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Oh how Chris regrets everything.
It’ll all work out fine… he’d told himself as he’d herded one James T. Kirk off of the shuttle and towards the Starfleet recruitment centre building.
It is not at all fine.
Genius repeat offender. Genius. Repeat. Offender.
God damn it all to hell, the kid is an unholy terror.
Bar fights every weekend, scuffles with other cadets in the middle of class, two reports of shoplifting, four cases of public indecency, and a long trail of broken hearts leading all over campus and doing several loops around the local pubs and bars.
Chris, having stupidly agreed to be Kirk’s academic sponsor, is tearing his hair out.
Sure, the kid’s grades are pretty great when he actually manages to not get kicked out of lectures and seminars for causing a disturbance. And his performances in tactical simulations regularly leave even Chris’ jaw on the floor with awe.
But seriously, the kid needs to grow the fuck up. Before Chris actually murders him out of sheer frustration. He’s come close a few times, only managing to keep his hands by his sides and not waving around or round the boy’s neck because he’s determined to be equally as stubborn as the wall he’s butting his head against.
Right now the only reason he hasn’t grabbed the lad by his jacket and shaken him is because he’s squeezing his hands together behind his back hard enough to cut his own circulation off.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Kirk repeats lackadaisically, sprawled in the chair on the other side of his desk like every stereotype about lazy teenagers come to life.
“I have seventeen complaints in my inbox,” Chris growls.
Kirk smirks like he’s proud of himself.
“Is that a campus record?” he drawls, picking at the skin around his nails with obvious disinterest.
“I am this close to giving up on you Kirk,” Chris snaps. “Why should I continue putting in the effort to stop you getting kicked out of the academy when you don’t help yourself in any way?”
Kirk shrugs.
“Dunno man.”
Chris grits back a scream of frustration and grips his wrist even harder.
“I could make it up to you,” Kirk suddenly suggests with a lewd grin. “Make me worth your effort.”
“The only way you’ll make yourself worth my effort is by getting your shit together,” Chris snarls, really fucking annoyed that Kirk has resorted to inappropriate flirting again already. “Stop fucking around with every cadet your eyes light upon, stop pissing about in class and causing disruptions, stop getting yourself beat six ways to Sunday every weekend, and start taking some responsibility for your life!”
Kirk shrugs lazily again.
Chris takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before he well and truly loses his shit. He’s had plenty of time now to have learnt that anger never gets him anywhere with the boy. Yelling just makes him more insolent, handing out demerits and sanctions just makes him rebel harder. Even leaving him in the campus brig for three days had only made things worse.
Time to try a new tact.
What the hell is he supposed to try though?
“Alright,” he breathes agitatedly with his eyes closed, mind working frantically. “Alright, what’s it going to take Kirk?” he asks as he steps round his desk and approaches the kid. “What do I have to do to get you take me seriously, huh?”
“I can think of a few things,” Kirk drawls again with that stupid fucking smirk. Chris forces his outward appearance to remain calm and seemingly unbothered despite how much he wants to wipe the expression of the boy’s face with the back of his hand.
“Ok then,” he says instead, crouching down in front of him so that his eyes are level with the lad’s chest. He looks up and gently smiles, wondering what the fuck he’s doing and how on Earth this is going to help at all.
“Kinda being creepy right now sir,” Kirk says with his brow furrowed, overconfidence suddenly waning. Chris cheers silently at the first usage of sir all afternoon, but then goes back to internal screaming and cringing.
“You still haven’t told me what you want from me son.”
Kirk looks at him with raw confusion, his mouth opening slightly.
“Movie nights?” Chris suggests inanely, having no idea what he should actually say now that he’s steered the conversation here.
“What-? Are you for real dude!?” Kirk scoffs, clearly uncomfortable.
“Single dorm room? Access to the officer’s gym? Extra credit on your academy meal card?”
“Are you trying to bribe me!?” Kirk asks incredulously.
“I’m trying to be nice!” Chris shrugs in a mild panic. “Clearly authority just makes you rebel so I-”
Rather awkwardly, he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.
“So you’re being creepy,” Kirk grimaces, shuffling to sit more upright.
“Well you’re not leering at me anymore at least,” Chris snorts self-depreciatingly. He sighs and rubs his brow with the back of his thumb, moving his other hand to drop onto Kirk’s knee to give it a friendly-
Kirk near full body shivers has his palm makes contact with his leg, his shoulders drooping as tension Chris hadn’t even realised was there seeps out of him.
Chris stares.
Kirk stares back.
“Ah.” Chris says eloquently, quietly having a sudden revelation.
“I’m gonna go now sir,” Kirk says weakly, shooting to his feet.
Chris makes sure his hand stays on the boy’s knee for as long as possible. Because it’s not sex and fights the kid is obsessed with after all. It’s attention and physical touch.
Kirk is touched starved and doesn’t know how to feed the desire except through acting out and sleeping around.
Chris lets him go without another word.
“I have a plan!” he announces as he pushes through his front door and into his hallway.
“Should I call the fire brigade and get them on standby?” Phil calls back from the general direction on the kitchen. Shoving his boots into the rack, Chris follows the sound until he’s greeted with the sight of his husband stirring some thick red gloopy-looking sauce on the stove.
“Psychiatric unit might be more appropriate,” he grins as he shuffles over and tries to melt all over his other half. Phil graciously hooks his free arm around him to stop him sliding to the floor completely. “Smells like wine, what is it?” he asks, peering into the sauce pan.
“It’s supposed to be cheese sauce,” Phil huffs with a grin.
“But it’s red and smells like wine.”
“It’s Betazoid cheese sauce. It’s for the cauliflower over there.”
“Ewww vegetables,” Chris mock-whispers.
“You’re a vegetable. How was work?”
Chris shrugs as best he can given that he’s hanging off Phil like a limp noodle.
“Eh, this morning was fine except for getting seventeen Kirkplaints. This afternoon however, was weird and I panicked and did some strange things in front of a cadet.”
Phil looks down at him with a concerned look.
“I don’t know whether to start with the Kirk complaints or you being your normal self but in a professional setting.”
“They’re actually both related,” Chris grunts, pushing himself to stand back upright. “Kirk was in my office so I could yell at him for exploding a phaser pistol at an open day demonstration, but then I remembered that yelling never actually works and started being creepy instead.”
“Sounds like the man I know and love,” Phil deadpans as he takes the pan off the heat and pokes the potatoes in another one with a fork.
“I got down on my knees in front of him and asked if he wanted to come round for a movie night.”
“Oh god seriously honey!?” Phil splutters. “Why not go all out and use the phrase “Net-holos and chill” next time huh?”
“I was trying to be friendly and everything just went horribly wrong!” Chris groans, tipping his head back dramatically. “I don’t know how normal people socialise! My only baselines are you, Number One, Kait, Matto, and Spock, and none of us are sane or sensible. Except maybe Spock, but he cheats by repressing all emotion.”
“Fair point I suppose,” Phil snorts. “How did Kirk take your attempts at being friendly?”
“Completely freaked him out. Looked like he’d seen a ghost. And then I put my hand on his knee and he ran away.”
“You put your hand on his knee while kneeling in front of him and giving him doe eyes and asking him to come over. Of course you did darling, you’re hopeless.”
“I never said anything about doe eyes!”
“You didn’t need to love, I’m married to you and I know what you’re like. Hand me that knife please; I need to check the pork chops in the grill.”
Chris does as he’s asked, but flounces around huffily as he does so.
“You still haven’t asked about the plan,” he gripes as he turns and leans on the worktop afterwards with his arms crossed across his chest while Phil stabs the pork. “I have a plan to stop Kirk from ending up murdered by someone having a fit of righteous fury.”
“Does this plan involve more kneeling and inappropriate knee-touching?”
Chris pauses and tries to look thoughtful.
“Yes,” he says eventually. “And stalking and candy and back pats and eventually hugs.”
“You were right,” Phil sighs. “I need to call a psych unit and commit you.”
