What Part of Forever: Chapter Four
Wow, I'm FINALLY POSTING THE NEXT CHAPTER. I am so very sorry for the delay in posting time; RL has been utter madness, but I have prevailed! Last chapter coming very soon! In the meantime, enjoy.
Title: What Part of Forever (Chapter 4)
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. Additionally, for this chapter, I abused the good graces of circ_bamboo. Thank you so much, my darlings!
Series: AOS/Reboot, pre-Academy 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, 12,760.
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, there's trouble in paradise when Jim and Spock return from the trip to Spock's grandparents' house, and the secession hearing looms larger every day.
Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Interlude. The art. The mix.
"This was really probably not one of my brightest ideas," Jim said to himself. The man in the bathroom mirror stared back, completely unhelpful.
They'd come back to Los Angeles to find the entire Vulcan embassy in an uproar (which to Jim had felt more like a funeral). The leaked memorandum was even worse than Jim had expected: sent by one of Admiral Barnett's aides, it mentioned a secret (and therefore suspect) clause in the Federation's charter that allowed an Admiral to declare a state of emergency overriding certain political actions by planetary governing bodies, including a secession trial. In other words, if the memorandum was real, it implicated Federation leaders in some extremely sketchy activity. Vulcan and her many close allies were enraged.
Jim wasn't at all convinced that the document was real-the timing was too convenient, for one thing. But the damage was being done, and now Jim got to watch the shitshow as Spock, Sarek, and the Starfleet emissaries tried to smooth things over in time for the secession hearing.
Jim made a skeptical grimace in the bathroom mirror at the thought, and his reflection scowled back. The man in the mirror looked great, at least: skin just tanned enough to glow, bright blue eyes, artfully ruffled blond hair, a trim, well-fitting suit-and-pants combo. Jim couldn't have dressed nicer to meet someone's father.
Not that meeting Sarek was what Jim thought Spock had had in mind. Trouble was, Jim didn't have any fucking idea what Spock did have in mind for Jim's role here, seeing that Spock was more uncommunicative and closed-off than the first night Jim had laid eyes on his prickly Vulcan self. Could be that Spock felt nervous around his Vulcan colleagues -- and all the other aliens discussing whether Vulcan would withdraw her membership from the Federation - but it was still jarring after the trip they'd just taken.
Jim tilted his head slightly to one side and used his fingers to tug down his collar, exposing the faint bruises at the very base of his throat. Spock had left those. Just the sight of them brought the memory of Spock bent over him rushing to mind, the strangely herbal, exotic smell of Spock's skin, the extreme warmth of his alien body heat.... Jim swallowed and dropped his eyes to his head, shaking it slightly to clear his mind. Returning to LA had also been a return to reality of the most painful sort.
He was James "Tomcat" Kirk. Half of his conquests would brain him if given the chance, another half would be begging for one more roll in the hay, and-those halves might overlap, actually. But he was good to his partners, paid or otherwise, and he made it a point to never let feelings get in the way of good old sex.
Which brought him back to the same question: What the fuck did he think he was doing here? This whole situation was fucked. But every time he asked that, all he could think of was Spock: Spock naked, Spock's rare (and therefore precious) smile; the way Spock looked at him with approval when Jim managed to say something halfway intelligent; the measured, precise way Spock spoke, as if each idea that left his lips was too precious to waste by being misspoken-every intimate detail shone in his mind, impossible to forget or ignore for long. The week and a half of their road-trip and visit to Spock's family was like some kind of drug-induced dream, and every day that passed since their return made it seem more distant and unreal.
The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when Jim woke up this morning, though-that was real. So were the pointed questions McCoy kept messaging him, left unanswered. And the way Spock wouldn't look at Jim today was real, too, real enough to send Jim running to the bathroom to hide like a goddamn 16-year-old girl.
The door to the restroom swung open, and Jim tore himself away from his ruminations to glance at the Andorian who stumbled in, looking distinctly greener in the face than the blue-skinned race was prone to. He made a beeline for one of the stalls, the door banging shut behind him. "Classic," Jim said under his breath, a smile twitching across his face despite himself.
He cast one last glance at himself in the mirror, straightened the hem of his shirt, and then headed back out into the fold.
Normally, finding Spock in a crowd would be an easy task; Spock was even taller than Jim, and he was typically the only humanoid with a bowl-cut shiny enough to blind the unwary and a spine so straight it would put a flagpole to shame. But the president of the Federation would be making a statement this afternoon, and in addition to the many Vulcans (all of whom sported a hair-cut exactly like Spock's, which was a crime, Jim wanted to point out), there were a number of Andorians, Tellerites, Betazoids, and even Cardassians here at the hotel. Jim supposed this was inevitable as it drew closer to the date of the hearing on Vulcan's decision to secede. There must be even more aliens up in San Francisco, Jim thought. Especially with the news of the leaked memorandum.
But for now, it just meant that it would be stupidly hard to find Spock again. Jim drifted out of the bathroom, glancing around the room without much hope, and was immediately accosted by Harry Mudd.
"Jim, my boy," purred Harry. Jim leaned back in dismay; Mudd reeked of whiskey, his eyes bloodshot and his smile manic. "So marvelous to see you, really you look excellent. Where's your friend?" Harry winked theatrically and elbowed Jim in what he must have assumed was a very subtle manner. It was a wonder that half the room didn't instantly turn to stare at them. Almost as much of a wonder as Harry's ability to spew bullshit like that after how his last interaction with Jim had gone.
"Jesus, Harry, what'd you do, take a bath in Wild Turkey?" Jim glanced at the open door, then back at Harry in resignation. For an assistant hotel manager, the man could be remarkably inept. "And I dunno where Spock is, probably off doing his rounds." Jim chose not to respond to the poorly-disguised bid for information, keeping a bland smile firmly in place and a good foot of distance between himself and Harry.
"Indeed, indeed. Such a serious situation, this secession business." Harry chuckled to himself, splotches of red burning high on his cheeks and his temples. Jim fought the urge to squirm away in mortification. "Good for our business, though!" Harry added, elbowing Jim again with more force than was strictly necessary.
"I'm sure," Jim said. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head with relief as he spotted Spock perhaps twenty yards away to his left. "Well, Harry, I think I see Spock, so I'll catch you later, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he slipped away through the crowd, doing his very best to ignore the man behind him.
Which is why Jim did not see the burly humanoid who came up to Harry Mudd and bent his head to converse in low tones. Nor did Jim see the suddenly not-so-drunk Mudd straighten, and surreptitiously exchange a small plasticine card for a handful of credits. And he certainly did not see the cruel, self-satisfied smile that came over Mudd's face as he watched his client melt smoothly back into the crowd, headed in the same direction Jim had taken.
* * * * *
Elsewhere in the building, Spock was busy trying to keep himself from having one of what Leonard McCoy would one day refer to as "Spock's rage black-outs."
