[personal profile] elliewood


The Plebe
, Chapter 5
In Spock's Office -- A Plan Unfolds -- The Admiral's Bitch -- Jim and the Night Visitor -- Girl Talk


 

The moderated temperature of Spock’s office, noticeably cooler than it had been during his first visit, somehow made the taste of his tea more bearable. Jim was glad to find that he was able to sip from his cup without sputtering or even making a face. Across the desk, Spock was bundled against the coolness, a plush black cloak covering his standard black over black uniform, the white of the cloak’s collar and the pallor of his own skin the only relief from the severity of his garb.

He stretched one hand across the desk toward Jim to pass him a PADD upon which was displayed the exam he had just taken. “Let us review the preliminary results of your test. Your methodology is certainly unusual, at least as far as my own experience with humans.”

His tone, while not quite kind, did convey a gentle curiosity. Jim thought back to half an hour earlier when he’d pressed Submit on his touch screen and glanced up at Spock apprehensively to watch him tap his own screen, stare at it for a few moments, then swipe at it once or twice, one eyebrow raised in what Jim now recognized as the Vulcan’s closest equivalent to astonishment. A choking pulse squeezed his neck as he waited for Spock’s reaction, which finally came in the form of a lowered brow, a glance upward toward Jim’s seat to catch his anxious gaze, and a slow closing of his own eyes as he inclined his head in a nod of acknowledgment.

Well done.

He tapped the PADD with one slender finger. “I am particularly intrigued by your choice to utilize mirror writing.”

Jim blushed with a pleasure he knew he did not deserve to feel. “Thanks, but it wasn't my idea. My tutor suggested it.”

“Fascinating. Its clarity, once reversed, rivals or perhaps even exceeds that of your ordinary handwriting.”

Jim had noticed the same thing the previous evening when Finn had retrieved his PADD, flipped the image on it, and presented it back to him:

Cube root of 15

Is 3 too big pull in 2 too small push out 2.5 too big slide back 2.4 too small push out 2.45 push 2.475 pull 2.4625 push 2.46875 pull 2.465625 push 2.4671875 pull 2.46640625 cube gives 15 w 4 sig figs report 2.466 check 2.467 pull yes

2.466

“Takes you about fifty times as long to write it out as it does to do it in your head,” Finn had remarked with a rueful smile. “We’ll practice more of these so we can figure out how many steps you can leave out and still show enough of your work. We’ll also have to speed up your writing so you can finish the tests on time. But like everything else, you’ll get faster as you get better. And if you get really good at it, you might be able to keyboard it eventually so you don’t have to hand-write it.” He took back the PADD and gazed at it; Jim could see his own writing reflected in Finn’s eyes as he read its contents again. “You know, you compute very systematically. That’s going to be a huge advantage in your programming classes.”

“I probably need all the help I can get,” Jim admitted as Finn set the PADD down to nod at the waiter for a refill of his coffee. “I don’t have a lot of programming experience. My mom never even let me use a calculator.”

“You’ll be great at it.” Finn raised his cup and blew on the steaming liquid, his stormcloud eyes on Jim’s, before taking a sip. “I’ll help you.”

Spock’s voice jolted him back to the present. “I also noticed,” he continued, “that you were able to complete approximately fifty to sixty percent of the test by showing your work in an appropriate, if unorthodox, manner. However, the last several questions were simply answered without justification given for the responses. That will, as I explained earlier, adversely affect your score. I presume that time became a factor and that you therefore reverted to your normal habit in order to complete the exam.” He waited for Jim’s nod of assent before going on. “I imagine that, with practice, your proficiency with this technique will increase to the point that you can comfortably complete a test in the allotted time.”

“That’s what Finn said. The guy who’s tutoring me. That we have to work on my writing speed, I mean.”

Jim would have cause, much later, to think back to that moment when he first mentioned Finn’s name to Spock and felt the atmosphere between them shift, almost imperceptibly.

“Finn.” Spock’s tone was curiously flat, more emotionless than usual were that possible. “Do you perhaps refer to Cadet First Class Bentley Finnegan?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Do you know him?”

