Title: For the Sake of Nothing, Part 26 (26/28)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Emotions are sorted through; promises made.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

I rewrote this four or five times. No lie. Two parts left.

On the day Jim returned to work, the sun was fighting the darkness in the sky. The streets were damp, like the air, and everything seemed slightly off, had the faintly sinister atmosphere of a noir-esque film. Trees were scattered blotches of gray, drooping within their designated plots alongside the sidewalks; last night’s rain had blackened the tents over shop doors and vendor carts. Occasionally, color flashed in the distance: a scarf, an umbrella, a traffic officer’s yellow slicker boots. But no one lingered in the open.

Jim’s coat was a lackluster shield from a winter-like chill so he kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his chin tucked against his chest. It wasn’t until he let himself into his place of work via the back door that he met blessed heat. His bones melted with relief.

Across the kitchen area, Spock switched off the running faucet at the sink upon hearing Kirk’s entrance; his shoulders noticeably stiffened. He did not turn around.

Jim’s throat worked once, a reflexive motion. He shed his coat and cautiously approached his employer, aware of what he owed the man.

“Spock… I’m sorry.”

What he had said had been undeserved. At the time, all Jim could think about was that Spock was taking Bones’ side and how unfair that was (did no one care how much it killed him to talk about dreams—really, memories—that made him feel like small, alone, and like an unwanted child again?). His fear culminating into anger, Jim had lashed out at Spock with “If you think I owe you anything for your kindness and your pity, you’re wrong. You’ll get nothing from me.” Considering Spock’s reaction, a physical blow might have been gentler.

The apology stood between them, awkward and unwieldy, for almost a full minute. Finally Spock acknowledged him, but that acknowledgement was too cold to be a concession. He said, “We can talk after hours, Mr. Kirk.”

So Jim had fucked up pretty badly then. Nursing hurt feelings over the rejection, he slipped out of the kitchen to begin the morning routine so they could open the shop. Bones wouldn’t be in until later, given his penchant for hating mornings, and Jim had no expectation McCoy would greet him more affably than Spock had. Today was obviously going to be shitty, that much was certain now, but Jim would endure it because the other option, leaving and thereby admitting his defeat, would ultimately be worse.

An hour later, the first customer to darken the doorway of the shop was none other than Christopher Pike. In that moment, frozen behind the front counter, Jim felt he ought to reconsider his poor choices in life. (Not only had they led him to this confrontation but had also left him friendless and facing it alone.)

Jim’s greeting echoed in the empty shop. “Captain.”

“House brew, black. Make it a large,” Pike said as he came to the counter and leaned there.

Jim would have sabotaged the order if Pike hadn’t been watching him so closely. Pike paid in cash and dropped his change into the tip jar. Instead of leaving, however, the man chose a seat in the middle of the room. The tinge of suspicion Jim was feeling swiftly nose-dived into paranoia. The paranoia only deepened when Pike beckoned him over.

Jim obeyed, albeit grudgingly, and dumped a pile of napkins on the table in an act of innocent charity. “Just in case,” he said with the usual half-smirk he reserved for people who made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Older folks tend not to have steady hands.”

“I wield a gun,” Pike replied, no sign of offense in his face or voice. “When my hands aren’t steady, innocent people die, son.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I call a lot of people ‘son’. Some who deserve it—” He looked Jim in the eyes. “—and some who don’t.”

“I can guess which lot I’m in.”

“You would probably guess wrong.” Pike’s eyes reflected a dark kind of amusement as he spoke.

What the hell was the old man implying? Disturbed, Jim demanded lowly, “What do you want?”

“How’s life been treating you these days?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I thought, for the moment, we might pretend to be civilized.”

Jim barked out a laugh. “Didn’t you read my file? I was raised by wolves.”

“Amazing how a pack of wolves raised you to be a smartass. Have a seat.”

