Title: Along Comes a Stranger (16/?)
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.
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Part Sixteen

Jim rolls over, mindful of his bandaged leg, and presses his face into a fluffy pillow.

Stupid bed is his drowsy mental complaint. Stupid bed, soft as a freaking cloud. He could sleep all day.

A hand brushes against the back of his head, combing through his hair. (So nice.) He mutters nonsense, still half-asleep.

“Jim.”

I’m on the good meds, let me sleep.

“Jimmy.”

One more minute, Mom.

The hand drifts down his neck to rub circles between his shoulder blades. He makes an incoherent noise, his brain fighting a sweet fog in order to wake up. Memories surface of mornings after long bouts of the flu as a child, when his mother would be at his bedside, coaxing him to roll over and—

It can’t be.

His eyes pop open. “Mom?”

“Hi, baby.”

He scrambles to turn over but a hand presses firmly on his shoulder. Winona warns him, “Slowly now, Jim. Dr. McCoy says you need to be careful.”

Jim turns to look at her, mouth open in surprise. “Mom, how did you…?”

She purses her lips. “Did you think it wasn’t pertinent to inform me you were hurt, Jimmy?”

Late afternoon sun filters through the window of the guest room, casting the sparsely decorated room in an orange glow. Jim strains but hears no other sounds except the rustle of bed sheets as he tugs at them.

“I’m fine,” Kirk tries to explain, strangely embarrassed to be caught shirtless and in pajama bottoms only. “Bones and Spock took me to the clinic this morning.”

“You should have called me.” A mild but firm reproach.

He hangs his head. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Winona hands her son a glass of water without another word.

He takes two swallows and sighs, sitting up and running a free hand over his face. He is still slightly groggy from the painkillers Bones had forced on him at the clinic, though Jim had insisted he had a high tolerance for pain. Spock escorted Jim, not to his apartment, but back to the house, assuring Leonard that he, Spock, could babysit a sulky, sleepy Jim for the remainder of the day.

Jim apparently didn’t have a choice in the matter, being carted around like a fragile child in need of close supervision. Kirk figured once he napped (two intended hours turning into five somehow), having spent the previous night too aggravated at his situation to sleep well, he would feel up to implementing his plan to annoy the hell out of Spock and Bones.

But now his mother is here, sooner than expected.

She explains, “I came as soon as Leonard called me this morning.”

Damn you, Bones.

Jim would have gotten around to letting his mother know about the accident. Then again, maybe McCoy thought it best to confess to Ms. Kirk before she found out some other way and brought down a reign on fire on them all.

“Why didn’t you wake up me earlier? It’s late!” he gripes, finally able to clear away the last vestiges of sleep.

“You need your rest.” Winona touches his face, as if to reassure herself that he is okay. “Mr. Spock is making dinner. Are you hungry?”

He scoots off the bed, intending to take care of more pressing needs. When his mother instantly reaches out to steady him, he snaps, “I’m not an invalid!” He quickly amends his outburst however, almost in the same breath. “Sorry. Spock won’t let me move around by myself. It’s him I’m mad at, not you, Mom.”

“I’ll wait here. And I understand, baby.” She doesn’t say I’m mad at him, too but Jim hears the sentiment in her voice.

As Jim hobbles into the bathroom, more than ready to pee, he wonders exactly how much Spock has enjoyed having Winona for company these past few hours. Kirk smirks into the tall bathroom mirror after flushing the toilet and washing his hands.

Maybe he is feeling kind of weak—in an entirely rile-my-mother-to-dispose-of-my-enemies sort of way.

Yesterday’s clothes are on the bathroom floor. He slips on his t-shirt, then reaches for a cotton robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Once it is belted at his waist, he fishes in his cast-aside pair of crumpled jeans (Spock had produced a pair of silk pajama pants for Jim to wear to bed) and retrieves his keys, tucking them into the robe’s pocket. Then Kirk limps out of the bathroom in a sad, depressed fashion, not protesting in the least when Winona hurries to loop a supportive arm around him.

He thanks her. When she asks if he is okay, he says (not completely dishonest), “My leg hurts.”

She says, “Oh, my poor baby,” and kisses his forehead.

Jim blinks like an innocent babe. They trudge down the hallway towards the kitchen. “Did Bones explain what happened?” Jim prompts.

“Only that you were in a hurry and fell down the steps leading to the garage.”

“So he didn’t tell you that it was his fault?”

Winona stops walking, causing a wobbly Jim to clutch at her in surprise. The sudden fury in his mother’s eyes, when she turns to stare at him, is nothing less than deadly. “Excuse me?” the woman asks too softly.