“Indeed.” Spock pulled his hand away from the PADD in front of Jim to reach for his own cup of tea and sip it before continuing. “Mr. Finnegan and I are currently collaborating on the revision of a tactical examination for upperclassmen. His programming skills are superior and his expertise in human psychology has been invaluable to me.”

The utter blandness of Spock’s tone belied the complimentary words; Jim bristled at what he perceived to be criticism of his new friend.

“I only met him yesterday but he’s been tremendous. Really helpful. I couldn't have figured out how to show my, uh, process on my own, and no one else at the AEC could help me. Would help me, I mean.” He knew he was rambling and willed himself to stop and take a breath. “Finn helped me when no one else would. And he wants to meet with me again on Friday to go over this exam, to help me get better, like you said.”

Spock set down his tea, folded his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes for a moment, his features settling into stone, before re-opening them to capture Jim’s apprehensive gaze.

“Cadet.” Again Jim sensed that ripple in Spock’s equanimity, as if he’d thrown a rock into the middle of a still pool and was now bobbing in the wave front it had created. “I am gratified that you were able to secure the assistance you needed in order to succeed in this class. And I do not presume to dictate to you how to manage your intimate affairs. But I would advise you to limit your contact with Mr. Finnegan to comprise only those interactions necessary to continue your academic success.”

“Why…?” Jim’s initial flush of surprise deepened into one of indignation at Spock’s condescension. “I mean, why would you say that? He’s a great guy.”

Spock shook his head as he picked up his cup again. “I cannot say,” he replied, his tone so neutral that Jim couldn't tell if he meant I don’t know or I’m not allowed to tell. “I can only repeat my advice.”

A sudden, tight heat warmed the tops of Jim’s cheeks as he mutely searched Spock’s face for some explanation for the admonition he had received and found none. He had just opened his mouth to expostulate further when the door to Spock’s office opened behind him; the absence of a raised eyebrow told him that this intrusion was not completely unexpected.

“Admiral.” Spock set his cup on the desk and rose. After a quick look over his shoulder at the newcomer, Jim did likewise, turning to find himself staring at a tall, barrel-chested man with close-cropped greying hair and pouting, almost femininely plush lips that pursed slightly in annoyance as he saw Jim, then relaxed into a smile, the annoyance replaced with an easy graciousness.

“My apologies; I didn't know you had company.” He looked past Jim to give Spock a look of almost embarrassingly warm familiarity before his eyes shifted back to inspect Jim, his brows drawn together in inquiry.

Spock spoke from behind him. “Admiral Barnett, this is Cadet Fourth Class James Kirk.”

Jim started at hearing the name of the Academy commandant and wondered briefly if he should offer his hand, but Barnett did not reach for it and merely nodded at him, his eyes still examining his face. “Kirk, you say…?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not George Kirk’s boy, by any chance?”

Jim hesitated, resisting his mind’s urge to squirm as the ripple radiating outward from Spock grew to a disquieting wave. “Yes, sir,” he said at length. “That’s right.”

“I knew your father.” Barnett extended his hand now and took Jim’s, shaking it firmly. “A great man.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So this is your first year with us.” Barnett’s gaze had become so intently searching that Jim felt himself prickle with discomfort and was glad when Barnett released his hand. “How are you liking it so far?”

“Well, it takes some getting used to.” Jim clasped his hands in front of him, suddenly afraid that he had sounded too critical. “It’s active, I mean, really busy. There’s a lot more going on here than back home.”

“Yes, I daresay there is.” Barnett tilted his head, the full lips pursing again with thoughtfulness. “What are your impressions so far about what it is that’s going on here, as you say?”

“Uh, I don’t know. People are in a rush. Competitive. Maybe…” He took a breath, his indignation at Spock’s subtle disparagement of Finn still fresh. “Maybe not very straightforward, I think.”

Barnett’s eyes widened at Jim’s last comment, the initial surprise on his face turning into speculation. “Really? That’s interesting, very interesting.” He inspected Jim for a few tense moments more before seeming to come to a decision, his gaze shifting abruptly to Spock. “Spock, come see me tonight. The usual place. And bring your young friend along too.”

