mine, actually. Something tells me you're going to try to persuade me otherwise."
Jim sighed. Bit his lip, stared at his own reflection in the mirror on the back of his closet door (made sex real awkward sometimes, for damn sure). "I need a favor," he said, wincing a little even as he said it.
"Oh boy, here it comes," sighed Janice. "Jim, the last 'favor' you needed from me involved breaking and entering, plus a long conversation with my Starfleet advisor. Forgive me if I'm not exactly jumping up and down to hear any more requests from you-"
"It's not like that!" Jim sat up, irritation and frustration crowding for space in his chest. "I just need some advice."
There was a pause on the other end. Jim folded his legs underneath him, fiddling absently with a loose thread in the comforter on top of his bed. "What kind of advice?" Janice asked doubtfully, and Jim knew he'd already won.
"I'm going to this-dinner thing. Tomorrow night. It's, uh, it's this formal dinner, and I don't really have anything to wear and, uh." Oh god, he sounded like he was in 10th goddamn grade right now, why was this so hard to say? "And, I, uh, was hoping you could give me some... pointers," Jim finished lamely.
Again there was a silence, and Jim made a face, hunching his shoulders in the privacy of his bedroom like a petulant five-year-old. Then Janice spoke again. "I don't fucking believe it," she said, delight warming and coloring her voice, which was almost but not quite enough to disguise the vindictive glee. "Jim Kirk, finally sweet on someone. I never thought I'd see the day."
"What? Oh for the love of Christ, Jenny, it's not like that at all-"
"Get your ass over here, Jim," Janice cut in, now sounding entirely too chipper for Jim's liking. "I have to hear this in person."
Jim rubbed his hand across his face again, sliding off the bed in one smooth motion. "Right. Be there in twenty minutes." He hung up the comm and threw it onto the bed, turning to stare at himself in the mirror.
This... might not be his smartest idea ever.
* * * * *
Thirty minutes later, twenty miles across town, the bell finally rang. Jim must've gotten caught up in rush-hour, Janice thought. She answered in the door in blue jeans and a sleeveless white blouse, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Jim was standing there on her doorstep like he always did, hands shoved in his pockets, impossibly good-looking for a man who wasn't doing anything with himself except screwing around-literally.
"What's the password, Kirk?" Janice leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed under her breasts, unable to stop the grin that spread across her face at the sight of him. Fuck, two years of dating the guy should've bought her some immunity against those puppy-dog eyes, shouldn't it?
"Goonies never say die," he said immediately.
"Get in here, you punk," she said, or started to, because he was scooping her up in a bone-crushing hug and swinging her around, laughing as she swore at him and pounded on his back with her fists until he put her down. "Goddammit, Jim!"
"You sound like Bones." Jim was unrepentant. He knew as well as Janice did that she could break his arm or dislocate his shoulder if she'd really wanted to-Jim had been the one to get her to go to self-defense classes, and had been delighted when she'd taken to them like a duck to water and demonstrated her new ability to him by throwing him ten feet across the room. He shoved his hands into his pockets again and followed her as she led him into the bright, airy kitchen, lit up by the blocks of yellow sunshine let in by the overhead windows and skylights.
"Probably because he takes the brunt of your trouble-making. I don't know how he puts up with you, frankly." Janice gestured to one of high wooden chairs surrounding the central oasis as she went to the fridge to get them something to drink.
"It's the oral sex," Jim said, deadpan. "He can't give me up. Said something about chrome and a trailer-hitch one time. Not really sure what he meant." Jim's grin was now so wide that the top of his head was threatening to topple off.
"You are revolting. Do you know that? I cannot believe I ever let you kiss me with that mouth." Janice put up a hand to stop the inevitable lewd remark that would greet this statement, coming back over and plunking down a glass of iced tea in front of Jim, complete with sprig of mint sticking out of it.
"Yeah, yeah, you love me. Don't lie." Jim pushed himself back from the counter, balancing precariously on two chair legs, and reached for the tea, watching Janice the whole time. "So, still living with your parents?"
"Uh-huh. Just for the summer, anyway. It seemed like a good idea until Mom decided to bring up marriage." Janice rolled her eyes at the memory. "She keeps making these mournful comments about how I haven't 'found a man' yet." As if a man were a stray dog you might find wandering down the street one day, if you were lucky or smelled like raw beef. "But I didn't let you come over to talk about my parents, or all the ways in which we are totally unsuited as a couple, Kirk. You said something about a formal dinner? What'd you do, black-mail some senator's wife?"
The wounded expression Jim immediately adopted didn't quite mask the flicker of apprehension that flew across his face, there and then gone like a brief cloud-shadow on a sunny day. "Hey, now. I can't believe you'd ever accuse me of something like that."
Janice snorted. "Oh, wait, my bad. You wouldn't have to blackmail the senator's wife to get into a formal dinner, it's the senator's son that you'd be fucking."
Jim happened to be taking a drink of his iced tea as Janice said this, and promptly choked on it, setting the glass down hard and sloshing some of his drink on the marble counter-top. "God," he choked, "don't do that!"
Janice stared at him, eyes wide. "Please don't tell me you're actually fucking Thomas Newsom's son," she said.
"No," Jim blurted. "Uh." He hesitated, then sighed. Janice recognized her cue for what it was, and pulled out one of the chairs herself to sit down on. It wasn't that long a story, really, but by the end of it Jim was staring very determinedly at the top of the counter and Janice was the one grinning from ear to ear, barely able to believe what she was hearing.
"So let me get this straight." Janice got up, going to the fridge to refill her glass. "Not only are you playing Human tour-guide for this visiting alien-which, by the way, is fucking hilarious, I can't even count the number of ways that that's ridiculous-but you agreed to go with him to a meeting with Pike and Komack?" Janice was one of a handful of people who not only knew who Captain Christopher Pike was, she also happened to know why Jim wanted more than anything to avoid Pike. She didn't bother to ask how Jim had managed to convince some visiting dignitary to take Jim on as his tour guide; the poor guy (whoever he was) probably hadn't even known what he was getting into when he met Jim.
That was the problem with Jim Kirk. Being friends with the damn kid was like being friends with an ultra-dense, ultra-bright star. He exerted an irresistible gravity on you, drawing you out of your normal path through life, but if you let yourself get too close you could go blind from his luminescence.
Jim grimaced. He slouched against the squat back of the chair, fidgeting with an invisible spot on his jeans. "What, it's-yeah, alright? I am. I told him I'd go and I don't wanna blow him off, what's so wrong with that?"
"Have you started carving your initials inside little hearts on tree trunks yet? Or are you still in the phase where you think every love song you hear played is just for you?"
"Oh come on, Jenny, it's not like that at all, okay? Jesus fuckin' Christ."
Janice came back over to the counter, leaning against it and fixing Jim with a smirk. "Sure thing, hon. Whatever you say."
"Look, will you help me or not? I know you know this shit, you're as Southern and old-fashioned as Bones is, and then your dad and all, but if you're busy or something I'll just-" Jim was already rising out of the chair, irritation clouding his face, and Janice shook her head, cutting him off.
