A/N: Yes, I know Vulcan hearts are where the human liver is. That wasn't an accident- Jim's head was lolling near Spock's stomach, not his chest, so precarious and careful of injuring Jim further was Spock. Not bundled up, but tenderly arranged. Sorry for any confusion and notions of anatomy fail it conjured; if it still bothers the hell out of anyone, just drop me a line and I'll rearrange the wording.
I was listening to 'Waitin' for Superman' by Iron and Wine for the last half of this chapter. Although it's like nothing I usually listen to, that song's lyrics never fail to make me tear up. You can tell. Prepare yourself for the flood of acceptance-seeking and tenderness.
---IsItGettingHeavy?----
There aren't many things that make Jim jump anymore. It's mostly the ghost of sensation, the feeling that something should unsettle him, and that the appropriate response would be distress. His reaction time was slower than most people knew- possibly stemming from the fact that he had simply become desensitized to the bad, after all this time.
Jim knew it was dangerous; not enough time to think before agony, the kind of split second delay that turned car-crashes into gravesites. On the flipside, it gave him more time to focus on reacting to the good in his life.
It was quickly becoming apparent that where he left off on self defense and common sense, Spock was more than happy to pick up the slack for both of them. These were the thoughts he tried to occupy himself with, still half in dreamy limbo, almost painfully aware of just how embarrassing getting rescued by the guy you were supposed to be showing the ropes was. He ached all over, but it was more of the 'pain-is-over', 'reassurance-you're-alive' type of mild agony, and certainly something he could deal with.
The repercussions of last night, however, were probably not. He appreciated Spock's white knight moment, might have enjoyed it just a bit if it had escalated into the good, old fashioned beat-down that had been promised had further attempts against his person – but damned if there was a way to explain something like that happening, especially when the tale was being reviewed from the terrorized party.
That and the fact that he still had no fucking clue how Spock accomplished it, either. For all of his tip-toeing around civility, that was one gift horse he would have to look in the mouth, sooner rather than later. Disregarding the general Vulcan policy of keeping humans in the dark until the last possible second, he knew he could get Spock to tell him; he just had to get the guy to acknowledge that in the Kirk household, emotions were neither frowned upon nor court martial worthy offences long enough to squeeze an explanation out.
Luckily for the hybrid there were more pressing matters, at the current moment, at hand. Like finding a way to explain to his mother exactly how shit had gone down. The whole 'don't tell her' thing had seemed like a perfectly doable and rational plan last night, punch drunk and half traumatized, but now that his head wasn't clouded by thoughts of glossy black hair and sleep, the glaring, acidic holes in his logic began to point themselves out to him with vindictive clarity.
Foremost being the litany of injures that covered him in varying degrees of severity form head to toe. Most prominent, naturally, being the gaping hole in his pride.
He turned and buried his face deep in his pillow, making a low, drawn out, strangled sound that could only be compared to seagulls trying to kill a bagpipe. With his in-tact hand he clutched at the pillow he was buried in, still feebly trying to ignore the inevitability of the upcoming day.
"Are you quite alright?" The words were quick to follow his mournful (if somewhat exaggerated) lament, light and careful and eager to please. When James mustered the courage to turn his head towards open air and squint in the direction of the inquiry (subsequently rubbing his cheek through a damp patch of slightly pink drool) he met impossibly large, dark eyes staring at him from not a foot away. Spock had placed him on the bottom bunk for then night (unlikely as it was, falling off the top in his condition would be indescribably painful), and appeared to have set up camp on the floor next to him. He now lay awake, leaning gently against the side of the bed where Kirk had slept, a dog eared book shutting on his lap as he gave the injured adolescent his full attention.
Spock had been looking after him… all night? There was a nest of blankets on the floor around were Spock now sat, seemingly pulled from the bunk above him and the foot of Sam's old bed in the room across the hall.