Chris is aware that he’s going to have to be careful.
He starts by making a list of where Kirk should be at what times. What classes he’ll be in, and where he’ll likely walk when moving between them. Which tables he frequents in the Cadet mess hall, and what times he swipes into the cadet gym at.
Then, he chooses a couple from each day and sets alarms for fifteen minutes before hand.
And then he goes to the store and buys loads of candy.
When the first alarm of the day goes off, he puts his computer terminal into standby mode and grabs his jacket. Checking to make sure the bag of wine gums is still in his pocket and that he’s opened it, he pops one in his mouth and heads out towards the Tucker Complex.
Pausing for a second before he enters the atrium, he peers in through the glass of the doors and spots Kirk gesturing grandly to a bunch of snickering peers. Grinning to himself, he then strides in and ambles straight towards the kid.
“Oh hello Kirk, didn’t expect to see you here,” he lies easily as he steps up next to him.
“Sir?” Kirk blinks, clearly still wary of him after yesterday’s disaster of a meeting.
“I’m just off upstairs for a quick chat with a lieutenant about some warp delamination charts he submitted,” he smiles easily, fishing the bag of English candy out of his coat. “Fancy a fruit chewy?”
“I guess thanks,” Kirk shrugs with a frown as his friends glance at one another in confusion.
“Have a good day son,” he beams, clapping Kirk on the shoulder gently as he starts to walk towards the turbolifts.
He doesn’t look back as he moves away, but he knows Kirk will be looking dazed anyway.
“Are you stalking me kid?” he chuckles as he once again holds about a bag of candy to the lad as they pass by each other in the fountain square outside the Mayweather Building. This is the eighth time in three days he’s managed to “accidentally” meet Kirk somewhere on Campus.
“N-no!” Kirk stammers, taking one of the chocolate buttons almost on autopilot.
“I’m joking son,” Chris smiles reassuringly, once again reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “I know you’ve got practical ethics this afternoon so please try not to punch anyone when you inevitably start an argument okay?”
“Hehh…” Kirk says nonsensically as Chris walks away still grinning.
“Jelly Baby?”
“Thank you sir?”
“Sour patch kid? Or I have nerds if you prefer.”
From beside Kirk, Cadet McCoy squints at him suspiciously.
“Um,” says Kirk as he leans into Chris’ customary shoulder pat and reaches for the box of cherry and watermelon nerds.
Of course none of this is actually curbing Kirk’s behaviour yet. By the end of the week Chris has more than two dozen varieties of candy open in one of his desk drawers, but he also has Kirk slouching in the opposite desk chair once again.
“So how did your federation history test go?” he asks, completely avoiding the topic of him showing up to his flight sim seminar thoroughly stoned - the reason he’s been ordered here.
“Did okay,” Kirk drawls in his customary manner, eyes still red.
Chris just smiles at him rather than getting annoyed or angry. Stage two is turning his office into somewhere Kirk feels safe from judgement rather than somewhere he’s sent to be shouted at.
“Yes I got a copy of your transcripts. Some exceptionally creative answers you came up with for some of them. I’m really impressed at your ability to think outside of the box.”
“Thanks?” Kirk says, his devil-may-care attitude slipping again.
“I particularly like your take on the Xindi resolution. Relating it back to the Earth World War One Treaty of Versailles and the consequences of France’s harsh conditions was a stroke of genius I must say. A very well-reasoned argument.”
He opens up his stash drawer as he talks and pulls out the first bag he touches. Espeez cube lollipops spill out over his desk as he tips the bag, and he pushes them round for a few seconds before selecting a red and green one and starting to unwrap it.
“I just- was thinking about how motivating resentment can be,” Kirk says slowly, his eyes glued to Chris’ hands as he sticks the lolly in his mouth and scrunches the wrapper up. “If you strip everything good from people’s lives, you can hardly be surprised when they start listening to someone offering them the world even if what they’re saying would usually be discarded as tyrannical nonsense.”
“And well, fear is quite a good motivator in those situations too,” Chris nods agreeably, flicking the stick from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. “You do things that people normally think of as wrong because you’re afraid of what might happen if you don’t.”
“Err, yeah,” Kirk swallows nervously, ducking his head, bravado gone completely.
“What colour do you want?” Chris asks, indicating the array of lollies between them with a wave of his hand.
Three weeks into his experiment, Chris follows Kirk into town at a distance. It’s Friday night and he can tell the kid is already well on his way to be fall-down drunk despite only just having left his dorm block.
“This is insane,” Phil sighs from beside Chris’ elbow as they walk. “You’re training him to like seeing you. This is so morally wrong.”
“Classic conditioning,” Chris snickers as they follow the kid and his small crowd of friends around a corner and onto a street lit by the bright multicolour lights of multiple bars and nightclubs. “I’m Pavlov’s bell and he’s the dog!”
“Did you do this to me as well? Is that why I agreed to marry you even though you’re clearly mentally unstable?”
Chris wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as they wait at the bottom of some steps while Kirk and friends show their IDs to the bouncer of the club they’ve chosen.
“You’re going to get caught Christopher,” Phil sighs as they fumble in their own jackets for their own IDs. “Kirk’s going to realise you genuinely are stalking him sooner or later and then you’ll regret everything. You’ll be lucky if all he does is report you to Command.”
“Only if I do get caught,” Chris grins cheekily. “Now come and buy me a beer Mr. delicious on legs.”
“I swear your pet names get worse every week,” Phil sighs good naturedly as they push through the crowds towards the bar.
They strategically place themselves on a pair of high stools overlooking the dance floor with narrow table between them to put their pint glasses on. Chris swishes his bitter around his mouth a lot before swallowing, and dabs vodka from his sole shot glass on his shirt collar and around his mouth in an attempt to make himself smell strongly of alcohol.
Then he leans over the table and lets Phil muss up his hair and tug him round a lot. When he’s finally released his lips are rather swollen, and Phil has a dopey pleased grin.
“What d’ya think,” Chris fake slurs with a gesture at himself. “Do I look drunk and well fucked yet?”
“I think you should come round this side of the table and let me have another go,” Phil leers, his cheeks red with heat. “Your shirt is entirely too tucked in and I’m not sure I’ve given you enough stubble burn yet.”
Chris does eventually make it onto the dance floor, staggering as much as he dares. He keeps his eyes wide open as he carefully stumbles haphazardly towards where Kirk is gyrating uncoordinated against some poor unfortunate lady who looks rather bored.
“Kiiiiirk!” he drawls loudly as he lurches into him. “You gotta come meet Phil!”
“Captai’?” Kirk slurs back, clearly surprised by his presence.
“Yes!” Chris exclaims, pretending to be just as drunk as the kid clearly is. “I’m sorry, I don’ have any chocola’e,” he says with an exaggerated pout. “Phil says I have too sweet a teeth and that I will get fat.”
“No chocolate!” Kirk gasps, forgetting the woman he was (trying to) dance with altogether. “But you always have candy!”
“Yes because it is good,” he replies, hooking his arm over Kirk’s shoulder and ruffling his hair. “Like you! You are also good!”
“No I am bad,” Kirk disagrees with a frown as he leans into Chris more.
“No you’re not!” Chris gasps back, beginning to steer them back towards Phil. “You’re so smart and clever! And you don’ tell me I eat too many chocola’e!”
“Woah, where’d you think you’re going Jim?” McCoy says as he suddenly materialises in front of them with a stern glare at Chris.
“To meet other Mr Pike!” Kirk grins sloppily, clinging to Chris even harder.
“No, he’s still called Boyce,” Chris says slowly, trying to make it look like he’s struggling to think clearly. “Because he has an academo- academic rep-tation to maintenance.”
“It’s okay Leonard,” Phil steps in, having weaved his way through the crowd too. “Chris just can’t handle his vodka. I’ll take him home soon.”
“Uh-huh sir,” McCoy says, obviously unconvinced. “And why are you two in Hardy’s on Cadet night anyway?”
