You Restless Thing

Naruto Exchange Fic! Part 2/2 In the Place Where I Have What It Takes

2009-12-02T15:35:20Z

Title: In the Place Where I Make No Mistakes; In the Place Where I Have What It Takes
Author: June
Rating: PG-13/R for language and violence
Genre: gen/pre-slash, alternate future
Pairing: Kakashi&Sasuke headed towards Kakashi/Sasuke, if you want it to be. Which I do.
Word Count: ~13,000

See Part I for complete notes.

~*~
The next seal gives, and the doors fly open on a foyer lined with ANBU. Sasuke stumbles through, shoving Sai in front of him. They are both breathing heavily now, cut and bleeding. Behind them, more Konoha ANBU arrive to engage the members of Root guarding Danzo's chambers. Sasuke knows that Kakashi is among them, along with the ANBU he's decided must be Neji.

One moment, Sai appears to be helping him, disarming traps and undoing seals to take them further up the tower. He always does with Sasuke pressed up against him, threatening to slice him open with his sword. Then the next, he fights back with all the vitriol of someone betrayed, like he is himself an avenger.
~*~

When they finally camped, Gai and Kakashi were both gray with exhaustion. Shinta's medical jutsu was still elementary. His skill with a needle and thread and a roll of tape worked about as well -- and didn't drain his chakra. So all he could do for the jounin was clean and re-bandage.

Everyone fell into their bed rolls after a cold meal, Lee taking first watch. They slept close together, even the genin with weapons at the ready.

When Lee shouted the alarm, Sasuke came instantly awake, scanning the trees for an attack. He didn't even get a chance to snap at Kakashi, "'Nine genin and four jounin are too many to take on,' was it?" before he saw hooded ANBU flickering in and out of sight from branch to branch.

He turned back to see Gai quieting Lee's team. Since all of them were taijutsu specialists, they wanted the chance to prove themselves out with their leader. Kakashi propped himself up on his elbows with Shirohane's help and said to Sasuke, "Go help Lee. This is a good defensive position here. We'll be fine." Sasuke gave him a tight nod in answer and sought out his own team. They were already moving their packs and bedrolls to the back of the rock overhang giving them cover, but he whistled softly and they dutifully turned to him.

"Stay here, all of you. Protect each other. Listen to Gai and Kakashi. Shinta, if you have to, hide as many as you can."

Shinta's brow wrinkled and he chewed his lip in a nervous tick that only emerged when Sasuke pushed him to work on his clan's shadow bind. Then he acknowledged his sensei's orders with a small nod.

Tsubaki glared at him, and Sasuke reiterated. "Stay."

Then he turned, ran three steps, and threw himself up into the lower branches of the forest. He blinked and activated the Sharingan, the night abruptly turning to shimmering blood-red. He caught the sound of feet and a blade striking wood and saw Lee engage a hooded ANBU a ways above. With the Sharingan, Sasuke could make out the precise progression of Lee's attack. The ANBU's blade glittered, but Lee was too fast and too strong.

Sasuke turned his gaze to the surrounding trees, and spotted several strong chakra patterns. He palmed a kunai and went hunting.

*
As Sasuke fought, he learned. The Sharingan analyzed, pulled apart, and cataloged every move and every technique of each ANBU he encountered. There were differences of course, between every shinobi, but in Root, there was a distinctive pattern. Originally, Root ANBU fought because they'd been ordered too. They were closer to clones than individuals. They fought with single-minded, narrow determination, exhibited very little originality or flexibility. For someone like Sasuke, who'd spent so many years making himself exceptional, they weren't particularly exciting opponents.

Now, they were hungry. They were looking for a fight. The style was much the same, but the number and variety of ninjutsu had increased dramatically.

Sasuke determined that he had to be methodical about this. If Root was fighting less like ANBU, if they were presumptuous enough to attack a group of thirteen shinobi, Sasuke would be what they no longer were -- focused, silent, and invisible.

He tracked them down, one by one, watched their chakra patterns, determined their abilities, and left them in the treetops, their uncovered faces looking, surprised, up at the moon. He didn't even need to draw his sword, didn't need chidori, or any of the Uchiha signature techniques.

Peripherally, he kept an eye on the camp, more than once hearing Gai's brash shouting. At one point, the ground shook with an earth jutsu, most likely Aiko's.

When he had his next opponent in sight, he began another careful approach, keeping to the shadows and cushioning his jumps with chakra bursts to his feet. So intent was he upon the slight figure of a man crouching to make a jump, that he didn't perceive the ANBU dropping down on him from above until the woman smacked into his shoulder and nearly knocked him off his branch. But her body was dead weight as it struck another limb below him and continued to fall. He looked up, searching for who might have killed her, and started so badly that he bit his tongue. A moment later, the ANBU he'd been hunting fell from his perch in a similar fashion.

Suzume pulled three more senbon from her pouch and then dropped down beside him, landing in a crouch to steady herself. She looked down at the bodies where they lay, limbs bent and broken, and said a bit breathlessly. "Sasuke-sensei, you must come back to the camp. We need your help." Then, after a brief pause, "That woman was forming seals. She was going to hurt you, and I wasn't sure you'd seen her."

Sasuke looked down at his student, watched her chakra for any irregularities, and saw what he always did -- a tightly wound, nervous, determined girl with very little aptitude for advanced ninjutsu, but a singular talent with senbon, and the ability to appear and disappear as though she could teleport. "Thank you," he said, a bit late. "Suzume, you shouldn't have left the camp."

She shook her head and then reached for his hand, tugging it sharply. "You have to come back."

"What's happ --"

As the awareness of more shinobi arriving smacked against his senses, Sasuke grabbed Suzume and tucked them both against the shadowed trunk of a tree, just as about a dozen ANBU materialized in the branches. He experienced a moment of unthinking panic when he realized it would be impossible to determine whether these ANBU were loyal to Naruto or Danzo until they attacked. His fingers dug into Suzume's shoulder for a moment before movement on his sleeve caught his eye and he looked down to see three black beetles crawling up his arm.

These were Aburame Shino's bugs -- different from Tsubaki's who had a spot of red on their heads -- and he relaxed back against the trunk in relief.

Giving Suzume's shoulder a light squeeze, he murmured, "Can you make it back to camp without anyone seeing you?"

She nodded. "Yes, sensei."

"Good. Remember what I said about chakra control. You can go anywhere so long as you know which direction is down."

"I know."

"Okay. I'll be right behind you."

On a silent count of three, Suzume dropped from their branch and almost instantly disappeared into the shadows. Sasuke stayed above her to cover their retreat and allowed himself a moment of pride for the speed his student had picked up once she realized her feet didn't need to stay on the ground. Even with the Sharingan, she blinked in and out of sight, concealing herself so well that he could only find her because he knew exactly where she was headed.

When he spotted an ANBU aimed right where he'd last seen her, he put on a burst of speed and landed hard against the trunk of an enormous pine. He stuck to it sideways, gripping the tree with chakra in his left hand and his feet. He'd overshot the ANBU by several yards, and he jumped just as the ANBU did, meeting him midway and snatching him out of the air, sending them both tumbling to the ground. They landed with Sasuke's sword stuck through the ANBU's chest.

He limped the rest of the way back to camp, having landed wrong and wrenched his knee. He found their base of operations in controlled chaos. Lee's team loudly fussed over their leader as he returned with several slices in his left arm. Neji and Shino were attempting to keep them all under the protection of the rocks as the last of the enemy ANBU were rounded up. The rest of the group were clustered around what appeared to be the rest of his team.

Sasuke swore under his breath just as Suzume reappeared beside him, already speaking rapidly. "Sasuke-sensei, Tsubaki tried to leave the camp to track you, and an ANBU used a fire jutsu -- not like the ones you use -- and Kakashi-sensei grabbed her before she got hit, but Shinta-kun followed him out because he was worried about Tsubaki-chan, and the ANBU tried again and burned Shinta-kun's arm, so he got scared and used his shadow bind to hide all three of them over there, but he's too scared to let go, so no one can get to them." She tugged him toward the clot of people -- Gai, and Kakashi's team all shouting at the bundle of shadow at their feet. "But don't be mad at him, Sasuke-sensei, he was only trying to protect Tsubaki-chan and Kakashi-sensei, and you know he hasn't mastered the technique yet, so -- "

"It's okay," he interrupted. "We'll sort this out. Come with me."

They pushed their way between Shirohane and Aiko, who were both yelling at each other and at the strange pool of utter darkness before them. When Sasuke and Suzume knelt down before it, he felt a twinge of guilt that he'd asked Shinta to do something he still wasn't comfortable with. If it were up to the Nara boy, he would have stuck with his medic training and left his family's signature techniques to other members of his clan. Every team needed a medic, but he'd been placed on Team Four for a reason. Sasuke was training a team who specialized in tracking enemies and concealing themselves, and Shinta's shadow-bind was unique in that he could wrap it around himself and those near him to serve as a sort of concealing barrier. At night, it was very difficult to see, and at any time, it was almost impossible to penetrate. The problem was, Shinta couldn't always control the binding aspect of the jutsu, especially when he was frightened.

"Every body back to the camp, now," he snapped. When no one moved, he looked up at Gai. "Now, Gai, get them back, now."

When they'd gone, Suzume and Sasuke waited for the space of a few breaths before Sasuke said quietly, "Can you release the jutsu, Shinta?"

Barely a few seconds later, the shadow appeared to shiver and then shrank back until it disappeared underneath Shinta where he sat with his back against a tree and his legs stretched out in front of him. Sasuke blinked. He appeared perfectly calm and was giving Tsubaki instructions on how to pack a burn originating from a jutsu. Sasuke could see that the burn stretched from the back of his upper arm almost to his elbow. Close beside them, Kakashi was slumped on the ground, out cold.

"What happened?" he finally asked, since neither member of his team seemed ready to volunteer.

At his teacher's stern tone, Shinta finally looked up and then flushed. "Tsubaki was trying to be a hero again. Kakashi copied the jutsu from the ANBU and fought back, but his chakra's still low enough that it burnt him out."

Next to him, Tsubaki scowled as she began to wrap the burn. "I was not trying to be a hero. You're the one who went flying through the air to get to us."

Shinta snorted to cover his embarrassment. "See if I ever save you from shooting jets of fire again."

Suzume hid a giggle behind her hand, and Tsubaki had the decency to look slightly humiliated. When she finished the dressing, her fingers brushed Shinta's skin along the edge of the bandage, and the boy shivered.

"Why didn't you release the jutsu when the others started to worry? I think you scared them."

Shinta twitched a shrug and tried an indifferent look that Shikamaru had perfected by his age. "I didn't know if we were safe yet. And I -- " He glanced between his two teammates and seemed to be reassured by what he saw. "I didn't want them to see that I'd been hurt." He looked down. "That I'd screwed up."

"You didn't screw up, Shinta-kun," Suzume assured him, putting her hand on his knee.

Situation apparently in hand, Sasuke rose to his feet and then staggered slightly on his wrenched kneed. "Maybe you could look at this after you feel a little better," he grunted when Shinta gave the knee a sharp glance. Sasuke was rewarded with a smile that one rarely saw from a member of the Nara clan. "Of course, sensei. I can look at it now, if you want."

Sasuke shook his head. "I'm gonna get Kakashi back to his team, and talk to these ANBU about what the hell happened, first."

~*~
Danzo is waiting for them, alone, in the Hokage's office. Sasuke pushes Sai in front of him and shoves him to his knees. The lion mask is gone, broken out in the hall, and his face is a bloody mess.

Sasuke isn't in much better shape, but he keeps his feet under him and his sword at the ready.

"What have you done, Sai?" Danzo asks him, his tone cold.

Sai answers flatly, though his sinuses are clogged and swollen, "I have followed your orders, Hokage-sama."

"I ask you to kill one person, in all the five countries, and you still can not. How have you followed my orders?"

"I have brought him to you, Hokage-sama."

"And what do you intend to do with him? Allow him to kill me? He clearly wishes to."

Sasuke steps forward, and Sai whips about from where he kneels on the floor, slicing Sasuke across the abdomen with his tanto. He staggers, gasping aloud at the bright pain that spreads like fire from his right hip to his ribs.

The blade hasn't gone deep enough to pierce his stomach, and Sasuke knows instantly that this was deliberate. Still, with instincts honed to override his conscience, Sasuke falls upon Sai with a hoarse shout, pressing him down to the floor with his knee and a hand at the back of his head, and driving his sword between shoulder blade and ribs. Sai makes a soft, choking sound and falls still as Sasuke regains his feet, holding an arm across his stomach.

"I'm here for my brother," he rasps. "You ruined him. Ruined me. But even worse, you've poisoned this village."

Danzo laughs and peels back the bandages around his head, revealing a damaged, watering Sharingan. "The Uchiha clan has been the real poison of Konoha. Your brother did this village a great service, his only failure being that he didn't murder you along with the rest."

Sasuke feels illusion tug at his senses, feels his grip relax on the blade still in his hand. But the Sharingan quickly sees through Danzo's attempt to influence his mind. Focusing his chakra and the exact image of Danzo standing before the Hokage's desk in his right eye, Sasuke grimaces and kindles black flames from the Mangekyo Sharingan. It's the most fitting tribute to his brother he can think of.
~*~

"Is ANBU always this late? We finally get an escort after you were ambushed and we were attacked?You should bring up punctuality at your next meeting."

Kakashi huffed a grunt of acknowledgment against his ear. "I thought it was a timely arrival last night. Gai was about two seconds from ripping out his stitches. Your team was about to get cooked, and I was useless as ever after overusing the Mangekyo."

Sasuke hitched Kakashi higher on his back and tried to differentiate sarcasm from real chagrin. The distinction didn't matter, though, because the reply was the same, even if Sasuke was grateful to Kakashi for keeping Tsubaki from harm. "Everyone's used to it by now. I wouldn't worry."

Kakashi exhaled a small, dry chuckle and hooked his hand inside the armhole of Sasuke's vest. It seemed to be a comfortable place to grab on. "You're still a bratty jerk-off. Did I ever tell you you're a bratty jerk-off?"

Sasuke frowned. That morning, the ANBU medic had given Kakashi a heavy-duty painkiller to keep the Sharingan from bothering him, and while Sasuke was certainly grateful for the ANBU escort-from-the-trees, he didn't think it wise that the senior jounin among them was stoned. But he answered the question. "No, you only ever called me Sasuke-kun."

He felt Kakashi's sharp chin dig into his shoulder when he nodded. "Ah, yes. I always meant 'bratty jerk-off' when I said that. Thought I'd probably get in trouble with Iruka-sensei if I called you a bratty jerk-off, though. He can be so prissy." Kakashi hooked his chin over Sasuke's shoulder. "You know that was a Root, ambush, don't you."

The abruptly serious tone caught Sasuke off guard for a moment. Then he snorted. "Last night? Yeah, I figured that much."

"Last night and the night before. Gai and I were sent to take out too known Root members, but there were lots more waiting for us. Some of them had the tanto, others the short-sword. It was impossible to differentiate until they attacked."

Sasuke glanced up at their escort. Even though he knew these ANBU were allies, the masked faces were disconcerting. "That's the problem with ANBU," he muttered. He pictured Naruto -- brash and truthful -- sitting in the Hokage's tower, trying to figure out how to rid the village of Danzo's followers using the very organization Danzo preferred. It wouldn't work, Sasuke realized. Naruto had to fight on his own terms. "ANBU is the problem," he said more forcefully. "Naruto should disband the whole division."

Kakashi 'hmm'ed. "Maybe if you suggest it to him, he will."

Sasuke smiled at the ground as he walked. "I'll schedule a meeting."

Kakashi chuckled again, and Sasuke felt the need to take advantage of this moment of frank, drug-induced openness. He pitched his voice low and turned slightly so that he could feel Kakashi's breath on his cheek.

"Do you think that -- " He swallowed and looked forward. " -- that you'll ever trust me again?"

Kakashi made a soft, considering noise and asked, "Would it matter to you either way?"

It was a very good question. "Naruto trusts me enough with a genin team, which seems crazy."

"By 'you,' did you mean 'me' or 'the village?'"

He watched Kakashi from the corner of his eye. "I meant you. And it -- matters."

Kakashi nodded, absorbing this. "Hm, well, the horrible, awful truth of it is that I never stopped. I couldn't -- which was terribly embarrassing. I'm still embarrassed about it, actually."

Sasuke smiled before he could stop himself. "I, um. If it makes you feel any better, I hoped that you wanted me to come back."

"By 'you,' do you mean 'me' or 'the village?'"

"I mean our old team. And I mean you."

"You say horrible things and do worse things, and then you say something ridiculous as though it will erase the rest."

Sasuke shook his head. "I'm not sorry I left. I'm not trying to erase anything."

"Sometimes it's all I can do to keep from punching you in the face again."

Sasuke grit his teeth, torn between snarling and laughing.

~*~
Amaterasu burns Danzo and the Hokage's desk down to nothing before Sasuke wearily puts out the flames. He turns away from the blackened spot to see a half-ring of ANBU closing in on him. He can't immediately tell if they're Root or not, but they make no move to attack him. They're all soaking wet, and leave dripping trails from the hall.

"I killed the Hokage," Sasuke says, voice hoarse. "Are you here to kill me?"

One of the ANBU steps forward and Sasuke's breath catches. "Did you kill Sai?" The voice is so familiar, Sasuke feels three years younger. He feels that same painful moment of respectfearlove every time his sensei speaks harshly.

"No." He takes a step forward and trips over ankles and knees wobbly with blood loss. "He almost gutted me."

A black gloved hand lifts to the dog mask and pushes it back up over matted-down gray hair. His old sensei's Sharingan is uncovered and spinning gently. Sasuke notices a scar across the bridge of his nose where his mask has been pushed down slightly. "Pity he wasn't successful."

Sasuke drops his sword and it clanks loudly as it hits the floor. He shuffles another step.

"Kakashi -- "

His old sensei surges forward and strikes him across the face, splitting his cheek wide open on his knuckles. Sasuke staggers and falls, awareness guttering and winking out just as feet circle around him and he feels himself gently lifted.
~*~

Straggling through the gates of the village on the third morning, they were received by a smiling Hokage, an exasperated head of hospital, a stony-faced, paper-white shinobi no longer in ANBU garb, and a handful of worried parents.

Those whose families had come to pick them up quickly departed, embarrassed by the worried expressions and hands at their elbows. After enthusiastic greetings and a colorful retelling of their adventures, Lee went with Gai to the hospital, and Juushin promised to make sure Kakashi got there as well. That left Naruto, Sakura, Sai, and himself, along with the three members of his team -- Suzume and Shinta quietly freaking out at walking with the Hokage and the most powerful kunoichi in Konoha. Tsubaki, of course, kept her cool.

"Hey, can I buy your team breakfast?" Naruto asked, grinning down at Suzume, who abruptly started laughing behind her hand. "This Hokage gig came with a great pay raise."

"Not sure I'm in the mood," Sasuke drawled. But when he looked at his team's faces, he could see that even though they were exhausted, they would never forgive him if he said no. "But sure, why not." He cast a sidelong glance at Sai. "All of us?"

"'Course! How long has it been since we've had a Team Seven breakfast? Months! Too bad Kakashi-sensei couldn't come with us."

Sakura cast a worried glance toward the hospital. "He was about to drop. I should really go make sure he checked in okay. You think Juushin-kun got him there?"

Naruto opened his mouth, no doubt to reassure her, but Sai beat him to it. "Stop, worrying, Sakura. You'll get wrinkles, and then I'll find you less attractive."

Everyone froze at his words, waiting for an explosion, but Sakura took a slow deep breath and turned tranquil eyes on her lover. "You think you're so funny." Her mouth twitched in tiny, sweet smile, and Sai's lips stretched into something vaguely similar.

"I do, if you laugh."

Then she did, and Sai didn't take his eyes off her. Sasuke felt a tiny pinch of jealousy that the girl who'd loved him so fiercely had discovered someone else who so easily surpassed him in this. Sai watched Sakura as though she were his muse, and he was her match. He didn't waver, didn't look over her shoulder, didn't see beyond her. Anyone would be jealous, he supposed.

They couldn't all fit at Ichiraku, so they went to a slightly bigger sit-down place where they could face each other. Since it was still early, no one wanted anything other than miso and rice, but Naruto, unsurprisingly ordered ramen. When they were settled and waiting for their food, Naruto asked his team the question Sasuke'd been dreading since he took them on a year ago.

"So, do you like having Sasuke as your teacher? Do you think he's doing a good job?" Naruto winked, though anyone who knew him could see that it was a very serious question. "And, you know, you have to tell me the truth because I'm the Hokage."

All three children looked at Naruto with blank, uncertain stares.

"Come on, I want to know. And besides, Sasuke's not easily offended, are you Sasuke."

Sakura snickered, and Sai interjected quickly, "That is obviously false."

She laughed louder and Naruto joined in, significantly raising the noise level of their table. Sasuke rolled his eyes, and then stilled when he saw Suzume's chin firm up. She put both hands on the table and spoke over their laughter.

"I like Sasuke-sensei. I think he is a very good teacher. On this mission, he taught us chakra control in our feet." She turned to Naruto. "And he said you were lousy at it at first, just like him... Hokage-sama," she added a bit belatedly.

Naruto blinked and Sasuke raised both eyebrows, more pleased than he thought he should be. Then Naruto burst out laughing again. "It's true. We were miserable at it, and Sakura -- "

"Could do it easy as breathing," Suzume finished, blushing and sneaking a glance at Sakura.

Abruptly, Shinta sat forward. "And he's getting really good with field dressings. They're not adult-sized anymore."

Now Sakura beamed at them both. "Who'd have thought Uchiha Sasuke would develop a skill that didn't directly increase his own strength? It's like he's all grown up, with an adult sense of responsibility and everything."

Sasuke squirmed a bit, wondering now whether he just should have said 'no' to breakfast. Naruto and Sakura gave him an appropriate amount of shit, but he wasn't really comfortable receiving it in front of his team. As though reading his mind, Tsubaki spoke up in her small, child-voice.

"Sasuke-sensei is very brave. And he cares about us. And you shouldn't make fun of a jounin. He's an important member of the village."

At this, everyone quieted, and Sasuke was struck by the desire to do something really nice for his students, something better than breakfast.

He realized Sai was watching him with dark, curious eyes. "What," he snapped.

Sai blinked at him and then said to the table. "I think I would like to try teaching."

Naruto and Sasuke were both subtly appalled, while Sakura's smile was blinding. "Really, Sai? Why?"

Sai looked from one of his students to the next as though cataloging and labeling. "These three children love him. I think that's so strange. I did not love my sensei." He leaned a bit closer to Tsubaki. "Would you tell me how you came to have affection for your sensei?"

Tsubaki sat up straighter and edged away from him slightly, exuding twelve-year-old scorn.

Sasuke felt several things then -- pity for Sai's lost childhood, regret for his own lost opportunities, and pride that he wasn't fucking up his students'. His team liked him. He was a good teacher.

Thankfully, at that point, the food arrived.

*
He said his goodbyes to Suzume and Tsubaki and watched them turn their separate corners -- Suzume to go find the sometimes delinquent older brother with whom she lived, Tsubaki to her small apartment in the academy housing. It was where both he and Naruto had lived when they were kids.

He walked Shinta to the hospital and handed him over to a nurse to treat his burn more thoroughly, and before he left, asked as casually as possible whether Kakashi had been admitted yet. He wasn't surprised to learn that no one had seen or heard from him. It wasn't until he'd returned to his own apartment and unpacked that he discovered his chakra-enhancing tea and the blood thinners were missing, leading him to believe that Kakashi had decided to hole up at home to recover.

In a bit of a daze from two days of hard walking and very little sleep the night before in the final push for Konoha, Sasuke stripped off his uniform and stood beneath the needling spray of his shower. He watched smudges of dirt and a few rust-colored stains fade from his skin, making the water briefly swirl pink. He turned around and let the too-hot water loosen the tension in his shoulders and relax his arms after the strain of carrying a full-grown man for hours on end. With this first bit of privacy, he debated jerking off, but found that, right then, he lacked the imagination to put together anything interesting. Maybe after a nap.

From the shower, Sasuke fell into bed and slept for the rest of the day. He awoke after dark with a rumbling belly and a very full blatter. He shuffled from the bedroom to the bathroom, then out to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge and drank directly out of the container, wiped his mouth and leaned against the open door to consider his options for food. He had very little that was fresh, and he really wanted meat.

He shut the refrigerator door and nearly fumbled the juice jar when a shock of adrenalin slammed through him, leaving his legs rubbery. Gently swinging from a kunai stuck in his window frame, was a porcelain mask, painted with the face of a cat. It had been his brother's mask. ANBU masks were unique. A scroll sat on the sill. It read, "Good hunting," followed by a date, a time, and a place for him to be. He tentatively picked up the mask, ran his fingers over the cool, perfect surface, then turned on his heel and made quickly for his bedroom. He grabbed a small travel pack from his closet and tucked the mask inside. Then he threw on a shirt and shoes and left the apartment through the front door.

Rather than keeping to the rooftops, Sasuke took his time walking through the village, breathing in the moist summer night air and trying to calm his jangling nerves. He soothed himself with the familiar restaurants and shops of his neighborhood, walked past the darkened academy, and peered up at the rows of glowing apartment windows -- one of which was Tsubaki's. He wondered how close it was to his old one. He had never gone to where his students lived. Observing a strict boundary between home and school was important.

He continued on to the far side of the village, where many shinobi chose to live, away from the potential chaos of the crowded downtown. He found Kakashi's building and didn't bother to knock. Kakashi wouldn't have been able to come to the door anyway. He effortlessly climbed the wall to the third story and found the dimly lit window which looked in upon his old sensei's living room. Kakashi himself was sprawled across his couch, empty tea cup on the floor beside one long-fingered hand. His other arm was thrown across his eyes, his long limbs covered by a blanket. Though he appeared asleep, when Sasuke slid the window further open, he lifted his arm away to watch him enter. His slate gray eye was half-lidded and wary, his body tense even reclining. The Sharingan was covered by a white hospital eye patch that nearly matched his hair.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Kakashi asked, his voice still rough and tired.

Sasuke tossed the bag onto the floor and dropped from where he'd been crouched on the window sill. "I'd like to talk to you," he said.

The arm flopped back across his face. "Afraid I'm not up for it. Come back in a week when I'm taking visitors."

Sasuke grit his teeth and came further into the room. "I, actually, really need to talk to you. I think I've been recruited for ANBU."

At this, Kakashi moved his arm far enough for his single-eyed blink to be visible. Then he sighed and shoved himself up onto one elbow. "Make me some noodles, and we'll talk."

Sasuke swallowed his retort and nodded, bending down to pull Kakashi's arm over his shoulder and help him to his feet.

*
They sat across from each other at the kitchen table, Kakashi slouched over a bowl of noodles, Sasuke with his, untouched, in front of him. Between them sat the ANBU mask, ghostly white against the scarred old woodgrain of the table.

Kakashi slurped a large bite and mumbled, "ANBU was easier when I was a crazy kid and your brother freaked the shit out of everybody else. It was easier when I felt crazy and everyone believed we were all batshit anyway. It got harder when he left because it suddenly really wasn't okay to be crazy anymore. Your entire family was dead."

Sasuke leaned forward to touch the slight contours of the mask, the swirled whiskers over the cheek bones. "Why would they offer me his mask?"

He couldn't help glancing up and watching Kakashi eat, his mask just covering his chin. When they'd started teaching together and could only catch a few minutes of solitude while their teams trained, Kakashi had revealed his face to Sasuke for the length of time it took him to eat, drink, or wash. It wasn't long at all, but Sasuke kept Kakashi's appearance to himself, not bringing it up with Sakura or Naruto, even though he was sure they'd still give a limb to know what he looked like.

"Atonement," Kakashi suggested. "A lousy sense of humor. Your guess is as good as mine."

Sasuke suppressed a shudder. "I don't know whether I've been waiting for this or not. ANBU isn't what I-- But maybe I could -- "

"You can't change ANBU," Kakashi interrupted, old bitterness creeping into his voice. "And you can't trust it."

Sasuke's brow wrinkled in a frown. "But you --"

"I trust the people who exist outside ANBU as well as in it. I don't trust what happens when the mask goes on."

Sasuke snorted an incredulous laugh and Kakashi huffed into his noodles.

"Come on, don't snort at my euphemisms."

"How is that a euphemism? You literally put your mask on. I was snorting at your melodrama."

"It's a euphemism for loss of control, faceless violence, and a distinct lack of ethics."

Sasuke picked up the mask and turned it over in his hands. "I didn't realize ANBU were supposed to be ethical."

Kakashi pushed away his noodles. "Don't be thick."

Sasuke leaned back in his seat and held the mask up to his face. He imagined his brother's eyes blinking out through the holes, his brother's quickened breath puffing against the inside. His brother had done terrible things, but not once had he forgotten his principles, his loyalty. They were what killed him.

"I'm not sure which is worse," he mused, voice loud and strange-sounding inside the mask, "believing something so strongly that you completely fuck up your life over it, or being just crazy enough to not really care about anything."

"You came here for the 'teacher' answer, I'm assuming."

Sasuke lowered the mask. "No," he answered slowly. "I wasn't actually expecting an answer to that."

Kakashi had pulled his mask back up to cover his mouth again, but Sasuke could still see the pinched line of his mouth. "Then, what do you me to say? What are you looking for?"

Sasuke hesitated, caught off guard. He lifted one hand, palm-up in a half-shrug. "I don't want you to say anything. I just -- I didn't know who else to talk to about this."

"How about Naruto or Sakura?"

Sasuke's brow lifted in a silent, 'Seriously?' "They're not ANBU."

"Gai? He manages to keep perspective on all this."

"Gai drives me a little nuts."

"Sai, then. He could tell you loads about ANBU."

"Sai's a creep. I don't trust him."

Kakashi looked as though he'd rather have been anywhere besides his kitchen, but he couldn't remove himself. "I shouldn't have to tell you this, but Sai is probably the single best shinobi -- a shinobi traditionally defined -- in this village. He could teach your team far more than you about concealment, about subtlety, about loyalty."

Sasuke registered the sound of his noodle bowl hitting the floor as his knees slid across Kakashi's table and his hands fisted in Kakashi's shirt. His momentum carried him forward and his old sensei's chair toppled, sending them both to the floor. Kakashi's arm's flailed, but he was too weak to catch himself, so they fell hard. Sasuke didn't care. He straddled Kakashi's hips and pressed his fist hard against Kakashi's breastbone. Defensive anger plugged up his chest so that he could barely breathe.

"Dammit," he hissed.

Kakashi regarded him blearily and tentatively reached for the back of his head. His fingers came away clean, but Sasuke was sure he'd find a swelling goose egg if he looked.

"What I wanted?" he gritted, "Was for you to quit treating me like your old, fuck up student. I wanted to tell you that I don't think I should join ANBU. And I wanted to know what you thought about that. That's all."

Kakashi made as if to get more comfortable on the floor. He put one arm under his head, and bent one leg at the knee so that Sasuke felt the press of his thigh at his lower back. Sasuke wasn't sure what he would do if Kakashi mocked him again. They watched each other for the span of several heartbeats as Sasuke's temper leached away, until he loosened his fist in Kakashi's shirt and leaned back against Kakashi's leg.

"I, uh," Kakashi began, "I think it's the right call. It'd be hell on your team."

Sasuke nodded. "S'what I thought, too." He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, tugging gently so that he looked up at the ceiling. "I'm -- sorry if I hurt you."

When he got no response, he looked down to see Kakashi regarding him with one incredulous eye. "Now. I'm sorry if I hurt you, just now."

Underneath him, Kakashi's abdomen contracted with a quick exhalation. "Beating up on your old sensei. That is pretty low."

Sasuke rolled his eyes and leaned down to help Kakashi to his feet, one arm under his shoulders, the other pressed flat against his stomach. "You got anything to drink?"

"Hm, sure, but I'm not supposed to mix alcohol with that crazy tea of yours, or those blood thinners, I imagine."

"Eh, you'll just get drowsy. Big deal." They shuffled across the kitchen to a corner cupboard where Kakashi gestured at the second shelf, and Sasuke found a dusty bottle of decent sake.

"You should also be glad you didn't crack my head open, or you really would have had a mess on your hands."

"I've gotten pretty good at hiding bodies. Suzume could help."

Kakashi snorted a quiet laugh. "Oh, but she's my favorite."

*
Kakashi lay sprawled on the couch, bottle resting on his stomach, and Sasuke could feel the moment he dropped off to sleep in the way his breath slowed on the back of his neck. Sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, Sasuke twisted around just enough to rescue the bottle before it spilled, then shifted and turned so that he leaned sideways against the cushions. He put one arm up on the couch and took another large swallow from the bottle before plunking it on the floor next to him. Feeling warm and pleasantly buzzed, he curled his legs up close to his chest and put his head down on his arm. From there, he looked up through his eyelashes and could pick out each individual, snowy lash against Kakashi's cheek. He only closed his eyes for a moment, preparing himself for the walk home, but he fell asleep before he moved another inch.

~*~
He tells Naruto, Sakura, and Sai that he just has a few questions for the nurse and that he'll meet up with them for dinner later. Sakura extracts a promise from him that he will not be late. It's her night to cook, and she vows bloody revenge if they have to wait for him. She insists timing is everything for the meal she's preparing. Before she leaves, though, between threats, she kisses him on the cheek and ruffles his hair.

Kakashi waits until they're out of ear shot before he turns off the lights and sits down at his old student's bedside. He rests his elbows on his knees, his chin on his knuckles, and in the silence of the hospital room, allows himself a brief, bitter laugh. Sasuke's hair is dry now, rainwater toweled out so that the thick dark strands are wild and just a little curly against the pillow. His skin is white as the sheets. His arms and legs are bound tightly to the rails of the bed. His face is serene and blank, though marked with bruises and cuts that no one's had time yet to heal. Kakashi finds himself fascinated by Sasuke's eyelids. They appear paper-thin and twitch as he enters a dream, and Kakashi leans forward before he can stop himself to touch them with slightly shaking fingers. He laughs again and lowers his head to the mattress, close enough that he can feel the press of Sasuke's shoulder against his scalp.

When Sasuke begins to stir, Kakashi stands swiftly and leaves.

He doesn't see Sasuke again until his old student shows up at the academy to meet his brand new genin team. He watches Sasuke solemnly bow to each of his new students. The Aburame girl is stiff and self-conscious, with her arms bare to the whole auditorium, her body humming with life. The Nara boy looks at her like she's the most amazing thing he's ever seen. And the final member, a girl with no clan name and only a brother to call family, stands a short distance from them and looks up at Sasuke as though all the hopes of their future rest on his shoulders. Sasuke sees her watching him and uncertainly goes down on one knee to look her in the eye. He's turned away from Kakashi so he can't quite make out their exchange, but the girl smiles and nods enthusiastically. And Kakashi dislikes him just a little less.
~*~

Naruto Exchange FIC! Part 1/2 In the Place Where I Make No Mistakes

2009-12-02T15:12:21Z

Title: In the Place Where I Make No Mistakes; In the Place Where I Have What It Takes
Author: June
Rating: PG-13/R for language and violence
Genre: gen/pre-slash, alternate future
Pairing: Kakashi&Sasuke headed towards Kakashi/Sasuke, if you want it to be. Which I do.
Word Count: ~13,000
Spoilers: Not sure of chapter #s, but spoilers for the outcome of Sasuke and Itachi's fight.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or the characters. Just playin'. And in honor of my (probably brief) return to Naruto fandom, more lyrics from Elliot Smith's "Waltz #2." (See title.)

Also, a disclaimer of a different sort -- I haven't kept up with the post-timeskip manga chapters, though I am aware of the major plot elements, specifically concerning Itachi and Sasuke. Thus, I play fast and loose with canon. I tried to keep it close, but... it's a loose interpretation.

Notes: Takes place in an alternate future, set three years or so after the series (and also roughly during the time line of the current chapters).

Also, this fic is largely about being a teacher -- something I really care about and wanted to explore in fic form. Thus, there is a small cast of original characters, namely:

Team Sasuke: Aburame Tsubaki, Nara Shinta, and Suzume
Team Kakashi: Juushin, Nakano Aiko, and Katou Shirohane
Team Lee: Jet, and two others I don't have names for.

Oh! And this is for shinobigonewild ! I'm not sure how closely this fits what you had in mind, but I hope you like it! And also a big thank you to imlikat for putting on this challenge. Fandom owes you much, bb! <3

In the Place Where I Make No Mistakes; In the Place Where I Have What It Takes

~*~
The rain is unrelenting, heavy and loud. It roars in his ears and masks nearly every sound he makes. It's a good night. He fingers the grip of his sword where it rests against his shoulder, wet braided leather smooth and cold. From the trees, he watches the gates of Konoha, newly rebuilt after Pain's attack. The rest of the village, though, is still in ruins. Danzo has clearly not made it his priority to rebuild. Not surprising. Sasuke blinks away rain water and makes for the wall.

~*~

It took Sasuke about a year to get good at bandaging his team's cut knees and elbows.

When he'd complained to Sakura about it, she'd offered him two theories: First, eleven and twelve-year-olds were small, and it was difficult to think in terms of the small knees and elbows of a child when one was used to the large knobby joints of an adult man. Second, Sasuke was the most self-absorbed shinobi in the village, and it would never have occurred to him to learn how to dress anyone's wounds other than his own.

Sasuke had admitted to her that they were both good theories, especially the second. She liked it when he admitted these sorts of things.

