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corpus_invictusTitle: Take Refuge in What You Know, Chapter 11
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, hints of others
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme prompt found here: "AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma."
Chapter Notes: This one was a rough one to finish. If it bores you to tears, I apologize and hereby promise that it's about to get much better from here on out. I got writer's block after the first half and rewrote the second half three times before it finally flowed the way I wanted it to.
Jim hated exam weeks at the Academy. It was his own fault, he had to admit - and if he hadn't admitted it, McCoy would certainly have done it for him since he made such a regular habit around this point in the semester of proclaiming how little sympathy he had for Jim's plight. He was trying to finish a four year program in only three years, which meant he should have had about half his credits completed by now. But even with intensive summer courses, he was still several credits behind his goal. Which meant the next semester and the entire year after that were going to be a special kind of hell for him. But it was during the exam periods that he really felt the strain of the challenge he'd given himself. It was stressful for any cadet, but for one with three extra courses piled onto his schedule, Jim could suddenly understand why depression spiked during this time.
It was kind of a shame, actually, because San Francisco was melting from its gray, foggy chill of winter (nothing like the snowy winters back home in Iowa, but a little miserable all the same) to a brighter, warmer hint of spring. The fog was omnipresent, but it faded early in the morning which let Jim take advantage of the opportunity to sit outside while he ate his lunch and attempted to cram as many facts into his brain as he could before his xenolinguistics exam.
Which was difficult, because his brain was going in a million different directions these days. Between McCoy's pending custody case and his own sudden obsession with his next door neighbor, it was all he could do to concentrate on his school work. His mind kept drifting to the plethora of fantasies he manufactured at night, the sensation of warm skin underneath his, brown eyes unfocused and-
"You've got the worst sense of timing, you know that?" came a chirpy voice from above him, and he looked up from his PADD to see Gaila flounce down next to him, pulling her skirt down just enough so that she wouldn't be arrested for public indecency.
"You are aware of the dress code, right? Regulation skirt length and all that?"
"You complaining?" she retorted, stealing an apple from his tray and leaning back against the tree trunk.
He chose to ignore the barb. "And what were you saying about my sense of timing?"
"When was the last time I saw you, Jimmy?" she asked as if she were speaking to a small child.
He screwed up his face in thought. "Uh... A week ago? Maybe two?" And then he remembered, rolling his eyes. "Oh, right. You were wearing some pink abomination that I don't think technically qualifies as underwear. Seeing as it didn't cover a damn thing."
"You didn't seem to mind," she returned airily. "Anyway, you totally killed the mood. I had to chase her down a week later just to tell her I was sorry for the interruption. And then it took another two days to get her back in my apartment. Lucky for you it only took about ten minutes after that to get her naked."
He groaned, tossing his PADD aside and rubbing at his eyes. "Gaila, I'm invoking a new rule for our friendship. No telling me about chicks you've slept with unless you've got some kind of visual proof."
"Oooh, there goes the visual proof right now," she purred, and he cracked an eye open just wide enough to see her shooting a coy smile and wave at another cadet.
His jaw dropped when he saw the woman turn and skitter off in the opposite direction. "Uhura?!" he hissed at her.
"Yep."
"You didn't."
"Totally did. Twice."
"How the hell did you manage that? I've been hitting on her for over a year now and she won't give me the time of day. Or her first name." Not that he was truly upset, but it was the principle of the thing, damn it.
"Easy. I'm irresistible," she grinned, taking a big bite out of her apple.
He rolled his eyes again, shoving at her shoulder. "How many hearts do you break in a week, huh?"
"Please. Everyone I hook up with is well aware that I'm only in it for a bit of fun. I'm not malicious about it."
He considered that for a moment, watching her munch away at his apple. "Are you ever in it for something more than the fun?"
"Yes," she looked vaguely uneasy. "Why do you ask?"
He hadn't been able to talk about this with anyone. He would much rather have discussed it with McCoy, but seeing as he had enough on his plate, Gaila would have to do. "How did you know when you'd developed feelings for them?"
Her expression shifted to one of mock sympathy, patting his arm gently. "Oh, sweetie, I'm flattered and all, but I just don't feel like that about you."
He gaped at her for a moment, sputtering for a response. "I- Not- I didn't mean you, you enormous egotist!"
"Oh, thank God. I thought I'd put you under my spell with my new lingerie."