Easy to say no. Jim could have but didn’t, because Christopher Pike was a man with a fickle temper and Jim figured if not now, eventually someone else would suffer for his refusal to cooperate. He wouldn’t take that chance—yet. So he sat.

The conversation was unhurried, like he and Pike were old friends catching up on years gone by.

“You know, Jim, you remind me of myself before I joined the force. I had ambition but no direction. I had talents I didn’t think would ever earn me a dime.”

“You can belch the alphabet too?”

Pike grinned. “That, unfortunately, was not one of them. But I did have a bravado which frequently landed me in trouble, like you.”

Jim rolled his neck to the side and cracked it. “Is this life story going to take more than five minutes? I need to go back to work.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

“I doubt my boss will see it that way.”

Pike leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “But he’s not here, is he?”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “He’s in the back.”

The broad grin on Pike’s face softened into his crazy smile. “Tell me how that’s going.”

If Jim’s hackles weren’t already raised, they would have been in that moment. He feigned ignorance. “We ordered a new line of tea, the kind with fruity hyphenated names like pomegranate-blueberry-grapevine. Spock’s ecstatic. He worships antioxidants.”

The man made a point of glancing at the kitchen door. “Is McCoy here as well?”

“He prefers the afternoon shift.”

“Ah. So it works then, this three-man operation.”

“Mostly,” Jim said, not batting an eye. “We could always use somebody to clean up our shit, though. Want a part-time job as a janitor?”

“I’m laughing on the inside, Kirk.”

“Good to know.”

A short silence ensued, in which Pike sipped idly at his coffee and looked for all the world like he had nowhere more important to be. Someone had to move or twitch eventually and that was Jim, when the shop door swung open quite without warning and Jim’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He had been too focused on winning the staring contest with Pike.

A snarl proceeded the loud slam of the door. “I need coffee.“

Jim didn’t think twice about abandoning Pike. “Hey, Bones!”

“Don’t talk, give me coffee.”

He had never been more grateful to hear one of Leonard’s grumpy requests in his life. “Sure thing,” Jim said soothingly as he slipped behind the counter.

An unhappy McCoy staggered as far as the first available chair, a mere six feet from the entrance, and dropped into it like his knees had unexpectedly given way. He slumped face-forward over a table. Ten seconds later the dark-haired man lifted his head to glare blearily at the world. “Damn it, sometime before I die, Jim.”

Bones’ unique brand of crankiness always made Jim unusually cheerful. “One cannot rush art,” he declared and began to hum as he tried his hand at shaping espresso foam hearts.

McCoy let his head fall back onto the table and made muffled sounds. Their translation was a distinct “I hate you.”

This was good, Jim decided. They were communicating, even if Bones growled more than he used words. And wow, somebody was not a morning person at all. Jim hadn’t seen McCoy this uncoordinated since, well, never.

He slid a fresh cup of Leonard’s preferred brew across the table. Leonard grabbed it and drank, making unbelievably attractive noises that were both greedy and satisfied. Jim sat down at the table to shield the evidence of a sudden arousal.

“So,” he began when McCoy looked slightly less glassy-eyed, “you’re in early.”

“Thank you, Capt’n Obvious,” grunted his companion. Then Bones sighed. “I don’t know why I’m here, to be honest.”

Jim almost reached out to touch him, to say you don’t know how glad I am that you are and remembered Pike. He stuck his hands under the table instead.

McCoy kept talking. “It’s her fault. Jesus, my place wasn’t that bad.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “‘S the last time I let Joss in, ever. There’s no such thing as a cleaning house party, shoulda known that.” His mouth puckered in displeasure.

Jim nodded and showed his sympathy because that’s what a good friend did, especially a boyfriend, no matter if his comprehension of the rant was almost nil. There had been a flare of panic at the mention of Jocelyn’s name but Jim had swiftly quelled it.