Spock stood in the corner of the main meeting hall, watching the crowd of beings mill to and fro in front of him and bracing for the next unwanted conversation that would no doubt shortly be forced upon him. Spock was not extroverted by anyone's standards at the best of times, but right now it was a question of which was the lesser evil: attracting yet more negative attention for disappearing when his presence was expected, or staying at the conference and worsening his already-inappropriate stress reaction. Thus far he'd chosen to stay. Escaping to his room would mean he had nothing to distract him from his own lack of control.
Being a studious sort, Spock had done extensive research on how his Human DNA could complicate his chosen existence as a Vulcan. He discovered that his genetic make-up allowed him to become inebriated on Human alcohol when a normal Vulcan would never feel a thing, along with providing a surprising resistance to diseases that affected modern Vulcans.
Of particular interest was how the body's hormonal chemistry changed during sexual intercourse. Fascinated by the Human ability to have sex at will and with no ill effects, Spock had spent endless hours poring over PADDs that described the hormonal flows and changes in Humans brought on by sex, puberty, and full adulthood. He had not experienced the onset of Pon Farr, though it was too early to say whether he would be spared that horror, but Spock found that he experienced the common after-effects of sexual climax as a fully Human male might. He had known this prior to his acquaintance with Jim Kirk, but he had not had such an abundance of data to buttress his conclusions.
But Spock had failed to take into account the erratic behavior of Humans in the early phase of courtship, "infatuation", during which dopamine flooded the cortical pathways of the brain, producing sensations of elation, giddiness, obsessive behavior, and an inability to think clearly. It was to this that Spock attributed his temporary insanity of the past few days-no, the past few weeks. His behavior on their road-trip, at his grandparents' house... all of it was bizarre and inexcusable, particularly when his energy could be better spent focused on preparing his arguments for the hearing. And why in the name of Surak he'd thought it was a good idea to bring Jim to a formal gathering of Federation representatives, he could not now say, save for that exaggerated presence of dopamine and seratonin in his brain had caused him to take leave of his senses. Not that Jim had embarrassed Spock; far from it.
Spock shifted at the thought of Jim, glancing across the room, half-expecting to see the familiar blond head caught in conversation with some stranger. Jim was polite and charming, interesting and talkative to all and sundry, and Spock had caught more than one being casting an admiring eye on the handsome young man at Spock's side. Their covetous glances had raised such a red rage behind Spock's eyes that he'd had to compensate by shutting down almost completely.
His behavior was unforgivable. To say nothing of the fact that Spock should not even have coupled with Jim in the first place, his own reactions to the situation were out of control. He had brought Jim here, and Spock was not oblivious to the curious eyes of Captain Pike and Admiral Komack, and of his own father, all of whom would be watching for cues as to the nature of Spock's relationship with this strange Human. Spock had watched more than one being come over to flirt overtly with Jim, and though Jim had politely turned down all inquiries, each one cranked the invisible metal band around Spock's temples tighter.
He didn't even know where Jim was right now. Spock didn't know which was worse; wondering if some new sentient was flirting with Jim right now, or his own inability to focus on anything but the overwhelming urge to break something. Spock's jaw clenched. He turned and threaded his way through the crowd, slipping down a side hallway and then into a blessedly empty room that looked like a walk-in closet, judging from all the studs to hang coats on the walls.
"S'chen T'Gai Spock, have you taken leave of your ability to think?" The use of his full name brought Spock's attention up sharp.
"Explain yourself, T'Pring," Spock said shortly. Must he be pursued even in this brief moment of sanctuary?
"Your emotionalism today has been disgraceful." T'Pring stared at him unblinking. She was as serene and put-together as Spock had ever seen her, swathed in the heavy crimson robes of her family's house, masses of dark hair piled intricately on her head. "And from what my brother tells me, today is only the latest occurrence of this behavior from you."
"If you are referring to my visit to the house of my Human grandparents," Spock retorted, voice sharper than he intended, "may I remind you that-"
"You have not been yourself. You are distracted and unobservant, your attention to our people's need has been sorely lacking, and anyone with a functioning pair of eyes can see the reason-your attachment to the Human, Jim Kirk, that you have been spending so much time with."
"You will not speak to me of James Kirk," Spock snapped. "You were one who proposed we dissolve our bond-you have renounced your claim on me. What business is it of yours whom I spend my time with?" The tension around his skull ratcheted up a few more notches, but T'Pring seemed to not even notice.
"Listen to yourself, Spock! Do you hear how you're talking to me? What this Human is doing to you?" T'Pring raised her hand, fingers spread loosely, palm facing Spock, and after a moment Spock mirrored the gesture, pressing his palm to hers. Instantly a sense of calm and focus flooded Spock's harried mind. Spock took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it.
I am not your enemy, Spock, T'Pring sent. Be at peace, cousin. And indeed, Spock's tension drained out of him like air from a punctured balloon.
"You will be a skilled healer indeed when you have finished your training," Spock said at last. He let his hand drop, and after a moment T'Pring did as well. Spock drew another deep breath and let it out slowly before he found the strength to say, "You are correct. I have been behaving... erratically."
"No permanent damage has been done," T'Pring said. She folded her hands at her side again, gazing at Spock with an expression that was particularly difficult to decipher. Or no-he was projecting Human behaviors onto Vulcans. He really had been spending too much time with Humans. "But you must give all your attention to the matter at hand. The secession hearing begins in two days."
"Indeed." Spock folded his hands into his robes, inclining his head at T'Pring. "Let us return to the gathering, then." T'Pring nodded, turning and leading the way back into the corridor, Spock following in her way. Immediately, they were accosted by some of Spock's fellow VSA researchers, and Spock found himself yet again drawn into a tedious, speculative conversation about the legitimacy of the leaked memorandum.
Fifteen minutes later, Spock found himself dutifully engaged by one of the newly-arrived Vulcan representatives. S'vaal was old, grey of hair, and extremely knowledgable of Vulcan's history. Spock found him extremely boring. When S'vaal stepped up to give his evidence on Vulcan's history of peace and justice, Spock thought he'd prove a far more effective sedative than anything else.
"Forgive my intrusion, S'vaal," said a familiar voice at his side. "I must speak with my son for a moment." Sarek stood at Spock's side, though when he'd gotten there Spock was not sure. He must have allowed himself to be distracted. Spock's eyes flickered sideways to check to see if T'Pring had noticed Spock's lapse, only to realize that she'd slipped away at some point after their conversation.
"Of course, Sarek." S'vaal bowed to both of them, then ambled off to continue his lecture into more appreciative ears. Spock watched him go, reminding himself that a Vulcan had no place experiencing either relief or trepidation.
"Father." Spock turned and bent his head, nodding once to his father in deference. Sarek's eyes were as dark and unreadable as always, and he walked with Spock until they were no longer in the midst of the throng of aliens. The fact that whatever Sarek had to say was clearly not meant for other's ears did nothing to ease the tight lump at the bottom of Spock's stomach. Two conversations about Spock's inappropriate behavior in one day: it was like being back in adolescence again.
