Title: Sticks and Stones (9/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside ‘verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.
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Part Eight

“Are you out of your mind, Jim?”

“I can handle it,” Jim replies almost too calmly.

“Right,” Leonard snarls, “because facing killers with guns is so much smarter than my plan.”

“Your plan isn’t going to work, Bones.” The tension in Jim is evident in the set of his shoulders; yet otherwise he seems relatively at ease. “You would only come as close to discovering Khan’s secrets as he would let you. The man trusts no one.” More quietly, he adds, “Do you really want to live your life under Khan’s thumb, hoping some day you will have sacrificed enough that you can be free of him?”

“I know what it’s going to cost me, Jim—I know. Don’t think I decided to do this with reckless abandon.” A muscle in McCoy’s jaw ticks as his ire returns. “Which is exactly what you’re doin’! Spock,” he says, turning to the silent man seated upon the couch, “you can’t possibly think Jim’s crazy idea will work!”

There is a moment of silence in which Spock looks from Jim to Leonard and back again. He isn’t frowning but his stillness indicates a deep disquiet. “I will admit I am troubled,” Spock says slowly. “Jim, I need not remind you of the risks of confronting two armed men—”

Jim nods slightly.

“—and, Leonard, you have placed yourself in an untenable position I can neither condone nor, given your motivation, ridicule.”

Temper flares in Leonard’s eyes. “Why do you have to be so damned lawyer-ish about this, Spock?” He makes a noise of frustration. “Jim’s just said he is going to get himself shot full of holes! My God, man, do you care so little about him?”

“Bones,” Jim interrupts sharply, “stop it.”

Jim didn’t think it was possible for Spock’s eyes to become any darker, but they suddenly are.

When the lawyer speaks, his voice is well beyond arctic. “Consider your actions, Doctor. You accuse me of a lack of caring when you are the one who blatantly disregarded how Jim and I might feel with respect to your notion of playing at an undercover investigation. I had no inkling of your decision because you did not choose to tell me; indeed you used me to facilitate your ambition quite duplicitously. Had I known, I would not have readily agreed to aid you, a fact of which I am certain you are well-aware. Do not presume to project your callous behavior on my person, Leonard. I am not like you.”

Spock stands and addresses Jim without looking at him. “If you will excuse me, I need time to consider your plan before I approve or disapprove of it.” He disappears into the hallway, undoubtedly heading for his study, where anybody would be a fool to follow.

Jim isn’t the one Spock verbally flayed but even so he feels exposed. Lifting a not-quite-shaking hand, he rubs at his mouth and is unable to look at McCoy. As much as he instinctively aches to soothe the bite of the lashing, he agrees with Spock. Jim doesn’t believe Bones would have warned him of his intentions had Jim not have shown up at the clinic under emotional duress. And what this says about the current state of Jim’s faith in Leonard does not bear thinking about.

He rises from his chair with the murmur “I’m meeting Mom at the diner.”

Leonard doesn’t request to come along, and Jim doesn’t ask him to.

Upon stepping out of Spock’s house, Jim shivers. The warm temperature cannot touch the cold fear taking root in him or his guilt. He hadn’t meant to drive a wedge between his lovers and, though a small part of his conscience says he isn’t entirely to blame, Jim wishes abruptly and fiercely he had recognized the moment his relationship with Bones and Spock began to crumble.

What does the future hold for them? More of the same hurt?

He doesn’t know how to fix it, not at all… except by going after Khan.

“Jimmy, I don’t like this,” his mother remarks not for the first time, though she is considerably less apprehensive than when Jim initially explained his idea yesterday (on the heels, of course, of a woeful-eyed apology for ignoring her, after which Winona threatened to move in with him if he ever ignored her again). When he came to the part about how he plans to apprehend Khan’s thugs single-handedly (he wasn’t stupid enough to say that last bit out loud), Jim is now more than thankful Pike had not been at the farmhouse to watch her try to beat his head in with a spatula and then, quite inexplicably, sit down at the kitchen table and declare “Oh why do I bother? Okay, Jim.”

