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sparkysparky) wrote2009-06-12 04:08 pm
sparkysparky) wrote2009-06-12 04:08 pm
Entry tags:
Dammit Jim:
Title: The "Dammit, Jim!" Chronicles Part 3/?
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk, established pairing
Warnings: Underage (Kirk is (Alien whammied to) 16
Summary: Jim's always been good at thinking on his feet. Had to be, growing up as he did. But this time, he may have gotten himself into more trouble than he can handle.
Rating: PG-13 (R over-all)
Notes: Hope this part measures up. Spock is a tricky, tricky bastard to write. Constructive criticism welcomed!
Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2
It was better not to give anything away too soon though , so he kept his back straight, shoulders square, and forced himself to look Spock directly in the eyes. It was a tool he'd learned early on; never let them see your fear. "Taking your position as First Officer seriously, aren't you Spock?" Jim asked, hoping that the slight tremor in his voice was unnoticeable. "Just what do you think you can help with?"
Spock's already slanted brows slanted more, and there was a slight quirk to his lips as he replied, "This is not a conversation for the corridors, Captain. It would be best if we retired to your quarters, where there is a modicum of privacy."
Fuck, Jim swore silently. There was no way he could find his rooms, he didn't even know where they were. Spock was playing some sort of game though, and damned if Jim was going to lose. "After you, Commander," Jim said, stepping to the side slightly. "I'm interested to hear what you think you can help with."
Spock stared at him, and Jim swallowed reflexively, but the Vulcan didn't say anything and turned smartly on his heel. Jim fell into step next to him, trying not to notice how much taller and broader Spock was. He'd never liked feeling small and vulnerable, and pulled himself up to his full height, and reminded himself that it wasn't size that mattered, but skill. It helped, a little.
Spock came to a stop several minutes later, and looked over at Jim, face once again expressionless. That was starting to get old, Jim thought petulantly. How the hell was he supposed to worm his way out of this, if there was no way of telling what his opponent was thinking.
"After you this time, Captain," Spock said, gesturing slightly to the keypad.
Jim swallowed, wondering just how the hell he was supposed to get this door opened, when he had no clue what his older self had used as a passkey. "Of course," Jim said, raising a lightly trembling hand, glad for once that the sleeves of his uniform were so long. They hid most of the traces of uncertainty.
The screen was blank, except for the faint outline of a hand. Jim bit his lower lip and refused to look over at Spock, as he placed his hand on the pad, expecting some sort of alarm to go off and inform the ship of his true status. But his hand fit perfectly, palm to fingertip, which struck Jim as slightly odd, but he didn't question his luck. The door slid open, revealing a warm and welcoming room.
Jim let out a barely noticeable sigh of relief and grinned widely at Spock over his shoulder. "Well, come on in then, and tell me how you can help." He strode across the threshold as if he owned the place, which he did, he realized. This was his room, with the large--very large--bed, simulated fireplace, books. Lots and lots of books, and Jim's hands itched to pluck the first one from the shelf. He'd always loved to read, had spent many days hiding from various stepfathers that way.
He tore his gaze away from his books, and arched a brow at Spock. "Well, I haven't got all day. I do have a ship to command." He was feeling more confident now, surrounded by his things. He may not recognize anything, but he felt at home here, like he had wandering the halls of the Enterprise. He was on even ground again, and perched cockily on the arm of a chair as he waited for Spock to reveal what it was he thought he could help with.
"You are very good at playing the role," Spock announced, standing just inside the doorway, motionless. "But there is no logical reason to keep up the pretense within these walls. You are not Jim Kirk."
For the second time in under an hour, Jim had to fight the urge to flee. He swallowed and moved as fluidly as he could further away from Spock, just in case he needed time to prepare for attack. "I don't know what you mean," he said carefully, though there was no hiding the thread of fear in his voice. "Of course I'm Jim Kirk. I'm just a bit younger at the moment."
Spock made no move to get closer to Jim, a fact which Jim was grateful for. He was already trapped in here, with Spock between him and the door there was no escape route.
"You are not our Jim Kirk," Spock said, staring into Jim's eyes. "I believe Lieutenant Uhura was mistaken in her belief that yours is a physical regression only."
Jim forced a laugh, and crossed his arms as he fought off panic. "Doctor McCoy didn't share that opinion. He cleared me enough to leave the medical bay."
"I believe Doctor McCoy's view was colored by the nature of your personal relationship," Spock stated calmly. "Am I wrong, Jim? Are you not mentally as well as physically sixteen?"