Finally in a state to think, Leonard focused on Jim, truly noting his presence for the first time and not just Jim’s immediate connection to a caffeine fix. McCoy’s expression hinted at concern as he studied Jim’s face. “You all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Jocelyn said—”

Jim’s lovely theory that maybe, just maybe, Jocelyn hadn’t told Leonard about yesterday flew out the window. He cut into Leonard’s sentence on purpose, keenly aware they were not alone. “It’s fine, Bones.”

“Jim…”

Jim stared over Leonard’s shoulder and said bluntly, “Aren’t you done yet?”

Leonard twisted around to see who Jim was talking to and, upon seeing Pike, cursed.

“Just savoring the… coffee,” the man watching them answered. The corners of his mouth were still curved.

Leonard leaned toward Jim and whispered furiously, “What’s Mister KGB doing here?”

Jim clapped a hand over his mouth. “Bones,” he said, swallowing down a hiccup of laughter, “he isn’t Russian.”

“I bet he thinks he is, with his goons and his guns. Been steeping his code of honor in a bottle of vodka, it’s so sour.”

“I heard that,” the captain from the local precinct said as he walked over to a trash can and threw away his cup.

“And?” McCoy countered, lifting an eyebrow.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or appalled at your feeble sense of survival, Mr. McCoy.”

“Go walk a plank.”

Pike remarked to Jim, approaching their table, “He’s almost as annoying as you are.”

“Why do you think I like him?”

“If that is supposed to comfort me, it doesn’t.” Leonard suddenly had Pike’s full attention. “We should talk.”

Jim pushed back from the table. “You really shouldn’t. Bones is a poor conversationalist before 8 am.”

“What he said,” Leonard agreed, hunkered over his cup.

A hard glint came into Pike’s eyes. Jim wrapped his fingers around the top of the chair and leaned his weight forward like he was using it for support. Looks could be deceiving; the chair was a weapon and Jim was fully prepared to use it as such. Pike smiled at him in a way that meant he knew this. From what Jim could see—and had noted carefully—Pike was not armed. Not with a gun and bullets, anyway. Jim was certain the man still had an effective method of attack.

“If y’all are done taking each other’s measure and respectively plotting death,” Leonard said, “somebody needs to help that poor lady at the counter. It ain’t gonna be me. I need to find Spock.” Leonard left.

Jim helped the customer. He blamed Pike that he hadn’t noticed her arrival. Even while he helped her choose a beverage from their menu and politely answered questions about calories and sugar content, he was painfully aware of Pike’s every movement. This did not seem to bother Pike, who took his time in patting his pockets and locating a set of car keys; then Pike spared one significant look at the motionless kitchen door before he strode for the exit. Friendly and congenial, the man held the door open for a couple in a hurry.

Jim hoped he never saw Pike again. He knew he would be wrong.

Leonard didn’t bother to knock. He walked into Spock’s tiny office, temper warmed up but not quite hot, with the beginnings of an accusation flying out of his mouth: “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Spock paused, a pen poised over whatever he had been writing, voice equable. “Hello, Leonard.”

Leonard planted his hands on the edge of Spock’s desk. “It’s a damn good thing I came in this mornin’! How long were you planning to let Pike needle at Jim?”

Spock dropped his pen in alarm as he rose from behind his desk. “Captain Pike is here?”

Leonard waved him back into his seat, somewhat mollified by Spock’s reaction. “He’ll be gone by now. I said I was coming back here to find you, and he’s not stupid. He’d have gotten the message.”

This news only served to upset Spock further. “I did not know. I—Jim.” He left his chair again, this time ignoring Leonard’s assurances.

Leonard shifted to block the door. “Spock, wait a minute.”

“Leonard,” Spock warned him, “you must move,” only to immediately soften his tone. “Allow me to check on him. If all is well, I will return shortly.”

He caved because he understood the fear Spock was fighting not to show, and relocated to the edge of the desk to prop a hip and wait. True to his word, Spock returned in short order, the tense line of his shoulders more relaxed than they had been moments ago.

“I assume there was no blood or bodies on the floor.”

“You were correct. Christopher Pike is gone.”