Of course, Jim is thankful for many reasons that Christopher Pike isn’t staying at his mother’s house any longer. Which doesn’t preclude him from wondering where the man went… or what he might be up to next. Winona wouldn’t talk about Pike, and Jim didn’t push her for details. Pike is someone he intends to handle without the danger of Winona being caught in the middle.

The eldest Kirk abandons her task at the diner’s register to look at her son.

Jim takes this as his cue to slip an arm around his mother’s shoulders and give her a comforting squeeze of a hug. “It’ll be as easy as one-two-three, Mom. Promise.”

Her mouth quirks. “I seem to remember you telling me that when you wanted a motorcycle license.”

He beams. “Which is awesome, because I’m awesome and motorcycles are awesome!” And somehow that explanation made more sense in his head…

Her eyes roll heavenward. “Sweetie, you fell off your first bike at least ten times before you learned to lean into a curve.”

“But I wore padding!” he argues. Too much of it, Jim seems to remember. He might as well have been wearing a tire, for all the rubber-ball bouncing he did around the road. (Though he may have been saved a concussion or three, now that he thinks about it.)

“Because I made you,” Winona clarifies, breaking into his meandering train of thought. Then she studies him, her expression softening. “Are you sure, Jimmy? And Sheriff Komack will have his men nearby? You know you matter more to me than any collateral damage to the Enterprise.”

“Oh, I have something better than cops,” Jim tells her with a toothy grin. He points at the kitchen. “I have Sulu.”

Winona fixes her worried eyes on the kitchen. “Maybe I should buy him a larger chef’s knife?”

As if on cue (or perhaps because Sulu is eavesdropping on their conversation) the cook appears in the kitchen window and lays an object along the window counter. One of Sulu’s hands strokes it lovingly as he says, “This is better than any kitchen knife, Winona.”

Jim’s nervous laugh isn’t at all feigned. “Uh, Sulu, man, that’s not a knife.”

“No,” agrees the cook, “it’s my sword.” He stares solemnly at the Kirks. “And I’m good with it.”

Winona nods decisively and moves away from Jim, patting his arm as she goes and pulling out a small yellow can from her waitress’ apron to wave in the air. “Where should I hide the pepper spray?”

Jim blinks. “I thought you already stashed mace under the counter.”

“No, love, that’s your granddaddy’s pistol. The mace is in the supply closet, along with one of the spare keys and a lock-pick set in case they put you in there.” She points behind a booth. “Back there is the baseball bat, and I put a crowbar—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jim cries. “Mom, you can’t booby-trap the Enterprise!”

“I haven’t,” the woman explains patiently. “I put weapons in not-so-obvious places. I expect you to know where they are, young man, and I expect you to defend yourself with them if necessary.” She pauses. “Unless, of course, you reconsider letting me be a part of the ploy.” Her thin smile cannot be classified as anything other than ruthless. “I have no qualms about shooting a man threatening me and mine.”

Disturbed by the combination of the hard blue glint to his mother’s eyes and the fact that Sulu is polishing his katana with a hopeful, slightly psychotic expression, Jim slowly sidles toward the exit. “That’s just—great, Mom. Creepy but great. Why don’t you draw me a map of the… arsenal, and I’ll come by the farm later to get it?”

“And you’ll memorize it, too!” she calls after him.

Alone in the parking lot, James Kirk takes a long minute to breathe and wonder exactly when his family became so frightening.

Spock’s house is eerily quiet when he returns. Jim checks a particular cabinet in the kitchen and isn’t surprised to find a bottle of Jack missing. Because he doesn’t want to deal with a drunken Bones, he goes in search of Spock instead.

