Title: Along Comes a Stranger (15/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: AU. Jim’s life in Riverside is uncomplicated until two men, both equally mysterious and compelling, arrive in town, bringing with them the promise of change.
Previous Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

I’m beginning to think this story is well-liked enough that, should I opt to discontinue it, some people might become a tad upset. Therefore, I offer the next installment for your enjoyment.

Part Fifteen

“I don’t think I can move from this spot,” Jim says with a groan, slumping in his kitchen chair. He fiddles with his soup bowl of tinola, debating on a last bite or not. He has already scraped the bottom of the chicken curry dish, unable to decide if the curry is more Thai or Indian, thinking it must be a combination of both. “Filipino is officially my new favorite. Dinner was fantastic,” he adds appreciatively.

Spock places his fork aside, finishing the last lumpia—a piece of plantain wrapped and deep-fried like an egg roll and sweetened with sugar and syrup. “I suspect this news will be grave indeed for Mr. Mitchell.”

Jim laughs. “He would forgive me quickly enough if I mentioned your culinary skill. Then you’d be hard-pressed to ignore his demands that you teach him a few recipes.”

Spock does not seem intimidated by the thought of Gary Mitchell showing up on his doorstep. “If you are done—“ He says nothing of that fact that Jim had almost three plates worth, plenty to feed two or three people. “—shall we retire to the living area?”

Jim attempts to maneuver out of his chair. It creaks ominously. He’ll have to reinstate his morning run if Spock plans to make a Filipino dinner a regular occurrence. Once Jim is on his feet and shuffling away from the kitchen table, Spock takes the lead and Jim follows him until they come to the comfortably and tastefully decorated living room, complete with two couches and decently sized television. Jim regrets that he did not have the foresight to bring along a movie—preferably one of those that Spock admits to knowing nothing about—and improving Spock’s sad lack of exposure to American entertainment. He relaxes into one of the couches, certain that if getting up from the kitchen table was difficult, getting up from this soft couch will be tortuous, likely impossible.

Spock looks amused at Jim’s expression of bliss. He wanders out of Jim’s periphery vision, only to return bearing a delicately carved rectangular box. Jim rolls his head to the side, following Spock’s movement, and asks, “What’s that?”

The man places the object on the table and carefully opens it. “The game of chess—a gift, from my father when I was a small child.”

Jim sits up with interest. “I can play chess.”

“I had hoped such would be your answer.”

He leans over, fingers hesitating over the black sleek chess pieces. Spock nods his assent, and Jim picks one up to examine. The wood has been well-cared for but nonetheless shows signs of wear around the edges. “You must have played on a regular basis.”

“Yes,” admits Spock, “though I often had no opponent.”

“Really?” he asks, chest tightening unexpectedly at the vision of a young boy playing by himself. Jim had played with his mother, occasionally with whoever happened to be babysitting little Kirk. He rarely plays these days.

“I am an only child” is the short explanation.

And there were no other children interested in chess where Spock lived? No adults with free time?

Jim decides not to pursue the subject. He says instead, lightly teasing, “I’ll warn you, Spock—I’m an awesome chess player!”

Raising an eyebrow, Spock tilts his head. “What an arrogant statement.”

Jim grins. “It’s true, though. You think you can beat me?”

Spock begins to place the set of white pieces on his side of the board. “We shall see.”

The truth is Jim plays wildly, mostly without a strategy until the last minute, whereupon he does his best not to fail miserably. Sometimes he wins that way; sometimes his carefree attitude backs him into a corner he can’t fight his way out of. With Spock, however, for this first game Jim feels he ought to impress the man—not necessarily by winning (he’d be surprised if that happened) but by playing a serious game.

Jim is surprised to learn that he is rather good at playing seriously; he doesn’t even mind that Spock takes several minutes on occasion to contemplate which piece to move where. After an intense twenty minutes, Kirk is losing but only by a margin. Jim makes his next move, a bishop taking one of Spock’s pawns, and leans back, pleased and smiling.

Then Spock easily knocks away his black rook, in position to take the black Queen, and announces, “Checkmate.”

