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Decimation

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Spock gives her that look he sometimes gets like she's making him want to die, just a little. Commit Vulcan seppuku or something.

She grins, rolls her hips a little bit more as she walks and leans over his station (completely legitimately) to look at the readout.

This is what he gets for not looking at her when she first comes on shift. This is what he gets for being a prissy little bitch.

Jane smirks, just a little, and glances at Uhura, who is grinning a little at her console like she knows exactly what Jane's doing and approves.

"Captain--"

"Yes, Commander?" she asks, and then thinks, fucking Klingons before looking away from the readings on Nimbus III to him. It's possible that almost all of her right breast is exposed. Thank fuck for double-sided tape and naturally perky tits, because where she was going to put a bra in this thing...

"Is that--has Starfleet updated the dress code?" he asks, and she has to give him credit for getting the sentence out, even if he doesn't manage to address her face, eyes firmly on the swell of breasts on display. It's okay, they're pretty fucking amaze.

"It apparently has," she agrees, draping herself over the captain's chair and smirking at Sulu, who gives her an appreciative look before staring out the viewing screen to avoid homicidal Spock. Spock's still distracted. "Captain Pike calls them 'fatshirts' but I don't think they're particularly unflattering, do you?"

She smooths her hands over her chest and down her stomach, and then up at him, raising her eyebrows.

Uhura is smothering laughter into her hand and Chekov is going to break something, Jane's pretty sure. Still, she looks at Spock expectantly, and he gives her that resigned look, the one he gives her when he remembers that she's a cruel, ruthless bitch when she wants to be.

"It is very complimentary to your figure," he acknowledges. "Though perhaps inappropriate."

The next day she wears the Starfleet-issue skirt and the fatshirt and Bones says she looks like a hooker and Spock almost kills Sulu for complimenting the curvature on display.

"You're a bad woman," Uhura informs her, and Jane leans back and pops a grape into her mouth at dinner that night.

"I play to win," she says.

"You play to decimate," Uhura corrects, laughing. "If I'd known all it would take was a bit of T and A I might have saved myself a lot of headache."

"You would have lost all respect for him," Jane points out.

"Whereas you--"

"Think it's funny as shit," Jane agrees.

Chapter Text

The thing about the fatshirt ("Jesus fucking christ, stop calling it that"), is that she looks fine in it, and frankly she doesn't get to wear leather and the other option is that two-shirt combo that chokes her a little in the gold that frankly looks like shit on her (look, she didn't choose command because it coordinated with her skin tone. Clearly the only person in her family who looked good in his color was her father, who, oh yeah, was in command and then they changed who wore blue for no fucking reason--okay, she might have written a paper. Lots of papers, but most of those had been about how you couldn't on the one hand say you didn't support the objectification and/or assault of your female officers and then in the same breath tell them to wear skits that barely cover their asses and give groping appendages easy access. Jane knows why Uhura wears steel-toed combat boots and it's not because they give her a false sense of security).

The point is, Jane looks fucking amazing in the fatshirt, and she's maybe trying to see if Pon Farr was a joke or real and whether or not she can induce it.

Spock is developing a twitch. It's glorious.

See, the thing about Spock is that his mother was tiny and fragile looking and everyone agrees that Amanda Grayson was a BAMF, but it seems like the men in her life treated her like she was made of glass. It kind of...warped Spock's opinion on how to treat Terran females.

Then there'd been his relationship with Uhura, who is also BAMF (Jane admits this freely and without jealousy--Uhura is the kind of amazing that makes even the most secure person feel like an idiot, but Jane loves getting a rise out of her. She thinks she was the first girl to ever come onto Uhura--then she roomed with Gaila and the rest was history, but whatever). But Uhura likes being wooed. And there's nothing wrong with that, but Jane can remember Spock opening doors and pulling out her chair when they were "not dating" and Uhura's little smile, like she liked being treated like she was special.

Which Jane...can't really argue with.