"Where is your companion, Spock? This Kirk?" Sarek stopped, turning to face Spock, keeping his voice low, his eyes focused on his son's face, which did nothing to relieve Spock of the sensation that he'd been reduced to a small child.
"I am certain he is here in the hotel somewhere," Spock responded, voice carefully even. "Beyond that, I cannot give his precise location. He excused himself twenty point six minutes ago and has not yet returned." Sarek nodded, maddeningly inscrutable. Spock steeled himself. "Is there something about James Kirk that you wish to discuss?"
"Correct. I must inquire as to the nature of your relationship with this Human." Sarek's gaze never wavered, his voice low and even.
Spock cocked his head, forcing himself to remain calm. He was in control. To over-react to something so simple... "Our relationship, Father?"
If Sarek knew the effect this line of questions was having, he gave no sign. "For a Human, he is agreeable, but your continued association with him is raising the curiosity of your fellows. I must remind you that you are being closely watched at this time, as both a representative of the VSA and as my son."
"I am aware, Father." As if he could possibly forget. Spock clenched his hands out of sight inside his robes. "I must also remind you, however, that whom I choose to associate with is my own business." Sarek's eyebrows went up at this, but Spock chose to ignore it. "But I can assure you that as far as the secession hearing goes, my relationship with James Kirk is not one that in any way complicates me."
And what would Spock do if the secession hearing came and went, and Vulcan elected the unthinkable? Spock shoved the thought away. He would not contemplate a future that did not yet exist.
Out of the corner of his eye, Spock thought he saw movement. Moments later, the profile of a familiar head became visible in the crowd, only to disappear within seconds. Spock watched the back of Jim's head as he slipped through the crowd, headed in the direction of the hall of elevators. Spock felt his stomach plummet into his shoes as the realization of being overheard sank in. Jim-
Sarek turned his head to follow Spock's gaze, but thankfully Jim had already vanished into the crowd. "Forgive me," Spock said smoothly. "I thought I saw Malik, but I was in error."
His father's head swiveled around again, gaze coming to rest squarely on Spock. For a long moment, he said nothing at all, watching Spock in silence, as though weighing his words. Spock waited, forcing his unwanted anxiety back down where it belonged, willing himself to feel nothing, nothing at all. He was Vulcan; Vulcans did not suffer anxiety. Finally, Sarek nodded. "Very well. Take care, my son. We walk on unsteady ground, and we must be careful of our footing if we wish to avoid losing our way."
Spock stared at his father, startled. Somehow, he had not expected the platitude. "I will remember your words, Father." And he would. And later, when he was alone, when he could find time to think, he would dwell on it, would meditate to find his center.
But first, he had to go find Jim.
* * * * *
Jim shoved his way through the crowd with more force than strictly necessary, jostling a slim Andorian woman, hearing her indignant exclamation behind him as he headed for the elevators. The press of beings in the suite of rooms was suddenly too much. He needed air. He needed to get away. If he moved fast enough, he would be long gone by the time this particular clusterfuck finally caught up with his brain.
My relationship with James Kirk is not one that in any way complicates me, he heard again in his ears, Spock's voice cool and even.
Of course it didn't, Jim thought savagely. Stupid of him, so fucking stupid, he really took the prize of Number One Dumbass this time around, no fucking shit, Sherlock. It was fucking stupid of Jim to let it get as far as it had, to let the edges blur between work and play. He had one rule, one personal rule that he never broke for anyone, and he'd bent it for Spock, big-time. Now it was going to bite him in the ass, and he had no one to blame but himself.
He ducked around a cluster of Vulcans and finally broke free of the crowd, making a beeline for the alcove at the end of the hallway. He'd left the keys to his bike in Spock's room, along with his motorcycle jacket, not wanting to mess with them during the party. Now his hands were itching to feel their weight against his palm.
Jim bounced on his balls of his feet as he waited for the elevator to arrive, his thoughts fluttering inside his skull like a trapped bird. He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides, shoving them violently into his pockets to hide his agitation.
He had a friend up in Santa Barbara he could crash with for a few days. Gary should be home over the summer, Jim thought, and he was the kind of guy who wouldn't ask too many questions. Jim could stay at Gary's for a day or two, get his shit in order, and then he'd just keep going: up the coast, all the way, past San Francisco, through Oregon and into Washington-the reminder of the week and a half he'd just spent with Spock crashed on his consciousness like broken glass, and Jim scowled. Fuck that.
Maybe this time he'd find a cargo ship to take him off-planet. Right now, nowhere sounded far enough away. And Spock could just continue his little examination of Humanity on his own, where he didn't have to worry about being "complicated" by anyone. Jim shoved that thought away.
Jim was practically prying the elevator doors opened himself when the damn thing finally chimed for his floor and started to slide apart, wedging himself inside and jamming his fingers against the "door close" button, not wanting to so much as share air with another being right now. The urge to break for the front doors of the building was strong, but Jim needed his bike.
He'd have to wire McCoy some money for rent, maybe a note telling him that he'd be out of town for a little while. Jim didn't know yet if he'd be coming back to Los Angeles, but McCoy was one of the few true friends Jim had made over the years, and he deserved better than a vanished roommate with no explanation. Jim mashed the button for the nineteenth floor and cursed as the door began its leisurely climb. Couldn't these things move any faster?
Jim shoved his way out of the elevator before the doors had completely opened, oblivious to anyone or anything that might already be in the hallway. Five steps and he burst into Spock's room, letting the door swing shut behind him with a satisfying slam. Jim took a few steps into the room, stopping in the middle of the floor, staring from his black jacket draped over the back of the couch to the neat stack of PADDs on Spock's desk.
"Fuck," he muttered, smearing a hand across his face, as though that would clear his head of its painful buzzing. He shut his eyes, and Spock's face appeared, cocking one eyebrow and glancing sideways at him across a dinner table. Or a coffee table. Head tilted quizzically to one side as he asked Jim to explain yet another nuance of Human interaction. "Fuck," Jim said again, eyes snapping open. He clenched his fists, took a few more steps forward, and was appalled to find himself trembling. "FUCK!" he yelled, his voice breaking as the curse died away, and in a sudden fury he grabbed up one of the PADDS on Spock's desk and hurled it across the room, watching it shatter against the far wall and taking no satisfaction in it.
Jim started at the sound of the door behind him opening. Spock must have seen him leaving, he realized, and he was already moving, grabbing up his jacket and his keys. He was opening his mouth to speak, something stupid and untrue that Spock would not believe for a moment (and Jim did not care if he did), when a voice from behind him came that was definitely not Spock.
"Hello there, Jim."
White shock burst up Jim's spine, his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth. He whirled to see the owner of the voice, and saw Rijaal standing just inside the door, arms crossed over his broad chest. All thick muscles and dark, braided hair, complete with tribal tattoos on arms, face, and neck, Rijaal was a client of Jim's-former client, he corrected himself grimly. Jim only kept himself from backing away by virtue of not wanting to show weakness to Rijaal. If the humanoid shark scented blood in the water, he'd be on Jim in an instant.