The man is ensconced in his study but not mulling over papers or reading a legal brief. Jim pauses on the threshold, observing Spock’s profile against the backdrop of a window. One of its curtains is drawn aside, shedding a few shadows of the day’s dying light here and there, and Spock, with a contemplative furrow to his brow, seems fixated on some spot far beyond what Jim can readily see. Rain, which had begun to fall only seconds after Jim pulled into the neighborhood, is now drumming a steady beat against the panes of glass.

The grey weather fits their collective mood, he decides.

“Jim.”

The sound of his name, spoken softly, breaks the oppressive silence blanketing them. Jim leans against the doorjamb and crosses his arms. “Hey, Spock,” he greets, equally quiet.

A heartbeat passes. Another.

“You have spoken with your mother.” It isn’t a question.

Jim answers anyway. “Yes. She—” He grimaces ruefully. “—is turning the diner into Fort Knox. I think. Or maybe the NYSE. I hear you have to go through four or five levels of security clearance to get inside the Stock Exchange.”

“Six,” Spock corrects, “including the FBI background check and the handprint identification scan.” He turns his head to look at Jim. “Do you believe you will be successful?”

“I believe I have to try.” Jim straightens his posture inside the doorway but hesitates upon entering. He asks, somewhat shy, “Can I come in?”

Something like surprise flashes through Spock’s eyes. “You do not have to ask.”

Aware that he has Spock’s undivided attention, he lets his gaze flit around the room. “I do have to ask,” Jim begins, searching for the easiest way to explain. “This is—your place. A private place.” He cannot help but smile a little. “It’s your office, Spock, and even a backwoods farm-boy like me knows it’s only proper to make an appointment to visit another man’s office, especially when that man is a lawyer.”

Jim doesn’t mind the way Spock is scrutinizing him. Carefully, cautiously, he steps into the study and seats himself across the wide executive desk from Spock. A curious man by nature, Jim notes the neat stacks of ledgers to one side and that Spock’s desk rolodex is flipped open to the letter M. He shoves his hands under his thighs so he won’t be tempted to touch things and finally looks at Spock.

His boyfriend is doing that eye-caress thing which always leaves Jim a little breathless and a lot horny. He tells his libido to stop ruining the serious mood, and dives into the matter of business which needs to be discussed between them with the blunt question: “Do I have your support?”

“You always have my support” is Spock’s instant reply. “I hesitate to consider what might happen otherwise.”

Jim likes to think he knows Spock very well by now. “And what are your conditions?”

Spock lifts one of his eyebrows. “Astute of you,” he compliments. After a pause, “I want to be party to the event.”

Jim’s first inclination is to leap to his feet and shout NO! Reigning in that response is difficult but he manages to do it. Instead he hedges, “Sulu will be covering the back area.”

“While I have faith in Mr. Sulu’s skills of defense—”

Wait, what? How does Spock know about Sulu’s skills? …And what are Sulu’s skills, besides scaring the pants off of Jim with a deadly-looking Japanese sword?

“—there is no substitute for first-hand knowledge that you are among capable company.”

Jim bites down hard on his lip; it doesn’t stop the traitorous words from escaping, however. “Is this your way of showing off the ninja skills you’ve been cultivating since the age of six? Because, Spock—I promise I believe you.”

“Do not mock me,” his boyfriend warns lightly.

Jim grins. “Never, my beloved.”

In the blink of an eye, Spock grabs Jim by his jacket lapels and hauls him bodily across the desk. Jim’s surprised squawk of protest is muffled by Spock’s mouth, whereupon Jim instantly changes his mind and decides he really shouldn’t be complaining anyway.

Once Jim is fittingly putty-like in Spock’s hands, Spock pulls back. “You will tell Komack I am part of the team.”

Jim slurs something like “Huh, what? Yeah ‘kay, mmm, anything you say, Spock…”

Finally coming back to his senses, Jim discovers he is pretty much lounging on top of Spock’s desk, with crumpled important-looking documents under his ass; his position only accentuates exactly how turned on he is.