Even with his back to Spock, Jim could feel one dark eyebrow shoot upward. “Sir?”

“Bring Mr. Kirk with you tonight. Am I not making myself clear?”

“You are, sir.” Spock’s voice had flattened back out into the deadpan tone, but Barnett did not seem to notice. He reached for Jim’s hand again and squeezed it warmly.

“Until then, gentlemen.” Barnett nodded past Jim’s shoulder at Spock and departed as briskly as he had appeared. Jim waited until he had turned the corner to seize his shoulder bag and cap, so disoriented from the odd turn of the conversation and the growing turbulence of the wave in his head that he barely managed his own good-bye to Spock before bolting from the office.

 

***

 

“The usual place” turned out to be anything but what Jim would have expected for the apparently habitual meetings between a top-ranking Starfleet officer and a staid young Academy instructor. He had imagined, as he stared with growing unease at the contents of Mitchell’s closet, that it would be somewhat similar to the Officer’s Club in formality, and had Spock not relayed by his own dress that his uniform was inappropriate to the occasion, he would gladly have defaulted to wearing his reds. But Spock had appeared at the door to his dorm room in traditional Vulcan garb, layers of robes over which rested a cloak that, although similar in cut and color to the one he had worn in his office earlier that day, was decorated with elegantly curling script at its front edges, giving it if not a jaunty aspect at least an air of something noticeably less severe.

“I see you are not prepared,” Spock noted as he entered, the swish of his robes loud in the small room. “I will wait.”

Jim indicated toward the only place in the room to sit, the small chair at his own desk, but Spock had chosen to stand in the narrow space between his and Mitchell’s beds, his hands patiently folded beneath his cloak, while Jim turned to the closet to investigate his options. His roommate’s taste in off-duty wear tended toward club casual, and Jim had to push aside several shirts in overbold prints and shades more suited to Mitchell’s dark coloring to find what he disparagingly called “grandpa's church shirt,” a plain button-front in white. Mitch had been largely correct in saying that they were almost the same size, at least as far as shirts, but fitting into a pair of his trousers was more problematic; his was the fuller build of a grown man, and the khaki pants that Jim now pulled on ballooned rather noticeably around his waist and hips, the effect mitigated only slightly by the addition of a belt tightened to the last notch. The overall impression, he thought as he inspected himself in the closet’s mirror, was one of a boy playing dress-up in Daddy’s clothes, and he shook his head as he raised his eyes from the unsatisfying image to find Spock reflected there as well, a curious expression — almost one of unhappiness — on his face.

But when he turned to face Spock directly, the look, if it had ever been there, was gone, and he received a polite nod instead. “You look well.” He gestured toward the chronometer on Jim’s desk with one hand. “We should depart now if we are to be on time.”

It occurred to Jim twenty minutes later that perhaps he should have chosen one of Mitchell’s more vibrant outfits after all. The patrons that filled Bambinelli’s, seemingly unaware that it was a weeknight, laughed and screeched loudly to each other over the constant clatter of dishes hitting tables and glasses being toasted together. As they stood together amid the profusion of noise and color that swirled around them, it seemed to him that he and Spock were two crows in a room full of gaudy peacocks. Next time, he consoled himself as he pulled off the black leather jacket, I’ll know.

He surveyed the crowded dining area in search of Admiral Barnett and finally spied him, his large frame squeezed into a red leatherette booth toward the rear. Across the table from him, Jim was astonished to notice, was Commander Pike. He hesitated, frozen with uncertainty, until Spock placed one warm hand on the small of his back and leaned down to speak quietly into his ear. “Let us make our way.”

Barnett beamed cheerfully up at them as they approached the table; Pike’s expression, in contrast, was decidedly dour. Spock perched stiffly on the bench next to Barnett and left Jim to slide in next to Pike, whose lips tightened as he nodded curtly at Jim in greeting. Barnett either didn't notice or chose to ignore the tension.

“Chris here has told me a lot about you,” he smiled at Jim, waggling an almost teasing finger at him. “I think I was right about you earlier today. I think you’re just the person I need.”