Get the fuck away from me! was what Jim wanted to shout. "Mind tellin' me what you're doin' in a private room?" was what Jim said instead, giving an easy smile that in no way matched the fear-flesh creeping up the back of his neck, making his nipples hard and his skin tighten all across his body. Jim put his hands on his hips, as much to keep them from bunching into fists as to keep them free.
"Oh, I followed you," Rijaal said. He strolled around the edge of the room, circling the couch that stood between him and Jim. Jim hesitated for half a second, torn between wanting to keep up the appearance of being unintimidated and the real need to keep something physical between him and Rijaal, and decided that safety was more important.
"Yeah? You still mad that I changed my number?" He could feel adrenaline flooding him, fought the growing urge to bolt. If he could just keep Rijaal moving, get close enough to the door... He fell into a slow walk, matching Rijaal, keeping the couch between them, and bit back another blossom of fear at the smirk that came onto Rijaal's face.
Rijaal stopped where he was, still firmly between Jim and the door, a cruel glint in his dark eyes. "Jimmy, baby," he crooned, completely out of sync with the violence Jim could read in his face and stance. Shit, Jim thought. How the fuck was Rijaal even here? "Did you really think you'd ever be able to find anyone else who could give you what you want? I know how you like it, Jimmy."
"Sure you do," Jim said, or started to, because that was when Rijaal moved, lunging for Jim over the couch. Jim threw himself backwards, out of reach, and promptly tripped over the coffee table he'd forgotten all about, going crashing to the floor in a sprawl of limbs and PADDS and books. Rijaal was on him in an instant, smashing him across the temple with the back of his hand hard enough to make lights burst behind Jim's eyes. Jim sagged, head spinning, still managing to struggle as Rijaal hauled him to his feet, rough hands pawing at him already through his clothes.
"Always knew you'd dress up all nice and pretty," Rijaal hissed into Jim's ear, shaking him once like a man with a dog. Jim gasped, shoving at the hand that was already working into his slacks, making him cry out in pain as Rijaal groped him roughly. "Makes it that much hotter when I rip all those expensive clothes off you." Jim shoved hard at Rijaal, bringing his knee up between his attacker's legs, and strained with all his might as Rijaal hunched over, grunting in pain... but the distraction wasn't quite enough, or else Jim's muscles weren't working quite right yet, because Rijaal's grip on his shoulder tightened alarmingly and the brutish face inches from his snarled with fury-
And then his eyes rolled up in his head, face clearing of all expression, and three hundred pounds of muscle and malice dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks. Jim would have gone down with Rijaal, but a hand shot out and grabbed him, saving him from collapse. Spock's face came into dizzy focus as Jim peered up at him, struggling to clear his ringing head.
"Jim," Spock said urgently, "say something. Are you injured?" The warm arm slid around Jim's shoulders as Spock helped walk Jim over to sit down on one of the overstuffed couches, settling onto the seat next to him. Jim leaned into him instinctively, his head still ringing, pulse pounding with fear and adrenaline and the all-too-real knowledge of what had just almost happened to him.
Then reality caught back up, and he shoved Spock away so violently that he almost fell off the couch again. "Nice timing," he slurred, climbing unsteadily to his feet again (fuck, Rijaal had hit him hard). "I was just gettin' ready to leave. If you hurry back downstairs, no one will even realize you were gone."
Spock stared at him from the couch, and once the throbbing of Jim's skull settled down he might be able to read that expression, but of course Jim wasn't planning on sticking around that long. "You were being assaulted by this intruder," Spock said, and though his voice was careful, Jim wasn't out of it enough to miss the way his fingers tightened in his lap. "You are clearly injured, you should sit down-"
"Yeah, no fucking shit. So sorry you had to see that." Jim bit his lip, swaying very slightly. Shit, he really shouldn't be driving home like this. Maybe he'd call a cab.... no, fuck it, he hadn't even been drinking, he'd be fine. Spock rose from the couch now, approaching Jim slowly, like you would a wounded animal. "Stop," Jim snapped, straightening as Spock reached out a hand again. Spock stared at him, slowly withdrawing his hand. "Just stop. I'm leaving."
"Jim, you should not-"
"Fuck you, Spock," Jim spat. "I shouldn't have come, is what I shouldn't. Wouldn't want to complicate you." The words had the intended effect: Spock stiffened, his expression darkening for a moment with some unreadable emotion-guilt? anger?-before going completely flat, shutting down exactly like Jim knew he would. "You got better things to be worrying about, so I'm just gonna go. Peace out." With that, Jim snatched up his jacket and keys once more, turned on his heel, and headed for the door.
Only to be cut off by Spock yet again before he could reach it. "You are referring to the words you overheard me speak to my father in the hallway downstairs," Spock said flatly. "You are over-reacting and mis-interpreting a part of a conversation you have taken out of context-"
It was the wrong thing to say. This time Jim lunged at Spock, shoving with both hands at Spock's shoulders, sending him reeling backwards off-balance. "I'm overreacting?" Jim demanded. Spots of color appeared high on his face, one on each cheekbone and another in the center of his forehead, giving him the appearance of a man stricken with fever. And he felt feverish, sick and dizzy with rage. "Well thank fuckin' Christ I've got my very own Vulcan to tell me what a stupid Human I'm being. Or maybe you haven't even noticed, have you?" Jim surged forward, getting up in Spock's face, backing him towards the wall. "You've been too busy kissing the ass of every Vulcan who comes up to you, trying to reassure them that you're not 'complicated' by me. So sorry us Humans are so embarrassing-"
"It is your emotionalism right now that is embarrassing, Jim," Spock said. His face was a mask, his arms flat at his sides, his eyes black chips of coal. He held himself perfectly still, only the flare of his nostrils betraying any hint of reaction. "I brought you here because I am not ashamed of you, because I do not wish to hide you from my people, but I do not have the time to dance attention on you as you so apparently require-"
"Attention? Oh, please. You've barely looked at me since we came back! You've barely touched me, you were gone this morning before I even got up-"
"Because I have responsibilities, Jim!" Now Spock's voice was rising as Jim's was, his tension a physical thing. "A concept I realize someone like you has trouble understanding, but I will not simply turn my face away from my people in their time of need!"
The words hit Jim like a slap in the face. For a few moments, all he could do was stand there and stare at Spock. The sudden absence of shouting was deafening, and Spock recoiled slightly. "Yeah," Jim said into the silence. "Okay, then." He took a deep breath and stepped back. He couldn't seem to think. It was as though his head had been plunged into ice. "I'm gonna go, Spock. Good luck with the secession hearing."
"Jim, why are you-"
"Don't, Spock," Jim cut in. He turned away, suddenly not even able to look Spock in the face anymore. "Just don't."
He went out into the hallway, pressed the button for the elevator, and stared straight ahead until the elevator doors opened. Jim turned his gaze just enough to glance back into the room he'd just came from, but the door was closed.