Jim stutters, “I m-mean, it wasn’t his fault, if that’s what he said. It was an accident!”

Her hold becomes a gentle imprisonment, as if she does not intend to let him go until she is satisfied he is telling the truth. “Why were you in a hurry, Jim?”

“I was late. Had to get home.”

“Liar.”

“It’s personal.”

“There’s nothing more personal than someone hurting my child,” Winona counters darkly.

This… is not exactly how he imagined revenge on the two men attempting to drive him crazy. He has a childish need to see Spock and Bones cowering under his mother’s wrath—but not to see them axe-murdered.

Winona demands, “Tell me, Jimmy! Did they hurt you?”

“No—“ Yes. “—it wasn’t like that!”

“I know when you aren’t being entirely honest with me. I swear if—”

“Ms. Kirk,” interrupts a cool voice, “it is I who bears the blame.”

Jim cries over his mother’s head, “Spock, shut up!”

Spock does not heed his advice. Winona keeps a steadying hand on her son but she has shifted her full attention to Spock. She says nothing, which is worse (in Jim’s opinion) than shouting.

Spock stands like a man facing court martial, properly humbled before the executioner. He continues to talk. “I spoke out of turn and upset your son. His emotional turmoil led to his impromptu departure and, subsequently, to his accident. I was the cause of his distress; therefore I take full responsibility for the effects of my actions.”

“Jim has been nothing but kind to you, Mr. Spock. You should be ashamed that you would even consider hurting him, verbally or otherwise.”

“I am ashamed,” admits the straight-backed man, “though it was never my intention to hurt him. He misconstrued my proposal.”

Jim rocks back, wound opening anew. “Misconstrued, Mr. Spock?” he bites out. “Hardly. I’m no one’s toy and, without love, I am no one’s bedwarmer.”

Spock fixes his dark eyes on Jim. “You are correct, you are not a toy—and I have never thought so.”

Jim is the first one to break their locked gaze by glancing away. “Then why were you…?” He can’t get the words past the tightness of his throat.

“Jim,” Spock calls Kirk’s name with a soft quality to his voice. Jim is surprised to find that Spock has approached them now, despite that the man had clearly avoided coming within five feet of Winona Kirk not more than a minute ago. “I would discuss this matter further, to assure you of your value and that I do not wish to propose a tryst unequal in nature—but not in front of your mother.”

That last bit is a quiet plea.

Jim closes his eyes. “Fine.” He has no stomach for talking to Spock right now, anyway. Jim tugs at his mother’s hand. “Kitchen?” he reminds her.

She is looking between Spock and Jim, her expression hard with disapproval but also holding a hint of surprise. When she nods, agreeing to Jim’s suggestion, Kirk is more than happy to leave Spock lingering behind (though, he is certain the man follows the Kirks at a suitable distance) and put the confrontation in the hallway out of his mind. It won’t be until later that he realizes his mother only agreed to let the matter pass because whatever Spock had said had somehow saved the man from imminent demise at her hands. Except Jim doesn’t figure out what it was that could have been worthy of redemption.

They make it into the kitchen without incident only to discover someone already seated and waiting for them. Winona helps Jim to the table and occupies herself with checking a pot of something simmering on the stove.

Jim eases into a kitchen chair. “Uhura?”

The dark-eyed beauty looks at his leg in great dismay. “I thought you had outgrown the accident stage, Kirk.”

He tries for a lopsided grin. “And yet doesn’t that contradict with your belief that I am permanently infantile?”

She rolls her eyes. “A girl can hope.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Did you ride with Mom?”

“No. Christine came to the diner at lunch and told me. Marlena is covering my shift tonight.”

If the shoe were on the other foot, so to speak, Jim would be checking up on his injured friend, too. Still, that doesn’t mean he needs all this attention. “I’m perfectly fine,” Jim groans dramatically. “Bruised. Jeez.”

The look Uhura shoots him is pure annoyance. “You broke our pact.”

Jim scratches at his ear in thought. “What?”

Nyota reaches over and smacks him upside the head, saying, “I know the fall didn’t damage your brain, dumbass! You were supposed to call me!”

“I might be brain-damaged now,” complains Kirk. He peeks over at Spock. “Can I sue for physical abuse?”

Spock continues to fiddle with the tea kettle on the kitchen island counter. “You would need a witness.” His tone means and I am content to pretend ignorance as this woman beats you.