She was right that helping a child required a new set of habits, ones he'd needed to develop quickly, nearly on the spot. But he wasn't about to let his first genin team down. The genin teams were the beginning, the starting point of every hidden village, and one of them -- Team Four -- had been entrusted to him. If he was really going to remake Konoha for his brother, then this was where he would begin, too.

So, he knelt on the ground and hitched up Suzume's pant leg, exposing the nasty abrasion across her shin. He set his kit out beside him and uncorked his canteen. He washed away the blood and, with gentle fingers, removed the torn fibers of her clothes from the cut. He cleaned the cut with a sterile wipe and squeezed her knee to distract her from the sting. Then he wrapped the whole thing in gauze and taped it. When he helped her to her feet, he gave her a quick pat on the shoulder.

When she sniffed, rubbed her sleeve under her nose, and looked up the length of the pine tree towering above her, he said, "Between you and me, I was lousy at chakra control for years. It took me and the Hokage days to make it to the top of our tree. Sakura could do it easy as breathing."

They both looked up to see Tsubaki gazing out over the hills from the top of her tree as though she were ruler of all that she could see. About half-way up, Shinta, their official medic-in-training, was scrambling to keep hold of a dangerously swaying branch. Sasuke estimated where the boy would fall, gave Suzume an encouraging shove toward the tree, and wandered over to wait for him.

*
The sun was setting when Shinta and Suzume dragged themselves back to camp. The sight of them leaning against each other -- bruised, scraped and grinning -- was so familiar that Sasuke looked for the members of his old team before he could stop himself. Sakura would be so proud, Naruto laughing and self-assured, Kakashi indifferent and approving all at once. But in the time it took him to blink, he remembered where and when he was, and by then, Tsubaki had said the congratulations for him in her stony, serious, little voice. She tried hard for gravitas, but she was only twelve.

Then Sasuke offered them an approving nod and plates full of fire-cooked fish and field rations. Around mouthfuls of food, they made plans for the next day. They had two more days to reach the rendezvous point with Lee and Kakashi's teams, and they wanted to be ready to show off what they'd learned. Sasuke chewed his fish carefully, looking for bones, and thought that he was getting the hang of this teaching thing.

~*~
He wonders how the villagers can stand to be in their leaky, decrepit homes in rain like this, how they can possibly hope to stay dry. Then, as he crosses the wall and lands lightly on the nearest roof, it dawns on him that, perhaps they aren't suffering the rain. The street lights are lit, but not a single window glows, not a curtain rustles, not a shadow moves inside any of the houses. He panics for the span of two heartbeats. Has the village been abandoned? Is there nothing left to come back to?

No, he scolds himself. He's done his homework; he knows the village is still teeming with life. He's heard the reports of commerce picking up again, seen travelers. The village is still running. There's just no one in it.

They've been evacuated, then. Danzo knows he's coming -- which is fine. Sasuke isn't afraid.

He makes for the Hokage's tower, all the while looking for signs of life within the houses he passes. There are none. When he draws near, he has to blink a few times to actually see them -- a dozen or so ANBU, shrouded in cloaks that make them nearly invisible in the rain. He recognizes in their hands, the tantos he's only ever seen in one other's. This is Root.
~*~

Sasuke's senses pricked a moment before leaves rustled with displaced air, and Kakashi appeared on the tree branch right next to him. A moment later, Kakashi's team -- Katou Shirohane, Nakano Aiko, and Juushin -- dropped to the forest floor, noisily throwing down packs and already arguing about who would set up camp. Sasuke watched with resigned interest as his own team greeted them.

Because Shinta and Shirohane were best friends, they disappeared immediately, supposedly on the hunt for fire wood. Sasuke suspected they just wanted to avoid the girls. Suzume went all red around Shirohane, and Aiko wouldn't leave Shinta alone. Shirohane, of course, fancied Tsubaki, even though she never gave anyone outside her team more than a few moments of attention. She and Juushin usually ended up doing the bulk of the work, simply because they weren't easily distracted. Shinta, being a member of the Nara clan -- one of the more oblivious collections of individuals in the village -- successfully ignored all of this drama. Suzume tended to look a little tragic.

Sasuke couldn't avoid any of it. Watching how intensely young people loved and hated was an unwelcome throwback to his own childhood, a reminder of all that he'd tried to suppress, but still felt for the members of his team -- for the man now sitting next to him.

Without a word, Kakashi had taken out his book, settled against the trunk of the tree, and begun to read, leaving Sasuke with this gross violation of his personal space and nothing really to say. Finally, when Aiko and Suzume returned with a few fresh ingredients, and Tsubaki and Juushin were beginning to set out plates and chopsticks, Sasuke looked up from where his feet dangled below the branch and asked, "Will you be leaving tonight?"

Kakshi nodded. "Mm-hm." He turned a page with his thumb.

"For how long?"

"Should just be the night."

Sasuke wondered how he could still be so easily irritated by this man -- the lazy pace of his speech, the posture, the book, the damn mask. It was all just as frustrating as when he'd first been a member of Team Seven.

"You know I hate babysitting."

Kakashi didn't so much as blink. "Yes, but you're so good at it, Sasuke-kun. Aiko adores you."

"Aiko adores anyone who treats her like a human being."

"Your newfound maturity still gives me chills."

"Really." Sasuke shoved himself to his feet, grinding his teeth before he could stop himself. "Your immaturity has long since ceased to surprise me."

Without looking up, Kakashi turned another page and said, "I was being perfectly serious."

Sasuke rubbed his fingers over the smooth metal of his hitai-ate and took a deep breath. "You should find your team before you take off."

The book closed with a snap. "Please don't tell me how to do my job, Sasuke-kun."

His mouth twisted into a mean smirk. "Come on, sensei,I'm one of three people in this village who can put you in your place. You may still have seniority, but I know you."

Kakashi rose to his feet, and stood close enough to Sasuke to remind him that he was still shorter than his old teacher. "No, you don't." Then he shrugged and smiled behind his mask -- the fake one that had always grated against Sasuke's nerves like the sound of Ino's laugh. Kakashi chuckled -- a dry, crisp sound. "You're a good teacher, Sasuke-kun, and you've become a handsome man. But you're ugly when you're spiteful." Sasuke stiffened, but Kakashi only clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm leaving now. My team already knows. Lee's team should be here by dark. Take good care of them all tonight."

Then he was gone, flickering out of sight, leaving the vague, residual image of pale hair and dark clothing. Sasuke shook him off and went in search of the rest of his team.

~*~
Sasuke lets himself enjoy the fight as he hasn't done in years. The ANBU are all skilled with those tanto, and they possess many other elemental ninjutsu besides. But Sasuke is better. He draws his blade after he's thrown most of his shurikan and kunai and gathers lightening chakra into his hand. The sound of chirping birds is audible even over the roar of the rain, and Sasuke's nostrils flare at the scent of ozone. Chidori nagashi scatters the remaining ANBU and doesn't even leave him out of breath. He's so exhilarated, he shouts, "I'm coming for you!"

When another thirty ANBU materialize out of the rain, he can only bare his teeth in a tight, ferocious grin. When he notices the contrast in blades -- Konoha short-swords scattered amongst tanto, his heart thuds so hard that he nearly flinches. The tension lasts another heartbeat, the future teetering like a coin, before the Konoha ANBU attack Root and Sasuke flings himself forward to join them.
~*~

The forest loomed huge and dark overhead, dimly lit by the flickering light of the fire. Sasuke kept one eye on the nine genin where they sat clustered together in their sleeping bags. With the rest of his attention, he watched the trees, waiting for the not-sound of a shinobi's approach, the gentle flutter of familiar chakra.

Lee sat with the three teams, right in the middle, and kept them occupied with stories that proved the proverbs and sayings of his old sensei, Maito Gai. As he made his way through stories like epic poetry, he quizzed the kids on survival techniques and taijutsu forms, ways to counter genjutsu, how to fight an opponent whose power comes from his eyes.

Sasuke snorted a quiet, bitter laugh at that. The only sharingan left in the world, were the two in his own skull and the one in Kakashi's. The Uchiha's ghosts were laid to rest. Madara hadn't gotten his wish, but neither had Itachi. Sasuke's clan would die with him.

His quest for revenge, the years he had devoted to it, had given him what he wanted -- blood, vengeance, answers, absolution -- and yet, sitting here, having lived through it, he felt gypped, cheated.

He looked out over the faces of the genin clustered around the fire and saw the faces of his old team. He saw Sakura's eagerness to please in Aiko, her need to prove herself and her stubbornness in Suzume. He saw Naruto's exuberance in Shirohane. Sometimes Shinta captured Kakashi's disinterest and distance so precisely that Sasuke wanted to shake him. And when he saw his own bitterness in Tsubaki, he wanted to slap her or just sit down with her for awhile.

Even Lee's team was familiar -- Lee's tireless spirit and ethic showing in his protege, Jet's, face, as well as Neji and Tenten's fond frustration in the other two.

The constancy of the team dynamics made Sasuke's adolescence seem unnecessarily grim. Itachi had fooled him, Konoha had betrayed his family, and that was that. His brother had loved him more than he had any right to. And that was that. It was fucking tragic and pathetic and awful, and sometimes Sasuke missed his brother so much that he wanted to scream. Looking at the faces of his team, he saw love and need that cycled through the generations without fail. They all struggled with their own families, with their failures. They were no different than he was at their age.

Tsubaki, rising from her sleeping bag and coming purposely to the edge of the campsite where he sat, had the entire Aburame clan to deal with. She didn't cover her eyes or her arms, at the age of 10 deciding she didn't want to hide from the village. When the hive inside her grew restless, when she prepared to send them out to do her bidding, her skin rippled with movement, with life. Her eyes were the iridescent, shifting color of a dragonfly's. She'd frightened Suzume and stunned Shinta when they'd first met.

She approached him now with her usual sober expression and knelt down beside him, a respectful distance away. "Tsubaki," he acknowledged. "What's up."

"I thought you should know, Sasuke-sensei, that Kakashi-sensei has engaged the enemy somewhere north of here."

Looking more closely, he saw two beetles crawling along the pale shell of her ear. "You can send your bugs that far away? I'm impressed."

She met his eyes and, by the tilt of her small mouth, he guessed that she was squirming happily at his praise. All she said was, "Sasuke-sensei, you know I've been training with them."

Sasuke concealed an answering smile and instead gave her a sober nod. "Thank you for the information."

She returned the nod and then stilled, blinking, her head tilting to the side as she listened. "Kakashi-sensei and his partner have been ambushed. They are significantly outnumbered."

Tensing, Sasuke looked up over the heads of the genin to see that Lee was already looking at him, his wide eyes poorly concealing his worry. Kakashi only ever partnered with one other ANBU.

Sasuke jumped when Tsubaki shuffled forward and touched his arm to get his attention. For the brief moment of contact, he felt the hive humming with her excitement. "Sensei --" Her lips tilted again. "Kakashi-sensei and his partner are no longer outnumbered."

Sasuke scowled. "What happened -- back-up?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes, concentrating. "Sharingan."

He groaned quietly and leaned his head against the rough bark of the tree at his back. "You're sure? Your bugs can recognize when Kakashi uses his Sharingan?"

Tsubaki sniffed. "No. But I do. He made a bunch of the men disappear. We should be ready for when they get back."

Sasuke nodded, eyes staring blankly up into the low branches of the tree. "Tell Shinta we might need him later."

Tsubaki made a soft sound of acknowledgment and left him to go back to the fire, her narrow shoulders straight with the responsibility of warning her teammate. She tapped him on the shoulder and spoke quietly into his ear. Then, out of loyalty to her team, she told Suzume as well, who cast a quick, worried look toward Shirohane and Aiko.

*
Lee took first watch because, half the time, he fell asleep on the second, so it was Sasuke who caught the sound of a panting animal and the smell of shaggy fur before one of Kakashi's nin-dogs trotted into the circle of low firelight. It growled a low greeting and then looked over its shoulder into the night. When the dog turned to look up at Sasuke, he grudgingly scratched behind tattered ears and under a graying muzzle. He pushed himself to his feet just as Tsubaki sat bolt upright and leaned over to shake Shinta awake.

Gai appeared first, flickering into view at the edge of their camp. He stank of sweat and blood, but his injury wasn't apparent until he limped forward, and the firelight caught the wet shine of his thigh. Sasuke met him as he staggered forward and helped him to the ground, Shinta already spreading out his medic kit before them in the dirt. Sasuke looked past Gai, into the shadowed trees, following where the dog still pointed. "Kakashi?" he murmured.

"Following," Gai answered, roughly. "I couldn't carry him."

"Then who --" Sasuke stiffened and rose to his feet, the worn grip of a kunai falling into his hand. Appearing out of the gloom, white as ghosts, white as paper cutouts in their ANBU uniforms, were Sai and Kakashi, Sasuke's old teacher slumped across Sai's back. They appeared entirely monochrome, but for the blood spattering Kakashi's body armor, his face as pale and dull as their uniforms. The ANBU tattoo stood out sharply against his skin, but his colorless hair was a near match. "What're you doing here?" Sasuke hissed. He stepped between Sai and the sleeping children, though they were quickly rousing themselves. Juushin had already shuffled to Sasuke's side, blinking owlishly behind his glasses at his sensei's condition. Sasuke pushed him firmly back. "Kakashi only had one partner tonight. What are you doing here?" he repeated.

With precise, mechanical movements, Sai slung Kakashi to the ground, not bothering to straighten the man's limbs. "I was not part of their mission," he said, voice muffled behind his mask. "But they could not extract themselves, so I had to finish their jobs for them."

Sasuke raked his eyes over the familiar tanto. "Why are you wearing that uniform? Have you started to miss your old master? Getting in touch with your roots?"

At his feet, Kakashi coughed and rolled onto his back. He gave Sasuke a tired single eye-roll. "What a terrible pun. Leave him alone." He turned to the young man still standing on the edge of their camp. "Thanks for the lift."

Sai nodded once in acknowledgment, cast a curious glance at Sasuke, visible through the eye-holes of the mask, and disappeared.

As soon as he was gone, Kakashi's team gathered around their teacher, and Sasuke let them fuss. He returned to his pack and knelt down to collect the herbal, chakra-enhancing tea and mild blood-thinner he used to recover from prolonged Sharingan use. He hunkered down by the fire while the water heated, arms resting on his knees, and watched Lee and his team rush to help Gai -- who may as well have been their second team leader.

He wondered why Sai had been there on the same ANBU mission as Kakashi and Gai, but hadn't been on their mission. He wasn't likely to find out, ANBU being ANBU.

~*~
It's a coup. That's why the village is evacuated. The Konoha ANBU knew he was coming. He was the key to all of this. But why -- why hadn't they taken out Danzo on their own? Why had they waited for him?

He wishes that he remembered more clearly the fighting styles of his cohort so that he could identify a few of the ANBU around him. But ANBU fighters tend to conceal their special techniques to mask their identities, so all Sasuke can really do is look for familiar haircuts.

He thinks he see's Neji's long hair, but in the rain, it's hard to say. None of the Konoha ANBU acknowledge him, and he assumes they will become his enemies as soon as he completes his task. When he has defeated another opponent, he whirls to face the next -- only to find a young man with paper-white skin and straight black hair. The first two fingers and thumb of his gloves are open and stained with ink. He stands very still, the lion face of his mask regarding Sasuke with stony ferocity. Sasuke attacks and the young man moves out of his way, dodging and drawing Sasuke closer to the Hokage' s tower. He gets the feeling the young man is mocking him behind his mask.

A flicker of familiar movement from the side momentarily draws his attention, and he sees sopping wet silver hair turned a metallic gray in the rain. He recognizes Kakashi behind the dog mask even though he's never once seen his old sensei in an ANBU uniform. His stomach drops and his voice sticks in his throat, some absurd sound of surprise lodged there, thankfully before it can come out. Kakashi executes a perfect trip, twisting a Root ANBU down over his leg and slashing a kunai across the man's throat.

By the time Sasuke drags his eyes back to his opponent, Sai is close enough to swing a vicious back-fisted punch across his jaw. The Sharingan picks up the strike a moment before it happens, but Sai's fist still clips his chin, snapping his head to the side.

"Don't get side tracked, Sasuke-kun," he says, a moment before he brings the tanto up in a clean diagonal slice.
~*~

Kakashi and Gai were the two worst-kept secrets in ANBU. Everyone knew that, when Naruto became the Seventh Hokage, many retired ANBU agents were recalled to duty, since so many of Danzo's supporters had been ANBU. By that point, Kakashi and Gai both had new genin teams who they sometimes had to leave behind in order to complete missions.

No one made a fuss when the identity of several ANBU became semi-public -- especially not with Naruto in charge. They were essentially public servants after all.

Sasuke had never been asked to join.

He took the brewed tea and blood thinners to where Kakashi lay between the members of his team and gently prodded Shirohane aside with his foot to kneel down next to him. "Were you ever given blood thinners before?" Sasuke asked tersely.

Kakashi gave the barest of head shakes, no. "I'm usually bleeding from somewhere else when I overuse the Sharingan, so the doctor doesn't recommend them."

"You're not now, though, right?"

"Miraculously, no. Gimme."

Snorting quietly, Sasuke handed the cup and pills to Shirohane before bending down to wriggle his arm under Kakashi's shoulders to get him upright. With a little help from Juushin, they managed to get him up, leaning on his elbows. Then Kakashi took the pills that would ease the pressure around his eye with a couple swallows of the tea. Kakashi held the cup, drinking steadily until his hand started to shake, and Sasuke placed his own hand underneath to steady the cup so he could finish.

"You'll feel better by morning, but I don't need to tell you you'll be pretty much useless."

They eased him back to the ground and Kakashi mumbled sleepily, "I do like to hear you say it, though."

"Fine. You'll be totally useless tomorrow. Someone's going to have to carry you."

Kakashi smiled behind the mask. "How did we all get by without you for so long, Sasuke-kun?"

"You were better off," he answered.

When awkward silence met his reply, he glanced around to see that basically everyone had heard him say that, including Gai who was getting his leg stitched together. He felt himself flush at the disappointed look Lee aimed at him, and he groaned inwardly at Suzume's wide, appalled eyes. Tsubaki just shook her head and Shinta didn't look up from what he was doing, putting Gai's leg back together.

Kakashi exhaled a jaded, put-upon sigh that was entirely for his team's benefit.

*
Later, when Lee had corralled the kids all back to their bedrolls and Sasuke had extracted a solemn promise from Tsubaki that she wouldn't listen in, the four jounin clustered together around Kakashi.

"Can you tell us anything, Gai-sensei? Kakashi-sensei?" Lee asked. His posture was perfect, even sitting in the dirt, hands clutching his ankles.

Gai looked slightly pained, but ANBU was ANBU; classified was classified.

"Danzo's not as gone as we hoped," Kakashi muttered, his voice even slower and more tired-sounding than usual. "Even though ANBU's on it, you should know, too."

"What does Sai have to do with it?" Sasuke bit out. "That was a Root tanto."

Neither Kakashi nor Gai answered, but Kakashi's single, dark eye narrowed as his gaze slid sideways in an uncharacteristic show of temper. Even though the temper was rare, the look wasn't. Sasuke felt that, during his time with Team Seven, Kakashi was always measuring him, assessing him, examining him, and he was always disappointed. Finally Kakashi said, "Is it ironic that you would distrust someone who has never betrayed Konoha?"

Sasuke's lip curled and he made a low, frustrated noise in his throat. "Are we in danger here? Would anyone have followed you?"

Gai put out a hand, anxious to reassure where he could. "Of course not, Sasuke-kun. We would never have come to your camp had anyone been in pursuit. Kakashi eliminated the threat in his usual, cool way." He even winked and offered a conciliatory thumbs up, which Lee enthusiastically returned.

"We wouldn't have made it back to Konoha," Kakashi grunted. "There was no other viable option. If you disagree with my decision, take it up with the Hokage."

Sasuke smirked and backed down. "You know he'd side with you."

Kakashi's eye slid closed and he smiled that same infuriating not-smile. "Perhaps you should find some friends in high places, Sasuke-kun."

His smirk turned sour, and he rose to his feet quick enough that Kakashi's eyes opened again to warily regard him from the ground. Sasuke muttered his 'good nights' to Gai and Lee before returning to his bedroll. He had the childish urge to drag it down closer to his team. Tsubaki, Shinta and Suzume, he was fairly certain, still thought he knew everything there was to know about the shinobi world. And that felt pretty good sometimes.

*
He hadn't expected to be welcomed home. He'd expected to be arrested. But -- irrationally, stupidly -- he'd hoped for remembered friendship from his old team.

He had found Naruto the newly sworn-in Hokage, and Sakura essentially running the Konoha hospital. He'd found them both firmly in control of their feelings. Sakura had begun an awkward but exceedingly enthusiastic relationship with Sai, and Naruto was so wrapped up in rebuilding the village that he barely had more than a few minutes a day to himself. Naruto and Sakura had welcomed him home, but they hadn't assumed the responsibility of making him feel welcome.

Not that he'd really wanted them to... put on some messy display, but --

Kakashi hadn't even acknowledged his presence until they'd taken on their own genin teams. And still, their interactions were forced. Kakashi had always mocked him in his own understated way, but in the three years Sasuke had been home, Kakashi's words had become sharper. Sometimes they were even cruel, as though he, amongst their old team, harbored the most bitterness for him.

Sasuke ate lunch with Sakura about once a week, and he saw Naruto slightly less than that -- when Naruto had time for a bowl of ramen, but they seemed content to know that Sasuke was there, physically in the village. Kakashi, he saw more frequently, and he'd come to realize that his old sensei was holding a grudge.

Sliding down into his sleeping bag, Sasuke punched his tiny field pillow into something resembling a cushion and turned away from the soft voices of his fellow jounin. If Kakashi wanted to hold a grudge, he was welcome to it -- Sasuke had held enough of his own to understand the urge.

~*~
He catches the tanto on his arm guard, and he's surprised at the strength behind the strike. He looks through the holes of the lion mask and can just make out white surrounding black pupils, eyes narrowed in determination.

"You're going to help me get into the hokage's rooms," Sasuke grits. "Or I'll shove this through your neck." He indicates with his chin the kunai drawing a trickle of blood from Sai's throat.

Sai's voice is muffled behind the mask. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to spell it out for you, "Sasuke-kun." He leaps back out of reach and touches his fingers to ink seals along the floor. Instantly, great roaring beasts peel themselves off the stone and charge at him.
~*~

Kakashi was well enough to be moved by morning, after breakfast and another cup of the chakra-enhancing tea -- though his skin was still as pale as his hair. His team would make sure that he made it home safely, as would Lee's as they escorted Gai back to Konoha. Sasuke helped his own team break camp and remove all traces of their stay. Suzume was particularly good at concealing her own presence, so her eye for detail -- for the appearance of the mundane -- was second to none among the genin of her year. He watched her meticulously scatter leaves around their turned over fire pit and then looked beyond her to where Kakashi sat propped up against a tree, reading. With the white ANBU armor gone, he appeared small and vulnerable in his standard-issue blacks.

"Will you continue your scouting mission?" he asked abruptly, not looking up from his book.

Sasuke spotted a flurry of movement in the woods and squinted to see Tsubaki and Shinta flinging clods of dirt at each other, rather than scrubbing out footprints like they were supposed to. "We could use the practice," he answered. "Why."

Kakashi's chest rose and fell with a tired breath and he let his book fall to his lap as though it were some heavy weight. "We were ambushed last night. Naruto needs to know immediately how many of Danzo's supporters are still in uniform."

Sasuke sat back on his heels as he finished sealing up his bedroll. "You think we're not safe out here? In our own woods? Or are you worried about your team. Lee is -- "

"Not as powerful as you. And he'll have Gai on his back."

Sasuke snorted and rose to his feet to stand over Kakashi. "Are you asking me for help?"

Kakashi looked up at him and didn't indicate that he was bothered by the difference in height. "You should be thinking about keeping your team safe. Nine genin and four jounin are too many to take on. We split up and they can pick us off. They won't hesitate to take out the genin first."

Sasuke scowled and hunkered down beside him. "Why do you know this? Did you overhear some plan or something?"

"It's what I would do."

Sasuke looked up again at Shinta and Tsubaki, then over his shoulder at Suzume. His mind leapt ahead against his will. Of the three of them, Suzume was actually the most likely to survive because she could disappear so completely. Shinta would go first because he'd inherited relatively little from the normally far-sighted Nara clan. Shinta didn't think twenty steps ahead like Shikamaru. He waited and watched, looking for weaknesses, and sometimes it was a good strategy, but Root didn't show weakness. Tsubaki would go down in a wild angry blaze, furious at her inability to protect her team. And Sasuke himself would... well, he'd --

"Right, so we'll head back to Konoha with you. But I'm not carrying you."

*
As Sasuke knew, but for some reason continued to forget, genin were children. Even Shirohane, who was fourteen and tall for his age, only came up to Kakashi's chin. It was a two-day hike back to Konoha, and half-way through the first day, Sasuke was switching off carrying Kakashi with Shirohane. He would have been saddled with Kakashi for the entire trip home, except that they could not afford to have their defenses so weakened. Gai walked when he could, but when the terrain became difficult, Lee carried him. Tsubaki scouted ahead and behind, her bugs assuring them of their isolation in the forest. Suzume covered their tracks as much as time allowed. The rest of the genin stuck closer in a long line, and Sasuke thought they must look like a small troop of ants winding between the trunks of Fire Country's enormous trees.

Kakashi was warm and heavy on his back, his head lolling slightly against Sasuke's shoulder. "Do you think," he mused, speaking quietly into Sasuke's ear, "that your students are fascinating little people?"

Sasuke hitched his old sensei higher up on his back. "What do you mean?"

Kakashi readjusted his arms across Sasuke's chest, hooking his hand inside the vest by Sasuke's armpit. "I mean, don't you think the fact that they're real people, with stories and families, is -- really bizarre? All of them -- they'll be themselves with or without you. Their lives don't stop just because you stop thinking about them."

Sasuke watched Shinta tip his head back to look up at the patches of sky visible through the treetops. Or he may have been looking for Tsubaki, who just then flickered through the lower branches, deep in conversation with her hive.

"I guess I never really thought about it that way."

"I can't say I'm surprised."

Sasuke didn't bother to push aside a low-hanging branch, but ducked his head and let it smack Kakashi in the face.

"Did you think that about us?"

Kakashi shifted again, hooking his chin more comfortably over Sasuke's shoulder. "I didn't, not until later."

"Why not?"

"You were the first genin team I'd passed. I thought you'd listen to everything I said -- that your lives were no more complicated than I understood them to be."

Sasuke surprised himself by the harshness of his laugh. "You were actually surprised I left, weren't you. You thought I would listen and stay."

Kakashi didn't answer and the conversation lagged, leaving Sasuke the time to contemplate the complexity of other peoples' lives. He admitted that he'd never considered the possibility when he'd left Konoha six years ago. He'd known his teammates would be angry, would feel betrayed and disappointed, but as soon as he'd left them behind, he'd stopped thinking about them as real people. Their lives didn't continue without him. They became paper cutouts that he kept pressed inside a scroll. They were just memories.

When he considered what it would be like to lose a member of his team, how it would feel to his team to lose one of their own, he could see it. He knew how that pain would feel. His team wouldn't function if one of them were lost. Shinta and Suzume needed Tsubaki to drive them forward. Suzume and Tsubaki needed Shinta because he accepted their strangeness without blinking. He made friendship appear effortless. And they all needed Suzume because she was not from the shinobi world. She was talented and kind on her own terms. The prospect of losing one of them was crippling.

And he didn't know how he could have possibly understood this as a young teenager. He supposed it was something that he understood it now, at least.

"Admit it, Sasuke-kun," Kakashi murmured. "Sometimes I'm right."

Sasuke snorted and did nothing of the sort.

On to Part 2

Post #2 for the day! Who are your favorite Heroes, Anti-heroes and Villains? And Why.

2009-11-14T23:47:04Z

I just added a bunch of stuff to my previous post, hopefully fleshing out the differences between heroes, anti-heroes and stupid/bad characterization, but with this post, I'm curious as to how you folks categorize your favorite characters. There are so many wonderful ones!

Here are some definitions to clarify:

Hero/heroine -- a person of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his/her brave deeds and noble qualities

Anti-hero/heroine -- a protagonist who lacks the attributes that make a heroic figure, as nobility of mind and spirit, a life or attitude marked by action or purpose, and the like.

Villain -- a cruelly malicious person who is involved in or devoted to wickedness or crime; scoundrel.

Heroes/Heroines

Aang -- Brave, principled, kind, gentle, skilled, vegetarian

But also stubborn and sometimes childish (not a surprise.) I consider Aang to be the closest character there is to the archetypal hero.

Spock -- Intelligent, courageous, principled (not a racist, loves women), prejudice doesn't make sense, vegetarian.

But also stubborn and prickly. Spock is a virtuous man, though he has his moments of temper, which I love.

Fuu (Sam Cham) -- Principled, kind, brave, steadfast, believes most strongly in friendship

Except when she's hungry

Kakashi (Naruto) -- Down to the ground, a good person, loyal, courageous, steadfast.

Not always the best teacher, kind of lazy, loves porn, but these are small potatoes.

Ishida (Bleach) -- Loyal, courageous, intelligent, archer, can sew.

Jim Halpert and Pam Beasely (The Office) -- hahahahahaha, I'm sorry, but I love them.

They are hip deep in the struggle that is Middle America, and they're doing a great job!

Soul and Maka (Soul Eater) -- loyal and brave and yummy

Anti-heroes, flawed heroes, tragic heroes/ines

Zuko -- Guh. Angry, bitter, rash, volatile. But through it all, he wants to do the right thing. He's endlessly conflicted about his decisions.

Yet he knows there are consequences. He can recognize when he's done right or wrong. And, he does have a stellar redemptive moment in Day of Black Sun.

Mugen -- Angry, bitter, rash, volatile, mean. Mugen treats Fuu terribly at the beginning, but he has the capacity to learn.

My favorite thing about Mugen is that he has the capacity for friendship and trust, even though we barely see it by the end of the series.

Jin -- Principled and honorable, but arrogant and aloof. All the good stuff's hidden pretty well behind an indifferent attitude.
Wufei -- Angry, cranky, rude, probably sexist, stubborn, but also principled, very concerned with knowing the right thing to do.

He's absolutely a good person, just horrible at showing it.

Sasuke (Naruto) -- I want to beliiiiiieeeeeeve.
Jet (Avatar) -- RIP, buddy. The archetypal tragic hero, in my book. He walked the line between right and wrong.

He wanted to do right, but couldn't always determine the difference, figured it out too late, and by the time he did, was manipulated so badly that he couldn't save himself. *weeps*

Starbuck (BSG) -- Totally badass and self-destructive, a combination I find difficult to resist.
Snape -- I quiver. Principled (understatement), loyal, courageous, hateful, bitter, and weak in important ways.

The only really good character JKR came up with and she gave him a lousy send-off.

Tsuna (KHR) -- Cowardly until he's not, foolish until he's not, but always loyal and kind.
Hibari (KHR) -- Cruel until he's not, heartless until he's not, but always loyal. Pretty dependable, too.

Too Close to call between Hero and Anti-hero (ine)

Jim Kirk -- pretty straight-forward All-American, blond, blue-eyed hero. But, he's arrogant, over-confident and sometimes self-destructive.

This combination makes for both wonderful and LOUSY fanfic. (omg, I am so sick of ST fandom right now. I should just top, but I can't b/c it's BigBang month and some of those fic are so good!)

Orehime (Bleach) -- WTF ARE YOU DOING?!!!? Get it together! Today! Now!
Katara (Avatar) -- She's brilliant. And then she was really mean in Season 3 (telling Aang he didn't understand what it felt like to lose a parent

-- what?

Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell-- tell me more about these two. I don't know where to put them.

Villains

Azula (Avatar) -- She scares me with how flawlessly ruthless she is. She can not be redeemed.
Ulquiorra -- I don't know what to say about him. I'm not sure he was redeemed at the end. But if he was, it was at the moment that he recognized Orehime as a real person.

Yeah... I don't like villains much. I attach my loyalty to characters who have good souls.

argh BLARGH Bad!fic >:-[ A short essay on heroism, anti-heroism and race/gender fail

2009-11-14T19:48:19Z

When I read fanfic, I want to read about the characters I love as good people, as heroes and heroines.

Unexamined, unacknowledged sexism and racism in fanfic is NOT OKAY.

I don't care if the characters exhibit such behavior in the series, I don't want to read it in fanfic due to careless characterization.

Examples: Star Trek and Gundam Wing

Okay, shame on the original series for letting McCoy spew racial slurs at Spock as a form of humor! I hated watching McCoy in the new movie say the same things. It's not okay to make comments about Spock based on his Vulcanness. I don't want McCoy to be a racist. If McCoy really is a bigot, it's up to the writers of the movies (and up to fandom writers) to examine that and make him a better character. McCoy is not a hero if he's a racist. He can't be both.

And I don't want Jim to disrespect women. Just because he sleeps with lots of women DOES NOT MEAN he disrespects them. Just because he sleeps with lots of women doesn't mean that his whole life he's been unfulfilled and only REALLY needed McCoy's or Spock's dick to save him from all the women. If Jim really doesn't respect the women he sleeps with, THIS IS NOT OKAY. Responsible writers need to examine why Jim is the way he is and help him not be that way because Jim is not a hero if he's sexist. He can't be both.

Similarly, I think it's irresponsible to write Wufei as an unexamined misogynist. Wufei was married. Wufei loved his wife -- he fought the war for his wife. Yes, he's rude and prickly toward women (and everyone else) but I don't think it's fair to have him disregard women as fully as he does in the slash fics I've read, and treat them as rudely as he does in het fics. And even if he exhibits sexist behaviors (which, in the series, he arguably does) why is it okay to characterize him that way in fics? Why wouldn't we want to write him as better than that, or at least reflective and aware of his attitudes?

Take some responsibility for the characters, people! I'm tired of reading off-handed racial and gender slurs. Aren't we better than that?

Examples: Avatar the Last Airbender and Battlestar Galactica.

Women, women, everywhere and they're all awesome and respected and it's not even an issue. Issues of prejudice are examined and criticized. Equality between the genders is nearly effortless. And when some bonehead does question it (bonehead!Sokka, ILU) appropriate retribution ensues.

THIS is the kind of writing I want!!!

edit: ACKNOWLEDGING racism and sexism in fic is great. Indeed, ignoring its existence can also be irresponsible. But having the heroes BE sexist and racist is something else entirely.

Further thoughts: Let's consider the possibility that McCoy and Wufei are anti-heroes. McCoy could certainly be a racist and an anti-hero, just as Wufei could be a misogynist and an anti-hero. Anti-heroes are by definition protagonists who do not follow the traditional archetype. They have serious flaws. They may even be tragic heroes. But, I think, fundamentally, that if 'hero' is attached to the title (anti, tragic, or whatever), the person is, fundamentally, good. There is a quality in their soul which seeks the right course of action -- which is driven to it. Looking at it this way, all the interesting characters are flawed. They're all anti-heroes. At some point they're the underdog, at some point they get the shit kicked out of them, they make bad decisions, say horrible things, but at the heart of it, they are good.

So, I think if McCoy and Wufei (hell, we should probably throw Mugen, Snape and Zuko in there) are going to be prejudiced bigots/misogynists, it should be a closely examined part of their character. It should be recognized as a flaw. It should not be in there for laughs. "Oh, isn't it funny that McCoy just made fun of Vulcans' ears and the color of their blood again!" Yeah, no, it's not funny. It's carelessness and thoughtlessness.

/rant

ST FIC: We'll Be in Our Hidden Place

2009-11-05T18:50:42Z

Title: We'll Be in Our Hidden Place
Author: June
Fandom: STXI
Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Spock, established
Rating: R
Warnings: mind porn
Disclaimer: I own neither the characters, nor Star Trek. Only playing
Word count:: ~3200
Summary: The mind can be a very quiet place.

Notes: Notes: ~~This is random. I wanted to write porn for Pr0ntober...whateverTF that is. I barely need an excuse to write porn, I guess.~~
Edit: A bit of a warning to the hearing-impaired. I did a bit of research for this, but not tons, so hopefully the experience rings true. Haha, so not quite random, I guess.
Also, since I have no idea how Kirk and Spock get together in my personal head canon, I just skipped right over that part. In this, I figure they've been together for about 3-4 months.

We'll Be in Our Hidden Place

Jim awoke to the realization that he couldn't hear his own breath. It wasn't silence which greeted him, however. His ears were ringing so loud that his head ached.

Then he opened his eyes and had to reassess his situation. He blinked away blood and dust and remembered an explosion. His head ached from the impact with the gut-turning combination of pain, dizziness and nausea that indicated a concussion. The ringing in his ears was... the only thing he could actually hear, and even as he tried to sit up, it began to dissipate.

All around him, people were shouting. He could see their mouths moving, but the sound of their voices, the shuffling of their boots through the dust, didn't carry to his ears. He pressed a hand to the side of his head and found more blood dripping down the side of his neck from his earlobe.

He jumped when Gaila appeared beside him, kneeling down in the rubble to pull his arm over her shoulder.

Gaila, what the hell happened? he asked. Or he was pretty sure he did. He felt the vibration of his voice in his chest, but heard nothing.

Her answer was too quick and he was too busy looking for signs of injury disguised by her red shirt. He didn't catch any of it.

What?

She repeated herself and Jim thought he saw the words, 'fuel line accident,' but he couldn't be sure and concentrating on her lips only made his head ache more fiercely. He tried to put his head between his knees to relieve the nausea, but then he felt Gaila's fingers on his ear and looked up to see his blood on her hands and alarm written across her face.