* * * * *
Find the rest of Chapter Four here.
Title: What Part of Forever (Chapter 4)
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. Additionally, for this chapter, I abused the good graces of circ_bamboo. Thank you so much, my darlings!
Series: AOS/Reboot, pre-Academy 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, 12,760.
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, there's trouble in paradise when Jim and Spock return from the trip to Spock's grandparents' house, and the secession hearing looms larger every day.
Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Interlude. The art. The mix.
"This was really probably not one of my brightest ideas," Jim said to himself. The man in the bathroom mirror stared back, completely unhelpful.
They'd come back to Los Angeles to find the entire Vulcan embassy in an uproar (which to Jim had felt more like a funeral). The leaked memorandum was even worse than Jim had expected: sent by one of Admiral Barnett's aides, it mentioned a secret (and therefore suspect) clause in the Federation's charter that allowed an Admiral to declare a state of emergency overriding certain political actions by planetary governing bodies, including a secession trial. In other words, if the memorandum was real, it implicated Federation leaders in some extremely sketchy activity. Vulcan and her many close allies were enraged.
Jim wasn't at all convinced that the document was real-the timing was too convenient, for one thing. But the damage was being done, and now Jim got to watch the shitshow as Spock, Sarek, and the Starfleet emissaries tried to smooth things over in time for the secession hearing.
Jim made a skeptical grimace in the bathroom mirror at the thought, and his reflection scowled back. The man in the mirror looked great, at least: skin just tanned enough to glow, bright blue eyes, artfully ruffled blond hair, a trim, well-fitting suit-and-pants combo. Jim couldn't have dressed nicer to meet someone's father.
Not that meeting Sarek was what Jim thought Spock had had in mind. Trouble was, Jim didn't have any fucking idea what Spock did have in mind for Jim's role here, seeing that Spock was more uncommunicative and closed-off than the first night Jim had laid eyes on his prickly Vulcan self. Could be that Spock felt nervous around his Vulcan colleagues -- and all the other aliens discussing whether Vulcan would withdraw her membership from the Federation - but it was still jarring after the trip they'd just taken.
Jim tilted his head slightly to one side and used his fingers to tug down his collar, exposing the faint bruises at the very base of his throat. Spock had left those. Just the sight of them brought the memory of Spock bent over him rushing to mind, the strangely herbal, exotic smell of Spock's skin, the extreme warmth of his alien body heat.... Jim swallowed and dropped his eyes to his head, shaking it slightly to clear his mind. Returning to LA had also been a return to reality of the most painful sort.
He was James "Tomcat" Kirk. Half of his conquests would brain him if given the chance, another half would be begging for one more roll in the hay, and-those halves might overlap, actually. But he was good to his partners, paid or otherwise, and he made it a point to never let feelings get in the way of good old sex.
Which brought him back to the same question: What the fuck did he think he was doing here? This whole situation was fucked. But every time he asked that, all he could think of was Spock: Spock naked, Spock's rare (and therefore precious) smile; the way Spock looked at him with approval when Jim managed to say something halfway intelligent; the measured, precise way Spock spoke, as if each idea that left his lips was too precious to waste by being misspoken-every intimate detail shone in his mind, impossible to forget or ignore for long. The week and a half of their road-trip and visit to Spock's family was like some kind of drug-induced dream, and every day that passed since their return made it seem more distant and unreal.
The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when Jim woke up this morning, though-that was real. So were the pointed questions McCoy kept messaging him, left unanswered. And the way Spock wouldn't look at Jim today was real, too, real enough to send Jim running to the bathroom to hide like a goddamn 16-year-old girl.
The door to the restroom swung open, and Jim tore himself away from his ruminations to glance at the Andorian who stumbled in, looking distinctly greener in the face than the blue-skinned race was prone to. He made a beeline for one of the stalls, the door banging shut behind him. "Classic," Jim said under his breath, a smile twitching across his face despite himself.
He cast one last glance at himself in the mirror, straightened the hem of his shirt, and then headed back out into the fold.
Normally, finding Spock in a crowd would be an easy task; Spock was even taller than Jim, and he was typically the only humanoid with a bowl-cut shiny enough to blind the unwary and a spine so straight it would put a flagpole to shame. But the president of the Federation would be making a statement this afternoon, and in addition to the many Vulcans (all of whom sported a hair-cut exactly like Spock's, which was a crime, Jim wanted to point out), there were a number of Andorians, Tellerites, Betazoids, and even Cardassians here at the hotel. Jim supposed this was inevitable as it drew closer to the date of the hearing on Vulcan's decision to secede. There must be even more aliens up in San Francisco, Jim thought. Especially with the news of the leaked memorandum.
But for now, it just meant that it would be stupidly hard to find Spock again. Jim drifted out of the bathroom, glancing around the room without much hope, and was immediately accosted by Harry Mudd.
"Jim, my boy," purred Harry. Jim leaned back in dismay; Mudd reeked of whiskey, his eyes bloodshot and his smile manic. "So marvelous to see you, really you look excellent. Where's your friend?" Harry winked theatrically and elbowed Jim in what he must have assumed was a very subtle manner. It was a wonder that half the room didn't instantly turn to stare at them. Almost as much of a wonder as Harry's ability to spew bullshit like that after how his last interaction with Jim had gone.
"Jesus, Harry, what'd you do, take a bath in Wild Turkey?" Jim glanced at the open door, then back at Harry in resignation. For an assistant hotel manager, the man could be remarkably inept. "And I dunno where Spock is, probably off doing his rounds." Jim chose not to respond to the poorly-disguised bid for information, keeping a bland smile firmly in place and a good foot of distance between himself and Harry.
"Indeed, indeed. Such a serious situation, this secession business." Harry chuckled to himself, splotches of red burning high on his cheeks and his temples. Jim fought the urge to squirm away in mortification. "Good for our business, though!" Harry added, elbowing Jim again with more force than was strictly necessary.
"I'm sure," Jim said. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head with relief as he spotted Spock perhaps twenty yards away to his left. "Well, Harry, I think I see Spock, so I'll catch you later, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he slipped away through the crowd, doing his very best to ignore the man behind him.
Which is why Jim did not see the burly humanoid who came up to Harry Mudd and bent his head to converse in low tones. Nor did Jim see the suddenly not-so-drunk Mudd straighten, and surreptitiously exchange a small plasticine card for a handful of credits. And he certainly did not see the cruel, self-satisfied smile that came over Mudd's face as he watched his client melt smoothly back into the crowd, headed in the same direction Jim had taken.
* * * * *
Elsewhere in the building, Spock was busy trying to keep himself from having one of what Leonard McCoy would one day refer to as "Spock's rage black-outs."