Now she was just toying with him, and he shoved at her shoulder again with an aggravated expression. "Forget it. I don't know why I asked you in the first place."
"I do," she returned smugly, shoving back at him.
"Yeah? Enlighten me."
She put on a ridiculous kissy-faced expression. "Because you're in love."
She could be so irritating sometimes. "How would you know?"
"Because you asked." At his confused look, she elaborated. "Honey, if you have to ask me how someone knows when they've fallen head over heels? Chances are you already have and you're just looking to someone for confirmation of the fact."
"Huh," he returned noncommittally, picking up his PADD and pretending to study again.
"So who is she?" Gaila poked at him.
"There is no she," he growled, batting her hand away.
She shrugged, poking at him again. "All right, who is he?"
"None of your damn business."
"Aha, so there is someone."
"Yeah, I didn't really think this one through," he muttered, more to himself than anything. "How much would I have to pay you to make you go away right now?"
"Double however many credits you've got to your name. Come on, you can tell me. I wouldn't tell a soul."
"Gaila, you're the worst goddamn secret keeper I've ever met."
"Am not."
"You are. You're the go-to person for anyone who wants dirt on anyone. If you think I'm telling you anything, you must think I'm an idiot."
"Is it Sulu?" she continued undeterred. "Because I hate to break your heart over this, but he's sleeping with his new roommate."
She was only proving his point about being a gossipy shrew, but he couldn't help but be intrigued. "Ew, really? McKenna?"
"No, they reassigned him to a room closer to the med clinic since he's such a whiny hypochondriac. Chekov got put there instead."
Jim's eyes went wide. "The Russian kid? Isn't he, like, twelve? Because I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
"The more laws you break, the better the sex is." At Jim's glare she added, "He turned sixteen last month so he's past the age of consent."
"Thank God," he muttered.
"Is it your hot doctor friend?" she chirped.
"No, it isn't Bones. He's in the middle of a divorce, remember? Plus the one time I kissed him he damn near broke my jaw."
"Oooh, so he plays rough? Sounds like my kind of guy," she purred.
"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time, but he's getting a divorce. He's not exactly ready to hop in the sack with anyone right now."
"He's gonna need someone on the rebound, isn't he?"
He looked at his chronometer and breathed a sigh of relief. "I have to go, much as it kills me to have an excuse to run far, far away from this conversation. My exam starts in ten minutes."
"Tell Uhura how much I appreciate her talented tongue when you get there, hmm?" she teased him, licking a bit of apple juice from her bottom lip.
He groaned and took off before Gaila could say anything more than that.
*******
He trudged up the stairs to his apartment feeling like he could sleep for three days straight. In the space of a single afternoon, he'd finished his xenolinguistics exam, the advanced deep space flight simulation, the dreaded Dauntless (the first in a series of three simulations that concluded with the infamous Kobayashi Maru that he'd have to take sometime during his last year at the Academy), the hard-assed interview he'd had to have with an Admiral to assure his place on the command track, and on top of that he'd had to spend all the time in between avoiding Gaila and her incessant questioning. Through some miracle he'd managed to escape back to the building before she had, or else she'd still be hounding him. All he wanted to do was replicate something for dinner and crash for a few hours. Or days. He wasn't too picky at this point.
But there was a familiar square of white paper on his floor when he got in, and as much as his brain had been occupied with thoughts of Spock, he just didn't have it in him to be social tonight.
My mother informs me I have been lax in my contributions to our friendship. Would you care to join me for a game and a meal?
He was tempted. It was another big step forward for Spock; they hadn't eaten together since they met on New Year's Eve, and Jim had just assumed it had been one of those things that Spock was more comfortable doing alone. And he hated, God he hated to turn him down when he was trying so hard. But he also knew that there was a strong possibility of falling asleep face-first in his dinner if he went next door now.
I'm sorry, Spock, but I spent the whole day running the gauntlet of Academy exams and sims. Can I take a rain check? Maybe breakfast tomorrow instead?
He slipped the note under Spock's door and returned to his room, programming his crummy little domestic replicator for a sandwich before wandering off to his shower. Sixty seconds of sonic cleaning later, he trudged back to the kitchen in his underwear, wolfed down the sandwich as fast as he could, and prepared to go crash for the next twelve hours. As he made his way back to the bedroom, another square of paper by his front door caught his eye.