He saw her lips form his name, but then couldn't make out the rest. What?

'Can you hear me.' He saw it that time, and carefully shook his head, no. When she helped him to stand, he realized he had no idea where they were. He saw one of their engineers sprawled on the floor, his neck obviously broken. He couldn't remember where they were. He knew the mission was to supervise the opening of a brand new Federation colony resource satellite, but he couldn't remember where, and one of his men was dead, and he was bleeding from his ears, and he couldn't hear himself breathing, and --

He couldn't hear himself vomit either, though he'd never felt his stomach heaving in quite so much detail before. His head felt like it was about to crack open and he couldn't focus on anything. He was still throwing up when Gaila started shouting into her communicator. He could feel her voice where her ribs pressed up against his.

Then they were both enveloped in white, and Jim had never realized how loud his atoms disassembling and reassembling themselves were until he couldn't hear them.

He awoke again to complete silence. He felt the vibration of his ship underneath him, along with the hum of a biobed monitoring his lifesigns, but these registered clearly as not-sounds. He made a conscious effort to speak, to make a sound, asking for the person who could explain all this, but only felt another vibration in his chest.

Then Bones appeared at his side, his brows drawn together, lips twisted in a frown. Jim remembered Bones checking him over when they'd beamed aboard, remembered a nurse sitting with him, waking him up through the night, remembered Gaila smoothing her hands over his face.

This was the first chance he'd really had to talk to Bones. So to speak.

McCoy tossed a PADD onto Jim's stomach and crossed his arms over his chest. Eager for information, Jim picked it up and scanned the heading. 'Conductive hearing loss caused by trauma to the middle ear: Tympanic membrane perforation.'

Jim glanced up at Bones, who only lifted his chin, indicating that he should keep reading.

'The perforation or rupturing of the Tympanic membrane, or eardrum, can result from infection, trauma, explosion, or surgery. The rupture often heals within a few weeks, but may take as long as a few months. Full hearing usually returns. Due to the position and complexity of the middle ear, dermal regeneration is not a viable way to heal the membrane. Time and care are the only remedies. If damage is permanent, a number of implants have been developed to replace the eardrum and return full hearing.'

He looked up again to see a resigned, frustrated Bones. Then, with a wry twist of his lips, Bones pulled a pad of paper from his coat pocket and handed it over. 'No implants for at least three weeks. Your eardrums should heal on their own. You're off duty until then. Enjoy the quiet while you can.' It was written in McCoy's scrawl -- handwriting that Jim hadn't seen in months. Any written correspondence they had was digital. Uselessly, he realized he didn't know what most of his senior staff's handwriting looked like.

Where's Spock? he asked.

He watched Bones' mouth as he clearly enunciated, 'On the colony, figuring out what the fuck happened. Scotty's on the bridge.' Then he grumbled something that was probably, 'God help us all.'

When can I go home?

'Now. But come back daily for antibiotics.'

Why?

Bones rolled his eyes and snatched up the paper, pulling a pen out of the same pocket. He scribbled several lines below the first ones. 'To prevent infection and so that I can look at your ears. Jackass.'

He, of course, didn't hear his quarters' entry chime, so it wasn't until Bones showed up with a medical override code that Gaila was able to get in to the room to rig a flashing light to the door bell. He felt really stupid about that. Bones agreed with him.

Uhura came by later in the day, after her shift, with a PADD linked to all the senior staff's so that he could instantly communicate with any of them. She keyed in a message to her own to illustrate, and within a second it showed up on his. It read, 'I've ordered that everyone carry theirs with them at all times. Yours flashes when you've received a message.'

Thank you. He hoped he hadn't mumbled that as much as it felt like.

The PADD flashed bright green and another message appeared. 'I've also uploaded the Standard Dictionary of Sign Language.'

He looked up sharply. Jesus, Uhura, I'm not gonna be deaf forever.

She gave him a withering look and mouthed, 'No, but you will be bored. And a pain in the ass.'

Where's Spock? It drove him crazy not being able to use his comm.

Her stylus moved swiftly over the PADD. 'He'll be back by 21:00.'

He glared at the PADD and didn't reply. Then he opened the dictionary file. Uhura, rose to her feet and turned to leave. He was sure if he looked up, she'd be frowning. He found the page for easy/elementary signs and found the one he wanted, practicing it once before calling her name.

Hey, he said. Thank you. He pressed his fingers to his chin and moved his hand forward, down and out in front of him.

She smiled, mouthed, 'You're welcome,' and moved her hand in a C-curve from her forehead to her chest.

She left, and he settled himself more comfortably in his chair, spinning it toward the light Gaila had installed and putting his feet up on his desk. He practiced the basic signs, not bothering to say them aloud now. He spoke them internally, as he signed them, hearing his voice as he remembered it.

When his PADD flashed, he was so surprised, he nearly dropped it. The feeling of being isolated in his own head was so complete that any outside stimulation was a shock. He clutched the PADD and read the message, slumping in his chair with relief when he saw Spock's name at the top.

'Captain, I have returned and have been briefed of this communication arrangement by Lt. Uhura. I will send along a report of my findings from the colony shortly. I hope that you are well.'

'Where are you' he immediately typed back, once again propping his feet up on his desk.

'I am in my quarters,' was the reply.

Jim hesitated before writing, 'Can I come over? It's too quiet over here.'

The response was longer in coming this time. 'I'm afraid it will be just as quiet in my quarters, Jim.'

Jim laughed, hearing the sound only in memory. 'I know that, Spock.'

A much quicker reply, 'Then, certainly.'

He sprawled on his stomach on Spock's bed, PADD on the blanket in front of him. Most of the signs were intuitive to a Standard speaker. Some were not, as they were added from Vulcan, Andoria and Tellar to illustrate concepts or objects unique to those planets. Jim devoured them all, practicing until his joints ached.

Of course, he would only be able to use what he learned with Uhura, and maybe Spock if he could get him to sit down with the dictionary for an hour or two, but he liked the idea of it -- more precise than lipreading, more personal than a PADD message.

When the digital timepiece read 01:00, Jim yawned and rolled over onto his back, stretching his arms over his head. It was strange how he knew he was yawning, even though the only recognizable sign that he'd done it was the pleasant stretch of his lungs. Did it count as a yawn if he couldn't hear the whoosh of breath and voice?

When he opened his eyes to see Spock standing right over him, he shouted in alarm before he could stop the reflex. Shit, Spock! You scared me!

Spock, for his part, blinked surprised eyes and spoke quickly, lips moving too fast for Jim to follow.

What? You have to slow down if you want me to lipread.

With a sharp nod, Spock sat down on the bed, then turned to look directly at Jim. 'I apologize. I should have remembered that you would not hear my approach.'

'S'okay. I forgot, too.

He realized his PADD was flashing and turned to see that Spock had sent him the final draft of the mission report. He read through it while they sat together. Jim could easily imagine the sound of Spock reading the report, so he forced the silence to recede behind the remembered tones of his voice.

It really had been an accident, a distressed fuel line. Jim and one of the two engineers on the job were in precisely the wrong place at the wrong time. Anything different, and it might have been Gaila or himself with a broken neck.

He put the PADD on his knee and peeled off his shirt, leaving on the sweat-damp undershirt. The heat of Spock's quarters was intense, and without even the sound of the ventilation system, he felt closed in, smothered. When Spock touched his fingers to Jim's, he started, surprised and irritated by how easy it was to lose awareness of his surroundings.

He met Spock's eyes and didn't have to worry about reading lips. Spock's expressions were always easier to understand anyway.

He eagerly leaned forward and kissed Spock on the mouth -- and was immediately struck by the absence of the sound of lips parting and touching, of shared breath, of the groan that he felt in his chest. Spock's tongue slid along his with the confidence of a good friend and lover, and Jim nearly laughed in relief at the familiarity of it. But he pushed forward, grabbing Spock's jaw in his hand and holding on. He made another low sound that he couldn't hear and squeezed his eyes shut. Dammit, he thought and couldn't remember whether he'd said it aloud or not. Spock was right there, and he still couldn't -- He pushed a little harder, forcing Spock to lean back on one arm, and got to his knees, pressing his other hand to Spock's throat, feeling for vocalizations, hitches of breath, anything.

Dammit.

Spock jerked away from him, his eyelids twitching, hand curled into a fist against Jim's chest.

Shit. Spock, I'm sorry. Are you all right? What's wrong?

Spock took a shaky breath and spoke slowly. 'Your mind is much louder than before.'

It is?

'Yes, and I was not prepared. My apologies. I should have anticipated that -- '

Jim lost the thread of Spock's explanation and interrupted. I'm sorry. I didn't know.

Because he'd been practicing with the dictionary for the past six hours, his hands moved through the signs almost of their own accord. Never let it be said that Jim wasn't a quick study.

Spock twitched his head to the side, the clearest sign he could broadcast that he was intrigued, his discomfort already forgotten. 'You are learning to sign,' he mouthed.

Jim hesitated, as the signs he wanted lined up behind his eyes. 'Because I'm bored. Not because I'm deaf.'

Spock gave a crisp nod, appearing to understand, then reached around Jim to snatch up the PADD. Jim followed the movement of his eyes as he scanned through several pages. Then Spock looked up at him and signed, 'Teach me.' His lips quirked at the corners and Jim smiled.

Jim dreamed in full surround-sound -- strange, convoluted dreams that seemed endless. He was in the bar where he'd gotten his first job, covering for the bartender, but he didn't know how to make the drinks the customers ordered. They called and yelled at him from all sides, and he stood staring at a glass with ice, not remembering how to make a rum and coke. He was running across a field, an endless Iowan field, looking over his shoulder to see if they were still after him. Even if he couldn't see them, he knew they were there. He could hear them -- their feet, their breath. The wind whistled and roared in his ears, the sound of his own gasping breath and his pounding heart underneath. He found his ship, strangely, waiting for him in a parking lot, and he made it on board, but he couldn't get the door -- just a regular door with hinges and knob -- to lock, and they were right behind him. They were there, wrestling the door open, and if he could just get the bolt to latch, he'd be safe. He could feel and hear his ship rumbling with life, about to take off, but he couldn't get the door closed, and he'd be sucked out into space if he didn't, and there was no sound in space, and --

He felt Spock press up behind him, saw his elegant, pale hand reach around to throw the bolt, securing the ship. "Calm yourself, Jim. You're safe here." His voice. God, his voice.

Jim awoke to silence that nearly killed him. He came awake to find Spock wrapped around him from behind, one hand pressed to the side of his face, his breath warm on the back of Jim's neck, his hips pushing rhythmically against Jim's ass. He remembered the sound of Spock's voice, and rolled over in Spock's arms, waking him with a clumsy, sleepy kiss.

Talk to me, baby, I wanna hear your voice. Spock, talk to me.

He pulled Spock on top of him, and his lover complied, still grinding his hips into Jim's. His body responded even as their minds reached for one another. At first he felt Spock's voice rumbling against his ribs, but then he felt the press of fingers against his face, felt them press right through his skin, through the silence that was like a curtain, right into his mind. ... to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.

Spock?

Jim.

Goddamn. I can hear you!

It is only the projection of the sensory imprint of my voice that you are hearing.

I don't care. It's amazing. It's gorgeous.

You have only been without your hearing for two days. It may yet be a number of weeks before it recovers.

I know I'm doing a shitty job of coping. I'll get better. Maybe if we just stay like this for the next few days, so I can hear you.

He could hear the smirk in Spock's voice and it was beautiful. As much as I would enjoy keeping you in this bed with me for that long, I think the rest of the crew would regret your absence. He paused. And perhaps mine.

Through the euphoric feeling of Spock's mind and voice alongside his own, Jim was peripherally aware of an unhurried effort on both their parts to wriggle out of their clothing, Spock's entirely single-handed.

Spock, I'm basically useless like this. I can read paperwork and fill out the duty roster and that's pretty much it. I feel like I'm living entirely in my own head, and I'm not very good company.

On the contrary, Jim, I find your company to be very stimulating.

Jim arched on the bed and laughed into the meld. And, I find your pillow talk to be unspeakably sexy. The pleasure of Spock pressing against him was sharp and sweet, and reflected back to him through Spock's own sensations, forming a loop that was difficult to think through. But he tried.

It's weird, I think what I miss most is the sound of my own breathing. I feel like I'm living in a bubble or a pillow, and I forget what my body is supposed to be doing because I can't hear it.

Spock shifted against him, moving his fingers to different points. I can help you with that.

Jim pulled Spock even closer. I had a feeling you probably could.

And he felt the meld change.

He felt his own pleasure; he felt Spock's pleasure, and he felt Spock's perception of his, Jim's own, pleasure. He heard his own heartbeat through Spock's ears, heard his own breaths quickening, heard his voice expressing the intensity of the experience. And through it all, he felt, he heard Spock.

Do you like that?

Jim struggled for words through the loop of mineyoursmeyouyoumeyoume. Ungh, it's like I'm fucking me, but I'm you, and you're me, or we're...

Do not over-think it.

Fuck, I don't want it to stop.

He could hear the smirk again. You would go mad.

Jim laughed. So, what. I love that you can do this, that you do this with me.

Those words did something to Spock, something that put him right over the top, pushing a swell of such intense emotion through their connection that Jim cried out, both through the meld and aloud. The barrage of emotion came in Vulcan, but Jim didn't need the language to understand the feeling behind it. His orgasm followed closely behind Spock's, blissfully loud and breathless. Jim heard his voice as Spock heard it and he nearly passed out as his body responded to such powerful psychic stimulation.

He lay with Spock afterward, still joined to his mind, soaking in the easy back and forth of reciprocal humor, trust, affection, attraction, admiration.

Eh, who needs sign language.

He felt Spock's hand slide down his chest, heard the rasp of skin through Spock's ears.

I think Lt. Uhura was wise to give you the dictionary. It will keep you occupied.

It'll let me be rude without anyone else knowing. Or maybe I could develop a secret code with Sulu. That'd be fun.

...I will know, and she will know.

I've already uploaded the slang dictionary, too.

The raised eyebrow was apparent, though neither visible nor audible.

Jim heard his laughter through Spock and felt optimistic.

Movie Rec: The Brothers Bloom

2009-10-22T15:35:53Z

Let's begin with:

Mark Ruffalo
Adrien Brody
Rachel Weisz
Rinko Kikuchi

Really, I need go no further than this. However, in case you're not convinced:

Rian Johnson, director and writer of Brick
Nathan Johnson, (his cousin) composer for Brick

And, probably, you wouldn't have any reason to know who they are unless you've stumbled upon Brick, which is one of my FAVORITE movies. And Joseph Gordon-Levitt is my pretend-lover.

Assuming I haven't convinced you:

This is a film about two con-men brothers, who, their whole lives've had only each other and the stories the older brother Stephen (Ruffalo) writes for the younger, Bloom (Brody). Stephen looks after Bloom by writing parts for him in their cons. Bloom grows up depending on his brother for protection and for direction. He has no life other than what Stephen makes for him. By the real start of the movie, Bloom is tired of playing parts that aren't real, and he wants out -- after one, last con, of course. With Penelope (Weisz) as the mark.

So the plot is nothing new. But this movie/story is entirely character driven. (Seriously. If, say, Ben Affleck or Brendan Fraser were the leads, I would never have seen it. The actors make the characters.)

Stephen and Bloom have a strange, tangled relationship. Stephen manipulates Bloom at every turn, and Bloom literally doesn't have the capacity to articulate what he wants from life, because Stephen has always written it for him. (The scene where he tries to tell Stephen what he wants is heartbreaking.) Yet, despite Bloom's frustration and Stephen's manipulation, it is clear that they love each other -- that writing stories for Bloom is how Stephen keeps Bloom close and safe. It's creepy, and... not. Everything Stephen does is for Bloom, until the very end.

The "love story" between the two brothers is, I think, the heart of the movie. But the love story between Bloom and Penelope is also fantastic. For both characters, even though they're in their 30s, it's the first time they've ever done anything really adventurous and scary completely on their own. My stomach did little flips for them, which is what I want most from a good love story.

Oh god, and BangBang (Kikuchi -- you may remember her from Babel). She was totally the hot/exotic/silent girl cliche, but I loved her anyway. She and Stephen should have had a romance.

WATCH THIS MOVIE.

It runs a little long, and the plot is pretty convoluted (like Brick) but it's a great film to sit back and think about in a melancholy, oh, that was good, kind of way.

And, here, have a sample of the score, over at Rian Johnson's blog. Scroll down to play Penelope's Theme.

Oh, I am a melancholy girl.

(ST FIC): Open Up My Eager Eyes 3/3 (Pump Up the Volume Remix)

2009-10-17T13:58:44Z

When Jim cut the mic, and thumping base and harsh voices filled the room, Spock slid off his stool onto legs that wobbled a bit as they carried him toward the open back door. Behind him, Jim was shouting along with the lyrics. Pushing his way through the curtain, Spock breathed in the cold night air. Winter in the desert -- even in a city in the desert -- smelled clean and cold. When the temperatures fell at night, Spock could smell the icy sand and rock that stretched beyond the city limits. He took in great lungfuls of air and wondered what would change now that he'd told Jim about his old school and what had happened. In Paradise Hills, only Spock's parents and Nyota knew the full story.

Being pulled from school and moved two hundred miles south of his home had caused Spock to carry himself differently than he had. Now, he played his cards so close to his vest that he hunched forward around them. He supplied only what his parents asked of him, and to anyone other than Nyota, he spoke only when spoken to.

It wasn't Spock's instinct to hide anything about himself. He didn't see the logic in concealing something so important as who he was attracted to. But based on how everyone had reacted to his encounter with the boys on the soccer team, he'd had to reconsider the soundness of that attitude.

His relationship with Nyota, which had begun the summer before school started this year, had first taught him to trust again, but it had also taught him the advantage of ambiguity. Heterosexual couples were respected at Hubert Humphrey High School, and while it was true that people feared what they didn't know, they'd also just as soon avoid uncomfortable questions if they could. A heterosexual relationship was a logical means to avoid those questions. The past two years had taught Spock subtlety and strategy, the omission of truth and ducking straight answers. Nyota had her own secrets. Their six-month partnership worked on multiple levels. To a point -- the point at which teenagers' innate curiosity overrode the instinct to keep their heads down.

So far, two months of friendship with Jim had reminded Spock what it'd felt like to not fear the reactions of others. Spock remembered what it had been like to only speak the truth. When the curtain billowed out behind him, he didn't turn around. He could feel Jim's approach, recognized the faint sound of bare feet on a scraggly lawn.

When Jim stood beside him, Spock waited for him to speak, but it seemed without the microphone, Jim had little more to say than he usually did. So Spock started.

"I didn't know you liked music. You don't show any particular interest at school."

Jim shrugged. "It's a crutch. I've always looked for music that said the things I couldn't."

Spock turned considering eyes on his friend. "You have plenty to say. I heard you. I've heard you for months, it turns out."

"That's different. When I -- with the radio, I can -- "

"Be vulgar? Provoke emotion? Provoke young people into revealing their most personal secrets?"

Jim didn't look directly at him, sort of stared over his shoulder out at the lights of the neighborhood. He grinned. "Yeah. And it's fucking beautiful. You were brilliant. Didn't you think that was brilliant?"

Spock frowned. "I had originally seen no reason to hide my experience, though it was not one I would have chosen to share, if given the option."

Jim nodded, and his eyes slid across Spock's and away again. "But you did have an option. You didn't have to share that experience. Why did you choose that one?"

"You wanted --" He considered anger at Jim's provocation. He pictured Nyota's reaction when he told her that he'd revealed his past to every one of Hard Harry's hormonal listeners.

He inhaled and realized how different he felt now that he'd said it, how it felt easier to stand up straight. He started again. "Because there was nothing else to tell. My schoolmates calling me a faggot is no secret. My teachers treating me like I'm either handicapped or ill is not a secret. I could have said that Nyota and I do not have a physical relationship, but that would put her welfare at risk. I told you the only secret that mattered." Jim nodded, still convinced this were a good thing, and Spock hugged his arms together against the chill. "Someone is likely to figure out it was me. The math is not difficult." He looked at Jim. "And neither is yours. Someone should have already correlated your arrival to the beginning of Happy Harry Hard-On."

Jim shrugged. "People only see what they look for. Most people think I'm an idiot fuck-up. They think I can barely speak English."

"I don't understand why you would perpetuate that image."

"Because it's not far off the mark sometimes. I can talk around you now, after that."

Spock twitched his head to the side, stumbling at Jim's words. "After what?"

Jim grinned. "After a secret like that, even for me, talking isn't hard."

Spock shivered as a breeze swept through the yard. "Do you have a secret like that?" Before meeting Jim, before tonight even, Spock would never have dared ask such a question. But having Jim know his experience with the soccer team suddenly felt very much like walking out into a winter night without a coat. Reciprocity seemed reasonable.

Jim laughed without humor. Spock knew this because he realized he'd never heard Jim's laugh be anything other than genuine until that moment. "Nothing that wouldn't involve someone else's welfare. Nothing I really want to talk about."

Spock felt his eyes narrow, his expression shuttering. Embarrassment prickled up his neck to quickly warm his face. "And yet you wished me to relate the most significant, the most disturbing event of my life simply because you wanted 'something true.' Or did you actually just wish to humiliate me? You should know that you won't succeed. I feel no shame for what happened, or for what I did. I never have."

Jim rapidly shook his head, no, holding out a hand in protest, but Spock backed out of its way. He considered leaving, but his coat was inside. He didn't want to go back in to retrieve it, but neither did he want to walk home under-dressed.

"Spock, no -- wait." Jim's hand gripped his arm, and Spock raised his eyes to see Jim shivering but standing his ground. Jim scrubbed his free hand through his hair. "That's not what I meant." He gripped his hair by the roots and tugged gently. His voice grew quiet and rushed so that Spock had to strain to hear him, over the wind. "This is why I don't talk to people. I always fuck it up."

"We've held conversations before," Spock said, his voice as biting as the air.

Jim made a frustrated noise in his throat and tugged sharply on Spock's arm. "I'm not -- using you for your secrets, or for show material, if that's what you think. How could I do that?"

"You have said as Hard Harry that you have no friends, nothing to look forward to and no one to look up to. How can I know what sort of person you are?"

"You trusted me to tell me your story," Jim pleaded, squeezing his fingers until Spock nearly winced. "And it was the most amazing thing I've ever heard."

"Why?" Spock asked, genuinely puzzled by Jim's reaction.

"Because you had this thing happen to you, this terrible thing, and you didn't see it as... It didn't hurt you, didn't change you."

Spock imitated that humorless laugh. "Jim, I had to leave my old school. I had to leave Flagstaff, my home, and start over. I had to hide what happened, hide the part of myself that had caused it to happen."

Jim shook his head. "That's your fucking counselors talking. You can't really think that being a fag had anything to do with what happened. It wasn't you. It was them. You -- "

"Jim, please -- "

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! Parents, teachers, doctors, administrators -- they don't know. They don't know how to talk to a kid so that he doesn't feel totally screwed up about who he is. All they can do is tell you what they think you should be. But you know what you should be." Jim tugged again and Spock stumbled, catching himself on Jim's other arm. He found he was short of breath even though he hadn't exerted himself. Jim held him by both elbows and had to look up to meet Spock's eyes. Spock hadn't realized until right then that he was about two inches shorter. "Spock, what you said -- True things like that -- I think they're fucking hot as hell." He laughed and swallowed hard. "I think you are -- "

"You find the truth erotic -- or sexual in some way." Spock wasn't sure he followed.

Jim shrugged and shook his head. "Sometimes. Sort of. I mean, sometimes it's just really good to hear a thing that happened, exactly as it happened. I knew that everything you said was true. And I -- I really liked it -- hearing you say it."

Spock blinked at Jim's strange explanation and then firmly grasped all the threads of their conversation around his fist. He lifted his hands to grip Jim's elbows in return and tipped his head forward so that they were essentially the same height. "Jim, is it that you want to kiss me?"

His stomach dropped at his own words, and Jim's voice lodged in his throat. He could feel his blood pumping to every part of his body; he could feel it in his finger tips.

Then Jim laughed and tilted his chin up. "Fuck. Yes."

He was shivering with cold even though Spock was warm all over. Jim grabbed him by the back of the neck and then hesitated, breathing clouds of vapor into his mouth. Finally Spock leaned into the kiss and bit Jim's lower lip. Jim made a short, enthusiastic sound in his throat and angled his head to the side until Spock let go of his lip, and then with noses out of the way, they kissed again. Jim's tongue was firm and confident when it swirled through his mouth, and Spock slid one hand from Jim's elbow to his hip, tugging him closer. Chest to chest, they shared body heat until Jim said into Spock's mouth, "Frostbitten toes in another two minutes. And my song ended, like, five minutes ago." Spock murmured his assent and nudged Jim in the direction of the door. They stumbled over the sliding door frame and nearly brought the curtain down. Jim's laughter was loud and happy, Spock's echoing more quietly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed.

Let's see -- who do we have out there, tonight? The usual band of teenage malcontents? I certainly hope so, 'cause Hard Harry's feelin' kinda rude.

Jim liked to dance to the songs he played during his show. He liked to turn the volume up and sing along while he bounced and twisted and jumped around the cluttered basement. He knelt in his chair and spun it crazily. He played both air guitar and drums. He vaulted over the couch and landed on top of Spock doing his homework, then proceeded to hump him into the cushions with exaggerated cries of passion. He took turns with Gaila and Nyota, twirling them around the room until some piece of furniture or equipment was inevitably knocked over.

It was safe to say that music was more than a crutch for Jim. It was safe to say that music gave Jim one of his many voices.

It was also safe to say that, for Spock, 2006 was shaping up to be much better than 2005.

When Jim started a new song -- one that Spock had heard before on the radio and peripherally, provisionally liked -- and then turned wild blue eyes on him, he slid his notebook off the couch and closed his textbook. Over the last two months, he'd learned to recognize the look that meant he'd be doing no more schoolwork that night. Or at least, none at Jim's house.

He cast a quick look to the corner of the room where they'd dragged an old mattress and box spring from a closet. Gaila and Nyota were putting the final touches on the History Day project in time for the competition the following weekend. They were sitting so close that their hips and shoulders pressed tightly together. Even as he watched, Gaila leaned into Nyota and said something which ended in a quick bite to Nyota's earlobe.

Then Jim was on him, shoving him back into the couch cushions, pushing in and up with his hands and his hips. Spock exhaled to the ceiling when his head fell back on the cushions and Jim's breath and tongue tickled his neck. "How much time do we have?" Spock asked.

He could feel Jim's grin. "Just over three minutes."

"We had better hurry, then."

"Think you're up for it?"

"Have you ever known me not to be?"

Jim growled into his throat and then pulled away, jumping over the back of the couch. Spock followed quickly behind, reaching out to grasp the back of Jim's belt as he led them to the other side of the basement, between two weight machines and a tool chest. Then Jim turned and grabbed Spock, spinning him around and backing him up against the chilly cinder blocks of the basement wall. Both Spock's and Jim's fingers fell to Spock's belt and together they undid the buckle, fly and button of his jeans before pushing them low on his hips. Jim was already dropping to his knees when Spock grabbed his shoulder. "Kiss me first."

Jim quirked a smile. "Livin' dangerously, man." They used a precious twenty seconds licking and biting each others lips before Jim sank to the floor, dragging his hands down Spock's torso until they rested at the back of his thighs. Spock watched Jim take hold of his cock and waited for that first jolt of pleasure, jerking forward when it came.

It was a game they'd started four weeks ago -- one of them getting the other off during the length of one song. They were dead even, after playing nearly every night. Spock was certain much of this had to do with the fact that they were seventeen, but watching Jim's head head bob quickly against his hips, touching Jim's hair and ears, twisting his fingers in the soft, stretched collar of Jim's old shirt, Spock thought it was mostly just Jim. Spock wanted Jim so acutely that his body responded within minutes. He hadn't told Jim this. Habits were not easy to break. But Jim probably knew anyway.

"Why couldn't you have chosen a longer song?" Spock asked, voice dangerously close to a whine.

Mouth around his cock, Jim shrugged then pulled off him with an obscene sucking noise. "Pop songs are short. And I really like this one. We've only got ninety seconds. Think you can do it?"

"Not with you talking," Spock managed. Jim grinned up at him, then swallowed him whole, sucking hard enough that Spock felt his coherence sliding south with everything else. He groaned, and his knees wobbled. He watched the empty chair in front of the soundboard with unseeing eyes, unable to make out the digital countdown on the CD player. He closed his eyes and combed his fingers through Jim's hair, tried to keep from pumping forward into his mouth. He was glad that the rules were to orgasm quickly. Maybe they could reverse them later, when they had the urge to work on style rather than speed. The possibilities were endless.

With roughly thirty seconds left, Jim rolled Spock's balls between his fingers and swirled his tongue, and Spock came with a short, strangled moan. He would have buckled forward were it not for Jim's forearm pressed firmly against his abdomen. Jim licked, sucked and swallowed until Spock was a twitching, shaking mess, then he straightened, helping Spock button and zip his jeans. He kissed Spock's jaw. "You're good. Fifteen seconds to spare."

Still dazed, Spock fisted his hand in Jim's shirt. "I think you're more deserving of the compliment, actually."

Jim chuckled and rubbed his hard-on into the sensitive juncture of Spock's hip. "I'll be right back, so you can repay it. Sound good?" He started to turn, to change the song, but Spock didn't relinquish his hold on his shirt.

"Jim. Gaila can take care of it. Stay here."

Jim looked at Spock, searching his face as he let himself be pulled in for another kiss. "Yeah?"

The soft, worn fabric of the shirt felt good on his overloaded senses. He tasted himself in Jim's mouth, and felt the need to speak well up into his throat. The intensity of the need frightened him, so he thwarted it by asking something of Jim instead. "Tell me something true."

He said it in the middle of kissing Jim, but Jim heard him. "What kind of true thing?" he replied.

Behind them, they heard Gaila shouting, "You know I'm in charge now!" as she took over the music.

Jim winced and then grunted when Spock palmed his erection through his jeans. "The kind of truth that burns up lies."

He felt Jim's grin, then felt it vanish. Jim pressed him back into the wall and hummed into his throat, huffed unsteady breaths until he leaned away and looked Spock in the eye -- a rare thing without the comfort of his microphone and his music. Spock couldn't clearly see his face, could only make out his back-lit silhouette, but he saw bright blue. "Spock, that's a pretty serious demand."

"I should think so, one that demands a serious answer."

Jim leaned into him again, made a soft, eager sound, when Spock worked open his fly. "Spock, you -- "

He found Jim's erection, thick, firm, and velvet soft and didn't think he'd ever felt this good about anything. "Yes?" he prompted, needing Jim's voice as much as he needed his skin.

"I'm -- I love you."

Spock stilled.

"I'm in love with you."

Spock searched for something to say. He cast about and found nothing that could compare to those nine tiny words. None of them were over four letters long. He touched Jim's face, now sorry that he couldn't make out his exact expression. It was suddenly very important to see what Jim felt, to see the mouth that had spoken.

He touched Jim's face and then pulled him closer until they were nothing more than mingled shadows in the corner of the basement, indistinct, inseparable.

"Do you wish I hadn't said that?" Jim murmured into his ear, his voice low and earnest.

Spock finally found his voice. "I asked for something true. How could I wish for it to be unsaid?"

He felt Jim's smile. "Stay here tonight. Tomorrow's Saturday. Call your parents if you want to. Just stay here."

He found Jim's mouth and kissed the breath right out of him, pausing only long enough to whisper, "All right."

He kissed Nyota goodnight, a soft, quick kiss to her cheek. She smiled up at him and scraped her nails through the hair at the back of his neck, making him shiver. Beside her on the mattress, Gaila was already half asleep, one arm thrown around Nyota's waist, her hair almost completely covering her face.

"It's good to see you happy, Spock."

"Likewise," he murmured.

Behind her, Gaila slid closer, tucking her knees behind Nyota's and bumping her nose against her shoulder blade. "'Night, Spock. If you and Jim wanna suck each other off again, either wait 'til we're asleep or invite us to join in. Listening to you is such a tease."

Spock cocked an eyebrow at the suggestion, and muttered "Noted" as Jim thumped down the stairs in his pajamas. His expression was shuttered and dark. Rising to his feet, Spock met him at the couch, and before he could say a word, Jim grabbed him and tugged him down onto the worn, over-soft cushions. Still fully dressed, Spock tried to disentangle himself enough to undo his belt and slip out of his jeans, but Jim snatched both his hands back to the couch, pinning him whenever he tried to move. Eventually Spock gave up and rolled in Jim's arms so they lay face to face. Reaching up to the back of the couch, Jim tugged a blanket down over them, and they shifted again until they were comfortable, one of Jim's legs wedged between Spock's, heads pillowed on each others' arms.

"Jim, is everything all right?" Spock finally whispered into the silent room. Behind them, the furnace clicked and roared to life. They both started, and then Jim shook his head.

"It's nothing. Just stay here. Go to sleep."

Spock nodded and tipped his chin far enough forward to kiss Jim on the mouth. But Jim's lips remained closed in a firm line. Instinctively, Spock held on tighter, felt even more acutely that the basement was the only safe place in the state of Arizona.

When he was finally drifting off to sleep, when the sound of Gaila and Nyota's deep, even breathing filled the background with soft, white, noise, he jumped at the sound of heavy footsteps right over their heads. Something heavy thumped on the floor, followed by several more footsteps. Now wide awake, Spock sat up. He had to use the bathroom anyway, see if there was a toothbrush he could borrow, at least take his belt off as it was biting into his hip. But when he tried to slide off the couch, Jim grabbed him again and pulled him back down.

"Don't go up there," he said.

"I need to use the bathroom, and borrow a toothbrush if possible."

"Don't. Just piss out in the yard. It's what I do when I sleep down here."

"Why don't you want me to go upstairs?"

Jim said nothing.

"Can I at least take off my belt?"

Jim let go of him and sat up, scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Sorry. Go 'head."

The trip out to the yard was very cold and as brief as he could make it. From above, he could see the lights of the living room shining down between the boards of the deck. A shadow crossed back and forth, and Spock quickly retreated into the warmth of the basement, sliding the glass door shut behind him. Jim was standing by the couch, waiting for him, and when Spock stepped out of his jeans and stood beside him in his underwear, Jim didn't reach for him, only sat down stiffly at the edge of the couch. Spock sat beside him and waited until Jim audibly swallowed and said, voice barely above a whisper. "How about something else that's true. Two for the price of one?"

Spock nodded in the dark, and Jim sucked in a breath to start, but then -- didn't. Spock waited, and then finally offered. "Your father is an angry man, isn't he."

Jim stiffened. "That's not my father. Dad died when I was a baby. That's Frank. Mom married him when I was eleven."

Spock shivered, now under-dressed in his boxershorts and sweatshirt. "Where is your mother?"

Jim shrugged. "She's on the road a lot, for one of the tech firms south of town."

Jim's stepfather crossed the floor over their heads again and Jim snorted his disgust. He slid back onto the couch and turned to leave room for Spock, holding the blanket open. When they were settled again with Jim's breath now on the back of his neck, Jim whispered. "I know that he loves Mom, and that she thinks he's okay. But Sam and I can't stand him. We haven't ever liked him. Mom's not around enough to really get it."

Spock's tongue caught on his question, but he forced it out. "Did he -- does he ever hit you?"

Jim snorted again. "No."

Spock felt his shoulders relax and he exhaled a quiet sigh.

"Doesn't mean he doesn't want to. His face. Sometimes I look at him and think that if he could, he'd break every tooth in my mouth. He makes me sick."

"Are you afraid of him, afraid for yours or Sam's safety?" He pressed Jim's hand where it curled over his ribs, against his heart.

Jim didn't answer that, and when Spock had waited a handful of minutes, he decided Jim wasn't going to. Spock shifted again, so that they lay facing each other, curled together, sunk deep in the couch. Within seconds of settling, Jim's breathing slowed and deepened. Spock kissed the skin that he could reach -- Jim's jaw -- and quickly followed him.

Rise up in the cafeteria and stab them with your plastic forks!

Monday morning, Spock couldn't walk to school with Nyota and Jim because he had a dentist appointment, and then his yearly physical. His father believed in streamlining any absences from school, so twice a year, Spock took care of the dentist on the same day as the physical (February), and then his eye check-up (August).

He didn't return to school until fourth period, after English, so he didn't see Jim until lunch time. The cafeteria of Hubert Humphrey High was massive and very loud, so when the weather was good, many of the students ate outside at the picnic tables or, if they were seniors, in the lounge. However, because it was the middle of February, and because the senior lounge at lunchtime was a hotbed of homophobic activity -- Spock theorized that hatred required lots of mediocre cafeteria food as fuel -- Spock usually took the meal with his two best friends at whatever table they could find that was half-way removed from the chaos. There was a certain amount of anonymity in chaos.

As per usual, he and Jim didn't speak much, only circled around each other like repelling magnets. Spending their evenings together was enough; they didn't need to touch during the day. Though there were moments -- when Jim straightened from his chair to return his tray, threading his way alone through the crowd -- when Spock physically ached for the dark safety of the basement.

He ventured into the senior lounge sixth period, when he shared a study hall with Nyota. Scheduling worked in a such a way that most of the seniors in the accelerated classes had sixth period free. That day, Spock and Nyota found newspaper spreads taped up on the walls -- ones that had appeared over the weekend. Scrawled across them in thick, black magic marker were the words, "Truth that burns up lies!" and "The truth is a virus!" His breath caught, and his stomach dropped, and when he pointed them out to Nyota, her smile was wide and white. "Do you think Jim has seen them?" she asked.