"Breathe, Jim. We'll do this. And tomorrow we'll go out and find you a suit-you don't own one, right, that's what you said?" Jim shook his head in confirmation. "Good lord. Well, it's too late to go out and get you a suit tonight. All the shops'll be closed in like an hour." Janice's mind was already racing ahead of her at sixty miles an hour, mentally cataloguing all the things she'd want to cover with Jim tonight if he was really going to be going to a five-star dining establishment. "Okay. We need to talk about wine pairings, we need to talk about interspecies dining etiquette... but first things first." Janice went to one of the drawers in the cupboard, pulling it open and selecting several pieces of silverware. She held up a small fork, grinning at Jim. "I bet you didn't even know this is a salad fork, did you."
Jim's eyebrows, which had already been angled down, now drew together like two caterpillars engaged in a heated conversation. "Salad fork?" he said, voice tinged with incredulity. "What the fuck, I need a separate fork to eat my salad with? What century are we living in again?"
"Well, I'm living in 2255, but I've always secretly thought you were from the Stone Age..." In response, Jim grunted, leaned back in his chair, spread his legs, and scratched his balls with an expression of extreme concentration. Janice groaned, unable to stop the helpless laughter that bubbled up in her throat, and even as she swatted at him to stop, she knew he never would.
* * * * *
Jim glanced at his watch for what had to be the 17th time in the past five minutes. Six thirty-six. Spock had said he would pick Jim up at six-thirty, and for anyone else in LA traffic, Jim would have permitted a window of fifteen minutes for lateness, but Spock, he'd discovered, was pathologically early. So even though he'd only known Spock for maybe two weeks, Jim already knew that even a five-minute delay was unusual. And even though he knew just as well that it would be unlike Spock to simply ditch Jim, he'd had kind of a high-strung day, and couldn't completely keep his nerves from getting the best of him. More than likely, Spock was just held up in some especially bad traffic; LA was like that, even now that vehicles didn't have to stick strictly to the roads that criss-crossed her expanse like so many stone arteries.
He rocked forward onto the soles of his feet, bouncing up and down as he glanced along the empty street his house was on. It had been another scorcher of a day, and the sun was still perched above the horizon-line, a fat, shimmering orb that turned the ocean to white-hot glass, impossible to look at without going blind. Janice had helped Jim find a nice summer-weight suit, but he'd still already taken the jacket off, draped over his arm like a boy waiting for his prom date. Jim wrinkled his nose as he glanced at the crisp lines in his blue shirtsleeves, and the neat creases down the front of his slacks. He knew he didn't look bad (Janice had given a low whistle of approval when Jim had emerged from the bathroom in his get-up forty-five minutes ago), but he didn't feel like himself in this ensemble. At least now he looked like he belonged at a fancy dining restaurant, or at least wouldn't be so fucking obviously out of place.
Even if he felt like it. Standing here on his porch in the sweltering heat (he should really go inside, but he'd just be pacing back and forth in the kitchen anyway), Jim found his restless mind returning to the same question over and over again, gnawing at it like a dog with a bone. Why in the name of God was he subjecting himself to all of this nonsense? He didn't care about fancy dining, and he certainly didn't care about impressing Christopher Pike or Admiral "Jackhole" Komack, the latter of whom he'd never had the dubious pleasure of meeting but whom he'd heard all about from his mom. And if anyone else had asked him to come along for an evening of crime and punishment, Jim would have just laughed.
So why did Spock asking make a difference?
Jim was saved from having to answer his own question by the sound of an engine being gunned up the street. He turned his head, eyebrows popping comically up towards his hairline at the sight of the car coming down the street. Or not the sight of it exactly, but the sound; whoever was driving the sleek red Jaguar was either out to deliberately ruin the transmission (which had to be an old-fashioned one, Jim noted distractedly-jesus, it was impossible to come by a manual unless you were filthy rich) or had no fucking idea what they were doing. Jim was betting on the latter. No one would spend that much money on an antique just for the sake of ruining it.
A suspicion, ridiculous but somehow unshakeable, grew in Jim's mind as to the identity of the driver, confirmed as the Jaguar slowed to a stuttering halt at the end of the driveway, the engine growling irritably under the hood. Jim came down the steps of the porch, his grin growing so wide it threatened to split his face open. "You need a hand, there?" he asked as the window rolled down, leaning down to rest both hands on the window-frame of the car as he peered inside at Spock. Spock's expression would have been simply tense on a human, but was downright thunderous for a Vulcan, glaring at the steering-wheel as if it had personally insulted the size of his dick.
"I have no need of an additional hand," Spock said. Jim thought he sounded put-out. Like a two-year-old who needs a nap, he thought, and had to choke back the laugh. Spock, he noticed now, was wearing a strange but expensive-looking outfit of some dark material that looked for all the world like a tuxedo crossed with a Mexican serape. "This vehicle is unfamiliar to me and completely counter-intuitive. I do not pretend to understand the Terran obsession with vehicles of past eras that were both wasteful of resources and difficult to drive." This time, Jim couldn't stop his laugh, and he had to stand up, leaning against the car to save himself from doing something embarrassing like losing his balance and falling on his ass.
"I am pleased that you find my situation amusing," came Spock's voice, floating out of the open window, "however, I must request that you desist from-"
"Oh, save it." Jim shook himself, yanking open the passenger door and dropping into the seat. He grinned across at Spock, sparing a moment to hope the Vulcan wasn't actually offended. "One, that was sarcasm just now, I heard it, and two, what are you even doing driving a stick-shift if you don't enjoy it? I know you can get a transport if you want one."
Spock's fingers tightened on the steering wheel, then sagged to his lap, Spock still staring straight ahead. He was silent for several seconds, and Jim realized abruptly that Spock was... No. It couldn't-was Spock embarrassed? "The proprietor of the hotel-had neglected to reserve a transport for me," he said at length. "When I came downstairs to request one, they were all otherwise committed. And waiting for another one would have delayed me by approximately sixty minutes, or even longer. So Mr. Mudd offered the use of his own vehicle to me."
Jim's eyebrows went up. "Do you even know how to drive a stick? It kinda sounded like you were doin' your best to ruin the transmission, there."
Spock glanced at Jim, his eyes dark and unreadable, before flickering away again to the wind-shield as if he were afraid to meet Jim's gaze. "I have no previous experience driving manual transmissions, no. But I believed it would not be an overly difficult operation, and decided that it even had the potential to be... enlightening. Also..." Here Spock hesitated, and Jim couldn't help but wonder what had gotten into Spock, who was normally so composed. "I had thought you might find this vehicle appealing," he said finally.
Jim stared. Warmth pooled in his stomach, and for a moment Jim felt light-headed, like getting tipsy on sweet wine. "Oh, well," he heard himself say, sounding impressively nonchalant. "That was thoughtful of you. It is a pretty sweet car."
