Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) 1/2 -- (Happy BD jaylee_g!)
Title: Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) 1/2
Beta: secret_chord25 <3
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~ 11000
Warnings: some language, mild violence
Summary: In which Spock contemplates the laws of attraction and realizes what a slippery slope that is only after he has already fallen. There's no help for him now.
A/N: Written for jaylee_g who is a birthday girl today! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING! I hope you like your present, but don't hesitate to tell me if you think it sucks. ;)
James T. Kirk is an extremely attractive individual.
Spock has always been cognizant of this fact, just as he is aware of other aspects of the surrounding physical universe. The stars are blazing balls of boiling gas; the sky is blue (green, orange, yellow) due to some particular pattern of the aerial dispersion in the atmosphere; E equals mc2; and a human being called James T. Kirk is in possession of a peculiar set of features that makes him attractive to potential sexual partners.
This fact is stored, along with numerous others, somewhere in the highly ordered labyrinth of Spock’s brain, and, by itself, it has no special significance. It isn’t the first one to come up when Spock has to interact with Kirk on a daily basis. Statistically, this particular component of Kirk being Kirk is a part of the equation so rarely that it could be disregarded as a glitch without making a dent on the final image.
Yet it is this very notion that is unexpectedly brought under the spotlight, and Spock is forced to contemplate it further.
Spock hesitates to characterize his relationship with Kirk outside the professional field. Some people, Kirk included, call them friends, but Spock is not certain. Not because he has something against the idea, but more due to the fact that human language is incredibly imprecise, and the very definition of friendship leaves much to be desired.
For example, humans call someone who merely isn’t their enemy a ‘friend.’ A friend is generally someone they see every day, but, then again, a true friend only comes in at a time of great need. A friend is someone they know their whole life, or a stranger they met yesterday by accident. It could be someone they encounter frequently in the same social circle and don’t even like. A person they have never seen before is called ‘my best friend ever’ for doing something like bringing a cup of coffee. Sometimes sexual relations with friends are forbidden, and sometimes they are expected and labeled ‘natural.’
Spock is helplessly lost.
He has sought clarification on those issues many times in his life, only to come out even more confused in the end. He finally had come to a logical conclusion that the full complexity of the concept of friendship is beyond his ability to comprehend, and he would be best served to leave it be. He and Kirk are certainly not what the dictionary suggests in explaining the colloquial meaning of the term ‘friends.’
They did not meet under ideal circumstances. A ‘rocky start’ is one way of putting it; a ‘complete disaster,’ another. For a moment, it seems that that they are destined to become great enemies, or at least great rivals.
But Nero ruins the game, and they couldn’t hate each other after the destruction of Vulcan.
After Spock joins Kirk’s crew as his first officer, they work well together, but one argument or another always colors their off-duty time. It often seems that they have contradictory points of views on every subject in existence, and their - discussions - are never less than heated.
They argue about politics and art, views on historical events and recent discoveries, literature and food, emotions and logic. Whenever the two of them are in the same room together, a debate is bound to break out sooner rather than later, and if someone aboard the Enterprise drops a phrase like ‘The circus is in town,’ it always means that the captain and the first officer are having yet another round of verbal sparring.
It surprises Spock a little at first, because he isn’t argumentative by nature. His father might have lifted an eyebrow at that, but Spock himself is convinced that he is a most benevolent conversationalist. It is merely that Kirk’s opinions, or the choice of words, or even his tone, are an irritant Spock can’t withstand. It simply - feels - vital to prove Kirk’s views for the misconceptions they truly are. It would be plainly dangerous to leave him in his ignorance. Since the captain’s safety is ranking high on Spock’s list of duties, he considers himself obligated to correct him.
The crew is keeping score on the arguments each of them had won. (Spock heard rumors of a pool being held somewhere.) Nyota teases him for being illogical. Doctor McCoy often calls both Spock and the captain ‘those damn infants,’ accompanying the words with an expressive roll of his eyes.
Spock is not concerned, however, because the arguments have produced a most surprising, but highly valuable, side effect.
Kirk and Spock argue so much and have learned the way the other thinks so well that whenever the ship, the crew, or the mission are in danger, it only takes each of them a split second to predict the other’s actions. It is almost uncanny how well they can read each other when the situation is dire and the stakes are high. Even more astonishing than that is the unimaginable level of unity and agreement between them that could only be witnessed at such a moment. To an outside observer, it could seem as though they are reading each other’s minds, and nobody keeps count of how many times it has served to save the day.
Spock has always been aware that his emotions are involved in his interactions with the captain, even though he never shows it. He is also aware that those emotions have been changing gradually over the first year of their mission. They mutate from remote irritation into surprise and curiosity, then drift toward amusement, later to be generously infused with respect and ever-growing interest, along with a healthy glow of pleasure that Spock could no longer deny he is drawing from their debates.
Yes, the supposition does have merit. He and Kirk are, indeed, friends.
Spock is used to Kirk’s presence and the unmistakable imprint of his personality on every room he walks in. Its virility is no longer disturbing - really, it’s come to be expected - and so when the captain strides over to Spock determinedly across the crowded hall filled with diplomats and officials celebrating the success of trade negotiations, Spock isn’t alarmed, even though Kirk’s pace seems to imply some urgency.
However, when the captain doesn’t stop before entering Spock’s personal space, which he normally respects, and, more than that, grabs Spock’s hand, Spock admits to experiencing acute surprise.
“Captain?”
“For the love of God, help me,” Kirk blurts out in a desperate whisper, clasping Spock’s hand in both his own and lifting it up imploringly. “There’s a woman over there - I think she’s with the Novians, an interpreter or something. She won’t stop propositioning me!”
“I-I see,” Spock says, glancing over the captain’s shoulder while trying to keep up with the frantic rush of panicked words falling out of Kirk’s mouth. “And how is this a problem?”
Kirk stares at him. “Are you crazy? Spock, if I tell her no, it’ll be an insult to the whole Novian delegation, and just when we finally made them stop yelling and start talking.” His eyes narrow slightly. “And did you seriously think I would want to sleep with her?”
“I-”
“Look, the only way out of this is to say I’m with somebody else - exclusivity and all that shit. No insult if I’m already taken, right?”
“I - suppose, but-”
“Please, Spock.” Kirk’s lips are all but touching Spock’s knuckles. “You’ve gotta save me. I told her I’m with you.”
“Me?” Spock feels his eyes widen in surprised alarm. “But Captain... would it not have been more - believable - to ask someone else? I am hardly the right person for this sort of ruse.”
“You are the only person for this sort of ruse,” Kirk whispers urgently. “Uhura’s been dancing with that guy for the better part of the evening, and Bones is surrounded by what looks like a Trill harem. How much credibility do you think I will have with either of them?”
Spock glances across the room at their colleagues. “You do have a point,” he admits, feeling mildly light-headed. “But Captain, I do not-”
“You won’t have to lie, just play along, okay?” Kirk’s eyes are huge and pleading. “Please, Spock.”
Spock’s answer is cut off by the arrival of the woman in question.
“There you are,” she purrs, eyeing Kirk with a mixture of pleasure and reproach. “It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting.”
Kirk drops Spock’s hand as they both turn to face the Novian. Spock can’t help but agree that she is… intimidating. Not that he keeps track of Kirk’s preferences in the sexual field, of course, but generally, Kirk chooses partners that don’t outweigh him by the factor of three.
“Miss Leva.” Kirk smiles blindingly, turning on his charm full force. “My sincere apologies. I was merely detained by my boyfriend.”
The word falls smoothly from his lips, which Spock finds mildly impressive. He bows slightly feeling the woman’s eyes drilling into him.
“Your boyfriend?” she squeaks incredulously. “Him?” She blinks, then turns her gaze to Kirk once more and gives a silvery laugh that sounds at terrible odds with her complexion. “Oh, you’re so funny, darling!” She waves her finger in front of Kirk’s face. “You almost had me going for a moment.”
Kirk shoots a wary glance at Spock. “But - I’m serious. Commander Spock and I are in a relationship, and-”
“Why is this so unbelievable?” Spock interjects, suddenly curious.
The Novian laughs harder. “Oh dear, you’re both hysterical!” she exclaims, her multicolored fan flying rapidly between her hands in a clear demonstration of her excitement. “That one so fair, so beautiful as you, my dear Captain, would be bound to one like him?” Her eyes slide over Spock with ill-conceived disdain. “Not a chance!” She scoffs. “Beauty will always choose beauty, my sweet,” she drawls, beaming at Kirk.