Jim cast a sideways glance at the still stern-faced Pike before leaning forward slightly to make himself heard over the din.

“Need for what, sir?”

Barnett waited until the server had unloaded a tray full of tumblers, beer for himself and Pike and tepid water for Jim and Spock, before answering back. “There’s something going on at the Academy. Has been for months now.” He patted Spock’s knee with one hand and raised his glass with the other. “We think there’s someone passing classified information out of Starfleet and using the Academy as the conduit. It’s been damn hard to trace.” The affable smile disappeared as he paused to take a healthy swig of beer. “It’s serious,” he continued. “Critical tactical information is getting leaked to the Klingons. They've known about movements and operations there’s no way they should know about. It’s pretty clear that we have a spy.”

It flashed through Jim’s mind that this was some crazy joke at his expense, or perhaps a test of some sort. But the look of unhappiness was back on Spock’s face as he caught Pike’s eye across the table and held it for a long moment.

He shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “Sir, I find that hard to believe. I can’t think what information coming from here would be of any interest to the Klingons.”

“You’re right.” Barnett seemed pleased with his answer. “Spock thinks that someone higher up, maybe Operations, has a contact here on campus that he or she is passing secrets to. The intel might be flowing from Ops to the Klingons via someone at the Academy.” He took another swallow of beer. “It’s a good plan, too. Comms between Ops and the Academy are common enough that they wouldn't automatically be flagged as suspicious, and we don’t have the security measures in place to monitor and decode every comm to or from a bunch of egghead Academy instructors. Never saw the need. So you can see why it’s been tough to verify the leak, much less identify who’s involved.”

“What does this all have to do with me?”

“I’m looking for someone with fresh eyes, someone who’s not all wrapped up in the Academy culture, someone unbiased who can look past all the business as usual and spot the unusual. At the same time, this person needs to look like the opposite of someone trying to sniff out a spy.” He pulled his hand up from under the table to join its mate in wrapping around his glass as he leaned in toward Jim. “You’re your father’s son, so your loyalty is unquestionable. And you look like you just fell off the apple cart, bless your heart. You’re fresh, unspoiled, like the country mouse come to town. No one would ever suspect you of anything. You’re perfect.”

There was silence around the table as the dark eyes on one side searched the lighter ones opposite. Spock finally spoke first. “If I may, Commander,” he said directly to Pike. “You of all of us are the most familiar with the cadet. I would ask for your impartial assessment of his suitability for an assignment of this nature. For my opinion” — his eyes flicked toward Jim briefly — “is that the cadet is far too young and inexperienced to be of any assistance in this matter. In addition, any involvement on his part places him at extreme and undue risk to his person.”

Pike nodded and straightened, the disapproval in the glance he exchanged with Spock painfully clear as he addressed Barnett. “Sir, you yourself said it’s been hard to find the source of the leaked information. To expect Mr. Kirk to be able to contribute anything material to the investigation is unrealistic at best. And we’re talking about Klingon sympathizers here. Spock’s right; it could get him killed.”

“I’m not suggesting that he make any kind of move against the Klingons. All I’m proposing is that he keep his ears and eyes open and relate back to us. Anything that could serve as a lead, no matter how innocuous or inconsequential, that we might not notice but that he would. And,” Barnett added with some asperity, “I’m not asking for approval from either of you. In the end, it’s only Mr. Kirk’s approval I need.” He picked up his glass and swirled it, his eyes following the shifting foam patterns on its sides before moving abruptly upward to look straight into Jim’s. “What do you say, young man? Will you help me?”

Spock’s words had stung; Pike's concurrence deepened the sting into a burn. Neither of them thought he was up to the job.

He turned to Barnett. “If I can be of any help, of course. I’d be happy to.”

Barnett raised his glass. “Good man. I can see you take after your father.” He drained its contents and set the glass down with a satisfied grunt. “You’ll continue to meet with Mr. Spock at least once a week, in his office after your astrophysics class, like you did today. No one would find that out of the ordinary. If you've seen or heard anything you think is unusual or noteworthy, you’ll pass it on to him at that time. He’ll pass it on to me in turn.”

