0Title: Exhibits A to D (1/4)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: There was a time when Jim Kirk wanted nothing more than to be alone. Now he can’t stand the thought. It doesn’t help matters that his situation is of his own making, seeing as he is the one who expressed the exact opposite of his real feelings to the two people he needs most in his life. Now Jim’s mistake has cost him a chance at happiness—and possibly all three of their lives.
A/N: Who wants AOS McSpirk? I do. And some Jim angst. Mayhap the pining, heartbreak, and danger will appeal to others too.
Exhibit A: Denial
“The Universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.”
– Neil deGrasse Tyson
now
The newcomer maneuvers his bulk into a seat in front of a long, plain countertop, the lounge area empty except for him and the human already stationed at the bar. He leans forward to smirk at his companion, whose only response is a coldly silent rebuff. With one finger, he tilts up the fuming man’s chin, allowing the light of the lounge to add a sheen across dark bruises and flakes of dried blood.
“Your team almost figured out my ploy, Captain. The more I think about that, the less I like it.”
James Kirk’s lips twitch, though his blue eyes remain glacial. “I do. It means this is the last time I have to repeat myself. Starfleet doesn’t abide tyrants. Even if you win the favor of a few councilmen and manage to convince them that my people are the enemy, you’ll gain nothing in the end, Mr. Barac.”
Barac raises his eyebrows but otherwise seems unimpressed.
Jim smiles, then, a glaze settling across his vision like he might be more tuned in to himself than anyone else. “Humans die for what they believe in, you know?” His eerie half-chuckle visibly jars his captor. “Turns out, dying for a cause is universal. Starfleet was founded on whole races of martyrs.”
Kirk’s entire body shudders in place, his face still captured by Barac’s hand. “The people I believe in will fight you as if they have nothing to lose, and you—you selfish prick—can’t possibly comprehend what that means.”
Barac shoves Kirk’s face sideways, nearly unbalancing the captain from his stool. “My men must have beat you too thoroughly. All I hear is nonsense.”
Kirk starts laughing in earnest until, abruptly, the laughter is replaced by a hacking cough and prolonged wheezing. Yet the man manages to warn between labored breaths, “You will see how right I am.”
“No, Captain. You will learn the consequences of your actions. Thinking you could best me was a truly terrible gamble.” Barac abandons his seat, in the process clasping a hand roughly to Kirk’s left shoulder, clearly swollen, prompting another pained grunt from Kirk.
After a moment, Kirk recovers. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Barac? But we were just getting to know each other,” he taunts, following that with undisguised disdain. “Why not finish what you started? I can still breathe!”
The man glances back. “Under other circumstances, I would have already disposed of you, Kirk, but there is a need to keep you alive at the moment.” He shakes his head pityingly. “Thankfully the opposite is true concerning that crew of yours. They are—what is your human phrase?—expendable.”
Kirk lurches out of his seat, failing to straighten up to his full height but managing to stumble toward the retreating man. “Stay away from them. Barac! Do you hear me? Barac!”
A shadow falls over Kirk, one of the guards who assisted in putting Jim Kirk into his present condition. The guard grabs the captain by the arm, jerking him off course from his dogged pursuit.
The lounge’s door snaps shut on a final shout of “BARAC!”
then
Hallway light falls into the dark cabin, framing a slender shadow. That shadow moves forward, shaping briefly into a more human form, the cabin’s owner, before darkness returns to consume it as the door to the corridor closes.
“Computer, lights,” the owner commands.
“Computer, no lights,” comes the countercommand of a groggy voice from within the dark.
“Jesus!” Then, after some hesitation, “Jim?”
“Bones…? Oh, hey. Good evening?”
A snap. “It’s not a good anything if I can’t see where I’m putting my own two feet!”
“Fine, have it your way. Computer, lights 50%.”
When the cabin instantly brightens, Leonard McCoy moves with all haste to the common area. There, he looms over a couch in order to scowl down at its occupant. “If I’d known this was why you ordered furniture for my quarters, I would have sent all of it right back to Requisitions.”
