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Young Wine, Old Feeling 1/2

Title: Young Wine, Old Feeling 1/2
Author: kianspo 
Beta: secret_chord25 who's got patience of a saint
Series: STXI
Rating: NC-17 (not really, but to be safe)
Length: ~10 400
Warnings: *facepalm* This thing is fluff and cliched like you wouldn't believe. I'm really very sorry!
Summary: Shooting Romulans is easier than confessing your feelings. That's about it.
Notes: written for ksadvent2009

Jim opens his eyes slowly, struggling through the pleasantly warm cocoon of contentedness. He knows that feeling. It means that he had fallen asleep not of his own will last night, but with the help of one of Bones’ ‘mild sedatives.’ Probably the only reason why he’s feeling so well rested now; he never sleeps through the night of his own volition.

Jim sits up in the biobed, looking around warily. He thinks he can hear his CMO’s voice streaming down from somewhere in the vicinity, but not in his immediate sight. On the chair near the bed sits a neatly folded sweat suit, and Jim gets the message instantly: He’s free to leave, but not cleared for duty. Oh, well. He’s not that picky today anyway.

He tugs the clothes on slowly and sloppily, still groggy from sleep, but smiling softly to himself all the same. It’s the morning after Christmas, which means they are still orbiting Denobula. Most of the crew are enjoying themselves planetside, and the Christmas party is behind them. Jim doesn’t have to perform for another year now.

He has always been wary of Christmas parties back on Earth, but after becoming captain, he realizes that from now on they’re going to be even less fun for him than usual. The captain is a central figure in the social lives of the crew, just as he is in everything else. He’s a host or a guest of honor at every party, and his primary concern is to make everyone else happy, even if he’s in no mood to celebrate anything.

Jim sighs and shakes his head at himself a little. It’s really not that daunting a task, but it was taxing at first. He remembers the first Christmas party on board the Enterprise only too well.



The first year of their five-year mission was eventful, and not always in a good way. They lost a lot of people and they failed several missions. They succeeded more times than not, but that only made the defeats more bitter. Add to that the loss of Vulcan, which was still hanging over them like a gloomy shadow, and all in all… well, it was a difficult time to be merry. Nonetheless, Jim had to be.

He remembers setting himself the task of cheering everyone up. He swallowed his own pain and pulled on a happy face. He gave a short speech about believing in his crew and assuring them that they would do better. He drank with them and joked with them. He flirted with women and men, and he was the one who got them all dancing. He drank more than was healthy just to keep the happy booze-bubbles inside himself. To keep going.

Bones wasn’t there, but Spock was. Jim remembers feeling his presence throughout the whole event, spinning like a carousel in front of his admittedly very drunk and slightly crazed eyes. Spock couldn’t help him there, because while he was a man of many talents, being a party clown wasn’t one of them. But Spock stayed there the whole time, and it was Spock who dragged him away, without a single word of reproach, when Jim became so inebriated that he could no longer stand on his feet.

‘Have you seen how Mellory danced?’ Jim mumbled, leaning against Spock so hard the Vulcan was all but carrying him. ‘And... and Chovsky... And that nurse that drives Bones nuts – Waters? She was... she was so funny...’

Spock’s arm tightened around Jim’s waist as he readjusted his hold on the captain. Spock was a trooper. He listened and nodded, not saying a word. He didn’t remind Jim that all the people he kept seeing dancing and laughing had been dead for months, had fallen during one or another disastrous away mission. Because Jim had the names right when he was with the crew, only calling out the living. It was only when he was out of their sight that he couldn’t help falling to pieces a little bit. He should have been scared, but he wasn’t. Perhaps because Spock was the one with him, and Spock was good at collecting pieces.

Jim can’t remember the rest of the way, which leads him to believe that Spock did carry him when he had passed out. He does remember waking up the following morning. He was in his bed, and someone obviously had gone to a lot of trouble to make him comfortable; there was a glass of water and a couple of pills on the nightstand. Jim swallowed them trustingly, mentally praising Vulcan efficiency and asking himself what he’d have to go through for it now.