“Chris gets what Chris wants because I am chronically incapable of denying him anything,” Phil snorts quickly. “And Chris wanted into the club full of people and blaring loud 2100’s music. So here we are, having our ears destroyed by the racket.”
“Music has good beat,” Chris injects faux-seriously, making a grabby hand at Phil with his free arm. The other one he keeps firmly wrapped around Kirk.
“I think it’s time we headed back now dear,” Phil tells him gently despite having to shout over the music as he grasps the hand Chris is waving about.
“But Jim’s here,” Chris whines, still acting for all his worth.
“Jim can come too,” Kirk slurs turning and wrapping both his arms around Chris’ middle again.
“No, Jim can follow me back to his own dorm room,” McCoy says in a tone that brooks no argument. “Let him go now Jim, come on”
“Awwww,” Jim moans in a high pitch, but he does let go. Chris makes a vague unhappy noise and staggers into Phil instead as the boy moves away towards McCoy.
“I’ll… see you around Leonard,” Phil says with a wince as Chris starts sucking on his ear and humming. “I’m going to go and put this one to bed now.”
“Heh,” Chris hears Kirk snort as Phil steers them towards the exit, “Other Mr Pike is gonna go have sex with main Mr Pike.”
“Did you have to suck on my ear quite so hard dear,” Phil complains as they move quickly away from the bar.
“Of course I did,” Chris laughs. “I had to make it look realistic.”
“What the hell was that all about anyway? You just said “I need to pretend to be drunk”, then got me all hot and bothered and then left me sitting on my own trying to hide my lap under the table!”
Chris snorts and leans over to crush a very damp kiss against Phil’s cheek.
“I was proving to Kirk that I can be a giant drunken idiot too,” Chris chuckles, nipping at the same ear before pulling away again.
“Errrrm why?” Phil asks, eyes looking a tad glazed over again. Chris laces their fingers together and steps so that their shoulders brush together as they walk.
“Because now I can’t tell him off for getting drunk without looking like a hypocrite. He can treat that fact like a security blanket.”
“I married a lunatic,” Phil says quietly, shaking his head. “An honest to nova crazy maniac.”
Chris responds to that by quickly checking round and then manhandling Phil into the opening of an alleyway, hands sliding under his husband’s waistband.
It’s another two weeks of careful stalking and even more carefully handed out physical affection before Kirk grins at him as soon as he sees him walking towards him.
Chris cheers internally as he grins back, hand already darting into his pocket to pull out the Indian sweet pastries he stuffed in this morning.
It’s a chilly Tuesday lunchtime and Chris hadn’t actually been deliberately following the kid for once. He genuinely had just stumbled into him on campus.
He’s walking around the little-used path along the back of the Command Sim centre, not concentrating on where he’s going while he grumbles to himself about the Enterprise building schedule being behind. Being built into the hill, the railed-off path is half way up the building and is usually damp and cold. As it’s much quicker to simply walk along the front of the building, hardly anyone uses it.
Which is why he’s surprised when he stalks huffily around one corner and finds Kirk with his back pressed against a durasteel emergency exit door with his cadet-red pants round his knees and some purple skinned being with four arms sticking their tongue down his throat.
“Oh Jesus Kirk!” he exclaims loudly before he can think better of it, turning on the spot and putting his back to the pair.
“Sir!” Kirk yelps with plain embarrassment.
There’s the sound of hasty scrambling and clothing being pulled around while Chris repeatedly thinks don’t get angry, don’t say anything negative, don’t get angry, don’t say anything negative, and finally, a single set of footsteps scurrying away.
“I’m sorry sir,” Kirk mumbles remorsefully as he shuffles up to wear Chris is standing still facing away.
(And wow, isn’t that a change from only two months ago?)
“Okay I think you should just take some of this Maxon’s Yorkshire mixture and then… we should walk back the way I came while you tell me about your scores from the Haxton-VIII survival expedition.”
“What’s Yorkshire mixture?”
“God knows, Phil brought it back from his conference in England this weekend. Just try not pick one of the cloves, they’re awful!”
Four days later and Chris accidentally stumbles upon him again with a different Cadet moaning into his mouth. This time, thankfully, the two of them haven’t gotten much further than some initial clothed rutting, and Kirk spots him almost straight away.
Feeling his face go bright red and not having to fake the scandalised look, Chris scrubs a hand down over his face and then strides over to the two of them. The (human?) cadet with Kirk looks utterly mortified as he approaches, but Kirk merely looks slightly startled and little bit sheepish.
“Come on,” he sighs, gently gripping Kirk’s upper arm and tugging him carefully away from the wall. “I’ve got African Chappies in my office and I’m told they taste like pre- World War III bubble-gum.”
“Captain Pike, can I have a word if you have a minute sir?”
Chris looks up from his cluttered desk and discovers Cadet McCoy standing in his doorway.
“Sure Cadet,” he says amiably, tossing his stylus off to one side.
“I think we need to talk about what you’re doing with Jim Kirk,” McCoy drawls as he saunters up to the front of Chris’ desk, a hard edge audible in his tone. “You’re playing with his head with your little game of Pavlov’s candy and I’m not sure that Command will be happy about it.”
Chris swallows quietly and wipes his face clear of emotion.
“I’m not sure I understand you Cadet,” he says flatly.
“Oh you sure do sir. Hand him a sugar cube every time he jumps over the right hurdle like a prized show horse. Eventually you won’t have to bother with the sugar at all. Just a pat on the back and ruffle of his mane and he’ll be rolling over to expose his throat for you.”
“What exactly are you insinuating McCoy?” he demands bluntly.
“You’re training him to behave. God knows your method is random and senseless seeing as you feed him the contents of you pockets every time you see him regardless of what he’s done that day. But you’re putting him on a training leash like a dog at Crufts!”
Chris can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.
“What! You think I’m not serious!” McCoy snaps as Chris carries on wheezing. “It’s immoral and wrong!”
“You idiot,” Chris guffaws, “I give him candy just because no one else is nice to him and he deserves better!” Which okay, is bending the truth more than a little, but McCoy doesn’t need to know that.
“I’m nice to him!” McCoy disputes, outraged.
“And how many other friends does he have Doctor?” he asks more seriously, tamping down on his amusement. “How many people do you know don’t call him names or accuse him of cheating and nepotism. How many people will tell him he did well on a test or actually let him discuss and argue for his ideas without just shouting him down?”
McCoy frowns at him.
“Cadets Uhura and Vro look out for him,” he says slowly, like he’s not sure he believes it himself. “And Jim seems to like that Mitchell kid from his tactics classes.”
“Gaila Vro is nice to everyone, including people who’ve spat on her and tried to publicly grope her. It took Admiral Kipling months to convince her it was okay to file reports when assholes try to take advantage of her. Uhura thinks Kirk is an idiot and tells him so frequently, and whether she means it seriously or not, Kirk takes it seriously even as he outwardly pretends he doesn’t mind. And Mitchell is a grade A asshole who likes hooking people round his little finger just so he can watch them crash and burn when he opens his hand and drops them and the sooner we can get Kirk to steer clear of him, the better.”
“I see your point sir,” McCoy admits gruffly. “But that don’t excuse what you’re doing.”
“What I am doing, ” Chris says pointedly, “is attempting to teach him that he can get the attention he craves without acting out and emulating Mitchell’s dickery.”
“Ha!” McCoy exclaims. “So you are training him like a prize pup!”
“Maybe a little,” Chris shrugs with an eye roll and silent curse. “But he’s only been sent to my office for a disciplinary four times since I started so not only is it working, it’s good for him.”
“You. / Are a manipulative asshole. Sir.”
“So my husband keeps telling me,” Chris grins, deliberately imitating Kirk smug manner. “Cadet.”
“So what? You’re just going to keep doing it until what? You’ve turned him into your personal lapdog!?”
