Fic: Shock Therapy

[kianspo]

Title: Shock Therapy

Fandom: ST XI

Author: kianspo

Pairing: Kirk/Spock

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: language, fluff

Summary: A bit of K/S hurt/comfort, a response to this prompt on the st_xi_kink_meme


He wasn’t ready for this.

Yes, he told them many times that he’s capable, that he’s ready, that there’re only so many things one can learn in a classroom. There are other things, more important things, that can’t be learned. Courage, inspiration, will. Faith. Either one has them within oneself or one doesn’t. There’s no in-between.

When Pike dared him to do better, he thought he could try. He had nothing to lose, anyway. When they made him captain, he thought, ‘Hell, yes. I can do this.’

He saved more than eight hundred lives. He saved the whole fucking planet, including somebody’s Aunt Betty, cooking an inedible breakfast wearing a polka dot apron; a guy who mends broken vehicles while having improper thoughts about his own mother; a teenage girl who ditches school in favor of shoplifting because it makes her cool; an old man who grows apples and likes to watch the sky.

Good people, bad people. Just people. He saved them all. He wasn’t thinking about them at the time. It was simply something that needed to be done and it needed to be done yesterday. But the fact remains that they all owe him their lives. He saved them. He saved eight billion people.

He couldn’t save another two.

Ensign Turner and Ensign Biggs. Both on their first ever security detail. Their first deep-space assignment. Their first...

Their last.

Jim sits on the deck, hugging his knees and staring into the black, mildly glinting void of space. He wants to be alone. He wants to be left alone. That’s why he chose this deserted airlock as his hiding place. Perhaps it’s a little childish of him, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less.

He doesn’t know why it hurts so much. Turner and Biggs aren’t the first casualties the Enterprise suffered since Jim took command. It’s been over two years since they have set off for their five-year mission. He’s lost people before, and he thought that in time, maybe, the pain would stop being this sharp.

It doesn’t. Bones tells him that it’s okay. That it’s a human thing to feel more for the loss of one person he knew rather than a hundred of strangers. It isn’t supposed to be this way, but it is. Bones says it’s because Jim never had a family, not a real one anyway, and he didn’t know how badly a personal loss could hurt.

He does now. His crew has been his family ever since they left the Earth orbit. It’s hard to believe that four hundred people can share this status with him, but they do. He knows them, without making it a point to know them. He knows, without making an effort.

He knows that Turner loved opera, but couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. He knows that Biggs had a thing for green beans, and that his sister’s name is Cathy, and she’s a geologist. He wishes he didn’t know all that, maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much.

He’s tired. There’s death and there’s stupid death, and he’s tired of stupid deaths. He must be doing something wrong, if his people make fatal mistakes. Of course, they are young. Of course, they lack training. Half the crew would still be scribbling notes at Starfleet Academy, if it weren’t for Nero.

Jim’s alive, because he’s bright. He’s got the best reaction. He’s fast, and smart, and fucking brilliant. But he knows how it works. He’s responsible for the lives of others now, and he knows that if they die, he must be doing something wrong. Whatever happens is his fault. He’s been given a lot and he should be spending less of it on himself and more on his people. He’s trying, but obviously failing. He’s still the selfish pig Frank used to tell him he was.

No no-win scenarios for James T. Kirk. Gee, what a joke.

He’s been slowly deteriorating for days now. Ever since they returned from that away mission, minus two. He knows he’s been spacing out. Jim knows Bones is concerned; he heard his CMO mumbling about stress and depression. Jim ignores him. Lately, he’s been ignoring them all. He’s doing his job, right? So what else could they possibly want from him?

He hears the airlock door slide open behind him and curses under his breath. He looks at the reflection in the plexiglass and thinks that he should have known. He’s not the only one who knows this ship inside out.

“Captain,” Spock says and steps inside. “Captain, we need you on the bridge.”

“What for?” Jim asks sourly, not bothering to turn around.

“We are closing on the rendezvous coordinates with the Denobulan vessel. We will require a command decision shortly.”

“You’ll be there. You make it.”

“I can only do so in case the captain is incapacitated.” Spock pauses. Jim can feel those enigmatic eyes sweeping over him. “You appear to be in perfect health.”

