vlbuehle

Title: Discoveries

Author:

vlbuehle

Fandom: Star Trek Reboot

Rating: Hard R

Word Count: ~1,800

Disclaimer: I'm fairly certain my mind is far more twisted than those of the actual owners of Star Trek, even STXI. Which, come to think of it, is saying something, but I won't speculate on what.

Warnings: Semi-graphic description of non-con, folks, and that's an ongoing warning for this 'verse.

Summary: Jim wakes up in a motel room with no memory and wounds in very bad places. His day gets worse after that. Second up in Assumptions 'verse; Jim-centric companion to Assumptions.

A/N: I swear, the Kirk/Bones WILL be up before midnight, but this came first.

Jim Kirk rolled over and then yelped as his ass exploded in pain, quickly joined by his side and then pretty much every part of him. What the fuck? He lifted bleary eyes to the room, blinking rapidly to bring his surroundings into focus, and his frown grew as he realized he had no idea where he was. Nor did he know how he’d gotten there.

This was not good.

He had no idea what the fuck had happened last night, he realized a little sickly. And that wasn’t normal. Not anymore, not since Bones had taken him under wing and firmly in hand; Bones didn’t let him get drunk enough to black out anymore.

This was very, very not good.

It was instinct rather than training that made him pull out his tricorder and scan the small, dingy room he’d found himself in before he stumbled out the door, rumpled and disheveled, and very, very confused. He found himself standing outside a tiny, run-down motel very far off the beaten track if he was any judge; it reminded him of the shitholes he’d camped in between dead-end jobs before Pike had scooped him off the bar floor in Iowa. Not the type of place he frequented anymore.

His frown deepened as he turned away and toggled his communicator. “Scotty?”

“Aye, sir?”

“Beam me up.” He didn’t want to stay here any more.

Scotty’s eyes went wide and alarmed when his captain rematerialized, and he actually took a half-step from the control booth. “Captain?”

“I’m fine,” Jim assured one of his best friends, plastering a smile on and hoping it looked believable. From the growing alarm on Scotty’s face, it wasn’t working. But he didn’t feel up to reassuring his friend when he wasn’t even sure what had happened, so he shook his head and fled for his quarters.

He locked the door closed behind him against everyone but Spock or Bones, and turned slowly to the mirror. And his eyes went wide and disbelieving as he stared at the bruises marking his neck.

“What the hell?” he whispered, stepping closer as if that would make the marks melt away. He’d cheated on Spock? No, that wasn’t possible. He’d worked so hard to convince Spock he was worth the effort of a relationship, and even now he couldn’t coax the Vulcan into more than a few shirts in his closet. There was no way he’d have fucked it up by screwing someone else—and why would he want to, anyway? He loved Spock, wanted to spend the rest of his life with the man, sharing that glorious future he’d seen in the mind-meld. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to fuck that up for a shore leave one night stand—would he?

He didn’t have time to ponder it; the door hissed open and he froze on the spot, fear making his heart pound and hands shake. He didn’t relax until he saw Spock scowling in the doorway, and then the irrational fear melted away to be replaced by relief and a tinge of guilt, because he knew how bad this looked. He didn’t remember what had happened, but Spock could meld him, and then they’d both face whatever lurked in his subconscious.

“Spock,” he began, preparing to launch into what little he did remember so they could figure this out together, because that was what lovers did, right?

The look on Spock’s face seared him to his soul, words shriveling on his tongue at the disgust stark in the Vulcan’s eyes. “You have partaken of sexual intercourse with others.”

It was an accusation, flat and hard and utterly certain, and it rocked Jim to his core. This man was his lover, the man he’d taken into his bed and offered his heart, a risk he’d taken with no one else. His t’hy’la, Spock had said. Didn’t that entitle him to tell his side of it before he was judged and found wanting?

“It’s not what you think,” he began weakly, normally glib tongue tripping over the words as he tried to force himself into action.

“The evidence speaks for itself, Captain, and quite conclusively at that,” Spock told him coldly. “Although there are more appropriate ways to terminate our relationship.”

Spock thought he’d done this on purpose?

He watched numbly as the handful of blue tunics were efficiently gathered, a pitiful pile of fabric that was the only thing he’d ever convinced Spock to share in the quarters that were theoretically theirs.

“What?” he protested, finding his voice again. “Spock, I was drunk, and I don’t remember what happened!” Which was pretty damn weird; he held his liquor very well, and he didn’t remember ordering anything that potent. “Hell, I don’t even remember drinking that much!” Two fruity beverages the bartender had assured him weren’t very strong, the second brought over by a smirking waiter. “I don’t want to terminate our relationship!” he begged, casting pride to the wind.