“It’s increasingly obvious to me that too many people have abused that kid and then ditched him like trash as soon as he stopped being convenient to them. So what I’m going to do is continue showing him kindness until he realises that I genuinely do mean well by him, and then I’m going to keep on being nice to him because he deserves better than to be abandoned yet again.”
“Alright then,” McCoy drawls with a knowing smirk, his whole demeanour changing instantly. “Go ahead.”
“I will do?” Chris blinks, confused by the sudden turn around.
“Oh I already worked out what you were doing weeks ago when you pretended to be drunk and pulled Jim away from that poor woman he was harassing and distracted him. I just wanted to find out how pure your intentions were.”
“I wasn’t pretending to-!”
“-Yes you were, don’t lie. You followed us into town perfectly soberly, bought one beer and one shot, made out with your husband for ten minutes, and then walked completely fine to the edge of the dance floor before you rolled your shoulders and waded into the deluge.”
“Ah.” Chris says sheepishly.
“So fine, carry on your mind games seeing as you are actually managing to help him much to my surprise. But the second you upset him or start getting angry at him again? I will drop Command on your head faster than you can plead not guilty to charges of gaslighting and emotional abuse.”
“My only intention is to give him a healthy and safe environment to retreat to McCoy, so that he doesn't feel the need to get into fights and other people's beds instead.”
“Yes, and God damn my soul for eternity, I'm gonna help you with your sorry ass plan.”
Chris sits and sighs a lot as Phil prances about their front room and says “I told you so!” multiple times.
“Are you quite done yet dear?” he asks tiredly, shuffling on the couch. His arm is beginning to go numb from the way he's leaning his head on his fist and his elbow on the couch arm.
“I told you! I told you that you'd get caught!”
“Yes you did,” Chris repeats for possibly the billionth time.
“I said “Christopher you can't just randomly change your whole attitude towards him and expect no one to notice!” I said that and I was right!”
“Yes dear, you were right dear and I was wrong dear.”
“And now Leonard is on to you! And he's got you by the balls because you're an idiot!”
“Oh for the love of god-” Chris sighs dramatically, deciding to shut Phil up by way of sticking his tongue in his mouth.
On a bright and sunny morning just over a week after McCoy had confronted him in his office, Chris is finally given an opportunity to enact stage four of his plan:
Offer an alternative to meaningless sex via platonic cuddling.
To be fair, he's already got an early head start on it due to his “walking in” on Kirk those couple of times (as much as you can walk in on someone getting jerked off in an open air public space anyway). But each of those times, he's arrived a little too late to intercede before the getting handsy had already started.
This time though, Kirk is still only in flirting mode, leaning slightly too far over on the bench towards the Catian girl, his hands twitching like he can't wait to start touching.
“Good morning Kirk!” He says cheerfully as he strides over and sits in a sprawl on the other side of the kid. The Caitian leans forward and looks at him incredulously, brazenly silently asking him what the fuck he thinks he's doing despite the fact she's in cadet reds and he has captain stripes visible on his sleeves and shoulders.
“Good morning sir,” Kirk grins back as Chris throws an arm over his shoulders.
“Left coat pocket,” Chris tells him, nodding down towards their waists. “Don't ask me what they are, the name and ingredients are all in Japanese and I couldn't bothered to find the visual translation app to scan it with.”
Kirk sticks his hands in his pocket without hesitation, the girl on his other side giving them both increasingly outraged looks.
“Jim,” she says eventually, irritation obvious in her voice. “Are you forgetting something?”
“Oh yeah sorry Kayder,” Kirk replies absently, pushing his hand back into Chris’ coat and pulling a second green chocolate fish(?) out.
“Lactose is toxic to my species Kirk,” she says coldly as she glares at the offered candy, before standing up and striding off rigidly.
Kirk just shrugs and goes back to munching on his own bar, settling contently under Chris’ arm looking completely unbothered.
Chris suddenly wonders how the hell anyone could ever conclude that Kirk is neurotypical given how blatantly oblivious he just was to social convention.
“I think he's on the spectrum,” Chris tells Phil that evening. “He was chatting some kid up and then as soon as I appeared it was like he forgot about her completely.”
“It would explain why he acts up in class and stuff so much,” Phil frowns as he flips their eggs over in the frying pan. “It's learnt behaviour, he's just imitating what he thinks is normal. And he's used to getting told off for it so he thinks that's normal too.”
“And then I suddenly pull a one-eighty on him, and start treating him outside of his usual field of experience, and at first he's confused and then he just rolls with it.”
“How the hell has no one ever noticed!?” Phil sighs as he checks the gammon joint in the oven.
“Everyone is too busy being annoyed with him to look beyond his attitude to the reasons for it. And I mean, if he thinks being defensive, sleeping around, getting into fights, and being put down and getting yelled at is normal… he's got to have learnt that from somewhere right? While he was growing up? The kind of people who taught him to think like that won't have been the type of people to look beyond the surface.”
“God Chris, he's so good at tactical sims,” Phil sighs yet again. “Tactics, computing, logic. And then you're always saying he's like a walking encyclopaedia where history and classic literature are concerned. Special interests. Classes about other things? I bet those are the ones he causes the most trouble in. He's not interested and therefore doesn't understand why he should care.”
“Yeah I think you're right,” Chris groans after a few seconds thought. “Most of the disciplinaries he earns are in astrophysics and navimaths and stuff like that. He definitely likes space exploration because he'll talk at me for hours about some report he read on trinary star systems or whatever, but I'm guessing he doesn't like doing the maths that goes with it.”
“Or he finds the maths too easy and it doesn't hold his attention,” Phil suggests.
“It’s just-” Chris groans in self-disgust, “-It's no wonder my candy and cuddles trick has worked so well so fast. I mean, he told me I was creepy that very time in my office, but now he just accepts it as normal. He doesn't understand any behaviour patterns really, so he doesn't find it odd that he doesn't understand mine either. I've just been taking his acceptance for granted, when anyone else would have run for the hills by now, and rightly so.”
“I have been saying that for weeks now dear,” Phil huffs good naturedly. “That Kirk ought to report you. But come on, grab the plates out the warming drawer and we'll carry on this discussion after dinner.”
Sender: Hatching, Lewis (Cmdr.)
Subject: Disciplinary Notification for Cadet JT Kirk. Gandy Auditorium, 1100-1230 period.
Date: 20/03/2256 standard Earth time PST
Captain Pike,
I am covering Professor T'Puck's history of ethics lectures this week while she is on leave to Vulcan. I was forewarned that young Mr Kirk can be quite the handful and now I am fully aware why. I was told to contact you should any incident occur concerning him, and I am now doing so as the cadet in question is standing in the middle of my lecture theatre refusing to leave.
I asked him to depart after he interrupted my presentation on famine response protocols for the third time, insisting that my timeline of protocol amendments is incorrect. I humoured him the first time and enquired as to his reasoning, but he tangented off into an irrelevant spiel about fungal incubation periods almost immediately.
On the third occurrence, I asked him to step outside. Now is standing on the stairs of the lecture theatre shouting that I'm not listening to him. He is continuing to do so even now that I have stopped responding and have typed this message instead.
If you do not respond within the next two minutes, I shall be forced to call security to remove him by force.
Regards,
Commander Hatching
Science Department
USS Arizona
Chris reads the message with a deepening frown. This is not the first time Kirk has refused to leave a lecturer while insisting no one will listen to him.
It is the first time it's happened since Chris and Phil had that long talk about autism and Asperger's syndrome the other night. And so, instead of waiting for security the haul the kid to his office like normal, he quickly cancels his next two meetings and then clicks the reply button.
Hatching. He sends back quickly be there in 1 min. Try approaching him slowly and asking calmly what he's trying to explain.
But by the time he makes it to the lecture hall, Kirk has left by himself.
“I don't know,” Hatching is insisting, “He was just getting angrier and angrier. Then he got out of his seat and kept shouting, and he wouldn't listen to reason. When I got your response to my message, I tried talking calmly to him instead like you suggested and he looked at me funny and walked out slowly without another word.”