Uhura sniffs pointedly. “You promised, Jim. You promised to call me if you needed me, no matter what.”

Would saying “But I didn’t need you” earn him another smack? Probably.

He smiles charmingly. “I was in good hands, Uhura. I had Bones and Spock.” Never mind that he would have rather have had no help from them, but they are so skilled at trapping him and squeezing his heart until it bleeds. Fuck, but Jim is dumb; maybe a masochist since he cannot seem to leave them alone.

Nyota looks past Jim to Spock, her dark eyes heavy-lidded like a cat contemplating an interesting specimen. In a low whisper, she asks, “You trust them?”

I shouldn’t. “Yes.”

“Then you might be a fool,” Uhura replies lightly, inspecting her fingernails like she is bored. It’s a ploy of hers Jim can see right through.

“Yeah, I know.” Then, sincerely, “I’m sorry, Nyota. Next time I’ll call you.”

Her lips curve in knowing amusement. “Call Winona first, then me.”

Jim winces. “On second thought, I’ll just pray that I am struck unconscious.”

“Well now that I know you aren’t dead…” Uhura rises from her chair. “Do you need anything before I go?”

Jim tugs her close until she is bent to his level and he can whisper, “Tell them I can stay at your place. Please?”

Her eyes dart away toward Jim’s mother and Spock, both who appear to be interested in everything but Uhura and Kirk. Her response is wry, almost regretful. “It wouldn’t work.”

He whimpers. Perhaps no one would notice if he climbed into the trunk of her car?

She kisses his cheek. “I’ll think of something. Hang in there.”

Advice given by a person who has never endured house-arrest under watchful guards.

Uhura is polite to Spock, turning down an invitation to join them for dinner, and she hugs Winona goodbye. Jim thunks his head onto the table the moment she exits the kitchen.

“Jim?”

He mumbles, “Is the food ready yet?”

Winona lifts up his head, hands him a cup filled with one of Spock’s teas, and pats his shoulder. “In a few minutes, dear. I need to pick up Leonard from the clinic. Spock.” She doesn’t have to order Spock to keep an eye on Jim; Spock is already aware of his duties.

Then his mother is gone too, leaving her son to the tender mercies of the man who has almost single-handedly upset the balance of Kirk’s world. Jim stands up. Spock is at his elbow in an instant, not quite hovering.

He says stubbornly, “I want to go home.”

“That is not possible,” Spock tells him.

Incensed that he isn’t allowed to make decisions, he snaps, “Yes it is! Look, just because you feel guilty…”

Jim is completely unprepared when Spock tilts Jim’s head, long fingers capturing his jaw, and leans down to press his mouth against Kirk’s. He ponders absently how effective kissing is as a method to shut someone up.

Spock pulls back. “Guilt does not motivate me.”

Jim’s brain is no longer firing on all cylinders. He swallows, manages to ask, “Then what does?”

For a long minute, Spock has Jim in his thrall by a simple stare. At last Spock pulls farther away, giving Jim room to breathe, to collect himself. “Concern,” the man answers.

Jim’s heart is doing a funny little jig in his chest and he ignores it. “You don’t kiss a man out of concern.”

“No,” agrees Spock.

Kirk licks his lips, tasting mint and a hint of something sweet. He finds a tatter of resolve and clings to it. “Spock, don’t kiss me again.” Why does Jim’s voice sound so horridly ragged?

The lawyer tucks his hands behind his back. He seems unruffled by the almost-warning. “I cannot make that promise.”

Jim closes his eyes, his hand seeking his chair, and eases back into a sitting position. “I’m not an arrangement,” he states flatly, a last defense.

Spock merely says, “I know.”

Jim opens his eyes to discover a peculiar light in Spock’s gaze fixed upon him. That light might be a challenge; to Jim, it is far more terrifying because he has seen it before.

Spock has the same light in his eyes when looking at Bones.

Jim does the only thing he can at that moment. He exaggerates the pain in his leg and pleads with Spock to fetch his prescribed medicine from his bathroom. The second Spock leaves to complete the errand, Jim tosses off his robe and hurries to the garage, careful to ease his way down the steps this time. He activates the garage door opener, straddles his bike (despite that his leg protests at being stretched), and turns the key in its ignition.

And with all expediency Jim Kirk is gone, taking back roads to safety.

The trouble is that Jim doesn’t make it to safety at all. Flashing blue lights of a cop car brighten the darkening sky, not passing Jim but forcing him to pull off to the side of the road. The curve of the road and a patch of dark pines lining it create a natural shelter from civilization and a perfect spot for an ambush.