"I don't know. He should."

For the remainder of the day, Spock felt strangely proud of his classmates. At the final bell, he hurried through the halls to find Jim before he left the building, catching him just as he closed his locker. Spock was so impatient to show Jim the signs in the lounge, that he dragged him by his coat sleeve, only pausing to avoid a clot of sophomores in languages hallway.

When they'd reached the lounge and Spock had gestured to the newspaper spreads, he expected Jim's biggest grin and the kind of laugh he only made when he had Gaila at his back. All he got was Jim's small, nervous smile, the one he made when he felt isolated or vulnerable. Jim ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus," he muttered. "I guess there are people listening."

"Jim, you know that people listen."

He nodded sharply in reply and then tugged Spock out of the lounge with a muttered, "Let's get outta here."

They walked silently back through the halls, and it wasn't until they'd finally reached the school yard that Jim looked at Spock and laughed. It wasn't until they neared the steps that Jim allowed his excitement to show as he suddenly circled behind Spock, forcing Spock to spin around with him, to keep him in sight. Then he went back the other way, his mouth open and laughing, eyebrows lifted in surprised happiness. Spock got dizzy trying to follow him, and he realized, as the excitement that crackled between them attracted the eyes of several other students, that Jim was playing with him, that Jim was flirting with him, in the open, in front of everyone.

Jim circled around him again, closer this time, almost touching him, inviting Spock to catch him. So he did, snatching the strap of Jim's bag and stopping him, just as they reached the stairs down to student parking. The air was thin and cold, the sun almost blinding as it sank behind them. They exhaled silver vapor against each others' faces as they caught their breath, and daringly, Spock slid his hand from Jim's bag to the front of his coat. It was only half-zipped, exposing Jim's familiar old hooded sweatshirt and the notch of his collarbone underneath. Fisting his fingers gently in the shirt, he leaned close, only to be surprised when Jim spun them around once more so that Spock's back came up snug against the railing. Then Jim kissed him hard on the mouth. It was a chaste, brave kiss, the kind given when making promises. Spock closed his eyes and looked forward to Tuesday.

End.

(ST FIC): Open Up My Eager Eyes 2/3 (Pump Up the Volume Remix)

2009-10-17T13:55:14Z

itle: Open Up My Eager Eyes
Author: June
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, Uhura/Gaila
Rating: R for language and sex
Word count: ~ 15,000
Warnings:EDIT: half-way through my morning, I remembered what I should have posted here. (highlight to read)
*Discussion of an experience of sexual violence/dub-con*
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, Pump Up the Volume, or the Killers lyrics used in the fic title.

So, I don't know. Send me your most pathetic moment, your most anything. As long as it's real. I mean, I want the size, the shape, the feel, the smell. I want blood, sweat and tears on these letters. I want brains, ectoplasm, and cum spilled all over 'em! Hallelujah!

Without Gaila, Jim and Spock walked home from school together. They both could have taken a bus if they'd wanted, but the half-hour walk was a necessary buffer between home and school. Nyota accompanied them in the mornings, but in the afternoon, she had student government and then ballet. Spock -- whose extracurricular activities included only his full load of AP and college-level science and government courses -- always left with the rest of the students at 3:00, when school let out. Jim engaged in his classes only enough to indicate that he understood the material. He joined no clubs, participated on no athletic teams. Advanced English was the only class he shared with Spock and was the only one he showed any interest in -- even though Spock was certain Jim would have excelled in any of the other advanced or AP classes the school offered.

Spock was only a little embarrassed to admit that he was glad Jim had essentially zero motivation from the hours of 8:00 to 3:00. When they met up five minutes past the final bell, after Spock's AP Calculus and Jim's senior chemistry class, Jim's grin was always ready to burst. Spock almost always felt his mouth twitch in response.

Without Gaila or Nyota, the hissed remarks about his sexual orientation only increased, and now they'd begun to include Jim -- a fact which Jim never acknowledged. It seemed his willingness to pick fights had flagged without Gaila as an instigator. The names and lewd suggestions seemed to roll right off him like beads of water. Spock imagined them sinking into his own skin, slowly bending him over, damaging him.

They met each day by the stairs leading down to the student parking lot and headed for the miles of developments rolling up the hills. This routine continued into November to Thanksgiving when the weather finally grew cold for good.

Jim jogged up to him like always, tugging his hat lower on his head to cover his ears. He slapped Spock's shoulder and snapped his teeth closed by Spock's ear, so that he flinched away with a soft, exhaled laugh. Jim took the steps down to the lot three at a time, jumped over the last five, then turned and beckoned with a jerk of his chin that they head into town -- or what passed for town. As far as they were concerned, strings of gas stations, fast food places and chain auto-part stores did not constitute a town. But it was all Paradise Hills really had. The town hall and the post office were in the same plaza as a Kinko's.

On their way to wherever it was they were going, Jim ducked into a Shell station and bought himself a Dr. Pepper. With a strange sense of ceremony, he offered Spock a small bag of pretzels. Then they continued to walk until Spock's mouth was dry with all the sodium he'd consumed. He gestured wordlessly for Jim's drink, and Jim handed it over with a half smile.

They criss-crossed back and forth down side streets and into smaller developments from the 80s set behind the main road, emerging in the parking lots of hardware and outdoor stores. Spock made no comment until they circled back behind yet another plaza, this one bookended by a Dunkin Donuts and Subway. Spock shivered inside his coat and crinkled the nearly empty bag of pretzels.

"May I ask where we're going? The temperature is dropping rapidly."

Jim offered him another drink of his soda and Spock handed over the pretzels in trade. He wrinkled his nose at the sweetness of it and wished for a toothbrush.

When Jim finally spoke, they had stopped in front of an independent parcel service. He handed the pretzels back to Spock and slipped a large pair of aviator sunglasses over his eyes.

"I'm checking my mail," he said, his voice as quiet as Spock's.

Spock opened his mouth to ask why that required ridiculous glasses and traversing most of Paradise Hills' downtown surface area, but Jim turned and disappeared inside the parcel service before he could say anything.

When he emerged a little over a minute later with a small stack of letters, Spock bit back any further questions. But Jim approached him and bumped his shoulder with his usual easy affection, offering a quiet explanation as they left the parking lot. "I usually take my study hall to come down here, but it's too cold now. One trip out is enough."

Spock frowned even as he lightly leaned into Jim's arm. "We could have come directly here. It would only have taken twenty minutes."

Jim shrugged and reached for his drink. "I wanted to -- " He cut himself off, and his cheeks, already pink with the cold, turned red, along with the rest of his face. Spock blinked and waited for him to continue, until he felt his own face heating with the sudden awkwardness. "I just wanted to walk," Jim finally finished. Then he chuckled. "Make sure no one followed us."

Spock looked over his shoulder at the half-full lot. "If they had, they've surely lost interest by now."

Jim grinned and demonstratively tapped his knuckles against Spock's chest. "Exactly."

Spock's eyes dropped to the writing on the closest envelope clutched in Jim's hand, but he could only make out the letters "-on" before Jim dropped his arm and turned away from the plaza.

"Should we go?"

Spock nodded, and they fell into step, beginning the long walk home. Like most afternoons they spent in each others' company, they said very little.

By the time they neared Spock's house, it was long past dark, and glancing at his watch, Spock realized that he had probably missed dinner. They stopped a block away as they usually did. Spock had never introduced Jim to his family, even though he was sure his mother would adore him. His father was severe enough for the two people who knew him well; Spock didn't see any reason to inflict that stony disapproval on anyone else.

He was about to bid Jim goodnight, when Jim surprised him by speaking first. "What's your family like?" His eyes were looking off in the distance, probably to the roof of Spock's house, just visible from around the corner.

"What are they like?" Spock echoed.

Jim nodded, "Yeah. You know. Are they cool?"

Spock turned to look at the roof of his house as well, as though it could offer some insight. "My... They..." He exhaled. "I guess that my father is like many fathers. He has very high expectations, and is quick to be disappointed. Though I don't think he means to be cruel."

"What about your mom?" Jim's eyes were definitely focused on the roof, his expression intense.

Spock's mouth flattened in a small smile. "My mother is kind. And very smart." He hesitated. "Why do you ask?"

Jim shrugged and shook his head. "No reason."

Spock inhaled and felt like he was stretching long-unused muscles when he asked, "What is your family like?"

Jim's eyes hardened and narrowed slightly. "Not like yours. Sam -- my brother -- he took off again yesterday."

"I didn't know you had any siblings. Do they attend -- "

Shaking his head, no, Jim dropped his eyes to the sidewalk. "Sam's older. Hasn't figured out where he's going to school. He's going to miss the application deadline for Arizona State."

Spock didn't know what to say to that. Finally, he settled on, "Perhaps he can attend the following semester. I'm sure he wouldn't have to wait a whole year."

"Shitty thing is, it's better when he's home, so I don't really want him to go."

"But this is our last year," Spock began. "You don't -- "

Jim blinked and shivered and seemed to shake off the glaze that had come over his eyes. "I gotta go; I'm starving."

Catching his arm as he turned to leave, Spock stretched a bit further. "If we are going to do this again, I like the gas station coffee mixed with hot chocolate."

Jim's bright eyes glinted in the street lights as he stared for a moment. Then he grinned and nodded.

I like the idea that a voice can just go somewhere, uninvited -- just kinda hang out. Like a dirty thought, in a nice clean mind. Maybe a thought is like a virus, you know? It can kill all the healthy thoughts and just take over. That would be serious.

"So the man walked to the very edge of the city, where the sidewalk crumbled and the paved roads ended. He looked out into the desert and squinted against the sun. He could already feel his skin begin to burn. But as he left the city, he did not look back. And he was never heard from again."

Spock didn't think he could sink any lower into his seat without doing lasting damage to his spine. His ears burned, and he was certain they were a fiery red color.

Pike's rumbling voice, reading Spock's words from Spock's story, seemed to echo and reverberate through the silent classroom, refusing to die away. Finally, when a few seconds of heavy silence had blanketed the room, a few students snorted their laughter. Spock's fingers flattened against his desk. This was why he despised English class. He was not good at confessional bullshit story time. Transferring emotion through fiction was entirely too personal, too revealing. Everything he wrote was open to scrutiny. History, math and science -- there was nothing personal about those subjects, only his passion for the material, which didn't make itself known through any sort of creative process.

More students were laughing, and two rows over, Nyota aimed glares and vicious kicks toward as many as she could reach. Pike spoke over the the noise, asking, "What sort of emotions did you draw on for this piece, Spock? They were beautifully, subtly done."

"He was drawing on his inner fruity gay boy, obviously."

Spock clenched his jaw and kept his eyes trained on his desk. Then he looked up when he heard the screech of a desk and chair sliding across the floor, finding Jim half out of his seat and in the process of climbing over his desk to reach the boy who had spoken. Spock's heart and breath stuttered, and then three simultaneous "Jim!"s stopped all movement in the classroom. Pike's voice was loud and commanding, Nyota's sharp and urgent, Spock's soft and monotone. But Jim heard him perfectly, twitching to look at him with fierce, angry eyes. Spock's was the only voice he acknowledged when he gave a short nod, and calmly put both feet back on the floor.

"May I use the restroom, Mr. Pike?" he asked, already stalking for the door.

Pike, circling back to his desk, tossed the bulky wooden hall pass, and Jim snatched it out of the air on his way out. With a few terse words, Pike ordered Dylan Avery -- the boy who'd ridiculed Spock -- to the principal's office, and only then did Spock relax. Thankfully, Pike moved onto the next student's draft and left him alone for the remainder of the period.

Jim didn't return until shortly before the bell, reeking of cigarette smoke.

When they met by the stairs that afternoon, Jim was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. Spock shifted his back on his shoulder and rewrapped his scarf against the breeze as the descended the steps to the parking lot. When they reached the bottom, Jim leaned close. "Hey," he started. "Come to my house tonight before ten. There's something I gotta show you."

Spock, his head still buzzing with integrals and derivatives, only nodded, and their walk home was as silent as ever.

When Spock got to Jim's house, it was 9:45, and for the first time in his life, he'd lied to his parents, telling them he was going to bed early. He'd called Nyota to cover for him should they discover his absence. His parents would be over the moon with joy if they thought Spock was actually sneaking out to be with Nyota Uhura.

Jim's house was nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the homes on the street, identifiable of course by the number, but also by a lit-up Christmas wreath hung on the front door. The rest of the houses had some form of gaudy, moving, noise-making ornament on the lawn.

Jim had told Spock nothing of his family, but he'd heard from Nyota, who'd heard from Gaila, that Jim's father was an unpleasant man to be around in the evenings, so Spock went around to the back of the house, down to where the basement let out into the yard. The door was sliding glass and wide open, covered by a large floor-length white curtain that sucked in and out, billowing strangely in the stiff breeze. He tapped quietly on the glass, and from inside, heard the sound of old couch springs creaking. He heard bare feet slide on stiff carpeting and held his breath until the curtain was tugged aside and Jim stood in front of him, dressed in old jeans and an even older hooded sweatshirt. His smile was strange and unsteady. His eyes darted from Spock's out into the night and back, then he stepped quickly out onto the tiny square of cement that couldn't quite count as a patio.

"You came."

Spock blinked at him. "You asked me to come. Did you think I wouldn't?"

Jim gave him that slightly off, half-smile again. "It's a school night."

"You must have something terribly exciting to show me. I told my parents I was going to bed. I've never lied to them before."

Jim's grin widened into something more familiar. He rubbed his hand through his hair. "Well, Spock. Welcome to a long and honorable tradition."

Spock bit the inside of his lip in an effort to contain a smile. "Should we go inside, or did you wish to show me around your yard?"

With a snort, Jim turned to lead him inside. "You're punchy at bed time," he said.

Spock didn't usually go to sleep until close to midnight, but he didn't volunteer that Jim was actually interrupting homework time. He pushed his way back through the curtain and found himself in a cluttered, dimly lit basement. A work bench, covered with power tools and sawdust stood against one wall, along with two old weight machines. In the middle, sat an old, uneven couch, clothes draped over the back. The stairs leading up to the first floor were shadowed at the back of the room, and closest to them, directly to the left, sat another workbench, smaller, with compartments underneath. The wall above the table was covered in album artwork from CDs and records, along with words scribbled on scraps of paper. The table itself was cluttered with tapes, CDs, headphones, cigarettes, and gum. A small soundboard occupied the surface directly in front of a stereo, with a tape deck, a disc changer, and an ipod plugged into the receiver. Underneath the table sat a pile of equipment that Spock could only recognize by the white "On Air" sign affixed to the leg of the workbench. It was certainly some sort of transmitter.

Spock suppressed a groan and sank down onto the couch. He rested his elbows on his knees and pointed at the stack of equipment. "Jim, you know that it's illegal to pirate an unlicensed radio frequency. The FCC is fairly explicit about that." Jim flopped down into a swiveling chair in front of the bench and spun himself in a circle. He said nothing. "Though I'm sure you're aware of that," Spock added. Jim nodded and still said nothing. Spock sucked in a breath to tamp down his rising frustration. "Why did you want to show me this?" He noticed a stack of open letters underneath a dirty dinner plate. From what he could see, they were addressed to "Hard Harry."

"Gaila brought Nyota last week. She said we could trust you both."

"Gaila knows about this?"

"Gaila helped me build it."

Spock tried to picture Nyota with Gaila and Jim, pictured them sitting on the couch together, right where he sat, watching Jim... be Hard Harry. He found he was jealous. He found his palms sweating with the possibilities of what would happen next.

"You're Happy Harry Hard-On. You're the single rudest person I've ever heard. You masturbate on the air." He paused, flushing. "Do you actually masturbate on the air?"

Jim, still looking out of sorts, mutely shook his head, no. He gave a few half-hearted slaps to the side of his neck as a demonstration. Spock grimaced and looked away, embarrassed.

"Do you own a cock ring? You mention them frequently."

Jim snorted a nervous laugh. "Jesus, Spock, I've never even seen one. I can't believe you actually said 'Happy Harry Hard-on' and 'cock ring.'"

Spock shook his head. "Neither can I. Don't ask me to do it again. Why are you doing this? You could be in serious trouble, if anyone discovered your identity." Jim shrugged and didn't appear to have an answer. Spock looked at the clock and saw that it was five minutes of 10:00. "Are you going on tonight?" His heart was racing, he realized. He waited for Jim to speak, to explain himself, but Jim only shrugged again.

Spock realized that Jim could not answer his questions as they were phrased. He'd never been able to answer Spock's questions, not since they'd known each other. Jim's eyes traveled around the room, and his lips moved, but he couldn't form the words. And this was Spock's answer.

Finally, frustrated and flushed, Jim spun away and shoved the chair directly in front of the board, dragging the microphone down to his mouth. He flipped a switch and Spock stiffened when he began to speak -- swift, easy words that came out of him natural as air.

"Part of the problem is we have no really great, failsafe way of communicating. All we've got are burning passions and clumsy tongues. And that's no way to express something true. That's not eloquent. There's no direct link between our brains and our mouths, no guarantee that what we end up saying is right. So, what do we have?"

Jim snuck a sidelong glance at Spock. Spock found, to his embarrassment, that his mouth had fallen open slightly and quickly shut it.

"Well, look at me, Exhibit A. I've got this microphone and a wall in front of my face instead of anyone real. I've got my cd player and my ipod to speak for me. So I've got gadgets. I've always been a mix tape nerd, always let music do the talking, but how effective is that, really? Anything before the 50s was basically the Dark Ages. And the 50s gave us mindless, whitebread pop. The 60s was phony brotherly love. Yeah, there was Motown and soul. That's got its time and place, but it wasn't supposed to speak for someone like me. It doesn't speak for the population of Paradise Hills, that's for damn sure. The 70s gave us god-awful classic rock and disco -- a really fucking dark period in history, except for The Clash. Reagan eclipsed anything cool about the 80s, and the 90s -- " Jim shook his head. "I'm sorry, Pearl Jam? Stone Temple Pilots? This is supposed to express something true? And now, in the new millennium, all we've got are bands revisiting the glory days of the last four decades. Quite frankly, I feel like we got the shit end of the stick. Even all those bands that claim to be anti-establishment, or whatthefuckever, they still bullshit like anyone else."

It was by far the most Spock had ever heard Jim say. Jim cared about music -- deeply. But more than that, he was talking to Spock, trying to tell Spock something about what music did for him.

"It seems like all we're left with, if music is our device, is the hunt for moments of truth. I'll admit it can be rewarding, looking for those twenty seconds, finding them in something ridiculous. But if we're really gonna get to the truth -- If true things are really what we're after, then it's up to each of us to speak them. No more bullshit, no more fog between our ears and our tongues. Tell it like it is. Tell me something true. 'S'why I bug you guys about it so much."

Jim twisted around in his chair to look at Spock again. Jim's ass barely clung to the edge of the seat now, the hem of his sweatshirt riding up just enough to show the top of his underwear above the waist of his jeans. Above that, Spock saw the bump of a single vertebra. He struggled to merge what he knew of Jim with Hard Harry's persona, struggled to blur together Jim's restless energy with Harry's profane observations.

"Come on, do it."

With a jolt, Spock realized that Jim was now addressing him directly, egging him on in that voice which was at once familiar and strange, pleading with eyes that Spock now knew as well as Nyota's.

"I have someone here with me who, I'm sure, has something he's never told another soul, something that's so true it burns up lies. Question is, will he tell me what it is?"

Spock regarded Jim's bright blue stare, unblinking. Are you fucking with me? he mouthed finally.

Jim grinned, cocky and confident now behind his microphone. He jerked his chin toward a stool tucked under the workbench across the room and gestured to the floorspace in front him. Let's fuck with them, he said silently.

Spock frowned. I thought you wanted truth.

Jim nodded. I do. Know anything that's too fucked up to be a lie? "Come on, dude, dead air is killing me, here. Ya gonna tell me or not? Your voice'll be disguised. No one will know but me."

Spock turned away and heard Jim slump in his chair. Then he went to retrieve the stool from the workbench and pressed his mouth into a smile. If Jim wanted something true, if the purpose of his broadcast was real communication, Spock had a story that would burn up lies like paper.

He returned to where Jim sat before his tiny soundboard and jointed metal microphone stand, positioning his stool so that when he sat, there was enough space between them that their knees didn't bump. He almost wished that Nyota was in the room so that she could stop him from saying what he was about to say, but then he took a deep breath and felt excitement bubble up in his lungs. This was why Jim had invited him here, so they could talk to each other. Three years of helplessness and stasis cracked and shifted as he opened his mouth to speak.

"When I was fifteen, at my previous school, I realized I was attracted to a boy who played on the soccer team."

Jim's eyes sparked and almost glowed in the dim light of the basement when he nodded for Spock to continue. And Spock found that it was easy as speaking to a blank wall. He didn't flush, didn't stammer, didn't clench his fists on his knees.

"It was how I first knew that I was gay. I watched this boy at every home game and realized that I was only attracted to men. I decided that I had to tell him this. Even though there were no openly gay students at our school, I wasn't afraid, because, to me, it didn't make sense to hide something that was true."

Jim grinned.

"I found him after one of the classes we shared and I told him that I liked to watch him run, liked the way he moved on the field. I told him that I was in love with him." Spock stopped at the memory of how the boy's dark eyes had searched his, no doubt looking for the joke. Spock remembered how the boy had stood perfectly still with one hand braced against the lockers.

"What happened next?" Jim prompted softly, to not break the flow of the memory.

Spock blinked and remembered that he was speaking to an audience larger than Jim, one that couldn't see him pause to think and remember. He made an effort to string the sentences seamlessly together. "He said that he knew, said he had known since the season started, when I started watching him. He smiled at me and asked me to meet him down the bank from a pond at the edge of school grounds. I was excited to go -- excited and scared."

"Did you meet him?"

Spock exhaled sharply. "Of course I did. He came after practice had ended and the team had gone home. I'd watched them leave, then gone to the pond to wait. He came just before dark. I remember he smelled like hot water and soap -- like the boys' showers. I told him I wanted to touch him, wanted to see how his body could move so well. He let me take off his shirt so long as I took off mine." Spock felt his breath and his heart begin to race as the memories came faster. He kept his voice steady, but despite his best effort, his hands gripped his knees hard enough to squeeze the blood from his fingers. Jim's eyes hadn't left his -- Spock wasn't even sure he'd blinked.

"He kissed me first," he finally said. "He wasn't particularly good at it, and neither was I. But I didn't care. It was the first I'd ever touched someone in that way, so I couldn't have known what it would feel like -- that it would feel like breathing in after holding my breath in the bathtub.

"He asked me if I'd ever gone down on anyone before -- if I wanted to. I wasn't as sure about that, but I knew that I didn't want to stop. Everything was different at that moment; I was different than I had been.

"When three of his friends came, I was so surprised, I couldn't even say anything."

Jim shifted in his seat, pushed the microphone a little closer to Spock's mouth. "What did you do?" He appeared utterly unafraid of pushing for more information, even though he had to know the subject was about to get much more difficult. Spock remembered a small army of counselors and psychiatrists delicately stepping around what he'd done, politely asking him if he really wanted to talk about it -- as though they hoped he wouldn't. Jim's face was open, his eyes wide and curious. He wanted to know the truth for no other reason than that it deserved to be known.

So Spock told him.

"I did everything they asked me to. They all asked first. I do not think that they wanted to hurt me. I think that they simply... wanted. They didn't care who I was -- only that I was willing. They took turns, and I vomited after the second, which frightened them a little. The boy that I had originally approached went last, and he touched my hair and back while I sucked him off. It felt like he was apologizing. When he finished, he tried to reciprocate, but with all of them watching, I couldn't concentrate. I felt sick. Eventually, they lost interest and before they left, they took my clothes and threw them in the pond."

Jim didn't flinch or look away in disgust, didn't do anything, only asked, "What did you do, then?"

Spock drew in a final, cleansing breath. "I waited until they were gone, then retrieved my clothing and went home. By the next day, the soccer team had dubbed me the 'Team Bicycle.' My mother taught at my school, so I knew she would hear of this sooner rather than later. I told her first because of that, but also because, at that time, I told my parents everything. It didn't make sense not to tell them."

"What did they do?"

Spock could almost hear the mocking, ugly voices of his classmates, here, in the close, dim basement, the angry, anguished voices of his parents. "They tried to help me by going to the administration, which of course only made things worse. By the end of the week, I was 'faggot' to the entire school -- even a few of the teachers. And those who didn't terrorize me couldn't control the students who did. I was in fights nearly every day. The boy on the soccer team never spoke to me again. He wasn't a bully, but neither did he help me.

"My parents took me out of school at Christmas, and we moved here before the winter break was over."

Spock blinked as he finished his story. He forced his fingers to relax around his knees, forced himself not to think too long on the fact that what had happened to him was now known to anyone on the other end of Jim's transmitter. He watched Jim's expression for signs of scorn or revulsion, and found none. Jim said nothing, still waiting. To fill the silence, Spock took another breath and gave him a quick epilogue. "If you're wondering whether my family could have pressed charges, the answer is 'no.' I'd said yes to everything they'd done. I'd consented, so it was my word against theirs, and we were all minors. The counselors and the doctors my parents found for me all concluded that I was confused about my sexuality, and that this had caused me to act out." Spock raised his chin. "Is that what you think? You haven't expressed much of an opinion thus far. Do you think that I'm confused?"

Jim, who was slouched against the table, started as he was directly addressed. He sat up straighter and leaned toward the microphone. When he spoke, his mouth quirked at the corners, and he looked Spock right in the eye. "You? No, I don't think you're confused. I think you know exactly who you are and what you want. You had the hots for some jock, so you told him, and he freaked the fuck out. If anyone's confused, its him -- him and the whole goddamn team, I guess. Sounds like your teachers and doctors had their heads crammed way the fuck up their asses, too, which didn't help." He snorted a laugh, and his eyes darted away. "I mean, Jesus Christ, you'd think no one'd ever met a faggy teenager before. Where I went to school before, they were all over the place -- drama kids, music kids, design kids. Hell, there were even math fags."

The words fell from Jim's mouth and carried none of the hateful ugliness that they did coming from his schoolmates and teachers.

"Confused? Hell, no, I think you're the bravest fucking person I've ever known."

Spock smiled, as much as he ever smiled, and Jim returned it sidelong as he swiveled his chair and pulled the mic back to the sound board. Spock sat back on the stool and straightened his spine. It cracked pleasantly after being hunched over the mic. He startled when Jim belched loudly and then laughed, once again facing forward to his wall full of album artwork and rude jokes. "Whoa, that shit was deep -- good-deep, but seriously deep. You know what I do do when shit gets a little too deep? I consult my good friends from back east, the Beastie Boys. They've always got something to lighten the mood."

On to Part 3

(ST FIC): Open Up My Eager Eyes 1/3 (Pump Up the Volume Remix)

2009-10-17T13:48:24Z

Title: Open Up My Eager Eyes
Author: June
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, Uhura/Gaila
Rating: R for language and sex
Word count: ~ 15,000
Warnings: EDIT: half-way through my morning, I remembered what I should have posted here. (highlight to read)
*Discussion of an experience of sexual violence/dub-con*
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, Pump Up the Volume, or the Killers lyrics used in the fic title.

Notes: Okay! This is for reel_startrek ! I finished it -- a day late, but still! The premise of the challenge was to take a movie that we love and have the ST characters as the stars. Kinda silly, yes, but awesome. And Pump Up the Volume has long been one of my favorite favorite movies. Two words. Pirate. Radio. Have I mentioned that I did college radio from the age of 14 through 20? Pump Up the Volume, Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis meant a lot to me growing up.

The challenge of this fic was casting Jim Kirk as Christian Slater and Spock as Samantha Mathis. On the one hand, Jim and Christian both have that fantastic smirking attitude. On the other, Christian's character, Mark, was not a very secure character. He had issues. Samantha Mathis' character, Nora, was confident and curious, very straightforward and unafraid. While Spock can be all of those things, I didn't think Spock as a young person, particularly a young, gay person would be that way. So, the characterization was the biggest challenge. Hopefully it works for everyone! Let me know what you think!

Also, the larger font sections are quotations from the movie, bits and pieces of Mark's radio show. They are important for the plot, not just chapter headings.

And watch Pump Up the Volume if you haven't!!

You ever get the feeling that everything in America is completely fucked up? You know that feeling? Like the whole country is, like, one inch away from saying, ' That's it! Forget it!' I mean, think about it. Everything's polluted -- the environment, the government, the schools -- you name it.

Speaking of schools, I was walking the hallowed halls the other day and I asked myself, 'Is there life after high school?' Because I can't face tomorrow let alone a whole year of this shit. Yeah, you got it, folks. It's me again with a little attitude for you, out here in Whitebread Land. All you nice people living in the middle of America the Beautiful. Let's see, we're on, uh, 92 fm. Feels like a nice clean little band so far -- no one else is using it, price is right. Ha. And, yes, folks, you guessed it -- tonight, I'm as horny as a ten-peckered owl, so stay tuned because this is Hard Harry, reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and do your homework in the dark.

Nyota pushed 'stop' on the old Sony boombox and looked eagerly down at Spock, who straightened on the bench seat of the picnic table. Sitting above him, on the table top, she grinned and distractedly flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Well? What'd you think? Pretty crazy, right?"

He nodded and pulled his pack over his shoulder, put his hand on her knee as he stood up. "What do you think?" he asked, instead of answering. His voice was low and soft. Most people had to ask him to repeat himself when he spoke. Only Nyota ever heard him the first time.

Laughing, she stood up on the bench and slid the boombox into her bag. Then she turned and reached for Spock's hand to help her down from the table. When he took her hand and she jumped to the ground, a small cloud of dust rose at her feet. The yard was dry, especially this late in the year, the Arizona ground exhausted after another summer. "I heard him on the radio -- the radio," she said. "I had to go get Dad's boombox out of the garage so I could tape it. I haven't taped anything off the radio since I was, like, twelve."

"How did you come across his broadcast?" Spock asked. She left her hand in his, and he didn't mind, swinging them gently together as they walked.

"I was flipping between that hiphop show at the college, you know the one that cuts out all the time because the guys who run it are total amateurs?" He nodded for her to continue. "I was turning it to NPR and found him. I guess he's been on the air for a few weeks, and Spock... he masturbates on the radio. Says he's a sex maniac or something. I swear to god, he jerks off on air. It's insane. But he... I don't know. He says some pretty cool stuff, too."

"He claims to masturbate on the radio," Spock corrected.

"How do you know? Have you listened?" she teased, shoving him in the shoulder. "Anyway, I think he sounds hot, in that 'stupidly vulgar, I'd never tell my mother' kind of way."

Spock did not get the chance to reply to this, as the first bell rang and they separated to go to their lockers and homeroom. Before they did, Nyota's hand tightened in his and she leaned up to kiss his cheek, rolling her eyes at the whistles that echoed through the hall. When she had turned the corner, Spock hunched forward into the pockets of his jeans. He attempted to block out the sneers of several of his classmates, but he still heard them. He might require glasses for reading, but his ears worked just fine. How does a faggot like him get to nail the sweetest piece of ass in the school? Doesn't seem right. I'd hit that so hard. What? Not, him, hell no. Fuckin' fairy. Nyota Uhura, man.

Spock clenched his fists in his pockets and continued to his locker. Fighting them would only make it worse, would only make him more vulnerable, would only make Nyota more vulnerable. He'd probably get kicked out, anyway. Expelling students appeared to be the principal's favorite activity. The wisest course of action was certainly to ignore their words, as they had no immediate impact upon him.

I mean, I don't know -- everywhere I look it seems everyone has sold out. My dad sold out; then my mom sold out years ago when she had me. Then they sold me out when they brought me to this hole in the world. And they made me everything I am today, so, naturally, I hate the bastards. Speaking of which, I'm, uh, running a contest on the best way to put them out of their misery.

James T. Kirk did not like to do what his teachers told him to. Spock saw more evidence of this every time he had the occasion to observe Jim in class, in assemblies, or anywhere on school property. And even though he'd only been attending Hubert Humphrey High School since September, Jim had befriended the one person who disliked authority figures even more than he did -- Gaila. Spock found this fascinating.

Gaila was one of the smartest people Spock knew. She was gifted in the maths and sciences, and she loved to build things -- complex things which required knowledge well beyond what one could reasonably expect to acquire in high school. She was an exceptional athlete and dancer, and, unrelated to these talents, she had the most beautiful red hair he'd ever seen. Spock appreciated physical beauty wherever he saw it, and he recognized that Gaila was stunning. But, like Jim Kirk, Gaila did not like to do what the teachers and administrators told her. She, in fact, resented it to the point of violent outbursts. This meant that everything from homework to gym class was an issue for Gaila. Spock had witnessed first-hand that she knew the answers to the questions, knew them as well as the teacher, but when asked to give them, she -- wouldn't. Spock found her stubborn character frustrating and not a little distressing, as he would consider it a tragedy if she were to flunk out or be expelled.

Gaila appeared to be Jim's only friend. They were always in each other's company, and while Jim was still considered a new student, his relationship with Gaila seemed to be cemented. He stood with her in every fight she started, and, strangely, laughed the whole way through them.

Like this one.

Jim and Gaila had taken on the senior members of the varsity football team.

"Say it again, dickweed. Come on, say it!" Gaila's sinuses were thick with blood that dripped off her chin into the dust, muffling her voice a bit. She was shaking out her knuckles, which had recently crunched the team captain's cheek bone. Behind her, at her back, Jim bounced on the balls of his feet and laughed around a split lip.

"Freaky bitch!" the captain, a bruiser by the name of Nathanial, spat.

Gaila howled. No other verb captured the sound that came from her throat. And those two words strung together -- freak and bitch -- were as sure a trigger as any direct order from a teacher. She threw herself at the captain, with Jim right behind her, grinning like a maniac.

Spock, many yards away, at the top of the stairwell which led down to the student parking lot, closed his eyes and turned his head away. The fall breeze was hot as it rolled through the yard over the concrete, and lashed against the students' legs. He examined the feeling of helplessness that made his cheeks burn and wondered at the need to throw himself into the middle of the fight. He could almost feel the rush of adrenalin, the momentum he'd need to do any real damage, the sting and ache in his fists when he punched. He imagined shouting. He hadn't fought with anyone since he'd moved to Paradise Hills, and he didn't really know Gaila or Jim, but...

He took several steps back toward the yard, his fists curling, when abruptly Nyota ran headlong into him, catching him round his middle and shoving him back. "Nyota -- " He reached up to grab her elbows to steady them, and got his fingers caught in her hair.

"Spock! What were you doing?" They stood toe to toe, sorting themselves out, Spock straightening Nyota's rumpled blouse, she fixing his glasses where they'd been bumped down his nose.

He set his hand at her waist and turned in time to see Jim take a brutal hit in the eye, before a swarm of teachers waded into the middle of the fight and began to break it up. They were wisely careful with Gaila, as she was as nearly likely to take a swing at one of them. "I was... I thought they might need help."

Nyota huffed a nervous laugh and pressed a hand to the side of his face, turning him back to look at her. "You, in a fight?" She searched his eyes, and then grinned. "Next time you think about doing something to get yourself suspended, come get me first."

"So that you can stop me." He felt oddly betrayed, even though he knew she was only trying to protect him.

She smiled. "No, so that I can help you. We agreed we'd get each other through this term, remember?"

Spock covered her hand with his and relaxed. "Yes, though I would hate to tarnish your record in your senior year."

She leaned up to kiss him again, this time more daringly on the lips. "No one's records are suffering, not when we're on the same team." She said it with enough steal in her voice that Spock shivered.

"You are nearly as frightening as Gaila, in your way."

Her smile was dazzling. "Thank you, Spock."

As they turned to descend the stairs to the parking lot, he glanced sidelong to see the end of the fight, one of the English teachers, Mr. Pike, picking Jim up off the ground. In the moment before the crowd disappeared behind the retaining wall of the stairwell, Spock saw Jim's rucked up, bloody shirt, saw a flash of smooth stomach, and sucked in a quick breath before redirecting his attention to the steps. It would not do to trip and drag Nyota down with him.

Yeah, I can smell it. Almost taste it, the rankness in the air -- it's everywhere! Running through that pipeline over there, trickling along that dumb concrete river and coming up through the drains of those lovely tract homes we all live in!

"Nyota, you should know that I loathe the president with every fiber of my being. I do not possess an ounce of sympathy for this man or his administration. I feel alienated by his policies, and my posture suffers when I think about how the rest of the world must see us."

He looked up from the newspaper and out across the brown school yard. At the foot of the hill upon which the high school sat was a four-lane highway which bi-passed the city. On the other side of the highway, housing developments rolled across the hills, expanding, it seemed, by the day, like some sort of fungus. Some of these developments had sidewalks. The newer ones did not. It was assumed their residents would drive wherever they needed to go. Spock walked to and from school, and often had to cut through front yards so as not to be run over by angry drivers racing from one four-way stop to the next.

Across from him at their usual picnic table, Nyota gave him a sympathetic smile. "This is why I'm going into the diplomatic corps, and you're going to be a badass environmental lawyer. Don't get discouraged."

Spock found that he was not placated by her attempt at reassurance. "I fear the damage will be irreversible by that point. This depressingly conservative turn in politics is already twenty-five years old. You and I will not complete our degrees and have jobs until after 2010. And if the economy crashes, which I am convinced it will within two years, there may not even be jobs to seek."