“What!” Jim bursts out. “B-But… Spock!” He almost scoots off the end of the couch to get a closer look at the chessboard, like he can will his Queen to runaway to safety by the force of his Jim Kirk stare. Failing to do just that, he drops his head forward in defeat. “Crap.”

Spock’s voice flows like warm water across his skin, soothing. “You played an admirable game, Jim. Would you care for a rematch?”

Jim glances at Spock through his lashes. “I wasn’t too bad, was I?”

“Admirable, as I said.” Spock’s dark eyes are glinting with something close to humor.

“That’s what all the girls say,” quips Kirk with a smirk. He straightens. “Okay. Round two, mister. Prepare to be—”

The doorbell echoes loudly throughout the house. Jim’s hand stills around his King. He turns to Spock questioningly.

Spock rises from his chair next to the coffee table. He is looking away, towards the front of the house, but makes no move to answer the door.

“Spock?”

Jim calling his name seems to bring Spock back to Earth. “I am not expecting additional company this evening,” Kirk is informed.

Then Spock is striding away, a curious and somewhat peeved Jim on his heels. Though why Jim is peeved at this unknown interruption of their evening escapes Kirk entirely. He slips to the side, lingering at such an angle that the person at the door won’t see him right away. (Jim is aware that the element of surprise might be an excellent advantage, though he hopes it won’t be necessary.)

Spock turns on the light in the foyer and opens the door. Jim reads surprise in the man’s posture but no obvious warning of danger.

“Spock, uh—”

Jim sucks in a breath, knowing that drawl (having heard it in his dreams too much as of late). Bones.

“—sorry about the time, were you asleep?”

“I was not.”

There is a moment of silence, in which the two men must be having a wordless conversation Jim is not privy to. Then Spock steps back to allow Leonard McCoy entrance into his home.

When Bones walks into the light of the foyer, Jim shifts among the shadows, deliberately drawing McCoy’s attention. McCoy’s eyes widen at the sight of him, clearly not expecting Jim’s presence.

A small flare of anger takes Jim by surprise. He says, before he can think, “What are you doing here, Bones?”

Bones’ expression changes, darkens at the hint of displeasure in Kirk’s voice. He clears his throat but no animosity can be heard in his response. “I was… tired of being alone. ‘N you said you had plans tonight.” Leonard’s wry look reads guess you weren’t lying.

Jim’s anger flickers out in the face of Leonard’s honesty. “Sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry,” he replies lamely.

McCoy makes a waving gesture, as if to say forget it. The dark-haired man says to Spock, “I’m interruptin’. I’ll go.”

Spock’s eyes seek Jim’s and Jim nods, not needing to hear the question. Spock tells McCoy, “We would be pleased if you joined us, Leonard.”

Leonard doesn’t believe them, Jim can see that much. Yet there is something else, too, in Bones’ face that is hard to interpret. Still, Jim moves forward and curls his hand around Leonard’s bicep, tugging gently. “C’mon, Bones. Stay.”

McCoy lets Jim pull him in the direction of the living room. Jim says, too casually, “Spock and I were playing chess.” He nips at his bottom lip with momentary indecision. “We’ve already had dinner. You hungry? There are leftovers.”

Bones shakes his head as he gingerly takes a seat on the couch. “I had something earlier. I’m good.”

Jim looks at Spock and remarks, “He’s passing on your cuisine, Mr. Spock. Isn’t that rude?”

Spock’s mild look is answer enough.

Leonard is hasty to correct himself. “You mean Spock cooked? Shit, why didn’t you say so in the first place, Jim? Only an idiot doesn’t beg for scraps when Spock cooks.”

“Great! I’ll just, uh—Spock, I don’t know my way around your kitchen. Can you…?”

Without a word, Spock heads to the kitchen to prepare a plate of food for McCoy. Jim drops next to Leonard on the couch and stretches out his legs.

For a minute, neither of them speak. Leonard is looking everywhere but at Jim, and Jim stares unfocusedly on the sprawled chess pieces on the coffee table. Only McCoy’s soft sigh breaks the silence, prompts Jim to ask, “It’s late. How did you get here?”

“Bus runs until nine.”

Jim looks Leonard in the eye. “So you were planning on spending the night here?”

McCoy replies evenly, “I’d have caught a taxi home.” After a pause, “You staying the night?”