Jim lets out a pained laugh. “Really, Spock? That’s how I look to you?”

“You are emotionally distressed. However, it is illogical to blame yourself for something you could not prevent.”

Jim springs to his feet, whirling on his first officer.

“Don’t tell me it’s illogical, you unfeeling bastard! Two people died because of me - or have you slept through the mission report?”

Spock merely lifts an eyebrow, seemingly unaffected by Jim’s outburst.

“Ensigns Turner and Biggs’ deaths are regrettable, however, not in any way your fault. You did not start the earthquake.”

“Fuck, Spock, are you dense or something? What is it with you, people? I’m your best bad luck charm, can’t you see?”

Spock surveys him carefully, and Jim doesn’t like his calculating gaze, but he doesn’t care all that much, either. Just as quickly as his anger has flared, it’s now gone.

“I understand,” Spock says, somehow sounding more distant, “that self-incrimination holds some special appeal to humans, since they engross themselves in it so eagerly. As I see it, it is the easiest way to invoke sympathy and avoid taking action.”

Jim shakes his head numbly. He’s just tired again, and not at all in the mood to deal with Spock in his Vulcans-do-it-better mode.

“Yeah, well, whatever. Why don’t you go find someone else to lecture, Commander?” Jim asks flatly. “Leave me alone.”

Spock looks at him for a moment and then says, quietly but firmly, “No.”

Jim stares at him. “What do you mean - no?”

“No, I will not abide by your request.”

“Then I’ll make it an order,” Jim snaps impatiently. “Get the hell out of here.”

Spock continues to regard him calmly. “No, sir.”

Jim gapes. Such a blatant case of insubordination doesn’t sound like the Vulcan he knows at all.

“Which part of me being your commanding officer you don’t understand?”

“I understand it perfectly,” Spock says. “But I am not complying with your order, Captain.” The word comes downright as a mockery, and Jim is rendered speechless. Spock raises an eyebrow again. “Do you have something to tell me, sir? Does my lack of cooperation frustrate you? Anger you?”

“Yes, dammit, it angers me!” Jim yells. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“The question is, what do you think you are doing, Captain.” Spock takes a step closer to him, oozing icy disdain. “Your crew has just suffered a loss, they need leadership and guidance. Instead of giving them any, you are hiding here, nursing your bruised ego.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about! This has nothing to do with ego!”

“Doesn’t it? Is it not ego to think you can control a force of nature? Is it not ego to think the universe should bow to your wishes? You are behaving like a petulant child.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me, you arrogant self-righteous prig, so SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Spock actually steps closer, pushing his way into Jim’s personal space and looking down at him, eyes narrowed in scorn and the unmistakable challenge.

“You want me to ‘shut up?’ Then why don’t you make me?”

“Spock, I swear to God, I’ll-”

“What? You will - what? You can do nothing but wallow in self-pity and mumble hollow threats. You should never have been allowed in the captain’s chair in the first place. You are a weak person. A coward.”

Jim breaks.

He lunges at Spock with a low growl, his vision blurry with frenzy. He’s not thinking, not even close to; his mind goes blank with fury and a desperate, searing urge to kill. He nearly bursts with rage, delivering blow after blow, smashing Spock’s blocks, throwing him across the small confines of the airlock, again, and again, and again.

Spock isn’t fighting back.

The thought, the first coherent thought in what feels like an eternity, registers as Jim closes his hands around Spock’s neck and bangs his head repeatedly against the wall.

Spock doesn’t resist; Spock just lets him do it... Lets Jim use him as a punching bag to work out his pain and grief.

Jim drops his hands as if Spock’s skin burns and steps back, horrified. He looks down at his hands, as if he can’t quite believe they belong to him, and then he glances up at Spock.

The Vulcan sags against the wall, his hair disheveled, his tunic twisted out of place. There’s a thin trace of blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Spock wipes it with the back of his hand and looks at Jim calmly. He isn’t even out of breath.

“You provoked me,” Jim realizes, stunned.

Spock nods, curtly, and then there’s a warm hand clasping Jim’s shoulder.

“You are a starship captain,” Spock says very determinedly, locking eyes with Jim, intense and uncompromising. “You are not a god. There are limits to what you can control.”