Jim glanced back at Spock, whose eyes held his only briefly before dropping to look down at the table. He forced a smile.

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir. For the opportunity.”

 

***

 

mitchellgs: how di dit go

kirkjt: i don’t know, maybe 50 or 60

kirkjt: but not 0

mitchellgs: awesome have fun tonight

Jim smiled tiredly at the good wishes; he knew his new roommate well enough to predict that, if Mitchell were to know how his evening actually went, he would argue with him relentlessly until Jim agreed not to help Barnett with his half-baked scheme. Pike had already voiced that same opinion, absent the excessive profanity and the blow Mitchell would have delivered to underscore his point, on their way back to campus; the two had elected to excuse themselves early, leaving Barnett and Spock to their pre-arranged dinner plans.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. You can bow out. Should bow out, really.” Pike walked hurriedly as if to distance himself as quickly as possible from the restaurant and the conversation that had just occurred therein. “Just because he’s an admiral doesn't mean you should let him bully you into doing something this irresponsible. It could get you killed if someone thinks you’re snooping around. Any intel you’d be able to acquire would be damn near useless anyway. Whoever’s leaking classified information is a professional; they’re not going to be leaving a lot of clues for you to find.”

Jim tried to lighten Pike’s black mood. “That’ll be good, right? Then there’d be no reason for anyone to come after me.”

“So there’s no reason for you to do anything at all.” Pike’s voice was tight. “Do yourself a favor and forget about Barnett. Let the higher-ups figure it out.”

“But I still want to try.”

“Jim.” Pike stopped abruptly and turned to face him, his hands taking hold of Jim’s upper arms. His expression was grave. “Listen to me. Barnett’s grasping at straws here. He’s manipulating you, appealing to your emotions by invoking your dad. I know you want to live up to his memory, I know that. But you won’t do it by chasing Barnett’s wild goose and getting yourself hurt or killed in the process. You’ll do it by focusing on what you want to accomplish here, your scholarship, and afterwards, your own command. But not this crazy bullshit plan to sniff out some Klingon spy.”

“You’re right.” Jim spoke in a rush, anxious to finish before Pike’s expression could change into one of relief. “I do want to honor his memory. And I’ll do it by doing what he would have done. He wouldn't say no if he’d been the one asked, if he had a chance to help. And I’m not going to either.”

Pike searched his face in the dimming light, then swore softly and released his arms. “You understand that you can’t even tell anyone about this ludicrous idea, or even this meeting tonight, not anyone.” He resumed his pace toward the campus, his strides short and angry. “And if anyone asks, if they saw you out tonight, you need to play it as an accident, you and Spock out to talk about his class or some such, and you just happened to run into us.”

“All right.” Jim frowned as something suddenly occurred to him. “Sir, did the admiral tell you about his plan? Did he ask you if you thought I’d be the right person?”

Pike snorted humorlessly. “Barnett? Hell no. He’s a one-man show. Like most of his schemes, this one came straight from the hip. I wouldn't have found out about it if Spock hadn't told me to come by tonight.”

“Mr. Spock…told you?” The sudden heat flared high on his cheeks again, just under his eyes. “Why? Because he thought you’d be able to talk me out of it?”

“He did the right thing.” Pike’s tone was sharp. “He knows Barnett well enough that he could tell there was something hare-brained up his sleeve but not what. I forced Barnett to fill me in before you came by threatening to comm Winona and get you yanked from the Academy.”

“What?!”

They had reached the front door of Watson; Jim stopped and faced Pike, the words jumbling madly in his mind in their struggle to get out. His eyes felt like coals in his head. “Listen, that’s…”

“No, you listen.” Pike lowered his voice, underscoring every word. “Barnett’s using you because he can’t get his own shit together. Spock knows that and I know that. The only one who doesn't know that is you. And you’re going to get hurt. For the last time, back out now. Because I don’t want to make that call to your mother to tell her she’s lost another loved one.”

