FIC: Inertia (Kirk/Spock, 2/2)
*****
Competitive streak or not, their current game had to be Jim’s worst to date. His mind wasn’t in it. His heart wasn’t in it. His fucking soul wasn’t in it. Goddamned Bones and his goddamned Freud references. He couldn’t get their conversation out of his head, both from the disturbing content and from the stark and painful honesty of it.
Jim knew who he was as a person, there was no denial involved, reading up on Freud was entirely unnecessary. People did not get close to him because he didn’t allow them to, at least not closer than arms’ length. It was as simple and as complicated as that. He had been taking care of himself from a very young age and had gotten used to that type of willful, radical independence. He wasn’t the sort who enjoyed answering to other people. Nor was he fond of goodbyes or inevitable partings. He had let Bones in, to a degree, because he had related to him, recognized the weariness in the doctor’s soul and felt an instant kinship with him, and because Bones made him laugh. He could love Bones, as a friend, and still be safe.
Spock was a whole other ball game. He touched the shadows in Jim’s soul. Made him think, made him want to do better, be better. He appealed to him intellectually, physically and soulfully. He took Jim’s ideas and expounded on them, allowing Jim to do the same for his own, and had made the effort to look past his initial dislike to discover what really made Jim tick… too few people in his life had ever made that kind of effort.
So yes, okay, he could admit it. He was falling in love with Spock. There it was. Bones was right, Jim owned up to it, give the guy a fucking medal. He was drawn to Spock more than he’d ever been drawn to another being in his life. They were in sync, they fit… it was the most disconcerting discovery of his existence, to go from a single separate entity to a fraction of a whole.
Yet to love Spock was to allow pain, because all love affairs, no matter how deep or long-lasting, no matter how fated or matched, inevitably ended in death, it was unavoidable. It could be a short and startling death, like his parents’, or a slow, agonizing one, rife with decay and age.
Also, to a lesser degree, loving Spock was admitting that perhaps there was such a thing as fate. And to admit that fate existed would somehow lessen the security in the knowledge that Jim’s path was his own for the shaping.
He didn’t know what to do with it all, and he didn’t have the answers. If Bones were with them he would undoubtedly make some crack about ice skating in hell and pork chops being found in trees at Jim’s admittance of defeat, but Bones wasn’t with him, Spock was, thus the longing he couldn’t quite repress was amplified to its maximum capacity by the mere presence of his First.
“Your mind is not on the game,” Spock stated, assessing him with those dark, unfathomable eyes that always held him captivated.
“No, uh, Bones said something to me earlier that was a bit disconcerting. I suppose my mind is a bit preoccupied with coming up with a ready-made retort for the next time I see him,” Jim replied, believing a partial truth would be easier for Spock to swallow than an outright lie.
“Yes, I believe the doctor has that effect on every member of the crew with whom he engages in conversation,” Spock remarked dryly, gentle humor lighting his eyes.
Jim couldn’t help but catch his breath when he looked at him. Spock was truly stunning in mirth.
“Ah, there’s that humor again, Spock. That type you claim you know nothing about. You can’t fool me, I can see right through you,” Jim teased, feeling his mood suddenly lift at the change in topic. This, their own spin on gentle banter, cultivated through numerous chess games and quick meals between shifts, he could handle.
“As I, too, can see through you.”
Spock’s voice was completely serious as he said it; his tone betrayed undercurrents of something deeper. Jim felt his mood drop as rapidly as it had so recently lifted, while his mind flashed ‘danger, danger, evacuate the premises’ in florescent lights. Flight instinct, right.
His response of ...“Oh yeah, and what is it you see?” was supposed to come out light-hearted and airy, a desperate attempt to alter the course of the conversation, but instead came out curious and earnest. Once again his brain was controlling his responses without his express permission. How did Spock always do this to him? He was supposed to be unflappable, the ever ready Jim Kirk, but any sort of reputation he worked hard to cultivate always seemed to go to absolute shit around Spock.
The Vulcan took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for some incredible fallout, yet his gaze on Jim’s face never wavered as he expounded, “I see courage, intelligence, compassion, grace and beauty… and I also see fear.”