“Did you doubt me?”

Something passed across Spock’s face.

Leonard took pity on him. “I know,” he said, pushing away from the desk to put his hand on Spock’s arm. “You had to see for yourself. I was just teasing.” Spock drew him closer, and Leonard let him.

“I made a mistake,” the man said, regret tightening his voice. “I refused Jim’s apology this morning.”

“So that’s why you were hiding in here,” Leonard murmured. “Spock, I thought we talked what happened. He didn’t mean what he said.”

Spock’s shoulders lowered by one inch; the act was an equivalent to hanging his head.

“Look, you’re only human, and it’s your first crash-course in Kirkian Defense Mechanisms, 101.”

“You have known Jim less than six months. I have known him two years, four months, and sixteen days. How is it possible that your understanding of him is more comprehensive than mine?”

“Well, I was going to say we’ve both known him long enough, and who’s counting? But apparently you are.”

“You did not answer my question.”

“‘Cause it’s an obvious answer.”

“I disagree.”

Spock could look nonplussed when he wanted to. Leonard figured it might hurt Spock’s ego if he mentioned how adorable the expression was. So he settled for explaining. “How many relationships have you had?” He added quickly, “And anything familial doesn’t count!”

Spock blinked. “Do business relationships count?”

“Nope.”

He took Spock’s ensuing silence to be a none. “Well, I guess it’s safe to say I’ve got more experience than you. So Jim’s hullabulooing? Technically it ain’t nothing new to me.”

“What is hullabulooing?”

“It’s a thing. Like a conniption fit.”

“What is a conniption fit?”

“Spock, can we stay on track here?” Leonard begged. “I’m saying I get Jim’s reaction. One time Jocelyn and I got into this fight about who had left the cap off the toothpaste. It didn’t end pretty.”

“That… does not seem to correlate to our circumstances.”

“If you’d been there and heard the awful things we said to each other… yeah, it does.”

Spock asked at length, “How did you reconcile?”

“She did some crying, I did some groveling. We both agreed we shouldn’t have lost our tempers, and that it was very important no one left the cap off the toothpaste again. And, uh,” Leonard squirmed at a memory, “there was make-up sex.”

With an interested tilt to his head, Spock asked, “Shall make-up sex be part of our resolution?”

“Only if somebody proposes it.” Leonard pulled away from Spock, not certain why he was so embarrassed. “Why don’t we talk to Jim first?”

“Jim may not wish to speak to me.”

“Pretty sure he’s out there moping, Spock.”

“Is this more extrapolation based upon your previous relationship experiences?”

“No. It’s purely my version of wishful thinking.”

Spock leaned in and captured Leonard’s chin. “Then I accept your logic.”

Leonard let himself enjoy the kiss before he pulled back. “When you start kissing Jim like this, I’m going to be very jealous.”

“I shall endeavor to display my affection in equal ratio. Although, at present,” Spock’s eyes were very warm, “the balance is in your favor.”

Tucking away his pleasure upon hearing that, Leonard reached around Spock to open the door. “Let’s see what we can do to fix that then.”

He could make foam hearts, his initials and something that looked suspiciously like a wookie in a snit. “Whoa, I’m pretty good at this!” Jim congratulated himself. Were there classes for baristas which cultivated this kind of skill? He could become famous! …Though maybe fame wasn’t a viable option until he could draw De Niro’s face in cappuccino swirls.

Jim Kirk was always game for a new challenge; it was pretty much the only way he kept his too-intelligent brain from dying of boredom. Pushing the espresso to the side, its foam having sadly gone flat, Jim reached for another empty cup on the dish rack.

“Jim.”

The voice froze Jim where he stood. Jim quickly retracted his hands into a seemingly innocuous position (at his sides) and widened his eyes. “I’m not doing anything.”

Leonard poked his head around the tall form of Spock to eye a perfectly straight row of ten coffee cups along the counter. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I’m going to drink these!”