Spock regarded him quizzically (or what passed for it for a Vulcan, anyway). "I do not understand the descriptor 'sweet.'"
"It's slang. Just means it's a.... it's a really great car. Vehicle. But I'm pretty sure Harry will pitch a fit if you bring his car back and the transmission is all screwed up. Manual transmissions are really, really hard to come by, and it'd be expensive as fuck to fix."
"Ah." Spock pursed his lips. "I see. I had not anticipated having this much difficulty with the transmission, I must confess. Perhaps... are you familiar with-"
"Spock, I could drive a stick shift drunk and blind."
"I find the veracity of that statement highly doubtful, and not particularly encouraging," Spock commented, the corners of his lips quirking very faintly. "Although it would, perhaps, be a remarkable event to witness."
"Bite me," Jim said cheerfully. He was already climbing out of the car and coming around to the driver's side. Spock climbed out, and stood there just outside the open door, regarding Jim with his mouth slightly open, as if something was sitting heavy on his tongue, waiting for him to spit it out. Jim paused, eyebrows up, and after a moment Spock stepped aside, merely handing Jim the keys before walking around to the passenger side again.
Jim got in, wondering what that was all about. As he pulled the belt across his torso and buckled it into the lock, Spock got in beside him and shut the door. Then-
"I presume you do not actually wish me to bite you, as you would doubtless find it unpleasant, so I must wonder why-"
"Oh my God, Spock!" Jim laughed. "You are such a dick when you want to be." Spock's protest was drowned out by the engine roaring to life under Jim's hands, and Jim threw the car into gear, still laughing as they tore off down the street.
* * * * *
Second half of Chapter Two is here.
Author & Mixer: Kairi (feels_like_fire) Did my own mix for this, which you can find here.
Artist: kauniainen did a beautiful piece of artwork that you can see HERE, I will make sure she sees all of your comments!
Betas: This fic would not EXIST if it were not for the efforts of tmysha, rainjewel, and linzeestyle. I CAN NEVER THANK YOU ENOUGH.
Series: AOS/Reboot, slight AU
Character/Pairing(s): Kirk/Spock, McCoy, Rand, Chapel, Pike, Winona Kirk, Sarek, T'Pring, Harry Mudd, with cameos by Scotty and Number One
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word Count: ~85k total; this part, 17,382
Summary: Vulcan is considering seceding from the Federation; Spock decides now is a good time to catch up on being Human. So he hires Jim Kirk as his guide, with predictable results. Pretty Woman redux, now with more sex. In this chapter, Spock and Jim do many inadvisable things, Bones has a bad day, Rand mocks Jim shamelessly, and Captain Pike makes an appearance.
Chapter One can be found here.
As it turned out, Vulcans, even half-Human ones, have a difficult time appreciating the "amusement" part of "amusement" parks. Or maybe that was just Spock, and Jim was extrapolating unfairly upon the entire species, but regardless it was all pretty entertaining.
Well, Jim thought it was entertaining. Spock thought it was fucking stupid. At least, that was what Jim gathered when Spock swept past him on the way to the exit, his face a distinct shade of green, snapping something about "a pointless waste of time and energy, yielding nothing more productive than a temporary rush of endorphins."
"Awww, come on, don't be like that," Jim called, walking after him with another apologetic wave to the startled park attendant at the gate. Jim couldn't exactly blame her; it's not every day you had to deal with a super-strong Vulcan lurching off the roller-coaster you run and puking into the nearest trash can. Now, in addition to knowing beyond the furthest shadow of a doubt that Vulcans (or at least Spock) didn't care for roller-coasters, Jim also knew the particular shade of chalky green Spock turned when he got motion-sick. Apparently, Vulcans and Humans shared a physiological reaction to disorientation and over-sensitivity of the inner ear. Not exactly a viable avenue of scientific inquiry, but then Spock was the one on the journey of enlightenment here, not Jim.
"I am not 'like' anything," Spock said, in a tone of voice that he would almost certainly protest at being described as "fussy." "I am stating a scientific fact."
"You gonna publish that theorem in one of your scientific digests?" Jim asked, not really expecting an answer. He had to hurry to keep up with Spock, who seemed intent on breaking land-speed records back to their transport. "Vulcan Scientist Proves Conclusively That Humans Are Stupid, Have Ridiculous Pastimes. News at eleven." Spock said nothing, but the glance he threw over his shoulder at Jim could have said anything from 'why did I let myself get talked into this' to 'how can I kill this Human and hide his body without being arrested for the crime,' and just kept walking.
Jim knew one thing for certain, though. Seeing Spock dent the handle bars of the Kingda-Ka when they were plummeting from the top of the first metal hill was totally worth getting asked to leave Six Flags.
* * * * *
"I have already stated my reasons for not wishing to engage in the activities you speak of, Mr. Kirk."
"It's Jim, god, how many times do I have to tell you? Mr. Kirk is my brother, I'll give you his number if you wanna talk to him so bad. And I'm just saying that if you want to get a feel for the full range of Human behavior, you need to at least do a cursory investigation into Human sexuality."
Across the top of his glass of orange juice, Spock gave Jim a look that could have curdled pure spring water. "Jim," he said, choosing his words like an assassin choosing a murder weapon, "may I inquire why, when I requested a guide to pursue my mother's Human history, you persist in thinking of sexual activities?"
Jim opened his mouth, shut it again, and then leaned back in his chair, capable of recognizing a temporary defeat when he'd been bludgeoned in the head with it. "Yeah, okay," he said at length, stirring his straw around the few remaining melting ice-cubes. "I don't want to think about my mom and dad having sex, either."
"Indeed," Spock said, and drained the rest of his juice.
* * * * *
Spock gazed around the half-full auditorium with interest, eyes flickering from one theatre-goer to the next. "Tell me again how you came to be aware of this evening's activities," he said. "This place is not even discernible as a performance space from the street, and I saw no information advertising either the show or the performance group."
"That's because they only do word-of-mouth advertising, and they like to move from space to space and adapt the show to wherever they happen to be," Jim said, not bothering to keep from sounding smug. One of the performers was out, mingling with the audience before the start of the show, and when he caught sight of Jim up in the seats he brightened, waving. Jim smiled and waved back, and Spock's attention swiveled around to focus on the young man Jim was waving at.
"You are acquainted with that individual?" he asked, cocking his head slightly. Jim found the gesture oddly endearing, as though Spock were a particularly large and opinionated bird. Spock would stone-cold murder him if Jim ever voiced that observation, but it didn't stop Jim from entertaining the idea.
"Jerry? Oh yeah. He's an old regular of mine. That's how I found out about the show in the first place."
"A regular client?" Spock clarified. Jim nodded. "Intriguing. Are you on friendly terms with all of your regular clients?" From anyone else, Jim might have suspected an ulterior motivation to that line of questioning, but Spock had asked with equal interest about why Humans were so amused by what amounted to bathroom humor, so Jim couldn't really read anything into it.