Spock stood in the corner of the main meeting hall, watching the crowd of beings mill to and fro in front of him and bracing for the next unwanted conversation that would no doubt shortly be forced upon him. Spock was not extroverted by anyone's standards at the best of times, but right now it was a question of which was the lesser evil: attracting yet more negative attention for disappearing when his presence was expected, or staying at the conference and worsening his already-inappropriate stress reaction. Thus far he'd chosen to stay. Escaping to his room would mean he had nothing to distract him from his own lack of control.
Being a studious sort, Spock had done extensive research on how his Human DNA could complicate his chosen existence as a Vulcan. He discovered that his genetic make-up allowed him to become inebriated on Human alcohol when a normal Vulcan would never feel a thing, along with providing a surprising resistance to diseases that affected modern Vulcans.
Of particular interest was how the body's hormonal chemistry changed during sexual intercourse. Fascinated by the Human ability to have sex at will and with no ill effects, Spock had spent endless hours poring over PADDs that described the hormonal flows and changes in Humans brought on by sex, puberty, and full adulthood. He had not experienced the onset of Pon Farr, though it was too early to say whether he would be spared that horror, but Spock found that he experienced the common after-effects of sexual climax as a fully Human male might. He had known this prior to his acquaintance with Jim Kirk, but he had not had such an abundance of data to buttress his conclusions.
But Spock had failed to take into account the erratic behavior of Humans in the early phase of courtship, "infatuation", during which dopamine flooded the cortical pathways of the brain, producing sensations of elation, giddiness, obsessive behavior, and an inability to think clearly. It was to this that Spock attributed his temporary insanity of the past few days-no, the past few weeks. His behavior on their road-trip, at his grandparents' house... all of it was bizarre and inexcusable, particularly when his energy could be better spent focused on preparing his arguments for the hearing. And why in the name of Surak he'd thought it was a good idea to bring Jim to a formal gathering of Federation representatives, he could not now say, save for that exaggerated presence of dopamine and seratonin in his brain had caused him to take leave of his senses. Not that Jim had embarrassed Spock; far from it.
Spock shifted at the thought of Jim, glancing across the room, half-expecting to see the familiar blond head caught in conversation with some stranger. Jim was polite and charming, interesting and talkative to all and sundry, and Spock had caught more than one being casting an admiring eye on the handsome young man at Spock's side. Their covetous glances had raised such a red rage behind Spock's eyes that he'd had to compensate by shutting down almost completely.
His behavior was unforgivable. To say nothing of the fact that Spock should not even have coupled with Jim in the first place, his own reactions to the situation were out of control. He had brought Jim here, and Spock was not oblivious to the curious eyes of Captain Pike and Admiral Komack, and of his own father, all of whom would be watching for cues as to the nature of Spock's relationship with this strange Human. Spock had watched more than one being come over to flirt overtly with Jim, and though Jim had politely turned down all inquiries, each one cranked the invisible metal band around Spock's temples tighter.
He didn't even know where Jim was right now. Spock didn't know which was worse; wondering if some new sentient was flirting with Jim right now, or his own inability to focus on anything but the overwhelming urge to break something. Spock's jaw clenched. He turned and threaded his way through the crowd, slipping down a side hallway and then into a blessedly empty room that looked like a walk-in closet, judging from all the studs to hang coats on the walls.
"S'chen T'Gai Spock, have you taken leave of your ability to think?" The use of his full name brought Spock's attention up sharp.
"Explain yourself, T'Pring," Spock said shortly. Must he be pursued even in this brief moment of sanctuary?
"Your emotionalism today has been disgraceful." T'Pring stared at him unblinking. She was as serene and put-together as Spock had ever seen her, swathed in the heavy crimson robes of her family's house, masses of dark hair piled intricately on her head. "And from what my brother tells me, today is only the latest occurrence of this behavior from you."
"If you are referring to my visit to the house of my Human grandparents," Spock retorted, voice sharper than he intended, "may I remind you that-"
"You have not been yourself. You are distracted and unobservant, your attention to our people's need has been sorely lacking, and anyone with a functioning pair of eyes can see the reason-your attachment to the Human, Jim Kirk, that you have been spending so much time with."
"You will not speak to me of James Kirk," Spock snapped. "You were one who proposed we dissolve our bond-you have renounced your claim on me. What business is it of yours whom I spend my time with?" The tension around his skull ratcheted up a few more notches, but T'Pring seemed to not even notice.
"Listen to yourself, Spock! Do you hear how you're talking to me? What this Human is doing to you?" T'Pring raised her hand, fingers spread loosely, palm facing Spock, and after a moment Spock mirrored the gesture, pressing his palm to hers. Instantly a sense of calm and focus flooded Spock's harried mind. Spock took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it.
I am not your enemy, Spock, T'Pring sent. Be at peace, cousin. And indeed, Spock's tension drained out of him like air from a punctured balloon.
"You will be a skilled healer indeed when you have finished your training," Spock said at last. He let his hand drop, and after a moment T'Pring did as well. Spock drew another deep breath and let it out slowly before he found the strength to say, "You are correct. I have been behaving... erratically."
"No permanent damage has been done," T'Pring said. She folded her hands at her side again, gazing at Spock with an expression that was particularly difficult to decipher. Or no-he was projecting Human behaviors onto Vulcans. He really had been spending too much time with Humans. "But you must give all your attention to the matter at hand. The secession hearing begins in two days."
"Indeed." Spock folded his hands into his robes, inclining his head at T'Pring. "Let us return to the gathering, then." T'Pring nodded, turning and leading the way back into the corridor, Spock following in her way. Immediately, they were accosted by some of Spock's fellow VSA researchers, and Spock found himself yet again drawn into a tedious, speculative conversation about the legitimacy of the leaked memorandum.
Fifteen minutes later, Spock found himself dutifully engaged by one of the newly-arrived Vulcan representatives. S'vaal was old, grey of hair, and extremely knowledgable of Vulcan's history. Spock found him extremely boring. When S'vaal stepped up to give his evidence on Vulcan's history of peace and justice, Spock thought he'd prove a far more effective sedative than anything else.
"Forgive my intrusion, S'vaal," said a familiar voice at his side. "I must speak with my son for a moment." Sarek stood at Spock's side, though when he'd gotten there Spock was not sure. He must have allowed himself to be distracted. Spock's eyes flickered sideways to check to see if T'Pring had noticed Spock's lapse, only to realize that she'd slipped away at some point after their conversation.
"Of course, Sarek." S'vaal bowed to both of them, then ambled off to continue his lecture into more appreciative ears. Spock watched him go, reminding himself that a Vulcan had no place experiencing either relief or trepidation.
"Father." Spock turned and bent his head, nodding once to his father in deference. Sarek's eyes were as dark and unreadable as always, and he walked with Spock until they were no longer in the midst of the throng of aliens. The fact that whatever Sarek had to say was clearly not meant for other's ears did nothing to ease the tight lump at the bottom of Spock's stomach. Two conversations about Spock's inappropriate behavior in one day: it was like being back in adolescence again.
"Where is your companion, Spock? This Kirk?" Sarek stopped, turning to face Spock, keeping his voice low, his eyes focused on his son's face, which did nothing to relieve Spock of the sensation that he'd been reduced to a small child.