One blue eye opens to peruse McCoy’s expression, then quickly closes again. Kirk firms his mouth and tucks his chin more tightly against his chest upon the declaration, “I’m napping.”
“No, you’re annoying the hell outta me.”
“I’m not doing anything, Bones.”
“You don’t need to. Just seeing your face annoys me.”
Kirk snorts. “I think you’re wonderful too.”
McCoy moves around the edge of the couch and dislodges Kirk’s bent legs—and the rest of the man—none-too-gently. He drops down into the freed-up space with a grave sigh.
Jim, having caught himself from falling the rest of the way off the couch, eventually sits up too, mirroring McCoy’s sigh. For a long moment, the pair remain there in silence, not acknowledging each other.
Leonard, however, has never been a fan of loaded silences. “How long have you been here?”
Kirk rubs the back of his neck, slow to answer.
McCoy supplies for him, “Long enough to worry somebody. Of course. I’m surprised I didn’t find Spock in the corridor sniffing around the door.”
Kirk snorts.
McCoy smiles the tiniest bit before hiding that smile by coughing into his elbow. “First things first,” he says once his dignity is recovered. “Let your Vulcan watchdog know where you are.”
“He probably knows.”
“Spock can’t spend every waking moment of his day monitoring you.”
Jim’s sideways glance at McCoy is so full of skepticism that Leonard rolls his eyes. Then McCoy crosses his arms and tucks away his amusement, adopting a professional mask as Kirk continues to stare at him.
Jim looks away, muttering warily, “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” drawls McCoy, tone even. “This is the third time in two weeks. What are you doing, Jim?”
“Napping,” insists Kirk.
“Your living area has its own couch.”
“Yours is better.”
“I can have it removed. What will you do then?”
Kirk responds sourly, “Have it your way, Doctor,” and jumps up.
Leonard jerks forward and catches the captain’s arm. “Hey, easy. That was a bluff.”
For a moment, Kirk stays too still under his hand. Then Jim’s head swivels in his direction, a tiny gleam in the man’s eyes. “I knew that.”
Leonard doesn’t necessarily believe him but feels it best to keep his own counsel. He releases Kirk and pats the empty spot on the couch. “Since you’re here, I could use your advice.”
Kirk is quick to take a seat again, and then proceeds to make Leonard nervous by pinning him with an intensely focused expression McCoy secretly calls Jim’s ‘captain stare’.
After a few seconds, Kirk prods with, “Well?”, and Leonard decides he might as well jump right in—and quickly think up a decent problem for which he needs advice. Preferably some matter that doesn’t involve Jim.
Finally one such problem occurs to him. “I want M’Benga to take over Spock’s primary care.”
Jim blinks slowly and seems to shake himself the slightest bit. “All right.”
“No, not just ‘all right’. Consider what I’m asking.”
“That M’Benga takes over Spock’s primary—oh.”
“Yes, oh,” Leonard repeats with exasperation. “Every time I suggest it, I get The Look. I hate that particular Look, Jim.”
Jim ducks his head, an aborted chuckle-snort making the man’s shoulders twitch nonetheless. “Who doesn’t?”
“That pointy-eared pain-in-my-behind will never agree to a change in physician unless you back me on it.” McCoy watches Kirk rubs absently at the underside of his chin. “Well?”
“I guess being captain is good for something,” Jim replies at length.
“You being captain is everything,” Leonard states, meaning it. When Kirk turns an odd look upon him, he adds plainly, “And I’m not the first person to say it,” before barrelling on to the matter at hand. “Spock knows I can’t read his charts and manage his health as deftly as M’Benga can. I don’t have the training, and by god I don’t have the time to take the training. M’Benga was a med student with the Vulcan Healers association for years before one of them agreed to teach him the basics of Vulcan physiology.”
Even then, the basics are too little knowledge in McCoy’s opinion. He’s told Spock that often enough, or complained about it, that is.