Jim temporarily forgot his humiliation in favor of wonder. "How'd'ja get us up here without mom noticing- I say that because if she had, I wouldn't have been able to sleep through it."
Spock's variation of facial distinctions had returned to it's normal range: limited to the rise and fall of his left eyebrow, that was. "Tediously-" If Spock were human, Jim would've sworn that was the hint of a grimace, "-and not without trial and error. I would also like to add that you would be surprised at what you can, apparently, sleep through."
Jim had the decency to adopt his blush once more. Still… something wasn't right. It just didn't make sense logically. "Why do you care?" It was far harsher than Jim had anticipated, and he had to reword fast in order to stop the Vulcan from retreating into himself once more in the delusion of isolation. "I mean, it's great- lord knows I can use all the friends I can get over in my corner- but you've known me for less than a week."
Kirk would not hesitate to admit it felt like much longer, like a happy lifetime previous to Spock's gliding off the 'Mayflower' that fateful day, but the concept of deja-vu was a purely illogical one, he was sure. He would've thought Vulcans, of any species, would put much more stress on having a slow-building, easygoing relationship before throwing themselves into the wringer for a companion. Spock seemed to shrink in upon himself, staring up at Jim like he'd been caught red handed.
"I- I also require more respectable persons 'in my corner', as you colloquialized it. Also… your manner is pleasing. I apologize if I have assumed too much in the pursuit of-" He would've said 'happiness', but that spot was still far too sore. Admitting to emotions, even to a huma—Jim, was a hand Spock was not sure he would ever be comfortable tipping. "-companionship. Also… my mother was human."
Jim simply stared with slowly comprehending eyes, listening respectfully as the other boy squeezed out every syllable like he was admitting to murder. There was suddenly a blinding slam of regret barraging him from every side, suffocating him with the sheer stupidity of his inquiry. Of course Spock wasn't a normal fucking Vulcan- he'd gotten shipped to Iowa, hadn't he, despite his prodigious intelligence.
He was sent to earth, most likely, in an attempt to counter the discrimination Jim knew (the dream, still so vivid and too haunting) was occurring on what Spock treated as his home world. Leave it to Jim to rub salt in the 'you're-not-a-real-anything,-hybrid' wound.
"Nonono—I like it, remember? I love it. Just… just didn't want to pressure you into anything you're still… on the fritz about. Culturally, I mean." Spock's nod was less self assured than it should've been. "Of course."
James clenched both of his fists, embracing the shooting discomfort from the broken fingers on his left hand. One step foreword, two steps back. Damn it to hell.
----
Spock could sense that Jim was being sincere about enjoying his company, being comfortable around him- but the question was a welcome rain check. Even with the goal of familiarity firmly in mind, he was being far too free going about his self appointed task.
He also picked up on Jim's conclusions as to why he had been sent to Earth. A false conclusion, yes, but a logical one- one that would keep the other boy one step further from finding out that Spock was truly and deeply broken.
It was Jim who broke the silence again, as per usual. "You and I… we're still… cool, right?" There was a hoping tenor to that voice that would've given Spock a hard time saying 'no' even if it were true. "We are indeed still on amiable terms, James."
It occurred to the human that he could not remember hearing Spock refer to him as 'Jim' out loud as of yet. "And we can still… do stuff together right? Friend stuff, like you said?"
'Friend stuff' was actually more implied than anything Spock's earlier words, but it was becoming common knowledge what Spock said and what he meant when it came to matters of the heart never lined up. "Indeed we can, if you so desire." He knew what Jim was really asking.
'Do you still like me? Are we really still friends- after that?'
Spock answered the question Kirk hadn't yet verbalized. "Yes."
Jim's eyes were as wide now as saucers, but he seemed to comprehend what it was Spock was answering. It also brought another musing to the forefront of his mind…
"How did you find me? Last night, I mean- you obviously didn't ask mom, 'cause she would've expected you back with me- would've either stayed up late or woken up early to check on us." The reply he got was deliberately vague, and avoided the 'finding' venue altogether.