"What? Oh, no, not really. I mean, one or two, but Jerry is about the nicest guy you could ever hope to meet, so I really couldn't turn him down when he invited me to come see his show. And he turned out to be really fucking good at this improv shit, which is why I brought you here tonight."
"'Improv shit'? Please clarify." Jim laughed at the faint note of consternation in Spock's voice.
"Yeah. They have a bunch of skits, all bare-bones outlines that they can change as they need to, depending on how the audience reacts and what order they choose to perform the skits in. That way it's always fresh and no two shows are the same."
"Fascinating." Spock looked again at the single-sheet flier they'd been passed as they entered the auditorium, which bore nothing more than the title of the performance (Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind) and a few simple instructions for audience participation in the show. "It looks to be a most instructive experience."
"Yeah, and fun too. Beats the pants off that lecture you wanted to go tonight, I'll bet."
"The discussion on warp theory would have been most instructive-" The lights dimming abruptly cut off Spock's protest, aided by the way Jim elbowed his guest in the ribs as he hurried to sit down.
"Shh, show's starting! Lecture me on being a stupid Human later!" Spock pursed his lips, but took his seat without further complaint. Which was good, Jim reflected, as Jerry had a habit of calling out people who talked during their performances by shaming them into coming onstage and participating in the skit of the moment. And somehow, he didn't think that would go over real well with Spock. Though it would be entertaining.
* * * * *
"Jim, while I appreciate your efforts to gain us access to the members-only section of the museum's collection, I must express my doubts as to the wisdom of your proposed plan."
"You are like the Scully to my Mulder, Spock," Jim observed, seemingly apropos of nothing. "Why don't you believe in me? Why can't you just believe that the truth is there, and I'll be able to find it for us?"
"I do not doubt that the truth is 'out there,' or at least, that the rest of the exhibit is there," Spock said patiently. "But I have noticed you have a fondness for using your sexual attractiveness as a means to an end, and that the proceedings do not always go as you intend."
Jim shrugged, a gesture that Spock was coming to learn could mean a great many things. "It's not my fault that women find me so irresistible. Besides, it's just a little harmless flirting, Spock."
"Harmless flirting with a woman whom we have already seen talking to her husband, who, might I note, is twice your size."
"Just trust me, Spock."
"It is the fact that I have seemingly chosen to do that exact thing that troubles me," Spock said to himself, watching as Jim turned and walked purposefully towards the museum's curator, who was standing at the far end of the hallway talking to a security guard. Whether or not Jim intended it, Spock was already learning far more about Humans than he would have by himself.
* * * * *
"No."
"Spock! Come on! Where's your spirit of adventure?"
"Mr. Kirk-Jim-my 'spirit of adventure,' as you call it, does not extend to taking psychotropic drugs that are not even likely to have the intended effect upon my person. I have no desire to make myself ill-"
"Look, just because you can't get drunk you have your panties in a knot-"
"-I am certainly not wearing panties, Jim, as I am sure you are aware-"
"-no, I'm not, actually, you offering?" Jim had to stop himself from actually ducking, the glare Spock leveled at him was so nasty. It was lucky for him that the cafe they were in was noisy, so no one really noticed Jim doing the inter-species equivalent of poking an angry bear with a stick. "Spock, it's just marijuana! It's like, the most harmless drug in the history of drugs! It's not even illegal!"
"No. I too would have preferred to attend the UCLA lecture on humanoid psychosomatic afflictions tonight, but we could not have foreseen instructor illness. Pick a different activity."
Jim sighed and slumped back into his chair, resigned. He hadn't really expected Spock to go for the pot brownies, but it had still been worth a shot. "Okay," he said after a moment. "I know you don't want to participate in Human sexual activities, but how would you feel about going somewhere that watching others is acceptable?"
Spock said nothing for a moment, merely raising one eyebrow at this statement. Jim kept quiet, and had to bite back the smile. Three days and he was already getting good at telling when Spock was interested in something.
"I hesitate to encourage your apparent determination to include me in activities of questionable moral and educational value," Spock said finally, "but go on."
* * * * *
Jim put the hover-car in park, slumping into the driver's seat with a low groan. Next to him in the passenger seat, Spock gazed out the window, then turned to look back at Jim.
"Is now a more appropriate time to inquire why that woman had such a negative reaction to your presence?"
Jim glanced over at him, surprised more by the seeming lack of annoyance Spock was showing than the question itself. "Donna? Uh. She, uh. Yeah, she's kind of... a former client."
Spock raised one eyebrow, an expression that was becoming quite familiar at this point and could mean anything from 'you are an intriguing new form of life' to 'I am incapable of even parsing how anyone as stupid as you could possibly be alive.' "She was carrying a whip. She seemed intent on using it on you. She also seemed to think that you would enjoy such an activity, despite your protestations to the contrary."
Jim winced. "Yeah, about that... look, you're probably better off not knowing." Spock's second eyebrow raised to join the first. "Really. But it was awesome of you to drop that bouncer like you did. What did you do to him, anyway? That guy was built like a brick shit-house."
Spock looked as if he wanted to ask what the hell that description was supposed to mean, but chose to answer Jim's question instead. "I administered the Vulcan nerve-pinch. It is an effective neutralizing method on unruly individuals, particularly those who are unaware of the maneuver."
"No shit. Can you teach me how to do that?" Jim leaned back in his seat, grinning over at Spock now. They'd have to get going again soon-Jim was pretty sure parking at the beach was frowned on by the police at 2 in the morning-but they still had a few minutes.
Spock seemed to consider this question for several moments before he answered. "I think, Jim," he said gravely, "that that would be unwise."
"Why?" Jim was indignant.
"You are the sort of individual to inspire a woman in four-inch heels to run after you wielding a bull-whip and shouting threats to your general well-being," Spock pointed out. "I feel that teaching you such a formidable technique would be... ill-advised. So, as unexpectedly illuminating as this evening turned out to be, I must decline to teach you the nerve-pinch."
Jim made a face. "Spoil-sport," he muttered, and reached to put the car back in gear. Spock said nothing, but as he turned his gaze out the window again, Jim could have sworn he saw the faintest twitch at the corner of Spock's lips.
Bastard.
* * * * *
"Okay," Jim said, sitting up on the bed and propping his PADD on his half-folded legs. "We've done Six Flags, we've done the Metropolitan Art Museum, we have listened to more discussion about semiotic theories of the image than I ever wanted to hear. We've seen three comedies and three dramas."
Jim and Spock were back at Spock's hotel suite. Spock was sitting very stoically at his computer desk, presumably looking through his messages or some other such activity; Jim really wasn't sure. Jim, for his part, was paging through their revised list of activities. In addition to "Amusement park," they'd also attended several museums, visited a sex club (boy, hadn't that been a clusterfuck), gone to three plays, one symphony performance, and three free humanities lectures held by UCLA. Jim wasn't entirely sure that they were accomplishing anything Spock had set himself to find out, but Jim would have to lie long and hard before he could convince anyone, even himself, that he wasn't enjoying himself regardless, even if his more regular work was flagging in the meantime.