"But we'll have solutions, so they'll have to hire us, whoever 'they' end up being. We'll save the world."

His mouth pressed into a small answering smile. "I'm not sure I share your optimism."

Nyota turned back to her AP Euro History notes with a self-assured sniff. "That's why we have each other."

She nudged his foot with hers under the table and Spock struggled for an attitude adjustment. Still, when he looked at the date of the paper, October 25 2005, he couldn't help grumbling, "I do not see how we are to tolerate three more years of him."

He stiffened when a shadow fell across the newspaper and looked up to see Jim Kirk blocking the afternoon sun. Shielding his eyes, Spock could see him grinning.

"Maybe we're not supposed to tolerate it. Maybe this is our moment."

Jim's voice was rough and strangely familiar, though, thinking back, Spock could only recall the times he'd heard Jim's laugh, never his words.

Another silhouette came into relief beside him and Spock picked out Gaila's red curls in the bright light. "Hi, Nyota," she said, completely ignoring Spock. "I really liked your history presentation on US foreign policy before and after World War II last week. It was super interesting!"

Spock could see Nyota draw herself up as she determined whether Gaila was mocking her, but then both girls smiled, and unless Spock was very much mistaken, Nyota's dark skin was flushed. "Really? Thank you! I think the shift in attitude from isolationist to world power is a fascinating one. Most people just take our position in the world for granted. And the curriculum doesn't place much emphasis on 20th century history, so no one examines it. It's crazy."

"Totally!"

Spock saw that Jim and Gaila were holding hands -- were, in fact, squeezing hands.

"You should enter your paper in the History Day competition. I bet you'd place."

Nyota looked down at her book and notes. Now she was certainly blushing. "That'd be cool, except my model-building skills are crap. So're Spock's, no offense."

Spock's mouth twitched. "None taken."

"That's perfect, then!" Gaila nearly shouted. Spock could feel eyes gathering on their table, unwanted attention building against his back like the sun on a black t-shirt. "I could make you a beautiful model. Moving parts, lights, audio -- it'd be badass."

Nyota laughed, already excited by the prospect of competition -- and of winning it. "...Okay, yeah. That'd be great!"

From behind them, someone started to laugh, and all four of them stiffened by reflex. "Hey, look it's the freak table. You guys are joining forces, huh? Aren't there zoning laws for that kinda thing? Can't have too many weirdos per square acre?"

Spock inhaled, reciting exactly what he thought of Arizona's zoning laws in his head, knowing full well, he'd never say a word of it. Nyota's ankle was securely hooked around his under the table. If it were possible, Gaila's hand squeezed tighter in Jim's.

"You're certainly exceeding the dumbshit quota, Nathan," she said. "You should step away from your friends -- see if you're still so big and bad then. Reduce the concentration of 'idiot' in the immediate vicinity and see what happens."

"I would advise against provoking him," Spock murmured, half to himself. He started when he saw Jim's bright blue eyes snap to his. "It will not end well for Gaila," he added.

Jim looked away, between his best friend and the gathering crowd of students. Then he spoke a few words into Gaila's ear, and strangely, they carried to Spock's. "You don't want another of these on your record, babe. Just walk with me. Let's cut lunch and grab some smokes."

Spock wanted to submit another solution, one which didn't break any rules, but he didn't want to intrude on a private conversation. So, he returned his attention to his newspaper and waited for the tension to dissipate. He watched from the corner of his eye as Jim led Gaila away, felt the boys at his back retreat to their corner of the yard.

He turned Jim's words over in his mind, repeated them until the sound of Jim's voice was as much a part of the memory as the words. "Maybe this is our moment."

'Dear Harry. I think you're boring and obnoxious and have a high opinion of yourself.'

Of course, some of you are probably thinking I sent this one myself.

'I think school's okay if you just look at it right. I like your music, but I just don't see why you can't be cheerful for one second.'

I'll tell you, since you asked. Um, I just arrived in this stupid suburb. I have no friends, no money, no car, no license. And even if I did have a license, all I could do is drive out to some stupid mall, maybe if I'm lucky, play some fucking video games, smoke a joint and get stupid. You see, there's nothing to do anymore. Everything decent's been done, all the great themes have been used up, turned into theme parks. So I don't really find it exactly cheerful to be living in the middle of a totally, like, exhausted decade, where there's nothing to look forward to and no one to look up to.

Spock heard the fight before he saw it, and even as he rounded the corner, helplessness and futility sank like weights in his stomach. He recognized the pitch and volume of Gaila's voice, but missed the sound of Jim's laughter. He broke into a run when he saw Gaila take a swing at one of the science teachers -- the biology teacher, a woman who'd never appreciated Gaila's intelligence or her insubordination -- as she tried to break up the fight. The punch landed and Mrs. Parson staggered back, causing Spock to feel slightly ill.

He heard Jim's voice, then. "Gaila, no!"

Mr. Pike had a good hold on Jim's arms, but he was trying to fight his way out.

Realizing what she had done, Gaila had gone very still, letting the assistant principal and the girls' gym teacher each take one of her arms and extricate her from the crowd of students. As they led her back toward the school, she looked over her shoulder at Jim and mouthed 'Sorry.' Then she looked to the side where Nyota stood, books and notebooks in hand. Nyota was flushed and rumpled, her hair uncharacteristically snarled. When Spock approached her, she automatically reached for his hand. He smoothed his hands over her hair, pulling it away from her face.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"Just bullies. I'm fine. Gaila -- she and I were working on the History Day project, and they -- " She took their joined hands and pointed them in the direction of the crowd of students and teachers. "I'm fine. Help Jim."

"Jim?" He found bright hair and flailing limbs. "You don't think Pike can handle him? He is generally good at handling Jim."

"Gaila's not coming back from this, and Jim knows it." Nyota looked at him, and Spock wondered what it would be like to have her suddenly gone, expelled. She wouldn't walk with him to school, wouldn't share his classes and his meals, wouldn't be there, physically close to him whenever she could be, to ward off the people who couldn't accept who they were. He didn't want to imagine such things, and knew that Jim now suffered them all, as he realized how his days were about to change.

He left Nyota in the side yard and pushed his way through the lingering crowd to find Jim Kirk and Christopher Pike screaming at each other, though Jim did it almost entirely without words. Spock approached him warily, like he did the neighbors who had German Shepherds. When he caught Pike's eye, he said, no louder than he usually spoke, "Jim, you must calm down. You are only hurting yourself."

Pike blinked in surprise when Jim stilled long enough to recognize Spock in front of him. In that moment, Pike's grip loosened and Jim broke free, starting after the assistant principal, after Gaila. But Spock grabbed him, held onto him with both arms, staggering back a few steps. "You must calm down," he said again, voice barely above a whisper.

Jim shuddered and made a quiet, desperate noise. He looked up at Spock. "I'm fucked. You can see that, right? You know. It's all fucked."

Spock stared at Jim's mouth and had the absurd desire to ask him to speak again.

"Oh, hey, Faggy's got a boyfriend, finally. Congrats, Faggy!"

Jim and Spock pushed each other away as though they'd both been burned.

"Enough! Shut it! Inside, everyone!" Pike's booming voice cleared the yard as quick as any bell, leaving Spock, Jim and Nyota.

Nyota approached and touched Jim's arm. "Nothing's fucked. You've got us. The teachers, the principal -- they don't touch us."

"Why not?" Jim croaked.

Nyota pointed to Spock. "His dad is the superintendent. And I have early admission to Stanford." She was trying to sound reassuring, but Spock inwardly cringed. Nyota was... chronically Nyota. "They talk big, the stupid jocks, the bigots, but they can't hurt us."

Spock begged to differ, but didn't speak up on the point.

When they reached the entrance of the school, Jim stopped and fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "I'm not going back in there. See you guys later."

In that moment, Jim was brittle and dangerous in his ratty jeans and dark blue zip-up sweatshirt. Spock felt that he knew him front to back. There are lots of us, he thought, lots of us who feel like this. Jim's eyes met Spock's, and he honestly couldn't have said what he'd have done if Jim had asked him to cut class, too. So he grabbed Nyota's hand and fled back into the school.

Guess who? It's ten o'clock, do you care where your parents are? Because, after all, it is a jungle out there.

Not far out from the furthest housing development, there was a massive stone quarry. Spock liked it there because it was hot and dry and windy, but also because there was water at the bottom, way down in the shadows, and chilly, damp air sometimes blew up to cool his face. When he visited the quarry, he kept the city at his back, so that when he looked to the north, he saw only desert.

He brought Jim and Nyota out one Saturday, late in the afternoon. It was only two weeks after Gaila's expulsion, and Jim was still out of balance without her. He walked beside Spock close enough that their arms brushed, then turned and slid his hand into Nyota's as though they shared such contact all the time. At first she tried to shake him off, but then she leaned into him the way she did Spock, trusting.

When they reached the quarry, the sun was just beginning to dip low in the west and, as she always did, Nyota found her wide, flat rock a safe distance from the edge, and laid down to soak up the last of the sun like a lizard. Spock was usually content to sit beside her and read as long as the light lasted, but when Jim wandered off to the edge, Spock followed.

They picked their way along the ragged, sheer edge of the quarry, and neither spoke. Jim jumped from one pile of rock to the next, the rubber of his Chucks and his big feet gripping without any seeming effort. Spock thought that, if he didn't know better, Jim looked like he'd been born in the desert. Spock kept pace because he'd had practice.

Jim didn't say much, yet Spock didn't think it was for lack of having anything to say. His eyes were always searching, seeking, looking from one spot to the next. His fingers tapped rhythms and his lips moved through near-silent stories. Spock caught bits and pieces of them when the wind was right -- heroic and sad, happy and desperate. The combinations were strange, but coming from Jim's mouth, they felt true.

By the time he reached Jim's elbow and managed to pull him down to his knees to look over the lip of the quarry, they were both a little out of breath. He felt quick puffs of air on his ear and jerked away, but when he turned to regard Jim with a raised eyebrow, Jim wasn't even looking at him. He leaned out over the edge, his back and neck stretched as far as they could go. He was smiling.

"Smells like upstate New York down there."

Spock nodded. "The quarry has filled with an underground spring. It's so far down, however, that I have never seen it -- only smelled and felt it."

"You ever feel like everything great's already been done -- like you'll never be able to do anything that's just for you? Like, there's nothing left to do?"

Spock hesitated before answering. He did not feel that way at all -- the world was full of knowledge to be learned, wrongs to be righted, problems to be solved. The world had people like Nyota and Gaila, who lived for puzzles and the triumph of the just over the unjust. But... he could sense Jim's restlessness, and it was real. So, he settled for, "I don't know."

Then his heart rate rocketed, and his fingers buzzed with adrenalin as Jim appeared to half-slip, half-propel himself out over the empty blackness of the quarry, arms pinwheeling or maybe diving. Spock reacted without thought, wrapping one arm around Jim's middle, the other scrambling in the dirt for purchase. They flailed and scuffled in the dust for what seemed like a short eternity before Spock finally dragged Jim onto the ledge, thumping his back and head onto the hard ground. Spock landed half-across his chest, his ear over Jim's heart -- it was racing as fast as his own.

When their breath had quieted, he said as steadily as he could manage. "You did not intend to throw yourself over the edge of the quarry."

Jim huffed a laugh, which sounded wholly unnerved to Spock's ears. "Of course not."

"You frightened me."

"There was a ledge, like, six feet down, Spock."

"Still, -- "

He cut himself off at the sound of Nyota's feet scraping through the gravel and pushed himself off Jim to sit back on his heels. Jim leaned on his palms and grinned up at her when she came into view, squinting in the dim light.

She looked between the two of them with a characteristic shrewd expression. "I heard something which sounded suspiciously like someone almost falling over the side. And, Spock, your hand is all ripped up." She squatted down beside them, momentarily saving Spock from having to explain. Her fingers gently traced over the cuts and gouges where gravel and dirt had dug into his skin. She made soft soothing noises when his fingers twitched at her touch. Then she straightened and pulled him up after her. "Mom can help you clean these up. Sand in cuts is really bad news -- they could get infected if we don't clean them out soon."

Spock nodded. "Thank you." He looked over his shoulder to see Jim dusting himself off as he got to his feet. Jim flashed him a reassuring smile that didn't quite match the glint in his eyes.

Spock didn't let go of Nyota on the walk home.

When Jim's house came into view, a familiar figure leaned against the mailbox, one they hadn't seen in just over two weeks. Gaila's foster parents had shut her away in the house while arrangements for her schooling were made, and now, seeing each other again, both Jim and Gaila laughed and hollered. Jim ran forward and scooped her up into a tight hug, spinning around so that her feet swung wildly. Gaila shrieked and pressed his head to her chest, kissing his hair. When he set her on her feet, he grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard on the mouth. He bent her back a little so that her spine arched. Spock had to look away until he heard Nyota politely greeting Gaila with an uncharacteristic nervous laugh. He blinked when he saw Gaila put a hand at Nyota's waist, tilting their hips together before nudging noses. If Nyota was surprised, she didn't show it, reaching up to touch Gaila's hair and launching into a discussion of their project -- one they obviously intended to continue, despite Gaila's changed circumstances.

After a quick glance at Jim, who appeared similarly confused, Spock determined that Gaila and Nyota had continued to meet in the two weeks she'd been out of school.

When several minutes had passed, Jim and Spock doing nothing but scraping the toes of their shoes over loose gravel, Jim touched Gaila's arm and tilted his head toward his house.

"Is it time to go?" she asked, and Jim nodded.

Spock clamped down on his disappointment, clenching his cut fingers into a painful fist. Gently, Nyota loosened them. "We could get dinner," she offered. "Grab a pizza or something. I'm sure we could borrow the car to pick it up."

Jim only shook his head, but Gaila gave her a sweet smile. "Can't, sorry. It's almost ten. We turn into pumpkins at ten." Then, before anyone could argue further, they turned and ran into the house.

Nyota regarded the empty driveway with a considering gaze. "Maybe they're going in to listen to Hard Harry." She sucked in a quick breath. "Maybe Jim is Hard Harry. The timing would be about right." Spock's eyebrows lifted, then she laughed at herself. "No, Jim's too happy to be Hard Harry. That guy hates the world."

Spock digested these last two claims and wasn't sure he agreed with either one. Then, because they were still staring at Jim's empty driveway, Spock tugged Nyota away. As they walked back to Nyota's house, he considered the question of the identity of Hard Harry.

His broadcasts were becoming increasingly popular with the students at the high school. His pessimistic frankness resonated with the many kids who felt marginalized and stepped on by the other students and several of the teachers. Spock didn't particularly care for the more vulgar facets of the broadcast, but he liked that Harry was an observer -- someone who stood outside and watched, gaining perspective over those who were too wrapped up in their own privilege to see how their behavior affected others.

Harry allegedly masturbated on the air -- a fact that was causing a small rumble of parental outrage amongst those who'd heard it -- but aside from the convincing sound effects, Harry had a way of precisely articulating an underlying tension that Spock was sure they all felt. Even if he only railed against the structure of the education system, even if he did come across as self-absorbed, what teenager wasn't? Harry was able to capture something in both word and tone that Spock felt deeply.

Spock was driven, just like Nyota, but unlike Nyota, he wasn't sure what form his future should take. His father pressed for law school, while his mother quietly advocated the classroom. Spock wasn't sure about either of these, though he knew that he wanted his future to be important. He could be passionate and brilliant and still not know where to direct his energies.

He felt the same sort of frustration from Harry. And he certainly felt it from Jim.

On to Part 2

Well. Harry Potter, if anyone cares... 2 years late.

2009-10-11T01:52:02Z

So, I finished the 6th and 7th books a couple weeks ago, and have been rewatching the movies this past week, courtesy of netflix. Here are my thoughts, cut for spoilers though I'm probably the last person on earth to get caught up.

Likes:

- The world building. Any story that bumps magic up against the real world makes me wistful. I'd started a novel several years ago with such a premise, of parallel worlds blending together at certain times of the year. Reading about magic makes me want to revisit. I loved that JKR made Harry so appreciative of the possibilities of magic.

- Multiple generations of characters -- Dumbledore and Minerva; Sirius, James, Lilly, Remus, and Snape, then of course the trio, Luna and Neville, Ginny, etc. I loved the interaction between generations. Sirius and Harry were heartbreaking.

- Good casting in the movies. I may be a little in love with Daniel Radcliffe, even though he's 7 years my junior. His face is quite pleasant. And I like that he's short. Rupert Grint! The twins! Neville! Luna! And Alan Rickman. I love him far far too much. No, really.

haha, and I much prefer Robert Pattinson, or whateverthefuck his name is, as Cedric Diggory than as the undead. Sorry, but I do. He was charming as Cedric, although still pouty.

- Good chemistry between characters. I thought the books provided all the juicy background, which was then made visual in abbreviated packages in the movies. I loved Snape's backstory with James, Sirius, and Remus. I LOVED the friction between Snape and Harry. And I thought Ron and Hermione had the one, fully developed love story in all the books and movies. I really would have liked for Harry and Luna to strike up a romance, but sadly, they did not.

- Patronus charms. Legilimency (sp). Harry going to meet his end with his mother, father, Sirius, and Lupin behind him. I cried at that point. Any point where Harry sees his parents. JKR wrote the loss of family beautifully, and DR showed what it meant to miss someone.

- The movies, as a whole. Music, effects, casting, plot. A lot is left out, fleshing out the full relationships, but I think books in combination with movies works, because what's left out is still in the background.

Dislikes:

- Event-driven rather than character-driven storytelling. Goblet of Fire was one giant plot device that barely furthered the story. JKR introduced all these great characters, and then just had them do stuff. Which I know is what you do with characters, but a lot of the stuff didn't help me to know the characters any better. Somehow, I know Ron, Hermione and Snape better than I do Harry. Daniel Radcliffe helped me to know Harry.

She thought up great characters, but then didn't follow through with full development. I don't know them the way I knew Zuko by the end of Avatar, or any of the GW pilots after reading TB's or Mal's fics. Or Sam Cham. Mugen, Jin, and Fuu were alive and breathing for me. but something in the development of JKR's characters was lacking.

- In the end, Harry was on his own. He became a bit too much the Hero Who Must Triumph By His Own Strength. I liked it when he needed help.

- She wasted Sirius Black. Wasted him. She wrote all this fantastic chemistry between him and Lupin (and then the movies put it into pretty pictures) and then, poof! I guess it was necessary for Harry to proceed on his own, but. I'm not so sure.

- Draco Malfoy. WTF. He has served no purpose so far in the movies. And in the books, his malevolence just seems silly after awhile. I don't understand why Harry/Draco is the most popular pairing in the fandom.

- Random-ass romance. Tonks/Lupin? Harry/Cho? Harry/Ginny? Bill/Fleur? They're all just thrown in there. No buildup. No skill. No chemistry. bleh.

Shippy shite:

I've taken a peak into fandom, and it is vast, probably the largest I've seen. Here's what I like.

- Severus Snape/Harry Potter. They were enemies who shouldn't have been enemies, and the possibilities for good writing are endless. These two fics astounded me. Astounded. I was astounded.

http://geneticallydead.livejournal.com/211978.html

http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snarry_games/260054.html

Especially the second one.

It seems ss/hp authors prefer to write novels. Seriously, most of them are, like, 20,000 words at the least.

- Harry/Ron. I like the whole, loyalty, belief, trust thing. Plus, i've read some pretty fantastic sex between the two of them.This one of was modeled after Brokeback Mountain:

http://harryron.insanejournal.com/80560.html

This one was a little twisted, and therefore better, lol.

http://web.archive.org/web/20080516121815/http://www.helenish.net/closeenough.shtml

- Snape/Hermione. There's tons of it out there. Haven't read much. I imagine their banter can be exhausting if written poorly, but maybe I'll find the right piece at some point.

- Harry/Luna. Haven't read anything good. Nothing. Help, anyone? I may have to write a romance for them, since they didn't get one (haven't gotten one, even in fandom.)

That's it, I think. Mixed feelings, I suppose.

Any thoughts from the f-list?r

ST FIC: But with Perseverance 2/2, or The Finer Points of Vulcan Friendship

2009-10-01T17:45:09Z

Title: But with Perseverance
or The Finer Points of Vulcan Friendship
Author: June
Rating: pg-13 for language
Pairing: Kirk & Spock
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its characters.

Notes: Takes place shortly after the first part, just before the very end of the movie. This is the last in the Arc which goes as follows:

We Start with the Big Stuff

And It's Not Easy: I
And It's Not Easy: II

But With Perseverance: I

But With Perseverance: II

Spock would not miss the view. While the lights of the city and the dark sweep of the bay were striking to the eye, and while he could see the reconstruction of the bridge under the night lights, he would not regret their absence. He would not long for his quarters in the faculty housing complex. In this way, he felt fully Vulcan. But he did not cling to his detachment from the Human emotions of regret and longing, because there were others which plagued him far worse. He rested his palm on the rough cement wall enclosing the roof of his building and laid out the facts as he saw them.

He missed his mother terribly, even though he had not seen her often once he'd left Vulcan.

He longed for the desert rather than the moist air of the Bay. Sweat that didn't evaporate was an annoyance.

He longed for the silence of space over the press and noise of thousands of Vulcans congregating in shuttle bays, over the constant displays of Human grief he witnessed all around him at the Academy.

He was unsettled by the presence of his counterpart, Ambassador Spock.

He was unsettled by what Ambassador Spock had told him, by what he had been urged to do.

He regretted ending his relationship with Nyota, in what he now considered to be a rash decision.

He regretted rejecting Jim Kirk's overtures of friendship, no matter how tentative they had been, no matter that they found themselves at odds as often as not -- considerably more often, actually.

He was defensive and uncomfortable around his father -- still. Even after the destruction of their home-world. This indicated something fundamental in their relationship, something permanent.

He was... rankled by the behavior of the Vulcan survivors, many of whom had expressed their regret that he, a Vulcan who was not fully Vulcan, had survived where so many billions had perished.

Clearly, Spock was emotionally compromised. By any Vulcan's standards, he was a wreck. By his own assessment, he was morose, restless, and irritable, a condition which he attributed to his continuing presence in San Francisco -- at the Academy and with the surviving Vulcans. He felt a sharp pull skyward, the need for something new, something that was entirely his own.

That one thing, much as he hesitated to embrace it fully, had always been Starfleet.

However, leaving Earth on a starship rather than a passenger carrier to the new Vulcan home-world was not something he could just -- decide to do. Costs and benefits had to be weighed, variables isolated and tested, hypotheses made and discarded. He had to approach the decision rationally, logically. He'd been attempting to do so even before the crew of the Enterprise had returned to Earth.

The needs of his people far outweighed his own.

But the Vulcan healers were not yet sure he'd be able to sire a child with his hybrid DNA. They were, of course, willing to conduct tests, but thus far, Spock had successfully avoided them. He didn't relish that eventuality.

Nor did he relish the moment at which he would have to make a decision, thus setting the course of his future. His counterpart's words played and replayed in his mind, and the ones that echoed the loudest, the most insistently, were "faith," and "what feels right," and "one that will define you both."

From the moment that Spock had grasped the politics between adults, he'd decided that he would define his own existence, whether it would be a Vulcan or a Human one, whether the choices were clear or ambiguous, wise or driven by emotion -- he would make them. He would embrace the conflict and the consequences.

He disapproved of his counterpart's willingness to lobby in favor of one path over another. Despite the strangeness of their situation, that decision was not Ambassador Spock's to make or even influence.

Though, admittedly, Spock was not having an easy time of reaching his own conclusion. Perhaps if he --

His ears pricked at the sound of boots on the metal grate of the fire escape, and he turned to see a shadowed figure heaving itself up over the wall and down onto the rooftop. His lips pressed into a thinner line when he recognized the height and build, then the gait of James T. Kirk. Kirk scuffed his feet along the the roof, probably to indicate his presence so as not to surprise Spock.

"I heard your approach several floors down," Spock said, turning back to regard the sky. "Extra noise was not necessary."

"You know, if you're looking for a place to watch the stars, I can recommend a few that are lots better than this. Not so many lights," Kirk answered, without acknowledging Spock's greeting.

Spock inhaled slowly, pulling his thoughts together for conversation. "That may be," he replied. "However, stargazing is not the only function the roof serves." Kirk did not say anything further, so Spock turned slightly to regard his profile. "I came here for solitude."

Kirk nodded his apparent understanding and then leaned forward against the parapet, resting his forearms flat on the cement. "Still a nice view, though. Much nicer than the dorms."

Spock returned the slight nod. He'd lived in apartments during his years as a cadet, but he'd visited the dorms for a handful of study groups. This view was indeed superior.

"One of the perks of seniority, I guess," Kirk continued.

"That would be true if I were a senior faculty member. My quarters are in the basement."

Jim laughed, an easy chuckle. "I see why you like to spend time up here, then. Is it at least a decent place?"

"It has served its function." He paused and twitched his eyes in Jim's direction before deciding to relate a bit more of his experience living on campus. "Although the moist air resulted in mildew along the base of one wall. And I believe I am allergic to it."

In the orange glow of the roof light, Spock could see Jim's wide smile. "Yeah, that was my dorm first year. Are there bars on your windows, too?"

"Yes. They are for security purposes."

"Sure, but they're miserable."

"Agreed."

Kirk chuckled again. "You know, it's weird, picturing you in an apartment -- doing things."

"'Doing things?'" Spock echoed, the question clear in his voice.

"Yeah, like, real person things. I dunno, I never got along too well with my teachers -- "

"I find that shocking."

"And I think it was probably because I couldn't picture them being real people. But you've..." He gestured vaguely with one hand. "You've got a shitty apartment with water damage. You live somewhere. You probably fall asleep on your couch. You take your shoes off. You eat in your living room because the galley kitchens here are too small for a table."

"I imagine the same could be said for the vast majority of Academy faculty."

"Yeah, but I never really thought about it."

Spock considered this and nodded. "While I find your disregard for others to be not a little disturbing, I have come to realize that it is typical of your species, specifically your age bracket and gender."

Kirk turned sideways to look at him, leaning his weight on one elbow. "I see, so you always take into consideration the personal circumstances of your students and coworkers when you hand out grades and go to faculty meetings. We share two and a half of those three categories, by the way."

Spock hesitated when his mouth twitched upward. "I think you will find if you spend any length of time with my people that they spare even less consideration for circumstance and context. However, consideration and awareness are not the same."

Kirk was fidgeting with something in his pocket, and Spock discreetly craned his neck to see what it was, to no avail. Then Kirk sucked in a quick breath as though he were preparing himself. "So, you ready to get back to the desert? I've seen vids of the new planet -- seems like a close approximation."

"Even when construction begins, even when it is completed, it will never be anything more than that." He shook his head in frustration -- both with his people and himself. "Every Vulcan who has placed their hopes in the new home-world knows this to be true. While much of the knowledge and customs of Vulcan culture are preserved in the surviving elders, Vulcan -- the land, the air, its sun -- is gone."

Kirk visibly swallowed, and then nodded.

He frowned. There was no reason to have said that. No Human could hope to comprehend their loss -- as evidenced by the fact that Kirk had no response. "You have not yet told me why you are here," Spock observed, voice clipped.

"Nyota said this was where I could find you."

Spock twitched a quick look at him, irritation now sparking on his tongue. "That is not an answer."

"Maybe she wanted me to find you for her."

"That is highly unlikely."

"Why?"

"That is not your concern."

Kirk exhaled through his nose. "You really don't wanna talk to me, do you."

Spock closed his eyes and focused inward for the length of time it took to calm his temper. Then he regarded Kirk with sober resignation. "I do not desire conversation with you. However, it is due."

In the dim light, Spock watched Kirk draw himself up, his jaw tightening. He wondered if he had just offended Kirk, as he had when they'd dined together, but then reassessed the young man's expression. The most accurate phrase that came to mind was 'bound and determined.'

Kirk's hand was back in his jacket pocket again, and this time, Spock's curiosity got the better of him. "What are you doing?" he asked, when Kirk finally pulled out a small pouch. It didn't look like food, but he could ascertain no other function for the dark leafy matter that Kirk removed from it.

"I," he began, pressing the leaves into a white square of paper, "am rolling myself a cigarette. Would you like me to roll one for you?" Eyes that he knew to be bright were shadowed when they flicked up to Spock's.

"No, thank you. Why are you rolling a cigarette?" He watched Kirk's large fingers tamp down the tobacco with gentle, precise movements.

Kirk huffed a laugh and crooked an eyebrow upward. "I'm rolling a cigarette because I want to smoke a cigarette."

"I was unaware that you had such a habit. Perhaps a better question would be, 'Why would you voluntarily inhale poisonous smoke into your lungs?'"

"Why would you want to work out physics theorems for hours on-end? We all have guilty pleasures, Spock. Sure this one could give me cancer, but physics theorems keep you indoors and don't provide nearly enough physical stimulation. You could develop bad posture and get fat." Jim grinned at him and began to roll the paper into a tight tube, rolling it back and forth between thumb and forefinger.

Spock blinked. "Your logic assumes obsession."

"Yours assumes addiction. One cigarette every now and again is therapy. They've engineered out most of the nasty stuff, anyway." He paused to lick the edge of the paper, then rolled it once over so the cigarette sealed. "I can enjoy a theorem here and there, too, for that matter. Everything in moderation, right?"

Spock had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. "Enlighten me. How is smoking therapeutic, and why do you require therapy here, now?"

Jim put the cigarette between his lips and then slid the pouch across the cement to Spock. "It's more the rolling and the lighting up than the smoking. Give it a try."

Spock stared down at the tobacco and rolling papers and then back up to Kirk as he pulled a book of matches from his jeans pocket. Kirk tossed the matches onto the cement and laid his cigarette down next to them, then turned and looked expectantly at Spock.

"You intend for me to roll a cigarette and smoke it with you. Is this an attempt to win my esteem? I have had students attempt such strategies in the past to improve their grades. I can assure you now that they were unsuccessful. Moreover, the attempt is not logical, as you have already received your commission for Enterprise."

Even in the stark shadows of the roof lights, he could see Jim give in to the desire to roll his eyes. Then he gave a derisive snort. "Oh. Well, then, I better just take my intentions back down the fire escape and give up on those academic dishonesty charges disappearing from my record. Come on, Spock, why not? We saved Earth together. We're heroes. Your mom's dead. So's your planet. So're thousands of my classmates and your students. My career nearly went down the toilet, but thanks to you, Pike, and the others, I get to fly again. Let's smoke a goddamn cigarette."

And there. Spock's eyebrow lifted. There was something that he could grab hold of and examine. Kirk's words were blunt and true, and his intentions lurked just below the surface. Human innuendo was indeed fascinating once he caught onto it: 'I'm looking for a way to meet you on common ground, but I don't know what you like. Let's do this together. Let's try this.'

Spock reached for the pouch of tobacco and pulled up the little strip of adhesive to open it.

Kirk flashed him a relieved grin. "Stick the tape to the inside flap so it doesn't get tobacco on it. Then take a sniff."

Spock did as Kirk suggested and, after securing the adhesive, lowered his nose to the pouch. He inhaled tentatively. It... was not an unpleasant odor -- too rich and damp for his taste, but cloying and not wholly unlike incense.

"Okay, now take one of the papers and hold it, crease down, adhesive strip on the outside," Kirk instructed. "If it's too dark to see, you can go by the little cut edges -- they go on the inside. Then you grab a decent-sized pinch of tobacco and put in the crease. Good, right -- you got it."

Spock fumbled slightly with the paper, feeling that his fingers were too large. Though if Kirk could do it -- his fingers were even broader. "I do not need encouragement for this, thank you."

Kirk laughed and leaned a little closer to get a better look at Spock's progress. "Next, you gotta hold the tobacco down with your thumb and sort of pull it apart with the fingers of your other hand -- evenly distribute it across the paper."

"You are blocking my light."

"Oh, sorry. Now, once you've got the tobacco all spread out, you pack it down by rolling it between your fingers like this." And here, he demonstrated the motion, holding his fingers up for Spock to see. "And if your fingers are too dry, it won't work. But if you wet them, be careful not to get the paper soggy, 'cause then the cigarette gets gross."

Spock exhaled a small huff of annoyance when, as Kirk had warned, his fingers slipped on the paper. As discreetly as possible, he wet the tips on his tongue and then rubbed them on his pant leg. When he tried to roll the cigarette again, he had much better luck, and he looked up to see Kirk grinning wide enough that his teeth showed white.

"Your instructions are thorough and insightful," Spock observed, and the grin only widened. "For such a superfluous skill."

"Shoulda considered teaching, I guess."

"I shudder at the thought."

"No, you don't."

"I do. Only not where you can see."

"Shall we continue? Right. So, next, once you've got your tobacco all nice and snug in the bottom of the paper, you actually roll the thing, which has to be a pretty quick step. Do it like you mean it; be assertive. Just -- " He mimed the motion again. " -- roll it right down your thumb, until you've only got the adhesive sticking up -- wait, not that far, give yourself a little more room. Yeah, that's it. Now -- this is exciting, right? We're almost done. Now, lick the adhesive just enough to get it moist -- too much spit and you get a soggy cigarette."

Spock was half-tempted to turn away for this step, but decided that Kirk would enjoy that entirely too much, so he inhaled through his nose and licked the paper. Then he finished the roll and flattened the ends. He held it up for inspection and frowned. It was lumpier than Kirk's, and a bit wrinkled at one end. But Kirk appeared to be more than satisfied.

"That's great! Man, you shoulda scene my first cigarette. Not nearly so pretty."

"How old were you?" Spock didn't need this information, but it nevertheless felt relevant.

Kirk shrugged and retrieved his cigarette from the wall, placing it between his lips. "I dunno, fifteen or sixteen? I smoked Reds before that because I thought they were cool and apparently I had a death wish." When Spock only blinked at him, Jim explained. "The Marlboro man died of cancer, and even after the other brands took all the crap out of their smokes, Marlboro didn't because then they had the corner on the 'so badass it'll kill you' market."

"And you wished to be a part of that subculture."

"I was thirteen -- what the fuck did I know about anything?"

Spock considered this as he watched Kirk flip open the match book and separate one from the rest. "I did not suffer such misdirection in my youth. Though, I assume you did not feel you had, either?" Kirk was having trouble removing a match from the book. Spock noticed his fingers had begun to shake.

"Nah, self destruction made perfect sense at the time. I was busily seeking out new ways piss off my stepdad and simultaneously keep myself from getting stupid with boredom. So, it was less misdirection, more lack of direction. Not a problem I imagine you would have had growing up on Vulcan. I've read about your primary schools." He grinned. "Primary schools in bowls. That, I would have hated."

Kirk had succeeded in removing a match, but was now struggling to light it. He had nearly dropped it twice, and Spock was finding it distracting.

"They facilitated more focused absorption of knowledge, without the noise of a classroom or the pressure of peers. Please give me the matches." Without waiting for permission, Spock shifted sideways along the wall and snatched the book from Kirk's hands. He then struck the match against the rough strip at the bottom and blinked when it flared to life, bright in the relative darkness of the rooftop. He cupped his hand around the flame and brought it to the end of Kirk's cigarette. When Kirk leaned in to get close enough, Spock could see the texture of his hair, smell the liquor that clung to it. He'd come from a bar, then, though he didn't appear to be intoxicated.

"Thanks," Kirk said, offering a wan smile. "Your turn. Don't forget to suck to make sure it lights."

Spock looked down at his cigarette. "I have no intention of smoking this."

Kirk's right hand was now in his pants pocket; his other held the cigarette in steadier fingers. "Aw, come on! You've come this far -- and you don't even have to smoke it. Just hold it and flick off the ash. I'm serious; it's fantastic. And it's a versatile ritual -- a celebratory smoke, a smoke in remembrance, a stress smoke, an after-sex smoke, a beer and a smoke."

"Yes, I imagine one does not find it difficult to justify the occasion for smoking, except for the two factors which concern me most: it is hazardous to my health and will cause me to smell like an ashtray."

"You? Are no fun."

"You are not the first to tell me this."

"Okay, I'll light it, so you don't have to breath any of it in. Your fingers already smell like tobacco, so come on, Spock... "

The next part of the 'ritual' passed in silence. Kirk rested his own burning cigarette on the wall and lit Spock's, this time without any trouble. Spock wondered at the chance of transferring germs and tried not to touch the end that had been in Kirk's mouth. When they were both staring out over the city, Spock broached the question, keeping his eyes forward.

"There are both meditation and massage techniques to alleviate the symptoms of nerve damage. Many are only known by Vulcan healers -- and the healers are all otherwise occupied at present -- but there are a few taught to all Vulcans. If you would like, I can forward you the literature. Doctor McCoy as well -- though he would doubtless belittle it in my presence."

Kirk regarded him sidelong. "Meditation, huh?"

Spock nodded once. "The damage was to your brain stem. The organ which controls the nerves is the brain. Controlling the mind can heal bodily injury."

Kirk laughed quietly and took a long drag on his cigarette. "Bones would call it voodoo."

"Which would be inaccur--"

"But, yeah, I'll give it a shot. Can't very well steady a phaser if I can't light a match." He turned to offer Spock a quick smile. "Thanks. You don't have much reason to help me."

"On the contrary, it would be illogical for me to deny you assistance when I am capable of giving it."

"Vulcan equivalent of the Good Samaritan Law?"

"Without the Christian dogma of rewards in the afterlife, yes."