Well then, it was confirmed. Jim had suspected it all along and now he knew. This thing between them, this energy, this buzz, this attraction that thrummed with life, Spock was fully cognizant of it. He had known all along. Jim had always been aware that he did, but had liked to pretend he hadn’t, it had made things easier. So yes, maybe there had been a little something to that denial claim of Bones’, just not in the full context his friend had indicated. Though he supposed the context didn’t really matter, he wouldn’t admit any of it to Bones any time in the next century.
What could he do? How could he respond to Spock? He obviously couldn’t deny it. To do so would be the equivalent of acting stupid, and really Spock would see right through it anyway. Jim felt so helpless. He hated feeling helpless; it made him angry.
“I thought you said at the Kobayashi Maru hearing that I didn’t feel fear, which I believe you stated was the entire point of the test. Why is it you see fear in me now, but not then?”
It was a low blow, Jim knew it even as he said it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was like watching a crash, nothing could halt a rapidly moving object other than impact. He hurt and now Spock would too, what better to drive a wedge between them than by mentioning the test that had prompted their initial hostility towards one another the first time they had met?
Remind Spock of his hatred, push him away. Simple. Easy.
“You know why, Jim, but it is not in my best interests to point it out to you. Your questioning me on the subject of the test is an attempt to find an excuse to support a reactionary endeavor you’re currently contemplating; I will not assist you in the matter. It is also against my best interests.”
Oh yes, Spock knew him. Knew him too well. Those ever assessing eyes had not missed a thing. It made the situation frightening.
What could he say to that?
"Are you reading my mind, Spock?”
That worked; the inflection of anger was near perfect. ‘Thank you, brain, for finally coming up with an involuntary response of which I approve.’
“I do not have to utilize my telepathy to know your mind, Jim. I am drawn to it, like a beacon.”
‘Oh god, oh god, oh god.’
“Why?” Jim asked, plaintively, hating the softness in his tone, hating the pleading, but mostly hating the necessity of the question to begin with. Why couldn’t Spock just go already, leaving Jim to bury himself in the covers of his bed and sleep for days on end like he really, really wanted to just now? Why?
“Another attempt to trap me into admitting something that will validate your apprehensive need to push me away. I said I will not help you in that.” Anger flashed like lava in Spock’s eyes, lethal, hot, and blazing, his face betraying a stubborn resolve that Jim knew all too well, for he saw it in the mirror whenever he looked at his own reflection. They were alike, so alike, at their core; beneath the stigmas of Vulcan and human, they were the same. Too stubborn for anyone but each other to bear, too clever for the universe at large to handle, only in each other, in whatever peace that derived, could a pacifying agent be found.
Lord, but it burned. The desire to give in and to grab Spock with all his might. The aching need to succumb to all that could be. The tenacious will that clashed fully with that desire, unwilling to the very end, unwilling to admit defeat.
“Stop it, Spock! Stop messing with me! Stop knowing my mind! Just stop, you’re going to ruin us!”
A plea felt and meant, far past the point of dignity, cast out fully in survival mode. Jim no longer cared how his tone sounded, just that his urgency was conveyed.
“No Jim, I’m attempting to make us better. I am compelled towards you. I can no more halt my designs than I could cease to breathe.” Spock’s voice broke as he spoke, his face twisting in agony so foreign to his beautiful features that the sight of it split Jim right down the middle and tore him neatly in half.
He was broken now, so divided: hurting for himself, hurting for Spock. How did the other them, in that other universe, do it? Had their coming together been such a mighty battle raged? Not just between them, but within themselves?
Seconds passed. Hours. Days. Time really didn’t seem to have any relevance when Jim’s world had shifted so entirely. It was like he was floating out in space without an anchor.
“I need time,” he said at last, his voice cutting the silence like a knife, though mellifluous in intent, and gentle in meaning. “I need to make sense of this.”
“Come find me when you are ready,” Spock responded, voice equally soft.
And as Spock turned around and left, Jim wished he could go back and live his life over again. That he could somehow do things differently so that he could grow up into a person who was easier to live with. He wasn’t just hurting himself anymore, he was hurting Spock. It was the first time he’d ever done anything that he was unsure he’d be able to forgive himself for.
*****
The laser was pointed at Spock and Jim wanted to kill the son of a bitch holding it with his bare hands.
Routine away mission. A simple trade. Raw materials in exchange for wheat flour. No mess, no foul… right. Pike should have known better, any mission that involved Jim landing on a planet ended in some kind of scuffle, every time. He knew it, Bones knew it (and always had the sheets of Jim’s sickbay bed changed just before an away mission commenced), Spock knew it, hell, the cook in the mess hall knew it. And most maddening of all is that most of the time he wasn’t even trying to start something.
