(Untitled)

[youwereameteor]

Jim hasn't left the hut. Reid's stuff's everywhere; ties draped over the back of a chair, shoes in the corner, a neat stack of notebooks on the desk. Maybe Reid never really decided to live there, but the evidence that he did is all over the place. Jim tries not to look at any of it. He lies in fresh sheets, the old ones stripped the night of

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[percevalian]

It was nearly 2 by the time Reid finally dragged himself out of bed, regret and a wicked headache both trying to keep him there. Before he even finished his shower he'd determined that he'd need to go to Jim's sooner rather than later. He doesn't remember much about the night before, but he can recall Jim's startled face much more clearly than he'd like.

It takes awhile to work up the nerve to actually go, though.

He's clean but weary when he finally knocks against Jim's door, a ball of uncertainty and gut-wrenching sadness. Knowing this was coming really doesn't make it any easier to bear.

[youwereameteor]

Jim rolls out of bed and, for a moment, he just sits there. He knows that knock. Nobody else he knows knocks like that, like Reid still occasionally knocks, even though there's easily as much stuff here belong to him as there is of Jim's.

It takes Jim a long time to get up off the bed and then he can't quite bring himself to open the door.

"It's open."

[percevalian]

When Reid steps inside, he stays by the door, intensely uncomfortable in his own skin and hands shoved deep into his pockets. An expert on psychology he may be, but he's always run into trouble when he tries to diagnose a situation he's too close to.

He doesn't at all know what to say, but he makes himself find words.

"Do you want to sleep with her?" he asks, ducked down with his shoulders curled up like he's steeling himself. He finally lifts his gaze to Jim. "Uhura, I mean. Actually, I guess whether you actually have is a better question, since I know you've always wanted to."

[youwereameteor]

He sits down on the bed again, suddenly, hands between his knees and it's a long time before he can actually look at Reid, and it's not so much his broken heart. Suddenly, it feels like he can't even see straight.

"I didn't fuck her," he says, quietly, and it's through sheer force of will that his voice stays quiet. "I didn't fuck anybody but you."

[percevalian]

"You know, that's funny, Jim, because you looked like you really wanted to last night," Reid spits out, voice terse. He can hear himself, and knows in some separate, still sane part of his brain that he sounds ridiculous, a guilty man grasping at straws. What seemed like a reasonable excuse to be as upset as he was last night doesn't hold up in the light of day. Yet, he still keeps talking, bitter and hurt.

"It definitely wasn't the body language of a man having a dance with his purely platonic friend."

[youwereameteor]

That's got Jim on his feet, turned half-towards Reid, and he deliberately takes two steps back, puts himself as much on the far-side of the room as he can. He doesn't trust himself to be within reach right then.

"Well, I'm sorry you had to walk in on that," he says, and then he tilts his head slightly. "Oh, shit, no. That was me."

[percevalian]

Guilt pushes up behind whatever little anger Reid had been trying to hold onto and he exhales suddenly, like he's been punched. Eyes dropping, he swallows hard.

"I'll come by later and pick up my things," he quietly says, and turns back to the door. He's not going to cry again, not here where Jim can see. "I'll try to make it a time when you're not here."

[youwereameteor]

"What? That's all I get?"

He stares at Reid for a long moment, and he can feel that tighten, burning sensation in his eyes, but he's furious enough to shove it down, and thank God for small mercies. He all but trembles with it.

"I don't even get an explanation? Eight months and that is seriously all you're going to give me?" He shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, Spence."

Reid. It's there, on the tip of his tongue but, even then, even as angry and as hurt as he is, he can't use it.

[percevalian]

Reid turns, tears standing in his eyes, mouth twisted up like he doesn't know whether he wants to scream or cry. "Are you or aren't you my boyfriend, Jim?" he asks, throwing both hands up. "Eight months, and you're still not acting like it. Can you even fathom what it makes me feel like to see you flirting with other people? Do you never wonder why I'm so worried about you living up to your reputation?"