“I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you.” Relieved, Leonard slings an arm across his friend’s shoulders. “Have you eaten?”
Kirk shrugs. “I think I was out for a while.”
“Then putting some food in that belly is the top priority. Doctor’s orders.”
Jim teases, “Any chance I can switch my primary physician to M’Benga?”
Leonard pokes the idiot very hard in the ribs. “Only on a cold day in hell. But if you agree to be an obedient little patient, I might be persuaded to ease up on the restrictions on your meal card.”
Kirk’s eyes light up.
“For tonight,” McCoy adds, enjoying the dramatic way Kirk groans.
The light-haired man flops back down on the couch in a manner not unlike a stubborn puppy. Situating an arm across his eyes, Kirk challenges, “Being good sounds boring. I should go back to sleep.”
In response, and without an ounce of remorse, Leonard shoves Jim to the floor. Then Leonard stands up and heads to his quarters’ built-in replicator. “I want the bourbon,” he calls back to Jim as Jim easily rolls to his feet from the floor and veers toward the cabinet where Leonard’s most prized liquor bottles are stored.
“Bourbon for Bones,” Kirk agrees dutifully.
In a way (and this is nothing McCoy would ever admit), Leonard is glad that Jim chooses his cabin to sneak into, because it grants Leonard a marginally deeper sense of self-importance. But he decides not to dwell on that dangerous territory too long and to enjoy the company of his friend.
Jim Kirk turns a desk computer screen toward him, a familiar face staring back, faintly amused. “Sir,” Jim begins formally before switching to, “Hello, Chris.” Kirk sighs, clearly vexed with himself. “This isn’t going to surprise you but—I screwed up again.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know, it goes without saying. Get my shit together.”
Jim drops his hand to his desk and starts drumming his fingers against it, frowning deeply. “I should have told McCoy. But what if…” The man’s throat works momentarily. “What if he tells me to take a hike or… laughs me out of the room. What if he says I’m the only one who feels this way.” Jim shuts his eyes. “Chris, I—”
A chime sounds and Kirk straightens, twisting around to stare at the entrance to his bathroom. “Spock?” he calls a heartbeat later.
The guess is correct. Spock glides through the doorway as it opens. “Captain.” The Vulcan pauses long enough to correct himself to, “Jim,” as his dark gaze takes in Kirk’s personal cabin. His “Good evening” almost seems like an afterthought.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?”
The Vulcan tilts his head ever-so-slightly, focusing his scrutiny on Kirk now. “I happened to hear you speaking with someone.”
“And thought to interrupt?” Jim jests.
Spock stiffens. “Of course not, Captain. I apologize that my timing may have unduly—”
Jim raises a hand, and his second-in-command instantly quiets.
“That was a joke, not a criticism. I know you would never intentionally cause a disruption without a valid reason.”
Spock blinks once before surprising Jim with the admission, “I may have approached your door out of curiosity.”
Jim punches down a swell of fondness. “In any event,” he says calmly, reaching out in a casual manner to flick off his computer screen, “you caused no harm.” A little voice inside Jim that sounds suspiciously like McCoy persists in warning Jim to be clear in his meaning. He tacts on, “I am not upset, Spock.”
“I see.” Spock proceeds farther into the cabin, folding his arms behind his back.
A sudden tingling forms at the base of Kirk’s neck, his own personal red alert.
“Did you rest well, Jim?”
Kirk hunkers down slightly in his chair, musing in that moment upon his inability to sink through the floor. Of course should he land in the poor crewman’s cabin below his, they would no doubt take more exception to his unannounced appearance than Bones had.
Wishing he had better control over the flush to his face, Jim manages the only thing he can—his voice, forcing an even tone. “I did. Thank you for asking.”
Spock’s next step forward brings the Vulcan level with the end of Kirk’s desk. “Dr. McCoy did not inform me of any disturbance to his routine, so I assume you appealed to his sympathetic nature.”