“Clearly,” Spock said, “or you would be wasting product and, therefore, reducing the per capita of our sales and your credibility as an employee.”

Leonard looked too gleeful. “Yes! I get to be employee of the month!” Then McCoy narrowed his eyes. Jim, realizing what this meant, braced for action. Seconds later, they both dived for the same cupboard with a yell. Jim came out the victor (possibly by head-butting McCoy) and grinned like a mad man with a picture frame clutched to his chest.

“Sorry, Bones,” he said cheekily, “but I’ll always be Spock’s best employee.”

Spock opened his mouth to speak.

“Fuck you, Jim!” Leonard snarled, grabbing for the frame. “You leave water spots on the dishes!”

“You sweep like a monkey on crack!”

McCoy made an incensed noise. “At least I’m not scared of the women’s bathroom! Gimme that!”

“Do you know what they put in the trash, Bones?” Jim gasped, hunching over his prized possession and backing away. “I do the best I can with the phobias I have, okay?”

Leonard rounded on Spock. “It’s not fair that he gets to be Employee of the Month all the time! I want my chance too!”

“Tell him I’m better!” Jim demanded of his boss.

Spock’s head swiveled between them in a bemused fashion. “There is no employee of the month award.”

“Don’t you dare—wait, what?”

Uh oh. Jim edged a little farther away from them.

Spock shifted so he could address Leonard face-to-face. “Until your arrival, there has been only one employee. Why would I designate an award if there is no other individual to which Jim’s performance can be compared?”

“Then how come he has a…?” The sentence trailed off into silence. Leonard looked long and hard at the source of all his aggravations. “Jim.”

Spock echoed, “Jim?” His eyes fell to the picture frame in Jim’s protective grasp. “Would you turn the object around, please?”

Jim supposed Spock had to find out sooner or later so he flipped it around and grinned sheepishly. After a moment of silence, he said, “It’s a good picture of me, right?”

Spock blinked. “Where did you acquire that certificate?”

Jim glanced at the headshot of him holding up an official-looking ‘Employee of the Month’ certificate, complete with Spock’s shop logo, and felt ridiculously pleased. “I made it.”

“Oh god,” Leonard murmured, covering his eyes with a hand. “You faked your own award.”

Jim shrugged. “It’s as easy as making a fake ID.”

“Please do not continue that comparison, Jim,” Spock requested of him in a tone of voice which implied he would rather not know of his employees’ illegal pastimes.

Suddenly Leonard started laughing.

“Bones?”

“I-I can’t believe I bought that! You did it so you could impress me, didn’t you? Back when. I should have known it was part of your—” Leonard wiped at his eyes and made a sweeping gesture at Jim. “—master plan to get into my pants.”

Indignant at the accusation, Jim retorted, “Not everything is about you, Bones.” He slid over to the cupboard and returned the evidence of his nonexistent award to its proper place. “I wanted to be Employee of the Month, so I was.” Of course, though he hadn’t made the thing for the sake of seducing McCoy, he had used it shamelessly as a form of persuasion. Leonard was right about that part.

Jim sighed. He tried hard, most of the time, not to remember most things about him are lies.

Spock was looking at him in a weird way. Self-conscious about the scrutiny, Jim began to methodically empty the cooled cups of coffee into the sink. “Since Bones is here, would it be a big deal if he runs the shop for a while?”

“I can do that,” McCoy agreed.

“I did not notice any irregularities on the calendar. Do you need time off today?” Spock asked.

Why was Bones poking Spock in the side with his elbow? Jim had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer to that question. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and said, “Sorry it’s so last minute. I have an errand I need to run before lunch.” Another lie, of course, but he hoped they wouldn’t call him on it.

“Jim, wait.”

Jim cringed inwardly as he faced Bones. “What’s up?”

“Spock,” Leonard stressed, “has something he wants to say” and prompted Spock again with his elbow.

“Leonard is correct. Jim, I apologize for my rudeness this morning.”

“I deserved it.”