Yet the quirks of paradoxical humor that made up his life were not so funny in the face of Spock potentially getting shot.
Experiencing wariness over the potential of a wildly passionate and wholly over-whelming relationship? That was nothing on the total fear spawned by the potential of real loss. He would do anything to live the last two days over again, to go back to that night, almost forty-eight hours prior, and re-do his conversation with Spock.
‘Okay, Spock, let’s do better, see how it works for us.’
How Shakespearean, how cliché, to finally recognize the depth of love on the cusp of death itself. Jim would laugh at the irony if he wasn’t so fucking pissed off. So his life played out like an overly dramatic Greek tragedy; he’d fight every God and Goddess on Olympus if it meant his desired outcome was achieved.
The universe would not take Spock from him, he wouldn’t allow it. He’d lost enough, he wouldn’t lose this. So maybe fate was very real. Okay, he could deal, ultimately it didn’t matter because he would still do what he wanted anyway, whether fate had it planned for him or not… and when it came to Spock getting to live to see another day, Jim would scoff at fate itself to make it so.
If they survived this he would never allow Spock on another away mission again, let the bastard try to nerve pinch him for it, Jim could practice dodging if it meant that Spock was safe.
He turned to Spock, allowing his heart to shine through his eyes, hoping against hope that Spock’s claim that he knew Jim’s mind was real, and then sent him his affection with every thought he could manage.
“Spock, I know fear and, good news, it’s not paralyzing me into inaction, I’m going to work through it. You can tell me later if I get a passing grade.”
And with that, he threw himself at the hostile with the gun.
Their would-be captor hit the ground with a thud, Jim’s hands desperately reaching for the laser in the hand above their heads, resulting in a mad scuffle, and a writhing tangle of limbs. The entire incident was over in seconds, however, when Spock joined the fray, Jim’s kamikaze actions providing the distraction he needed to reach for the alien’s neck and pinch him unconscious.
The relief Jim felt when the body beneath went slack was so profound that he couldn’t help but succumb to elation.
“You’re my witness when I write this up for Pike. I did not antagonize the locals in any way. They wanted the goods for free, and pulled a gun on us to ensure it. I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet before we were attacked. I’ll let you tell Pike that, he’d probably believe you over me,” Jim teased, flashing his First a grin, only to be met with the most beautiful pair of angry brown eyes he had ever seen.
The stink-eye Spock was giving him was definitely a bit of a killjoy, and Jim felt his mood immediately sober up.
“Captain, would you kindly explain to me what possessed you to take that unnecessary risk?” Spock’s tone was crisp and sharp, immediately getting Jim’s hackles raised. It seemed like every conversation he’d had with Spock lately became the emotional equivalent of a shuttle craft caught in turbulence. Up, down and all-around, this way, that way, topsy-turvy… Spock seemed determined to leave him breathless in more ways than one.
“Unnecessary risk? I was saving your life! How is that unnecessary?” Jim gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry Spock, but I see it as entirely necessary,” he wouldn’t apologize for that, not in a million years. In fact, he’d do the same thing again in a heartbeat. Spock would just have to deal with it. He didn’t feel the need to justify himself further. Yes, Jim was in love with the Vulcan, and yes, perhaps he was finally coming to grips with that, but he was still captain, damnit, and that meant he called the shots.
“You may see the necessity, but I do not. Your life is more valuable than mine.” The fervency in Spock’s voice was unmistakable, as was the frustration. Perhaps he had the same effect on Spock that Spock had on him, this constant tide, one wave of feeling after another.
It was the frustration Jim responded to, seemingly out of reflex, he just couldn’t stop himself.
“No it’s fucking not! Your life is way more valuable to me than mine!” It took a few seconds for his words to penetrate his consciousness, but when they did something inside him seem to break open, like a damn bursting, draining his energy and anger both, and leaving him utterly defenseless. He hugged his arms around his chest in a protective embrace, all before he could stop himself from showing such an obvious sign of weakness, and then just gave up all pretense of saving face. It was a spectacular battle, this inner war he had started long ago, but one he had ultimately lost, his resistance just wasn’t strong enough, not against Spock and he had finally come to learn that he didn’t want it to be. He… loved, God, so much, he felt could explode from how much he loved and now he could do little more than hope that Spock was now absolutely clear in that regard. “Do with that what you will.”