"I still find the Human concept of 'humor' to be quite puzzling," Spock remarked. "It will certainly merit further investigation if I am to arrive at any sort of understanding of the concept."
Jim raised his eyes from his PADD and looked over at Spock, a small smile playing around his mouth. "Well, no worries, we can definitely do that."
"Worry is a Human emotion, an illogical stress reaction to situations beyond the control of the individual in question, and not something that Vulcans are prone to experiencing-"
"-and you're half-Human, so you just won the lottery, didn't you?" Jim's smile only widened when Spock tore his gaze away from the computer screen to aim an arched eyebrow in Jim's direction. "It was just an idiom anyway, Spock. I didn't actually mean to imply that I thought you were literally worried."
"An idiom." Spock paused, apparently contemplating the term. "I believe I have heard this term before. An expression, word, or phrase that has a figurative meaning that is comprehended in regard to a common use of that expression that is separate from the literal meaning or definition of the words of which it is made."
Jim blinked slowly. Spock's tendency to barf up definitions seemingly straight from the Oxford English Dictionary was taking some getting used to. "....Yeah, that."
"Fascinating. I find it puzzling that so much of Human interaction is based upon saying something other than what is actually intended. Would it not be more beneficial to simply state what one means, rather than to veil one's intended meaning with obscure or indistinct statements?"
"It might be, but that's not how Humans function," Jim pointed out. "I mean, sometimes we do. But-uhh, well- Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate is a hell of a lot more romantic than saying 'Hey, I think you're hot, wanna fuck?'"
Spock cocked his head at Jim. "Romance is another Human concept which I find very intriguing, though it is several degrees more discernible than humor. From my understanding, it is a segment of Human interaction that is particularly prone to idioms, euphemisms, and other peculiarities of Human language."
Jim laughed. "Yeah, it is. But if you're hoping to figure out love, Spock, you're probably shit outta luck." Spock opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment his computer pinged, and his face smoothed back to that expressionless mask. Jim wondered what it would be like to live in a culture that taught such a complete repression of emotion, and found it difficult to imagine. "Somethin' the matter?" Jim asked, when Spock's eyebrows drew closer together by several whole millimeters. For Spock, it was practically a full-on scowl. Jim was privately rather pleased at how quickly he was learning to read between the lines of Spock's statements and expressions, as it were. Spock was wholly unlike anyone Jim had ever met. It sure kept things interesting.
"Your query is indistinct," Spock said distractedly. "I have received a communication from one of my Human contacts, requesting my presence at a dinner tomorrow evening. It is not my preferred use of my time, but it would be... impolitic to decline his invitation."
"Not your preferred use of time, huh?" Jim couldn't help his smile at that. Spock's mode of speaking was weirdly charming, even if he sounded more like an Earl transported straight out of Regency-era England than anything else. If English Earls had computers for brains, that is.
"Affirmative." Spock straightened, and Jim would have sworn the Vulcan was pursing his lips. "I find most social events to be tiresome and ultimately pointless. My time would be better spent in pursuit of some other activity."
"For once, I agree with you. The kind of, uh, social obligation you're talking about, anyway." Jim sat up and stretched, letting the PADD slide to the bed for the time being. "When is this dinner that you don't want to go to?"
"Tomorrow evening, at 1930 hours, at a restaurant in downtown Los Angeles 1.75 miles from here." Suddenly Jim found himself being regarded by a very intense pair of dark eyes, as though Jim were a heretofore unknown specimen that Spock wanted badly to study more closely. "The invitation mentions that it is permissible for me to bring a companion, should I choose to do so. I would like you to accompany me."
"Buh-" Jim snapped his mouth shut before any more idiotic noises could fall out. The request wasn't that surprising, was it? "Uh... sure, why not."
"I can of course provide additional payment, as it does not fall on a day we have previously agreed upon to meet. I am aware that evening hours are typically when you conduct a great deal of your business." Spock's voice was all calmness and precision, betraying none of the innuendo someone else's might have carried if any Human had said the exact same thing to Jim. Jim squelched the desire to squirm, wondering why such a simple statement of fact could be so disconcerting.
"Nah, it's cool. It's just dinner, right? Unless you're expecting me to provide you with a blow-by-blow commentary on the finer points of Human dinner etiquette..."
"Negative; that was not my intention."
Right. Okay. Had he just been congratulating himself on being able to read Spock? Because right now Jim had no fucking idea what Spock was thinking. Good job, Kirk. Jim glanced over at Spock again, unable to help himself. "So what is your intention, then?"
Spock considered a moment before answering. "The invitation stated I could bring a companion, and I would find it useful to hear your input on the conversation, as a Human." He paused, then added, "Also, the prospect of a sympathetic companion makes the idea of the dinner less unpleasant."
Jim let out a little laugh at that despite himself. "Right, then. No payment necessary." A little voice in the back of Jim's head was trying to demand why exactly he wasn't asking Spock to pay him for this. No payment meant it was purely voluntary, pleasure and not business, and Jim made it a point to never mix the two. Not in his line of work. But then, Spock wasn't his more typical client-there wasn't even any sex involved in the services he'd hired Jim for. What did it matter if he joined Spock for dinner at some stuffed-shirt convention?
Jim shoved that thought aside. Over-thinking it again. Not that it mattered in the long run.
"As you wish." Spock inclined his head. "I am gratified at your acceptance. I will notify Captain Pike that I will indeed be bringing a guest."
Jim couldn't completely hide his reaction to the words Captain Pike, stiffening involuntarily as an unpleasant taste flooded his mouth. Spock wasn't even looking at him, so for a moment Jim thought he'd escaped unnoticed, but he must have made some noise because Spock glanced up at him from the message he was typing out. "Have I said something of concern?"
"No, no, s'fine, I just-didn't realize it was going to be a Starfleet thing, is all." Jim strove to keep his voice carefully casual, letting the usual easy smile slip into place, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. Spock gazed at him, his expression unreadable. So much for being able to judge Vulcans.
"Is attending a Starfleet-sponsored event undesirable in some way? If there is a negative association with Starfleet or the Federation for Humans I must admit my ignorance of it."
"No, seriously, it's nothing like that. Just kind of surprised." Jim shrugged. "I mean, I'm curious why you'd want to bring a guy like me to a formal event with a Starfleet Captain."
Spock cocked his head, as if Jim had just announced that he thought the moon was made of Swiss cheese. "Again I must admit to not understanding your concern. I would not have invited you had I thought you unsuitable for the event in any way. And while I have not met Admiral Komack, I have many associates who have confirmed my general impression that Captain Pike is, as I have heard Humans say, 'easy to get along with.'"
"Easy to get along with." Jim grinned, relaxing slightly. Spock's assessment of Jim's nervousness was off-base, but Jim had no desire to relieve him of his mistaken conclusion.
"Indeed. He is one of the few Humans with whom I have regular contact whom I do not also find to be distasteful. He was an acquaintance of my mother's, and has visited as a representative to Vulcan on more than one occasion."