Spock took a tentative step in his direction. “You did not deserve it, Jim. My behavior was regrettable. I had no excuse…”

“Don’t,” Jim said, lifting a hand to halt him. “I accept your apology. Can you accept mine?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re okay, Spock. Let it go.”

Yet Spock took another step in his direction then one more. Jim consciously chose to remain still as Spock came toward him; he had to suppress a shudder when Spock lowered his voice and said, “Jim, I am concerned for you. Are you well?”

“I already told Bones I was.”

Spock was, on occasion, infinitely more intimidating than Bones. While he was known to have an exceptionally refined sense of personal space, the concept had somehow become vague to Spock in the last few weeks. Jim never knew what to think of the way Spock touched him in moments like this. Should he lean into it like he wanted to? Should he err on the side of caution so he wouldn’t seem like he was asking for too much? Jim’s indecision over what to do was the reason he always stood stock-still rather than moved, neither encouraging the contact nor spurning it.

Eventually (it felt like forever to Jim, though technically it was less than a minute) Spock removed his hand from Jim’s neck.

“Tell me,” Spock said.

Jim drew in an unsteady breath. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me you slept peacefully when you were not with us.”

The confession was automatic, like it had been waiting for a very long time to be said. “I can’t. I didn’t. It was…” How to describe the horror of it? “…lonely.”

Leonard was there all of a sudden, at Spock’s shoulder. When he had slipped in beside them, Jim could not recall.

“We missed you too, kid.” But Bones flicked an uneasy glance at Spock. “Okay, so he doesn’t sleep at home but we know it isn’t any better for him with us.” He sounded as though he hoped someone had an explanation or some wise advice.

If Jim sounded like he was begging, it couldn’t be helped. “Let me come back? I’ll take the lesser of two evils.”

Spock responded “It was you who left” at the same time Leonard asked, “Is how that you think of us?”

“I know—I mean, no!” Jim tried to answer them both. He backed up until the counter pressed into his spine. With room to lift his arms, he started to shove his fingers through his hair, only to realize the movement would alert them to his nervous state. “I want this,” he said, letting his hands hang in loose fists at his sides. “I want us.”

“I believe you, Jim. I just can’t reconcile the things you do that say otherwise.”

Spock gave a slight nod to show his agreement with Leonard.

“I can’t help it!” he almost cried, only to bite back the words. He tried promising instead, “I’ll do better.”

“It is not a matter of you committing a wrongful act,” Spock explained with a calm Jim imagined must be impossible to have in the moment. “We simply want to understand why you shy from us. In order to help you, it becomes necessary.”

There was a faintly bitter taste at the back of Jim’s throat. “Why am I the one holding this thing back?” Struggling to hold back the anger that had unwittingly leeched into his voice, Jim focused on McCoy. “Who cured you? Spock and I had to beg you to consider giving this a chance, Bones. You can’t lose your baggage on a whim!” Not unless you never truly had any to begin with and you were playing with us. That was an allegation Jim couldn’t back up, however.

His hands weren’t shaking; they weren’t. The tremors meant nothing.

It would have been easier if Leonard rose to the bait, slapped accusations back at him, but Leonard didn’t. Instead he looked vaguely guilty. “I talked about it.”

“Not with me,” Jim pointed out, pained. “But I’m too messed up to be trusted to help. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s—Jim, no, that’s not why I told Spock instead of you.” Abruptly Leonard looked frightened, maybe a little desperate. “Sorry, I’m shit at words. I meant, why I told Spock before you.”

Jim saw an opening and took a vicious stab. “Ever heard of too little, too late, Bones?”

“Jim.”

Jim closed his eyes at Spock’s reproach. “We’re back here again. Fuck.” He opened his eyes and let them see the quiet desolation he felt. “I think he was right,” Jim said to Spock. “This isn’t going to work after all.”

“It will work!” Leonard said with surprising ferocity. “I was damned idiot to say that!”