That will be acceptable. However, there is something I must attend to in the early morning. I will be free after 10:00.
The writing was jagged and sloppy again, which meant he'd made Spock all jittery with his rejection, gentle though it was. But it couldn't be helped and at least the invitation had been extended.
He made his way back to his bedroom and barely managed to slip between the sheets before he was out. He'd been too exhausted by the activities of the day to have the kind of vivid dreams he'd been having for the past few weeks. But there was still some sort of drowsy sense to be made from the vague whispers of thought and feeling that washed through him. He felt grounded, linked to a consciousness far different from his own. Heat enveloped him, but he embraced it rather than attempted to escape it. There was a strength pouring into him that he could not explain, that could not have originated from himself, but which was focused instead on supporting him. It was a kind of peace he hadn't been able to achieve at any point in his life, too wrapped up in the constancy of action, thought, exploration. He awoke feeling more refreshed than he had in many years. And also, somehow, terribly alone.
He checked the chronometer, pleased to note that it was well past the time that Spock had told him he would be available. He threw on a ratty pair of jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed a notepad, and camped out in front of Spock's door.
Is now a good time?
But for several long minutes, there was no response. There was no rustle that signified movement at the door, no soft vibrations that meant he was walking nearby. Nevertheless, he tried again.
Spock? You in there?
And a few minutes after that too received no response, he felt a little like an idiot for scribbling a second note. If he hadn't heard the first one, what had made him think he'd hear another one after that? As a last resort, he knocked quietly on the door. He didn't want to disturb him if he was still in the middle of his project, but he also didn't want to leave yet if he was back in his room and hadn't heard the papers.
He was just about to give up and return to his room when the door cracked open. It wasn't even Spock's customary few inches to gauge who was outside, but rather the merest sliver of space between the door and the wall. "Jim?" came a hoarse, broken whisper.
"Spock? You okay in there?"
The door opened in answer and Jim darted inside. Spock was standing with his forehead pressed to the door as it closed, visibly trembling and upset. "I..." He choked on the word, shaking his head and going silent again.
"Do you need to sit down for awhile? Get to the bathroom? The sink?" Jim had only been present for two of Spock's episodes, but he was starting to get the hang of his symptoms. If he was starting to have another panic attack, he was going to get sick to his stomach and collapse soon afterward.
"No," Spock rasped, expending just enough energy to turn around to face him, his back still leaning heavily against the door. "No, the worst of it... the worst has passed."
Jim couldn't help himself; he moved forward and pressed his hands to Spock's cheeks. His skin was cool and clammy to the touch, which was even more worrisome now that he'd had several lectures on Vulcan anatomy and knew Spock's body temperature was supposed to be significantly higher than his own. "God, Spock, if this is an improvement then it must have been a hellish one."
He closed his eyes in response, leaning almost imperceptibly forward until their foreheads touched. Jim forgot to breathe for a moment, taking in the long eyelashes, the creases between his eyebrows and at the corners of his eyes, the faint green undertone in his skin. He could feel Spock's shallow breath puffing over his lips, could almost hear the low vibration of his pulse as he tried to compose himself. He tried to remain calm, smoothing his thumbs over Spock's cheekbones, along his jaw, bracing him between the door and his own body until he came back from whatever trance he'd lapsed into.
"I apologize," came the whisper of breath against his face, and he only realized that he had closed his eyes to bask in the moment when Spock's words broke the spell. He looked up, noticed for the first time that Spock's glasses were missing again because there was nothing separating him from those soft, human brown eyes.
"What happened?" he asked quietly, knowing he should back off and give Spock his space, but unwilling to give up this moment of closeness.
Spock took a deep, shuddering breath, grabbing fistfuls of Jim's shirt near the bottom hem. "I... I have not spoken to my father in some time." He hesitated, eyes darting towards a blank comm screen set up on his desk, then locking to Jim's face again. "He was... affected by my state of affairs."
And because this was Spock's father they were talking about rather than his mother, Jim understood. Vulcans spent their entire existence controlling their emotions, betraying no reactions. Spock didn't need to tell him how his father had been affected - it was enough that Sarek's control had faltered at all.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Another shudder wracked Spock's body and he shifted until their foreheads touched again. "I am so tired of... So..." He closed his eyes again. "I am not myself."