"You required assistance, and it appeared no one else in the vicinity was either fit or motivated enough to do it. I stepped in out of necessity. I suggest you find a way to delineate your injuries to your mother before endeavoring to go downstairs, however."
The subject change was obvious but relevant. "Well-" he started articulately. "-shit."
---- It'----
Jim let Spock put a surprisingly sturdy makeshift brace on his injured fingers, made from two tongue compressors out of an old craft kit and some paper-mâché. "It will do." Declared Spock, sounding remarkably pleased with himself despite his customary monotone. They had craftily waterproofed it with a dismembered Ziploc bag and jettisoned Jim into the shower to wash away as much of the previous night as possible. He stood, and soaked, and tried beyond human might to resist the urge to bury his head under the ground. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to explain the situation to his mom- bless her heart, they'd made it through worse together; it was the fact that he'd have to explain it to Spock that tied his stomach in knots. 'Oh, by the way, this happens quite frequently since I'm an easy target. Don't worry, though, the bruises always heal within the next month~!'
Spock was sitting cross-legged on his bed when Jim finally exited, dressed in faded blue-jeans that used to be Sam's and a clean, but still irreversibly stained T-shirt. There was a scarce moment of silence before Spock put him in the spotlight, as Jim knew he would. "Please explain last night's predicament." The words were harsh and clipped sounding, but there was an underlying tenderness that made it seem more like a conversation than an interrogation. Still, Jim flushed crimson; but the look on Spock's face said he wasn't giving up the topic until he got a satisfactory answer. Kirk shuffled from foot to foot restlessly while he still could, the warmth of the shower still bone deep in his suddenly panic stricken body.
"Those guys don't much like anybody." Spock's stare intensified, and James was fast to elaborate in an attempt to avoid any more questions than necessary. "-and I'm not exactly sir center-of-attention, y'know. Kinda easy to single me out."
"Above and beyond the fact that I refuse to believe they would single you out for no personal reason, the fact that you believe yourself insignificant enough to single out for those meager explanations is abhorrent." Despite the chastising tone, the words warmed Jim's heart. "Not insignificant! I'm just… not the king of social interaction, shall we say. I'm hell of important."
"James, you're avoiding the question." Jim tossed his head back and rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Says the pot to the kettle!" Spock leveled him with a stare that would've intimidated a Klingon. "I found you because, on an entirely subconscious and unintentional level, bonded the emotional sections of out thought processes. Now will you tell me why you were being bullied?"
Jim looked like someone had poured ice cubes down his shirt. "Wait… wait, what?"
Kirk continued to stare with a single minded intensity, hearing but not really comprehending. "Seriously? So we're, uh… what's going on, exactly? You know I, um, wasn't really expecting an answer, right? Just thought it was worth a shot, actually."
"It didn't appear as if you were going to give me a straight answer otherwise." Contradictory to his comment, the hybrid looked as if he'd let slip much more than he'd intended. There were the beginnings of defense in his posture, eyeing Kirk like the freshman was going to lash out and file a restraining order any second. Words began flowing like water through Jim's pink lips, quick to stopper whatever worst-case scenario the suddenly skittish looking being in front of him was undoubtedly conjuring.
"Hey; It's okay!" Frustration at his own inability to explain his viewpoint surfaced as he looked around the room, as though it held the words he was looking for to describe how he felt. Like throwing up nails, he tried to force up the words he'd been denying since Sam left, the ones that let people know he was hurting, and everything was not ok, and maybe this could be less creepy and more… comforting, than he might usually admit, if it just abolished the pressing sense of loneliness. "I-you, I mean… this is helping you? The emotional… mind thing?" He made a gesture that looked suspiciously like 'crazy' with his right hand, but they both knew what he meant.
Jim had spent so long waiting for Superman. Past the age where everyone else simply resigned themselves to the real world, staying up at night with the grand notions of what he still believed life could be like, if he tried hard enough.