Gritting his teeth, he balls his hands into useless fists and stalks to the other side of the room and back. "You want an explanation? Here's your explanation: You're James T. Kirk and I'm only me. I'm the socially incompetent nerd who is afraid to believe the cool kids like him because it ends with him tied to the goal post while they throw rotten eggs at him. I'm the drug addict and the only person in his unit who can't qualify for his firearm. And you…" He heaves a sigh, motioning to Jim. "You're youHe drops his gaze, wiping furiously at his cheeks. "I've never been so afraid of losing something in my life, and I keep

[youwereameteor]

It's like he knocks all of the wind out of him. Suddenly, Jim can't breathe. He's too far away from the bed to sit down on it so he ends up on the floor with his back against the wall, looking up at Spencer and trying to fathom out everything that he's just said to him. You're you.

He knows all about Reid, knows about his Mom and his addiction, knows about his childhood and that guy and everything, but that still comes as a sucker punch. Childhood wasn't easy on Jim Kirk but he came through it with pretty much flying colours. The Academy was the same. His mother always said that he lived a charmed life. And Reid is a part of that, too.

"You make me feel so...incredibly lucky," he starts, voice low. "Every day, I feel that. Every day I wake up next to you, and you are beautiful and you are smarter than anybody else I know, and you're lying there in our bed and you're mine and I feel lucky. Because I get, like, a flicker of what my parents had. I get that with you. And I've got...no way of proving that to you other than

[percevalian]

In increments Reid crumples: First his face, then his torso and finally his legs, dropping him onto the bed where he hunches forward and cries, raw and open, shoulders shaking.

"I'm sorry," he manages. Sorry that he was drunk, sorry that he assumed, sorry that he was so stupid, sorry that he's not someone more worthy of the man who still wants to be with him against the odds.

[youwereameteor]

Jim doesn't entirely trust himself to stand right then, so he crawls, moves on all fours over to the edge of the bed. He tentatively moves to sit in front of Reid, hunkered back on his knees, and then, gently, he touches him, one hand on his knee, the other cradling the back of his head.

"Hey," he says, gently, leaning up to rest his forehead against Reid's. "Hey. Stop. I'm sorry too."

[percevalian]

When Reid slides from the bed to the floor, it places him practically in Jim's lap, skinny arms wrapped around Jim's shoulders and breath still shuddering as he tries to stop crying. "Why can't you just hate me?" he asks, voice weak and half-muffled in Jim's hair. That, at least, would be familiar; being loved so completely by someone is still new-Being loved by Jim is completely terrifying.

"I don't know how to be used to this," he admits, unable to look Jim in the eye as he pulls back.

[youwereameteor]

His arms go around Reid automatically, no hesitation or question, no matter what's happened. One hand smooths soothingly against Reid's back, his spine through his t-shirt. Reid pulls back and Jim's hand stays on his back. His other hand comes up to his chin, thumb stroking against his jaw.

"I can't imagine hating you," he says, gently. "Even this morning, I couldn't hate you." He shakes his head and presses a kiss against the tip of Reid's nose. "We're figuring this out as we go along, baby. It makes sense if we fuck up from time to time."

[percevalian]

"I love you," Reid exhales, finally looking Jim in the eye. It was easier to manage when they were both angry. Jim like this reminds him tangibly of his mother, who, in the moments when she wasn't completely victim to her illness, always gave Reid the best and most patient advice of his life.

"It was so wrong," he sighs, and drops his eyes again. "I don't want anyone but you touching me. I'm so sorry, Jim," he adds, face screwing up and so utterly ashamed of himself.

[youwereameteor]

"I love you too," he says, eyes fixed on Reid's face while he talks. It's difficult to get past the image of Reid getting fucked into a wall, but if Jim keeps his eyes on Reid's face, he can do it.

"It's okay," he says, quietly, and maybe it isn't, quite yet, but it will be. "I don't want anyone but you. Flirting or no flirting, you the only one I ever want in my bed."