Jim could no longer deny what he felt for this man. Not when his heart was so blatantly broken over his plight. He cradled his face in his hands, wanting so much to help him and without the first clue as to how he could do it. "No," he whispered. "I don't think you are. But I'd like to think you could be again."
It didn't quite make sense the way it came out, but Spock seemed to understand what he'd meant. He was warmer to the touch now and his shaking had mostly subsided, but he seemed equally unwilling to break from their closeness. "I hope so," he agreed.
Jim pulled back just enough to look at his face. "I have an idea."
Spock said nothing; he merely opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow.
"A game. And a meal. But not here." And before Spock could react beyond the sudden unbearable tension that seized him, he continued. "Come next door. It's got the same layout as your place. So if you start to lose control, the bathroom will be exactly where it needs to be. So will the kitchen. But it's not this room, it's not..." He hated to call it a prison, because Spock was comfortable here and he wouldn't like the comparison. "It's not where your father was affected. There are no handprints on the furniture." He offered him a winning, although tremulous, smile. "And I've got a few more windows than you do. I've got a view from my living room that looks out on the bay. It's why I chose that apartment over one on the first floor. It's better than anything they put on the holovid networks, I promise."
He looked uncertain. But he hadn't outright rejected the idea, which gave Jim hope. He kept going, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck. "Joanna loves that window. She once spent an entire morning camped out there with her pancakes and her stuffed rabbit."
He raised that one ambulatory eyebrow again. "Pancakes?" And yes, that was definitely a spark of interest in his eyes.
"Pancakes. I make chocolate chip ones for her, but I think we're grown up enough for blueberry, yeah? You weren't a big fan of chocolate last time I tried to feed you."
"I am not," he agreed, and the tension bled out of him slowly. "I..." He cleared his throat. "I will try."
"That's all I'm asking." And he hesitantly pulled away from him so he could move.
He looked unwilling at first, staring at Jim with an odd expression that he couldn't place, not even with months of translating his speech and body language into something he could understand. But Spock shook himself out of it, turning and opening the door.
And walking into the hallway.
And, after only a moment's hesitation, right into Jim's apartment.
To Chapter Twelve
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, hints of others
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme prompt found here: "AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma."
Chapter Notes: This one was a rough one to finish. If it bores you to tears, I apologize and hereby promise that it's about to get much better from here on out. I got writer's block after the first half and rewrote the second half three times before it finally flowed the way I wanted it to.
Jim hated exam weeks at the Academy. It was his own fault, he had to admit - and if he hadn't admitted it, McCoy would certainly have done it for him since he made such a regular habit around this point in the semester of proclaiming how little sympathy he had for Jim's plight. He was trying to finish a four year program in only three years, which meant he should have had about half his credits completed by now. But even with intensive summer courses, he was still several credits behind his goal. Which meant the next semester and the entire year after that were going to be a special kind of hell for him. But it was during the exam periods that he really felt the strain of the challenge he'd given himself. It was stressful for any cadet, but for one with three extra courses piled onto his schedule, Jim could suddenly understand why depression spiked during this time.
It was kind of a shame, actually, because San Francisco was melting from its gray, foggy chill of winter (nothing like the snowy winters back home in Iowa, but a little miserable all the same) to a brighter, warmer hint of spring. The fog was omnipresent, but it faded early in the morning which let Jim take advantage of the opportunity to sit outside while he ate his lunch and attempted to cram as many facts into his brain as he could before his xenolinguistics exam.
Which was difficult, because his brain was going in a million different directions these days. Between McCoy's pending custody case and his own sudden obsession with his next door neighbor, it was all he could do to concentrate on his school work. His mind kept drifting to the plethora of fantasies he manufactured at night, the sensation of warm skin underneath his, brown eyes unfocused and-
"You've got the worst sense of timing, you know that?" came a chirpy voice from above him, and he looked up from his PADD to see Gaila flounce down next to him, pulling her skirt down just enough so that she wouldn't be arrested for public indecency.
"You are aware of the dress code, right? Regulation skirt length and all that?"
"You complaining?" she retorted, stealing an apple from his tray and leaning back against the tree trunk.
He chose to ignore the barb. "And what were you saying about my sense of timing?"
"When was the last time I saw you, Jimmy?" she asked as if she were speaking to a small child.