It’s not the first time Spock has heard a similar assessment of himself, so the Novian’s words don’t come as any kind of surprise. Glancing at Kirk, though, Spock notes with something akin to alarm that the captain is frowning, and his lips are stretched in a stubborn line he normally reserves for Klingon raiders.
Spock would never admit it, but he has developed some kind of intuitive reasoning where Kirk is concerned. At the moment, that reasoning is telling him that they are two seconds away from a diplomatic disaster.
Making a split second decision, Spock reaches and takes Kirk’s hand in his, entwining their fingers.
Kirk looks at him, startled, but Spock’s attention is on the Novian, who is staring at their joined hands with astonishment.
“I believe you are aware of the sensitivity of my hands?” Spock says calmly, rubbing small circles with his thumb.
The action seems to have shocked the Novian out of her seduction attempts. “You - you are a Vulcan,” she stammers, blushing. “This is - this is - how dare you - in public!”
Spock lifts an eyebrow, squeezing Kirk’s hand to prevent him from voicing his confusion. “Would I be doing this if Captain Kirk had lied to you about us?” he asks quietly. “I am, as you say, Vulcan. Propriety is everything to me.”
The Novian glares at him, her eyes flickering between their hands and Spock’s face. Her emotions are easy enough to read even for someone whose psi rating is measured in the negative figures.
“He won’t stay with you!” the woman finally hisses in anger. “He’s bright and beautiful like the sun, and you are - you are - a travesty! Oh, Captain,” she sighs as her eyes slid to Kirk. “What a sad fate for one so glorious...” She trails off, shaking her head in unspeakable desolation, as she walks away.
“Whew,” Kirk breathes out in relief, watching her go. “Talk about crazy.”
Spock carefully extricates his hand from Kirk’s. “Her views are merely different from ours.”
Kirk looks at him. “Still. Sorry you had to listen to that.”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “It is of no consequence, I assure you. I was glad to be of help.”
Kirk grins at him ruefully. “I owe you one, a big one.” He rests a hand on Spock’s shoulder, peering at him curiously. “You took my hand - did we, I dunno, make out?”
“No,” Spock says, feeling his lips twitch in amusement.
“But - your hands are sensitive.”
“Indeed, and so are yours. Vulcans do have more nerve endings in the palms of their hands than humans, and, under certain circumstances, they might provide additional stimulation-”
“Wow,” Kirk interjects, glancing down minutely before meeting Spock’s eyes again, grinning. “Are you sure I’m old enough for this conversation?”
“-however,” Spock continues, “the Vulcan in question would have to allow that to happen.” He peers at Kirk’s enthralled expression and suppresses another bolt of mirth. “Forgive me, Captain, but did you truly believe that I am unable to perform mundane tasks, such as working my console, without placing myself in a rather - delicate condition, ill-suited for public venues?”
“Dammit, Spock,” Kirk mutters, blushing a deep hue of red, and staring in the general direction of Spock’s shoulder. “There’s no need to get graphic, okay? I got you. Humans are oversexed idiots.”
“Not at all,” Spock says graciously. “In the interests of full disclosure, Captain, it might be prudent of me to mention that Vulcans themselves are mostly responsible for making the misconception persist. As well as several other myths, I might add.”
Kirk looks up at him curiously. “Why?”
Spock frowns slightly. “I am uncertain, but I believe that it stems from the ancient warrior mentality of my race. Deception was a highly regarded means of attaining an upper hand over enemies. It is probable that upon reaching warp era, those attitudes still domineered in Vulcan politics. It was considered wise not to correct false assumptions, including those regarding our physiology, when it could provide a tactical advantage.”
“Hm.” Kirk rubs the back of his neck, looking thoughtful. “That makes sense, I guess.”
Spock nods. “And, as you can see, it is still useful upon occasion.”
Kirk chuckles. “You bet; I’m so not complaining. But I wonder” - his eyes sweep over Spock speculatively - “what else about you guys is a myth?”
Spock fights back a smile. “To borrow a human expression, Captain - that is for me to know and for you to find out.” He bows slightly. “Good evening.”
He can hear Kirk’s surprised laughter as he makes his way out of the reception hall.
--
The second time Spock is confronted with the fact that Kirk is inordinately attractive happens in a few short weeks after the first.
Spock is using one of the science deck conference rooms to make an assessment of the newly transferred science officers. He is frustrated enough to admit that he has not been impressed so far. There are days when Spock can truly sympathize with Sisyphus and his struggle to get anything done instead of perpetually repeating the action. Spock spends the lion’s share of his time coaching his staff, schooling and mentoring them until they start resembling confident specialists instead of a herd of ill-educated children. The moment that happens, Starfleet sweeps them away to other assignments, and Spock is again stuck with a fresh load of recent graduates who stare at him blankly when he asks for the simplest things, like performing the Paltuga test correctly or being able to recall the Fibonacci sequence past the twentieth digit without having to calculate it from zero.
He’s not the only one in this position, Spock knows. Hardly a week goes by without Mr. Scott coming to the bridge to inform the captain, using many colorful expressions (some of which Spock doesn’t quite understand) that not even Starfleet Command could order him to let ‘these wee imbeciles’ into his Engine Room. Spock disapproves of the blatant displays, but privately empathizes with the Chief Engineer’s rightful indignation.
“The priority of the chemophysics department is to find new ways of revitalizing turandium,” Spock says, without much hope whatsoever. “Can anyone tell me why?”
His inquiry is met, predictably, with vacant stares and a lot of blinking as the stubborn silence of ignorance stretches.
“It’s, um - it’s used in the warp coil?” someone says uncertainly, in the end.
“Correct,” Spock responds, fighting to master his irritation. “But why? Why turandium, Mr. Izin? Why not corputsium, which has a much higher energy output potential?”
More blinks and stares. Spock concentrates on suppressing a sigh, and doesn’t notice the figure hovering in the doorway until it announces its presence through speech.
“Its fluid non-zero entropy phase can’t coexist with its superfluid zero entropy phase, so, placed into the warp field, it enables the exchange of energy without a transfer of mass.” Kirk drawls, almost lazily, treating them all to a winning grin. “Which is, incidentally, what makes this ship move without consuming tons of fuel. Isn’t that right, Commander?”
Spock has never been so attracted to anyone in his entire life.
“Indeed,” he replies, somewhat surprised at how cool and even he sounds. “How may we be of service, Captain?”
Kirk waves dismissively at the junior officers, who are all watching him with various degrees of fascination. “Not to worry, ladies and gentlemen - I just need to borrow your professor for a moment. You can use the time to brush up on your Latin and Hebrew; he’ll be after those next.” He winks at them, then glances up front. “Spock?”
Spock walks toward him, noting with growing displeasure mixed with amusement that a couple of his new wards have indeed reached for their PADDs. Kirk rolls his eyes conspiratorially as Spock reaches him, takes him by the elbow, and pulls him outside, allowing the doors to close.
“Tough crowd, huh?”
Spock gives in to the urge to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “That, I believe, would constitute an understatement.” He straightens up, pulling himself out of the moment. “You wished to discuss something with me?”
“Actually, no,” Kirk says, smiling somewhat apologetically. “I came to tell you that they rescheduled the conference call. I can’t have lunch with you like we planned.”
“Oh,” Spock says. “That is of no consequence, sir.” He studies Kirk’s face for a moment. “You could have commed me. There was no need to trouble yourself with delivering the news in person.”
“Well, yeah,” Kirk admits, grinning. “But I sort of wanted to reschedule, too. Join me for dinner tonight if you’re free?”
“Dinner?” Spock pauses, mentally juggling his appointments.
“I’m entertaining company,” Kirk says. “We can discuss the cases when Planck’s constant doesn’t apply and-”
“There are no cases in which Planck’s constant does not apply. Not within this physical universe.”
“Ah, but what about Mallett’s pockets?”
“The existence of the so-called ‘pockets’ in the fabric of space-time in which the laws of general relativity do not apply has never been successfully proved-”
Kirk clasps Spock’s arms, halting him. “I really gotta go, Spock, sorry. Dinner tonight. Rec room two, nineteen-hundred.” His grip tightens momentarily to match his widening grin. “I’ll convince you.”
He retreats faster than Spock can come up with a reply, and Spock finds himself standing idly in the corridor, on the verge of smiling. The prospect of going back to the room full of people who are intimidated by him is suddenly so much more daunting.