“And if that will is to love you? To bond with you? To take you in my arms and never let go until death claims one or both of us, would you allow it? Will you let me into your mind, Jim, would you accept that I want you in mine? Would you concede that all that I am, all that I have, is yours for the taking? Would you allow me the same from you, give unto me that part of yourself that you guard so fiercely?” Spock’s face looked so earnest as he leaned towards Jim, so uncertain and certain both, grabbing hold of Jim’s forearms, and capturing his gaze with a reverence so obvious for anyone to see.
How could the universe think that Vulcans couldn’t feel? They felt so beautifully, at least this one did. There was a light shining in Spock’s eyes, one that captivated Jim’s attention, and there was hope. Jim felt the sudden urge to just curl up against Spock’s chest and stay there forever, to bask in that strength and let Spock love him, as promised.
He believed Spock, he really did.
“I will not settle for less, Jim. I want you. I want you more than I have ever wanted anything, but in this I can only be selfish. That is what I seek… all, everything, you no longer fighting against me so persistently. I have been attempting to exercise patience. I have moved slowly, subtly, so not to startle you. During our game the other night I found I could hold it back no further. I want you in my life for the rest of its duration. That is what I wish of you. That is what I want to give you in return.”
The lump in his throat was impossible to swallow around, and Jim was sure that his heart had never beat so fast. God, what could he say to that? What could he hope to give in return? It was all so much. So intense. So beyond anything in his experience. He wanted to cry: in joy, in fear, in exaltation, in weariness, and in the feeling of coming home after a long and arduous journey, but he’d long since forgotten how.
So instead he replied, “Yes. I want that. I can give you that,” and meant it.
The softness in Spock’s eyes just then, dancing in elation, topped every beautiful sight he’d ever seen, from watching the Enterprise be built in the Riverside shipyard, to seeing her out in space from the window of a shuttle craft that first time. And while Jim still had a bit of an issue with the clash between destiny and free will, it truly didn’t matter; he would have chosen Spock anyway.
The End!
Follow-up ficlet found here
Competitive streak or not, their current game had to be Jim’s worst to date. His mind wasn’t in it. His heart wasn’t in it. His fucking soul wasn’t in it. Goddamned Bones and his goddamned Freud references. He couldn’t get their conversation out of his head, both from the disturbing content and from the stark and painful honesty of it.
Jim knew who he was as a person, there was no denial involved, reading up on Freud was entirely unnecessary. People did not get close to him because he didn’t allow them to, at least not closer than arms’ length. It was as simple and as complicated as that. He had been taking care of himself from a very young age and had gotten used to that type of willful, radical independence. He wasn’t the sort who enjoyed answering to other people. Nor was he fond of goodbyes or inevitable partings. He had let Bones in, to a degree, because he had related to him, recognized the weariness in the doctor’s soul and felt an instant kinship with him, and because Bones made him laugh. He could love Bones, as a friend, and still be safe.
Spock was a whole other ball game. He touched the shadows in Jim’s soul. Made him think, made him want to do better, be better. He appealed to him intellectually, physically and soulfully. He took Jim’s ideas and expounded on them, allowing Jim to do the same for his own, and had made the effort to look past his initial dislike to discover what really made Jim tick… too few people in his life had ever made that kind of effort.
So yes, okay, he could admit it. He was falling in love with Spock. There it was. Bones was right, Jim owned up to it, give the guy a fucking medal. He was drawn to Spock more than he’d ever been drawn to another being in his life. They were in sync, they fit… it was the most disconcerting discovery of his existence, to go from a single separate entity to a fraction of a whole.
Yet to love Spock was to allow pain, because all love affairs, no matter how deep or long-lasting, no matter how fated or matched, inevitably ended in death, it was unavoidable. It could be a short and startling death, like his parents’, or a slow, agonizing one, rife with decay and age.
Also, to a lesser degree, loving Spock was admitting that perhaps there was such a thing as fate. And to admit that fate existed would somehow lessen the security in the knowledge that Jim’s path was his own for the shaping.
