A/N: I'M BAAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKKKK. With brand new Spirky fun times! YERRRRRRRR.

I will try to do weekly updates on this new story, but I'll give you a heads up if I won't be able to make it :( :( sorry, life calls.

Set after Into Darkness, so WATCH it, though I suppose it doesn't make thaaaaat much of a difference. Though by now you should know what happens at the end anyways, being magnificent denizens of the shipping world and all that. Thanks for sticking with me, by the way, all you followers. -throws aggressive kisses and feels- you guys are the best and I appreciate every single one of you!

This first chapter is a bit shorter, to set the premise and all that, so expect longer updates later on _

No need to hesitate slapping down a review! I love hearing about how people respond and it kinda lets me know if I'm going in the right direction or not. Any feedback is appreciated and cherished and hoarded and reread over time! Ohoho!

Thanks to HyenaGreyscale and ThinkingWithPortals for helping! You don't know how much I appreciate it. :) :) :)

Chapter One

It was the eighth day of the mission, and Jim was bored.

It was only to be expected, really. After all, he didn't have anything to do. They had been traveling at a sedate Warp 3 for the past week and day, not set on any particular course. He had yet to discover the end of his paperwork, much less new planets and life forms, and his bridge crew had everything well in hand.

All in all, Jim felt next to useless in his big command chair. He didn't like the feeling; he'd had enough of that growing up. Now that it was his chance to BE someone, it seemed that life had finally decided to take it easy on him and make every day an unstimulating hell.

It occurred to him that there must be something very wrong with his psyche for him to actually want a crisis or two. Hadn't he had enough of that with Khan?

No, he couldn't go there. Not yet. The rawness of the incident was still too personal to revisit.

He sighed heavily and cast a disinterested eye over the bridge. "Chekov," he chose at random. "What's your favorite color?"

The ensign looked appropriately surprised. "C-color, Captain?"

"Aquamarine, tangerine, fuchsia...which is it?" Jim was receiving some very odd looks. He ignored them and forced a cheerful grin that he hoped wasn't as desperate as he felt.

Chekov glanced wildly about the room, clearly hoping for some escape. "I...I don't know, Captain. There's so many."

"At the moment, then," Jim pressed.

"R-Red, I suppose, sir."

"An excellent color!" Jim proclaimed. "Bold, gutsy. I like it." He wheeled about, finding Uhura conveniently seated in his view. "And it does look good on you, Lieutenant."

She threw him a glance that was half scathing, half amused. "Thank you, Captain."

"What about you? Favorite color?" A movement to her right caught his attention. "Oh, let me guess. Blue? What do you think, Spock?"

He had meant it to be teasing, but Uhura's face immediately locked down and suddenly it was all business again. "I wouldn't know, sir." She turned back to her work, guarded as ever.

Confused, Jim glanced at Spock's back. His first officer had remained silent during the exchange, nothing about the set of his shoulders or his perfect posture indicating that he had even heard. "All right, then...Spock? Black, I'd say. Nice and practical, though you know technically it's not really-"

"As you say, Captain." Spock didn't even turn as he answered, his voice offhand and dismissive. This conversation is over, he might as well have said.

Feeling annoyed and more than slightly wounded, Jim spun back into place and heaved another monumental sigh. He didn't need to say it like that. He hadn't spoken with Spock more than duty required since they left the station; his first officer was prone to disappearing mysteriously after bridge shift and Jim had never seen him in the mess hall, or the gym, or anywhere that wasn't the bridge or the labs, really.

But he supposed that even Spock needed some alone time. He himself preferred to spend his alone time with someone else, preferably in his lap, but unfortunately the ship was lacking in those particular resources.

He turned his mind instead to more pressing matters...

"Spock."

"Yes, Captain."

"What is your favorite color?"

A small pause. "I have no comment on the matter."

"Oh, come on, play along. Who else here wants to know Spock's favorite color?" he asked loudly.

An uncomfortable silence swelled after his words, every bridge crew member suddenly seeming extremely immersed in their work. Jim would have laughed hysterically if he wasn't feeling so damn awkward now. "I would, sir," Sulu said at last.

Good old Sulu. "See? Sulu wants to know. So spill."

Spock still had not turned around. "I do not see the point in having an ultimate color of preference."

"It's an icebreaker." And for whatever reason, there was a hell lot of ice around here to break this morning.