Kirk nodded and offered a small, pleased smile. He appeared satisfied when they discovered common ground. Spock watched the burning end of his own cigarette and then flicked ash off the end. Holding the cigarette and watching it burn down was strangely soothing. He should not have been surprised by this since Vulcans understood the importance of ritual both in the preservation of culture and the maintenance of control over emotion. Still, Spock hesitated to believe that anything James Kirk strongly advocated could genuinely be good for one's well-being.

"That's pretty great," Kirk said after a lengthy pause. "Doing something because it makes sense -- because it's right -- not because of something it's going to get you."

"Logic and right are not always the same," Spock hedged, uncovering an ongoing debate within himself. "The difference is often a source of conflict between emotional humans and Vulcans." And within Vulcans who struggled with their human side.

Kirk laughed. "Yeah, I remember the neck pinch. But I think logic is really about figuring out what the right thing is. The best thing and the right thing are the same if you've got shit straight in your head." He paused. "And are you really telling me that something which should logically be done isn't the right thing?"

Spock rolled his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. "'Right' has moral connotations which logic does not speak to. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, yet it may seem right to sacrifice the many to save the few or the one." He tilted his head to the side as he regarded Kirk. "I admit I am surprised you would argue for the identity of logic and right."

Kirk shrugged. "Guess I'm just trying to figure out why you'd put so much faith in it."

Spock pressed his lips into a flat smile. The conversation had shifted into an argument, and there were few individuals in the galaxy who enjoyed an argument more than Spock. "'Faith' is belief without proof. There is certainty in logic. 'Certainty' and 'right' can not always be identical, especially with 'right' so loosely defined and understood."

Now Kirk grinned. "'Logic as certainty' is about as dogmatic as it gets, Spock. If the answer is always available through calculation, then it's only the answer to the most trivial question. It's the struggle -- it's the dilemma, the no-win, even -- that demands the most of logic."

"Demands that logic become heart."

Jim nodded. "Yes. Damn. Yes, exactly." He smacked his hand on the wall for emphasis, drawing Spock's eye down. He followed the movement of square, large-knuckled fingers to a smiling mouth. Kirk sucked hard on the cigarette and then stubbed it out on the wall, leaving a smear of black ash. "See, you get it."

Spock returned his eyes to Kirk's. "It was actually Lieutenant Uhura who made that connection, when she explained why Humans and Vulcans could be friends in Vulcan terms."

With both hands now shoved in his pockets, Kirk hunched forward against the faint chill of the evening. Spock was grateful for his own jacket, as he'd always found nights in San Francisco to be too chilly and damp for his liking. "She said that -- before, when I talked to her, after the memorial."

Spock straightened. "What, exactly, did the lieutenant say?"

Kirk blinked at him and appeared contrite, ready to leave the subject behind. "Just that Vulcan friendships aren't the same as Human ones -- which seems pretty obvious to me. So far as I know, Vulcans don't have drinking buddies."

Spock nodded and let his posture relax a bit. "That is accurate. Relationships which extend no further than pleasure are of little to no value to a Vulcan." For strictly scientific reasons, Spock took a small drag on the cigarette, inhaling the smoke just past his throat before blowing it out in a short stream. It burned a little, but otherwise had no adverse effects. He tried it again and inhaled a bit further, feeling his lungs tingle. He experienced almost immediate dizziness, which though mild, was alarming. He exhaled and stubbed out the butt, having now encountered what he'd heard his students refer to as a 'cigarette buzz.'

Looking sly again, Jim asked, "If friendship isn't about pleasure, then what is it?"

Still monitoring his body's reaction to the tobacco, Spock answered a bit distractedly, "Its purpose is the betterment of both individuals -- improvement of character. It is about each aiding the other in reaching their full potential. It is a relationship between equals which lasts the duration of their lifespans."

"Sounds intense."

"It is."

"Sounds like some Greek guy I read in high school." Spock's gaze, turned inward, now slid to Kirk, who was smirking. "Yes, I read books in high school. And I even remember some of them."

"It is true that many of Surak's teachings mirror the ancient Greeks, particularly Aristotle, but I hasten to add that Surak predated Socrates by several Earth centuries."

Kirk shrugged. "Okay, so you thought of it first, but tell me this, Mr. Friendship Does Not Equal Pleasure. How could having friends who make you be a better person -- who make being a good person important -- not be fucking amazing, even for a Vulcan who doesn't think anything's 'fucking amazing?'"

Spock considered this. He thought about his relationship with Nyota, which he had found to be deeply fulfilling. Her intelligence and quick wit made her an excellent companion. Her passion and conviction inspired him to greater excellence in his own studies. And she was attractive, as well as attentive and considerate as a lover. He would certainly call her his friend, with all that that entailed. But she also gave him pleasure -- both intellectual and physical. He wondered if this was something unique to his physiology, or if it meant that he'd considered their friendship somehow less worthwhile because of the pleasure component. He didn't want that to be the case. He didn't think that he'd thought of their relationship in such a way.

"Along with knowledge and logic, friendship is a lifelong pursuit for a properly educated Vulcan," he finally said. "It is highly sought after both for its benefits and its intrinsic value."

"And one of the only things which is an end in itself is happiness."

Jim reminded him of Nyota just then, when her thesis proposal had passed. His eyes were creased with the size of his smile. He appeared cocky and genuinely pleased, a combination which Spock found both irritating and appealing.

"So it is," he conceded.

Kirk laughed. "And you're telling me you're willing to skip out on all this, so you can repopulate your species."

Spock frowned. "Have I not just explained the dynamics of Vulcan friendships?"

"You chose Starfleet, Spock, not the Vulcan Science Academy -- something we're all really relieved about. Come on. Nyota, Bones, Scotty and I could give you one hell of a character workout."

Spock's fingers twitched against the cement wall as he recognized all the lines of Kirk's argument. "You are attempting to persuade me to rejoin Starfleet. You have been since your arrival."

"Yes I am. Has it worked?"

"My counterpart also attempted -- dangling our friendship as though it were something I would be unable to resist. I found myself unconvinced at the time."

Kirk snorted a laugh. "Yeah, I can't blame you."

Spock regarded Kirk with the sort of heavy Vulcan gaze that made most Humans very uncomfortable. He liked to employ it at the beginning of each semester and just before midterms. "And yet, I admit curiosity."

Jim didn't so much as blink when he removed a flask from inside his jacket, revealing the source of the smell Spock had noticed earlier. His hands were shaking again, but he paid them no mind.

"Guess I admit the same," he said. And now Spock could see the risk Jim had taken in approaching Spock this way.

Spock nodded once in acknowledgment and reached forward to unscrew the top, recognizing another Human ritual, one with significantly more weight than the previous. He took the first swallow of whiskey and toasted to their future.

End.

ST: Between Math and Music: my personal canon for Uhura

2009-10-01T15:46:59Z

I did this meme awhile back, and now I'll be posting them in official entries for those who didn't see'em, partly for formatting, mostly because I really like how they turned out -- more like a narrative than straight-up facts. For igrockspock

Between Math and Music

1. By 2243, The United States of Africa is no longer considered the Federation's charity case. With Earth's First Contact almost two centuries into history, and the United Federation of Planets nearing its centennial anniversary, it is easy to forget that Vulcan, Andoria and Tellar had mandated Africa be brought into the 22nd century -- food stores shared, diseases eradicated, a continent-wide infrastructure established -- shortly after the Federation was founded. Africa was a project for the new Federation, since the continent had largely been ignored after the end of the colonial era, and certainly after World War III, when all of the globe was occupied with mere survival. Even though the standard of living had been leveled planet-wide, ideas lived on longer than historical epochs. It took fresh eyes, alien eyes, to see the patterns of history.

But in 2243, when Nyota is ten years old and already sounding out phrases in Vulcan and Klingon, her mother and father look to Starfleet and worry that their daughter will feel just as out of place as a student from another Federation planet.

2. Nyota grows up listening to afrobeat. She has an enormous crush on Fela Kuti from the age of twelve to seventeen. He gives her her first understanding of politics. Yoruba is the language she learns after her native Kiswahili and before Standard. She doesn't like synthetic music; she needs for music to sound real -- hands striking drum heads, fingers plucking strings, vocal chords vibrating. She abhors traditional music set to synthetic beats. She doesn't think music should sound like math -- it should not be made of equations.

She will argue with Spock about this at great length. A trip to Lagos will be necessary.

3. Nyota's mother is an advanced maths professor at the University of Nairobi. While, Nyota is very good at math, she doesn't like it very much. It's not exciting. Her father is a music teacher at two of the local high schools. While Nyota plays three instruments and sings, she doesn't have any desire to pursue music professionally. In her experience, musicians are flakes.

She believes that language is the perfect middle between math and music. A knew language is exciting and foreign. Learning and understanding it is often intuitive. But it also requires methodical study and a consistent approach, and she finds that comforting.

But she really loves the way some of them sound -- the way Mandarin is sharp between her molars, how Klingon feels like cursing no matter what is said.

4. There aren't many Africans at Starfleet. She is certainly not among the smallest minority -- her roommate Gaila takes that award -- but she does feel like she's being watched to see how her continent performs with the rest of the Federation's best and brightest. She doesn't feel out of place. She thrives. But she is probably more aware of the assumptions her classmates make about other species than the American and European students. The academy still has sensitivity seminars for that kind of thing.

She doesn't know for sure if she's just being overly conscious of her origins, and of peoples' attitudes, but she gets prickly with people over it when she's tired and overworked. She earns a bit of a reputation.

5. To Nyota, one of the most wonderful things about Spock is that he's quick to anger at any instance of prejudice, close-mindedness or xenophobia -- anger evidenced in a hard mouth and chilled voice. This trait is wonderful not just because Spock is defending his own mixed heritage, but because to him, any such bigotry is illogical. Being hateful simply does not make sense.

To Nyota, Spock is the perfect middle between logic and heart -- between math and music.

6. She is shocked for all of five minutes when she learns that Spock is confident as a lover. She should have known, though, that, having spent six years on Earth with Human men his age, and with friends like Christopher Pike, he would not fumble the confession of his feelings. Their relationship begins at the end of her tenure as his assistant, and while she knows there are illicit affairs between cadets and faculty, and theirs would necessarily be classified as such, she doesn't for a moment feel the pull of the power difference between them. He may have expressed his interest in her first, but she was the one to kiss him in the shadows outside her dorm.

7. The destruction of Vulcan changes everything for everyone, forever. Her relationship with Spock is one of the casualties. She can not be angry by his withdrawal from her because she knows it's for his own preservation. But she is, as she can sometimes be, a little prickly about it. He will leave Starfleet to be with the surviving Vulcans, to help them rebuild. Their friendship will not change. Trust, affinity, affection, loyalty -- these things do not diminish.

8. Nyota and Jim Kirk love many of the same things: the Enterprise, making the jump to warp speed, whiskey, pirogies as late-night snacks in the empty mess, and Starfleet uniform boots. But none of these make them friends -- though the pirogies come closest.

Nyota decides that she can actually be friends with James T. Kirk the moment she sees his eyes light up at her favorite Fela song. His chin and his hips bump to the beat in a way that is stupidly adorable, and she thinks that anyone who's that unafraid of looking goofy and white listening to afrobeat is already a bosom companion. She tells him this, cuts off any of his off-color remarks about bosoms, then invites him dancing with her for their next shore leave.

9. Of course, Spock didn't end up leaving Earth for Vulcan; he left Earth on the Enterprise as First Officer. However, their relationship doesn't pick up right where it left off. They spend considerable time in each others' company, and they sleep together on occasion because Spock is a touch telepath, and he needs to be close to the people he trusts. But she doesn't only have eyes for Spock as she once did at the Academy. She practices Japanese with Sulu and accepts when he asks her for a date. They have a little romance in his botanical garden, and she finds him charming. She can listen to Scotty rail and rave for hours, even though he's technically speaking Standard. When he takes her to dinner, though, he is a perfect gentleman.

Neither of these romances really approach what she had with Spock, but she sees him enough, feels his touch just enough to know that he's still nearby, even if he, too, is finding other friendships on the Enterprise.

10. She strikes up a life-long friendship with McCoy over the difficulty of being the best friend of a hero. Nyota doesn't perform as many death-defying rescues, or walk away from as many suicide missions. Sometimes she sits at her console and feels like the Enterprise receptionist. McCoy tells her he feels like an obnoxious mother figure. They both tire of the sound of their own nagging voices reminding Jim and Spock to be brave and not stupid. But they are both -- she is -- very happy.

got hitched and honeymooned!

2009-09-27T00:11:20Z

Left for ten days and came back a married woman!

What did I miss? My f-list is epically full of stuff that I will never get to. Any fics or arts I need to see? Star Trek? Gundam Wing? Hitman Reborn?

I have miiiiiissed my internet.

A bunch of GW drabbles on the way, as well as the last part of the ST fic. Whew! Also, I'm finally reading the last Harry Potter book. It is quite decent. I may be requesting fic recs after I've finished. I'm leaning toward deep, dark, nasty Snape fics with happy endings -- though I haven't the foggiest idea where to start because I have no interest in Malfoy whatsoever. I like the idea of Snape and Harry years down the road. If he gets that chance, which I'm feeling he won't. AU?! I also have a strange love for Harry and Luna. Ron and Hermione make me melt, which is no surprise.

Shipping meme: because, apparantly, I get them all from igrockspock now.

2009-09-10T18:16:18Z

Six ships you're into right now

1. Kirk & Spock (ST Reboot): brand new friends with UST

2. Kirk/Gaila (ST Reboot): non-monogamous love

3. Kakashi/Sasuke (Naruto): sensei/student love that heals wounded souls

4. Hibari/Tsuna (Katekyo Hitman Reborn): mafia subordinate/boss love that is silent and deep... and kinky

5. Mugen/Fuu/Jin (Samurai Champloo): the only OT3 I'll ever need, unless I can figure out how to write Kirk/Spock/Uhura.

6. Wufei/Duo: Gundam Wing still owns a part of my soul.

Three ships you liked, but don’t like/aren't a rabid fangirl for anymore
7. Kirk/McCoy (ST Reboot)

8. Renji/Rukia (Bleach)

9. Badou/Haine (DOGS)

Four ships you never liked

10. Kirk/Spock (ST Reboot and TOS)

11. Dino/Hibari (KHR)

12.Mugen/Jin (Samurai Champloo)

13. Anything incest.

Two ships you're curious about, but don’t actually ship

14. Spock/Uhura (ST Reboot)

15. Haine/Naoto (DOGS)

Why do you dislike #11 so much?

Dino/Hibari -- because I don't find Hibari's "I'm aggressive and mean and I'll never love you" characterization to be interesting with Dino's happy-go-lucky, clumsy-but-serious lovin'. The character archetypes are not interesting in this combination. I've read a few good Dino/Hibari fics, and they're all I need. The relationship is static to me.

Who is someone you know that ships #14?

Spock/Uhura -- Erm? Everyone cool? Here is a pairing that bridges a racial divide that's still firmly in place in the media. Here is a pairing that puts two people together because they're attracted to brain power and skill. Here is a pairing that started presumably over language classes. This is, probably, the coolest pairing in existence. And yet. I can't. Make. It interesting.

What would be your ideal scenario for couple #3?

Kakashi/Sasuke -- Well, Sasuke is hot-headed, rude, rash, angry, and fucked up about his family. Kakashi is smooth, sexy, older, wicked smart, and stupidly dysfunctional about a lot of important shit. They are the most fantastic together when Kakashi can school Sasuke on why he's being a total dick, and Sasuke can push all Kakashi's buttons and get him to realize that he's not the poster child for "With It" either.

So, I'm thinking -- Sasuke is about 20, making Kakashi 34. Sasuke is at his best when he's flipping out about something; and Kakashi, when he really doesn't want to care, but totally does. (note: read or look at anything by imlikat for an expert rendering of their dynamic.)

Which is your favorite moment for couple #1?

Kirk & Spock -- kicking ass on the Romulan ship. When they get onto Spock Prime's ship and sort of -- circle around each other -- their body language, their confidence. Leaves me incapable of forming a complete sentence.

How long have you been following couple #6?

I've loved GW since 2000! But Wufei/Duo stole my heart in '04/05.

What's the story with #8? What made you stop liking them/caring?

Renji/Rukia -- Renji has not had anything interesting to do!! All their history, all their chemistry, seems to have totally evaporated. And this makes me sad.

You have the power to make one ship non existent. Choose from #10 or #12.

Probably K/S from TOS. They gave the Reboot kids too much baggage, with lots of fangirls wailing about destiny and hating Uhura for getting in the way. Plus, I don't think it was a healthy relationship. Although it was groundbreaking. Sorta. Mugen and Jin..... I know it's blasphemous, but I just don't like them without Fuu! Mugen, I think, is bisexual only out of necessity, only when he has to be. He'd totally go for Jin, but only if Fuu went there first. Period.

Which ship do you prefer #2 or #4?

Total tossup. Kirk/Gaila strikes me as really cool b/c I think they can have a unique relationship, one based on mutual feelings, sure, (hello, they're both smart and hot as hell) but also one that's incredibly open. They'd never be tied down by each other, but they'd always be there. They would always understand each other. I'm loving writing about them in my reeltrek fic. :D

Hibari/Tsuna just gets me hot and bothered b/c I think both characters would show parts of themselves to each other that they would show very few others. They've both got power issues -- who has it, who should have it, who can dominate the other. Oh jeez. I love them.

What interests you about #15?

Haine/Naoto -- Lots of folks like them, and they are attractive together. They do appear to hate each other. But. I don't really get it.

Why did you stop liking #7?

Kirk/McCoy -- I got tired of their sexual dynamic. McCoy as the strong, older man with woman issues, Kirk as the young upstart who latches on to McCoy and also has woman issues. Guess I read too many fics that had their relationship play out exactly the same.

Did your waning interest in #9 kill your interest in the show?

Badou/Haine -- Haha, kinda, yeah. I haven't read DOGS in ages. Probably when I get caught up with the last year of chapters, I'll get back into it.

What’s a song that reminds you of #5?

Mu/Fu/Jin -- Oh Oh! "From Stardust to Sentience" by High Places. I posted it with a little ficlet a few months ago.

/From small speck of stardust to glistening sentience

Revolving and spinning in space

Waking and sleeping and yielding to gravity

The Stars that show on your face/

Makes me feel like their love is inevitable, epic, and old as the stars. Lol. God, I'm a such a sap. And now I need to rewatch the series and fall in love with them all over again.

If you could have any of these two pairings double-date, who would it be?

Too many fandoms... my brain would explode. Though I think Kirk and Gaila, spending a night on the town with Spock and Uhura would be loads of fun for all parties involved, especially, maybe, after-hours.

Have #2 kissed yet?

Kirk and Gaila -- oh, yesssss.

Did #4 have a happy ending? If the show hasn't ended yet, do you think a happy ending is likely?

Hibari/Tsuna -- Well -- *puts on nerd spectacles* -- depends on which timeline we're talking. I haven't read the most recent chapters, and I understand there's been some major revelation, but in my personal canon, no, Hibari and Tsuna did not have a happy ending. In the original timeline, Tsuna sacrificed himself for the Family, and Hibari had to let him. And it was tragic, but Hibari never told anyone. After the Ten Years Later arc, though, the kids fix things, and Tsuna and Hibari get to spend as many years as they want tying each other up, fucking each others' brains out (personal, head canon), and loving each other like there's no tomorrow (because, at one point, there wasn't).

Guh, you'll have to excuse me.

What would make you start shipping #14?

Spock/Uhura -- Figuring out Uhura's flaws. Reading a fic where she's a conflicted, flawed character, where there's a real risk that she and Spock won't make it. I need to feel like there's something at stake!!

If only one could happen, which would you prefer, #2 or #6?

Kirk and Gaila will always happen, because they are who they are. Wufei and Duo, however,that one could need a nudge from the universe. And it's important -- Wu and Duo are perfect for each other. Crazy emotions, a shared past, ass-kicking, compatibility that isn't immediately apparent. They are a beautiful package.

You have the power to decide the fate of #10. What happens to them?

Honestly, I haven't figured this out yet. I think their friendship will be steamy enough. I don't know yet if it needs sex.

Oh, who am I kidding. There will be sex. But I dunno when or under what circumstances.

Which do you dislike the most?

Anything incest. There is strangely a lot of this in manga and other media (only in fandom, thankfully). I'm sorry -- it's never okay. Except in Clueless with Cher and her adorable step brother, Josh. That was okay because they didn't grow up together and weren't actually related.

Which of these ships do you love the most?

Right now? Kirk and Spock's chemistry is eating my brain. Hibari/Tsuna is a close second. But fandom is a fickle friend. Who knows?

KHR Minibang: The Sound of My Heart; It Startled Me 5/5

2009-09-09T12:14:17Z

KHR Minibang: The Sound of My Heart; It Startled Me 4/5

2009-09-09T12:10:59Z

KHR Minibang: The Sound of My Heart; It Startled Me 3/5

2009-09-09T12:07:44Z

KHR Minibang: The Sound of My Heart; It Startled Me 1+2/5

2009-09-09T11:55:27Z

Title: The Sound of My Heart; It Startled Me
Author: June
Fandom: Hitman Reborn
Rating: R for violence and sex
Pairings: Tsuna/Gokudera, eventually; Tsuna/Yamamoto; Tsuna&Hibari; Tsuna&Mukuro
Word Count: 20.456 !!
Disclaimer: Nunnavut. Also, lyrics come from Elvis Perkins.

Summary: The breaking and reassembling of the human heart in five movements -- with four guardians, three yakuza gangs, two years, and a wedding.

A/N: My minibang fic!!! Been sitting on this since May, and now I can finally show it off!

1.
You can't always trust
the darkness and the dust
But me, I'm just a man
It's more than I can understand

He ducked down a side street and propped his Right Hand man against a storefront, then thoroughly invaded his space and reached inside his jacket to pull out his gun. Gokudera breathlessly groaned, his knees wobbling, threatening to dump him onto the pavement.

"'M'sorry, Juudaime. Sorry. I should've --"

"Ssh ssh, Gokudera-kun," Tsuna murmured, distractedly shoving his leg between Gokudera's and pressing him firmly against the wall with his hip as he reloaded the gun. He released the empty clip and winced when it clattered to the ground, fished around Gokudera's shoulder holster until he found a full one and then slammed it home. When the gun was loaded, he shoved it in the back of his suit pants and looked up to meet his Second's wandering, glazed eyes. "You saved my life, Gokudera-kun." He reached inside the jacket again to feel along the bottom of Gokudera's ribs until he came to the lump of makeshift bandage constructed from one of his shirtsleeves. "I should be apologizing to you, I think. And I will, once we get home."

Gokudera rolled his eyes back to Tsuna. "Are we almost there?"

He nodded. "Just a few more blocks and we'll be to the west entrance."

"Ju- Juudaime shouldn't apologize for anything," he said a bit belatedly.

Tsuna heard the screech of car tires and turned wide eyes to the street, flattening himself against the wall, pressing Gokudera close. He cradled the back of Gokudera's head to keep him from hurting himself against the cinder blocks and held his breath as the cars abruptly slowed to a crawl, flooding the streets with their high beams. Frantically casting about for some cover, Tsuna pulled his Right Hand a bit further down the street to a pile of full garbage bags and broken down cardboard set out on the curb.

It smelled like old seafood and Gokudera started to gag, a reflex after so many years of stomach trouble. Tsuna held a hand over Gokudera's nose and covered them both with a few sheets of cardboard, then curled into as tiny a space as possible when he saw bright lights shining through their shelter. The tiny puffs of air against his hand were the only indication that Gokudera was still conscious.

Their driver dead -- shot through the car window as they were pulling away from the dinner -- Tsuna slightly concussed from smacking his head into the glass when they crashed, his Dying Will pills lost, fallen into the river when their car went off the road over the bank, Gokudera shot in the ribs the second he pulled Tsuna out of the water, no way to get in touch with the other guardians because their phones were at the bottom of the river. This had turned into a hellish night. The meeting hadn't been far from headquarters, thankfully, but making their way home on foot was like a nightmare that refused to end no matter how many times he willed himself to wake up.

This would really upset Kyoko -- them coming home like this. She hated to see them hurt, hated knowing the kinds of things they did. Sometimes, when she saw him give orders for a hit, when she saw his guardians preparing to carry it out, he thought that she might hate him. And he didn't blame her.

"Come on, Gokudera-kun, let's get you home," he said softly, pulling his Second's arm over his shoulder and hoisting him to his feet. They were pretty much the same height these days -- a little shorter, a little thinner than average, but with enough confidence and/or attitude to make up for it -- so Tsuna had no trouble taking Gokudera's weight as they shuffled and limped toward the base.

"What'll you do about the Momokyokai, Juudaime?" Gokudera grunted as they walked.

Figuring it was better for him to stay awake and alert, Tsuna answered, though he kept his voice low as though they were sharing an intimate secret. "Mm, the Momokyokai have never liked that I set up permanent headquarters in Namimori. They would have preferred it to be a long-distance relationship. But we don't know for sure it was yakuza who attacked. It may have been any number of enemies."

His Right Hand momentarily perked up, his fierce temper showing even through exhaustion and injury. "Enemies who knew that you and I would be at a private dinner meeting with Momokyokai Yuuhei? Juudaime, Yamamoto and Sasagawa can take care of them in --"

"I won't shoot first and ask questions later, Gokudera-kun," he murmured. "Not until we can get a clear look at who's after us. When we're close to the base, we might be able to find something on the perimeter cameras."

"The Vongola should not have to fear anyone, Juudaime, especially not in Namimori, your home."

He nodded. "Which is why we should be absolutely certain before retaliating. The Momokyokai know that they can not reclaim their full territory. Someone else may have been taking advantage of the situation in hopes that it would look like yakuza."

"Ah, Juudaime is so level-headed even in these circumstances," Gokudera mumbled, his weight sinking back against Tsuna.

"In these circumstances, all I can really think about is getting us home." He gave a short, nervous laugh. "I'm actually terrified, Gokudera-kun. Thinking about who might be trying to kill us is calming after six years of dealing with it." Gokudera 'hmm'd in a way that told Tsuna he was barely conscious. Exhaling another small laugh, he hefted him more securely on his shoulder. "I feel terrible, ruining so many suits, don't you? I keep telling Reborn that we should just buy cheaper ones, but he never agrees. Then he kicks me for suggesting something so unbefitting of the Vongola. I think I'm old enough that he doesn't need to do that anymore. Maybe I should tell him that physically abusing the Vongola Decimo is unbefitting." Tsuna shuddered. "Though I don't think I will. I --" His ears pricked, and he looked up, straining his senses. "Dammit, I think they're circling back. Gokudera?" He shook his Right Hand and quickened their pace. "Gokudera-kun, we have to make a run for it. Stay awake, now."

Groaning low in his throat, Gokudera fisted his hand in Tsuna's jacket and held on as they ran. When Tsuna chanced a look down at Gokudera's side, he winced. The clumsy field dressing was coming loose, heavy with blood.

As they entered the straightaway to the base, a car pulled in front of them, screeching to a stop and cutting off their escape. Tsuna dragged Gokudera behind him and reached for the gun at his back, turning sideways as he aimed, presenting a smaller target. He caught the glint of gunmetal in the orange glow of the streetlights and fired two rounds, taking the gunman in the eye and the driver through the ear.

"Ju- Juudaime, please let me --"

"Quiet. Keep moving," he commanded, setting off again.

Gokudera cursed and Tsuna felt him redouble his efforts to keep up. They rounded the bumper of the car with the two bodies and caught sight of the innocuous concrete wall, part of a squat, abandoned office building which marked the entrance to the base. Protected by powerful illusions, one step through that wall and they were home, under the eaves of the entrance to the Vongola's Namimori headquarters. Gokudera's eyes were locked on the wall while Tsuna cast about for anyone who might see them pass through it, anyone who might try to follow.

At the approaching glow of headlights, he stopped again and took aim, following the dim outline of the gunman as he leaned out the window to shoot. Tusna's finger tightened on the trigger and --

His elbow exploded with pain and the gun fell from numb fingers. "Ah! Gokudera!" He released his Right Hand to bend down for the gun, gritting his teeth against the feeling of a shattered joint grinding against itself. But before he could pick up the gun left-handed, Gokudera scooped it up and fired two quick rounds, one at the gunman who had taken them by surprise, coming from their right, and one at the man still leaning out of the oncoming car. His shots hit their mark, even as the car continued to barrel toward them.

Tsuna's vision swam and his stomach lurched every time his broken arm was jostled, and when Gokudera hauled him back out of the way of the car, he blacked out for a moment, coming to when his ass hit the pavement. The car sped past them and then braked, but they'd already seized their opportunity, scrambling backward on the pavement until they managed to just make it inside the protective illusions of the base. Tsuna clutched his arm to his chest and bent forward over it, pressing his forehead to Gokudera's thigh where his Second knelt by him, gun trained on the man standing just in front of them. He'd been the driver and had left the car running several paces away. Now scanning the deserted street for where they'd disappeared to, they got a good look at him -- definitely not Japanese. Gokudera was shaking with pain and blood loss, but the gun was steady, following the man as he paced back and forth in front of the building.

Tsuna kept his breathing shallow and quiet, though he wanted to scream with every tiny press of his lungs against his arm. Gokudera's hand on his back clenched and released with tension. Finally, when he heard quick steps coming from within the base, he allowed himself to relax, feeling Gokudera do the same.

Tsuna looked up to see Yamamoto smoothly drawing Shigure Kintoki as he strode through the entrance way. "Take him alive," he managed to grit out between his teeth. He saw Yamamoto reverse the edge of his blade just in time.

More pairs of running feet sounded behind them, and soon, he felt cool hands on his face and neck, heard gentle urgent voices and the sound of gurney wheels on tile. "Take Gokudera first," he mumbled, dazedly. "He's lost a lot of blood."

When he was finally helped to his feet and onto a waiting bed, he saw Bianchi hovering over her brother as the gurney was wheeled back into the compound, and realized that the woman helping him was not Kyoko, but the Vongola nurse, a woman they employed who lived and worked at the base for occasions just like this one. He cast about for his partner of four years, the woman he intended to marry, and found her nowhere.

2.
It's only mine
It's only mine
I grew it in the shade
when the sun couldn't shine
And at times I don't know why
the tears come to my eyes
And what if I go blind
as they flow out of my mind
It worries me
It worries me
that there's someone on my mind
who I don't see

"I really don't think it's a good idea that Juudaime come along for this. You and I can handle the job on our own. Right, baseball freak?"

Yamamoto laughed and shrugged, shifting the weight of his sword case more comfortably on his shoulder as all three of them emerged from the car. "Sure we can, Gokudera, but maybe Tsuna just needs to get out for a bit, you know?"

Gokudera scoffed. "Che, don't assume you and I have any sort of understanding. You have no idea how dangerous it is to have Juudaime out in the open like this."

Yamamoto chuckled again and Tsuna smiled half-heartedly at the comforting banter. "I am right here, you know, Gokudera-kun," he said quietly. "You don't need to discuss security concerns as though I'm unaware of them."

"Of -- of course, Juudaime! I didn't mean to sound insensitive. It's just... this really isn't --"

"I know it isn't," he said shortly, working his fingers into the worn wool of his mittens. "Please allow me the distraction."

"Ye-yes, Juudaime, as you wish. Just, please stay close to us, in between us if possible. Don't get ahead and for the love of God don't go off on your own. Your arm hasn't fully healed yet."

Tsuna's smile turned a little sharper. "I'll be fine Gokudera-kun," he murmured, flexing the still-stiff joint that had needed to be painstakingly replaced three months ago. He looked up at Yamamoto to make the point to him as well and found his Rain Guardian's eyes darting from one darkened window to the next, narrowed in single-minded concentration on the task of finding any threat before it materialized. And for the first time since they'd left the Vongola base, Tsuna felt a stab of guilt for the stress he was putting on his best friends. As Vongola Tenth, it wasn't his job to confront the gang who had been partially responsible for the attack which had killed his driver and sent their car off the road into the river. No, this was something he should have delegated to his Seconds and a few other trusted subordinates. They were certainly capable of following up on this on their own. He was putting himself at great risk walking right up to the enemy's doorstep like this.

But... he needed to do something, needed to keep himself occupied for at least a few hours. It was approaching midnight, the time when he usually fell into bed, exhausted after another day of training with Reborn, and curled up around Kyoko, tucking his knees behind hers and burying his nose in her hair. But she wouldn't be there, hadn't been there now for almost two months. The night he and Gokudera had come home bloodied and with two bodies apiece weighing heavily on their minds, she had told him that she didn't think she could live with that kind of relentless violence. Even if Tsuna hated it -- and he was still mostly convinced that he did -- the fact remained that he was in the business of intimidation and underhanded networking. And he killed people.

It had taken her nearly a month to leave, but she'd done it. Three weeks of fighting and begging and words they immediately regretted, and Ryohei had finally driven her to their parents' house where she had stayed for a few weeks before finding her own place with Haru.

"Do you see anything yet, Yamamoto?" he murmured.

The Rain Guardian shook his head and Tsuna shifted his shoulders in readiness for a fight.

He had taken off his suit jacket before getting out of the car. He didn't want to ruin it like he had so many others. Besides, it restricted his range of motion. Gokudera, a few minutes before they'd left the base, had managed to convince him to put on one of the lightweight vests Giannini had designed specifically for the Guardians when they'd all been younger and slighter. Tsuna had never really outgrown them, so he wore the one which had once been Yamamoto's under his white dress shirt. It would stop a bullet fired point blank, though not without serious consequences.

Tsuna wasn't planning on getting shot, though. He wasn't planning on staying still long enough. "This will send a good message," he mused aloud. "The Vongola don't tolerate these kinds of underhanded negotiations. If the yakuza have a problem with the Vongola in Namimori, they should come directly to me, not to rival Families back in Italy." His Guardians nodded, though they were both still scanning the quiet neighborhood street for signs of an ambush. "Reborn thought it was a good idea," he added, mostly to himself.

"Reborn's fucking crazy," Gokudera said shortly.

"Haha, with all due respect to the kid, Gokudera's right," Yamamoto said with a smirk.

"That's the entrance, isn't it?"

Gokudera followed the line of Tsuna's arm to the innocuous little house set on the edge of a community park. "That's the place," he said. "Most of the house is illusion. The underground parts spread out through the park."

"I can see it," Tsuna said, around one of his pills. He swallowed and closed his hands into fists, feeling warm old wool shrink and stretch into creased leather. His gaze sharpened and narrowed until the little house filled his vision. "I see the entrance. Gokudera-kun, would you do the honors?"

"Of course, Juudaime."

As his Second readied the explosives to blast their way in, Tsuna focused that internal voice. As if I were to die... Protect my... as if I were to... With my dying will, I... Protect my Family as if I were... Find the yakuza gang that is trying to root us out of Japan as if I... Seek vengeance for wrongs done to Gokudera-kun and myself as if... Protect myself... Help me through this... Help me to stop missing her... Fight as if I were to die.

*
The house was mostly illusion, just a disguised entrance to a bunker -- it was how most gangs and families conducted business these days. The technology spread as it got cheaper so that now pretty much anyone with something to hide had the means to do it. Illusionists were becoming more common as well, as were the techniques for detecting them.

They didn't have their box weapons anymore, opting to leave them in the future and put a stop to the research in the past. Tsuna's Guardians had no more advanced weapons than what their original talents gave them -- though when they'd returned from the future, Reborn had shown them all how to shoot a gun. Still, Gokudera loved his explosives, Yamamoto carried his sword, Ryohei relied on his fists, Chrome her illusions, and Hibari his tonfa.

They carried guns inside their jackets, snug under their arms, but it was Yamamoto's katana that glinted in the dim light of the sleeping bunker. He struck with the dull side of his blade and grinned as he did it, half his attention on the other members of his team. Gokudera took point, clearing a path for them, removing architectural and human resistance on their way to the boss's chambers. Tsuna moved freely between them as he promised he would, and strangely, it really felt like a fight could make him feel better, rather than shaky and anxious. He strode forward with confidence and purpose.

The fighting didn't last nearly long enough, though, and deep down, in the part of him that watched while his Will guided him, Tsuna was greatly disturbed by this feeling of being unfulfilled. In the years since middle school, he'd gotten pretty good at hand-to-hand fighting, partially with help from Ryohei, mostly through endless drilling with Reborn. He was at a point where getting right in an opponent's face, forcing his way under and around their guard, didn't really frighten him anymore. It was exhilarating and scary, and tonight, it was therapeutic. Kyoko had left him for this very reason.

But now, down in the very depth's of the Yamada's base, Gokudera holding three men at gunpoint, Yamamoto standing over the kneeling boss with his sword at the man's throat, Tsuna didn't feel like he'd accomplished anything. He stood before the yakuza boss with clenched fists and a cold stare and felt nothing.

"Yamada-san," he began, the words falling easily and smoothly from his lips, "we know that you're somewhere behind the team of mafiosi who ambushed my Second and myself this past spring. We know that you're part of something larger, a network of yakuza gangs joining together to throw the Vongola out of Japan. We're in the process of learning who the rest of these gangs are. We learned this from the Muramatsu, who you persuaded to hire the Alfonsi hit team which tried to take me down. The Alfonsi and the Muramatsu readily cooperated with us after a bit of coaxing. Unfortunately, they --"

Tsuna was momentarily distracted by the language he had used, struck by the image of what Kyoko would think if she saw this. 'A bit of coaxing?' There had been threats, fists and blood, and he'd just sounded like Reborn. He hesitated, speech stuttering to a stop. He could almost picture her face, wide-eyed in shock. Disappointed in him, angry with him, afraid of him. He knew her and he knew how she would see him. The flames in his fists guttered and nearly went out.