He didn’t know what to do with it all, and he didn’t have the answers. If Bones were with them he would undoubtedly make some crack about ice skating in hell and pork chops being found in trees at Jim’s admittance of defeat, but Bones wasn’t with him, Spock was, thus the longing he couldn’t quite repress was amplified to its maximum capacity by the mere presence of his First.
“Your mind is not on the game,” Spock stated, assessing him with those dark, unfathomable eyes that always held him captivated.
“No, uh, Bones said something to me earlier that was a bit disconcerting. I suppose my mind is a bit preoccupied with coming up with a ready-made retort for the next time I see him,” Jim replied, believing a partial truth would be easier for Spock to swallow than an outright lie.
“Yes, I believe the doctor has that effect on every member of the crew with whom he engages in conversation,” Spock remarked dryly, gentle humor lighting his eyes.
Jim couldn’t help but catch his breath when he looked at him. Spock was truly stunning in mirth.
“Ah, there’s that humor again, Spock. That type you claim you know nothing about. You can’t fool me, I can see right through you,” Jim teased, feeling his mood suddenly lift at the change in topic. This, their own spin on gentle banter, cultivated through numerous chess games and quick meals between shifts, he could handle.
“As I, too, can see through you.”
Spock’s voice was completely serious as he said it; his tone betrayed undercurrents of something deeper. Jim felt his mood drop as rapidly as it had so recently lifted, while his mind flashed ‘danger, danger, evacuate the premises’ in florescent lights. Flight instinct, right.
His response of ...“Oh yeah, and what is it you see?” was supposed to come out light-hearted and airy, a desperate attempt to alter the course of the conversation, but instead came out curious and earnest. Once again his brain was controlling his responses without his express permission. How did Spock always do this to him? He was supposed to be unflappable, the ever ready Jim Kirk, but any sort of reputation he worked hard to cultivate always seemed to go to absolute shit around Spock.
The Vulcan took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for some incredible fallout, yet his gaze on Jim’s face never wavered as he expounded, “I see courage, intelligence, compassion, grace and beauty… and I also see fear.”
Well then, it was confirmed. Jim had suspected it all along and now he knew. This thing between them, this energy, this buzz, this attraction that thrummed with life, Spock was fully cognizant of it. He had known all along. Jim had always been aware that he did, but had liked to pretend he hadn’t, it had made things easier. So yes, maybe there had been a little something to that denial claim of Bones’, just not in the full context his friend had indicated. Though he supposed the context didn’t really matter, he wouldn’t admit any of it to Bones any time in the next century.
What could he do? How could he respond to Spock? He obviously couldn’t deny it. To do so would be the equivalent of acting stupid, and really Spock would see right through it anyway. Jim felt so helpless. He hated feeling helpless; it made him angry.
“I thought you said at the Kobayashi Maru hearing that I didn’t feel fear, which I believe you stated was the entire point of the test. Why is it you see fear in me now, but not then?”
It was a low blow, Jim knew it even as he said it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was like watching a crash, nothing could halt a rapidly moving object other than impact. He hurt and now Spock would too, what better to drive a wedge between them than by mentioning the test that had prompted their initial hostility towards one another the first time they had met?
Remind Spock of his hatred, push him away. Simple. Easy.
“You know why, Jim, but it is not in my best interests to point it out to you. Your questioning me on the subject of the test is an attempt to find an excuse to support a reactionary endeavor you’re currently contemplating; I will not assist you in the matter. It is also against my best interests.”
Oh yes, Spock knew him. Knew him too well. Those ever assessing eyes had not missed a thing. It made the situation frightening.
What could he say to that?
"Are you reading my mind, Spock?”
That worked; the inflection of anger was near perfect. ‘Thank you, brain, for finally coming up with an involuntary response of which I approve.’
“I do not have to utilize my telepathy to know your mind, Jim. I am drawn to it, like a beacon.”
‘Oh god, oh god, oh god.’
“Why?” Jim asked, plaintively, hating the softness in his tone, hating the pleading, but mostly hating the necessity of the question to begin with. Why couldn’t Spock just go already, leaving Jim to bury himself in the covers of his bed and sleep for days on end like he really, really wanted to just now? Why?
“Another attempt to trap me into admitting something that will validate your apprehensive need to push me away. I said I will not help you in that.” Anger flashed like lava in Spock’s eyes, lethal, hot, and blazing, his face betraying a stubborn resolve that Jim knew all too well, for he saw it in the mirror whenever he looked at his own reflection. They were alike, so alike, at their core; beneath the stigmas of Vulcan and human, they were the same. Too stubborn for anyone but each other to bear, too clever for the universe at large to handle, only in each other, in whatever peace that derived, could a pacifying agent be found.