“Just finish your lecture Commander,” Chris commands gruffly. “I'll find him.”
Chris sends a quick message to Phil with a very brief explanation of what's happening, asking him to keep an eye out for Kirk. Then he abuses his security clearance and logs into to the GPS tracking portal. Within less than a minute, he's run a search for the kid's ‘Fleet assigned Padd and had a location pinged back to him.
“Sir, may I offer my assistance? While my understanding of human facial expressions is limited, I am still able to ascertain that you seem to be experiencing some distress.”
“Jesus Spock, you scared the fuck out of me!” Chris yelps as he spins on the spot to face his junior officer.
“My apologies sir, that was not my intention.”
Chris has known the Vulcan long enough now that he can tell Spock genuinely is sorry; his eyes narrow just a little, and his eyebrows pinch a fraction of an inch.
“It's fine son,” he gruffs, “but I need to find Kirk before he does something stupid, so you'll forgive me for running off.”
“The exuberant cadet that you agreed to sponsor into the academy sir?,” Spock questions, keeping up with Chris’ fast strides easily, apparently deciding to tag along. “It is my understanding that Command only insists that the antiquated procedure of behaviour character sponsorship is followed when the candidate has a questionable legal background.”
“Yeah he's got a rap sheet, but I'm starting to think there's some exceptional circumstances involved that everyone has been overlooking.”
“I do not currently possess enough information to supply a meaningful opinion to you sir.”
“Yeah I don't understand fully either yet.”
Spock is still following closely behind when Chris starts approaching the place shown by a blinking marker on the screen of his Padd. They’re right on the top floor of the central building of the library complex and as the turbo lifts stop three floors lower, hardly anyone else is up here.
Heading away from the stairwell, they skirt round the edge of the rolling stacks and then almost have to double back on themselves to get round a rather large wooden bookshelf stacked high with steri-plas coated hardback encyclopaedias dating back as far as the eugenic war in the mid-2050s. On the far side of this though, is a little sheltered nook set almost into the eves of the roof, a single narrow skylight letting watery sunlight shine down on to a low table and a single bright pink beanbag.
Kirk is curled up on the beanbag, his skin pale and his brow pinched as if in pain. His cadet jacket has been discarded and left dangling off the edge of the table, and his face is almost buried in an old cracked paper back copy of Alice in Wonderland.
“Hey kid,” Chris says softly, moving closer slowly. Kirk jerks in surprise, taking in a sharp breath as he looks up from his book, but he doesn’t cower away.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, looking away over Chris’ shoulder. “That Commander was being a jerk face and lying to the class. I told him he was wrong, but..”
He trails off and looks down at his feet with a mulish expression. Chris notices the kid has taken his boots off too, leaving him in only Starfleet standard-issue grey winter socks.
“But no one ever believes you when you tell them they’re wrong,” Chris finishes for him, carefully lowering himself to the floor to sit cross legged beside him.
“I used to not point it out ‘cause mom said it was rude,” Jim mutters as he slides a finger up and down the edge of one page, sounding shockingly young with the way he’s talking. “But I don’t like it when people teach other people the wrong thing.”
“How about you tell me why the Commander was wrong?” Chris suggests after a pause. “I’m sure Spock would be interested too,” he adds, looking up at the Vulcan still standing stoically a few feet away.
“Indeed Cadet. I do not find it logical to allow misinformation to spread. Correction to the proper facts is the only reasonable course of action.”
“His dates were wrong,” Jim huffs, dropping the book onto the table and shuffling on his beanbag. “He kept saying that the 2-week contact procedure for outer colony worlds was introduced more than 20 years ago.”
“Indeed, you were correct in disputing this cadet,” Spock says gravely, folding himself elegantly to sit on the far side of the table. “If that were the case then the 2246 Tarsus IV genocide might have been prevented.”
Kirk doesn’t reply beyond a terse nod and a scowl at the floor. Chris takes the silence as an opportunity to shuffle closer to the boy until their shoulders are just touching. They sit like that together for several long minutes, Kirk slowly leaning into Chris while Spock simply closes his eyes and slips into meditation.
“I will return momentarily,” the Vulcan breaks into the quiet with a curious tilt of his head when a ancient clock suddenly chimes the hour from somewhere unseen. “I intend to proceed to the cafeteria and procure three cups of tea. Do you have any preference in flavour Cadet?”
“Can’t brink food and drink up here,” is all Kirk grunts back, his own eyes now closed and his weight quite solid against Chris’ side.
“Fortunately Cadet, I have been made aware of a particularly fascinating human saying; Sometimes, rules are made to be broken.”
Chris snorts as Spock dramatically strides away as soon as he’s delivered his line. God knows how most people don’t realise he’s half human almost immediately. It’s really fucking obvious to Chris.
Once Spock has been out of sight for some time, Kirk yawns widely and then flops fully against Chris.
Chris looks down at him curiously, having been forced to wrap an arm around the kids back and more or less cradle him against his chest.
“You're weird,” Kirk huffs into his shoulder.
“I'm weird?” Chris snorts back.
“Yeah, you don't seem to care that I'm lying on you even though I'm adult and you're like my boss or whatever. And you keep feeding me! Not that I'm complaining, but no one else does that. Bones says it's okay though so long as it's only you that does it, and I trust Bones.”
“Bones?” Chris asks in mild confusion.
“Leonard McCoy. Bones. My guy, my pal, my grumpy chum. Bones.”
“I'm assuming that's a play on Old Sawbones,” Chris smiles bemusedly. “Given that he's a doctor.”
“That and “All I go’ left is my booooones”, uh-huh,” Kirk drawls in a poor imitation of a southern American accent.
“I'm sure he doesn't actually sound like that son.”
“You'll change your mind if you ever talk to him while he's drunk or hungover. It always takes him less than five minutes to start bitching about his ex wife. She got the whole damn planet this, ruined my life that. Why does anyone ever get married? It just seems to make everyone miserable.”
“Well, Phil and I are doing okay I'd say,” Chris points out gently.
“Yes but we already acknowledged that you’re a weirdo that makes even less sense than everyone else.”
“So you find people confusing?” Chris asks cautiously, not sure if he should really be trying to have this conversation right now, but also unwilling to pass up the opportunity.
“People are so weird man,” Kirk groans, slipping into what Chris has started mentally referring to as his facade drawl. “There's all these fucking rules and ways you're supposed to talk and things you're not supposed to say. But why are there rules? And how does everyone just know them? And then when I do stuff like point out the obvious, everyone always gets mad! It's not my fault they're wrong, but I'm the one who gets shouted at! But if I don't say anything then everyone starts ignoring me completely! Saying I'm strange and too quiet! I can't fucking win!”
“I hear you kid,” Chris says quietly, suspicions confirmed.
“But at least I can make most people predictable,” the lad continues wryly, sounding like he's sneering. “If you tell them to fuck off then they're pretty much guaranteed to either say it back or start telling you off.”
“James?” Chris asks carefully. “Will you talk to my Phil about this? You can bring McCoy with you if you want.”
“My name is Jim,” he grunts back unhappily. “S'only mom who calls me James and only when I broke a stupid rule again.”
“The barista provided me with a raspberry and lingonberry infusion for you Cadet Kirk,” Spock announces stoically as he reappears in the secluded corner. “I hope it is acceptable to you.”
“Tea!” Jim exclaims, mood switching instantly. He sits up, somehow dragging Chris with him so that Chris ends up half on the beanbag with the kid leaning back on his chest. “Thank you Commander Spock,” he pronounces carefully, once again unwittingly providing Chris with an example of learnt behaviour.
“You are most welcome cadet. Captain I was unsure whether to procure you tea or coffee, so I selected a Damarion blend for you to sample. I am told it provides the dark roast taste experience without the controversial bitter edge of traditional Earth beans.”
“I'm sure it'll be great Spock,” he half smiles back, taking the thermal cup. Jim makes a contented noise from in front of him, and shuffles down some more so that he's more slouched than sat.