“Bones, I want to give us the benefit of the doubt more than the both of you combined, but we keep arguing. Hurting each other. It’s stupid!”

“Then stop arguing,” Bones snapped. “Start saying things like ‘I want your help’ or ‘I trust you’!”

“But I don’t!” shouted Jim. Following the echo of that, if Jim hadn’t been pressed against the counter, he would have staggered.

Leonard, in fact, did. It was only Spock’s stalwart nature to weather the roughest of storms—and revelations—that keep McCoy upright. Jim’s throat ached when Leonard physically leaned against Spock’s arm for support.

Spock had kept his silence while Jim attacked Leonard and Leonard pushed back. Now he spoke, not sounding hurt or angry, simply sad. “Jim,” he said, “I trust you. I trusted you before I loved you. If our relationship fails, my trust in you will not change.”

This time Jim drove his fingers into his hair without hesitation. What was he supposed to say? Why hadn’t Spock told him he was a fool for his distrust when they hadn’t hurt him?

It was the truth Jim retaliated with because there was nothing else strong enough to make his point. “You can’t tell me that. It’s not fair. If we fail, Spock, I know I won’t trust you. I probably won’t trust anyone ever again,” he said bitterly. “I’m tired of…of wanting people, just, of wanting things everybody else wouldn’t think twice about because, hey, their lives are fucking normal, and instead getting nothing and no one for my trouble. So you tell me,” he ended, jaw working with emotion, “how this plays out. Give me a guarantee I won’t get shoved out on my ass in six months because you can’t handle all of the shit that comes with me.”

“You’re the one said nothing in life is guaranteed, Jim,” Leonard reminded him, except oddly no anger colored his voice.

“I don’t care,” Jim told them both, words flat. “I can’t do this without one.” He loosed a breath, realizing he needed to breathe, that he could breathe again even though his heart was heavy. “For that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I started this.”

His will to fight had peppered out by the end. So when Spock closed the distance between them, Jim had no energy to retreat.

“I am the one who set the events in motion,” Spock told him, “and I must see them to their conclusion.”

“Spock,” Jim whispered, drained, “you don’t have to—”

“Shut up, Jim,” McCoy intervened.

Spock glanced at Leonard, fondness apparent in his features. Jim’s stomach clenched at the sight. Then Spock returned his attention to Jim and said, as sincere as the day Jim had asked for a job, “I give you your guarantee, Jim. Until the day you ask me to leave or you leave me, we will be together.”

Jim’s eyes stung. “Why? Why would you say that?”

“I love you. It is not a difficult promise to make.” Spock looked to McCoy. “Shall I offer you the same?”

“I’ll take it on faith,” Leonard said, smiling and slipping his hand into Spock’s.

Jim’s facade was cracking and he knew it. He pushed gently at Spock’s shoulders so he could have room to move, saying, “Okay, okay, I need to—my errand,” he finished lamely.

“This isn’t you running away, is it?” Leonard asked, eyeing him warily.

“No,” Jim said and felt surprised that he wasn’t lying. “I think I need to… pack. And move my things into Spock’s house.”

Spock looked pleased. “You have a key.”

He did. That was the ironic thing about it all; despite the dire predictions and inner turmoil, he hadn’t given the key back to Spock. Truthfully, he had had no intention of giving the key back because he thought he might need it when…

When he needed somewhere safe to go. That was trust… wasn’t it? “I will be back by lunch. Okay?”

“Okay,” two voices answered. Leonard frowned immediately, given that he had been one of those voices and Spock had not.

“Okay,” a feminine voice repeated.

They turned as one to find at a stranger standing by the register. The woman wrenched another napkin out of a dispenser and dabbed at her eyes. “That was really lovely,” she said, lowering her napkin dispenser since she had their attention. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but would it be all right if I have a coffee now?”

Jim, ever the opportunist, took that as his cue to flee into the kitchen. If anyone heard him laughing, they would have assumed it was from amusement. Sadly, the laughter was quite hysterical.

Next Part

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