Lord, but it burned. The desire to give in and to grab Spock with all his might. The aching need to succumb to all that could be. The tenacious will that clashed fully with that desire, unwilling to the very end, unwilling to admit defeat.
“Stop it, Spock! Stop messing with me! Stop knowing my mind! Just stop, you’re going to ruin us!”
A plea felt and meant, far past the point of dignity, cast out fully in survival mode. Jim no longer cared how his tone sounded, just that his urgency was conveyed.
“No Jim, I’m attempting to make us better. I am compelled towards you. I can no more halt my designs than I could cease to breathe.” Spock’s voice broke as he spoke, his face twisting in agony so foreign to his beautiful features that the sight of it split Jim right down the middle and tore him neatly in half.
He was broken now, so divided: hurting for himself, hurting for Spock. How did the other them, in that other universe, do it? Had their coming together been such a mighty battle raged? Not just between them, but within themselves?
Seconds passed. Hours. Days. Time really didn’t seem to have any relevance when Jim’s world had shifted so entirely. It was like he was floating out in space without an anchor.
“I need time,” he said at last, his voice cutting the silence like a knife, though mellifluous in intent, and gentle in meaning. “I need to make sense of this.”
“Come find me when you are ready,” Spock responded, voice equally soft.
And as Spock turned around and left, Jim wished he could go back and live his life over again. That he could somehow do things differently so that he could grow up into a person who was easier to live with. He wasn’t just hurting himself anymore, he was hurting Spock. It was the first time he’d ever done anything that he was unsure he’d be able to forgive himself for.
*****
The laser was pointed at Spock and Jim wanted to kill the son of a bitch holding it with his bare hands.
Routine away mission. A simple trade. Raw materials in exchange for wheat flour. No mess, no foul… right. Pike should have known better, any mission that involved Jim landing on a planet ended in some kind of scuffle, every time. He knew it, Bones knew it (and always had the sheets of Jim’s sickbay bed changed just before an away mission commenced), Spock knew it, hell, the cook in the mess hall knew it. And most maddening of all is that most of the time he wasn’t even trying to start something.
Yet the quirks of paradoxical humor that made up his life were not so funny in the face of Spock potentially getting shot.
Experiencing wariness over the potential of a wildly passionate and wholly over-whelming relationship? That was nothing on the total fear spawned by the potential of real loss. He would do anything to live the last two days over again, to go back to that night, almost forty-eight hours prior, and re-do his conversation with Spock.
‘Okay, Spock, let’s do better, see how it works for us.’
How Shakespearean, how cliché, to finally recognize the depth of love on the cusp of death itself. Jim would laugh at the irony if he wasn’t so fucking pissed off. So his life played out like an overly dramatic Greek tragedy; he’d fight every God and Goddess on Olympus if it meant his desired outcome was achieved.
The universe would not take Spock from him, he wouldn’t allow it. He’d lost enough, he wouldn’t lose this. So maybe fate was very real. Okay, he could deal, ultimately it didn’t matter because he would still do what he wanted anyway, whether fate had it planned for him or not… and when it came to Spock getting to live to see another day, Jim would scoff at fate itself to make it so.
If they survived this he would never allow Spock on another away mission again, let the bastard try to nerve pinch him for it, Jim could practice dodging if it meant that Spock was safe.
He turned to Spock, allowing his heart to shine through his eyes, hoping against hope that Spock’s claim that he knew Jim’s mind was real, and then sent him his affection with every thought he could manage.
“Spock, I know fear and, good news, it’s not paralyzing me into inaction, I’m going to work through it. You can tell me later if I get a passing grade.”
And with that, he threw himself at the hostile with the gun.
Their would-be captor hit the ground with a thud, Jim’s hands desperately reaching for the laser in the hand above their heads, resulting in a mad scuffle, and a writhing tangle of limbs. The entire incident was over in seconds, however, when Spock joined the fray, Jim’s kamikaze actions providing the distraction he needed to reach for the alien’s neck and pinch him unconscious.
The relief Jim felt when the body beneath went slack was so profound that he couldn’t help but succumb to elation.