“You won’t be making that call. Sir.” And Jim knew it was rude, but he turned away anyway, leaving Pike to stare after him as he climbed the stairs to the front entrance of the building, then ran up to the second floor and into the safety of his room to fling himself on his bunk, still clothed, one forearm pressed over his eyes to cool the anger that burned there.

 

***

 

He realized he must have dozed off when he came to with a jerk to find the room lights not at zero any longer but closer to twenty percent. A few more seconds ticked by during which he cataloged the other anomalies — the delicious feminine scent in the air and the feel of soft flesh pressing against his shoulder and thigh — before twisting his body away from the woman in his bunk and rolling off to land with an unceremonious thump onto the floor.

Above him, Gaila peered over the edge of the bunk. “Sorry to startle you,” she murmured with a slow smile. “But you’re so cute when you sleep, I didn't want to wake you up right away.”

He scuttled away from her, crab-like, backpedaling until he hit the wall at the head of the beds and could go no farther. She rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin up with folded hands, studying him with curiosity as he did his best to disappear into the wall. From where he sat, he could see her bare legs bent upward behind her, the ankles crossed and feet swaying gently as she watched him. He also noted with dismay that her shoulders were equally unclothed and prayed that something was covering the area between her breasts and her upper legs, although from his vantage point on the floor, he could already see that, if she were wearing anything, it couldn't be much.

She laughed gently. “Don’t be freaked out. Mitch let me have his access code.”

mitchellgs: awesome have fun tonight

Realization of her intent clicked; his stomach took a nosedive. “Look, I…I like you, I mean, you’re a good friend, and…”

“I like you too. “ Gaila tilted her head and removed one hand from her chin to stroke the space he had just vacated on the bed, and he saw to his relief that she was, although barely clad, at least not completely nude, the strap of her lingerie falling languidly off one shoulder. “Come on back to bed. It’s more comfortable than the floor.”

“I, uh…I can’t do that. What you’re saying, what I think you’re saying, I mean.” He realized he sounded like a complete idiot, took a breath, and tried again. “I want us to be friends, you know, stay friends, not this other…uh, thing, you know…”

The unintelligible sentence ended with a squeak as Gaila swung her legs down and pushed herself up to sitting. “Don’t worry,” she smiled as she rose off the bunk. “We’ll still be friends. Just better ones.”

Mesmerized by the smooth expanse of skin that now moved inexorably toward him, he didn't recognize until almost too late that he was eye-level with a pair of lacy, nearly transparent panties and that he would have to stand to avoid the otherwise inevitable collision of her lush pubis with his nose. He planted numb feet against the floor and pushed himself up until he stood, wobbly and shaking, his shoulders and the palms of his hands flattened against the wall behind him.

“I, uh, have an early class. Tomorrow. Real early, you know, so I…”

“No, you don’t,” she smiled knowingly, punctuating her words with slow feline steps. “You don’t have anything until noon. You can sleep in. Late.”

She reached him and nestled into his upper body, her breasts swelling beguilingly over the cups of her skimpy bra as they pressed into his chest. “We have,” she whispered up at him, her eyes darkly blue in the dim light, “all night long.”

She pulled away from him then, and his sigh of relief froze in mid-exhalation as he realized she had only done so to give herself easier access to the buttons of Mitchell’s borrowed shirt, now unfastening themselves under her deft fingers until she had exposed his chest and abdomen to the warmth of her exploring hands. He groaned as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and flattened one palm across his pectoral to circle the nipple slowly with her thumb, her other hand trailing down his side to the lean hip below, then forward to his navel, her fingers lightly brushing the darkening strip of hair beneath.

“Gaila, please. I…oh, no,” he gasped as she pushed one leg between his, her soft thigh cradling his scrotum inside the oversized trousers, and he felt the internal tug of war as his testicles vacillated between descending toward the welcoming warmth of the female flesh below and crawling upward into the safety of his own abdominal cavity. They opted for the former when she leaned in to place her panting mouth on his neck just above the collarbone, and he felt, through a growing haze of arousal laced with panic, her hand drop lower to tug on the buckle of his belt.