Jim eyes the other man. “Where are you going with this?”
“I am ‘going nowhere’ that I am aware of,” Spock explains blandly. “I merely desired to ascertain if I must visit the doctor tomorrow to address a grievance.”
“I don’t grieve Bones,” Jim snaps, feeling peevish now, but obviously the outburst fails to ruffle Spock.
“I suspect the manner in which you define that term, Jim, is not in keeping with the universal definition.”
Jim’s gaze narrows. “You’re annoying, Mr. Spock.”
“I have been told this upon occasion.”
“And dismissed,” Jim adds with pointed politeness. “Good evening, Commander.”
Spock stares at him a moment longer then inclines his head, pivots around, and exits the room without a word more.
A breath explodes from Kirk, who stabs at his computer screen until it re-activates. Then, faced with the sight of his mentor, Jim settles down.
“I wish you were here,” he tells Pike, not for the first time since the inception of the Enterprise’s five-year mission. “You would know how to put a nosy first officer in his place. Instead, I always end up with the impression that Spock is the victor of our little confrontations. How I can never win a single fight without pulling rank?”
Letting his eyes shut once more, Kirk resumes a more relaxed pose. “At this point, you would tell me to stop being a dickhead and confess. Not just to Bones or to Spock, but both. But, Chris… would they understand me?” Jim’s fingers pick at the edge of the chair arm. “Would either of them have the capacity to love me as I love them? I want to know, but I’m afraid of the answer.”
No answer is forthcoming, nor will be as Jim is conversing one-sidedly with a photograph. Without opening his eyes, Jim clicks off the screen and the visage of Admiral Christopher Pike disappears.
The photo is a gift, when at his protégé’s behest Pike had humored Jim, agreeing for some undisclosed reason to allow Jim to capture that picture. Now Jim cannot remember precisely why he wanted the memento in the first place—only that he is grateful to have it among his personal affects, particularly these days when the burden of his position seems to wear on him. It may have been, he acknowledges privately, that some part of him knew what loneliness would lay ahead once his ‘Fleet career began in earnest.
In that moment, the lonely ache always resident within Jim threatens to overwhelm him. Eventually it passes, after a few held breaths, and Jim opens his eyes. There’s a fervent wish on the tip of his tongue that doesn’t quite fit into words. Swallowing his longing, Kirk levers away from his desk to seek out his bed.
The guest inside Spock’s quarters ceases his lazy stirring of a spoon through coffee when Spock returns. He wants to know, “What did Jim say?”
“He avoided the subject.”
“Told you so.”
“Indeed you did, Doctor,” replies the Vulcan, taking a seat across from Leonard McCoy. “Have you any theory to explain his actions?”
McCoy frowns down at his drink. “I wouldn’t be botherin’ you if I knew why, Mr. Spock.”
“Spock, please,” Spock insists, continuing when McCoy looks up at him, clearly startled. “I do not consider this ship’s business. Formality is unnecessary.”
“Jim is our captain. His well-being is my business.”
“As his well-being is mine. But Jim is also a friend. Are you not here with concern for your friend?”
McCoy’s frown eases into a more neutral expression. “Sometimes I have a difficult time distinguishing the two.” His gaze flicks away then returns, an unhappiness lurking there. “Times were simpler at the Academy. Jim was a classmate and a friend. Not because I wanted to be friends, mind you, but the man can be so persistent, sometimes it’s easier to let him have his way.”
“I understand.”
“No, Spock, I don’t think you do—not fully. I’m saying I struggle to act accordingly, whether it be doctor, friend, or subordinate.”
Spock steeples his hands, offering a secondary perspective with the hope McCoy will be amenable to it. “I see no fault in your behavior.”
When the doctor’s eyes widen, and McCoy questions, “Are you feeling sick?”, Spock chastises, “Allow me to finish, Leonard.”