By the time they meet for dinner in the admittedly crowded rec room, the encounter is far from Spock’s mind. Kirk seems concerned with the details of his conference call with the admiralty, and they discuss the upcoming changes in several key areas of fleet regulation and what those changes will entail, should the new resolution come to pass. Kirk has adopted a decidedly pessimistic view of things, and Spock finds himself playing the devil’s advocate as he searches for pluses, if only to make the captain snap out of his grave mood. Spock is so engrossed in the conversation that he doesn’t even notice that someone is singing until Kirk nudges him.
It’s not an uncommon occurrence for some of the crew to try their talents in the rec room after hours. During quiet missions, when they aren’t deflecting Klingon attacks or crawling through a war zone on impulse, the extracurricular activities are not only allowed, but encouraged, serving to unite the crew and allow them a chance to express themselves.
Spock is surprised, however, to notice that the impromptu performer tonight is Telma Cooper, one of the newly transferred science technicians. It usually takes crewmembers at least a couple of months to start feeling at home enough to claim the spotlight. What is even more surprising, though, is that the ensign in question is singing a Vulcan song. Spock catches Nyota’s gaze, and she winks at him, wearing a very peculiar expression; Spock prefers not to speculate on its meaning.
He turns back toward his dining companion and finds Kirk looking at him with a teasing glint in his eyes that promises nothing good. Spock mentally sighs, preparing to endure whatever’s coming.
“Beautiful voice, don’t you think?” Kirk intones would-be casually. “A little sharp, but I’m sure it’s just the nerves.”
“I would not know,” Spock responds dryly. “I am not an expert.”
“Aw, Spock, that’s just cold. Don’t you approve of the song choice?”
Spock peers over at Kirk and narrows his eyes. “You are laughing at me.”
Kirk does indeed chuckle, looking unrepentant. “I’m not the one who can’t go a week without leaving some poor little ensign starstruck.”
“Is that so?” Spock crosses his arms over his chest. “Janice Rand,” he says vindictively. “Tonya Barrows. Sha Tor. Andrew Ponds. Daniel Cameron. Lisa Lee. Need I go on?”
Kirk seems amused rather than humbled. “I wasn’t aware you kept such accurate score, Spock. Any personal interest in the matter?” he teases. “Did my charm get in your way perhaps?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “What you are implying is highly unethical and unprofessional. I would never-”
“Spock.” Kirk raises a hand. “Keep your shirt on, I was just joking.” He glances over Spock’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “Here comes your lady now. Be nice.”
Ensign Cooper has, indeed, concluded her performance, and is slowly nearing their table. Spock stiffens, despite himself. He never feels comfortable in this kind of situations, mostly because he cannot come close to understanding the apparent appeal.
“G-good evening, Captain. Commander,” the young woman says with a nervous smile as she stops beside them.
“Ensign Cooper,” Kirk greets her amicably, demonstrating perfect recall, which, with four hundred eighty-seven crewmembers aboard, is nothing short of impressive. “That was quite a performance you gave us.”
“Thank you, sir.” She blushes, smiling at him, before her eyes drift over to Spock. “And what about you, Commander? Did you like the song?”
Spock opens his mouth, intending to explain that the categories of ‘like’ and ‘dislike’ are alien to him, but before he can say anything, Kirk rushes forward. “He found it most agreeable, Ensign,” Kirk assures the girl, pinning Spock down with a gaze that has a clear order in it. “Didn’t you, Commander?”
Spock stares at Kirk for a moment in defiance, but eventually relents. “Indeed, Ensign,” he replies looking up at Cooper. Searching for anything he could compliment her on without resorting to lying, he adds, “Your choice of lyrics was very - courageous.”
“Oh,” she breathes out, and her blush deepens. “I... thank you, sir. I’m - I’m so happy you think so.”
Spock nods solemnly, not knowing what else to say. Kirk must have sensed that and takes pity on him or most likely, the ensign.
“That was a stunning feat of singing technique, Ensign,” he tells her kindly. “But if you really want to impress Commander Spock here, quantum physics is your best bet.” His eyes land on Spock, gleaming with humor. “Try finding another use for the axiom of choice, maybe? He gets all hot and bothered over it, I promise you.”
The ensign coughs awkwardly in embarrassment, but Spock is too busy fighting down his own blush to pay attention. So Kirk has noticed. Noticed - and called him on it.
“I, um…” Cooper stammers over them. “Well, have a - have a nice evening. Sirs.”
She hurries away, but Spock barely notices. Kirk’s eyes haven’t moved from his face, either, and it’s blatantly clear from his expression that the captain is enjoying himself immensely.
“Cat got your tongue, Spock?” Kirk presses benevolently, grinning in a most infuriating manner. He reaches to pat Spock’s hand, lying motionless on the table. “Don’t worry, we all have our little kinks. Though I gotta admit, yours is very” - Kirk chuckles - “special.”
Spock pulls his hand away and leans back in his chair, contemplating the option of simply standing, collecting his tray, and walking out. He feels betrayed in more ways than one, and, to make things worse, he realizes that it’s stupid. This is such a small thing, and Kirk really is just joking; there’s no malicious intent behind it. So why can’t Spock muster a witty repartee when he needs one? Why is he suddenly speechless?
Something must show on his face, because Kirk’s expression grows suddenly serious. “Spock,” he starts cautiously. “Are you okay? Did I say something-”
And finally, Spock manages to snap out of his stupor. “I beg forgiveness, Captain - I became momentarily distracted. Ensign Cooper’s diligence is admirable; however, her pronunciation leaves much to be desired, and my hearing is somewhat sensitive. I - deemed it prudent to reconstruct the lyrics in my mind with proper inflections.”
“Oh.” Kirk looks taken aback. His eyes search Spock’s features intently, as if testing his sincerity. The results must be favorable, because the captain’s grin returns. “You’re such a nerd,” he says fondly, shaking his head.
Spock chooses to disregard the illogical accusation, and instead reaches to steal a chocolate-covered meringue cookie off of Kirk’s dessert plate. He ignores Kirk’s indignant protest.
Too many complex carbohydrates aren’t healthy for humans, anyway.
--
“This is insane,” McCoy complains. “You can’t tell me that this shit is logical.”
Spock stares down at the brightly lit ring where the last match of the night - the competition finals - is taking place. “It may be - from the Starbase commander’s point of view,” he replies, stifling a wince as Kirk’s opponent lands a blow squarely on Kirk’s jaw. “He probably believes that there will be less fighting among different crews if an organized form of it was offered.”
“Then he should have offered a chess tournament,” McCoy snaps impatiently. “Not this barbarism. What are we, ancient Rome?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Boxing is a ‘noble’ sport-”
“Look at them!” McCoy grabs Spock’s arm in agitation. “No boxing gloves, no helmets, no protection of any kind! I like boxing, goddammit! I can appreciate a good fight when it’s safe, but this? Did they have to do it this way?” He inhales sharply. “Jesus fuck, did you see that? That was brutal!”
Spock is inclined to agree. It didn’t come as a surprise that Kirk insisted on personally representing the Enterprise in this competition, nor was it unexpected that he has a good chance to become the last man standing. And, if Spock is honest with himself, he hasn’t spent the last five hours with his eyes glued to the ring because of his concern for the captain’s safety.
Kirk’s naked torso glistens with sweat, his finely-toned muscles shifting fluidly under his skin with every motion, and the way he moves is uncanny - swift, precise, insolent, and victorious at almost every turn. Kirk smiles when he misses a blow to the kidneys; he laughs when his opponent all but knocks out his eye; and he sneers when the next one splits his lips with his fist, blood dribbling down his chin, obscene red against smooth tan.
Spock can’t tear his eyes away. He is torn. Part of him wishes Kirk had never stepped into the ring - it’s the part that insists on Kirk staying out of harm’s way at all times. Spock doesn’t enjoy seeing him hurt, and he is well aware, by this point, that it’s not exclusively duty that feeds his protective streak.
But there is another part of him, a part that is buried deeper in some strange, dark place, and this part whispers treacherously that Kirk looks beautiful like that. A perfidious thought crawls up through the layers and layers of cultural conditioning and moral reprehensions that there is art in the deliberate (to Spock’s eye only) ill-coordination of Kirk’s movements, his would-be drunken, seemingly sloppy lashes, which land with impeccable timing and precision, catching his opponent by surprise when he has already dismissed Kirk as an amateur.