“I was unaware that the two of you were so familiar with each other,” Spock states as he retakes his previous seat and cradles his own cup in both hands.
“Nah, Chris is just weird,” Jim winks, flipping once again into is defensive flirty persona. “You can come join the cuddling if you like though sir.”
“I think he's okay where he is Jim,” Chris says calmly, wondering if it would help if he put a hand on the boy's chest or ruffled his hair.
“But you do know that Chris is weird, right?” Jim repeats to Spock, once again switching personas. Chris decides to keep his hands to himself despite his tone; if someone walked round here even now, he'd already have a lot of awkward explaining to do. “It's not just me who thinks that?
“Cadet I just confess that it has been my experience that all humans are, to borrow your own vernacular, weird.”
“A-fucking-men to that,” Jim laughs, now looking at Spock like all his Christmas’ have come at once.
“He is a unique individual,” Spock says later his brow not-pinched in thought. “I had expected him to be singularly infuriating based upon the information provided to me by our various peers. But now I would say he is fascinatingly multifaceted. I find that I am reminded of the advice that you provided to me early in our acquaintance sir.”
“That was five years ago Spock, you’ll have to be more specific,” Chris smiles as they walk. “I’ve gabbled a lot of nonsense to you over the years.”
The Vulcan pauses on the path, hands neatly behind his back and back ramrod straight, and glances up at the sun beginning to set over the bay.
“I refer to the piece you offered during my first week as a Cadet. Upon enquiring why so many individuals were fervently discussing the reasons for my arrival on Earth and involving almost no factual information, you simply smiled and said, to quote your own words sir, “Because gossip is usually utter bullshit son”.”
The way Spock says the word ‘bullshit’ in his usual prim and proper tone has Chris laughing so hard he’s in danger of choking all the way back to his office.
Chris doesn’t see Jim for another three days after that, but as he doesn’t get any absence or disciplinary notifications and McCoy doesn’t come storming up to him insisting that he’s missing or something, he doesn’t worry.
Perhaps he should have done though.
Because when he does see Jim after the end of those three days, its being near-dragged along by two security officers who are following a furious looking Lieutenant across campus.
“Woah woah, what’s going on here?” Chris demands as soon as he’s realised that it is indeed Jim silently being pulled along and jogged over.
“He started a fist fight in the middle of a seminar,” she growls, jerking her head at where Jim is hanging limply in silence between the two Ensigns. “God knows why, because he hasn’t said a word since we finally managed to pin him down.”
“Jesus he’s bleeding!” Chris gasps, pushing past her urgently. “What the hell are you thinking, he needs medical attention!”
“He’ll live,” the Lieutenant scoffs. “It’s just a little forehead cut.”
Chris has only just got his hands on the kid and even if can see it’s more than that. Jim is breathing quietly, his eyes squeezed shut and his whole face pinched in pain. He’s clearly been trying to walk under his own steam, but if the way he’s now being held up by the two guys on either side of him, he was barely managing it.
Pulling the boy into his own arms carefully, he tips Jim’s head back so he can see his face more clearly and then starts shouting orders. His eyes and cheek have already started going puffy and discoloured.
“Get me an emergency beam to Starfleet Medical Trauma Centre immediately! Priority code alpha-alpha two-nine-Quebec, and request Doctors Boyce and McCoy if they’re available.”
“Sir?” The woman questions, sounding considerably more worried than she did a minute ago.
“He has a fucking head injury and he’s almost none responsive, you dumb fuck!” Chris snarls, wrapping his arms around Jim tighter. “Emergency beam to Medical now!”
“Yes sir,” she whispers, face going ashen.
“Hey kid,” Chris says much quieter, “I’m here, it’s gonna be alright. Spock’s been asking after you by the way. You made quite the impression on him it would seem,” he continues as he starts to feel the familiar tingling sensation of transporter energy. “I think he wants to play chess with you? And feed you more tea seeing as you seemed so enthusiastic about it the other day. You’ll have to ask…”
The end of his sentence is lost in the sudden sound of frantic activity around them as they reappear in the beam zone of the Trauma Centre. Chris lets the swarm of nurses and doctors pull Jim away from him, and then stays crouched near the floor, staring dumbly at the trails of blood coating his fingers and palms.
“So how does your story change if I tell you we’ve watched the security footage from the seminar room cadets?” Chris asks viciously, aware that his teeth are showing just a little too much as he looks at the three of them.
Commodore Plarry is leaning on the wall by the door behind him, her arms crossed and her stare hard. The three… kids that were involved in the so-called fight are stood at attention in a line as he paces back and forth before them. The middle of the three swallows hard and twitches when Chris asks his question, while the one on the far left tries to glance sideways, unease clear in his eyes.
“How about I tell you?” Chris snaps when no answers are forthcoming. “To start with, your claim that it was Kirk that approached you for no reason seems to be, how shall I put it? Utter bullshit perhaps? You waited until the group discussions had begun and then you surrounded him in his seat.”
“Sir that’s not how it-!”
“Computer project and play vid log from 17:32,” Plarry cuts across his complaint, the scene in question flickering into view on the wall to her left. Once the footage has played as far as Chris described, she pauses it and raises both her eyebrows in judgement.
“And then we move onto your second claim,” Chris carries on coldly, tapping on the screen of the Padd he’s gripping hard enough to crack. “It says here that he lashed out for no apparent reason, with no provocation at all. You were just talking calmly and then he tried to grab Cadet J’tany? And yet? Computer continue playback.”
The image on the projection snaps back into motion, clearly showing J’tany repeatedly poking Jim in the shoulder while Smith - the second and central of the three cadets - starts laughing. Chris uses his Padd to rotate the field of view 90° so that the lip-reading software can do its job.
Please guys, it scrolls out I just want to get this work done in peace. Please stop it. Please!
Aww, but Jimmy you haven’t had a classroom meltdown in weeks now! It adds in a different colour.
Chris pauses the footage again.
“So that’s lie number two exposed. Shall we go three for three Cadets?”
Plarry steps forward and gently pulls the Padd out of Chris’ hands at this point.
“Kirk lashed out with no provocation,” she repeats, “and attempted to grab Cadet J’tany. J’tany side stepped to avoid him, and he overbalanced and stumbled forward. Computer resume playback.”
Chris looks away towards the unoccupied corner, not wanting to watch the three boys pushing Jim out of his chair and punching him in the face repeatedly when he finally grew tired of the incessant poking and tried to stand up.
Plarry lets the footage continue playing from this point, no longer needing to talk. The sound is off, but Chris can imagine the grunts of pain and Jim’s cries anyway as he feebly tries to defend himself first against his three classmates, and then against the three security officers than eventually appear.
Having obviously sustained the head injury in the flurry of those first few punches, all his movement after are clumsy and uncoordinated.
He fights like a rabid animal that’s been cornered, but he clearly never stood a chance. And as more and more time passes, he becomes more and more panicked, more and more uncontrolled.
He never. Stood a chance.
“Computer end recording.” Plarry finally says into the silence.
Chris turns and slams his way out of the door, leaving his senior officer to finish dealing with the three bastards.
Sitting in the family waiting room in Medical with Spock and McCoy, Chris feverishly collates all the information he can find on every single one of Jim’s disciplinary notifications. He requests access to vid footage where it’s available, downloads witness accounts where they’re given, makes do with the basic incident reports when that’s all there is. Makes notes, calls detaining officers, creates a timeline.
As he predicted, more than half of Jim’s “spats” are exactly as he’d already thought they were; Jim misunderstanding a social convention or just plain being an immature idiot. But some of them? Some of them he’s sure have been deliberately induced by the people he’s supposed to be able to trust and make friends with. Four he’s certain were.
God damn it all to hell.
“He’s going to be fine,” is the first thing Phil says as he finally, finally comes back to the waiting room where they’re all still sat. “We’ve reduced the cranial swelling nicely and done lots of scans to check for other unknown damage which are all coming back clear. He still has a couple of broken ribs and lots of bruising that we’ll deal with now he’s out of surgery, but he’ll be awake in an hour or so.”