Spock did turn around then. Jim grinned, pleased to have finally gotten a response, then blinked at the datapad suddenly beneath his nose. "Your duties for the day, Captain. May I suggest that you get started?"

Jim stared at Spock's face. There was something strange there, something cold and detached that he hadn't seen since their first mission together. They had become closer after that, or so he'd like to think, but now it was like their first less than congenial meeting was happening all over again.

Spock had turned back around while he was thinking, leaving Jim clutching the PADD in a dazed silence.

There was something wrong with Spock, he decided, gazing down at his schedule blankly. And he was going to find out what.

…

After five more attempts at initiating conversation and receiving five smoothly executed rejections in turn, Jim took his cue and sulked gracefully for the rest of the shift. Would it have killed the guy to answer a simple question? Jim was aware that he could be obnoxious; he prided himself on it, in fact, but he could be polite when he wanted to, and he had certainly been on his best behavior the entire morning. No, he was sure that the fault lay with Spock.

Jim left promptly at the end of shift before the rest of his crew had finished packing up, abandoning his usual ritual of being the last member to depart the bridge. He was irritated now and in need of a large steak. He sincerely hoped that Scotty had finished the upgrades to the replicators he had requested.

The mess hall was half-filled when he arrived, fuming and in no mood for queues. Perhaps his mood was sensed, as he soon found himself at the head of the line. He pulled his tray from the replicator in time to see Spock enter. Great. Spock didn't usually eat lunch at the same time as Jim, something about having "no need for sustenance at the moment" or some other logical claptrap, but of course this would be the one day he felt a sudden desire for a salad.

Jim was surprised to not see Uhura with him. Sure enough, the lieutenant wandered in later, accompanied by Sulu and Chekov. Something strange was going on between the two, he was sure. Maybe that was what had Spock's panties in a bunch.

He managed to find a seat as the tables began filling up. Scotty had done a bang-up job on the replicators, he was delighted to find out. Halfway through his steak, he looked up and saw Spock with his tray, standing some distance away while he searched for a seat. The mess hall was almost full, and there was an empty seat beside Jim.

Jim set down his fork, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. This was school all over again.

He wasn't that pissed at Spock, truth be told. Not really. It wasn't like Jim wasn't an ass himself half the time. "Hey, Spock," he called out, before he could talk himself out of it. "Over here."

Spock's head turned, and he saw Jim. Jim knew he did. Their eyes met for a single moment, the first time they had the entire day. He smiled awkwardly, hoping to defuse the tension, and gestured vaguely at the seat next to his. Spock held his gaze a second longer, and Jim began to hope, then looked away deliberately and stalked off to sit beside Yeoman Rand.

Shocked, Jim stared after him, at that retreating blue back that was so firmly turned to him, and felt a roiling tide of injustice rising within him. Spock had done that on purpose. There was no way he could have misunderstood Jim's meaning. Sulu, who happened to be passing at that most inopportune moment, caught Jim's eye and gave a sympathetic nod.

God, even his crew was noticing!

This had to end.

...

He found himself taking the grievance where he usually emptied his woes.

"He's pissed at me," Jim declared, spinning in Bones's chair worriedly, "and I don't know why."

"Damn it, Jim!" Bones swore, bending to pick up the stack of PADDs Jim had sent clattering to the floor. "I'm not your personal shrink! Get out of here before you break that."

"Nope, can't. You've gotta help me."

"With what?"

Jim sent him an exasperated look, kicking against the floor to twirl around once more. "Help me think of what I did this time to make him mad."

Bones snorted derisively. "You two have always been like this, Jimmy. There doesn't have to be a reason anymore."

Jim was slightly taken aback at this. Was that how it looked to everyone? Did Spock think of it like that? He had thought that they were finally getting to be friends. At least, until this crap began. "We've been doing good," he protested. "Saving each other's lives and everything. Anyway," he pointed out, "there's improvement, wouldn't you say?"

"He's not strangling you over the console," Bones admitted reluctantly. "But that doesn't make him your best friend."

I am, and always shall be, your friend.

Jim jerked his head sharply to the side, shaking the strangely poignant memory away. That wasn't Spock. Not his Spock, anyway, the other guy had made that clear enough. Part of Jim, the part that wasn't in complete awe of the Vulcan, almost resented him for changing what would have been his life, his relationships. From what he had gathered from the one meld and the expression on the elder's face whenever he spoke of the other Jim, their friendship had to be something special. Or will be. Not anymore, I guess. He'd somehow blown it, like he seemed to blow everything in his life.