McCoy seems more flabbergasted than ever, but the Vulcan presses on: “Separation of feelings from duty is no simple matter; the separation of one feeling from another, even more so. I know you agree with both these sentiments, as you have expressed them individually and in tandem with frequency and fervency. You astound me by failing to consider the possibility now.”
“Insultin’ me and praisin’ me in the same breath. So typical,” mutters McCoy, but the man appears to be listening intently.
“It is not logical to fault someone else for experiencing difficulty in navigating a complex process, particularly when that process is intrinsic to his or her nature. If you were Vulcan—”
“Thank god for small favors!”
“—you would have other resources and training to leverage as I do, but again that is through no fault of your own. Therefore I do not and cannot find error in such an admission. It is not dereliction of duty to treasure a friend above a superior. It is not a symptom of unfairness to hold the superior to higher standards than the friend. That you can delineate who Jim is to you based upon how you feel in any given moment is in fact a tremendous boon, Dr. McCoy. I recognize and commend you for it.”
“I… don’t know what to say. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“You are welcome.”
“But it doesn’t help with our little problem.”
“It does not,” agrees Spock. “I begin to wonder, however, if what troubles you also proves an issue for Jim. Perhaps there is a part of him which wishes to engage you on a more personal level but cannot comfortably circumvent the chain of command to make you aware of it.”
“And so subconsciously his way of hinting that he might need the friend instead of the doctor is by doing something crazy like taking naps in my quarters instead of his own,” muses McCoy. “Yeah, that does sound like something he would do.” He meets Spock’s gaze then. “You know, Spock, you’ve been very helpful.”
“I am pleased you think so.”
“Now I have a question for you.”
“Proceed.”
McCoy’s eyes start to twinkle. “You called me here because you share my concern for Jim, that’s obvious. You called me specifically because I am a friend of Jim’s and everyone knows you are a friend of Jim’s too. So, logically speaking, does that make our interactions a friendship?”
“Assuming friendship operates under the transitive property, Doctor, it could be so.”
McCoy grins at him. “I’ll take what I can get.” The man reaches across the table and clasps Spock’s forearm. “Happy to make your acquaintance, Friend Spock!”
“As I already expressed, simply ‘Spock’ will do.”
The doctor chuckles, pulling back. “Now that that’s settled, we gotta concoct a plan. Coming home to a guest in the dark when least expected isn’t doing my health any good.”
“What solution would you propose?”
“Is it possible to adjust the security on my cabin?”
“Not to the extent that the Captain would not be able to surpass it should he be determined to do so.”
“Damn, I knew Jim was too smart for his own good.” McCoy seems to be having a difficult time suppressing his amusement. “Lucky for us, you’re smarter.”
Spock is beyond pleased. “I am here to assist however I can.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me yet, hobgoblin. Fire up that supercomputer in your noggin’. How does one out-think Jim Kirk?”
Spock considers the matter very seriously—and not for the first time since that fateful day he encountered the young man who would one day become his captain and his friend.
“It has been proven that under extraordinary circumstances, Jim is extremely adaptable.” An idea forms. “It may be,” Spock voices with deliberate slowness, “that we must let him assume nothing is out of the ordinary.”
“That’s brilliant, Spock!” decides McCoy, leaning close, in his enthusiasm nearly sloshing coffee out of its cup, a beverage Spock had gifted the doctor with upon his arrival. “We bait him. The next time Jim thinks I’m busy in Sickbay and slinks off to invade my quarters—”
“You and I shall be waiting there instead,” Spock finishes.
“I love a good confrontation,” McCoy declares, only to amend quickly at Spock’s raised eyebrow, “between friends. A confrontation between friends.”
“Friendship being the crucial factor to our success, Doctor.”
McCoy sobers. “Hear, hear. Jim won’t take kindly to being ambushed otherwise. I think only a friend can help him sort out whatever is bothering him enough to haunt someone else’s couch.” The man releases a soft sigh. “Spock, never thought I’d say this, but you have my gratitude. Somehow you knew this wasn’t something I wanted to do alone.”