"I am certain he is here in the hotel somewhere," Spock responded, voice carefully even. "Beyond that, I cannot give his precise location. He excused himself twenty point six minutes ago and has not yet returned." Sarek nodded, maddeningly inscrutable. Spock steeled himself. "Is there something about James Kirk that you wish to discuss?"
"Correct. I must inquire as to the nature of your relationship with this Human." Sarek's gaze never wavered, his voice low and even.
Spock cocked his head, forcing himself to remain calm. He was in control. To over-react to something so simple... "Our relationship, Father?"
If Sarek knew the effect this line of questions was having, he gave no sign. "For a Human, he is agreeable, but your continued association with him is raising the curiosity of your fellows. I must remind you that you are being closely watched at this time, as both a representative of the VSA and as my son."
"I am aware, Father." As if he could possibly forget. Spock clenched his hands out of sight inside his robes. "I must also remind you, however, that whom I choose to associate with is my own business." Sarek's eyebrows went up at this, but Spock chose to ignore it. "But I can assure you that as far as the secession hearing goes, my relationship with James Kirk is not one that in any way complicates me."
And what would Spock do if the secession hearing came and went, and Vulcan elected the unthinkable? Spock shoved the thought away. He would not contemplate a future that did not yet exist.
Out of the corner of his eye, Spock thought he saw movement. Moments later, the profile of a familiar head became visible in the crowd, only to disappear within seconds. Spock watched the back of Jim's head as he slipped through the crowd, headed in the direction of the hall of elevators. Spock felt his stomach plummet into his shoes as the realization of being overheard sank in. Jim-
Sarek turned his head to follow Spock's gaze, but thankfully Jim had already vanished into the crowd. "Forgive me," Spock said smoothly. "I thought I saw Malik, but I was in error."
His father's head swiveled around again, gaze coming to rest squarely on Spock. For a long moment, he said nothing at all, watching Spock in silence, as though weighing his words. Spock waited, forcing his unwanted anxiety back down where it belonged, willing himself to feel nothing, nothing at all. He was Vulcan; Vulcans did not suffer anxiety. Finally, Sarek nodded. "Very well. Take care, my son. We walk on unsteady ground, and we must be careful of our footing if we wish to avoid losing our way."
Spock stared at his father, startled. Somehow, he had not expected the platitude. "I will remember your words, Father." And he would. And later, when he was alone, when he could find time to think, he would dwell on it, would meditate to find his center.
But first, he had to go find Jim.
* * * * *
Jim shoved his way through the crowd with more force than strictly necessary, jostling a slim Andorian woman, hearing her indignant exclamation behind him as he headed for the elevators. The press of beings in the suite of rooms was suddenly too much. He needed air. He needed to get away. If he moved fast enough, he would be long gone by the time this particular clusterfuck finally caught up with his brain.
My relationship with James Kirk is not one that in any way complicates me, he heard again in his ears, Spock's voice cool and even.
Of course it didn't, Jim thought savagely. Stupid of him, so fucking stupid, he really took the prize of Number One Dumbass this time around, no fucking shit, Sherlock. It was fucking stupid of Jim to let it get as far as it had, to let the edges blur between work and play. He had one rule, one personal rule that he never broke for anyone, and he'd bent it for Spock, big-time. Now it was going to bite him in the ass, and he had no one to blame but himself.
He ducked around a cluster of Vulcans and finally broke free of the crowd, making a beeline for the alcove at the end of the hallway. He'd left the keys to his bike in Spock's room, along with his motorcycle jacket, not wanting to mess with them during the party. Now his hands were itching to feel their weight against his palm.
Jim bounced on his balls of his feet as he waited for the elevator to arrive, his thoughts fluttering inside his skull like a trapped bird. He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides, shoving them violently into his pockets to hide his agitation.
He had a friend up in Santa Barbara he could crash with for a few days. Gary should be home over the summer, Jim thought, and he was the kind of guy who wouldn't ask too many questions. Jim could stay at Gary's for a day or two, get his shit in order, and then he'd just keep going: up the coast, all the way, past San Francisco, through Oregon and into Washington-the reminder of the week and a half he'd just spent with Spock crashed on his consciousness like broken glass, and Jim scowled. Fuck that.
Maybe this time he'd find a cargo ship to take him off-planet. Right now, nowhere sounded far enough away. And Spock could just continue his little examination of Humanity on his own, where he didn't have to worry about being "complicated" by anyone. Jim shoved that thought away.
Jim was practically prying the elevator doors opened himself when the damn thing finally chimed for his floor and started to slide apart, wedging himself inside and jamming his fingers against the "door close" button, not wanting to so much as share air with another being right now. The urge to break for the front doors of the building was strong, but Jim needed his bike.
He'd have to wire McCoy some money for rent, maybe a note telling him that he'd be out of town for a little while. Jim didn't know yet if he'd be coming back to Los Angeles, but McCoy was one of the few true friends Jim had made over the years, and he deserved better than a vanished roommate with no explanation. Jim mashed the button for the nineteenth floor and cursed as the door began its leisurely climb. Couldn't these things move any faster?
Jim shoved his way out of the elevator before the doors had completely opened, oblivious to anyone or anything that might already be in the hallway. Five steps and he burst into Spock's room, letting the door swing shut behind him with a satisfying slam. Jim took a few steps into the room, stopping in the middle of the floor, staring from his black jacket draped over the back of the couch to the neat stack of PADDs on Spock's desk.
"Fuck," he muttered, smearing a hand across his face, as though that would clear his head of its painful buzzing. He shut his eyes, and Spock's face appeared, cocking one eyebrow and glancing sideways at him across a dinner table. Or a coffee table. Head tilted quizzically to one side as he asked Jim to explain yet another nuance of Human interaction. "Fuck," Jim said again, eyes snapping open. He clenched his fists, took a few more steps forward, and was appalled to find himself trembling. "FUCK!" he yelled, his voice breaking as the curse died away, and in a sudden fury he grabbed up one of the PADDS on Spock's desk and hurled it across the room, watching it shatter against the far wall and taking no satisfaction in it.
Jim started at the sound of the door behind him opening. Spock must have seen him leaving, he realized, and he was already moving, grabbing up his jacket and his keys. He was opening his mouth to speak, something stupid and untrue that Spock would not believe for a moment (and Jim did not care if he did), when a voice from behind him came that was definitely not Spock.
"Hello there, Jim."
White shock burst up Jim's spine, his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth. He whirled to see the owner of the voice, and saw Rijaal standing just inside the door, arms crossed over his broad chest. All thick muscles and dark, braided hair, complete with tribal tattoos on arms, face, and neck, Rijaal was a client of Jim's-former client, he corrected himself grimly. Jim only kept himself from backing away by virtue of not wanting to show weakness to Rijaal. If the humanoid shark scented blood in the water, he'd be on Jim in an instant.