"Boss?" Yamamoto said stiffly, and Tsuna's attention jerked back up. If Yamamoto was addressing him formally, then --

"Unfortunately, they didn't know more than a few names," he continued swiftly, taking a step toward Yamada and sinking down deeper into the cool flame of his Will. "It seems that this is a bit bigger than they thought -- a network of yakuza gangs working secretly with each other. No one knows more than what their contact told them, so one gang can't blow the whole thing if they get caught. The Muramatsu called in the Alfonsi to frame the Momokyokai, who wanted nothing to do with anything, because they know my Family isn't going anywhere. And the Muramatsu pointed to you when we asked. So, here we are. Would you like to accompany us back for a more detailed conversation, or can we straighten things out right here, on your turf?"

The boss laughed and then spat at Tsuna's feet. He looked up, throat straining against Yamamoto's blade. "Fucking half-blood scum, you have no idea what you're up against. You're ruining the yakuza image. You're dismantling a long and honorable tradition by your very presence. Half-breeds," he hissed again, turning his glare on Tsuna's Right Hand. Gokudera sucked in a quick breath, lifting his chin against the hurt in his eyes. As he did, Tsuna felt the Sky ring on its chain around his neck flare hotly against his breast bone, followed by a sharp ache that spread outward along his ribs. It was as though Yamada's insult were causing him physical pain. But Tsuna didn't care what the yakuza thought of him; he didn't care what anyone in the mafia thought of him, either. He figured they didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to judging others.

But Gokudera... His Right Hand obviously cared very much. His face was ragged with anger and humiliation. And it was as though the shame Yamada's insult had invoked were a physical sensation in Tsuna's chest. He choked and pressed a hand to his sternum, coughing lightly to try and work something loose.

Gokudera's eyes snapped to Tsuna's and it was as though they'd jerked each other out of some daze. The pain in his chest vanished, and he closed his fists in anger at what Yamada's words had done. "Clearly, you're not interested in talking," he said. "Pity."

"I would never talk to someone like you, anyway," Yamada snarled. "You have no real authority here. You --"

Tsuna drew back his fist even as Yamamoto drew his katana up in a clean diagonal line. The yakuza boss's words abruptly cut off in a wet whistling gurgle, as his vocal cords were severed and his windpipe filled with blood. Tsuna turned quickly, ready to finish off the men Gokudera was guarding, but three quick shots took care of that task as well. The silence that followed was nearly deafening. Yamamoto knelt to clean his sword on the dead boss's jacket. Gokudera tucked his gun back into its holster, his teeth clenched tightly around his cigarette. He wouldn't meet Tsuna's eyes. Tsuna, still tense and spoiling for the fight that he hadn't been able to finish, turned on his heel, and left the room. His chest flared with pain again, but he ignored it, and as he got further from the center of the base, it faded. The sounds of quiet cursing and his Seconds struggling to keep pace with him followed him out.

*
The car ride back was silent. They'd had to call in back-up to bring in a few of the Yamada for questioning, and now Tsuna worried that they'd killed anyone who would have known what other yakuza gangs were involved. Even though he hadn't ordered Yamamoto to kill Boss Yamada, his friend had correctly read the situation. Tsuna had been about to kill him. He had focused the flames in his fist into something lethal.

He was glad that Kyoko wouldn't be waiting for him to come home. He had proven that she'd left for good reason tonight. He curled in on himself, alone in the back seat, and wrapped his hand tightly around the Sky ring. Shakily, he shoved back the questions that threatened to swarm around him until he choked. He refused to ask himself whether those men had needed to die. He didn't want to consider whether Yamamoto and Gokudera had done it because they knew there was no choice, or because they had just wanted to keep him from having to.

In the front seat, Yamamoto drove, one hand on the wheel, the other fisted in his hair, elbow leaning against the window. Beside him, Gokudera sat, staring blankly out into the night.

Tsuna was glad that only his two best friends could see him like this. It was shameful -- torn between remorse for what he'd done and the knowledge that he would do it again. Tsuna couldn't even decide what sort of boss he was -- a forgiving and merciful one, or the kind who killed when frustrated and grieving.

When they'd finally parked the car and shuffled back into the base, Gokudera disappeared after only a murmured "Good night, Juudaime." Hand still clasped around his ring, Tsuna flinched when it jolted to life again, a pain similar to what he imagined arthritis to feel like spreading through his fingers. When Gokudera rounded the corner, it faded and Tsuna was left feeling alone, even though Yamamoto still stood beside him. It was almost as if the Sky ring allowed him some sort of empathic connection with Gokudera, feeling what he felt most intensely when they were close enough. From what Tsuna could tell, Gokudera felt a painful ache.

Whatever it was, Tsuna knew that it wasn't his own. As Yamamoto prepared to take his leave, Tsuna felt the restlessness that hadn't left him since the fight clench in his gut and make his palms clammy. This feeling was intimate and real, one he'd been struggling with all night. "Ya-Yamamoto?"

Yamamoto turned, shifting his sword case on his shoulder. "What's up, Tsuna?" he answered, voice a little ragged.

Tsuna's belly twisted with guilt at what he was about to ask. "Would you mind sitting up with me for a little while?"

But he needn't have worried. His good friend's smile was as easy as ever, if a bit tired. "Sure. I'll just get cleaned up first and be over in a few minutes. Okay?"

Tsuna smiled. "That's fine. I'll leave the door open."

*
When Yamamoto finally tapped on the door with his knuckles, Tsuna had one of his pills out and between his teeth before, at the last minute, he thought better of it. Facing one of his best friends in that way was inexcusable. If Tsuna didn't have the courage to ask for what he needed as Tsuna, then he shouldn't be asking at all. Yamamoto looked at him a little strangely as he quickly pocketed the pill, but then smiled when Tsuna beckoned him further into the room.

Yamamoto quietly shut the door behind him and then turned to face his oldest friend. "Hey, you want a drink?" he asked. "I brought some of Dad's sake back with me the last time I visited. Maybe we should grab Gokudera, too. I think we could all use a little something to unwind."

"A-ah," Tsuna agreed. "Though I think Gokudera wants to be alone right now. He left so quickly."

Yamamoto strode into the room and pulled a bottle from the back pocket of his jeans, leaving it on Tsuna's desk. "You're probably right. I think that Yamada guy really upset him."

"Mm. He was out of line." Tsuna's voice turned hard. "Thank you for what you did, though you didn't need to do it."

Yamamoto came back from the corner cupboard with two small cups. "Better me than you," he answered easily, tipping sake into both.

Tsuna took the cup he offered and swirled the pale liquid. "Do you really mean that?"

They emptied their drinks quickly and Yamamoto pored them both another round before he answered. "Sure, I mean it. It's my job to take care of things like that. Mine and Gokudera's." He looked up at Tsuna. "Neither of us want you to have to do those things."

Tsuna frowned. "What if -- what if I wanted to?" He took a small sip and waited.

Yamamoto regarded him with serene, dark eyes. "Did you want to?"

"Did you?" Tsuna returned.

"Yes," Yamamoto said evenly. "Did you want to?" he repeated.

"Yes." It was barely louder than a whisper. "He was a threat and he insulted us. He would have killed us over something as silly as Gokudera's Italian blood. But more than that... more than that, I -- I wanted to for..." He looked up at Yamamoto. "...for reasons that I'm too ashamed to say aloud."

Yamamoto's mouth twisted into a rare, sad smile. "Maybe that's really why we did it, then."

"Yamamoto..." Tsuna downed the sake and held out his cup for a refill. His voice shook a little. "I'm afraid that without Kyoko-chan here with me, I'm not a very good person." His throat closed around his words and the last three months of ravaged emotions welled up, threatening to spill out. "I think that this job tears you down a little every day; it takes away your ability to tell right from wrong. It's made me almost --" His voice wavered again and he swallowed hard. " -- almost accept that I can hurt people, made me think it's okay. Tonight, I think I even wanted to. If Kyoko-chan were here, she would -- she would hate what we're doing so much. I --I don't want to be the kind of person that she would fear, that she would hate. I couldn't live with myself if --"

"Tsuna," Yamamoto interrupted, his voice low and firm. "You shouldn't beat yourself up over this. Tonight was rough, but you handled yourself well. The Yamada wanted to hurt us and we stopped them. Kyoko couldn't hate you for that."

Tsuna nodded, scrubbing his sleeve under his nose and then wincing at such a childish display of emotion. If Reborn were here, this conversation wouldn't even be happening. He sniffed loudly. "I shouldn't even be thinking about her," he muttered. "She's moved on with her life. She's starting school again in a few weeks. I should do the same, focus on this problem with the yakuza."

Yamamoto chuckled and rubbed the back of his head. "I don't know, Tsuna. You were with her for four years. That's a really long time." He took a sip from his cup. "When my parents split up, my dad said that it took a third of the length of the relationship to get over it."

"How long were your parents together?"

Yamamoto 'hm'ed softly to himself. "I was five when their fights got really bad, so I guess a little over ten years. And when I think about it, Dad was pretty messed up for a good three or four years after that."

Tsuna took a slow breath and felt himself relax. He leaned back against his desk, slouching a little toward Yamamoto's shoulder. It was good to talk about someone else, even if it was just to compare the misery of the end of a relationship. "I remember," he said. "When we were seven or eight, you were really quiet for awhile. You went straight home from school like me."

Yamamoto nodded. "It was tough for both of us, but thinking back on it, I had a much easier time than he did. He lost his wife, his partner. I don't envy anyone who has to go through that. We all thought you and Kyoko were for good. Haru was already planning your wedding. Haha, though I guess that's not something you really want to think about right now."

Tsuna shook his head with a rueful grin. "I would love to not think about Kyoko-chan for a night."

He stiffened as soon as he said it, and Yamamoto gave him a quick sidelong glance. "Is that why you asked me to hang out?"

"Ye-yes," he answered, steadying himself. "I didn't think I'd be able to sleep right away. And I thought that maybe you would understand. I -- I've been friends with you for ages and I still don't know whether you've ever been with somebody like I was with Kyoko." He phrased it as a question, lifting his eyes to Yamamoto's and hoping his face wasn't turning too red.

Yamamoto's hand automatically went to the back of his neck again. "Haha, no, not really. In high school, I went out with a couple girls because that's what we were supposed to do, but I never found anyone like Kyoko. I was closer to you guys than I was to any girl I dated. I probably should have felt bad about that, I guess."

Yamamoto seemed to be leaning closer against the desk, carelessly slouched to the side so that his shoulder almost touched Tsuna's. Tsuna didn't think he was imagining it, so after another large swallow of sake, he slid just a little further sideways so that they leaned comfortably together. It was an immediate relief to feel another person so close to him and an instant reminder of what it had been like to share a seat with Kyoko, to feel her slight weight in his lap or pressed along side him. This was very different. Yamamoto was still taller and broader -- even though Tsuna had grown a lot in the last six years -- very much a young man.

"Well, if you want to stop thinking about Kyoko, we should probably stop talking about dating girls, huh?" Yamamoto said with a small laugh.

Unless he was very much mistaken, Tsuna thought that his friend sounded a little nervous. And this only made him feel worse about bringing him into this kind of situation. "Yamamoto," he started, "maybe I shouldn't have asked you to --"

"Have you ever done anything with guys before?"

They'd started talking at roughly the same time, but Tsuna quickly cut himself off as he realized what Yamamoto had just asked him. That unbelievable question hung in the air for a few seconds as Tsuna's voice stayed lodged in his throat. Leaning against each other, but staring down into their cups, they didn't say anything until finally Tsuna laughed. "No, I never have," he said, a little breathless. He didn't need to dig further for what that "anything" might mean. "I've never been with anyone except Kyoko-chan. Ha-have you?"

"No, I haven't either. Though I have to admit I've thought about it. Haha, I mean we're all almost twenty-one, and we've done all this crazy stuff together, but we've never --"

"I hadn't really thought about it that way," Tsuna said hastily, fidgeting with his cup. He hadn't even needed to ask. Yamamoto must have known, or he must have -- "Would you..." His face flamed hot, hotter even than he could remember in school when he didn't know the answer to a really easy question, and Gokudera was hastily whispering it to him, but he couldn't hear and he was distracted and even more embarrassed because of it. "Would you want to? I -- I don't want you to feel like you -- I mean, it's probably a terrible idea, and --"

"Haha, why would it be a bad idea?"

Tsuna looked up from his drink when Yamamoto straightened against the desk. He looked eager, happy even. "Because I really miss Kyoko-chan, and that -- well, that wouldn't be fair to you, would it?" As he said it, Tsuna wondered which was easier -- this conversation or dealing with the Varia. It was a toss-up. He'd definitely felt more confident dragging a barely-conscious Gokudera through the streets while fending off a team of hit men. This did not bode well for his love life.

Yamamoto smiled and shrugged. "You're one of my best friends, Tsuna. I think that this is something friends can do for each other." He scratched the skin just under his ear. "And... maybe, you'd be helping me out, too."

Tsuna blinked up at him, eyelids feeling a little heavy. The sake was probably starting to catch up to him. "Really? Is there someone you --"

"Mm, let's not talk about that, okay?" he laughed.

Then, because they were already close, arms brushing, and because they were a little buzzed and had known each other since they were six, Tsuna leaned comfortably back as Yamamoto shifted to stand between his legs and kissed him. Because of the height difference, Tsuna had to tip his head back a ways and Yamamoto had to hunch forward a little, but their lips met on the first try.

It was a chaste kiss at first, dry lips against dry lips, brushing and pushing with just a bit of pressure. This was how Tsuna had first kissed Kyoko, when they were sixteen and he was terrified and she wasn't in the least bit surprised.

But they were twenty now, and Tsuna wasn't particularly interested in dry lips, so he put his hand on the back of Yamamoto's neck and pulled down, opening his mouth a little in invitation. Yamamoto huffed a quick laugh that sent a warm gust of air between Tsuna's lips, and then he felt Yamamoto's tongue slip into his mouth. It had taken him quite a few weeks to work up the nerve to do this with Kyoko.

He grunted in frustration, opening his eyes to remind himself who exactly he was doing this with. This close, Yamamoto's half-lidded eyes were huge and dark. So was his nose. Tsuna closed his eyes again and tipped his head to the side, angling forward with his chin so that he could lick the roof of Yamamoto's mouth. He felt a hand go around his waist and he pressed up against Yamamoto. This was certainly different. Kyoko was shorter and slimmer than Tsuna, so when they had embraced, he had always been the one to fold around her. It felt strange to be the smaller of the two, held loosely against a broader chest, touched by bigger, rougher hands. The hair at the base of Yamamoto's skull was shorter than Kyoko's and the tendons of his neck were thicker. And something familiar-but-not was pressing against his hip.

Before he could stop himself he laughed into Yamamoto's mouth, and pulled back enough so that there was a bit of space between their bodies, even though they didn't quite break the kiss. Yamamoto echoed his laugh and mumbled, "What is it?" He licked at Tsuna's lips and hummed a little.

Tsuna shook his head. "It's nothing, just... This is different." He pulled Yamamoto back to him again and carefully nibbled his lower lip. At this late hour their chins were covered in coarse stubble. His jaw was starting to tingle where Yamamoto's rubbed against him.

"Is it good?"

If Tsuna weren't already flushed, he would have gone red at Yamamoto's open curiosity. "Yes," he answered. "I like it."

They kissed until their lips were bitten and swollen and dark, until they had red marks on their faces where stubble had rubbed skin repeatedly. Tsuna had always found kissing to be intoxicating -- something that he knew he was good at, yet still found strange and exciting. This was probably because he'd never considered himself to be the type to kiss anyone. Dame-Tsuna wasn't an identity he could just relinquish as soon as he had a girlfriend and a modicum of respect from his peers. That fear would always be there, the worry that he would never be good enough at anything. And now that Kyoko had left him...

There was a reason that he had wanted Yamamoto to stay up with him tonight, no matter how close they were with Gokudera. Yamamoto would know how to... Well, he would just know.

They kissed until finally, Yamamoto groaned into Tsuna's mouth and grabbed his rear, lifting him up and sitting him on the edge of the desk. He pushed his pelvis forward and slid up and down against Tsuna's hard-on. Tsuna exhaled a needy "Hah!" and pushed back. The fact that their distinctly male anatomy was pressed close and rubbing together wasn't making him so uncomfortable now. It was strange and didn't seem to fit nearly so well as Kyoko had against him, but it was really good in its own way.

"Does this feel good?" Yamamoto asked, apparently reading his mind. "I want it to feel good."

Tsuna laughed. "It's wonderful." He slid as far forward as he could and braced his feet on the side of the desk for leverage, gripping Yamamoto's hips with his thighs. Yamamoto grinned, and Tsuna caught a glimpse of that razor-sharp, competitive side of him, a side he had always found intimidating. But Tsuna knew how to keep pace now, and he did so with enough enthusiasm to make Yamamoto duck his head and groan.

Even by Tsuna's own standards, they kept it pretty tame, leaving their clothes on and allowing friction to do most of the work. He and Kyoko were seventeen when they'd first had sex. They had talked about waiting until they were older, but then they had both agreed that was a really stupid idea, given the nature of what Tsuna did. So, over the span of about three years, Tsuna had grown more comfortable with his body, with the idea of another person seeing all if it -- his ribs, his bony hips, the wiry muscle in his arms and back, the scars he had accumulated. And he had grown comfortable with Kyoko as well. Somehow, though, with his hands roving all over Yamamoto's shoulders, sides and back, along the line of his belt and up under his arms, Tsuna felt as though they were already as intimate as they needed to be. The worn cotton of the t-shirt Yamamoto had changed into before he'd come was as much a part of him as his skin. Wrinkling Tsuna's dress shirt, feeling out the velcro of the vest he still wore underneath, and thoroughly mussing his hair, Yamamoto clutched him harder as their orgasms neared.

"Ngh, Yamamoto, I..."

"It's okay, Tsuna. I want you to --"

Tsuna's hips jerked and he shuddered, pressing his mouth to Yamamoto's breastbone to muffle the long unsteady moan that came from way further down than his lungs. Yamamoto curled around him, breathing heavily into his ear, and in the moment that he tensed, Tsuna felt something foreign and extraordinary flood through him. The Sky ring flared under his shirt as a soothing, calming wave of easy, tranquil affection and trust swept downward from his chest, all the way to his toes. Any remaining tension in his body was cleared away like pine needles down a storm drain. He caught his breath at the sensation, knowing without question, that this was Yamamoto, that somehow the Sky ring was allowing him to feel this from Yamamoto. And what he had felt before, that terrible ache -- that had been Gokudera.

He supposed he should say something to Reborn about the ring, but in truth, he kind of liked the idea of the private connection he might have with his friends and Guardians. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the desk, propping himself up on his hands. Strands of hair were stuck to his face with sweat and he squirmed a little at the cooling wetness in his underwear.

"Thank you, Yamamoto," he murmured. "That was really nice."

Yamamoto chuckled tiredly. "Sure. I liked it, too." He shifted a bit stiffly and Tsuna imagined it was because he also now had a mess in his shorts.

"Er... you're welcome to use my bathroom, if you need it."

"Haha, thanks," he said with a smile, quickly retreating through Tsuna's bedroom to the toilet.

Tsuna heard a door close and heaved a sigh, shoving aside his desk lamp so he could sprawl backwards across his blotter. Now he was tired, buzzed, and navigating a post-orgasm haze -- he could sleep right here all night if he wanted.

When Yamamoto emerged from the bedroom, he offered Tsuna another small smile, standing over the desk and patting down a chunk of his own stubborn, dark hair. "I probably shouldn't spend the night. You gonna be okay?"

Still flopped on his back, Tsuna nodded and started to reach for Yamamoto's hand. Then he thought better of it and closed his fingers into a loose fist. "I'll be okay," he murmured. "It sounds like I have a year, anyway. Hopefully, it'll take less time than that."

On to Chapter 3

Personal Canon Meme

2009-08-28T11:26:04Z

Spied this on igrockspock 's journal and liked it. So, give me a character or a pairing and I'll tell you 10 (or as many as I can think of) bits of my personal canon for them!

edit: Responses posted in comments, with maybe a summary post at the end.

Fandoms:

Gundam Wing
Star Trek Reboot
Hitman Reborn
DOGS
Samurai Champloo

Trek Fic alternate ending drabble: "The Skirt Is Complicated"

2009-08-22T02:00:32Z

Title: The Skirt Is Complicated

Rest of Notes, see "But with Perseverance"

This is a little alternate take that I had written separately out of a need to work through how I felt about the women's uniforms in the movie. Because... I like them... but they're kinda fucked up, too. Huey needed to come back for this one.

The Skirt Is Complicated

She sat up straighter and pressed her hands into her lap. "You may call me Nyota only when we're off-duty, and you're not allowed to make one more, single comment about my uniform or I will kick you with these ridiculously thick-soled boots -- the only practical function they serve."

"What if your uniform is on fire, and I tell you to save you life?"

"You may not make comments about my uniform unless they are strictly mission related," she amended. "Spock and I were drafting a proposal to lengthen the skirt hem by several inches before the distress call came from Vulcan. I plan on finishing it, so in all likelihood you won't even be enjoying the amount of thigh you get to see much longer."

Jim blinked. "Why on earth would Spock agree to participate in a project like that?" He smirked. "Totally counter to his interests, if you ask me."

Uhura's mouth tightened. "Because he understands that there are people like you on the payroll."

Jim laughed and gestured at the uniform. "Come on, you can't tell me you don't love that skirt. You don't have to wear it. Lot's of women where pants."

Uhura appeared resigned to a long explanation. She crossed her arms over her chest and started speaking in her Linguistics TA voice. "The skirt is complicated. I like the skirt. It goes great with the boots and makes my legs look fantastic. And before you ask, yes, Spock liked the skirt for those same reasons. Vulcans have highly developed aesthetic sensibilities."

Jim snorted a laugh. "If that's what he wants to call them, sure. But if you like the skirt and Spock likes the skirt and I like the skirt, then what's the problem?"

"The problem is twofold. One, it's my skirt, not your skirt. You are not entitled to it -- nor are you entitled to make rude remarks about it. My liking the skirt has nothing to do with you. Unfortunately, though, it's not really my skirt; it's Starfleet's skirt. I wear it at the pleasure of Starfleet and the Federation. Thus, the Academy wants me and all the women here to wear impractically short uniforms. Which would lead me to believe that the skirt is for their benefit, not mine -- making your reaction, and any number of others like it, understandable and probably not even inappropriate, given the purpose the skirt is to serve. Which is to barely cover my ass."

"Yeah, but how would lengthening the skirt enough to better cover your ass make it more your skirt, and less Starfleet's? All you're achieving is a less-flattering design while leaving a sexist tradition in place -- that of gendered uniforms." Jim put his hands behind his head. God, he loved to argue.

Uhura shrugged and offered him a narrow smile. "You haven't seen the designs Gaila worked up. We were thinking of a leggings option, as well. And like I said, the skirt is complicated."

Jim nodded and wished that Gaila had brought him in on the project. He considered himself a skirt expert. "I can see how Spock would be useful in drafting the proposal."

She nodded. "He was exceptionally helpful."

"I'm a little jealous, though. Wish I'd been there. I could have provided an important perspective."

The smile she gave him now was almost sly. "Maybe I'll let you review it."

Trek Fic: But with Perseverance 1/2

2009-08-21T19:26:55Z

Title: But With Perseverance
Author: June
Rating: PG
Characters: Kirk & Uhura
Warnings: none
Spoilers: for the movie
Disclaimer: Owning nothing on this end.
Summary: Would it be ironic if he couldn't communicate with Nyota Uhura?

A/N: This part takes place after they've landed back on Earth and before the end of the movie.

In my quest to write a Jim Kirk that I can love and respect, I have decided that he does NOT, in fact, treat women as disposable objects. He does NOT need either Spock or McCoy for a meaningful relationship (although he has meaningful relationships with both). He can have them with women, too! The women he sleeps with aren't just bodies in the way of more fulfilling relationships with men. So there!

At some point, I will name this arc. But for now, here are all the parts:

We Start with the Big Stuff

And It's Not Easy: I
And It's Not Easy: II

But with Perseverance

Kirk almost didn't go. Bones had flat-out refused, so he didn't have anyone to go with. McCoy's reasons were pretty straight-forward. He'd spent the entire flight home stitching and patching the crew back together. More than a handful had died on his watch from injuries too severe to heal. He'd been mourning in the way that a doctor could since the mission had gone south. Plus, McCoy wanted to see his kid for as long as his ex-wife would let him, before repairs were completed, before he decided whether he would fly again or not. Jim couldn't have asked him to come to the memorial service, even if he hadn't been out of state.

Which meant he was on his own. He didn't feel like looking up Sulu or Chekov because he didn't think they liked him very much. And, anyway, they were younger than him. His own immaturity drove him nuts as it was. He couldn't deal with a teenager and a young 20-something for this.

He went by himself -- wore his cadet uniform and found his few remaining classmates by the tiny cluster of red at the rear of the hangar. It'd been cleared of shuttles, and now the floors were lined with chairs, the walls hung with the flags of all the Federation planets. Vulcan's was set apart from the rest, and he had trouble looking at it.

He'd expected something small and somber but found thousands of people of all ages, races, and species. They were the families, he realized, the families of the dead. He wouldn't have let his mom come to this, even if she'd wanted to. Hopefully, she didn't even know about it.

The remaining cadets from his class -- a few dozen, no more than a hundred -- huddled together and kept their heads down even though they were the lucky one, the heroes. Kirk suspected they all shared guilt and regret for not having somehow done more to save the massacred Fleet and the obliterated planet.

He sure as hell did. There'd been so little time. And he'd been doped up on Bones' hyposprays -- too out of it to recognize the situation for what it was. If he'd somehow gotten aboard a different ship, or come up with a different plan with Pike, not let him surrender, been more persuasive with Spock, instead of just belligerent, or if --

He found Uhura standing amongst a handful of cadets -- the remnants of the xeno-linguistics club, he realized. Not a bad turn-out, considering. When she spotted him, she excused herself and joined him at the edge of the crowd, holding her arms stiffly at her sides. She acknowledged him with a tight nod. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

He smiled half-heartedly. "What, and miss my chance at seeing you in that snappy uniform one more time?"

She ignored that remark entirely, which sapped out any pleasure he might have taken from it -- probably her intention, he realized -- and asked instead, "Where's Doctor McCoy? Aren't you two usually attached at the hip?"

He looked over her left shoulder, scanning the crowd as he answered. "He's with his daughter. Didn't know how long his leave would be. Needed some time to think about stuff. You know." She nodded and said nothing, smoothed the hem of her skirt. "Where's Spock?" he eventually asked.

She lifted her chin and he finally looked her in the eye. "I expect he's with his father and the remaining Elders. They're overseeing the arrival of all the Vulcan survivors here in San Francisco."

Kirk nodded. "He's keeping busy, then. 'S probably good."

"To a point."

Jim let that hang in the air. Spock was probably working himself to the point of exhaustion, and Jim imagined it was to beat the irrational guilt out of his half-Human heart. Jim imagined that half-Human heart was pretty well shredded by now. "Well, tell him I said 'hi' when you see him." That would at least irritate him enough for a few-second distraction.

"You're as likely to see him as I am," Uhura said matter-of-factly. "He's decided to travel with his people, wherever they settle."

Jim raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Doesn't mean you can't hang out while he's still on Earth. Probably do him some good."

If possible, her posture got straighter. "He thinks seeing me will only make the transition more difficult. I haven't been in the same room with him since we landed."

He whistled. "Damn, he really is a di--"

"He is himself," she interrupted, her lips pinching together in a frown.

Jim couldn't disagree with that, but before he could reply, it was announced over the loudspeaker that the ceremony was about to start, and everyone should sort themselves into seats. The mourners composed the vast majority of the attendees with instructors and officers ringing the outside -- their charcoal uniforms never more fitting. The cadets stayed at the rear, and Kirk found himself in the awkward position of figuring out who he would sit next to. He was still physically closest to Uhura, but she hadn't indicated that she wanted him anywhere near her for the actual service. He cast a quick look around for any other cadets he knew, and found only his xeno-biology lab partner who really hated his guts, so when Uhura tugged sharply on his sleeve and indicated that he should sit next to her, he gave her a very relieved smile.

It was an excruciating morning. The names of the dead were called in a long, somber list -- each officer and cadet honored with the traditional form of mourning specific to their culture. For many, that meant silence, for others, murmured prayers or words of remembrance, and for a few, like the Orions, a wild, raucous shout. When Gaila's name was called, a few seconds of silence hung heavily before Jim grabbed Uhura's wrist and lifted it over their heads, whooping and whistling into the quiet. Gaila's own people had not approved of her admission to the Academy. Had she not been granted asylum, she may have been taken back to Orion, and knowing what she'd come from, most of the cadets had been wary of her. When Uhura finally shouted alongside him, a few others joined in, giving her a proper send-off that she was supposed to hear wherever she was. Jim turned to grin at Uhura and saw her eyes streaming with tears, noticed that her shouting was more from anger and frustration, than grief. Or at least, the latter was couched in the former. His own throat closed at the sight, and the magnitude of their loss finally socked him in the chest -- the silence of the dormitory and the quad, the empty hangars, the pieces of lost ships marking where an entire planet had been, the absence where there should have been people, land and culture. Vulcan and the missing class of cadets existed in their memories now and nowhere else. Briefly, instinctively, he thought, 'Spock should not be alone with this,' before he remembered that Spock was with the few individuals who would truly understand.

When the last name had been called, and Jim felt more worn down than he had recovering in the Enterprise's sickbay, the cadets began to file out. Gratefully, he straightened from his uncomfortable metal chair and followed Uhura to the rear exit. He didn't have anywhere else to be.

They walked together in silence back toward campus, until it became apparent that Uhura was headed to her dorm. Jim scratched his neck where the starched collar of his jacket had rubbed and turned to give her his most earnest smile, the one that always worked. "I'm glad we could do that together," he started. "Not sure I woulda stayed on my own."

She nodded a bit stiffly, her eyes red-rimmed. "Sure. Yeah. It was good that you were there. For Gaila, for everyone."

Jim nodded in reply. "Look, uh, that was really intense, and it looks like you're still pretty upset -- Do you maybe not want to be alone right now? 'Cause we could go to my place or to yours and just ta--" He cut himself off when he saw the abrupt change in her expression, her eyes narrowing, chin lifting as though she could make herself as tall as he. He'd just made a mistake, probably a big one, and he should have seen it coming.

"Dammit, James," she hissed, wiping angrily at her eyes. "This is not the time that I'm finally going to invite you up. I am not going to miraculously respond to your advances now that Spock is leaving. I am not available now that Spock is leaving."

He threw his hands out. "Hold up, that is not--"

"And, quite frankly, I'm disgusted that you see me that way, that you think I would do something like that -- that you have so little respect for me."

"Come on -- "

"And what about Gaila? What about all those people we just said goodbye to? What is wrong with you?"

He flinched at her words and wondered at their truth before firmly pushing them back. He could see that she was exhausted and heartbroken, that she was lashing out with whatever she thought might stick. And this had always been the thing that stood between them. This was her beef with him.

"Nyota, do you really think that I'd want to be with you because I don't respect you -- or that I was with Gaila because she was easy?"

She glared at him for the use of her given name and snapped, "I wouldn't trust you to bother with the distinction between respect and disrespect. I don't think it matters to you."

He snorted a humorless laugh. "I've been trying to get with you for the last three years because you're beautiful and because I like you. And Gaila -- was one of the best friends I had here, someone I actually had something in common with."

Uhura rolled her eyes and hiccuped something between a sob and a derisive snort.

"Why would I want to be with someone I didn't respect? Why would that be any fun?" This of course didn't mean he would refuse someone he didn't respect, but the logic still held. Gaila had always understood, though no one else ever seemed to.

"Oh, I see, so when you tried to pick me up at that bar in Riverside, it was because you respected me."

"I sure as hell did after I learned what you care about, what you do."

"Right -- my talented tongue."

He closed his eyes and hung his head for the space of a heartbeat, then lifted his eyes to hers again. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I was out of practice talking to smart people."

She laughed at that, a startled, skeptical sound that had him smiling back by reflex, though she wasn't won over yet. "Your heart's really that big, is it?" she shot back. "You've got enough room in there for all the people you've screwed around with? I apologize; I hadn't fully comprehended the scope of your generosity."

His grin widened. "You really only have the capacity to be attracted to or in love with one person at a time?"

She made a low, frustrated growling sound and pointed a manicured fingernail at his chest. "This is a ridiculous conversation. I can't believe you're preaching polyamory at me. Today. Now."

Jim heaved an exasperated sigh. "I'm not preaching anything, I swear. I want to -- I'm the one who doesn't want to be alone right now, okay? My dorm smells like sweat from people who are dead now. How creepy is that? I don't want to go back there, but there's no where for me to go. And I just want us to be friends. I mean, I'm not even attracted to you anymore. I find your looks wholly unappealing. That uniform isn't flattering in the least, and all I want to talk about is Romulan syntax. I just want you to like me. Respect would be nice, too, someday."

She hugged her elbows and looked out over the empty quad. A few families were emerging from the dorms, carrying boxes. "Saying it doesn't make it so."

"Then what does?"

"Being good. Being a good man." She said it with the kind of conviction that lead him to believe she'd already met one.

The air was heating up around them as the sun reached its apex. Jim unzipped his coat and tugged his undershirt out of his pants. He rubbed a hand across his forehead to wipe away sweat, and didn't know how to answer her. He could see now how deep her grief ran -- didn't need touch telepathy for that. It had cut her down in a matter of hours. Even though her posture was perfect, her spine looked fragile, as though her starched uniform was on double duty, hiding fractures and holding her upright.

When she spoke, her voice wavered a bit. "And you are that, James. You are good."

He got close enough that his outstretched arm hovered by her shoulder and steered her toward town. "Let's get something to eat, then, all right? Public place, noise, good lighting. I guarantee I won't be a lech." He hated watching people get ready to cry -- hated the vulnerability that came with heaving breath, snot, and tears, so he tried as tactfully as possible to derail that train.

She hiccuped another laugh. "It's not an on/off switch, you know. And don't even joke about that. You sound like a creep."

"See, but, the problem is, I don't want to captain just any starship. I want to captain the Enterprise. I don't want anyone besides her -- which is not something I ever thought I'd say about a lady," he added with a wide smile.

Uhura gave him a sour look and took another bite of her wrap. "You don't just get to pick these things, you know."

"Why not? You picked Enterprise. You just said you made Spock change your assignment from the Farragut. Which is excellent. I admire your courage."

He thought she looked pleased at that, smiling slightly down at her plate. But her words were clipped. "Captaincy and Communications are a little different. And you didn't exactly go through the appropriate channels to get where you were by the end of that mission. You, in fact, secreted yourself back on board after being removed by the acting captain and then proceeded to remove him from his position in an unprofessional and unforgivably cruel manner."

Jim's food caught in his throat, and he swallowed with effort. With the feel of Spock's fingers around his neck still fresh, and the rubbed-raw pain in Spock's eyes still vivid, Jim struggled to keep his face blank. "I did what I had to do to stop Nero. I made a choice to get Spock out of the picture. I'd do it again if I had to." He offered Nyota a flat smile. "I'm hoping Starfleet sees it that way, too, for my sake."

Her jaw clenched and relaxed. Then she returned the not-smile. "They probably will. They'd be idiots not to."

Jim's grin turned genuine, shaking off the memory of ugly words and blind grief. "Come on, though, wouldn't it be great if we all ended up on the Enterprise again? Scotty down in the engine room, Bones in Sickbay, the Little Boys Wonder at the helm and navigation, and you, me, and Spock on the bridge -- we'd be the greatest crew the Fleet's ever seen. You can't tell me we wouldn't."

As if by reflex, her gaze drifted to the window, to the clear shot of the blue California sky, and for a moment, Jim saw pure, unadulterated longing. "I can't wait to get back to the stars," she agreed. "Just think how many languages out there we've never even heard, entire systems of communication that we've never considered, that we don't yet understand. It's like waiting to hear a brand new piece of music or that moment before learning something new. I can't think of anything more exciting."

Jim leaned forward in his seat. "Exactly. If I have to stay behind and watch from here while you... discover people we didn't know existed, I'd... How could I let you do that without me? How could you let Spock miss out on that?"

Dark brown eyes returned to his, weighing and measuring. "What is he to you, really? He told me that you expressed an interest in friendship. Those were his words. Did he get them right?"

Jim stiffened. "I can recognize a Starfleet officer when I see one," he said quickly. "Spock was born for this."

"Because he doesn't have many friends," she continued, as though he hadn't spoken. Jim was beginning to realize that she ignored everything he said that was stupid -- a good gauge, if he could rig it to work before the fact. Maybe they could work out a code in eyebrow ticks or nose wiggles. "Those he does have are very important to him. Friendship is very important to him, in a specifically Vulcan way."

He lifted his eyebrows in exaggerated bafflement. "Whoa, I didn't know Vulcans went for that kind of thing, emotional attachments and whatnot."

She paused to sip her soda, considering her words carefully. "Vulcans have very deep, meaningful relationships with those they consider friends, but they're of a specific sort. And they're quite rare. It's not something many humans know about Vulcans -- mostly because those kinds of friendships are equally rare for us. And also because people assume stupid things."

Jim fidgeted with his empty coffee cup. "I'm not sure friendship is really in the cards. He's leaving, and even if he weren't, he's pretty much an asshole. Doesn't mean he wouldn't make a killer First Officer. That's what they get paid for, I think."