So he had been right about McCoy's feelings about him, Jim thought. The doctor had been eager to get rid of him, and that had caused him to overlook something that Spock had obviously noticed. The thought hurt more than it should, and once again Jim wondered why he was so upset that McCoy obviously disliked him. It didn't make sense, as Jim never cared when authority figures hated him. He thrived on it, actually, so why was this different?
"What was the question?" Jim asked, when he realized that Spock was looking at him expectantly. He was trying for flippancy, but his voice came out higher and threadier than normal, completely ruining the facade of calmness he'd wanted.
"The time for games is done, Jim," Spock said, for the first time showing faint signs of annoyance. "The longer this goes on, the more dangerous ground you'll find yourself upon."
"I don't know what you're talking about." If there was one thing anyone who knew Jim Kirk would agree on, it was that he was a stubborn son of a bitch who didn't know when to quit. "I think you should leave."
"Enough." Spock's voice was cutting and before Jim could even blink the Vulcan had crossed the room and pressed Jim up against the wall. "Enough of this foolishness. I cannot help you if you will not cooperate and help me in return."
"I don't need your help," Jim said, eyes wide. His heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted nothing more than to shove Spock away, but he knew it wouldn't do any good and he wasn't about to give the older man the satisfaction of seeing he was afraid. "I'm the Captain, after all."
"Precisely, and I cannot allow you to go around without full knowledge of what that means." The cold, expressionless look on Spock's face caused a shiver of fear to run down Jim's spine. "You're playing a very dangerous game, Jim, and as your first officer I cannot allow it to continue."
Without another word Spock raised a hand to Jim's face, and then images and feelings and everything in the universe was flooding into Jim's brain. He gasped, grasping at Spock's shoulders helplessly as year after year of history flowed past his eyes; sorrow, fear, anger and love running in rivers through his mind. It seemed to go on and on for forever, and then he was slumping against the wall, breath coming quick and thready, sweat dripping into his eyes. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he looked up at Spock through tear filled eyes.
"Wh...what did you do?" he asked, struggling weakly until Spock stepped away. His legs were too weak to support him and he slid to the ground, gazing unseeingly at his hands.
"I'm sorry Jim," Spock said, looking almost as affected. His skin was even paler and he backed away until his knees hit the back of a chair and he sank down. "It was the only way. There was no time to play your game of deceit, you did not know what the stakes were if those other than me found you out."
"Why?" It was the only word he could force out, and he raised trembling hands to his eyes to scrub angrily at tears that threatened to fall.
"You are ten years out of your time, Jim, I had to fill you in quickly on those years. This ship cannot afford to have a Captain who doesn't know how it came to be. Our enemies would not be far behind and would take advantage. It was simply logical that you had to be told. And this was the quickest way."
"You're a bastard," Jim said quietly. His head hurt too much for anything else.
"So your older self has told me time and time again," Spock said, a faint smile on his lips.
"We're friends, aren't we? In the future I mean?" Jim no longer had the energy to keep up the pretense, and he knew from...whatever Spock had done to him...that Spock knew the truth and lying would only waste energy.
"Yes. We are friends."
Jim sighed and pulled himself to his feet, though he wanted nothing more than to sink back down into oblivion. "Are you going to tell the others?" Despite the...sharing of minds?...Jim still wasn't certain what Spock's motives were. The other man was impossible to read
"No, this will remain between us for as long as possible," Spock said firmly. "At this time the truth would only serve to cause chaos among the crew. I simply gave you better tools to manage the situation." Spock stood and headed towards the door. "I will leave you to your thoughts now. You should be able to access the Captain's log, should you wish gather your future self's views on things. I will be by in the morning. We often have meetings over breakfast, so no one will find it odd."
Jim only nodded, too weak and in pain to stand up. Spock nodded once, seemed to consider saying something else, but in the end simply turned on his heel and let himself out.
He finally let himself fall apart then. He dragged in huge gulps of air, and let out deep, shuddering breaths. The images from Spock's mind still filled his vision. All those years of history fighting for a place in a brain that hadn't experienced those times yet. He was cold, shaking, nauseous. He didn't know how long he spent huddled on the floor, but finally a knock at the door roused him.
His head hurt less now, more of a nagging pain now than anything else. He moved across the room, stopping only to splash his face with cold water in the bathroom, washing away the traces of tears he hadn't realized he'd shed.
There was another knock at the door, this one louder and more insistent, accompanied by a terse, "Dammit Jim, open up."