But Jane's not Amanda Grayson and she's not Nyota Uhura and the first time she and Spock met she hacked his test and then demanded he come accuse her of cheating himself. Then he threw her off the ship and she incited him to homicidal rage...their bond goes deep. Never mind that she took him on a suicide mission (fine, his suicide mission, but really he'd have blown to little bits if not for her)-- the point is, by the time Spock realized that Jane Kirk was a Terran female he'd already kind of hated her and realized she had this annoying habit of refusing to break.

Which is great, because fuck all he tried to break her. She couldn't talk right for a fucking month after that, and Bones (who is so Old South she wants to frame him and maybe kick him in the balls) had wanted to have Spock brought up on assault charges or possibly challenged to pistols at dawn.

But the thing is, Spock has no idea what to do with a woman who is actively, blatantly out for his sex.

"Just because you're a girl doesn't make it not sexual harassment," Bones points out.

"Over age of maturity: woman," she points out idly, and he glares at her like she's stripping the paint from his soul, so she smiles her sweetest smile and lets a few waves of hair fall in her face and looks at him through her lashes and says, "Bones, no one is complaining, least of all Spock."

"That's because he might have all the goddamn logic in the world, but he doesn't have enough sense to know to run," Bones mutters, capitulating with a frown that hides his deep love for her.

"I know," she says, beaming. "I like him that way."

"For fuck's sake, fix your shirt," Bones huffs, and Jane reaches down to tuck her breast back in and share an amused look with Christine, who is laughing helplessly as she ostensibly does inventory.

She kisses his cheek. "Do I get a lollipop?" she asks. "I did so well, I get a lollipop, right?"

"Out," Bones sighs, handing her a cherry lollipop. "No slutty skirts!" he yells after her.

Fuck yes slutty skirts and fatshirt and lollipop. She's going to make Spock combust.

Really, it's such an abuse of power.

Chapter Text

So, the thing about fucking with your first officer's head in order to get a dick in an orifice is that sometimes you encounter a hostile ship in the middle of buttfuck nowhere wearing the sluttiest uniform imaginable (seriously, porn studios don't even have to work to make this shit slutty), and you have to stare down three ships while your cherry lollipop goes to waste.

Jane leans back in the chair that's really too big for her, crosses her legs and raises her eyebrow when the commander (male, of course) raises his eyebrows and stares at her thigh hungrily.

Uhura leans over and murmurs something to Spock, and Sulu glances down at his console while Jane sneers her way through stalling, and wonders if the lollipop would be overkill. Probably.

Bones would have a fit, anyway, and then there'd be no one to save Spock from the stroke he's inevitably going to have. ("Not a proper use for medicinal lollipops, Kirk, goddamnit!")

Instead she snorts and sneers and freaks them the fuck out, and then her chair beeps a little and thank fuck, Scotty got the shields down and Chekov's got phasers locked and Sulu's got them ready to jump.

"See, this is fun," she says flatly while the first captain informs her that she will make a lovely 92nd wife (and there's nothing against following their trajectory, finding out where they come from and liberating the planet, right?). "But I've got to say, this just isn't working out. It's not me, it's you, and I need my space and you're not what I'm looking for and I'm not interested in getting serious right now, and I'm really focused on my career."

Behind her, Uhura snorts.

"Basically...I think we need to see other people. Bye, boys!"

Sometimes, Jane gets to be the biggest cliche in the galaxy, and still be the most badass motherfucker in the whole damn place.

"Excellent work, Mr. Scott," she says.

"Aye," he agrees, and she smirks because she's got such arrogant motherfuckers under her command, but they're all worth it.

"Captain," Uhura says in that tone of voice that means Jane's in deep shit. "Admiral Pike on the comm for you."

Jane glances at the clock: almost time for shift-change. "I'll take it in my quarters. Mr. Spock, you have the conn," she says.

She almost forgets that the shirt is scandalous until Pike turns red and horrified and makes a mangled sound.

"Jane," he sighs, looking over her head, long-suffering.

She sighs, steps out of sight and changes into the black shirt before coming back into his view.