Kirk isn’t just a well-trained fighter - he’s a smart fighter. He stays in control at all times, despite giving the impression to the opposite. Something dark and churning in Spock’s blood responds to this with frightening intensity, and he grips the railing tighter with his hands, leaving dents on the metal, and not knowing which he’d preferred best - to fight alongside Kirk, or against him. He is appalled at his own thoughts, but he can’t help them. Both alternatives promise viscous, immoral pleasure.
McCoy curses beside him again, and Spock pulls himself together forcibly. If the good doctor knew what he was thinking, Spock wouldn’t live long enough to see the dawn. He fully shares the sentiment, and yet - and yet...
When Kirk finally sends his opponent into a knockout, the overcrowded Starbase gymnasium explodes with cheers. It doesn’t only come from the Enterprise crewmembers, Spock notices, but that is in no way surprising. Seeing Kirk standing in the middle of the ring, arms raised triumphantly in declaration of his victory, a smile full of teeth and blood shining on his face, it’s incredibly difficult indeed to remain unaffected.
Spock should leave. The excuse of staying to make certain that the captain is not beaten to death is no longer valid, and Spock really should return to the ship.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he drifts along with everyone into the bar on the upper deck, roaming the overcrowded room somewhat aimlessly before settling at a table.
Kirk walks in approximately twenty-three minutes later. He’s wearing his black undershirt, and his wet hair broadcasts that he has just taken a shower, just as his face relates that McCoy must have tracked him down and treated his most immediate injuries. He is greeted with an uproar of a standing ovation and escorted to the bar with loud, cheering fanfares.
Spock remains at his table, watching and still having no idea what he’s doing here. There is a cello concert on the reception deck starting in several minutes; an antique bookstore on the promenade is holding an auction of collectibles. Yet Spock remains where he is, inexplicably, watching the never-ending line of people wishing to buy the captain a congratulatory drink.
“Well, this can’t be good,” McCoy mutters, appearing at Spock’s table out of nowhere and sitting down without waiting for an invitation. His eyes are trained on Kirk as well.
Spock frowns. Agreeing with McCoy is never a pleasant experience, but the doctor is correct. Kirk keeps accepting drinks because a refusal would likely cause offense, and his tolerance for alcohol is much lower than he normally admits. Spock found that out the hard way, and it was a safe assumption that McCoy’s experience in this field far superseded his.
They watch for some time in silence, McCoy scowling, and Spock maintaining his ‘cool.’
“Are you going to-?” Spock asks at last.
“Hell no,” McCoy grumbles. “Tried to talk to him before and he nearly bit my head off. A ‘captain-crew bonding moment’ and all that.”
“Of course,” Spock acknowledges dryly. “What else would it be?”
McCoy sighs. “He’s in a strange mood.”
Spock glances at him briefly, and doesn’t reply. However, when thirty minutes later, Kirk pours himself onto his feet and heads toward the bathrooms, Spock stands up and follows.
Kirk is washing his hands when Spock walks in. He’s resting most of his weight against the sink and is splashing water everywhere. Hearing the doors open, he lifts up his head and catches Spock’s gaze in the mirror.
“Hey, Spock.” Kirk’s face splits into a grin. “Where’ve you been all night? I won us a tournament. Shoulda seen it - it - it was awesome.”
Ignoring him, Spock quickly scans for other occupants. Realizing they are alone, he quickly moves toward Kirk, grabs his elbow, and pulls him away from the sink.
“Hey,” Kirk breathes, still smiling dopily. “Spock, what are you...”
Spock pushes him against the wall, one hand resting on Kirk’s shoulder, keeping him in place. The expression on Kirk’s face becomes caught between awed and wary, and he doesn’t actively resist - not that he’s in any condition to. Spock’s free hand slides under Kirk’s shirt, skimming over his belly to find two very specific points in close vicinity of his solar plexus. Spock’s fingers press, swift and hard, with a bit of a twist at the end. Kirk blinks, and Spock steps aside, watching him.
It takes a moment, perhaps two, and then Kirk’s face turns an unhealthy shade of green. His eyes snap wide open, and he manages to throw one dark, accusing glare at Spock before making a mad dash for one of the stalls. The sounds of violent retching follow suit. Spock nods to himself and prepares to wait.
When Kirk finally emerges, he’s a sight to behold. His hair is all over the place, sweat-soaked and tousled. His cheeks are pale, his mouth glistens blood red as he pants, and his eyes are dark and murderous. He looks ferociously sober.
“You bastard,” Kirk spits, glowering at Spock. “What’d you do that for?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “I saved you from third degree alcoholic poisoning.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You are welcome.”
“Really,” Kirk bites out scornfully. “Who asked you to?”
“I took initiative.”
Kirk rolls his eyes and stalks back toward the sink. “Awesome.”
Spock watches silently.
“For your information,” Kirk tells him in-between rinsing and spitting, “I was having a great night. I did my job, I was buzzed, and I was happy.” He glares at Spock’s reflection. “So what, do I need to say, ‘Mother, may I?’ now? Who died and made you my keeper?”
“I was only trying to help.”
“Oh yeah? Well, next time, Spock, ask me first if I need it. Bones can meddle all he wants, because - well, because he’s Bones. He’s earned it. You don’t get to take liberties without asking me first, you got that?”
Spock purses his lips and inclines his head. It’s not like he expected gratitude, exactly, but being so bluntly put in his place is quite an… experience. He wouldn’t care to name the emotion now. “Very well, Captain. I will not interfere without your expressed permission.”
Kirk stares at him for a long moment in a highly unnerving, calculating manner. Finally, he shrugs and rolls his shoulders tiredly. “Well, you can come over here and interfere some with my headache,” he says. “Only fair, considering it’s all your doing. I assume your magic fingers are good for something other than making me puke my guts out?”
Silently, Spock steps closer, and Kirk turns to him, leaning against the sink. The contradiction stumps Spock somewhat, even as he searches for the pain source through the touch. Kirk is extremely irritated with him, perhaps even angry. Yet here he is, willingly submitting himself to Spock’s care just moments after protesting against it.
Kirk’s eyes are closed, and he moans softly as Spock locates the eye of the pain and starts to lessen it, easing the unpleasant sensations. Kirk is completely relaxed and a perfect impersonation of trust right now, and Spock is helpless, hopeless to understand.
The door slides open suddenly, and an officer bursts in. He is approximately Spock’s height but is built much more sturdily, with sandy-brown hair and hazel eyes that give away his intoxicated state. He’s wearing command gold with lieutenant commander’s stripes. Spock doesn’t realize that he has turned around to stand in front of Kirk before he has already done it.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” the man drawls, lips stretched in a wry smirk. “Tell me it’s a free-for-all loo fuck fest, lads. It’s been a while since I’ve been to one of those, and no one quite stands up to yer standards, Jimmy.”
Spock tenses even more. “Do you know this man, Captain?”
The stranger barks out a laugh. “Captain? Does he call ye captain while ye blow him, too?”
Spock’s reflexive motion is checked with a hand on his elbow. Kirk’s other hand is pressed to the bridge of his nose, his headache having obviously returned.
“Spock,” he says dully, “meet Seamus Finnegan, whose dearest ambition was to make my days at Starfleet Academy a living hell. Finnegan” - Kirk stares at him blankly - “what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Having fun, same as everyone else.” Finnegan sneers. “So what d’ye say, Jimmy? Wanna have a little get-together? I don’t mind if I’m not the first one tonight; in fact, I’d be surprised if I was. Sharing’s good for the soul-”
Spock’s fist connects with his face with an obscenely loud slam, and this time, Kirk is too slow to stop him. Finnegan drops to the floor, and even as Spock steps toward him with the intention of finishing the job, he can see that it’s unnecessary - the man is unconscious.
“I think you broke his nose,” Kirk comments conversationally from behind.
Spock glances at the blood trickling down Finnegan’s face and thinks that the captain is probably right.
“So what’s your deal, Spock?” Kirk asks calmly, hands resting on his hips as he watches Spock critically. “First, you kill my buzz for the sake of my supposedly fragile health, then you feel compelled to defend my honor, like I haven’t just won a freaking tournament by beating a dozen people up. And what happened to the good old nerve pinch, while we’re at it?” He looks at Spock speculatively. “Care to explain yourself? Do you - I don’t know - like me, or something?”
Spock straightens up, his face burning, as he stares stubbornly at the man wheezing at his feet. “Not everything is about you, Captain,” he says coolly, and it is true. Technically. “I do not approve of bullies.”
He doesn’t wait for a response and walks out of the bathroom, leaving Kirk free to return to the ship or resume his quest for the ‘buzz’ Spock has stolen. For one night, Spock really thinks he has done enough.