McCoy, Jim realized. He wondered why the doctor, who so very clearly disliked him, felt the need to pound on his door in the early hours of the morning.
Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for the worst, Jim answered the door.
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk, established pairing
Warnings: Underage (Kirk is (Alien whammied to) 16
Summary: Jim's always been good at thinking on his feet. Had to be, growing up as he did. But this time, he may have gotten himself into more trouble than he can handle.
Rating: PG-13 (R over-all)
Notes: Hope this part measures up. Spock is a tricky, tricky bastard to write. Constructive criticism welcomed!
Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2
It was better not to give anything away too soon though , so he kept his back straight, shoulders square, and forced himself to look Spock directly in the eyes. It was a tool he'd learned early on; never let them see your fear. "Taking your position as First Officer seriously, aren't you Spock?" Jim asked, hoping that the slight tremor in his voice was unnoticeable. "Just what do you think you can help with?"
Spock's already slanted brows slanted more, and there was a slight quirk to his lips as he replied, "This is not a conversation for the corridors, Captain. It would be best if we retired to your quarters, where there is a modicum of privacy."
Fuck, Jim swore silently. There was no way he could find his rooms, he didn't even know where they were. Spock was playing some sort of game though, and damned if Jim was going to lose. "After you, Commander," Jim said, stepping to the side slightly. "I'm interested to hear what you think you can help with."
Spock stared at him, and Jim swallowed reflexively, but the Vulcan didn't say anything and turned smartly on his heel. Jim fell into step next to him, trying not to notice how much taller and broader Spock was. He'd never liked feeling small and vulnerable, and pulled himself up to his full height, and reminded himself that it wasn't size that mattered, but skill. It helped, a little.
Spock came to a stop several minutes later, and looked over at Jim, face once again expressionless. That was starting to get old, Jim thought petulantly. How the hell was he supposed to worm his way out of this, if there was no way of telling what his opponent was thinking.
"After you this time, Captain," Spock said, gesturing slightly to the keypad.
Jim swallowed, wondering just how the hell he was supposed to get this door opened, when he had no clue what his older self had used as a passkey. "Of course," Jim said, raising a lightly trembling hand, glad for once that the sleeves of his uniform were so long. They hid most of the traces of uncertainty.
The screen was blank, except for the faint outline of a hand. Jim bit his lower lip and refused to look over at Spock, as he placed his hand on the pad, expecting some sort of alarm to go off and inform the ship of his true status. But his hand fit perfectly, palm to fingertip, which struck Jim as slightly odd, but he didn't question his luck. The door slid open, revealing a warm and welcoming room.
Jim let out a barely noticeable sigh of relief and grinned widely at Spock over his shoulder. "Well, come on in then, and tell me how you can help." He strode across the threshold as if he owned the place, which he did, he realized. This was his room, with the large--very large--bed, simulated fireplace, books. Lots and lots of books, and Jim's hands itched to pluck the first one from the shelf. He'd always loved to read, had spent many days hiding from various stepfathers that way.
He tore his gaze away from his books, and arched a brow at Spock. "Well, I haven't got all day. I do have a ship to command." He was feeling more confident now, surrounded by his things. He may not recognize anything, but he felt at home here, like he had wandering the halls of the Enterprise. He was on even ground again, and perched cockily on the arm of a chair as he waited for Spock to reveal what it was he thought he could help with.
"You are very good at playing the role," Spock announced, standing just inside the doorway, motionless. "But there is no logical reason to keep up the pretense within these walls. You are not Jim Kirk."
For the second time in under an hour, Jim had to fight the urge to flee. He swallowed and moved as fluidly as he could further away from Spock, just in case he needed time to prepare for attack. "I don't know what you mean," he said carefully, though there was no hiding the thread of fear in his voice. "Of course I'm Jim Kirk. I'm just a bit younger at the moment."
Spock made no move to get closer to Jim, a fact which Jim was grateful for. He was already trapped in here, with Spock between him and the door there was no escape route.
"You are not our Jim Kirk," Spock said, staring into Jim's eyes. "I believe Lieutenant Uhura was mistaken in her belief that yours is a physical regression only."
Jim forced a laugh, and crossed his arms as he fought off panic. "Doctor McCoy didn't share that opinion. He cleared me enough to leave the medical bay."
"I believe Doctor McCoy's view was colored by the nature of your personal relationship," Spock stated calmly. "Am I wrong, Jim? Are you not mentally as well as physically sixteen?"