"Look, it worked. If I was a guy I could have compared dick sizes, but my testosterone levels are kind of low today and Bones won't do the surgery without compelling reason," she says, and Pike looks like he wants to take a pen and stab himself in the face with it. Jane thinks if she'd had a father, he probably would have looked like that a lot.

"Kirk, Starfleet gave you the ship because--"

"I saved the Federation?" she suggests, raising her eyebrows. "I get shit done, my crew's surviving, and I'm wearing their standard-issue outfits. They have a problem with it, they can talk to me or send me notification, but tell them to stop using you, because that doesn't work, and stop trying to make Spock do it."

"You're going to break him."

"No, I'm not. You can't play with something you've broken."

Pike gives her a long look. "I can't be hearing these things. Pike out."

Jane leans back and eyes the PADD with requisition forms and performance evaluations. Boring shit she'd send to Spock, but...

Yeah, no, she can't think of any good reason not to send it to Spock, so she gets up and buzzes at his door.

He opens it and eyes the PADD. "Performance reviews?"

"Fucking performance reviews."

"I entirely hope not," he says mildly, sitting down on the wrong side of his desk, leaving her the chair she knows was his mother's. Spock didn't bring a lot, but that chair was at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth and somehow it's now on the Enterprise, and Jane's kind of a genius. She sits down, curls her legs under her, and grins.

"Keenser's report."

"I do not understand your fascination with making me ill," he says severely, and she laughs, twisting her hair over her shoulder.

"Science department?"

He nods, and they begin going through.

By the end of the night, they've weeded out the ones who aren't going to cut it on the Enterprise--Jane runs a ship unlike anyone else in the Fleet. She's fucking proud of it, but it's not a perfect, or even good fit for everyone, and she'd rather do bimonthly performance reviews to try to pinpoint the problems than get stuck finding out the hard way.

When she wakes up, she's in Spock's bed.

"We didn't fuck, did we?" she asks the ceiling. Spock gives her a look; she can see his head move out of the corner of her eye.

"We did not participate in any erotic stimulus/copulation," he says. "You fell asleep."

"It happens," she sighs. "What--"

"I have gamma, it is your day off," he supplies.

She rolls onto her side. "So what you're saying is that we have plenty of time to make up for not fucking last night."

"I had no idea it was your intent to seduce me."

"We did paperwork. You were hard as a rock," she snorts, and he gives her a look.

"Contrary to popular belief, the Vulcan erotic--what are you doing?"

She swirls her finger around his one more time, looking up at him. "Fingers."

"I--"

"You should probably say "no" if you actually don't want this," she tells him, thoughtful. Spock sleeps shirtless. It's kind of a revelation, broad shoulders and lean muscle and she wants. She just wants, and she's always been horny in the morning, rubbing one out before school or work with that slow, delicious build that seems to only come when you're not quite awake yet, and the orgasm shudders through.

"I should have brought you to your own room."

"Not a 'no.'"

Spock sighs, a sound like a man pushed over the edge, beyond all reason, and Jane smiles because it feels like victory and Jane never loses, not with shit like this. Not when it's important.

"Baby, I'm gonna make you feel so good," she promises, straddling his hips and grinding down, rolling her hips in a sweet promise, his dick hard and pressing against her clit and it feels so fucking good she does it again, bending down to catch his lips and his hands bite into her hips, holding on like he's drowning. "Gonna take such good care of you."

Chapter Text

At first, she's a little nervous that they're going to have a reversion back to the whole TERRAN FEMALE MUST BE GENTLE thing because he flexes his hands but doesn't touch her. Which is annoying, so she wraps her hands around his wrists and pins them to the pillow over his head and just rides, rolls her hips and fucks into his mouth with her tongue and her first orgasm hits (because this is only going to be the first of many--Jane's not that kind of girl) and she wrenches their lips apart and pants against his cheek, blunt nails digging into his wrists.

Then she moves to get off and abruptly she's staring at the ceiling, a laugh shoved out of her lungs and his really clever fingers pulling her skirt down. He strokes one finger up her slit, pausing to rub against her too-sensitive clit and then sliding back down, curving two fingers just right inside her. She lifts onto her elbows to raise her eyebrows at him, he fucking sucks on his fingers. Slides them, shining, between his lips and licks and jesusfuck.