But Spock surprised him again. For when Jim finally emerged into the officers’ mess, Spock, who normally enjoyed pressing humans’ noses into their own lack of logic, said nothing regarding Jim’s actions of the night before. Instead, he chose Jim’s meal for him and immediately engaged him in the discussion of the upcoming mission. He pointedly took no notice when the captain’s attention slipped, returning him on track with truly endless patience. Jim thought that he had never felt more grateful to anyone in his entire life.



Having finished dressing, Jim creeps warily toward the exit, listening intently to the sounds coming out of Bones’ office - he really doesn’t want to start his year with another lecture from his friend. But the muffled conversation he overhears reassures him that McCoy’s attention is fully engaged elsewhere.

“Dammit, Jocelyn, just let me talk to her already!” Bones is saying irritably to someone on his vidscreen. “God knows when we’ll be in range the next time. She’s my daughter too, dammit; I’m not asking for anything extraordinary!”

Jim doesn’t quite catch the woman’s response, but he gets the general idea. Something along the lines that no calls are better than rare calls for the unstable psyche of a child and some other crap like that. He doesn’t linger on to listen to Bones’ angry reply. Sighing quietly, he slides into the corridor and out of Med Bay.

The concept of parenthood is still foreign to Jim, and mildly alarming. He’s well aware that his best friend has a daughter, but somehow it never fails to catch him by surprise how Bones’ voice changes the moment he hears the exuberant ‘Hi, Daddy!’ over subspace, how his expression loses its grumpiness, how he smiles – smiles – at the kid, making even Jim’s cynical self melt like a candle. He tries to give Bones a chance to talk to her as often as he can.

“Morning, Captain.” Lieutenant Baldwin, an astrophysics specialist, smiles at him brightly. “Good party last night; we had a blast.”

“Morning,” Jim grins back at her. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“No problem, sir.”

Jim walks on, grinning still. It’s nice to feel appreciated.


The second year was easier than the first. The promise of shore leave starting immediately after the party was having an almost magical effect on people, who felt closer to each other as a team and as a crew than they previously had. Jim himself had become more comfortable in his skin, drawing confidence from things that used to throw him. It was good being him, he decided. Difficult at times. But good.

He didn’t put up much of a show that second year, preferring to leave the field to more skilled and sophisticated entertainment as weaved by the never idle hands and minds of Chekov, Uhura, and Scotty. Jim mingled in the crowd, stopping every now and then to trade jokes and thank his people for their good work. He drank very little, but he did invite some people to dance, most notably one Lieutenant Chang.

She was a talented computer technician, but so shy it was almost painful. Jim stopped to talk to the group she was orbiting, too timid to really join the fun. He complimented the way she looked, making her blush all over, and then pulled her to the dance floor. Admittedly, it was an effort to get her to utter so much as a couple of words, but the openly searing and grateful look Spock sent him across the room was worth any trouble.

Jim nearly stumbled, holding Spock’s gaze for as long as he could and feeling suddenly like he was ten feet tall. He instantly regretted that Spock didn’t have anyone else in his department who could be cheered up by the captain’s attention. If that meant Spock looking at him like that, Jim would have talked to as many people as he could.

The party was a success their third year as well, but Jim’s heart wasn’t in it. He did his usual rounds, but then slipped out quietly and snuck into Med Bay. Spock was sleeping – or, more accurately, submerged in one of his healing trances, recovering after receiving a poisonous dart in the chest that was, unsurprisingly, meant for Jim.

It wasn’t the first time, and Jim knew it wouldn’t be the last, but watching Spock’s peaceful face, he thought that it was getting more difficult. It wasn’t like he never risked his life for Spock; he did that, in fact, quite regularly. The thought didn't help one bit.