So he had been right about McCoy's feelings about him, Jim thought. The doctor had been eager to get rid of him, and that had caused him to overlook something that Spock had obviously noticed. The thought hurt more than it should, and once again Jim wondered why he was so upset that McCoy obviously disliked him. It didn't make sense, as Jim never cared when authority figures hated him. He thrived on it, actually, so why was this different?
"What was the question?" Jim asked, when he realized that Spock was looking at him expectantly. He was trying for flippancy, but his voice came out higher and threadier than normal, completely ruining the facade of calmness he'd wanted.
"The time for games is done, Jim," Spock said, for the first time showing faint signs of annoyance. "The longer this goes on, the more dangerous ground you'll find yourself upon."
"I don't know what you're talking about." If there was one thing anyone who knew Jim Kirk would agree on, it was that he was a stubborn son of a bitch who didn't know when to quit. "I think you should leave."
"Enough." Spock's voice was cutting and before Jim could even blink the Vulcan had crossed the room and pressed Jim up against the wall. "Enough of this foolishness. I cannot help you if you will not cooperate and help me in return."
"I don't need your help," Jim said, eyes wide. His heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted nothing more than to shove Spock away, but he knew it wouldn't do any good and he wasn't about to give the older man the satisfaction of seeing he was afraid. "I'm the Captain, after all."
"Precisely, and I cannot allow you to go around without full knowledge of what that means." The cold, expressionless look on Spock's face caused a shiver of fear to run down Jim's spine. "You're playing a very dangerous game, Jim, and as your first officer I cannot allow it to continue."
Without another word Spock raised a hand to Jim's face, and then images and feelings and everything in the universe was flooding into Jim's brain. He gasped, grasping at Spock's shoulders helplessly as year after year of history flowed past his eyes; sorrow, fear, anger and love running in rivers through his mind. It seemed to go on and on for forever, and then he was slumping against the wall, breath coming quick and thready, sweat dripping into his eyes. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he looked up at Spock through tear filled eyes.
"Wh...what did you do?" he asked, struggling weakly until Spock stepped away. His legs were too weak to support him and he slid to the ground, gazing unseeingly at his hands.
"I'm sorry Jim," Spock said, looking almost as affected. His skin was even paler and he backed away until his knees hit the back of a chair and he sank down. "It was the only way. There was no time to play your game of deceit, you did not know what the stakes were if those other than me found you out."
"Why?" It was the only word he could force out, and he raised trembling hands to his eyes to scrub angrily at tears that threatened to fall.
"You are ten years out of your time, Jim, I had to fill you in quickly on those years. This ship cannot afford to have a Captain who doesn't know how it came to be. Our enemies would not be far behind and would take advantage. It was simply logical that you had to be told. And this was the quickest way."
"You're a bastard," Jim said quietly. His head hurt too much for anything else.
"So your older self has told me time and time again," Spock said, a faint smile on his lips.
"We're friends, aren't we? In the future I mean?" Jim no longer had the energy to keep up the pretense, and he knew from...whatever Spock had done to him...that Spock knew the truth and lying would only waste energy.
"Yes. We are friends."
Jim sighed and pulled himself to his feet, though he wanted nothing more than to sink back down into oblivion. "Are you going to tell the others?" Despite the...sharing of minds?...Jim still wasn't certain what Spock's motives were. The other man was impossible to read
"No, this will remain between us for as long as possible," Spock said firmly. "At this time the truth would only serve to cause chaos among the crew. I simply gave you better tools to manage the situation." Spock stood and headed towards the door. "I will leave you to your thoughts now. You should be able to access the Captain's log, should you wish gather your future self's views on things. I will be by in the morning. We often have meetings over breakfast, so no one will find it odd."
Jim only nodded, too weak and in pain to stand up. Spock nodded once, seemed to consider saying something else, but in the end simply turned on his heel and let himself out.
He finally let himself fall apart then. He dragged in huge gulps of air, and let out deep, shuddering breaths. The images from Spock's mind still filled his vision. All those years of history fighting for a place in a brain that hadn't experienced those times yet. He was cold, shaking, nauseous. He didn't know how long he spent huddled on the floor, but finally a knock at the door roused him.
His head hurt less now, more of a nagging pain now than anything else. He moved across the room, stopping only to splash his face with cold water in the bathroom, washing away the traces of tears he hadn't realized he'd shed.
There was another knock at the door, this one louder and more insistent, accompanied by a terse, "Dammit Jim, open up."
McCoy, Jim realized. He wondered why the doctor, who so very clearly disliked him, felt the need to pound on his door in the early hours of the morning.
Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for the worst, Jim answered the door.