She inhales and her pussy clenches and she laughs, because of course Spock would be a dirty whore. Of course he would.

"You should really fuck me now," she informs him, letting her legs fall further apart, pulling her shirt up and off and throwing it somewhere else. Not important, she has no plans to put it on until she has to go on duty. "And by that, I mean get up here and let's see if you can make me scream."

He pulls back and raises an eyebrow. "Copulation--"

"Nope, never using that word again."

"--is not a competition."

"Everything is a competition, and considering last time I had to do all the work myself, I'm not really impressed right--"

Spock is a bastard, and that's not a secret, like, at all. So when he sort of dives in and goes to town eating her out she feels completely justified in cursing him out, threading her fingers through his mussed hair and shoving his face in. One of his hands comes up and she takes the fingers into her mouth, sucks and licks and groans until he surges up, replaces fingers with mouth and she can feel him, hot and slick, sliding against her pussy and Jane really loves bareback, loves to feel come slick inside her, sloppy, curve her fingers inside and play with it, but she's a Starfleet Captain now and...well, Bones does surprise physicals and if he found out they'd all be dead, dead, so very dead. So she manages, "Condoms?"

He reaches out, slides it on and then he's in, in, bottoming out and fuck, yes. She scratches her blue nails down his back, arching into him and biting the long line of his neck, yes, right the fuck there. She runs her tongue along the sharp line of her teeth when he gets the angle perfect.

"You fucking--"

"Does nothing render you nonverbal?" he demands, a little bit breathless which she counts as a personal victory.

"Do something impressive and we'll see?" she suggests sweetly against his lips and then he's fucking, just fucking into her, no long deep strokes just brutal sharp thrusts, hipbones slapping against her, grinding against her clit. He thrusts two fingers into her mouth and she sucks, nips the pads and swirls her tongue around them until she's too close, gasping for breath but not quite there, everything tense and wrung out and still reaching reaching reaching--

When she opens her eyes again she's sore, slick, and feels delicious, so she stretches, runs her fingers through her hair and then glances over. "Did you finish?" she asks, and then glances down his body and nope, he's sort of sullenly jacking off, condom long gone.

"You were limp and nonresponsive," he says severely. "It felt like fornicating with a corpse."

She slants a look at him, unable and unwilling to stop the smile. "Have a lot of reference points for that, do you?"

"Jane,' he groans, and she laughs, rolling over and taking him into her mouth easily, all the way down.

He makes this gorgeously mangled sound, one hand fisting tight in her hair and pressing hard on the back of her skull before vanishing, and she sighs, pulls back so her mouth is just wrapped around the crown and reaches for his hands, catching his eye and putting them back on her head, and when he gets it--

Jane's the kind of girl who, when she was figuring out this sex business, told her boyfriends and girlfriends to sit there and shut up unless they had helpful feedback to give. Eddie Henson didn't have sex for five years after the first time Jane tried to deepthroat and ended up throwing up, but if Jane's going to do something she's going to be amazing at it, or she's not going to do it at all.

There was a period of time where she made really bad life choices, got too drunk and said "yes" anytime anyone even hinted at asking. She's had anxious clinic visits and sometimes ones that left her sore and wrecked. She's woken up covered in come in barns and had no idea how she got here, and there was the one guy who's now paralyzed because after a night of fun he busted out his "toys" which were more along the lines of Cardassian weaponry than anything Jane wanted in her cunt.

So actually, it's kind of funny that with a guy who could literally break her in two, who's tried to strangle her to death, is the guy she's letting fuck up into her throat, hold her in place with his feet planted and hips jerking wildly as she hums around his cock.

He comes down her throat, a sound that suspiciously resembles her name ripping out of his throat and his fingers clenching hard enough to bring tears to the corners of her eyes, and then he's limp and she climbs up him, laughing and kissing him filthily, letting him know what he tastes like (that's not a fair assumption, she thinks, but a lot of girls don't do that because somewhere along the line some douche tells her that it's gross for him to have to taste spunk--but it's fine if she has to).