"Gotcha." Jim paused, digesting that. "...Distasteful, huh. If you're half-Human and you're this unimpressed with Humans, I hate to see what everyone else on your planet thinks of us."
Spock had returned his attention to his computer screen, presumably to pen the message Captain Pike, but now he paused, glancing back over at Jim with an expression that would pass for mild indigestion on any other Humanoid, confirming Jim's private guess that Spock hadn't actually realized what he'd said until Jim pointed it out to him. When he spoke, it was after several moments of silence that (in Jim's opinion, at least) did not bode well for what was coming next. "While it is true that Vulcans prefer largely to keep to ourselves in most matters, the fact that Vulcan was a key founder of the Federation should make Vulcan's stance regarding other species self-evident."
"And you want me to believe that Vulcans don't engage in politically expedient double-talk? Sure, Spock. Whatever you say." Spock frowned minutely, but Jim was outright grinning, bouncing one leg crossed over the other as he regarded Spock from across the distance between bed and desk.
"I do not understand your reaction. I did not mean to give offense in my stated reaction to most Humans whose acquaintance I have made, but you seem amused rather than insulted."
"Plenty of people tell me that all the time." Jim stood up, stretching as he rose off the bed, arching until several vertebrae in his back popped at once, and he grunted. Spock's eyes narrowed, and Jim sighed, coming over to stand next to Spock and the desk. "Spock, seriously, it's fine. I just... you clearly don't care for Humans much, and neither do most of your people, from what I can tell, but your father married one and you're here trying to find out more about your mother's people. I think it's pretty admirable, actually." Jim shrugged.
Spock stared up at him, faint smears of color riding high on his face. "I see," he said finally. Jim found himself vaguely disappointed when Spock averted his gaze again, staring at the computer screen in front of him, leaving Jim to contemplate the suddenly-awkward silence.
"Right, so. How formal is this dinner that we're talking about? Do I need to wear a tux?"
"I am not familiar with what a tux is, but yes, the dinner will be a formal affair, at an establishment that has received a five-star designation, according to the invitation sent me by Captain Pike."
"Five-star, huh? Shit, okay." Jim ran a hand through his hair, staring out the window. He didn't own anything fancier than a pair of jeans with no holes in it (and usually he was putting some care into things if he made sure there were no visible stains before he wore them out). His idea of a fancy dinner was usually just his favorite Korean joint in Culver City. "Right. Where do you want me to meet you? At the restaurant itself?"
Spock paused. "It is my understanding that it would be more appropriate for us to arrive together; therefore, if you do not object, I would prefer to collect you and have us arrive at the same time. I will procure a transport. Is 1830 hours an acceptable time to collect you?"
"6:30? Yeah, okay." Jim couldn't help the grin creasing his face. "That's fine. You can 'collect' me if you want."
"Have I said something humorous?" Spock popped that elegantly-arched eyebrow at Jim again, and Jim had to laugh.
"No, Spock. You're fine." Somehow, Spock didn't look convinced.
* * * * *
It took Jim exactly forty-five minutes after getting home to determine beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt that he did not own even one article of clothing suitable for a really fancy dinner at goddamn Chez Panisse. It took fifteen minutes beyond that to confirm that none of McCoy's suits would work, either; Jim sometimes borrowed his housemate's clothing, but McCoy was significantly broader in the chest and shoulders than Jim. The last damn thing Jim needed was to show up to dinner looking like a little boy who'd raided Daddy's closet. Jim shook his head, swiping his hand across his face distractedly as he mentally reviewed his options.
He could comm Spock and tell him he'd forgotten he had other obligations; he doubted Spock would be offended, and even if he was, who cared? It wasn't like Spock was some important family friend of Jim's. This was probably the smartest option, but Jim found himself very reluctant to cancel now that he'd already said yes, so he left it alone for the moment and kept going. If he attended, he didn't want to show up in plain old jeans and a t-shirt. That meant finding suitable clothing in the next... twenty-four hours. Great.
"Shitfuck," Jim muttered. He rubbed both hands across his face, a quick up-down gesture akin to a man working out a roll of bread dough, as though the answer lay just below the upper level of dermis, waiting only for Jim to coax it to life. McCoy would be at work for the next fifty years to make up for the three days off he'd taken, so no help there. Jim stood in the hallway for another thirty seconds before turning and heading back to his room, grabbing up his comm unit from the bed, paging through his contacts till he found the name he wanted. He threw himself backwards onto the bed, shoving his foot into the pile of covers at the edge of the mattress and listening to the ringing in his ear. "Come on, come on, come on..."
Finally a woman's voice picked up at the other end. "Jim Kirk. This had better be good."
Jim beamed, pumping his fist as he rolled onto his side. "Jenny! Boy am I ever glad you answered."
"I just bet," said Janice Rand drily, and Jim could practically hear her rolling his eyes. "Alright, spit it out. I guess I should be pleasantly surprised you aren't drunk-dialing me, but that only makes it more suspicious."
"Hey, c'mon, give me some credit, that was just the one time-"
"Three times, Jim."
"Two were the same night, you can't count them separately, and one of them was New Year's and you were drunk too."
"And this changes things how?"
"I'm just saying that if I hadn't been drunk on New Years, something would have been very wrong. Anyway! Hey, ah, what are you doin' tonight?"
"I was hoping to avoid making any bad decisions related to ex-boyfriends of mine, actually. Something tells me you're going to try to persuade me otherwise."
Jim sighed. Bit his lip, stared at his own reflection in the mirror on the back of his closet door (made sex real awkward sometimes, for damn sure). "I need a favor," he said, wincing a little even as he said it.
"Oh boy, here it comes," sighed Janice. "Jim, the last 'favor' you needed from me involved breaking and entering, plus a long conversation with my Starfleet advisor. Forgive me if I'm not exactly jumping up and down to hear any more requests from you-"
"It's not like that!" Jim sat up, irritation and frustration crowding for space in his chest. "I just need some advice."
There was a pause on the other end. Jim folded his legs underneath him, fiddling absently with a loose thread in the comforter on top of his bed. "What kind of advice?" Janice asked doubtfully, and Jim knew he'd already won.
"I'm going to this-dinner thing. Tomorrow night. It's, uh, it's this formal dinner, and I don't really have anything to wear and, uh." Oh god, he sounded like he was in 10th goddamn grade right now, why was this so hard to say? "And, I, uh, was hoping you could give me some... pointers," Jim finished lamely.
Again there was a silence, and Jim made a face, hunching his shoulders in the privacy of his bedroom like a petulant five-year-old. Then Janice spoke again. "I don't fucking believe it," she said, delight warming and coloring her voice, which was almost but not quite enough to disguise the vindictive glee. "Jim Kirk, finally sweet on someone. I never thought I'd see the day."
"What? Oh for the love of Christ, Jenny, it's not like that at all-"
"Get your ass over here, Jim," Janice cut in, now sounding entirely too chipper for Jim's liking. "I have to hear this in person."