Jim tucks his hands into his jean pockets. “My bike’s in Spock’s garage,” which really isn’t an answer to the question at all. Jim isn’t certain why he doesn’t assure Bones he hadn’t thought of staying with Spock past dinner. Truth be told, Kirk had not considered the possibility before that very moment.

McCoy is no fool. He wants to know, asking so quietly like Spock shouldn’t hear the question, “Jim, am I—am I interrupting something? Truly?”

“Do you think that’s any of your business, Bones?”

“No—damn it, yeah, maybe.” Leonard presses a hand over his eyes. “Hell, kid, this is awkwarder than a cow on crutches.”

Jim’s hand doesn’t clamp over his mouth fast enough to stop his giggling.

Leonard removes his hand and glares at Jim. “What?”

“Nothing, Bones—just, ah, when was the last time you saw a cow on crutches?”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “Lord help me, you’re a dingbat. It’s a sayin’, darlin’. Like when I say if brains were leather, you wouldn’t have enough to saddle a junebug!”

Jim sits up. “Oh, really? Well you’re so dumb you couldn’t piss your name in the snow!”

“You couldn’t find your ass with a flashlight and a roadmap!”

Jim flails for a second or two. “Y-You’re so ugly you’d back lightning up a tree!”

McCoy doubles over laughing. When he is coherent enough to talk, he wipes at his eyes and manages, “Oh God, oh God, shut up, Jim, before I bust a rib or somethin’.”

Jim barely maintains a straight face. “You kiss your mama with that mouth, Bones?”

Leonard sinks back into the plush couch, rubbing at the tear tracks of laughter on his face. “I wouldn’t dare cuss in front of my mama. She’d tan my hide, even as old as I am.”

Jim thinks on that for a moment. Then he asks, somewhat somberly, “Does she know you’re in Riverside?”

Leonard’s inability to look Jim in the face is all the answer Kirk needs.

“That’s not right,” he tells McCoy. “I know she has to be worried about you, Bones.”

“You don’t know nothin’ about my family” is Leonard’s pointed reply.

“Jim may not be acquainted with your family, Leonard,” Spock interjects as he returns to the living room (right on cue, thinks Jim), “but I am. Your mother is aware of your location.”

Leonard’s face goes from startled to incredulous and slightly angry. “You told her? You had no right to do that!”

Spock places the plate of food on the coffee table. “Your departure upset her immensely. It would be insensitive to prolong her worry.”

Jim grabs for Bones as the man scrambles off the couch, without a doubt, to slug Spock. He tightens his grip on McCoy’s arm in warning. “Don’t.”

There is a wild quality to Leonard when he turns to stare at Jim. “You’re—you’re sidin’ with him? Of course.” Leonard jerks his arm out of Jim’s hand. “I shoulda known. Is this what y’all are doing together? Plotting behind my back?”

Jim’s anger flares up again. He wants to says watch yourself, McCoy but he can’t get words past the bone in his throat. What he does manage to say, after a tense span of seconds, is far worse: “You’re self-centered, Bones, you know that? Everything’s about you, your problems, your fucked-up life. Tonight had nothing—nothing!—to do with you at all but you’re pushing your way in, regardless!”

“Jim.” Spock’s sharp warning has Kirk snapping his mouth shut. He folds his arms since he can’t back away from McCoy with the couch blocking the only escape from behind.

Leonard is pale. “Well don’t hold back how you feel, Jim,” he says.

Jim closes his eyes, the aftermath of his rant like acid on his tongue. When he opens his eyes again, Bones has sidled around the far end of the coffee table, out of reach of both Spock and Kirk. “Bones,” he begins, “I didn’t—”

“You meant every word,” Leonard says in spite of Jim’s protest. “And I gotta say, you might be right, kid. I am self-centered. Only a… an awful person drowns his friends in his misery.”

Spock circles the coffee table, towards McCoy, and surprisingly the man stays still at Spock’s approach. “Jim spoke out of anger. He is like you, Leonard; he is wont to say that which he will later regret.”

Jim doesn’t know whether to be touched that Spock is being understanding, or pissed that the lawyer is attempting to dismiss the truth in Jim’s accusations.