“Oh thank god,” McCoy groans in relief. “Damn infant is gonna be the death of me some day.”
Chris releases a deep breath, his shoulders feeling lax for the first time in hours. Until Spock speaks up again.
“I do not claim to be the medical expert in this room, but it is my understanding that cerebral edema can be treated rapidly once it is diagnosed thanks to modern medical techniques. And yet you have taken approximately seven point two four hours to return to this room Doctor. I would enquire as to why that is?”
“That’s the less good news,” Phil sighs, looking at Chris sadly. “We didn’t discover that Kirk is allergic to xenocelecoxib until he suddenly started seizing. Took us a while to work out why it was happening and to get him stabilised and breathing again, and once we’d managed that, we then had to deal with the punctured lung he’d gotten in the process.”
“He started seizing because of an NSAID!?” McCoy exclaims horrified. “In the middle of neuro-edema treatment! That’s going to cause him to have-!”
“Absence seizures, yes,” Phil finishes for him with a sorrowful look. “Only for a few weeks until we can safely do some more cranial stabilising regen, but he’s going to have to be under close observation at all times, and there’s no way he can go to most of his classes. Anything active at all is right out in case it causes further regression.”
“I propose we agree on a schedule then gentlemen,” Spock says simply. “The chances of none of the four of us being unavailable at any given time are less than one-point-three-four percent. Especially as Captain Pike and I currently have largely flexible scheduling that can be often be altered at a moment’s notice.”
“Well it’s not like I don’t already babysit him,” McCoy snorts with dry amusement.
It should be stranger than it is, having the boy sleeping on his couch wrapped in a warm woollen blanket.
But it’s just not.
Phil is puttering around the kitchen like usual, stirring noodles and stir fry and forbidding Chris to help. Normally Chris would get home not long before he finished cooking and hover over his shoulder until it was ready to serve, but as it’s already gone 10pm and they both came in at the same time, he’s been banished to the front room instead.
The front room, where Jim Kirk is not quite snoring and occasionally muttering some nonsense syllables.
Chris is sat in the armchair facing the adjacent side of the coffee table. There’s an Earth period drama playing quietly on the screen on the far wall, 17th century women conspiring to protect the younger brother of the heroine from the discriminatory laws of the age. He’s not really paying too much attention to it, most of his concentration directed towards the Padd he’s balancing on his knee; he’s in the process of compiling his findings of the afternoon into a logical and understandable order so that it can be forwarded to the Admiral holding the position of Equality and Equity Officer this year.
Eventually the programme flickers over to a commercial advertising the latest five-star resort on Risa, and Chris hits send on his Padd and then throws it aside. Stretching, he lurches to his feet, intending to go see if Phil wants help plating up soon. But as he stands, he notices that Jim is now awake and watching him silently.
“Hey kid,” he says quietly, squatting down next to the couch arm. “How you feeling?”
“Mmmm hungry,” Jim replies in a tired slur.
“Good job Phil’s making food then hey?” he smiles back, resisting the urge to smooth the boy’s hair back from his brow. Then again, he’s already stepped over so many personal space boundaries with him these last months, he can’t actually get much less professional. Right?
Jim pushes into his hand with a pleased sounding hum as he gives into impulse, so Chris starts scratching above his ear too.
“Chris! Can you come get the noodle bowls out honey?”
“Duty calls,” Chris grins as he stands back up, left knee clicking loudly.
“I like Phil,” Jim says simply into the quiet later that evening when he’s slouched against Chris’ side.
Phil has disappeared off upstairs, mumbling about taking a water shower as he’d only gotten a quick sonic when he’d gotten out of surgery.
“You and me both son,” Chris rumbles back, eyes beginning to close despite his desire to stay awake.
“He gave me his left-over noodles,” Jim yawns as he turns and throws an arm over Chris midriff. “And he doesn’t mind that you’re weird.”
“Honestly I’m not that weird Jim,” Chris huffs with a smile, allowing his head to drop onto the back of the couch.
“If I went up to any other officer and stuck my hands in their pockets or tried to give them a hug, they’d probably slap me and then yell at me. Even I know that. And! No one else gives me candy just to make me smile. That definitely makes you weird.”
“You know what? If I can live with being weird so long as weird isn’t bad,” Chris chuckles, deciding not to be concerned that Jim too seems to have cottoned onto his candy plan.
“No I like it,” Jim mumbles back. “Please don’t stop. Don’t have to pretend to understand the rules with you no more.”
A few seconds later and Jim is obviously asleep again.
Spock shows up at their door at 7:30am, holding a plain white synthcard box and a tray with four thermal cups clipped into it.
Chris is still shirtless and in his sleep pants, but as its far from the first time Spock has been subjected to him in similar states of undress, he simply smiles and waves him inside.
“He can go to modern Fleet history, but nothing else today okay?”
“Affirmative Doctor,” Spock repeats patiently. This is the third time Phil has run through this list of dos and don’ts.
“Keep one eye on him at all times, especially when he’s standing up, in case he blacks out.”
“I will be sure to prevent him falling and incurring further injury sir.”
“Call me if anything happens. I will have my Comm on me at all times.”
“Phil darling,” Chris interrupts exasperated. “They know, let them get off.”
“If he starts having a tonic-clonic seizure instead of an absence, call for an emergency beam immed-”
“Phil I promise not to die,” Jim cuts in with an eye roll. “The only limb jerking I plan on doing is jerking off.”
“Not appropriate Jim,” Chris sighs.
“Why is it not appropriate though?” Jim asks with a mildly confused expression as Spock steers him towards the front door. “Nearly everyone loves sex and orgasms, why is it wrong to talk about them?”
“I will attempt to explain as we proceed to my office Ashayam.” Spock answers as they step out onto the street.
The door closes behind them.
“God he really has no idea does he?” Phil frowns as he turns back to face Chris in the hallway.
“Forget his utter lack of understanding social conventions,” Chris splutters “I want to know why Spock just called him Ashayam!”
Chris spends most of the next three days in lots of meetings about Jim during his working hours, and then falling asleep on the couch with the lad in question sprawled on his lap like a giant cat in the evenings.
Thankfully, the Admiralty and other involved officers are quick to agree with Chris’ opinion on the matter; James Kirk has been done a disservice by being allowed to navigate the world with no offers of assistance or guidance, and they should not have been reacting to his behaviour and attitude as though it were baseless and unexplainable. Where they had all been responding harshly and with no tolerance, they should have instead been offering help and understanding. They should have been helping him to comprehend the people around him, not punishing him for his confusion.
Of course they all also agree that he still needs to cut out of the public Indecency, sarcastic backchat, and propensity to start fist fights and bar brawls. But now Chris has them all thinking of terms of how to explain to him why he should do so, not just demanding he stop and getting furious when he doesn’t.
There’s also Jim’s reasoning for acting out to make them consider. Being oblivious to social convention can only explain so much - one has to realise that Jim has been well aware that he’s been breaking rules (and in some cases laws) in lots of cases. And Chris knows damn well that just because Jim often a reason to be a, quote unquote, little shit, doesn’t mean that his actions were acceptable.
If Chris himself knows this even through his rose-tinted glasses made of bias, then he can be damn sure that the Admiralty does too. Which is why he goes to great length to try and explain that the way to approach Jim about this is not with further berating and discipline, but by giving the attention he apparently craves in a positive manner.
While also, you know, explaining to him in no uncertain terms that what he was doing before was unacceptable and unnecessary.
It occurs to Chris as the end of the third day of meetings draws to a close, that he’s been a totally insensitive fucking asshole.
“Phil honey, I majorly fucked up.”
Phil is sat with one-foot resting on the other knee in the armchair in the front room, a medical Padd balanced on his calf, and a tricorder sensor held loosely in his other hand. Chris is slightly late home compared to his usual, so dinner must already have been cooked and plated and is likely keeping warm in the stasis box.