Jim rubbed his hand across his face again, sliding off the bed in one smooth motion. "Right. Be there in twenty minutes." He hung up the comm and threw it onto the bed, turning to stare at himself in the mirror.
This... might not be his smartest idea ever.
* * * * *
Thirty minutes later, twenty miles across town, the bell finally rang. Jim must've gotten caught up in rush-hour, Janice thought. She answered in the door in blue jeans and a sleeveless white blouse, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Jim was standing there on her doorstep like he always did, hands shoved in his pockets, impossibly good-looking for a man who wasn't doing anything with himself except screwing around-literally.
"What's the password, Kirk?" Janice leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed under her breasts, unable to stop the grin that spread across her face at the sight of him. Fuck, two years of dating the guy should've bought her some immunity against those puppy-dog eyes, shouldn't it?
"Goonies never say die," he said immediately.
"Get in here, you punk," she said, or started to, because he was scooping her up in a bone-crushing hug and swinging her around, laughing as she swore at him and pounded on his back with her fists until he put her down. "Goddammit, Jim!"
"You sound like Bones." Jim was unrepentant. He knew as well as Janice did that she could break his arm or dislocate his shoulder if she'd really wanted to-Jim had been the one to get her to go to self-defense classes, and had been delighted when she'd taken to them like a duck to water and demonstrated her new ability to him by throwing him ten feet across the room. He shoved his hands into his pockets again and followed her as she led him into the bright, airy kitchen, lit up by the blocks of yellow sunshine let in by the overhead windows and skylights.
"Probably because he takes the brunt of your trouble-making. I don't know how he puts up with you, frankly." Janice gestured to one of high wooden chairs surrounding the central oasis as she went to the fridge to get them something to drink.
"It's the oral sex," Jim said, deadpan. "He can't give me up. Said something about chrome and a trailer-hitch one time. Not really sure what he meant." Jim's grin was now so wide that the top of his head was threatening to topple off.
"You are revolting. Do you know that? I cannot believe I ever let you kiss me with that mouth." Janice put up a hand to stop the inevitable lewd remark that would greet this statement, coming back over and plunking down a glass of iced tea in front of Jim, complete with sprig of mint sticking out of it.
"Yeah, yeah, you love me. Don't lie." Jim pushed himself back from the counter, balancing precariously on two chair legs, and reached for the tea, watching Janice the whole time. "So, still living with your parents?"
"Uh-huh. Just for the summer, anyway. It seemed like a good idea until Mom decided to bring up marriage." Janice rolled her eyes at the memory. "She keeps making these mournful comments about how I haven't 'found a man' yet." As if a man were a stray dog you might find wandering down the street one day, if you were lucky or smelled like raw beef. "But I didn't let you come over to talk about my parents, or all the ways in which we are totally unsuited as a couple, Kirk. You said something about a formal dinner? What'd you do, black-mail some senator's wife?"
The wounded expression Jim immediately adopted didn't quite mask the flicker of apprehension that flew across his face, there and then gone like a brief cloud-shadow on a sunny day. "Hey, now. I can't believe you'd ever accuse me of something like that."
Janice snorted. "Oh, wait, my bad. You wouldn't have to blackmail the senator's wife to get into a formal dinner, it's the senator's son that you'd be fucking."
Jim happened to be taking a drink of his iced tea as Janice said this, and promptly choked on it, setting the glass down hard and sloshing some of his drink on the marble counter-top. "God," he choked, "don't do that!"
Janice stared at him, eyes wide. "Please don't tell me you're actually fucking Thomas Newsom's son," she said.
"No," Jim blurted. "Uh." He hesitated, then sighed. Janice recognized her cue for what it was, and pulled out one of the chairs herself to sit down on. It wasn't that long a story, really, but by the end of it Jim was staring very determinedly at the top of the counter and Janice was the one grinning from ear to ear, barely able to believe what she was hearing.
"So let me get this straight." Janice got up, going to the fridge to refill her glass. "Not only are you playing Human tour-guide for this visiting alien-which, by the way, is fucking hilarious, I can't even count the number of ways that that's ridiculous-but you agreed to go with him to a meeting with Pike and Komack?" Janice was one of a handful of people who not only knew who Captain Christopher Pike was, she also happened to know why Jim wanted more than anything to avoid Pike. She didn't bother to ask how Jim had managed to convince some visiting dignitary to take Jim on as his tour guide; the poor guy (whoever he was) probably hadn't even known what he was getting into when he met Jim.
That was the problem with Jim Kirk. Being friends with the damn kid was like being friends with an ultra-dense, ultra-bright star. He exerted an irresistible gravity on you, drawing you out of your normal path through life, but if you let yourself get too close you could go blind from his luminescence.
Jim grimaced. He slouched against the squat back of the chair, fidgeting with an invisible spot on his jeans. "What, it's-yeah, alright? I am. I told him I'd go and I don't wanna blow him off, what's so wrong with that?"
"Have you started carving your initials inside little hearts on tree trunks yet? Or are you still in the phase where you think every love song you hear played is just for you?"
"Oh come on, Jenny, it's not like that at all, okay? Jesus fuckin' Christ."
Janice came back over to the counter, leaning against it and fixing Jim with a smirk. "Sure thing, hon. Whatever you say."
"Look, will you help me or not? I know you know this shit, you're as Southern and old-fashioned as Bones is, and then your dad and all, but if you're busy or something I'll just-" Jim was already rising out of the chair, irritation clouding his face, and Janice shook her head, cutting him off.
"Breathe, Jim. We'll do this. And tomorrow we'll go out and find you a suit-you don't own one, right, that's what you said?" Jim shook his head in confirmation. "Good lord. Well, it's too late to go out and get you a suit tonight. All the shops'll be closed in like an hour." Janice's mind was already racing ahead of her at sixty miles an hour, mentally cataloguing all the things she'd want to cover with Jim tonight if he was really going to be going to a five-star dining establishment. "Okay. We need to talk about wine pairings, we need to talk about interspecies dining etiquette... but first things first." Janice went to one of the drawers in the cupboard, pulling it open and selecting several pieces of silverware. She held up a small fork, grinning at Jim. "I bet you didn't even know this is a salad fork, did you."
Jim's eyebrows, which had already been angled down, now drew together like two caterpillars engaged in a heated conversation. "Salad fork?" he said, voice tinged with incredulity. "What the fuck, I need a separate fork to eat my salad with? What century are we living in again?"
"Well, I'm living in 2255, but I've always secretly thought you were from the Stone Age..." In response, Jim grunted, leaned back in his chair, spread his legs, and scratched his balls with an expression of extreme concentration. Janice groaned, unable to stop the helpless laughter that bubbled up in her throat, and even as she swatted at him to stop, she knew he never would.