He screwed up his face in thought. "Uh... A week ago? Maybe two?" And then he remembered, rolling his eyes. "Oh, right. You were wearing some pink abomination that I don't think technically qualifies as underwear. Seeing as it didn't cover a damn thing."
"You didn't seem to mind," she returned airily. "Anyway, you totally killed the mood. I had to chase her down a week later just to tell her I was sorry for the interruption. And then it took another two days to get her back in my apartment. Lucky for you it only took about ten minutes after that to get her naked."
He groaned, tossing his PADD aside and rubbing at his eyes. "Gaila, I'm invoking a new rule for our friendship. No telling me about chicks you've slept with unless you've got some kind of visual proof."
"Oooh, there goes the visual proof right now," she purred, and he cracked an eye open just wide enough to see her shooting a coy smile and wave at another cadet.
His jaw dropped when he saw the woman turn and skitter off in the opposite direction. "Uhura?!" he hissed at her.
"Yep."
"You didn't."
"Totally did. Twice."
"How the hell did you manage that? I've been hitting on her for over a year now and she won't give me the time of day. Or her first name." Not that he was truly upset, but it was the principle of the thing, damn it.
"Easy. I'm irresistible," she grinned, taking a big bite out of her apple.
He rolled his eyes again, shoving at her shoulder. "How many hearts do you break in a week, huh?"
"Please. Everyone I hook up with is well aware that I'm only in it for a bit of fun. I'm not malicious about it."
He considered that for a moment, watching her munch away at his apple. "Are you ever in it for something more than the fun?"
"Yes," she looked vaguely uneasy. "Why do you ask?"
He hadn't been able to talk about this with anyone. He would much rather have discussed it with McCoy, but seeing as he had enough on his plate, Gaila would have to do. "How did you know when you'd developed feelings for them?"
Her expression shifted to one of mock sympathy, patting his arm gently. "Oh, sweetie, I'm flattered and all, but I just don't feel like that about you."
He gaped at her for a moment, sputtering for a response. "I- Not- I didn't mean you, you enormous egotist!"
"Oh, thank God. I thought I'd put you under my spell with my new lingerie."
Now she was just toying with him, and he shoved at her shoulder again with an aggravated expression. "Forget it. I don't know why I asked you in the first place."
"I do," she returned smugly, shoving back at him.
"Yeah? Enlighten me."
She put on a ridiculous kissy-faced expression. "Because you're in love."
She could be so irritating sometimes. "How would you know?"
"Because you asked." At his confused look, she elaborated. "Honey, if you have to ask me how someone knows when they've fallen head over heels? Chances are you already have and you're just looking to someone for confirmation of the fact."
"Huh," he returned noncommittally, picking up his PADD and pretending to study again.
"So who is she?" Gaila poked at him.
"There is no she," he growled, batting her hand away.
She shrugged, poking at him again. "All right, who is he?"
"None of your damn business."
"Aha, so there is someone."
"Yeah, I didn't really think this one through," he muttered, more to himself than anything. "How much would I have to pay you to make you go away right now?"
"Double however many credits you've got to your name. Come on, you can tell me. I wouldn't tell a soul."
"Gaila, you're the worst goddamn secret keeper I've ever met."
"Am not."
"You are. You're the go-to person for anyone who wants dirt on anyone. If you think I'm telling you anything, you must think I'm an idiot."
"Is it Sulu?" she continued undeterred. "Because I hate to break your heart over this, but he's sleeping with his new roommate."
She was only proving his point about being a gossipy shrew, but he couldn't help but be intrigued. "Ew, really? McKenna?"
"No, they reassigned him to a room closer to the med clinic since he's such a whiny hypochondriac. Chekov got put there instead."
Jim's eyes went wide. "The Russian kid? Isn't he, like, twelve? Because I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
"The more laws you break, the better the sex is." At Jim's glare she added, "He turned sixteen last month so he's past the age of consent."
"Thank God," he muttered.
"Is it your hot doctor friend?" she chirped.
"No, it isn't Bones. He's in the middle of a divorce, remember? Plus the one time I kissed him he damn near broke my jaw."
"Oooh, so he plays rough? Sounds like my kind of guy," she purred.
"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time, but he's getting a divorce. He's not exactly ready to hop in the sack with anyone right now."
"He's gonna need someone on the rebound, isn't he?"
He looked at his chronometer and breathed a sigh of relief. "I have to go, much as it kills me to have an excuse to run far, far away from this conversation. My exam starts in ten minutes."