“Doesn’t mean what he said was wrong, Spock,” says McCoy.

Jim watches Spock reach out to touch Leonard, and Kirk sighs, falling onto the couch, limp and resigned. He twists a hand into his hair and mutters, “If you’re really so fucked-up, Bones, then we’re fucked-up by proxy.” Dropping his head back against the couch, Jim stares at the ceiling. Just for a night—that’s all I want. One night, no drama.

The cushion dips beside him. Spock has maneuvered Leonard back onto the couch, close enough to bump elbows with Jim. Leonard sits hunched, hands gripping his knees, like he is expecting something awful to happen. Without worrying if he should dare to do so, Jim reaches over and places a hand on Bones’ thigh. McCoy doesn’t remove it.

Spock re-positions his chair to face them, sits down, and fixes them both with an inscrutable stare. The lawyer appears to come to a decision.

“Leonard,” Spock starts initially, “I must confess a recent development of a personal nature. Jim, to you also—as it pertains to you, quite irrevocably.”

That simple, remarkable announcement causes a shiver down Jim’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. He tenses, fully alert, ready to act and nervous beyond compare in the same breath. “What do you mean, Spock?”

Leonard has said nothing but is steadily focused on Spock nevertheless.

Spock, unexpectedly, directs a question to Jim. “Do you find me attractive, James Kirk?”

The muscle of Leonard’s thigh twitches when Jim squeezes it as an unconscious reaction.

“You’re attractive,” Jim says, mouth going dry.

“Are you attracted to me?” Spock asks again.

Without thinking, “Yes.” The punch of the automatic answer makes Jim shudder. He thinks of dark knowing eyes, of the imposing figure Spock cut while insisting that he must find Leonard McCoy, of the not-smile that tickles Jim in a soft, sweet way.

He is attracted to Spock.

Oh. Shit.

Spock nods like Jim’s yes isn’t a revelation at all. McCoy is unnervingly quiet.

Spock turns to Leonard, then, and says, “I find that I reciprocate Jim’s attraction. I had not… anticipated doing so, yet when I realized you were drawn to Jim Kirk, I wanted to understand why. I studied him—”

Kirk makes a noise, because really he is right here.

“—and I initiated interaction with him—”

Jim covers his face with his free hand.

“—and eventually concluded that the qualities which endear Jim to you are, in general, esteem-worthy and… tantalizing.”

And any second now, Jim is going to sink through the couch, through the floor, and disappear and attempt to forget how embarrassed he is.

“Why are you telling me this, Spock?” Leonard asks at last, voice strained.

Spock explains “I do not wish there to be secrets between us” like the answer is obvious.

McCoy—and possibly Jim too—does not get it. He laughs, and it’s entirely fake. “There’s no need to break up with me, Spock. We’re not together.”

“Wait,” Jim tries to interrupt, “wait a minute—”

“I am not ending our relationship, Leonard—despite your insistence that we do not have one. I am telling you that I am not adverse to Mr. Kirk. An arrangement, perhaps—”

Jim can’t hear anymore. He leaps up from the couch with a fierce “No way!” only to barely save himself from face-planting as he clumsily scrambles over the couch’s armrest. Heart in his throat and feet firmly on the floor, he looks at McCoy and Spock in part shock and part fury.

It takes a precious second to control his breathing. Of all the… and Spock said Leonard agreed not to choose and now Spock is suggesting… and what a heartless suggestion.

“No,” he repeats, ragged. “I am not a—a fucking arrangement!”

McCoy’s face switches from despairingly blank to horrified. “Jim…”

But Jim has his eyes on Spock. “Is that why you asked me to dinner,” he demands, “to evaluate my, my suitability for a threesome?” His sudden rage is fueled by pain—by betrayal and, largely, disappointment. “Fuck you!”

He turns on his heel and strides away—not quite running—in the direction he vaguely thinks the garage might be. If he can’t find the garage, he’ll walk. Doesn’t matter, so long as he gets out of this house.

Bones is chasing him, calling “Jim!”

And he likes—liked—Spock. What an idiot, what a fool, what a stupid dreamer, born of feeling lonely, of wanting more—

His instinct isn’t wrong. The door he jerks open from a hazy recollection is the door to the garage. But someone catches at his jacket sleeve when Jim begins to descend the first step, accidentally offsetting his balance, and with a sharp inhale of surprise, Jim misses the next step completely.