Jim swallows and closes his eyes for a moment. Spock’s gaze is incinerating.

“I know. But - it’s not fair.”

He looks up in time to see Spock’s expression soften. “Lack of control is not necessarily a bad thing.”

Jim can’t help a snort. “Says a Vulcan and the biggest control freak I’ve ever known in my life.”

Spock tilts his chin up slightly. “Except, of course, for yourself. I do, however, speak from experience. Total control, were it possible, would not allow for unexpected occurrences, also known as surprises. Not all of them are unpleasant.”

“Somebody pinch me. I thought I just heard you say-” Jim shuts up as Spock presses his lips against his own.

Jim nearly blacks out in shock. For an infinite moment, they remain in suspended animation, staring at each other, lousy focus notwithstanding. Then Spock closes his eyes, slides his hand to the back of Jim’s neck and kisses him.

Spock’s lips are gentle, but firm, and he obviously knows what he’s doing. He pulls Jim closer, one confident arm snaking around Jim’s waist, and Jim is grateful, because his head is spinning and he needs something to ground him. Spock’s touch ignites Jim’s whole body, nerve endings going crazy, and his mind all but explodes. He can’t assimilate what is happening. Spock is kissing him.

Spock. Is. Kissing. Him.

Spock pulls away, only long enough to utter, “Please cease thinking.”

Good idea, Jim’s mind agrees, and Jim gives in. His eyes slide shut, and he melts against Spock with a helpless moan that surprises him. Spock’s teeth catch his lower lip and pull, and Jim takes the hint, opening his mouth, gripping Spock’s shoulders for support.

Spock changes the angle, but doesn’t deepen the kiss, instead licking almost timidly at the inside of Jim’s lips, mapping the contours of Jim’s teeth playfully, his tongue darting in and retreating instantly, like a shy thief. He’s teasing, and God, he’s good at it, and there’s only so much of it Jim can take before going irrevocably insane.

He growls deep in his throat, and Spock doesn’t disobey his command this time, pressing them flush against each other and sliding his tongue along Jim’s. Jim can taste the coppery flavor of Spock’s blood, a reminder of their previous altercation, and he’s high on it, trembling with need. He wants, craves more, like an addict, existing only within the sweet agony of his intoxication. He wants to crawl up inside this moment and never have to leave.

And then it happens. Spock reaches and touches something deep inside Jim; something Jim didn’t know existed. Spock’s kiss sinks into Jim’s soul, and it’s one hell of a way to discover he has one. Whatever it is, it basks and glows in the warmth Spock’s pouring on it, so tender and right, and Jim feels every fiber of his being tremble with mindless, luminous joy.

He whimpers when Spock finally breaks the kiss, withdrawing slowly, reluctantly, visibly resisting the pull of Jim’s lips.

Jim opens his eyes, and it’s torture. The sight of Spock, flushed, breathless, nearly sends him into oblivion. Spock’s fingers glide along Jim’s jaw line, ghosting over his lips, before he drops his hand and takes a step back, releasing Jim.

“I apologize if I was mistaken,” he says, his voice low and uneven, and Jim remembers that, yes, they were having a conversation in some past life two millennia ago. “If this surprise was not pleasant for you.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jim blurts out, still fighting to reconnect with reality. “That’s the best surprise I’ve ever had in my life.”

Spock straightens his tunic and clasps his hands behind his back in an attempt to look his usual reserved self.

“In that case, I believe I have proved my point,” he says and holds Jim’s gaze. “And you are needed on the bridge. Captain.”

“Right,” Jim nods. “Right. I’m coming. Hey, Spock?”

Spock turns to give him a questioning look. Jim shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and blushes to boot. Berating himself for acting like an idiot isn’t really helping.

“What you - what we just... Does this mean...” Jim trails off, helplessly, and finally gives up. “What does it mean?”

Up crawls Spock’s infamous eyebrow again, and if Jim didn’t know better, he’d bet Spock looks smug.

“You have been called a genius upon occasion.” Spock pauses and then, damn him, he smirks. “To coin a phrase, Captain, you figure it out.”

Jim gapes after him for the whole thirty seconds and then he starts laughing.