* * * * *
Jim glanced at his watch for what had to be the 17th time in the past five minutes. Six thirty-six. Spock had said he would pick Jim up at six-thirty, and for anyone else in LA traffic, Jim would have permitted a window of fifteen minutes for lateness, but Spock, he'd discovered, was pathologically early. So even though he'd only known Spock for maybe two weeks, Jim already knew that even a five-minute delay was unusual. And even though he knew just as well that it would be unlike Spock to simply ditch Jim, he'd had kind of a high-strung day, and couldn't completely keep his nerves from getting the best of him. More than likely, Spock was just held up in some especially bad traffic; LA was like that, even now that vehicles didn't have to stick strictly to the roads that criss-crossed her expanse like so many stone arteries.
He rocked forward onto the soles of his feet, bouncing up and down as he glanced along the empty street his house was on. It had been another scorcher of a day, and the sun was still perched above the horizon-line, a fat, shimmering orb that turned the ocean to white-hot glass, impossible to look at without going blind. Janice had helped Jim find a nice summer-weight suit, but he'd still already taken the jacket off, draped over his arm like a boy waiting for his prom date. Jim wrinkled his nose as he glanced at the crisp lines in his blue shirtsleeves, and the neat creases down the front of his slacks. He knew he didn't look bad (Janice had given a low whistle of approval when Jim had emerged from the bathroom in his get-up forty-five minutes ago), but he didn't feel like himself in this ensemble. At least now he looked like he belonged at a fancy dining restaurant, or at least wouldn't be so fucking obviously out of place.
Even if he felt like it. Standing here on his porch in the sweltering heat (he should really go inside, but he'd just be pacing back and forth in the kitchen anyway), Jim found his restless mind returning to the same question over and over again, gnawing at it like a dog with a bone. Why in the name of God was he subjecting himself to all of this nonsense? He didn't care about fancy dining, and he certainly didn't care about impressing Christopher Pike or Admiral "Jackhole" Komack, the latter of whom he'd never had the dubious pleasure of meeting but whom he'd heard all about from his mom. And if anyone else had asked him to come along for an evening of crime and punishment, Jim would have just laughed.
So why did Spock asking make a difference?
Jim was saved from having to answer his own question by the sound of an engine being gunned up the street. He turned his head, eyebrows popping comically up towards his hairline at the sight of the car coming down the street. Or not the sight of it exactly, but the sound; whoever was driving the sleek red Jaguar was either out to deliberately ruin the transmission (which had to be an old-fashioned one, Jim noted distractedly-jesus, it was impossible to come by a manual unless you were filthy rich) or had no fucking idea what they were doing. Jim was betting on the latter. No one would spend that much money on an antique just for the sake of ruining it.
A suspicion, ridiculous but somehow unshakeable, grew in Jim's mind as to the identity of the driver, confirmed as the Jaguar slowed to a stuttering halt at the end of the driveway, the engine growling irritably under the hood. Jim came down the steps of the porch, his grin growing so wide it threatened to split his face open. "You need a hand, there?" he asked as the window rolled down, leaning down to rest both hands on the window-frame of the car as he peered inside at Spock. Spock's expression would have been simply tense on a human, but was downright thunderous for a Vulcan, glaring at the steering-wheel as if it had personally insulted the size of his dick.
"I have no need of an additional hand," Spock said. Jim thought he sounded put-out. Like a two-year-old who needs a nap, he thought, and had to choke back the laugh. Spock, he noticed now, was wearing a strange but expensive-looking outfit of some dark material that looked for all the world like a tuxedo crossed with a Mexican serape. "This vehicle is unfamiliar to me and completely counter-intuitive. I do not pretend to understand the Terran obsession with vehicles of past eras that were both wasteful of resources and difficult to drive." This time, Jim couldn't stop his laugh, and he had to stand up, leaning against the car to save himself from doing something embarrassing like losing his balance and falling on his ass.
"I am pleased that you find my situation amusing," came Spock's voice, floating out of the open window, "however, I must request that you desist from-"
"Oh, save it." Jim shook himself, yanking open the passenger door and dropping into the seat. He grinned across at Spock, sparing a moment to hope the Vulcan wasn't actually offended. "One, that was sarcasm just now, I heard it, and two, what are you even doing driving a stick-shift if you don't enjoy it? I know you can get a transport if you want one."
Spock's fingers tightened on the steering wheel, then sagged to his lap, Spock still staring straight ahead. He was silent for several seconds, and Jim realized abruptly that Spock was... No. It couldn't-was Spock embarrassed? "The proprietor of the hotel-had neglected to reserve a transport for me," he said at length. "When I came downstairs to request one, they were all otherwise committed. And waiting for another one would have delayed me by approximately sixty minutes, or even longer. So Mr. Mudd offered the use of his own vehicle to me."
Jim's eyebrows went up. "Do you even know how to drive a stick? It kinda sounded like you were doin' your best to ruin the transmission, there."
Spock glanced at Jim, his eyes dark and unreadable, before flickering away again to the wind-shield as if he were afraid to meet Jim's gaze. "I have no previous experience driving manual transmissions, no. But I believed it would not be an overly difficult operation, and decided that it even had the potential to be... enlightening. Also..." Here Spock hesitated, and Jim couldn't help but wonder what had gotten into Spock, who was normally so composed. "I had thought you might find this vehicle appealing," he said finally.
Jim stared. Warmth pooled in his stomach, and for a moment Jim felt light-headed, like getting tipsy on sweet wine. "Oh, well," he heard himself say, sounding impressively nonchalant. "That was thoughtful of you. It is a pretty sweet car."
Spock regarded him quizzically (or what passed for it for a Vulcan, anyway). "I do not understand the descriptor 'sweet.'"
"It's slang. Just means it's a.... it's a really great car. Vehicle. But I'm pretty sure Harry will pitch a fit if you bring his car back and the transmission is all screwed up. Manual transmissions are really, really hard to come by, and it'd be expensive as fuck to fix."
"Ah." Spock pursed his lips. "I see. I had not anticipated having this much difficulty with the transmission, I must confess. Perhaps... are you familiar with-"
"Spock, I could drive a stick shift drunk and blind."
"I find the veracity of that statement highly doubtful, and not particularly encouraging," Spock commented, the corners of his lips quirking very faintly. "Although it would, perhaps, be a remarkable event to witness."
"Bite me," Jim said cheerfully. He was already climbing out of the car and coming around to the driver's side. Spock climbed out, and stood there just outside the open door, regarding Jim with his mouth slightly open, as if something was sitting heavy on his tongue, waiting for him to spit it out. Jim paused, eyebrows up, and after a moment Spock stepped aside, merely handing Jim the keys before walking around to the passenger side again.
Jim got in, wondering what that was all about. As he pulled the belt across his torso and buckled it into the lock, Spock got in beside him and shut the door. Then-
"I presume you do not actually wish me to bite you, as you would doubtless find it unpleasant, so I must wonder why-"
"Oh my God, Spock!" Jim laughed. "You are such a dick when you want to be." Spock's protest was drowned out by the engine roaring to life under Jim's hands, and Jim threw the car into gear, still laughing as they tore off down the street.
* * * * *
Second half of Chapter Two is here.