The high, thin scream building in his throat was mercifully arrested by the sound of the door opening behind her. Gaila turned her head, eyes narrowed, to find Nyota in the dorm room’s entrance, her own pajamas covered by a fleecy blue robe. Behind her, inexplicably, stood Spock.

“Lights to full,” he intoned dryly as they took in the scene before them: a nearly shirtless Jim pinned up against the wall by Gaila’s insistent knee, his eyes dark and huge and rolling like a frightened colt’s, two high spots of bright red the only color in the face that had otherwise paled beneath its tan. Nyota was afraid he was going to faint.

Gaila.”

Before her, Gaila pouted a little and tossed back a cascade of auburn curls before pulling her hand away from Jim’s waist. Nyota glared at the thigh that still imprisoned her quarry against the wall. “I told you. Back the fuck off.”

Gaila sighed and obediently removed her knee, the sudden absence of support causing Jim to slide partially back down the wall; he caught himself before he collapsed onto the floor and straightened as Nyota removed her robe to fling it over Gaila’s deshabille.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Jim as she pushed Gaila bodily toward the door. “You all right?”

He nodded, glad that his voice was reasonably steady as he answered. “Just startled, that’s all. I was asleep. I got…” He waited until Gaila turned her head back toward him to meet his eyes with her own. “I got scared. That’s all.”

She smiled at him, cheerful in spite of Nyota’s annoyed shoving. “Sorry we didn't get to finish,” she purred. “We’ll do it again soon.”

His answering smile was weak, fading once the women had exited; he watched through the open door as they disappeared together into the coolness of the night air. Beside him, Spock was ominously still. He shrugged the shirt back on and fastened several of the buttons before breaking the silence.

“Sir. What happened just now, I…I don’t want you to think…”

“It is of no consequence what I think. What is potentially of great consequence, conversely, is your concealment of the truth.”

Jim started at the uncharacteristically impolite interruption; Spock’s voice was surprisingly stern, even bordering on angry. “Do you not realize that your dishonesty could have grave repercussions for those you call your friends?” he continued. “This young woman tonight was very nearly guilty of a serious crime, one that would have been entirely avoided had you spoken what you ought.”

Spock had chatted with Pike about quite a bit more than Barnett’s dinner invitation, it seemed. Jim felt his resentment against the two of them rise anew and tried to push it down. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I…I’ll make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“See to it that it does not. It would at the very least be advisable to ensure that one’s door is locked in the future.”

Mindful of bringing Spock’s attention to Mitchell’s involvement in the evening’s events, Jim bit back the retort, and it wasn't until long after Spock had swept out of the room that it occurred to him to wonder, as he stared sleeplessly up at the ceiling and wished for the familiar lull of Mitchell’s lusty snoring, how it was that Spock had even come to be there that night.

 

***

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Gaila was used to Nyota’s temper and shrugged beneath the blue robe, completely uncowed by the tirade she knew was coming. “He’s cute, and he likes me. I like him. Nothing wrong with that.”

Nyota halted and spun to glare at her roommate. “Are you cracked? Could you not see that he was fucking terrified? Jesus,” she swore as she resumed the march back to their dorm. “You want a boy like that, you have to go slow, not tits-out full bore.”

“I did go slow. I waited a whole week.”

“A week. Are you kidding me.”

“Besides, he seemed to like full bore just fine,” came the unabashed reply. “And, for your information, he’s no boy. Baby’s hung like a mule.”

What?!

Gaila laughed lightly as she pulled ahead. “Mm hmm,” she said over her shoulder as Nyota stood stunned. “And I know what your problem is.”

"Oh, you do.”

She waited until Nyota had caught back up with her before continuing. “I so do. You want me to clear out so you can have him for yourself.”

“The hell!

The look of frank astonishment on Nyota’s face was met with a knowing smirk. “Say what you like; I know it’s true. And you can forget about it right now, anyway; it’s never gonna happen. He’s mine.”

Those amber eyes, wide and dark in the dimness of his dorm room. “I don’t…I do not want him. That’s insane.”

Gaila shrugged again and wrapped the robe around herself more tightly as she swept on ahead.

“Sure. Whatever.”

 

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