The pain of hurt feelings is nothing compared to the physical, knife-deep pain shooting up his leg when he cracks it against the unyielding cement of the stairs during his fall. But Bones is tumbling down with him, both of them in a tangle of limbs, and better to let Jim break than let Leonard get hurt, so he twists sideways to protect the other man. For a moment, upon landing, Jim sees nothing but black, a buzzing in his ears, faintly aware of Bones’ weight on top of him, of a smell he has grown to love, a Bones’ scent—cheap bourbon and aftershave. Then someone smacks his face sharply with “Jim, Jim, are you with me?” and Jim blinks back from the edge of oblivion, only to land smack-dab into epic pain.

He groans, or at least whimpers manly. “Didja have t’kill me, Bones?”

Leonard retorts “You’re not dead” but his voice is shaky. “Can you sit up?”

“Probably,” he says, “but I’m fine on the ground, thanks.”

There is more than one set of hands lifting him up. Jim protests feebly, mostly grateful for the help. Once he is upright, he draws in a breath and says, “Don’t touch my leg.”

Bones automatically shifts to look at his leg. Jim curses him soundly.

“Spock, a pair of scissors?” McCoy asks the man crouched next to him. Spock rises, returning shortly with scissors.

Jim watches in detached fascination as the left leg of his brand new pair of jeans is slit up the side and effectively destroyed—if one discounts that he had ripped them at the knee during the fall. Leonard examines the limb, probing tentatively at various areas with his fingertips. Jim grips someone’s shirt at the shooting pain, willing himself not to faint. Kirks do not faint.

“Sorry, Jim,” soothes the doctor. “I gotta…”

“I know,” he grits out.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Spock asks.

“No,” Jim says at the same time McCoy replies, “Yes.”

Spock looks between them. Jim says, more forcefully, “I will crawl away from the paramedics if I have to. No ambulance.”

McCoy stares at Jim for a long minute and, despite the pain, Jim juts his chin out stubbornly. Finally, Leonard concedes, though he doesn’t look thrilled. “We have an x-ray machine at the clinic. You will have an x-ray of this leg, Jim, if I have to drug you to get it done.”

He swallows. “It’s broken, then?”

McCoy says, “No, I don’t think so. Let me wrap it, though, just to be on the safe side. And I want you immobilized until the clinic opens. No pressure on the leg, none. It’s already swelling.”

Jim jokes, “I gotta move, Bones, you know, to get home.” He doesn’t like the silent exchange between McCoy and Spock. No, uh-uh, not going to happen. “Absolutely not,” he argues before either of them can say a word. “My apartment—”

Spock summarizes, “…is a lengthy distance away, the journey to which could stress your injury.” Jim has no opportunity to protest because he is shocked when the man slides an arm under his knees, his other arm around Jim’s back, and lifts Jim with apparent ease.

Jim almost shrieks at the indignation of being cradled like a girl. The sound that comes out his “O” of a mouth is, at best, a gargle of astonishment and hell no. Leonard is kind enough to push the door wide open so that Spock can tote Jim back into his house like a damsel in distress.

He wiggles his upper torso madly, not caring if Spock drops him and how painful that will be on his already throbbing leg. Leonard calls to their retreating backs, “I’ll make an ice pack.” Then a quieter mutter, “Ibuprofen ‘n bandages…”

Spock advises Kirk to remain still. Jim interprets it as you cannot escape now.

He decides then and there that, no matter what Spock is planning—bedside nursing, a threesome, or some convoluted mind fuckery like luring Jim into acquiescence with promises of Filipino food and chess games—he is going to give this man—and the aggravatingly irresolute doctor puttering around Spock’s kitchen—absolute hell.

Jim Kirk Hell.

And then he is going to call his mother, tell her that Spock and McCoy broke his leg, and lie back to watch how poorly they fare against her.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Along Comes a Stranger (28/28) – from July 10, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (27/28) – from July 9, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (26/28) – from July 5, 2011
• Chapter of Doom – from July 4, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (25/28) – from June 30, 2011