Get the fuck away from me! was what Jim wanted to shout. "Mind tellin' me what you're doin' in a private room?" was what Jim said instead, giving an easy smile that in no way matched the fear-flesh creeping up the back of his neck, making his nipples hard and his skin tighten all across his body. Jim put his hands on his hips, as much to keep them from bunching into fists as to keep them free.
"Oh, I followed you," Rijaal said. He strolled around the edge of the room, circling the couch that stood between him and Jim. Jim hesitated for half a second, torn between wanting to keep up the appearance of being unintimidated and the real need to keep something physical between him and Rijaal, and decided that safety was more important.
"Yeah? You still mad that I changed my number?" He could feel adrenaline flooding him, fought the growing urge to bolt. If he could just keep Rijaal moving, get close enough to the door... He fell into a slow walk, matching Rijaal, keeping the couch between them, and bit back another blossom of fear at the smirk that came onto Rijaal's face.
Rijaal stopped where he was, still firmly between Jim and the door, a cruel glint in his dark eyes. "Jimmy, baby," he crooned, completely out of sync with the violence Jim could read in his face and stance. Shit, Jim thought. How the fuck was Rijaal even here? "Did you really think you'd ever be able to find anyone else who could give you what you want? I know how you like it, Jimmy."
"Sure you do," Jim said, or started to, because that was when Rijaal moved, lunging for Jim over the couch. Jim threw himself backwards, out of reach, and promptly tripped over the coffee table he'd forgotten all about, going crashing to the floor in a sprawl of limbs and PADDS and books. Rijaal was on him in an instant, smashing him across the temple with the back of his hand hard enough to make lights burst behind Jim's eyes. Jim sagged, head spinning, still managing to struggle as Rijaal hauled him to his feet, rough hands pawing at him already through his clothes.
"Always knew you'd dress up all nice and pretty," Rijaal hissed into Jim's ear, shaking him once like a man with a dog. Jim gasped, shoving at the hand that was already working into his slacks, making him cry out in pain as Rijaal groped him roughly. "Makes it that much hotter when I rip all those expensive clothes off you." Jim shoved hard at Rijaal, bringing his knee up between his attacker's legs, and strained with all his might as Rijaal hunched over, grunting in pain... but the distraction wasn't quite enough, or else Jim's muscles weren't working quite right yet, because Rijaal's grip on his shoulder tightened alarmingly and the brutish face inches from his snarled with fury-
And then his eyes rolled up in his head, face clearing of all expression, and three hundred pounds of muscle and malice dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks. Jim would have gone down with Rijaal, but a hand shot out and grabbed him, saving him from collapse. Spock's face came into dizzy focus as Jim peered up at him, struggling to clear his ringing head.
"Jim," Spock said urgently, "say something. Are you injured?" The warm arm slid around Jim's shoulders as Spock helped walk Jim over to sit down on one of the overstuffed couches, settling onto the seat next to him. Jim leaned into him instinctively, his head still ringing, pulse pounding with fear and adrenaline and the all-too-real knowledge of what had just almost happened to him.
Then reality caught back up, and he shoved Spock away so violently that he almost fell off the couch again. "Nice timing," he slurred, climbing unsteadily to his feet again (fuck, Rijaal had hit him hard). "I was just gettin' ready to leave. If you hurry back downstairs, no one will even realize you were gone."
Spock stared at him from the couch, and once the throbbing of Jim's skull settled down he might be able to read that expression, but of course Jim wasn't planning on sticking around that long. "You were being assaulted by this intruder," Spock said, and though his voice was careful, Jim wasn't out of it enough to miss the way his fingers tightened in his lap. "You are clearly injured, you should sit down-"
"Yeah, no fucking shit. So sorry you had to see that." Jim bit his lip, swaying very slightly. Shit, he really shouldn't be driving home like this. Maybe he'd call a cab.... no, fuck it, he hadn't even been drinking, he'd be fine. Spock rose from the couch now, approaching Jim slowly, like you would a wounded animal. "Stop," Jim snapped, straightening as Spock reached out a hand again. Spock stared at him, slowly withdrawing his hand. "Just stop. I'm leaving."
"Jim, you should not-"
"Fuck you, Spock," Jim spat. "I shouldn't have come, is what I shouldn't. Wouldn't want to complicate you." The words had the intended effect: Spock stiffened, his expression darkening for a moment with some unreadable emotion-guilt? anger?-before going completely flat, shutting down exactly like Jim knew he would. "You got better things to be worrying about, so I'm just gonna go. Peace out." With that, Jim snatched up his jacket and keys once more, turned on his heel, and headed for the door.
Only to be cut off by Spock yet again before he could reach it. "You are referring to the words you overheard me speak to my father in the hallway downstairs," Spock said flatly. "You are over-reacting and mis-interpreting a part of a conversation you have taken out of context-"
It was the wrong thing to say. This time Jim lunged at Spock, shoving with both hands at Spock's shoulders, sending him reeling backwards off-balance. "I'm overreacting?" Jim demanded. Spots of color appeared high on his face, one on each cheekbone and another in the center of his forehead, giving him the appearance of a man stricken with fever. And he felt feverish, sick and dizzy with rage. "Well thank fuckin' Christ I've got my very own Vulcan to tell me what a stupid Human I'm being. Or maybe you haven't even noticed, have you?" Jim surged forward, getting up in Spock's face, backing him towards the wall. "You've been too busy kissing the ass of every Vulcan who comes up to you, trying to reassure them that you're not 'complicated' by me. So sorry us Humans are so embarrassing-"
"It is your emotionalism right now that is embarrassing, Jim," Spock said. His face was a mask, his arms flat at his sides, his eyes black chips of coal. He held himself perfectly still, only the flare of his nostrils betraying any hint of reaction. "I brought you here because I am not ashamed of you, because I do not wish to hide you from my people, but I do not have the time to dance attention on you as you so apparently require-"
"Attention? Oh, please. You've barely looked at me since we came back! You've barely touched me, you were gone this morning before I even got up-"
"Because I have responsibilities, Jim!" Now Spock's voice was rising as Jim's was, his tension a physical thing. "A concept I realize someone like you has trouble understanding, but I will not simply turn my face away from my people in their time of need!"
The words hit Jim like a slap in the face. For a few moments, all he could do was stand there and stare at Spock. The sudden absence of shouting was deafening, and Spock recoiled slightly. "Yeah," Jim said into the silence. "Okay, then." He took a deep breath and stepped back. He couldn't seem to think. It was as though his head had been plunged into ice. "I'm gonna go, Spock. Good luck with the secession hearing."
"Jim, why are you-"
"Don't, Spock," Jim cut in. He turned away, suddenly not even able to look Spock in the face anymore. "Just don't."
He went out into the hallway, pressed the button for the elevator, and stared straight ahead until the elevator doors opened. Jim turned his gaze just enough to glance back into the room he'd just came from, but the door was closed.
* * * * *
Find the rest of Chapter Four here.