Spock always made it through so far, but Jim hated this, hated the wait, hated those vigils – secret in the shelter of his quarters or open like right now, he hated them all the same. And when did Jim become that person who prefers sitting at his friend’s bedside to drinking and dancing anyway? That was as weird as it got, but the thought didn’t make him leave. Somehow, it wasn’t fun anymore if Spock wasn’t there. It just wasn’t the same.

This year, Spock wasn’t there either, but this time he wasn’t injured. Denobula was close enough to the new Vulcan colony, and Spock went off to see his father and his new wife, who was also a human. Spock was dubious about the trip, but Jim had insisted. ‘Family is family,’ he told Spock. ‘At least one of us still has some to visit.’

“Nice party, Captain,” someone calls after him.

Jim nods, rounds the corner, and all but smashes into Spock, who is coming from the opposite direction and carrying a travel bag.

“Whoa!” Jim grabs Spock’s arms automatically not to topple over, only then looking up. “Spock!” He grins in surprise. “What are you doing back so early? I wasn’t expecting you till the day after tomorrow.”

“Captain.” Spock inclines his head politely as if Jim hasn’t just tried to knock him off his feet, however accidentally. “I have, indeed, only just arrived.”

“How’d it go?” Jim asks, immediately turning to join Spock on the walk to his quarters.

Spock’s expression clouds slightly. “It was an interesting visit.”

Jim has long memorized the whole phrasebook of Spock’s euphemisms. He winces in sympathy. “That bad?”

Spock purses his lips. “Perrin Brooks is a competent aide to an ambassador and, from my observations, respects my father greatly. She was not, however” – his jaw tightens – “overly enthusiastic about my visit.”

“I see,” Jim says quietly, shooting him troubled glances. “And your father?”

Spock tilts his head slightly in his customary way. “Vulcans do not celebrate Christmas. He saw no logic to my visit. He was, however, pleased that I am in good health.”

Jim puts his hand on Spock’s arm and squeezes lightly. “That’s why you left early?”

“Indeed.” Spock inclines his head. “I do not enjoy imposing on those who have no desire for my company.”

“Well, it’s good you’re back then.” Jim gives him a smile, trying to lift his spirits. “We missed you.”

Spock looks at him head-on, eyebrow raised. “Flattery, Captain? So early in the day? I admit to experiencing trepidation at the amount of paperwork that must be waiting for me on my desk.”

“Hey.” Jim punches his arm in mock indignation. “You always assume I have an ulterior motive, don’t you?”

“You generally do.”

“You wound me, Spock. I was being sincere!”

“I was gone for two weeks, Captain. I do not believe it is enough time for you to start feeling nostalgic regarding my absence.”

They enter Spock’s quarters, and Jim leaves the comment without a reply. The one he wants to shove at Spock is, in any case, unacceptable.

Spock sets his bag on the deck carefully and walks over to his computer terminal. Pauses. Jim watches him from just inside the door, reveling simply in the sight of Spock: tall, slender, and fluid, and just so him. It’s a sight he had missed dearly.

Spock hesitates instead of activating his computer at once, glancing at Jim uncertainly.

“There’s nothing urgent in there, Spock,” Jim tells him. “You might find it difficult to believe, but I can actually manage without you when needed.”

Spock nods, somewhat gloomily. “Of that, Captain, I have no doubt.”

In all honesty, Jim can’t withstand that particular expression on Spock’s face.

“Hey.” He’s walking over before he knows it. Spock looks at him; Jim grins. “I didn’t say I like it that way. Come on.” He shoves Spock’s shoulder gently with his own. “Aren’t you proud of me – that I didn’t break the ship without you? Just a little?”

Spock turns toward him slightly, all but eliminating the remains of whoever’s personal space they’re in. He gives a show of considering it.

“If I were to admit to experiencing any emotion, Captain, it would most likely be... relief.” He pauses before adding deliberately, “And astonishment.”