In a weird… purely metaphorical, deeply flawed way, he'd finally found 'Superman'. The person who could solve all of Jim's problems, but absolutely drowned in his own. Spock, through Jim's wondering paradigm, was strong enough for everybody- everybody except himself, it seemed.
"It's ok. Just… stay out of my… direct thoughts, Ok?" Spock looked like he'd asked for a rock and been given the world. "I do not expect you to take any part of this upon yourself. You would be absolutely within rights to have me court-martialed and sent straight back to Vulcan." He was struggling with himself now, the words escaping his lips clashing with the way his fists clenched in the sheets that smelled of Iowa and sunshine like they'd never let go if given the choice.
"It's what I deserve, James. You… don't understand the incredible magnitude of these kind of things- even one such as this, considered mild in my culture, is an invasion of one's own mind unthinkable to anyone unfamiliar with the intricacies of emotional contact." Jim had enough of his wits still about him to look offended. "Not unthinkable at all, actually. You said that you could keep…" He searched for a good word, "…leaning on me- metaphorically- without really reading my mind, right? Just… a backup plan?"
It came out as a question. Spock's response was slow and quiet, pupils fixed on his fingernails, daring to hope. Jim could feel it, now that he tried. It wasn't anything like he'd imagined this could be like— but it was still beautiful, in the rawest, most abstract way possible.
"Yes. The direct invasion on your actual cohesive thoughts is very minimal. There are shields in place to prevent that happening. Understand, James, that last night, when you were hurting-"
Jim finished the sentence like he was having an epiphany. "-you were hurting too, huh?"
Spock's response was barely a whisper; the most human Jim had ever heard him. "Yeah. Badly. It's worse when you get hurt. I can brush it off when it's me, but I can't seem to stomach the thought of you being anything less than optimal, let alone…" For the first time words seemed to fail him, so instead the Vulcan just made a sweeping gesture up and down Jim's torso with an elegant hand, indicating the damage done.
"So… you protect me physically and I'm the keeper of your precarious Vulcan barriers?" Spock nodded absently. "In layman's terms, that is one way you could interpret the melding."
"… And you can't just go mucking about in my head willy-nilly?" Spock seemed offended at the prospect. "I would never even if I could, not without explicit permission and a goal in mind. Vulcans do not do 'willy-nilly', James."
A smile was tugging at the dirty blonde's face now, the type that stretches your lips and pulls your ears back. There were a few minutes of much needed contemplative silence, both so wrapped up in their own thoughts that neither bothered with the concept that 'awkward' would usually be the best word to describe this kind of pause.
Jim's icebreaker was not at all what Spock had expected. "We're going to be the most awesome tandem ever, mark my words. We could totally be the next 'World's Finest'."
Spock appreciated the sentiment, if not the sensibility. It was glaringly obvious the concept of sharing a little bit of his mind with someone else was somewhat upsetting to the human; but he seemed genuinely happy to help Spock, and neither of them could keep optimism down with unfettered sunshine coming through the window and the smell of omelets now wafting up from down stairs.
"You realize, ground breaking revelations aside, we are still going to have to find a plausible way to present your injuries to your mother. Also, know I am aware that you have, for the moment, successfully ducked my query about why you were really targeted." Jim made a show of deflating like a balloon.
"Way to kill the mood, man."
"For you? Always, James."
"Call me Jim."
"Certainly, James.
--------
A/N: Sappy author is unbearably sappy. You were appropriately warned at the beginning of this chapter, mind you. Next chapter the boys finally begin to orchestrate Frank's demise/earn his respect, and much more.
'World's Finest'= DC Comics' Batman and Supes. Bruce and Clark. It was necessary. *Is a huge comic geek*
OH MY GOD, THE STAR TREK 2009 DELETED SCENES. The young Jim, Sam and Frank scene. Oh dear. This story just got that much more cannon compatible. Review Please!