Jim ignores the pain in his left leg and plants his right foot on the ground, not dumb enough to get off the bike.

It’s Frank Rand, of course, who climbs out of the car stamped with the logo of the Riverside law enforcement. Jim tightens his hands on his bike handles.

“Kirk, are you aware that you were speeding?”

“Was I?” he asks mildly, knowing that he wasn’t.

Rand’s eyes skim his attire. “Going to a sleepover, boy?”

He bares his teeth in a false grin. “Nope.”

“You drunk?”

“Definitely not.”

Rand gives the motorcycle and Kirk a wide berth as he circles to the right. When Rand stops circling, he is in Kirk’s periphery vision. “I need you to remove yourself from the bike, Mr. Kirk.”

“Am I under arrest?” Jim demands. He cranes his head to look Frank in the eye, daring him to say so.

Rand lays a hand on his holstered gun in warning. “Off the bike.”

Jim pulls the key out of the ignition but keeps it in his hand. He has no real weapon so it will have to do. “What else, Frank?” he insists, voice level. “Are you going to shoot me now? Tell my mother I resisted arrest or tried to take your gun? Any of those things would work.” He laughs sharply. “Possibly.”

Frank is unnerved by his unwillingness to show how scared he is. “You’re going to get into the backseat of my car, Kirk, and we’ll go downtown to the station. Don’t sass me and I won’t hurt you.”

“Lie to yourself much?” Jim snaps. “Don’t fuck with me, Frank. You have no intention of taking me downtown.”

Rand pulls out his gun, clicking off the safety. “You’re right, I don’t. I thought you might like to delude yourself for a while longer. My mistake. Get in the car anyway.”

Jim backs away from him. “No.”

Frank snaps, “It wasn’t a request, you piece of shit!”

“You’ll have to shoot me.”

“Get in the car!” screams the deputy, leveling the gun at Kirk’s chest.

“You’ll have to shoot me,” repeats Jim. His leg is throbbing, wants to buckle. So this is what it’s like, to see death coming for you and not be able to get away. He has always been lucky in the past, making a narrow escape.

Somehow, Jim doesn’t think he will be so lucky this time.

They both hear it, the low roar of another engine in the distance. Rand tenses but does not lower his gun. Jim holds his breath and keeping walking backwards until he is standing in the middle of the paved road.

The car comes into sight, slows, stops. Jim is torn between keeping his eyes on Frank and the gun and looking at his rescuer. The person who steps out of backseat of the long black sedan says, rather peevishly, “What is going on?”

Deputy Rand remarks oddly, “This is Jim Kirk.”

Jim dares to look at the man with the unfamiliar voice. He wears a posh suit, complete with a neckerchief and a stylishly neat haircut. Expensive wrist watch, polished shoes, and an umbrella used as a walking stick, which is currently going tap-tap-tap against the man’s leg in impatience.

The unsurprised, almost bored look on the man’s face, however, is what strikes Jim like a blow. He measures Kirk for a brief second then says languidly, “Well met, Mr. Kirk.”

“I’d return the greeting,” Jim replies on a whim, “except I am currently under duress.”

The man sighs and waves his hand at the deputy. “Put that away, you idiot.”

“Sir…”

“Now.“

Frank re-holsters his gun without a word.

Jim swallows and says, “Thanks.”

“Oh I wouldn’t thank me yet, Mr. Kirk,” advises the dark-haired gentleman. “Won’t you join me for a ride?” He gestures at his car.

“No, thanks. I have a prior engagement.”

“Then let me rephrase: join me in the car or I will let Mr. Rand shoot you in the leg, the one which isn’t injured, I believe, and then my personal physician can remove the bullet later, on my whim. Yet I would rather hate for you to experience that pain unnecessarily. It is your choice, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim opts to get into the sedan. Through the window, Jim watches Frank turn out the blue lights of his own vehicle then walk over to Jim’s bike with a crowbar in hand. His attention shifts to the man sliding into the seat beside him and he asks, “Who are you?”

The man taps his umbrella on the roof of the car, a signal for the driver hidden in the front of the car to take them to their next destination. Then he turns to look at Jim Kirk, smiling in a way that sends a chill down Jim’s spine.

“I am Trelane.”

Trelane? Jim sucks in a breath at the realization of this man’s identity. “You’re running against Bob in the electoral race.”

“Quite. I will be Riverside’s next mayor.”

Jim argues, “Maybe not.”

Trelane simply looks at Jim, pityingly. “Oh but I will, Mr. Kirk. With your help, of course!”

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