“You are never alone.”
“Well, aren’t you quite the charming fellow tonight?”
“I speak the truth.”
McCoy nods. “I know.”
The men stare at one another in silence for some time. During that comfortable silence, hope builds in Spock. While he does not doubt that McCoy has the skill and passion to unearth what troubles their captain on his own, with Spock at McCoy’s side, the chances of success are double. In this, he and McCoy have always held an unspoken understanding, which is why the doctor so readily agreed to his invitation. Jim Kirk is the common thread that binds them.
Spock acknowledges that he treasures both: having synchronicity with Leonard in this way and having Jim be its root cause.
It may be a foolish desire on his part to value such connections, he goes on to muse. But as Amanda Grayson, his mother, once tried to help him understand, no one can fully explain the needs of the human heart. Spock’s heart is human like hers, though his way of offering affection is decidedly more Vulcan. His relationship with Nyota Uhura, spanning years, helped him learn that about himself.
His mother would have liked Leonard. She would have approved of Jim. Nyota cares about both. Cannot Spock, then, seek to strengthen his connection to both men based upon such knowledge?
Logic agrees with intuition: Spock can, and should, act upon his growing affection.
However there is, he determines, the small matter of making that affection known with positive results.
Making note of the happy light in Leonard’s eyes and teasing in his voice, Spock’s hope continues to build. Yes, what he desires may be possible after all.
Kirk comes awake momentarily disoriented. His brain catches onto the sound that had pulled him from sleep and, in an instant, he is out of bed and at his desk to accept an incoming priority missive from Headquarters.
A missive that wakes him up is never a sign of anything good. He sits down in his chair with a thump and absorbs the orders of the Admiralty.
Change of plans. Abort rendezvous with the USS Gallant to pick up supplies. Planet is threatening to secede from the Federation. Make all haste to the locale and fix it.
Wonderful, thinks Kirk dismally. Since when did a captain’s duties include playing meditator between the Federation and its members? Doesn’t the President have ambassadors for that?
Kirk rubs his temples for a time and then activates his comm unit. “Kirk to Bridge.”
“Bridge here,” he hears Scotty say. “A wee bit early for you to be checking in, sir.”
“Why are you in my chair?” Jim demands.
“Building up my command hours,” counters the Chief Engineer cheerfully. “‘Tis Mr. Spock’s idea.”
Kirk sighs. “Lay in a course for the coordinates I just forwarded you. We need to be in transit within the hour.”
Scott’s tone immediately sobers. “And the Gallant, sir?”
“Notify them we’ve had a delay on orders of Command.” Jim grabs a gold shirt from his closet. “I’ll explain later. On my way. Kirk out.”
As he is dressing, he activates the comm. “Spock, I need you on the bridge.”
The response is immediate. “Affirmative.”
“Meet you at the lift.”
Jim thinks long and hard about why he hates surprises but accepts that the inevitable cannot be avoided. He’ll muck through somehow.
Of course, he doesn’t have to do it alone. Before Jim can think better of it, he makes a final call.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“I need you, Bones.” Jim can imagine McCoy sitting straight up in bed, eyes bleary, hair mussed.
“What is it?” the doctor asks, the caustic edge to his delivery replaced by fresh concern. “Jim?”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you.”
“I’m up now,” McCoy says without any real heat. “Where do you need me?”
“Bridge, soon as you can get there.”
“On my way.” The channel closes.
Feeling most of his tension slide away, Jim does one look-over of himself for presentability before stepping out of his quarters. Spock, at the turn of the corridor, is already waiting by the lift pad. Jim jogs toward him, comforted by the fact that despite whatever new adventure the Enterprise has just embarked upon, he will have his trusted crew at his side.
And in that moment, Jim Kirk wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything, including himself.
Next up, Exhibit B: Rejection.
Related Posts:
- Exhibits A to D (3/4) – from December 9, 2018
- Exhibits A to D (2/4) – from November 27, 2018