"What's your refractory time?" she asks, pulling the sheet up and sliding a thigh over his.

"Twenty minutes," he says, and then, fatalistically. "Why?"

"Well, because my other option is going back to my quarters and reacquainting myself with a vibrator and dildo."

"I'm flattered," he informs her, voice completely flat.

"You should be," she replies, kissing the bruise she bit into his neck, now flushed green. "You don't even vibrate."

Chapter Text

Jane blinks slowly, and then looks over at Spock when the transmission ends. "Your wife," she repeats, and is about to congratulate herself on her even tone when she realizes that Chekov is attempting the fetal position where he sits.

"Betrothed," Spock corrects.

Sulu actually cringes and Uhura stares at Spock in gratifying shock that anyone can be that stupid.

Jane leans back in her chair. "I see. All right, Mr. Chekov, plot course for the Vulcan colony; Sulu, Warp 6; Uhura you have the conn; Spock, with me."

"Captain--"

Jane stands up and lifts one eyebrow at him. "Commander Spock. With me. Now."

Uhura gives her a steely look of solidarity, and Jane nods: she's going to ream him but good.

"So you've been acting like an adolescent, which we all figured would pass and frankly the rest of them were glad you weren't attempting to throttle--" she starts as soon as she's got him in his room--which is hotter than the way she left it this morning, and darker.

"That is an unfair--" he begins because he's a prissy bitch who hates to remember that he tried to kill her. She thinks he should fucking embrace it already: if they can get through hating each other that hard they can probably handle anything. Even this, and this is a pretty high level of fucked-upness.

"I'm talking," she points out, and he shuts up fast. She must have her homicidal face on. "You threw soup across a room, I still have bruises from last night, and Sulu tells me that you broke a punching bag. Bones informs me that these fluctuations in hormone and emotional levels will kill you--"

"Those tests were done in confidence--"

"Immediate danger presented to my crew automatically overrides doctor/patient privilege and don't pretend that you don't know that," she snaps, and then rubs her forehead over her left eye. "Look, I don't care if you have a fiancée, the wife thing is a little skeevey, I'll admit, but what the fucking fuckery?"

He paces, hands balled into fists and then, haltingly, says, "It is not something we--no non-Vulcan knows of it."

"What, you've gone into heat?" she snorts, rolling her eyes, and then stares at him when he goes really, really still. "Holy shit."

"It is...it is called pon farr," he says. "It strips logic and thought from us and leaves us beasts. It is shrouded as all embarrassments are in tradition and ritual, but at its heart is a seven year mating cycle." He has this tone, when he speaks of Vulcan. Even though she knows he'd do anything for what's left of her culture and people, sometimes she thinks he's weirdly divorced from it all--resentful.

"You're half-Vulcan, though--" she points out.

"And I had hoped to be spared," he agrees, looking so suddenly tired. "But I must--take a wife...or die."

"I don't--you said it's a mating cycle," she points out, sitting on the bed beside him. "What does marriage have to do with it?"

"We are bonded as children at the age of seven, to know each other's minds. It is more than physical coupling, it is...a sharing of all." Some of the tension is leaking out of his shoulders.

"And it has to be her."

He stares at her in kind of an insulting amount of horror. "Jane--"

She hits him with the hypo Bones shoved in her hand as soon as he realized what was going on ("He could attack you! Goddamnit Jane, stop pretending you're invincible and think of it like a fucking rape whistle!") and then heads back down to medbay.

"Don't even fucking think about it," Bones says immediately, and she rolls her eyes at him..

"We've already been married on six different planets. I've been married to you twice--"

"You weren't fucking him then," Bones points out. "Didn't mean a goddamn thing!"

"He says it's a mind-sharing--"

"Just because you're an empath--"

"Allegedly," she interjects, because those tests were inconclusive and she really is just that fucking charming, okay?