Chris must have sounded suitably serious when he delivered his line, because Phil glances up at him immediately and locks the Padd.
“What did you do?” he asks in that tone of voice which Chris knows means I promise I’m not judging you but also what the fuck?
“It occurred to me on my way home that we probably should have discussed autism with Jim before I barrelled into telling half the ‘Fleet that he’s on the spectrum.”
Phil gives him a look of utter horror.
“You did what!?” he splutters. “Oh darling, I love and adore you with every fibre of my being, but right now I want to smack you sideways. So I am going to take my coat and go out so that I don’t thoroughly lose my temper with you.”
“Phil wait-!”
“No. Spock will be bringing Jim back here in less than five minutes and I am not going to subject the poor boy to us having a blazing row, which is what will happen if I don’t leave within the next minute. Your dinner is in the warming drawer and you know where the spare blankets are. Sleep on the couch.”
Chris watches his husband storm out in mute horror and tries not to feel too betrayed at being left to fix his mistake with zero support.
“Hey Captain!” Jim grins cheerily as he bounces in through the front door with Spock close behind him. “Spock took me to the Planetarium which always has been awesome, but he knows all these extra codes to bring up some really amazing simulations. Did you know that fifty years ago the USS Jaeger managed to record a binary star system being pulled into the gravity well of a neighbouring white dwarf system? The added mass caused the- are you okay sir?”
Chris huffs in self-deprecating amusement, knowing damn well he looks like a kicked puppy wallowing in misery. `
“Is Phil okay!?” Jim blurts out, practically crashing into the couch he sits down next to him so hastily. “Can’t be Bones, we just saw Bones and he was fine. Did someone die!? Why is Phil not here?”
“Jim,” Chris interrupts before Jim’s imagination runs too wild. “Everyone is fine but I did something that I should have talked to you about first, and Phil is upset with me for not asking your permission.”
“Oh,” Jim says plainly, frowning. “Hold on, let me say goodbye to Spock and then we can talk about it.”
Chris turns to glance at the hallway door and Spock is indeed standing there looking mildly disconcerted. He doesn’t react as Jim pushes himself back to his feet and guides him back to the front door. Chris watches the empty living room doorway in silence as they exchange a muttered conversation, and then drops his head to stare at his feet when he finally hears the front door close.
“So what did you do?” Jim asks as he walks back into the front room and sinks back onto the couch.
“I’ve been having conversations with the Admiralty about getting you extra support and getting recognition for your individual circumstances,” Chris starts with carefully, still watching his toes wiggle in his socks rather than meeting Jim’s eyes.
“You think I need extra support because I told you I don’t always understand why people do things?” Jim asks curiously, no accusation in his voice.
“Alright I’m just going to say it,” Chris groans quietly as he finally looks up. “What do you know about Autism Jim?”
Next to him, Jim frowns.
“I’m not autistic. Mom said she had me tested when I was little and that I’m too clever to fall on the spectrum anyway. Danny from junior school said I was a spastic aspby once, so I went home and asked Mom and she told me I wasn’t cause she had me tested. So I can’t be.”
“There’s nothing on your files about you ever being tested Jim” Chris says quietly, choosing to gloss over the ableist language and internalised phobia for now. “And IQ has absolutely no bearing on whether someone is autistic or not. It’s true that highly intelligent individuals on average tend to go longer before being given a diagnosis, but intelligence and autism are non-dependant factors.”
“But why would my Mom lie!?” Jim demands. And now he does sound accusing. Chris stops himself from snapping that Winona Kirk was probably an insensitive ableist asshole, completely sure that it’s not what Jim needs to hear right now.
“Maybe she just didn’t understand son,” Chris says gently instead. “Or maybe she did take you to an assessment and the results never got logged. Mistakes happen. There’s a hundred possible reasons, and not all of them mean she lied or that she lied deliberately.”
“And you’ve been… telling everyone that I am?” Jim mumbles, mood shifting again. He seems fearful now rather than angry or upset. “That I’m wrong in the head!?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Chris growls, deciding to stop avoiding the issue of Jim’s opinions. “Your brain chemistry just has a different ordinary to a lot of people’s. It’s perfectly normal and I will personally box the ears of anyone who tries to tell you otherwise. Autism is not a deficiency or an illness or a problem.”
“What- what does Phil think?” Jim asks tentatively, still looking frightened but also thoughtful.
“Well Phil is slightly upset with me right now for not having this conversation with you before I told other people. But he thinks you should go for an assessment. It won’t affect your career path at all regardless of the outcome, but it will probably get people to be more understanding towards you and try to explain things when you ask more often. And I certainly won’t think any less of you no matter what happens. I’ll still be here, cheering you on from the side lines.”
“So um. What- what would I have to do in an assessment? If, hypothetically, I decided it was a good idea to go to one?”
Chris smiles and leans back. If Jim’s asking that, he’s probably convinced already.
Now he just has to get Phil to forgive him.
Phil comes creeping back into the house well after midnight.
Chris is still lying wide awake on the couch, blanket only pulled half way up his bare chest. He’s been staring at the pale slits of light on the ceiling, created by silver moonlight passing through the slats of the wooden venetian blinds. Thinking. For hours.
Jim has still seemed worried even after Chris had tried to explain his reasoning in more detail and pulled up some net links for him to read through. But the kid had said he would talk to Phil and Spock about it, and that he didn’t mind what Chris had done as he’d only been trying to help (which is more than Chris feels he deserves to be honest).
Phil sticks his head in through the front room doorway once he’s quietly slid his boots off and hung his jacket up. He’s obviously trying not to wake Chris up, but he’s shoulders droop and a self-recriminating smile slides on to his face when he notices Chris is awake and yawning at him.
“You talk to Jimmy?” Phil asks quietly, padding forward on silent feet. He stops next to the edge of the couch and then perches on the edge, reaching down and grasping Chris’ hand.
“Yeah I did. He went upstairs to Comm Spock and McCoy after I’d explain the basics. Took his dinner plate with him and didn’t come down again, but I heard him puttering around in the bathroom about 11:30 ish, so I presume he’s okay.”
Phil pulls Chris’ hand up towards his chest and then drops a quick kiss to his knuckles.
“Come on up to bed love. I don’t want to listen to you moan about your back aching all of tomorrow.”
Chris snorts but does sit up, pushing his face into Phil’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his back.
Jim goes for the assessment, dragging Spock along with him.
(Chris is not 100% sure what’s going on between those two, but given that there’s a lot of hand holding and finger stroking…) (Chris bites back on the public indecency jokes) (most of the time) (yeah, he damn well knows how what hand holding means to Vulcans)
It takes over three weeks to get everything organised as they have to be sure he’s in no danger of further seizures first, but Jim goes for the assessment and drags Spock along with him. McCoy hovers in the hallway outside all afternoon, growling at anyone who tries to convince him to go elsewhere. Chris pops in and out as his schedule allows, and Phil gets tied up in surgery in the adjacent building, but they both keep an ear out for news while they’re absent.
It takes five hours before Jim stumbles back out of the room with Spock hovering closely behind him, but he’s smiling when he does.
“So many things suddenly make sense,” he breathes excitedly. “I’ve been looking at medical documents and support sites and group discussions all week and god, I should have looked years ago! I knew, I knew I was weird, but I was told I couldn’t possibly be autistic and instead of going looking for information myself, I just blindly believed.”
“I take it the doc confirmed what we all thought?” McCoy asks with a smirk.
“Yeah, she says definitely, 100%. Spock had to keep reminding me to be truthful with her instead of defensive, but yeah. She said I am. And that there’s things Command can and will do to make my life easier. Some support group sessions and stuff for me, and data packages for the professors.”
Then he turns to Chris, and smiles even wider.
“Thanks sir. For everything.”
“No problem kid,” Chris grins back. “I’ve got cracker-jacks in my pocket, want one?”
Jim laughs and takes two, feeding one to a bemused Spock as the two of them hold hands again.