Part 2/2
Beta: secret_chord25 <3
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~ 11000
Warnings: some language, mild violence
Summary: In which Spock contemplates the laws of attraction and realizes what a slippery slope that is only after he has already fallen. There's no help for him now.
A/N: Written for jaylee_g who is a birthday girl today! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING! I hope you like your present, but don't hesitate to tell me if you think it sucks. ;)
James T. Kirk is an extremely attractive individual.
Spock has always been cognizant of this fact, just as he is aware of other aspects of the surrounding physical universe. The stars are blazing balls of boiling gas; the sky is blue (green, orange, yellow) due to some particular pattern of the aerial dispersion in the atmosphere; E equals mc2; and a human being called James T. Kirk is in possession of a peculiar set of features that makes him attractive to potential sexual partners.
This fact is stored, along with numerous others, somewhere in the highly ordered labyrinth of Spock’s brain, and, by itself, it has no special significance. It isn’t the first one to come up when Spock has to interact with Kirk on a daily basis. Statistically, this particular component of Kirk being Kirk is a part of the equation so rarely that it could be disregarded as a glitch without making a dent on the final image.
Yet it is this very notion that is unexpectedly brought under the spotlight, and Spock is forced to contemplate it further.
Spock hesitates to characterize his relationship with Kirk outside the professional field. Some people, Kirk included, call them friends, but Spock is not certain. Not because he has something against the idea, but more due to the fact that human language is incredibly imprecise, and the very definition of friendship leaves much to be desired.
For example, humans call someone who merely isn’t their enemy a ‘friend.’ A friend is generally someone they see every day, but, then again, a true friend only comes in at a time of great need. A friend is someone they know their whole life, or a stranger they met yesterday by accident. It could be someone they encounter frequently in the same social circle and don’t even like. A person they have never seen before is called ‘my best friend ever’ for doing something like bringing a cup of coffee. Sometimes sexual relations with friends are forbidden, and sometimes they are expected and labeled ‘natural.’
Spock is helplessly lost.
He has sought clarification on those issues many times in his life, only to come out even more confused in the end. He finally had come to a logical conclusion that the full complexity of the concept of friendship is beyond his ability to comprehend, and he would be best served to leave it be. He and Kirk are certainly not what the dictionary suggests in explaining the colloquial meaning of the term ‘friends.’
They did not meet under ideal circumstances. A ‘rocky start’ is one way of putting it; a ‘complete disaster,’ another. For a moment, it seems that that they are destined to become great enemies, or at least great rivals.
But Nero ruins the game, and they couldn’t hate each other after the destruction of Vulcan.
After Spock joins Kirk’s crew as his first officer, they work well together, but one argument or another always colors their off-duty time. It often seems that they have contradictory points of views on every subject in existence, and their - discussions - are never less than heated.
They argue about politics and art, views on historical events and recent discoveries, literature and food, emotions and logic. Whenever the two of them are in the same room together, a debate is bound to break out sooner rather than later, and if someone aboard the Enterprise drops a phrase like ‘The circus is in town,’ it always means that the captain and the first officer are having yet another round of verbal sparring.
It surprises Spock a little at first, because he isn’t argumentative by nature. His father might have lifted an eyebrow at that, but Spock himself is convinced that he is a most benevolent conversationalist. It is merely that Kirk’s opinions, or the choice of words, or even his tone, are an irritant Spock can’t withstand. It simply - feels - vital to prove Kirk’s views for the misconceptions they truly are. It would be plainly dangerous to leave him in his ignorance. Since the captain’s safety is ranking high on Spock’s list of duties, he considers himself obligated to correct him.
The crew is keeping score on the arguments each of them had won. (Spock heard rumors of a pool being held somewhere.) Nyota teases him for being illogical. Doctor McCoy often calls both Spock and the captain ‘those damn infants,’ accompanying the words with an expressive roll of his eyes.
Spock is not concerned, however, because the arguments have produced a most surprising, but highly valuable, side effect.
Kirk and Spock argue so much and have learned the way the other thinks so well that whenever the ship, the crew, or the mission are in danger, it only takes each of them a split second to predict the other’s actions. It is almost uncanny how well they can read each other when the situation is dire and the stakes are high. Even more astonishing than that is the unimaginable level of unity and agreement between them that could only be witnessed at such a moment. To an outside observer, it could seem as though they are reading each other’s minds, and nobody keeps count of how many times it has served to save the day.
Spock has always been aware that his emotions are involved in his interactions with the captain, even though he never shows it. He is also aware that those emotions have been changing gradually over the first year of their mission. They mutate from remote irritation into surprise and curiosity, then drift toward amusement, later to be generously infused with respect and ever-growing interest, along with a healthy glow of pleasure that Spock could no longer deny he is drawing from their debates.
Yes, the supposition does have merit. He and Kirk are, indeed, friends.
Spock is used to Kirk’s presence and the unmistakable imprint of his personality on every room he walks in. Its virility is no longer disturbing - really, it’s come to be expected - and so when the captain strides over to Spock determinedly across the crowded hall filled with diplomats and officials celebrating the success of trade negotiations, Spock isn’t alarmed, even though Kirk’s pace seems to imply some urgency.
However, when the captain doesn’t stop before entering Spock’s personal space, which he normally respects, and, more than that, grabs Spock’s hand, Spock admits to experiencing acute surprise.
“Captain?”
“For the love of God, help me,” Kirk blurts out in a desperate whisper, clasping Spock’s hand in both his own and lifting it up imploringly. “There’s a woman over there - I think she’s with the Novians, an interpreter or something. She won’t stop propositioning me!”
“I-I see,” Spock says, glancing over the captain’s shoulder while trying to keep up with the frantic rush of panicked words falling out of Kirk’s mouth. “And how is this a problem?”
Kirk stares at him. “Are you crazy? Spock, if I tell her no, it’ll be an insult to the whole Novian delegation, and just when we finally made them stop yelling and start talking.” His eyes narrow slightly. “And did you seriously think I would want to sleep with her?”
“I-”
“Look, the only way out of this is to say I’m with somebody else - exclusivity and all that shit. No insult if I’m already taken, right?”
“I - suppose, but-”
“Please, Spock.” Kirk’s lips are all but touching Spock’s knuckles. “You’ve gotta save me. I told her I’m with you.”
“Me?” Spock feels his eyes widen in surprised alarm. “But Captain... would it not have been more - believable - to ask someone else? I am hardly the right person for this sort of ruse.”
“You are the only person for this sort of ruse,” Kirk whispers urgently. “Uhura’s been dancing with that guy for the better part of the evening, and Bones is surrounded by what looks like a Trill harem. How much credibility do you think I will have with either of them?”
Spock glances across the room at their colleagues. “You do have a point,” he admits, feeling mildly light-headed. “But Captain, I do not-”
“You won’t have to lie, just play along, okay?” Kirk’s eyes are huge and pleading. “Please, Spock.”
Spock’s answer is cut off by the arrival of the woman in question.
“There you are,” she purrs, eyeing Kirk with a mixture of pleasure and reproach. “It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting.”
Kirk drops Spock’s hand as they both turn to face the Novian. Spock can’t help but agree that she is… intimidating. Not that he keeps track of Kirk’s preferences in the sexual field, of course, but generally, Kirk chooses partners that don’t outweigh him by the factor of three.
“Miss Leva.” Kirk smiles blindingly, turning on his charm full force. “My sincere apologies. I was merely detained by my boyfriend.”
The word falls smoothly from his lips, which Spock finds mildly impressive. He bows slightly feeling the woman’s eyes drilling into him.
“Your boyfriend?” she squeaks incredulously. “Him?” She blinks, then turns her gaze to Kirk once more and gives a silvery laugh that sounds at terrible odds with her complexion. “Oh, you’re so funny, darling!” She waves her finger in front of Kirk’s face. “You almost had me going for a moment.”
Kirk shoots a wary glance at Spock. “But - I’m serious. Commander Spock and I are in a relationship, and-”
“Why is this so unbelievable?” Spock interjects, suddenly curious.
The Novian laughs harder. “Oh dear, you’re both hysterical!” she exclaims, her multicolored fan flying rapidly between her hands in a clear demonstration of her excitement. “That one so fair, so beautiful as you, my dear Captain, would be bound to one like him?” Her eyes slide over Spock with ill-conceived disdain. “Not a chance!” She scoffs. “Beauty will always choose beauty, my sweet,” she drawls, beaming at Kirk.