Jim blinks innocently at Spock. “Have you ever had sex on a desk, Spock?”

Long fingers stroke the side of his face. “Perhaps I should remind you this is my place of business, Jim.”

“Which is the precise locale of a very dirty fantasy I am indulging in right now.”

Amused, Spock releases Jim with a last brush of his fingertips against skin and leans back in his chair. “How interesting. I require more detail.”

How could anybody ever think of Spock as a prude? And what, exactly, had Jim been worried about before he came in here and was kissed senseless? He certainly can’t remember.

“Well,” he starts, propping up on an elbow and idly rolling his hip to remove a piece of paper plastered to his thigh, “there’s a bit more physical contact and a lot less clothes,” and no letter opener poking my ass, “and you’re doing this thing where—” Jim’s eye catches a word on a line of the paper he is preparing to let float away. “—Khan—?”

“Khan?” Spock echoes, his eyebrows flying up. “I doubt Mr. Singh should factor into your sexual fantasies, Jim.”

“Never mind that!” Jim says, sitting up. He shoves the paper under Spock’s nose. “What is this?”

“Ah,” murmurs the lawyer. “That is a confidential report.”

“No shit! Why do you have a copy of a tax return of his corporate estates in…” He squints at a name. “…Dubai?”

Spock reaches out and unearths a manila folder from a stack of ledgers beside Jim’s left leg. “Research.”

Jim forgets about everything else and skims through the folder. Eventually he stops muttering words to himself and turns back to Spock to express a combination of appreciation and holy shit, this has to be so illegal. “Where did you get all of this?”

Watching Spock steeple his fingers triggers an unnerving memory. Groaning, Jim answers for Spock.

“Oh god, you called Sarek.”

“If you wish to be technical, I called my mother.” Spock plucks a white card from his rolodex with the word MOTHER written in capital letters across it and shows it to Jim. “I was… forced to explain the situation in Riverside, and it is inevitable she would share this information with my father.” Spock hesitates before adding, “I had thought it proper to inform Mother of my leave-taking from Cochrane.”

“You mean before she caught wind of it from someone else,” Jim guesses. Like T’Pau, he doesn’t add.

“Yes,” Spock admits. “Otherwise Mother might deem another visit to America necessary in order to determine the state of my affairs. She does not do well with surprises.”

Jim’s bark of laughter may or may not be edged with hysteria. “Let’s not go there, Spock. I like your mom but…” Your father makes me feel like a bug under a microscope—and I still haven’t figured out what happened to Trelane. He eliminates that thought before it can take root and multiply.

“Precisely.”

Jim runs his thumb along the edge of the folder. “Is there anything noteworthy in here?”

“Plenty,” Spock replies, “but I have not yet determined if any of the information will be useful in a case against Khan. One must also consider that my source would not be admissible in a court of law.”

With a somewhat grim sigh, Jim tosses the folder aside. “Forget Khan. I don’t want to think about him tonight.” He focuses on Spock. “I want dinner, and then I plan to take you to bed.”

“Jim,” Spock says softly.

“I know,” he confesses. “Bones.” Jim rakes his fingers through his short hair and hates the misery threatening to ruin what little happiness he can find. “You’re pissed at him and I’m… I don’t know what I am anymore.”

Spock stands and tugs Jim from his desk. “He loves you.”

“And he loves you,” Jim responds without thinking. He sighs again. “…We’ll forgive him?”

“Was there another option?” Spock muses as he first places a light kiss against Jim’s jaw then moves away towards the open door.

Of course there was, Jim thinks. But Spock’s words simply show that neither of them is ready to consider an option that does not involve forgiveness.

This is an interlude, mainly because we need to be fortified for the bad things to come. D:

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Sticks and Stones (18/18) – from April 19, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (17/18) – from April 17, 2012
• Emotional Much? – from April 17, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (16/17) – from April 13, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (15/17) – from April 11, 2012