Spock ignored him to run an appraising gaze over the room, and apparently found things to his satisfaction. “I fail to see why you would expect me to remain in a committed relationship with an unstable and compulsive liar who is utterly incapable of commitment, Captain. If that is all.”

And he was gone, the door whooshing shut behind him as Jim gaped, stricken dumb by shock and hurt. The man he’d thought he loved considered him nothing more than an unstable and impulsive liar? Hadn’t even given him a chance?

Later he’d probably get angry as hell, but right now it just hurt. And so did the rest of him. He turned back into the room and slowly stripped off his casual clothes with hands that shook, forcing himself to note the bruises scattered thick and angry across his body, including a swollen knot over his left rib cage that hurt every time he so much as breathed. Probably broken, he diagnosed with experience; he should go see Bones, but he didn’t move from the mirror. The hickeys on his neck were self-explanatory, and so were the bite marks puffing up across his skin. And his confidence wavered, because it was a damning picture that look precisely like what Spock had assumed it was: marks of an affair spread across his skin. And he couldn’t, in all honesty, say otherwise, because he didn’t remember.

“Bones,” he whispered aloud. Bones had always had his back no matter how badly he’d fucked things up. Bones would help. He might even know what had happened.

He needed Bones.

Jim pulled on sweatpants with hands that were shaking again, because the fierce pain radiating from his ass left little doubt as to what had happened and the dried blood and semen streaking his thighs only confirmed it. He tugged a loose black t-shirt over his head—one of the tighter black undershirts would hurt too much right now—and started for the door. It opened quietly, and he froze not a step out of it at the looks of searing contempt being directed his way by every crew member in sight, and the fragments of gossip they weren’t even bothering to whisper.

“—knew he’d cheat on poor Mr. Spock!”

“—told you so. He can’t commit, everyone knows that.”

“—told me she saw him leaving with two guys—”

“What a slut!”

It was the words that triggered it, and Jim staggered backwards like he’d been slugged in the gut, doubling over as the door shut again and he vomited onto the rug.

Oh, God, he remembered.

Not a lot, and it was hazy yet, but…he remembered enough to begin slotting the pieces into place. He’d had a couple of drinks, but they’d been low-alcohol because Bones had opted to pass on the one night of shore leave in favor of catching up on his paperwork, and getting drunk alone was no fun. He’d slugged down the second with the intent of calling it a night, and he hadn’t realized anything was wrong until the world started to blur around him.

By then it was too late.

He’d caught sight of Uhura and tried to signal that something was wrong, but she’d sniffed and turned on her heel, sauntered away with a swish of her long ponytail. And then they’d been dragging him away, to the hellhole he’d come to in after they’d finished with him.

He’d fought them, even though his attempts merely made them laugh. He’d cursed at them, strangling his screams as they’d torn him apart, marking him with fists and teeth and cocks. One had called him a greedy little slut as his buddy rammed himself into Jim’s bleeding body, and stuffed his cock down Jim’s throat as he said it. Jim had damn near managed to bite it off—and he’d paid for that defiance, and dearly at that. But it had been worth it.

He retched onto the sodden carpet again, then let his head thunk against the unforgiving metal wall. He’d been raped, and Spock had blamed him, had assumed he’d cheated. So had the crew, given the assortment of departments in the corridor a few minutes ago. Which meant by now that it was all over the ship, and none of them had so much as questioned his guilt.

Anger began to burn through the shock.

His reputation aside, he was a damn good Captain if he did say so himself. In two years he’d yet to cause any major diplomatic incidents and he’d proven remarkably good at soothing riled aliens and then talking them and their riches into the Federation. There wasn’t a single department on the ship who hadn’t made major breakthroughs in their respective fields, and his command crew were in a league all their own. And no small part of their success could be laid at his feet. He was the one to ensure they had an even balance between science-based missions and first contacts, he was the one who encouraged his crew and cleaned up the occasional mess for Starfleet consumption. He was the one who was scrupulously fair about giving credit where it was due.

And this was the thanks he got for it?

Fuck them, he decided grimly. He wouldn’t forget this. And he damn well wouldn’t forgive either.

Then he swore as his thoughts turned to Bones. He was a mess right now, emotionally as well as physically, and suddenly he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the same disgust Spock had shown in the eyes of his best friend. Luckily he had a quick fix right at hand, and one of his personal encryptions activated would block even Bones from finding him.

He’d have to go to Sickbay sooner than later, he knew that. But for now, he could shut the world out while he struggled to come to grips with all that had happened to him in less than twenty-four hours.

A few hours of privacy to face down the storm tearing him apart. That wasn’t too much to ask.

FINIS