Jim laughs, clapping Spock on the shoulder. “You smug pointy-eared bastard, you.”

Spock’s eyes are smiling. Jim is a little bit in love with this expression, particularly when it’s up close. He steps back, a little clumsy in his haste, before he says something incredibly stupid like, ‘I love the way your eyes catch the light.’ Spock isn’t McCoy, but he can tease with the best of them. Besides, that formidable Vulcan memory of his... Jim shudders. He wouldn’t be able to live that down for years.

Spock’s face closes, just a little, as Jim retreats. He looks at his computer again, his hands hovering tentatively over the controls.

Watching him, Jim has a sudden epiphany. Whatever nonchalant brave façade Spock puts on, he’s still haunted by his visit to New Vulcan. Spock is not a child anymore, but it can’t be pleasant for anybody to feel that the closest member of your family – and the only remaining one, at that – isn’t thrilled to see you. Jim would know.

That’s because we are his family, Jim thinks fiercely, feeling something hot and fervent struggling to find its way out of him. Not Sarek, not that stupid Perrin, not T’Pau. We are. And New Vulcan isn’t home, either. The Enterprise is. Judging by the way Spock is looking around his cabin, fighting to reconnect with this reality, he knows it, too. He knows it, but needs to feel it. Physically as well as intellectually.

Jim thinks of what usually helps him feel that he’s home and safe, and just right where he belongs, and the answer is standing right in front of him. Whenever Jim’s world starts to crumble, whenever he feels lost, he needs to feel Spock’s presence, to wrap it around himself like a thick, warm blanket. He knows of only one way to get an excuse to touch Spock for as much as he wants – well, for nearly as much as he wants. Perhaps it’ll work both ways?

Jim grins, pretending to be unaware of Spock’s uncharacteristic fit of pensiveness. “Anyway, I was about to hit the gym,” he says lightly. “If you’re not too tired, wanna join me?”

Spock glances at him, as if only just remembering his presence. Jim suddenly finds the carpet entirely too fascinating to look up.

“If you don’t have other plans, of course,” he adds.

There is a beat of silence that does little to appease Jim’s nerves.

“As a matter of fact,” Spock says slowly, “that is a most agreeable suggestion, Captain.”

“Cool.” Jim flashes him a grin. “I’ve picked up some useful stuff while you were gone. I’ll have you flat on your back this time, mark my words.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow even as they set off. “If that is your single purpose, you need not overexert yourself.”

Jim flushes, but grins at him bravely. “Oh?”

“You are my commanding officer. You can always order me to yield.”

“And you would obey?”

Spock gives him a glance which Jim can’t quite read. “There is only one way to find out, Captain.”

Jim laughs. “I missed when you turned into a gambler, Spock.”

“I had a good teacher.”

“Did you just pay me a compliment?”

Another eyebrow. “If you consider acknowledging your unprecedented mastery of gambling, cheating, and deceit of the innocent a compliment—”

“Yeah, I do. Thanks, Spock.”

“My pleasure, Captain.”

The gym is empty but for the two of them; obviously the skeleton crew remaining onboard has better things to do than work out. Jim fumbles with his clothes, making sure that Spock would leave the locker room before Jim pulls his shirt off. No need to start that fight yet.

Once they’re both out in the open, Jim steps onto the gym mat and faces Spock. “So,” he starts gleefully, rubbing his hands together, “what’s it gonna be?”

“I was under the impression you wanted to show me the ‘stuff’ you picked up.”

“You realize that when you phrase it like that—”

Spock cuts him off with a smart blow aimed to knock him over. Jim blocks and grins. That’s more like it.

They started sparring almost at the very beginning of their mission. After the Narada, Jim became only too aware that his combat style was ineffective, to say the least, against physically superior opponents. He could think of only one way to remedy that, and approached Spock. He still remembers the strange look Spock had given him, but the Vulcan had agreed, offering no comment.