Uhura smirked at him. "Come on, James, don't tell me Spock hurt your feelings. What reason does he have to be nice to you, anyway?"

He laughed, and now, he could see that Nyota liked his smile, when she didn't think he was being a douchebag. "What, so you want me to track down your boyfriend and proposition him? Why would he listen to me over you? He's crazy about you, if the amount of tongue he had in your mouth is proportional to how he feels."

She worried her napkin between her fingers and her cheeks darkened. "You've precisely identified the problem. He hates basing decisions on emotional attachments. He tends to eliminate all emotional factors when calculating the best course of action -- tries to simplify the question until there is only one logical thing to do. He removed me from the equation as soon as he had the question. Which is infuriating and insulting, but he can't be anything other than what he is."

Jim snorted and muttered under his breath, "Math geek."

He should have known she'd hear him. "Right," she affirmed. "Exactly. I'm more of a language arts gal, myself. But you..." She measured him with a sort of Guidance Counselor on Career Day stare. "You're a... well, you're a captain."

And with those three words, Jim felt better than he had since he'd last sat in the Enterprise's command chair. He puffed his chest up a little and smiled for all he was worth. "All right, sure -- I'll find him and make a pitch for Starfleet. I've heard a few good ones. But only on one condition." He learned further across the table and put his chin in his hands. "We get to do this more often. And if we get Enterprise back, we do it weekly."

"Weekly?" Her lip curled a little, as though she were being asked to finish her peas after they'd gotten cold.

Jim straightened and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, if I'm gonna live up to these expectations of yours, I need to check in regularly."

Her mouth twitched sideways, lips pursed. "Only if I get conditions of my own."

Jim nodded. "Fair's fair. Shoot."

"What if we're off duty, and I think you look so fantastic I just can't keep it inside?"

She smiled. "Compliments are different from comments. We'll work on it."

Jim returned her grin. "Good."

Fic Rec, and it is mandatory that you all read it, immediately.

2009-08-19T14:29:52Z

Everyone,

Read this. I was laughing so hard, I cried.

It's All in the Delivery

Trek Fic.

(Gusty sigh of relief) Star Trek Fic: And It's Not Easy 2/2

2009-08-11T22:32:47Z

Title: And It's Not Easy
Author: June
Fandom: Star Trek: Reboot
Pairing/Characters: Kirk/McCoy (overall series, Kirk/Spock friendship/pre-slash)
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Word Count: ~ 3200
Summary: This is how I deal.
Disclaimer: Star Trek and it's characters do not belong to me.
Warnings: (Hopefully not) Gratuitous smut. The sex is supposed to further the characters, right? I'm hoping this alludes to more than it directly addresses.
A/N: Part of a larger project, detailing the space between the end of their first mission on Enterprise and the end of the movie -- also with a significant plot twist, which is explained here in We Start With the Big Stuff. The story is continued in part one of this fic here , And this is the conclusion of the second arc. There will be one more, anyway. While this is clearly K/McC, I'm most interested in Kirk and Spock's developing friendship, whether or not it turns slashy.

And It's Not Easy: II

"Bones," Jim called into Sickbay, not bothering to come the rest of the way in when he spotted the ship's doctor straightening from wrapping an ensign's knee. "Your place or mine?"

McCoy scowled at him, but wisely chose to keep their conversation as brief as possible, seeing as it required shouting across the room. "Mine. Give me twenty. And sit down before you fall down, jackass."

Jim'd had just about enough irreverent bullshit from his crew after that meal with Spock, but unlike Spock, he knew Bones didn't think any less of him just because he happened to be a jackass. And, noticing that he was a little unsteady on his feet after pacing the corridor's of his ship -- a ship he really didn't relish handing over to a repair crew -- he dropped down into the nearest chair and settled in to wait.

The chair happened to be sitting beside a bio-bed occupied by an unconscious young woman. Maybe a concerned crew member had just been in to see her and had pulled it out of the office. Kirk thought he recognized the girl from one of his engineering classes -- warp core mechanics most likely. She was one of the lucky cadets, then, like him, like Bones and Uhura. And shit, her hair was red like Gaila's, but this wasn't Gaila. Gaila hadn't been one of the lucky cadets. He didn't know where she'd been assigned, didn't know if she'd been able to escape the destruction of the fleet at Vulcan. He looked away from the girl to find Bones again. If Gaila was gone, then Jim was looking at his one remaining ally. He slouched a little further into his chair.

When the doors of the turbolift closed behind them, Jim noticed Bones checking him over with the unabashed, clinical stare of a concerned professional. Bones didn't get close, but he looked -- looked for signs that Jim wasn't healing up right, wasn't eating or resting enough. Which was stupid considering Jim'd spent the last week in Bones' sickbay, so he knew perfectly well how Jim was healing up. He was willing to bet that the first thing he'd get once they were safely behind locked doors was a physical rather than a blow job, even though the focal point of their evening was supposed to be blow jobs. He'd made that perfectly clear with his opening question twenty minutes ago.

Jim had a very straightforward relationship with sex. He liked it a lot, so he did it a lot. He did it most often with the people he liked a lot -- less often with the ones who were just willing. Bones didn't fit neatly into either one of those categories, and this made the sex a little dicey -- which often made it even more fantastic.

A day before Starfleet stowed his ship away inside a repair freighter for the trip home, a week or so before he returned to Earth to an unknown future, a week after his brain stem and spinal cord had been hijacked by toxic slug juice, and an hour after his attempt to make peace with Spock had been shoved back in his face, Jim needed something fantastic. He needed something he loved. And he did love a blow job from his best friend.

When the doors to Bones' quarters slid closed behind them, Jim tried to preempt the physical by going straight for Bones' pants. He pushed McCoy back up against his door, got inside his space and stuck to him. "And you smell like a doctor's office," Jim muttered into his throat.

"Which should not be a surprise. You still smell like a sick person."

Jim groaned at the feel of Bones' hands on him, pressing and kneading his arms. "That's a horrible thing to say."

The light massage didn't stop, but worked down to his hands and fingers. "Any pain or numbness? Weakness in your extremities?"

Even though he couldn't grab on with his hands, Jim tried not to let Bones peal him off, pushing one leg between the doctor's, feeling for his erection. "Had a little trouble holding my spork at dinner. Knees were a little wobbly on the way over to your office. Got the sweats talking to Spock."

McCoy snorted. "Yeah, he makes me uneasy, too." He slid down the door, kneeling at Jim's feet, feeling along Jim's thighs and calves. When he looked up, Jim buried his fingers in thick brown hair. "Dunno, Jim," he said, "nerve damage is tricky. Pike's never gonna walk without a cane. You might not be running wind sprints."

An unpleasant prickly sensation flooded out to his fingertips, leading him to believe his sensory nerves at least were working just fine. He could still feel dread.

He tugged McCoy's hair, dragged him closer and pressed his face to his flagging boner. "Really didn't come here to talk about that. Most everything else works, though -- right, Bones?"

McCoy grabbed Jim's hips and ran the tip of his nose along the softening ridge of his cock. He raised his eyes and Jim thought he looked a little sheepish for handing out that kind of news right before the exchanging of blow jobs. He undid the clasp of Jim's trousers and tugged down his briefs enough so that his erection bobbed at eye level. Jim swallowed and smirked, leaning forward to brace both hands on the closed door, casting his friend into shadow below him.

Jim had a very straightforward relationship with sex. He did it a lot because he liked it a lot. But he wasn't above doing it because he was pissed off, a little bummed out and in need of a good distraction. Bones was generally the perfect candidate under these circumstances because he usually shared at least one of those.

"Come on, Bones," he murmured. "Put your mouth on me."

"Right here on the floor? You know my knees are too rickety for that."

But Bones said it even as he leaned in and ran his tongue along the underside of Jim's cock. He held the base and squeezed rhythmically until it was firm and heavy in his hand and Jim hummed in appreciation.

Jim watched his erection slide into Bones' mouth, watched Bones' face for that slight grimace of annoyance at the taste of the seminal fluid beading at the head. He'd never liked the taste of ejaculate, and he made that quite apparent every time they did this, reinforcing the already established fact that he was very straight, except when it came to James T. Kirk.

Jim had that effect on people. And this thought almost made him smirk down at the top of Bones' head. Wide, large-knuckled hands tightened around Jim's hips and pulled them forward a little, just enough that his dick slid down McCoy's throat, and with a noisy exhalation, Jim leaned forward against the door, resting his forehead on his arm. His fingers flexed in McCoy's hair when he eased back a bit, giving Jim a second to catch his breath, and briefly, their eyes met. Jim let his fingers slip out of Bones' hair and down the side of his face, scraping through stubble. He swallowed a quick, sharp twinge of guilt at that look -- that same look, the one that rumbled in his best friend's voice. It said, "I don't know why I put up with you, why I like you, why I love this and hate it. I don't know why I would do this for you when I don't even like dick. But I would. I would. Goddammit."

Jim blinked then hid his eyes in his sleeve. Bones sucked harder until Jim's breath came quicker and he began to twitch and shiver where he stood. His mind finally blank, he devoted his attention to wet suction, gentle hands and the feel of course, thick hair under his fingers. The feeling of tension and release coiled together at the base of his spine with every pull of McCoy's mouth and he tightened his fist against the door.

When his legs started to twitch and shake in earnest, he got a jolt of adrenalin, realizing it wasn't his approaching orgasm, but muscle weakness about to dump him on the floor. He hoped that the "Bones" he rasped out didn't come across as a "Bones, I'm about to come in your mouth," because it was more, "Bones, I've had a shitty day, I've sustained significant nerve damage, and I can't stand anymore." But he needn't have worried. McCoy's hold tightened on his hips as Jim's hands landed heavily on his shoulders. "Dammit. I gotta -- "

"Let's get you to the bed," McCoy muttered, shoving himself to his feet and pulling one of Jim's arms over his shoulders.

"Sure thing, Doc," he answered, exasperated and embarrassed.

"Come on, don't call me that," McCoy grumbled, steering him around and down onto the bed. "Not right now, at any rate."

Landing on his back, Jim pushed himself further onto the bed and then chuckled. "Why not, Bones? It's one of your favorite things to say. You're a doctor before pretty much everything else."

McCoy smirked and didn't disagree, then mimed pulling on a glove, letting it snap back against his wrist. "Oh, I see. You wanna play doctor, do you?"

Jim's grin was eager and only slightly mocking. He nodded and cocked his hips up in invitation, any discomfort forgotten now that he was horizontal. He wasn't ashamed of any Doctor kink he may have developed over the years. McCoy was good enough with his hands to warrant it.

Slicking up his fingers with lubricant, McCoy put a sure hand on the back of Jim's thigh, and with the kind of detached ease that came with lots of practice, reached inside him to find his prostate.

Jim arched off the bed and choked on a shout, and when McCoy put his mouth on him again, it was only a matter of a few seconds before Jim slammed up into his throat and came.

He felt McCoy swallow twice before his throat closed and he pulled back to spit out the rest. Jim groaned and jerked himself through the rest of his orgasm, staring dazedly at the ceiling, enjoying the pleasant buzzing in his hands and feet. When he finally looked down at McCoy, Jim followed his gaze down to his stomach. His hands were curled loosely on his belly, visibly shaking. He flattened them before McCoy crawled forward over him, took hold of both, and stretched them back over his head to the mattress.

Carefully settling his weight over him, Bones rubbed his erection against Jim's hip. "Don't be an asshole," he muttered. "You just gonna leave me like this?"

Jim grinned and, with a roll of his hips, flipped them over.

He spread his palm wide across Bones' belly and swallowed, willing this to be the time that worked. His best friend was always tense and distracted at the end of a long day, and with a significant percentage of the crew under his care for injuries sustained over the course of the mission, he was even more tightly wound than usual. Jim's jaw ached and his lower back ached and his hands were shaking and he really kind of wanted this to be over, but he wasn't giving up until Bones had an orgasm, and if that meant doing this for another twenty minutes, by god, Jim would have his best friend be satisfied. If there were any strict rules to be made about sex, that was one of them.

He looked up the length of McCoy's body to see his head thrown back, his eyes closed, one hand clenching and releasing the blanket under him. Jim had removed both their shirts, and now he could see McCoy's neck and chest were shiny with sweat. His brow was creased in concentration, his mouth turned down in a tight frown. There was the problem.

He eased Bones' cock out of his mouth and then licked his lips. Unlike Bones, Jim unequivocally loved giving head, and he had a particular fondness for the visuals that signaled an impending orgasm. "Come on, Bones," he murmured, voice a little hoarse. "Look at me when I'm going down on you."

McCoy's neck relaxed and dark eyes opened, taking in Jim curled over his legs and groin. He took a moment to collect himself and then gave Jim a crooked smile. "'You say so, Captain."

And Jim was right -- a little old fashioned visual stimulation was all either of them needed. Wrapping his hand around the base of McCoy's cock, Jim brought him off with a few firm licks and sucks, maintaining eye contact throughout -- even as McCoy bucked and shivered under him. Jim swallowed every drop, grinning around his softening erection until his best friend growled at him to quit it and shoved him away with a foot in his shoulder.

Replicator peach pie wasn't half as good as the real deal, but sitting at Bones' table, eating it in their underwear after exchanging blow jobs, Jim decided it was the best thing he'd tasted since they'd left the Academy.

Bones had skipped dinner to suck him off, so he especially appeared to be enjoying it.

"What are you gonna do when you get back dirtside?" Jim asked around a large bite. Spock's answer hadn't satisfied him; he was hoping Bones' would reassure him at least a little.

McCoy's fork hesitated by his mouth. "I am going to hug the ground for all I'm worth, and never leave it again."

Jim snorted a weak laugh.

"Then I'm gonna go see Joanna and try to convince Jocelyn that I've got my shit together enough to see them more than once a year." He chewed and swallowed his bite of pie. "Then I'm going to clean my apartment b/c I'm sure the bathroom still stinks like your vomit from the last time you --"

"Yeah, okay," Jim muttered into his pie. "Busy schedule."

"Why? What're you gonna do?"

The pie didn't look so appetizing anymore. Setting his utensil down, Jim wiped his mouth on his napkin. "I do not know. My best guess would be, 'Get kicked out of school and then go see Mom.'"

Bones scowled "What, you think Spock's still gonna give you trouble for the Kobayashi Maru exam? Because, honestly, that would -- "

Jim shook his head, and interrupted with a curt "Nah. I don't think Spock gives two shits about that at this point."

McCoy grimaced around another mouthful of pie. "I guess he wouldn't."

"However, I imagine there're a few folks who'd nail me for stowing aboard Enterprise and then attempting to incite a mutiny. The Kobayashi Maru would just be gravy."

McCoy paled a little at that, and then gruffed, "Half of that was my doing. And I don't think any procedure on the books can really handle what happened out here. Even Spock would back you up on that one, I bet. Uhura, too. Everyone."

Jim's jaw tightened reflexively at the subject of erstwhile Acting Captain Spock and just what he'd be willing to do for Acting Captain Kirk. Harsh words delivered in that dry, biting voice -- they'd dug right into what Jim wanted least to share. The meld with Spock on Delta Vega had made Jim curious about this Spock, had made Jim want to know why or how they could be friends. Stranded on that iceberg with Spock-the-Elder's fingers in his head, the prospect of something permanent and good had opened up in front of him -- unfolded ahead of him like paper cut-outs that stood up between the pages of an open book. He'd been a little dazzled by the brilliance of their friendship. But when he'd opened his eyes to find the Spock of his own time waiting for him with charges of academic dishonesty and mutiny, the very thought of what could have been made Jim squirm. Add in a few cc's of slug juice, and then Spock knew, too, what might have been. That twisted the knife a little deeper -- made him feel like twice the idiot for even considering what Spock's friendship could be like. Jim didn't make a habit of leaving his ass hanging out like that. Not having any choice in the matter made it even worse.

He realized he was grinding his teeth and that Bones was looking at him a little funny. He relaxed his hands where they clenched in his lap and rolled his shoulders as though he'd just weathered a fight. "Eh, fuck'em. You'll still be around, even if they toss me out, won't you Bones. Hell, we can go to Georgia together. Jo already loves me. I'm ready to assume the role of Sexy Uncle Jim."

McCoy's eyebrows dipped down in a scowl, and he pointed a menacing spork at Jim's nose. "She's ten and doesn't need to understand 'Sexy' for at least another fifteen years." Jim snorted and rolled his eyes. "And besides," McCoy continued, "you're not ready to be anybody's uncle, Sexy or otherwise."

Jim caught the uncomfortable sidelong look McCoy gave the table and affected a wounded air. "Aw, come on, sure I am. We can get a place together in Atlanta. It'll be hotter than blazes, but we won't need an excuse to walk around in our underpants. Sounds excellent, right?"

McCoy jabbed at the crust of his pie and shook his head, a sharp, uneasy jerk. "No, Jim. I can't go back to Georgia any more than you can stay dirtside. This is where you belong. This is what'll make you good. And it's probably where I'll end up, too, crazy and stupid as that is." He met Jim's eyes with a sober look. "You have to fight for this. You have to make this work."

Jim frowned. He watched an old, listless restlessness tinge everything in the room a little dimmer, as though he were watching a younger version of himself decide to throw away a future with nothing more than a shrugged shoulder.

"What if I don't?"

Bones had now pulverized what remained of his crust. He shoved aside his plate and reached for Jim's half-eaten piece. "That's a stupid question. You never let go of anything you care about."

"Then what if I can't?" What if he had no choice but to give all of it up -- if the rest of that fantastic crew got to continue on together and he had to watch from the ground?

Bones looked up at him as though he'd asked another asinine question. "Then we'll figure out how to get you on board as my lovely assistant who handles all the paperwork. I've always wanted one of those. You want any more of this pie? Because I will finish it. You completely derailed my evening with your angsty bullshit. I hate skipping dinner."

Jim felt a smile tug across his mouth. "Nah, you go 'head."

GW Fic: Five Drabbles

2009-07-25T12:31:19Z

Author: June
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance
Rating: PG-R
Disclaimer: Don't own characters or song lyrics

Warnings/Notes: A modified 10 songs meme. The songs were random, but I spent a lot of time on each b/c I didn't want them to suck. So, I didn't really follow the rules of the meme.

All revolve around the "Reformation/Reaffirmation" world, whether or not these events actually happened.

Beware of violence and batshit!Quatre.

All pairings from the fic make an appearance.

/When you punish a person for dreaming his dream

Don't expect him to thank or forgive you

The best ever death metal band outta Denton

Will, in time, both outpace and outlive you/

The sun beat down on their backs as they squatted between the staked tomatoes and pulled up weeds. Duo scrubbed his forearm across his face, wiping away sweat and smearing dirt over his cheeks. Beside him, Wufei shaded his eyes and cast a quick glance skyward. The sun was slowly sinking, though the air was still thick with afternoon heat. He blinked away bright spots and looked back to Duo. The bumps of his spine poked through his white t-shirt and disappeared into the gray jumpsuit tied at his waist. He needed to make sure that Duo ate more. It was easy to stop, here.

As though he'd felt Wufei's eyes on him, Duo looked up and grinned. He cast a furtive glance at the guards sitting in the nearby shade of two olive trees, sharing a smoke, then shuffled forward on hands and knees. He put one dirty, dusty hand on Wufei's cheek and leaned in to kiss him. Wufei started when he felt a cherry tomato and Duo's tongue slip into his mouth.

/If I meet you in the night

You're free to covet all you like

Don't you try and stop me

I cling tightly to this life./

This kind of longing doesn't go away just because his eyes are closed, just because he's sedated. His heart beats in more places than his ribs. It searches, like a lighthouse -- a rhythmic, tireless quest. It's better at night, when it can travel even through the vacuum of space, all the way to Earth.

Quatre finds him by the flash of his eyes, a quick reflection that is gone before he can look twice. He finds him by feeling alone after that, one foot in front of the next, hands out, reaching for something familiar. He touches his hair first, fine hair in snarls and tangles. His face and neck have turned to stone, and his clothes hang loose.

"It's okay," Quatre says, because it's true. "I've got you now. I'll help."

He presses them together, chest to chest, until Wufei returns to life.

Every night, Quatre saves him.

/And I'm sorry that I'm such a mess

I drank all my money could get/

Rationally, Heero knew that he shouldn't be the only one allowed to fall apart. Just because he was the one to do it with the most frequency didn't mean that 'habit' equaled 'right.' Still, when Trowa disappeared, his first thought was, "He doesn't get to do that."

He could look in the bars, but Trowa didn't drink. He could look in the downtown squats, but he knew that Trowa was afraid of disease, that he most feared the threats he couldn't see. He could call Duo, but he knew that Trowa wouldn't look for company.

After a week in an empty, dark flat, Heero left, too. And he thought that, if he didn't find Trowa, he wouldn't come back. It was Trowa who had convinced him to join Preventers, Trowa who had thought it was a good idea to move closer to Wufei. If he couldn't find Trowa, then he'd disappear, too, because Heero was a mess first, and there weren't enough reasons for him not to be a mess.

He had to stop for fuel before he hit the road, and he found Trowa at the station, sitting at the employee break table. He was eating an enormous sub, and it appeared that he hadn't bathed since he'd left the flat.

When Heero sat down across from him, Trowa tore the thing in two and slid half across to him on a napkin. "Some lady bought it for me," he murmured after he'd swallowed and wiped his mouth. "She said she thought I needed help."

Heero took a bite and wondered if sandwiches were the answer.

/Sat down in jail with this friend of mine
Who'd never close both his eyes
But one was shut all the time
To cover the thing he was scared of
While he watched with the other
There was a riot coming/

The cafeteria is a seething mass of bodies, alive with one consciousness. The officers aren't difficult to pick out -- at the center of small pockets of violence. He stands on a table shoved to the side and watches, grinning like it's his birthday. He catches sight of Wufei down in the middle of things, and he watches as the boy, his only friend and partner, seizes a guard's forearm and twists it palm up. Karl's breath catches when Wufei presses his other hand to the underside of the guard's elbow and neatly snaps the joint.

He awoke grinding his hips into the thin mattress of his bunk, the dream fresh and vivid behind his eyelids. Rolling onto his side, he put one hand inside his underwear and the other to the cool cement wall joining their two cells.

He turned his face into his pillow and said, voice tight with excitement, "I'll get us out of here." He squeezed his eyes shut, pictured Wufei in perfect, free motion, killing the way he was built to, and came into his hand, voice unsteady and joyous.

/Your heart's a mess

You won't admit to it/

Duo doesn't dig too deep, doesn't want to root around for why he's so excited every time he comes for a visit. The answer's there for him when he's ready for it. He's sure there are hormones involved, the fact that it's been six months since he got laid and Wufei looks damn good in a sweaty white t-shirt. There's also loneliness to contend with. The guys are in Rome; Howard's kicking around L2 somewhere; Quatre is gone -- and fuck if that isn't a punch in the chest every time he so much as thinks it, even now -- and Duo has always needed lots of people around to feel like he's approximating normal.

He suffers through the pat-down every time, even though he hates it a little more with each trip, has to strangle the urge to jam his elbow through the back of the guard's neck when he's down there looking in his socks. This would indicate that Duo is not doing such a hot job approximating normal these days.

When he finally gets to the common room for visiting hours and sees Wufei at a table in the corner, staring down at a closed textbook -- his back to the wall, a clear view of all the exits, a coveted spot; he must have gotten there early -- he almost reaches up to cover the grin that spreads across his face. Duo's always smiling, but this one gets him a little flushed. He wipes his palms on his pants -- dammit, he forgot to wash them after he left work; he's a total grease-ball -- and slides into the seat across the table.

"Hey, Wu."

More Trek fic. Erm.

2009-07-02T23:37:58Z

Title: And It's Not Easy 1/2
Author: June
Fandom: ST Reboot
Character/Pairing: Kirk/Spock pre-slash/gen; Spock/Uhura
Word Count: 3000
Rating: so PG it hurts
Warnings: None, really. Spoilers for the movie
Disclaimer: I own neither the characters, nor ST.

Summary: Picks up right where We Start With the Big Stuff leaves off, from Spock's POV. Kirk and Spock's initial attempts at communication between the climax of the movie, and their return to Earth, in the aftermath of We Start With the Big Stuff. It was really fun to write Spock as the narrator, especially because he doesn't reveal everything that he's got going on his head, even when he's the one telling the story.

And It's Not Easy

And It's Not Easy: I

Spock had found, in the years he spent at the Academy, that humans labored under several false assumptions about Vulcans. This discovery had not surprised him in the least, as humans tended to be a singularly self-absorbed species. They concerned themselves almost entirely with their own affairs -- to the detriment of their understanding of others. They tended to assume either total identity or difference with other humanoid species, tended to conceive of problems as having only two sides and one solution. They had only a tenuous understanding of restraint and subtlety, and on the whole, had poor aesthetic taste, preferring extreme displays of emotion in whatever form it was expressed.

When confronted with an alien planet like Vulcan, most humans tended to assume total difference. They tended to treat Vulcans as alien -- opposite. Dr. McCoy was a prime example of this mentality. Even though he was a skilled medical officer and by no means an unintelligent man, he assumed differences in conceptual frameworks. He assumed that Spock, and other Vulcans, did not understand the operation of the human mind. He assumed that Spock found emotions to be alien. These, assumptions, while not wholly unfounded, were incorrect. And while he did not take any real offense at McCoy's barbed racial epithets, he did not appreciate them and thought them ill-befitting of a Starfleet officer.

Others, like Spock's acting captain, assumed the opposite -- that he would understand and share humor and innuendo. Sharing a meal with him was at once confusing and oddly entertaining. Spock had to think that he was unique in this experience. He highly doubted that his father, or any of the other elder Vulcans Spock had known growing up, would have shared this sentiment. He didn't think that the boys who had tormented him in his youth would have shared it either.

No, Spock was almost certain that, while Vulcans who had significant contact with humans studied humor and idiom in order to communicate more efficiently, he was alone in taking pleasure in it. Vulcans, unsurprisingly, were a very literal people. They saw no reason to deceive another, even an adversary, through speech. The one thing that they longed for and loved above all else -- knowledge -- demanded that they understand the complexities of alien communication. Spock shared this urge, but he also enjoyed it. He took pleasure in irony, metaphor and idiom, even if he didn't always grasp them the first time out. His personal favorite was understatement. The subtleties of language fascinated him. It wasn't anything his father or his peers understood. He hadn't even told his mother. He kept his love of language as a mark of what kept him apart from his people.

It was this fascination which had drawn him to Lt. Uhura when she was his student and assistant. And it was this fascination which made Jim Kirk an interesting, if somewhat frustrating, meal companion.

Spock watched Kirk's retreating back, cataloged its rigid, angry lines, and then fastidiously finished wiping his hands on his napkin -- not that they were dirty. With quick, economical movements, Spock rose to his feet, collected the remnants of his dinner and crossed the mess to deposit his waste in recyc. He was aware of several pairs of eyes on his back as he exited, the crew no doubt curious about the nature of the altercation he'd just had with their captain.

Spock was a bit curious himself, though he thought he understood the combination of rigid posture and slightly hunched shoulders. The captain was embarrassed, humiliated even, which was significantly worse.

Kirk leans back in the chair, affecting a casual exterior, though Spock can see that he is agitated. "So, that's the story. A hundred and twenty-nine years from now, you try to save Romulus and end up back here to watch Vulcan die, too. I think you're lucky, Spock, to not be yourself 129 years from now. That guy was pretty wrecked. And old. You wouldn't want to be that old." This is a poor attempt at humor, a thinly veiled invitation to share in the shock of all that has transpired.

"I can only be relieved that there is now time to find a solution so that Romulus might survive." Admittedly, not the truest thing Spock has ever said, but he's struggling a little with this, with the knowledge that he is/was/will be responsible for the destruction of two planets, billions and billions of people. The connection is not direct, and it is not logical to think that blame can be placed squarely anywhere, but it exists nonetheless. He feels it as a subtle shudder in the steady thrum of his pulse. And the dinner he just consumed is not sitting well.

"Spock..." his captain begins, grabbing hold of his ankle where it rests across his knee -- a clear indication of intense emotion. Spock watches this and clenches his own fists under the table. "You don't need to -- hide that this is upsetting."

"On the contrary, Captain. Grieving as a human would is hardly the appropriate reaction in this situation."

"How could it not --"

"It is not an appropriate reaction for me."

"Oh." A tighter grip on his ankle. "Okay."

Spock exited the mess shortly after his captain, though he did not try to follow him. Neither did he retreat to own his quarters. Instead, he walked past them without a second glance and continued to Nyota's. He hesitated outside her door, as several of his subordinates walked by, talking animatedly. They paused to nod respectfully, and he returned the gesture with a curt twitch of his chin. He was off-duty, so strict formality wasn't required.

His relationship with Lt. Uhura had not been a secret, but he avoided all signs of its romantic nature out of habit. This included entering her quarters at this hour. When he signaled his presence outside her door, she called for him to enter with a quick "Come."

"What'll you do when we get back to the Academy?"

"Are you referring to the immediate future or long term plans?"

"Both, I guess. You gonna pick up with my academic dishonesty hearing?" Kirk's grin is cheeky and nervous.

"Dubious. I am not sure I'd find an audience."

He means that no one would be interested after all that has happened, but he can see that the captain has interpreted his statement differently. Kirk nods and offers a smile not meant to convey amusement. "Yeah, there's hardly anyone left to show up. Graduation will take about fifteen minutes, if they even have it."

Kirk looks down at the half-eaten plate of food in front of him, and Spock watches his face. The captain is grieving for the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of his classmates who are not returning from their first mission. Even though Kirk is only a handful of years younger than Spock, and even though in terms of a Vulcan lifespan, Spock is proportionally younger thank Kirk, Spock feels older in this moment. He does not have school friends to mourn.

"I checked," Kirk mutters. "My whole dorm. Two hundred of us. There are five left." He looks up. "Though I guess that percentage is a little better than Vulcan's."

Spock gives him a tight nod. "Indeed. Though the mathematical difference is not significant."

"The geographic difference is. I'm -- I was on that drill. Me and Sulu, we saw it happen. Maybe we could have -- "

"I would prefer not to discuss this here, now."

Kirk scrubs a hand through his hair and sniffs. "Sure, yeah. Sorry." He appears to collect his thoughts with a quick shake of his head. "So, you wanna be my first officer if they let me keep Enterprise?"

Spock blinks in genuine surprise and almost lets slip a very human, "Sorry?"

Kirk looks at him as though he expects Spock to easily follow his logic. "Yeah, why not? We had a good thing goin' by the end. I think we'd make a pretty bad-ass team -- Scotty, Sulu, Chekov, Bones, Uhura, you and me?"

Spock tries to ascertain whether the captain is joking, but he can detect nothing false in Kirk's demeanor. "Thank you, Captain. I will recommend you for the position, but I will resign from Starfleet to join the remaining Vulcans in finding a new home world. In answer to your previous question, that is what I will do upon our return."

The captain's mouth quirks into another smile, and this one is unmistakably morose.

He found Uhura reading at her desk, her feet pulled up onto her chair, a PADD held in the tight space between her knees and chest. She was dressed in Starfleet-issue sleeping bottoms and a black undershirt, a combination that he had always found appealing, primarily because the shirt exposed the shape of her shoulders. Spock had come to learn that he liked women's shoulders -- or at least he liked Uhura's. Tonight, however, her shoulders were not of primary concern.

At the sight of him, she unfolded from her chair and deposited the PADD on her desk, coming to stand before him, her hands already reaching for his. "Spock, what is it? What's wrong?"

He took her offered hand and turned it palm up, examining the dark lines that creased it. "I have conducted myself in a manner un-befitting my station."

He could hear her smile. "I doubt that." She reached her free hand up to trace the psi-points on his face. By reflex, he leaned lightly into her hand, letting her fingers relieve some of the pressure that had accumulated throughout the day. When he didn't volunteer anything else, she asked, "What did you do?"

"I was cruel in order to disguise my own discomfort."

"It is most unorthodox for a Vulcan to meld with a human, even under such conditions."

"Yeah, well, I think he was a pretty unorthodox Vulcan. Which means you are a pretty unorthodox Vulcan, so you should understand his reasons." Kirk looks at him as though this should be their strongest point of connection, that if nothing else, they should both understand this. They should both understand being -- different.

"I do not."

"You put the whammy on that Romulan to find Pike and the Red Matter." Kirk is defensive about the meld. He guards it and wants to share the experience -- two conflicting needs that only make sense in a human.

"He was an enemy. And unconscious. There were no other means of quickly ascertaining Captain Pike's whereabouts." Spock is defensive about the meld. And he's curious. He shouldn't be surprised by this, but still, he is.

"And, Spock, we were friends. He did it because he knew me. He thought it was okay because we were friends." Spock thinks that this is the source of his captains discomfort. It is certainly the source of his own.

"Speaking Standard is insufficient in this case. Your pronouns are ambiguous."

Kirk shifts in the chair and his eyes harden. Despite the absence of inflection in Spock's voice, Kirk can identify a condescending tone when he hears one. "The Kirk and Spock from the original timeline were friends. They were best friends. I'm guessing that Spock felt comfortable melding with me to get his point across for that reason, out of feelings of friendship for me. Safe to say, you and I are not friends. Any ambiguities there?"

Spock recognizes the need for restraint at this point in the conversation, recognizes the vulnerability in Kirk's words, the open question of whether they will be refuted. However, restraint in the face of provocation has always been one of Spock's weaknesses. If their fragile truce is to be destroyed, he has the perverse desire to make sure its destruction is thorough. "During your capture on the Narada, you showed concern, fear even, for my safety. You showed regret that we would not be able to explore a closer relationship."

This is called 'rubbing it in.' Or sometimes 'rubbing one's face in it.' The second seems the most accurate.

Kirk squirms in his chair, now appearing to be in physical distress. "I was drugged. I was poisoned. You think I don't wish I could take all that back? It kills me that you saw that." And, this, finally, is what has been weighing on Kirk's mind, perhaps what has driven him to initiate the conversation.

"Why? The truth should not trouble you, should it?"

Even though it troubles Spock. Spock is troubled by the knowledge that, in another reality, he considers this man his closest friend. He is troubled because, to date, he has no means of understanding a life-long bond such as that. Knowing that it exists, that it exists for him, and that he does not yet comprehend it, is profoundly disconcerting. And he supposes that this, finally, is the cause for his behavior.

"'Why?' Because I'm your captain, for one. And two, I guess I'm a little disappointed that you're really such a dick."

He swallowed and decided that, since he had come to her room unannounced, he could at least offer her the truth. "I wanted to discuss with the captain the events that transpired on the Romulan vessel after my departure, before Mr. Scott was able to transport Captain Pike, Kirk, and myself back to the Enterprise. He, Captain Kirk, appeared both hesitant and willing to speak with me. I found what he revealed to be... disturbing."

Uhura's brows knit together with indignant concern. "What did he say? I swear, if he was a jerk to you about anything, I will kick him right in the ass, and not even Starfleet will get me to apologize."

A minute shake of his head and Uhura quieted, though her fingers clenched in Spock's hand. "Quite the opposite, in fact. He expressed his regret over the destruction of Vulcan. He was, himself, mourning the loss of his -- of your -- classmates from the Academy." He looked up to meet Uhura's eyes. "And then -- I believe he expressed interest in my friendship."

Twisting her hand in his grasp, she took hold of his wrist and pulled him to the bed. She sat down and he followed her, allowing her to draw him down into a loose embrace. Her lips brushed his ear, and then he lowered his head into her lap, resting against the curve of her thigh. Touch was never to be taken lightly and the feel of her palms over his shoulders and neck, through his hair, was born from deep trust and affinity. Only his mother had ever touched him like this, touches to sooth and comfort.

"I can read people pretty well," she said into the silence of the room. "And he wants you to like him. I used to think it was all he ever wanted from anyone. But I see now that he didn't really care about anything all that much before the Enterprise. You could do much worse than his friendship."

Spock considered this with characteristic sober reflection. His gut was heavy from a meal he hadn't really wanted and from the weight of constantly pressing grief. "I should not have come here, Nyota. It is not fair to you, knowing that I will be leaving to rejoin my people. This is only prolonging the difficulty of our separation."

"Spock, nothing about this will be easy. It's okay that it's not easy now. I'm glad you came to me, that you didn't want to be alone." Her hands were cool and soothing on his face, much like his mother's but slimmer, and intimate in a different way.

"Even in my quarters, I am not alone," he found himself saying. "I didn't think that I would be able to feel their absence. We require physical contact for our telepathy to function. And, yet, at night, when the ship is silent, I can hear them. They say nothing." Uhura's hand stilled in his hair. "They line up behind me, and I can not see them, but their silence is deafening."

Her hand slid from his hair to his brow, and she bent forward at the waist to press her head to her knuckles as though she could somehow touch what he was feeling. Reaching up to the back of her neck, he held her there and opened enough of a connection that he could feel the empathy and sorrow coming off her in waves. He tried to keep his grief to himself, but he felt her shudder with it, felt tears drip onto his face. And through it, he could feel that she was glad she could do this for him.

She exhaled slowly and began to sing. Her words were muffled with emotion, but he recognized them. It was a Vulcan children's song. Not overly sentimental -- it was, in fact, about the importance of learning good character from an early age, so that all young Vulcans would grow up knowing that they wanted to pursue the best, most just course. Slowly pulling away from him, she leaned her head back against the wall and once again began to comb her fingers through his hair. When she came to the end of the song, she started it over again from the beginning. Her pronunciation was perfect, right down to the sounds most humans could not reproduce -- as he would expect from his best student. She was still singing when he finally fell asleep.

On to Part 2.