"Tell Uhura how much I appreciate her talented tongue when you get there, hmm?" she teased him, licking a bit of apple juice from her bottom lip.
He groaned and took off before Gaila could say anything more than that.
He trudged up the stairs to his apartment feeling like he could sleep for three days straight. In the space of a single afternoon, he'd finished his xenolinguistics exam, the advanced deep space flight simulation, the dreaded Dauntless (the first in a series of three simulations that concluded with the infamous Kobayashi Maru that he'd have to take sometime during his last year at the Academy), the hard-assed interview he'd had to have with an Admiral to assure his place on the command track, and on top of that he'd had to spend all the time in between avoiding Gaila and her incessant questioning. Through some miracle he'd managed to escape back to the building before she had, or else she'd still be hounding him. All he wanted to do was replicate something for dinner and crash for a few hours. Or days. He wasn't too picky at this point.
But there was a familiar square of white paper on his floor when he got in, and as much as his brain had been occupied with thoughts of Spock, he just didn't have it in him to be social tonight.
My mother informs me I have been lax in my contributions to our friendship. Would you care to join me for a game and a meal?
He was tempted. It was another big step forward for Spock; they hadn't eaten together since they met on New Year's Eve, and Jim had just assumed it had been one of those things that Spock was more comfortable doing alone. And he hated, God he hated to turn him down when he was trying so hard. But he also knew that there was a strong possibility of falling asleep face-first in his dinner if he went next door now.
I'm sorry, Spock, but I spent the whole day running the gauntlet of Academy exams and sims. Can I take a rain check? Maybe breakfast tomorrow instead?
He slipped the note under Spock's door and returned to his room, programming his crummy little domestic replicator for a sandwich before wandering off to his shower. Sixty seconds of sonic cleaning later, he trudged back to the kitchen in his underwear, wolfed down the sandwich as fast as he could, and prepared to go crash for the next twelve hours. As he made his way back to the bedroom, another square of paper by his front door caught his eye.
That will be acceptable. However, there is something I must attend to in the early morning. I will be free after 10:00.
The writing was jagged and sloppy again, which meant he'd made Spock all jittery with his rejection, gentle though it was. But it couldn't be helped and at least the invitation had been extended.
He made his way back to his bedroom and barely managed to slip between the sheets before he was out. He'd been too exhausted by the activities of the day to have the kind of vivid dreams he'd been having for the past few weeks. But there was still some sort of drowsy sense to be made from the vague whispers of thought and feeling that washed through him. He felt grounded, linked to a consciousness far different from his own. Heat enveloped him, but he embraced it rather than attempted to escape it. There was a strength pouring into him that he could not explain, that could not have originated from himself, but which was focused instead on supporting him. It was a kind of peace he hadn't been able to achieve at any point in his life, too wrapped up in the constancy of action, thought, exploration. He awoke feeling more refreshed than he had in many years. And also, somehow, terribly alone.
He checked the chronometer, pleased to note that it was well past the time that Spock had told him he would be available. He threw on a ratty pair of jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed a notepad, and camped out in front of Spock's door.
Is now a good time?
But for several long minutes, there was no response. There was no rustle that signified movement at the door, no soft vibrations that meant he was walking nearby. Nevertheless, he tried again.
Spock? You in there?
And a few minutes after that too received no response, he felt a little like an idiot for scribbling a second note. If he hadn't heard the first one, what had made him think he'd hear another one after that? As a last resort, he knocked quietly on the door. He didn't want to disturb him if he was still in the middle of his project, but he also didn't want to leave yet if he was back in his room and hadn't heard the papers.
He was just about to give up and return to his room when the door cracked open. It wasn't even Spock's customary few inches to gauge who was outside, but rather the merest sliver of space between the door and the wall. "Jim?" came a hoarse, broken whisper.
"Spock? You okay in there?"
The door opened in answer and Jim darted inside. Spock was standing with his forehead pressed to the door as it closed, visibly trembling and upset. "I..." He choked on the word, shaking his head and going silent again.
"Do you need to sit down for awhile? Get to the bathroom? The sink?" Jim had only been present for two of Spock's episodes, but he was starting to get the hang of his symptoms. If he was starting to have another panic attack, he was going to get sick to his stomach and collapse soon afterward.