That was how Jim started turning up in Med Bay every several days, groaning and hissing. McCoy was alarmed at first, but it didn’t take him long to pick up the pattern of Jim’s injuries. That was when he started laughing at Jim’s complaints even as he treated him.

‘This could be serious, you know,’ Jim pouted once. ‘Don’t know what I was thinking. The guy obviously still wants to kill me.’

McCoy gave him a smug smirk and shook his head. ‘Jim, do you really think I’d let him continue if I thought he was dangerous? He’d never hurt you.’

‘Are you out of your mind? I’m aching all over!’

‘You’ve been coming here limping and whining for three months now and the worst you suffered from is pulled muscles. Spock has never even left a bruise that would last for longer than a day. If I didn’t see you two actually fighting, I’d have thought he was cuddling you.’

Jim stared at him. ‘You saw us practice?’

McCoy rolled his eyes. ‘Who do you take me for? You think I’d allow that green-blooded hobgoblin anywhere near you without making sure it’s safe? Of course I watched you practice. I must say’ – he smirked – ‘there’s something therapeutic in watching him wipe the deck with you.’

Jim glared. ‘And you actually call yourself my friend.’

McCoy’s smirk widened. ‘You betcha.’

And so it went. It was only another month and a half later, as the Enterprise ran into a small ‘misunderstanding’ with the Klingons, that Jim realized that Spock knew what he was doing all along. Jim’s ego might have been bruised regularly, but his body finally learned to be faster and his movements became more precise. It might not have helped him win just yet, but it had saved his life for sure.

“Your mind seems to be wandering, Captain,” Spock tells him, pinning him down to the mat for the fourth time with almost casual ease.

“Sorry.” Jim grins, pushing him off with a clever twist of his hips. “That better?”

He knows they’re just fooling around. When Spock wants to be strict, he’s worse than an Andorian infantry sergeant, save for the language. Right now, the Vulcan merely plays with him, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he tells Jim precisely what he thinks of Jim’s newly picked up ‘stuff,’ accentuating his words with combinations Jim can’t come close to blocking. An hour flies by really quickly, and Jim knows Spock is about to call it quits when something unexpected happens.

They are locked in a tight hold when Spock’s ankle suddenly turns awkwardly and he loses his balance. Jim isn’t about to lose the chance he might never get again, and he hurtles into Spock with every ounce of prowess and mass he possesses. They collapse in a heap with Jim landing on top of Spock, pushing him down before the Vulcan can regain his bearings.

His efforts are unnecessary, though, because Spock doesn’t resist and doesn’t try to get free. He could if he wanted to, and they both know that. But he merely looks up at Jim, one eyebrow raised in silent query: ‘Is that what you wanted?’

Jim grins, pressing him harder into the mat. “Yield.”

The second eyebrow joins the first. “Is that an order?”

Jim’s grin widens. He’s half-hard and knows that Spock can feel it, too, but that’s old news to both of them. The last time Jim was remotely embarrassed by it was years ago, and Spock probably thought it to be a normal human reaction to physical exertion. Jim never told him otherwise.


Spock seems to consider this. “We are not currently on duty,” he says finally, lifting Jim up just enough to roll away from his hold and onto his feet.

Jim sighs, taking Spock’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up. “You’re no fun,” he grumbles, turning to go.

“Jim.” Spock’s arm across his chest stops him. Jim looks at him. “I would have conceded to a request,” Spock informs him casually, and leaves Jim gaping after him as he walks into the showers.

“That smug pointy-eared bastard,” Jim mutters, a slow smile creeping onto his face. “One of these days...”

The water is already running in one of the stalls when Jim enters, stripping as he goes. Jim gives the cubicle a passing glance, but turns away quickly. Starfleet Academy has a most charming way of curing undue modesty, but even without that, Jim thinks that neither he nor Spock has ever been particularly self-conscious. He’s grateful for separate stalls, though, because while Spock likes his water so hot that he’s almost invisible in the clouds of steam, Jim usually has to key in a very low temperature after they spar together, and this is one piece of information he’d rather Spock didn’t have.