"Jim?"

He blinked and turned a blinding grin on the doctor. "No way, that's your job, isn't it?"

"Damn right it is," Bones huffed. "But only because no one else can put up with you." He put the datapads on the desk, safely out of Jim's reach, and sat on the edge of the table with his arms crossed. "So what's been going on between you two, kid?" he asked, his tone slightly softened. "The hobgoblin not treating you right?"

Jim dragged his heels against the floor, halting the revolutions of the chair. Dizzy from the abrupt stop, he shut his eyes, thinking back to what was possibly the most awkward morning he had ever sat in the command chair. Not to mention the disastrous lunch. God, he felt mortified just remembering it. "It's more about what he's not doing. He's been downright ignoring me, Bones."

"He ignores everyone. That's what he does."

"But not me."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. Everything's about you, isn't it." Bones rolled his eyes, but he thumped the back of Jim's head almost affectionately.

"You don't get it. Shift this morning was practically a blizzard. On Delta Vega. And I know what I'm talking about."

Bones scratched his chin absently, squinting contemplatively over Jim's head. "So what if Pointy's being an ass? It's not like he wasn't one before all this. He'll come around eventually. And you've got five years on the ship together anyway. Just give him some space for now."

Well, that was true. Spock couldn't keep this up forever. Maybe he was simply overworked, or stressed, or on some kind of weird Vulcan period. It would pass. And Jim would give him time, because he was a great captain who understood such things. Eventually they would be sociable again and forget all of this ever happened and get drunk together on shore leave like real friends.

Jim had never been particularly good at lying to himself, though he was well-practiced at duping others. So he nodded and agreed boisterously with Bones and enjoyed one final spin before letting himself out of the office.

He wandered aimlessly down the corridor, no particular destination in mind. Damn it, he wanted nothing more than to hunt Spock down and pry some answers out of him. Surely his favorite color wasn't really black. But no, he owed it to himself at least to wait. He wasn't sure if his pride could take another blow like that so soon.

Damn him, he thought viciously. It all came down to Spock in the end. Unless he really was over thinking this and Spock was truly treating him like normal. Perhaps he had simply read too much into it. Who was he to try and analyze the Vulcan's expressions, anyway? He wasn't the "sensitive" type, never really had been. He much preferred the straightforward approach. Given, that had gotten him in more trouble than he could remember, namely in dubious alcoholic establishments on Saturday nights, but at least he never had to worry and dance about touchy situations. A punch only hurts at first, after all. Dragging it out only seemed to prolong the agony, in his opinion.

But Bones had given him some good, sound advice, and listening to Bones usually got him out of trouble more often than in. Jim knew he could be pigheaded, but he'd always managed to pull his head out of his ass long enough to listen to someone who knew what he was doing. Although, the doctor was divorced...but he didn't know enough of that story to judge. His own relationships were hardly stellar.

In any case, all he could do was bide his time. He'd probably piss Spock off by trying to talk-

He saw Spock. He was just a small figure on the far end of the corridor, but Jim would recognize that stick-up-his-ass posture anywhere. Jim was moving before he knew quite what he was doing, all but sprinting down the corridor as Spock stepped into the lift.

Jim elbowed his way in, booting a startled yeoman out through the closing doors and effectively barring Spock's escape route in the process. He registered a brief flash of what might have been alarm flash across his first officer's face as the doors closed behind him before rigid control smoothed over his features once more. He then watched with rising outrage as Spock inclined his head at the slightest angle, acknowledging his presence with as much indifference as he would a potted fern, and raised his arm coolly to reach for the controls.

Unbelievable. Seized by a childish fit of irritation, he caught Spock's wrist as it passed, locking his fingers with as much strength as he could muster, and slapped his own palm down on the panel behind him to stop the lift mid-descent.

It was suddenly very quiet.

Jim was all too aware that Spock could throw his hand off and bend him into a pretzel with two fingers without twitching a single eyebrow, and that he was fully and utterly disregarding all of Bones's advice. But that was then and this was now, and now he could finally find out what he had done to deserve being treated like...like...

But there really wasn't anything wrong with the way Spock had been treating him, was there? He was polite, in his own frozen way, always followed orders on the bridge, never spoke a word or raised a hand against him...he was the perfect first officer, all around. There was no actual reason for complaint, really.