"No," Spock rasped, expending just enough energy to turn around to face him, his back still leaning heavily against the door. "No, the worst of it... the worst has passed."
Jim couldn't help himself; he moved forward and pressed his hands to Spock's cheeks. His skin was cool and clammy to the touch, which was even more worrisome now that he'd had several lectures on Vulcan anatomy and knew Spock's body temperature was supposed to be significantly higher than his own. "God, Spock, if this is an improvement then it must have been a hellish one."
He closed his eyes in response, leaning almost imperceptibly forward until their foreheads touched. Jim forgot to breathe for a moment, taking in the long eyelashes, the creases between his eyebrows and at the corners of his eyes, the faint green undertone in his skin. He could feel Spock's shallow breath puffing over his lips, could almost hear the low vibration of his pulse as he tried to compose himself. He tried to remain calm, smoothing his thumbs over Spock's cheekbones, along his jaw, bracing him between the door and his own body until he came back from whatever trance he'd lapsed into.
"I apologize," came the whisper of breath against his face, and he only realized that he had closed his eyes to bask in the moment when Spock's words broke the spell. He looked up, noticed for the first time that Spock's glasses were missing again because there was nothing separating him from those soft, human brown eyes.
"What happened?" he asked quietly, knowing he should back off and give Spock his space, but unwilling to give up this moment of closeness.
Spock took a deep, shuddering breath, grabbing fistfuls of Jim's shirt near the bottom hem. "I... I have not spoken to my father in some time." He hesitated, eyes darting towards a blank comm screen set up on his desk, then locking to Jim's face again. "He was... affected by my state of affairs."
And because this was Spock's father they were talking about rather than his mother, Jim understood. Vulcans spent their entire existence controlling their emotions, betraying no reactions. Spock didn't need to tell him how his father had been affected - it was enough that Sarek's control had faltered at all.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Another shudder wracked Spock's body and he shifted until their foreheads touched again. "I am so tired of... So..." He closed his eyes again. "I am not myself."
Jim could no longer deny what he felt for this man. Not when his heart was so blatantly broken over his plight. He cradled his face in his hands, wanting so much to help him and without the first clue as to how he could do it. "No," he whispered. "I don't think you are. But I'd like to think you could be again."
It didn't quite make sense the way it came out, but Spock seemed to understand what he'd meant. He was warmer to the touch now and his shaking had mostly subsided, but he seemed equally unwilling to break from their closeness. "I hope so," he agreed.
Jim pulled back just enough to look at his face. "I have an idea."
Spock said nothing; he merely opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow.
"A game. And a meal. But not here." And before Spock could react beyond the sudden unbearable tension that seized him, he continued. "Come next door. It's got the same layout as your place. So if you start to lose control, the bathroom will be exactly where it needs to be. So will the kitchen. But it's not this room, it's not..." He hated to call it a prison, because Spock was comfortable here and he wouldn't like the comparison. "It's not where your father was affected. There are no handprints on the furniture." He offered him a winning, although tremulous, smile. "And I've got a few more windows than you do. I've got a view from my living room that looks out on the bay. It's why I chose that apartment over one on the first floor. It's better than anything they put on the holovid networks, I promise."
He looked uncertain. But he hadn't outright rejected the idea, which gave Jim hope. He kept going, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck. "Joanna loves that window. She once spent an entire morning camped out there with her pancakes and her stuffed rabbit."
He raised that one ambulatory eyebrow again. "Pancakes?" And yes, that was definitely a spark of interest in his eyes.
"Pancakes. I make chocolate chip ones for her, but I think we're grown up enough for blueberry, yeah? You weren't a big fan of chocolate last time I tried to feed you."
"I am not," he agreed, and the tension bled out of him slowly. "I..." He cleared his throat. "I will try."
"That's all I'm asking." And he hesitantly pulled away from him so he could move.
He looked unwilling at first, staring at Jim with an odd expression that he couldn't place, not even with months of translating his speech and body language into something he could understand. But Spock shook himself out of it, turning and opening the door.
And walking into the hallway.
And, after only a moment's hesitation, right into Jim's apartment.
To Chapter Twelve
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Date: 2010-03-28 08:59 pm (UTC)This is really, really insightful. I just thought you should know. I'll be getting into this more a few chapters down the line, but it's awesome to see people catching the hints I'm trying to sprinkle around.