A cold shower usually ensures Jim is the first one to leave for the drying zone, and today is no different. He wraps a towel around his hips and reaches for another one to dry his hair. Bones used to tease him about how he had a different towel for every body part, but Jim didn’t see the need to change his ways as long as he was doing his own laundry.

Behind him, the sound of running water stops, and Jim turns away hastily, because there’s the lingering effect of a cold shower and there’s Spock with his smooth skin glistening wetly, and Jim isn’t keen on finding out what would win. He bends lower, rubbing his hair with the towel almost ferociously, and only looks up when he’s sure Spock has at least a towel on him. Jim turns to look at him, soft smile playing on his lips, and freezes, the easy comment he was going to make dying in his throat.

Spock is staring at him.


Spock never stares. Except he kind of really is now, and Jim feels cold shivers run down his spine in the overheated bathroom. Spock stares at his exposed body, covered only in the ridiculously small towel. Spock stares and then he moves toward him as if hypnotized, the burning intensity of his gaze making Jim tremble – a reaction that he does his level best to suppress.

Spock stops just short of him, eyes glued to Jim’s chest, and that’s when Jim finally realizes. It’s not him Spock is staring at.

“It’s nothing,” Jim mumbles automatically, looking away, embarrassed by his own reaction. “Just a couple of bruises. It wasn’t you, it’s...” He trails off awkwardly, cursing himself mutely. Spock controls his body to the level which is unimaginable for the most disciplined humans. Of course he knows it wasn’t him. Spock’s never been anything but extra careful during his sparring sessions with Jim.

Spock lifts his hand and traces the contours of the larger, mostly discolored bruise stretching from Jim’s left shoulder to his solar plexus lightly, his fingertips barely touching the skin. Jim’s heart jumps into his throat, effectively preventing him from breathing.

“What happened?” Spock asks quietly, his eyes following the movements of his fingers. Both his hands come into play now, as he turns Jim around to inspect his back.

Knowing Spock can’t see him, Jim bites his lip hard as gentle fingers slide between his shoulder blades, pausing here and there, where he knows the damage is more evident. Spock seems to have bent lower, because Jim can now feel his breath worrying the tiny hairs at the back of his neck. He grits his teeth, fighting to stay calm.

“Just a minor difference of opinion between me and the Kunan chief of security. The guy does mean things with a pain stick. It’s no big deal.”

A hand grips his shoulder tightly as Spock turns him around again, obviously having no qualms about leaving bruises of his own making. He’s looking into Jim’s eyes now, and Jim wants to groan at the unmistakable emotion there. One that usually makes him want to crawl up somewhere and stay out of sight for a while until the storm is over. But he’s being held, tight, and doesn’t even try to weasel out of it. For one, there would be no use. For another...

“I left you for two weeks,” Spock half-whispers, half-hisses. “For two weeks, Jim.”

Jim looks away. “Spock—”

“I did not wish to go. Do you recall what you said to me as I was leaving?”

The grip on his arm tightens almost painfully, and Jim hastens to answer. “I said we were on a milk run and that you had nothing to worry about.”


“And that I’d be on my best behavior,” Jim admits reluctantly before glaring up at Spock with a sudden flare of irritation. “And I was! Nothing happened! Honestly, Spock, you’re making a fuss about nothing! It’s just a couple of bruises. Who died and made you my mother anyway?”

Spock glares back at him for a couple of moments longer, then something in his face closes with an almost audible snap. He lets go of Jim abruptly and leaves the bathroom without another word. Jim sags against the wet wall helplessly, fighting the urge to smack his head against it.