“You’re my witness when I write this up for Pike. I did not antagonize the locals in any way. They wanted the goods for free, and pulled a gun on us to ensure it. I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet before we were attacked. I’ll let you tell Pike that, he’d probably believe you over me,” Jim teased, flashing his First a grin, only to be met with the most beautiful pair of angry brown eyes he had ever seen.
The stink-eye Spock was giving him was definitely a bit of a killjoy, and Jim felt his mood immediately sober up.
“Captain, would you kindly explain to me what possessed you to take that unnecessary risk?” Spock’s tone was crisp and sharp, immediately getting Jim’s hackles raised. It seemed like every conversation he’d had with Spock lately became the emotional equivalent of a shuttle craft caught in turbulence. Up, down and all-around, this way, that way, topsy-turvy… Spock seemed determined to leave him breathless in more ways than one.
“Unnecessary risk? I was saving your life! How is that unnecessary?” Jim gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry Spock, but I see it as entirely necessary,” he wouldn’t apologize for that, not in a million years. In fact, he’d do the same thing again in a heartbeat. Spock would just have to deal with it. He didn’t feel the need to justify himself further. Yes, Jim was in love with the Vulcan, and yes, perhaps he was finally coming to grips with that, but he was still captain, damnit, and that meant he called the shots.
“You may see the necessity, but I do not. Your life is more valuable than mine.” The fervency in Spock’s voice was unmistakable, as was the frustration. Perhaps he had the same effect on Spock that Spock had on him, this constant tide, one wave of feeling after another.
It was the frustration Jim responded to, seemingly out of reflex, he just couldn’t stop himself.
“No it’s fucking not! Your life is way more valuable to me than mine!” It took a few seconds for his words to penetrate his consciousness, but when they did something inside him seem to break open, like a damn bursting, draining his energy and anger both, and leaving him utterly defenseless. He hugged his arms around his chest in a protective embrace, all before he could stop himself from showing such an obvious sign of weakness, and then just gave up all pretense of saving face. It was a spectacular battle, this inner war he had started long ago, but one he had ultimately lost, his resistance just wasn’t strong enough, not against Spock and he had finally come to learn that he didn’t want it to be. He… loved, God, so much, he felt could explode from how much he loved and now he could do little more than hope that Spock was now absolutely clear in that regard. “Do with that what you will.”
“And if that will is to love you? To bond with you? To take you in my arms and never let go until death claims one or both of us, would you allow it? Will you let me into your mind, Jim, would you accept that I want you in mine? Would you concede that all that I am, all that I have, is yours for the taking? Would you allow me the same from you, give unto me that part of yourself that you guard so fiercely?” Spock’s face looked so earnest as he leaned towards Jim, so uncertain and certain both, grabbing hold of Jim’s forearms, and capturing his gaze with a reverence so obvious for anyone to see.
How could the universe think that Vulcans couldn’t feel? They felt so beautifully, at least this one did. There was a light shining in Spock’s eyes, one that captivated Jim’s attention, and there was hope. Jim felt the sudden urge to just curl up against Spock’s chest and stay there forever, to bask in that strength and let Spock love him, as promised.
He believed Spock, he really did.
“I will not settle for less, Jim. I want you. I want you more than I have ever wanted anything, but in this I can only be selfish. That is what I seek… all, everything, you no longer fighting against me so persistently. I have been attempting to exercise patience. I have moved slowly, subtly, so not to startle you. During our game the other night I found I could hold it back no further. I want you in my life for the rest of its duration. That is what I wish of you. That is what I want to give you in return.”
The lump in his throat was impossible to swallow around, and Jim was sure that his heart had never beat so fast. God, what could he say to that? What could he hope to give in return? It was all so much. So intense. So beyond anything in his experience. He wanted to cry: in joy, in fear, in exaltation, in weariness, and in the feeling of coming home after a long and arduous journey, but he’d long since forgotten how.
So instead he replied, “Yes. I want that. I can give you that,” and meant it.
The softness in Spock’s eyes just then, dancing in elation, topped every beautiful sight he’d ever seen, from watching the Enterprise be built in the Riverside shipyard, to seeing her out in space from the window of a shuttle craft that first time. And while Jim still had a bit of an issue with the clash between destiny and free will, it truly didn’t matter; he would have chosen Spock anyway.
The End!
Follow-up ficlet found here