It’s not the first time Spock has heard a similar assessment of himself, so the Novian’s words don’t come as any kind of surprise. Glancing at Kirk, though, Spock notes with something akin to alarm that the captain is frowning, and his lips are stretched in a stubborn line he normally reserves for Klingon raiders.
Spock would never admit it, but he has developed some kind of intuitive reasoning where Kirk is concerned. At the moment, that reasoning is telling him that they are two seconds away from a diplomatic disaster.
Making a split second decision, Spock reaches and takes Kirk’s hand in his, entwining their fingers.
Kirk looks at him, startled, but Spock’s attention is on the Novian, who is staring at their joined hands with astonishment.
“I believe you are aware of the sensitivity of my hands?” Spock says calmly, rubbing small circles with his thumb.
The action seems to have shocked the Novian out of her seduction attempts. “You - you are a Vulcan,” she stammers, blushing. “This is - this is - how dare you - in public!”
Spock lifts an eyebrow, squeezing Kirk’s hand to prevent him from voicing his confusion. “Would I be doing this if Captain Kirk had lied to you about us?” he asks quietly. “I am, as you say, Vulcan. Propriety is everything to me.”
The Novian glares at him, her eyes flickering between their hands and Spock’s face. Her emotions are easy enough to read even for someone whose psi rating is measured in the negative figures.
“He won’t stay with you!” the woman finally hisses in anger. “He’s bright and beautiful like the sun, and you are - you are - a travesty! Oh, Captain,” she sighs as her eyes slid to Kirk. “What a sad fate for one so glorious...” She trails off, shaking her head in unspeakable desolation, as she walks away.
“Whew,” Kirk breathes out in relief, watching her go. “Talk about crazy.”
Spock carefully extricates his hand from Kirk’s. “Her views are merely different from ours.”
Kirk looks at him. “Still. Sorry you had to listen to that.”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “It is of no consequence, I assure you. I was glad to be of help.”
Kirk grins at him ruefully. “I owe you one, a big one.” He rests a hand on Spock’s shoulder, peering at him curiously. “You took my hand - did we, I dunno, make out?”
“No,” Spock says, feeling his lips twitch in amusement.
“But - your hands are sensitive.”
“Indeed, and so are yours. Vulcans do have more nerve endings in the palms of their hands than humans, and, under certain circumstances, they might provide additional stimulation-”
“Wow,” Kirk interjects, glancing down minutely before meeting Spock’s eyes again, grinning. “Are you sure I’m old enough for this conversation?”
“-however,” Spock continues, “the Vulcan in question would have to allow that to happen.” He peers at Kirk’s enthralled expression and suppresses another bolt of mirth. “Forgive me, Captain, but did you truly believe that I am unable to perform mundane tasks, such as working my console, without placing myself in a rather - delicate condition, ill-suited for public venues?”
“Dammit, Spock,” Kirk mutters, blushing a deep hue of red, and staring in the general direction of Spock’s shoulder. “There’s no need to get graphic, okay? I got you. Humans are oversexed idiots.”
“Not at all,” Spock says graciously. “In the interests of full disclosure, Captain, it might be prudent of me to mention that Vulcans themselves are mostly responsible for making the misconception persist. As well as several other myths, I might add.”
Kirk looks up at him curiously. “Why?”
Spock frowns slightly. “I am uncertain, but I believe that it stems from the ancient warrior mentality of my race. Deception was a highly regarded means of attaining an upper hand over enemies. It is probable that upon reaching warp era, those attitudes still domineered in Vulcan politics. It was considered wise not to correct false assumptions, including those regarding our physiology, when it could provide a tactical advantage.”
“Hm.” Kirk rubs the back of his neck, looking thoughtful. “That makes sense, I guess.”
Spock nods. “And, as you can see, it is still useful upon occasion.”
Kirk chuckles. “You bet; I’m so not complaining. But I wonder” - his eyes sweep over Spock speculatively - “what else about you guys is a myth?”
Spock fights back a smile. “To borrow a human expression, Captain - that is for me to know and for you to find out.” He bows slightly. “Good evening.”
He can hear Kirk’s surprised laughter as he makes his way out of the reception hall.
--
The second time Spock is confronted with the fact that Kirk is inordinately attractive happens in a few short weeks after the first.
Spock is using one of the science deck conference rooms to make an assessment of the newly transferred science officers. He is frustrated enough to admit that he has not been impressed so far. There are days when Spock can truly sympathize with Sisyphus and his struggle to get anything done instead of perpetually repeating the action. Spock spends the lion’s share of his time coaching his staff, schooling and mentoring them until they start resembling confident specialists instead of a herd of ill-educated children. The moment that happens, Starfleet sweeps them away to other assignments, and Spock is again stuck with a fresh load of recent graduates who stare at him blankly when he asks for the simplest things, like performing the Paltuga test correctly or being able to recall the Fibonacci sequence past the twentieth digit without having to calculate it from zero.
He’s not the only one in this position, Spock knows. Hardly a week goes by without Mr. Scott coming to the bridge to inform the captain, using many colorful expressions (some of which Spock doesn’t quite understand) that not even Starfleet Command could order him to let ‘these wee imbeciles’ into his Engine Room. Spock disapproves of the blatant displays, but privately empathizes with the Chief Engineer’s rightful indignation.
“The priority of the chemophysics department is to find new ways of revitalizing turandium,” Spock says, without much hope whatsoever. “Can anyone tell me why?”
His inquiry is met, predictably, with vacant stares and a lot of blinking as the stubborn silence of ignorance stretches.
“It’s, um - it’s used in the warp coil?” someone says uncertainly, in the end.
“Correct,” Spock responds, fighting to master his irritation. “But why? Why turandium, Mr. Izin? Why not corputsium, which has a much higher energy output potential?”
More blinks and stares. Spock concentrates on suppressing a sigh, and doesn’t notice the figure hovering in the doorway until it announces its presence through speech.
“Its fluid non-zero entropy phase can’t coexist with its superfluid zero entropy phase, so, placed into the warp field, it enables the exchange of energy without a transfer of mass.” Kirk drawls, almost lazily, treating them all to a winning grin. “Which is, incidentally, what makes this ship move without consuming tons of fuel. Isn’t that right, Commander?”
Spock has never been so attracted to anyone in his entire life.
“Indeed,” he replies, somewhat surprised at how cool and even he sounds. “How may we be of service, Captain?”
Kirk waves dismissively at the junior officers, who are all watching him with various degrees of fascination. “Not to worry, ladies and gentlemen - I just need to borrow your professor for a moment. You can use the time to brush up on your Latin and Hebrew; he’ll be after those next.” He winks at them, then glances up front. “Spock?”
Spock walks toward him, noting with growing displeasure mixed with amusement that a couple of his new wards have indeed reached for their PADDs. Kirk rolls his eyes conspiratorially as Spock reaches him, takes him by the elbow, and pulls him outside, allowing the doors to close.
“Tough crowd, huh?”
Spock gives in to the urge to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “That, I believe, would constitute an understatement.” He straightens up, pulling himself out of the moment. “You wished to discuss something with me?”
“Actually, no,” Kirk says, smiling somewhat apologetically. “I came to tell you that they rescheduled the conference call. I can’t have lunch with you like we planned.”
“Oh,” Spock says. “That is of no consequence, sir.” He studies Kirk’s face for a moment. “You could have commed me. There was no need to trouble yourself with delivering the news in person.”
“Well, yeah,” Kirk admits, grinning. “But I sort of wanted to reschedule, too. Join me for dinner tonight if you’re free?”
“Dinner?” Spock pauses, mentally juggling his appointments.
“I’m entertaining company,” Kirk says. “We can discuss the cases when Planck’s constant doesn’t apply and-”
“There are no cases in which Planck’s constant does not apply. Not within this physical universe.”
“Ah, but what about Mallett’s pockets?”
“The existence of the so-called ‘pockets’ in the fabric of space-time in which the laws of general relativity do not apply has never been successfully proved-”
Kirk clasps Spock’s arms, halting him. “I really gotta go, Spock, sorry. Dinner tonight. Rec room two, nineteen-hundred.” His grip tightens momentarily to match his widening grin. “I’ll convince you.”
He retreats faster than Spock can come up with a reply, and Spock finds himself standing idly in the corridor, on the verge of smiling. The prospect of going back to the room full of people who are intimidated by him is suddenly so much more daunting.