When he finally emerges into the locker room, Spock is fully dressed save for his shirt. He pointedly avoids looking at Jim, and the coldness emanating from him is freezing up the air. Jim suppresses a sigh and walks straight for him. Spock turns his back, ostensibly to unfold his shirt. He has ‘DO NOT TOUCH ME’ spelled loudly across the stubborn line of his shoulders, clear enough for a blind man to understand.

Jim bites his lip and lays a hand on the taut shoulder intrepidly, knowing that Spock would never read his thoughts without permission but hoping he would sense Jim’s emotions.

Spock remains stiff and unyielding under his touch. He doesn’t give any acknowledgment of Jim’s presence, and doesn’t even halt his movements. But Jim notices that he’s taking extra time for a task as simple as finding the right side of his shirt before putting it on, and it gives Jim hope.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says softly.

Spock doesn’t react.

“Spock, please.”

Spock stills, lifts his head up; doesn’t turn.

Daring, Jim rubs a soothing, cautious circle on the warm skin; then another one.

“I’m sorry. Please, Spock; I hate it when you’re mad at me. I’m sorry.”

He wants nothing better than to press his lips to the spot his hand is caressing, but doesn’t want to end up flying across the room. He’s taking a big enough risk as it is.

Spock takes a deeper breath and relents – Jim feels it under his palm rather than sees it. Spock turns to face him, and Jim’s hand slides away.

“I am not mad,” he says, and Jim can see he’s being truthful, if only just. Spock’s eyes are warm as he looks at Jim, but also troubled and... wistful? “I am concerned, Jim. Your disregard for your own safety is appalling.”

Jim snorts quietly. “Pot, kettle. Nice to meet you.”


This kind reproach isn’t something Jim knows how to handle. He drops his head, his hair grazing Spock’s shoulder.

“Your shoe is untied.”

Spock sighs quietly, stepping back. “If there were any kind of award given anywhere in the galaxy for the most uncreative – not to mention unsuccessful – attempt at misdirection, you would have been declared a winner without trying.”

“I know,” Jim says, looking up and grinning sheepishly. “I really am something.”

He’s treated to an ironically raised eyebrow before Spock finishes dressing.

“It’s really good to have you back, Spock,” Jim says sincerely, walking over across the room to pick up his own clothes. “Listen, it’s probably a secret, but I can’t help having ears, so I know that a few people are gonna gang up on me later. There’s some kind of after-Christmas-before-New-Year thing going on later.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Or maybe it’s Jim-is-a-moron-but-it’s-Christmas-so-what-the-hell thing.” Jim shrugs, pulling his pants on, trying to kick the towel toward the laundry chute at the same time.

“A few people?”

“The usual suspects.”

“I see. Is this an invitation?”

Jim looks at him over the hem of his t-shirt that he’s in the process of tugging on. “Do you need one?”

Spock holds his eyes for a moment, then smiles his non-smile. “If my schedule allows, I shall... drop by.”

“Bastard,” Jim tosses at him fondly.

Part 2/2


( 5 punches — Punch it )
(Deleted comment)
Mar. 7th, 2010 05:41 am (UTC)
LOL. Fangirly is good. ;)
And Spock can be a scare sometimes. :D
Apr. 11th, 2010 01:52 am (UTC)
Protective Spock is a kink of mine, ya know ;) Nicely played.
Apr. 11th, 2010 09:01 pm (UTC)
I can't decide which one of them I like best with a protective streak. Probably both. ;)
Feb. 19th, 2011 04:58 am (UTC)
I already said in previous comments I like your characterization, but I'm fairly sure this fic is even above the others. I can't quite explain why, because there are too bits here and there, but that's it. I loved every line so far, from Bones fighting with the bitch ex, Jim quietly leaving and rejoicing in seeing Spock back to Spock worried about Jim's lack of self-preservation.
*runs to second part*
Feb. 21st, 2011 06:56 pm (UTC)
Well... this one is mostly a huge exercise in self-indulgence, so at times it slips into uncomfortably sweet. But I'm glad you liked it. ;)
( 5 punches — Punch it )



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