Except that Jim had thought that they were more than captain and subordinate; he'd thought that they were, well...friends. And friends didn't pull this shit with each other. Hell, Spock had said as much himself, hadn't he? Jim didn't remember much from the warp chamber, he had been dying, after all, but that was perhaps the one thing he was certain had happened. A sudden tide of panic bubbled within him. That had happened, hadn't it? He couldn't have made it up in some random act of delusional, radiation-induced madness? Why was he so fixated on this, anyway? What did it matter if Spock didn't want to be friends with him? They were hardly little girls on the playground, trading secrets and friendships by the swing set. The thought hurt as hell, for some stupid, irrational reason. He'd never been good at this whole understanding feelings thing.

"Captain, what are you doing?" The voice was quiet, even. It sliced through the muddle Jim had worked himself into and jerked him sharply back into the moment. He realized that he was still holding Spock's arm and released it hurriedly, with an air of embarrassment he couldn't explain. Spock folded his hands immediately behind his back and Jim couldn't understand the sudden puff of annoyance he felt. Was he that pissed at him, that he couldn't even handle touching him?

"What are you doing?" he countered, scowling. Nice, Jim. Real mature comeback you've got there.

A slow, solemn blink of unreadable dark eyes. Those stupid bangs. He'd take a pair of scissors to them right now if he had- "I was heading to my quarters, Captain, to rest for the evening. Is there something that you require from me?"

"I require that you answer me truthfully right here, right now." Jim stepped forward unconsciously and Spock shuffled back smoothly in response. Annoying. He pressed forward another step oppressively and felt a stab of satisfaction when the Vulcan's shoulders bumped against the wall. That same odd expression of uncertainty wrinkled Spock's face for a split second, but Jim was certain that he had seen it that time.

"What the hell did I do this time, Spock?" There it was, out in the open. He stepped back a little, to better gauge Spock's response. Unseen by him, the knuckles that had been whitening around the PADD behind Spock's back loosened considerably.

Jim was half expecting a snarky reply, something that insinuated that Jim was being an idiot and an ass without actually saying the words. At the very least, a disdainful sneer and a refusal to answer his utterly illogical query. What he did not expect, however, was for Spock to blink rapidly in complete surprise and say, "I do not understand your question, Jim. If you would please clarify?"

He shouldn't be so relieved that Spock could still bring himself to say his name.

"Clearly, I've done something to upset you, right? You've been dodging me like the plague this whole day. Even before that, for all I know." Jim could practically see Spock mentally analyzing his words, pondering over each sentence as if judging it worthy of a reply. He had realized that Spock did this with almost everything he said in the weeks after Nero. It was somewhat flattering, he supposed, in a disturbingly stressful way. He sometimes felt that he had a set of expectations to live up to around Spock, expectations that he seemed to fail to meet nine times out of ten.

"You have done nothing to antagonize me, Jim," was the eventual, carefully constructed reply. Jim squinted suspiciously, sure that there was a hidden layer behind his answer. Nothing was ever completely black and white with Spock, no matter what he claimed about Vulcans not lying. Vulcans were tricky, sneaky creatures, he knew, who could say two things at the same time and mean a third.

"Nothing? You sure about that?"

Spock gave him a slightly exasperated look. "I was unaware that you were under the impression that you have somehow offended me, although I should have expected nothing less of you."

Jim scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?" There was something in Spock's expression that he couldn't read. He was usually able to tell such things, though recently he had begun to suspect that Spock had only allowed him to read what he wanted Jim to read, and nothing else.

"It means nothing more or less than what I intended." While Jim struggled over this new bit of logical nonsense, Spock made a skillful jab at the controls and the lift began to descend once more. "In any case, rest assured that you have not wronged me in any way." That sounded sincere enough, but didn't offer nearly enough explanation.

Jim pressed, "Then why-"

The lift doors hissed open and Spock stepped smartly around Jim. "Good night, Captain."

There was something like amusement in his tone, as well as...something else. Jim spun around, mouth working wordlessly, trying to say something-anything. There was something he was missing here, something he wasn't getting. Brightest crayon in the box be damned, there was something he wasn't seeing at work here.

Then the doors closed and he was alone.

Jim sagged back against the wall, immensely relieved that he had not, in fact, committed some sort of social suicide by Vulcan standards. But still...Spock was hiding something. And Jim had never been the sort to let a sleeping dragon lie.

A/N: Poor Jim. It will get better.