By the time they meet for dinner in the admittedly crowded rec room, the encounter is far from Spock’s mind. Kirk seems concerned with the details of his conference call with the admiralty, and they discuss the upcoming changes in several key areas of fleet regulation and what those changes will entail, should the new resolution come to pass. Kirk has adopted a decidedly pessimistic view of things, and Spock finds himself playing the devil’s advocate as he searches for pluses, if only to make the captain snap out of his grave mood. Spock is so engrossed in the conversation that he doesn’t even notice that someone is singing until Kirk nudges him.
It’s not an uncommon occurrence for some of the crew to try their talents in the rec room after hours. During quiet missions, when they aren’t deflecting Klingon attacks or crawling through a war zone on impulse, the extracurricular activities are not only allowed, but encouraged, serving to unite the crew and allow them a chance to express themselves.
Spock is surprised, however, to notice that the impromptu performer tonight is Telma Cooper, one of the newly transferred science technicians. It usually takes crewmembers at least a couple of months to start feeling at home enough to claim the spotlight. What is even more surprising, though, is that the ensign in question is singing a Vulcan song. Spock catches Nyota’s gaze, and she winks at him, wearing a very peculiar expression; Spock prefers not to speculate on its meaning.
He turns back toward his dining companion and finds Kirk looking at him with a teasing glint in his eyes that promises nothing good. Spock mentally sighs, preparing to endure whatever’s coming.
“Beautiful voice, don’t you think?” Kirk intones would-be casually. “A little sharp, but I’m sure it’s just the nerves.”
“I would not know,” Spock responds dryly. “I am not an expert.”
“Aw, Spock, that’s just cold. Don’t you approve of the song choice?”
Spock peers over at Kirk and narrows his eyes. “You are laughing at me.”
Kirk does indeed chuckle, looking unrepentant. “I’m not the one who can’t go a week without leaving some poor little ensign starstruck.”
“Is that so?” Spock crosses his arms over his chest. “Janice Rand,” he says vindictively. “Tonya Barrows. Sha Tor. Andrew Ponds. Daniel Cameron. Lisa Lee. Need I go on?”
Kirk seems amused rather than humbled. “I wasn’t aware you kept such accurate score, Spock. Any personal interest in the matter?” he teases. “Did my charm get in your way perhaps?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “What you are implying is highly unethical and unprofessional. I would never-”
“Spock.” Kirk raises a hand. “Keep your shirt on, I was just joking.” He glances over Spock’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “Here comes your lady now. Be nice.”
Ensign Cooper has, indeed, concluded her performance, and is slowly nearing their table. Spock stiffens, despite himself. He never feels comfortable in this kind of situations, mostly because he cannot come close to understanding the apparent appeal.
“G-good evening, Captain. Commander,” the young woman says with a nervous smile as she stops beside them.
“Ensign Cooper,” Kirk greets her amicably, demonstrating perfect recall, which, with four hundred eighty-seven crewmembers aboard, is nothing short of impressive. “That was quite a performance you gave us.”
“Thank you, sir.” She blushes, smiling at him, before her eyes drift over to Spock. “And what about you, Commander? Did you like the song?”
Spock opens his mouth, intending to explain that the categories of ‘like’ and ‘dislike’ are alien to him, but before he can say anything, Kirk rushes forward. “He found it most agreeable, Ensign,” Kirk assures the girl, pinning Spock down with a gaze that has a clear order in it. “Didn’t you, Commander?”
Spock stares at Kirk for a moment in defiance, but eventually relents. “Indeed, Ensign,” he replies looking up at Cooper. Searching for anything he could compliment her on without resorting to lying, he adds, “Your choice of lyrics was very - courageous.”
“Oh,” she breathes out, and her blush deepens. “I... thank you, sir. I’m - I’m so happy you think so.”
Spock nods solemnly, not knowing what else to say. Kirk must have sensed that and takes pity on him or most likely, the ensign.
“That was a stunning feat of singing technique, Ensign,” he tells her kindly. “But if you really want to impress Commander Spock here, quantum physics is your best bet.” His eyes land on Spock, gleaming with humor. “Try finding another use for the axiom of choice, maybe? He gets all hot and bothered over it, I promise you.”
The ensign coughs awkwardly in embarrassment, but Spock is too busy fighting down his own blush to pay attention. So Kirk has noticed. Noticed - and called him on it.
“I, um…” Cooper stammers over them. “Well, have a - have a nice evening. Sirs.”
She hurries away, but Spock barely notices. Kirk’s eyes haven’t moved from his face, either, and it’s blatantly clear from his expression that the captain is enjoying himself immensely.
“Cat got your tongue, Spock?” Kirk presses benevolently, grinning in a most infuriating manner. He reaches to pat Spock’s hand, lying motionless on the table. “Don’t worry, we all have our little kinks. Though I gotta admit, yours is very” - Kirk chuckles - “special.”
Spock pulls his hand away and leans back in his chair, contemplating the option of simply standing, collecting his tray, and walking out. He feels betrayed in more ways than one, and, to make things worse, he realizes that it’s stupid. This is such a small thing, and Kirk really is just joking; there’s no malicious intent behind it. So why can’t Spock muster a witty repartee when he needs one? Why is he suddenly speechless?
Something must show on his face, because Kirk’s expression grows suddenly serious. “Spock,” he starts cautiously. “Are you okay? Did I say something-”
And finally, Spock manages to snap out of his stupor. “I beg forgiveness, Captain - I became momentarily distracted. Ensign Cooper’s diligence is admirable; however, her pronunciation leaves much to be desired, and my hearing is somewhat sensitive. I - deemed it prudent to reconstruct the lyrics in my mind with proper inflections.”
“Oh.” Kirk looks taken aback. His eyes search Spock’s features intently, as if testing his sincerity. The results must be favorable, because the captain’s grin returns. “You’re such a nerd,” he says fondly, shaking his head.
Spock chooses to disregard the illogical accusation, and instead reaches to steal a chocolate-covered meringue cookie off of Kirk’s dessert plate. He ignores Kirk’s indignant protest.
Too many complex carbohydrates aren’t healthy for humans, anyway.
--
“This is insane,” McCoy complains. “You can’t tell me that this shit is logical.”
Spock stares down at the brightly lit ring where the last match of the night - the competition finals - is taking place. “It may be - from the Starbase commander’s point of view,” he replies, stifling a wince as Kirk’s opponent lands a blow squarely on Kirk’s jaw. “He probably believes that there will be less fighting among different crews if an organized form of it was offered.”
“Then he should have offered a chess tournament,” McCoy snaps impatiently. “Not this barbarism. What are we, ancient Rome?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Boxing is a ‘noble’ sport-”
“Look at them!” McCoy grabs Spock’s arm in agitation. “No boxing gloves, no helmets, no protection of any kind! I like boxing, goddammit! I can appreciate a good fight when it’s safe, but this? Did they have to do it this way?” He inhales sharply. “Jesus fuck, did you see that? That was brutal!”
Spock is inclined to agree. It didn’t come as a surprise that Kirk insisted on personally representing the Enterprise in this competition, nor was it unexpected that he has a good chance to become the last man standing. And, if Spock is honest with himself, he hasn’t spent the last five hours with his eyes glued to the ring because of his concern for the captain’s safety.
Kirk’s naked torso glistens with sweat, his finely-toned muscles shifting fluidly under his skin with every motion, and the way he moves is uncanny - swift, precise, insolent, and victorious at almost every turn. Kirk smiles when he misses a blow to the kidneys; he laughs when his opponent all but knocks out his eye; and he sneers when the next one splits his lips with his fist, blood dribbling down his chin, obscene red against smooth tan.
Spock can’t tear his eyes away. He is torn. Part of him wishes Kirk had never stepped into the ring - it’s the part that insists on Kirk staying out of harm’s way at all times. Spock doesn’t enjoy seeing him hurt, and he is well aware, by this point, that it’s not exclusively duty that feeds his protective streak.
But there is another part of him, a part that is buried deeper in some strange, dark place, and this part whispers treacherously that Kirk looks beautiful like that. A perfidious thought crawls up through the layers and layers of cultural conditioning and moral reprehensions that there is art in the deliberate (to Spock’s eye only) ill-coordination of Kirk’s movements, his would-be drunken, seemingly sloppy lashes, which land with impeccable timing and precision, catching his opponent by surprise when he has already dismissed Kirk as an amateur.
Kirk isn’t just a well-trained fighter - he’s a smart fighter. He stays in control at all times, despite giving the impression to the opposite. Something dark and churning in Spock’s blood responds to this with frightening intensity, and he grips the railing tighter with his hands, leaving dents on the metal, and not knowing which he’d preferred best - to fight alongside Kirk, or against him. He is appalled at his own thoughts, but he can’t help them. Both alternatives promise viscous, immoral pleasure.
McCoy curses beside him again, and Spock pulls himself together forcibly. If the good doctor knew what he was thinking, Spock wouldn’t live long enough to see the dawn. He fully shares the sentiment, and yet - and yet...
When Kirk finally sends his opponent into a knockout, the overcrowded Starbase gymnasium explodes with cheers. It doesn’t only come from the Enterprise crewmembers, Spock notices, but that is in no way surprising. Seeing Kirk standing in the middle of the ring, arms raised triumphantly in declaration of his victory, a smile full of teeth and blood shining on his face, it’s incredibly difficult indeed to remain unaffected.
Spock should leave. The excuse of staying to make certain that the captain is not beaten to death is no longer valid, and Spock really should return to the ship.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he drifts along with everyone into the bar on the upper deck, roaming the overcrowded room somewhat aimlessly before settling at a table.
Kirk walks in approximately twenty-three minutes later. He’s wearing his black undershirt, and his wet hair broadcasts that he has just taken a shower, just as his face relates that McCoy must have tracked him down and treated his most immediate injuries. He is greeted with an uproar of a standing ovation and escorted to the bar with loud, cheering fanfares.
Spock remains at his table, watching and still having no idea what he’s doing here. There is a cello concert on the reception deck starting in several minutes; an antique bookstore on the promenade is holding an auction of collectibles. Yet Spock remains where he is, inexplicably, watching the never-ending line of people wishing to buy the captain a congratulatory drink.
“Well, this can’t be good,” McCoy mutters, appearing at Spock’s table out of nowhere and sitting down without waiting for an invitation. His eyes are trained on Kirk as well.
Spock frowns. Agreeing with McCoy is never a pleasant experience, but the doctor is correct. Kirk keeps accepting drinks because a refusal would likely cause offense, and his tolerance for alcohol is much lower than he normally admits. Spock found that out the hard way, and it was a safe assumption that McCoy’s experience in this field far superseded his.
They watch for some time in silence, McCoy scowling, and Spock maintaining his ‘cool.’
“Are you going to-?” Spock asks at last.
“Hell no,” McCoy grumbles. “Tried to talk to him before and he nearly bit my head off. A ‘captain-crew bonding moment’ and all that.”
“Of course,” Spock acknowledges dryly. “What else would it be?”
McCoy sighs. “He’s in a strange mood.”
Spock glances at him briefly, and doesn’t reply. However, when thirty minutes later, Kirk pours himself onto his feet and heads toward the bathrooms, Spock stands up and follows.
Kirk is washing his hands when Spock walks in. He’s resting most of his weight against the sink and is splashing water everywhere. Hearing the doors open, he lifts up his head and catches Spock’s gaze in the mirror.
“Hey, Spock.” Kirk’s face splits into a grin. “Where’ve you been all night? I won us a tournament. Shoulda seen it - it - it was awesome.”
Ignoring him, Spock quickly scans for other occupants. Realizing they are alone, he quickly moves toward Kirk, grabs his elbow, and pulls him away from the sink.
“Hey,” Kirk breathes, still smiling dopily. “Spock, what are you...”
Spock pushes him against the wall, one hand resting on Kirk’s shoulder, keeping him in place. The expression on Kirk’s face becomes caught between awed and wary, and he doesn’t actively resist - not that he’s in any condition to. Spock’s free hand slides under Kirk’s shirt, skimming over his belly to find two very specific points in close vicinity of his solar plexus. Spock’s fingers press, swift and hard, with a bit of a twist at the end. Kirk blinks, and Spock steps aside, watching him.
It takes a moment, perhaps two, and then Kirk’s face turns an unhealthy shade of green. His eyes snap wide open, and he manages to throw one dark, accusing glare at Spock before making a mad dash for one of the stalls. The sounds of violent retching follow suit. Spock nods to himself and prepares to wait.
When Kirk finally emerges, he’s a sight to behold. His hair is all over the place, sweat-soaked and tousled. His cheeks are pale, his mouth glistens blood red as he pants, and his eyes are dark and murderous. He looks ferociously sober.
“You bastard,” Kirk spits, glowering at Spock. “What’d you do that for?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “I saved you from third degree alcoholic poisoning.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You are welcome.”
“Really,” Kirk bites out scornfully. “Who asked you to?”
“I took initiative.”
Kirk rolls his eyes and stalks back toward the sink. “Awesome.”
Spock watches silently.
“For your information,” Kirk tells him in-between rinsing and spitting, “I was having a great night. I did my job, I was buzzed, and I was happy.” He glares at Spock’s reflection. “So what, do I need to say, ‘Mother, may I?’ now? Who died and made you my keeper?”
“I was only trying to help.”
“Oh yeah? Well, next time, Spock, ask me first if I need it. Bones can meddle all he wants, because - well, because he’s Bones. He’s earned it. You don’t get to take liberties without asking me first, you got that?”
Spock purses his lips and inclines his head. It’s not like he expected gratitude, exactly, but being so bluntly put in his place is quite an… experience. He wouldn’t care to name the emotion now. “Very well, Captain. I will not interfere without your expressed permission.”
Kirk stares at him for a long moment in a highly unnerving, calculating manner. Finally, he shrugs and rolls his shoulders tiredly. “Well, you can come over here and interfere some with my headache,” he says. “Only fair, considering it’s all your doing. I assume your magic fingers are good for something other than making me puke my guts out?”
Silently, Spock steps closer, and Kirk turns to him, leaning against the sink. The contradiction stumps Spock somewhat, even as he searches for the pain source through the touch. Kirk is extremely irritated with him, perhaps even angry. Yet here he is, willingly submitting himself to Spock’s care just moments after protesting against it.
Kirk’s eyes are closed, and he moans softly as Spock locates the eye of the pain and starts to lessen it, easing the unpleasant sensations. Kirk is completely relaxed and a perfect impersonation of trust right now, and Spock is helpless, hopeless to understand.
The door slides open suddenly, and an officer bursts in. He is approximately Spock’s height but is built much more sturdily, with sandy-brown hair and hazel eyes that give away his intoxicated state. He’s wearing command gold with lieutenant commander’s stripes. Spock doesn’t realize that he has turned around to stand in front of Kirk before he has already done it.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” the man drawls, lips stretched in a wry smirk. “Tell me it’s a free-for-all loo fuck fest, lads. It’s been a while since I’ve been to one of those, and no one quite stands up to yer standards, Jimmy.”
Spock tenses even more. “Do you know this man, Captain?”
The stranger barks out a laugh. “Captain? Does he call ye captain while ye blow him, too?”
Spock’s reflexive motion is checked with a hand on his elbow. Kirk’s other hand is pressed to the bridge of his nose, his headache having obviously returned.
“Spock,” he says dully, “meet Seamus Finnegan, whose dearest ambition was to make my days at Starfleet Academy a living hell. Finnegan” - Kirk stares at him blankly - “what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Having fun, same as everyone else.” Finnegan sneers. “So what d’ye say, Jimmy? Wanna have a little get-together? I don’t mind if I’m not the first one tonight; in fact, I’d be surprised if I was. Sharing’s good for the soul-”
Spock’s fist connects with his face with an obscenely loud slam, and this time, Kirk is too slow to stop him. Finnegan drops to the floor, and even as Spock steps toward him with the intention of finishing the job, he can see that it’s unnecessary - the man is unconscious.
“I think you broke his nose,” Kirk comments conversationally from behind.
Spock glances at the blood trickling down Finnegan’s face and thinks that the captain is probably right.
“So what’s your deal, Spock?” Kirk asks calmly, hands resting on his hips as he watches Spock critically. “First, you kill my buzz for the sake of my supposedly fragile health, then you feel compelled to defend my honor, like I haven’t just won a freaking tournament by beating a dozen people up. And what happened to the good old nerve pinch, while we’re at it?” He looks at Spock speculatively. “Care to explain yourself? Do you - I don’t know - like me, or something?”
Spock straightens up, his face burning, as he stares stubbornly at the man wheezing at his feet. “Not everything is about you, Captain,” he says coolly, and it is true. Technically. “I do not approve of bullies.”
He doesn’t wait for a response and walks out of the bathroom, leaving Kirk free to return to the ship or resume his quest for the ‘buzz’ Spock has stolen. For one night, Spock really thinks he has done enough.
Part 2/2