"He'll fucking--look, he goes to Vulcan, he has wild animalistic married sex with this woman, he comes back and nothing's changed! We all go on with our lives and we don't potentially lose our captain because she's batshit and thinks she could handle a Vulcan out of his mind with lust!" He glares at her. "And before you ask no, I can't whip up a cocktail to slow him down because the way his body is metabolizing we'll be lucky if he doesn't burn to a crisp."

"You're a fucking ray of sunshine," she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. "You're coming down to monitor."

"...He's bringing his girlfriend to watch him get married?" Bones demands.

"1: not his girlfriend, thank you for that. 2: He doesn't know that part yet," Jane says cheerfully, snagging a red lollipop. She sticks it in her mouth and sighs: strawberry.

*

"This is a fucking lousy idea," Bones mutters.

"Shut up," Jane replies, steadying Spock with a hand when they materialize on the colony, which the Federation is still calling The Vulcan Colony because the Vulcans aren't sharing her new name.

He wraps his hand around her forearm like he's holding on for dear life, but before she can get Bones to shape up and pay attention, T'Pau (fucking T'Pau) is coming into the courtyard on a litter held up by four pretty strapping young men. T'Pau is fucking badass: Jane's totally going to be her when she grows up.

"Spock, are our ceremonies for outworlders?" T'Pau demands, and Spock gives her this stone cold glare.

"They are my friends; I am permitted this. This is Captain Kirk, and this is Doctor McCoy. I pledge their behavior with my life."

"Oh fuck," Bones mutters, and Jane very sweetly elbows him in the side.

T'Pau turns on them. "What thou are about to see comes down from the time of the beginning, without change. This is the Vulcan heart. This is the Vulcan soul. This is our way. Kah-if-farr. Do not attempt to speak with him, hence. He is deep in the plak-tow, the blood fever. He will not speak with thee again until he has passed through what is to come. If thee wishes to depart, thee may leave now. "

Spock moves to strike a gong, staggering and uncoordinated as more people filter into the plaza. T'Pring watches with narrowed eyes and then, gracefully, starts to move towards him as the gong crashes.

Jane watches as Spock, who usually sees everything five seconds before the rest of them realize they need to look for something, doesn't see her until he raises his hand to strike again and T'Pring steps in front of him and announces, grandly, "Kal-if-fee!"

Jane frowns and rubs the back of her neck: fucking hot on this planet. Then she turns to T'Pau, because everyone just stands there, frozen, and Jane's never really been good with this whole patience business. "What's that?"

"She chooses to challenge."

"She's going to fight him?"

T'Pau gives Jane a scandalized look: apparently there's some latent sexism going on here that Jane's not too impressed with. T'Pring could probably take Spock, especially when he looks punch-drunk. "She may choose her champion."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Bones mutters, consulting his tricorder, and then he frowns and glances at Jane, but she figures that's because he has this preternatural sense for when she's about to do soemthing stupid. "Ma'am--pardon the interruption and the question, but are you saying she's rejecting him?"

"She demands that he fight for her," T'Pau explains, warming slightly and Jane watches Spock stagger a little and grits her teeth.

Spock exhales shakily and stands firmer, looking at T'Pring. "No," he rasps.

"Thou speaks?" T'Pau demands, as incredulous as a Vulcan elder must ever get.

Spock drops the hammer and steps down, flushed and breathing hard. "I do not--" he looks at Jane.

"No," Bones says flatly.

Jane blinks at him, then shakes off Bones. "You're kidding me. We could have solved all of this 18 hours ago if you'd just admit that I'm--"

"Jane."

"Fine. Yes. I accept, whatever. Condoms, no sand and--" the kiss is brutally hungry, Spock's mouth slanting over hers and one hand around her waist, the other at the nape of her neck. "And a bed," she finishes.

"Spock," T'Pau raps out as Bones hands his bag to Jane, muttering something about never having enough lubricant. "Thou has chosen to honor the Vulcan way."

"The challenge brought forth was not the logical choice. I have a willing partner with an expressed interest, which I find more palatable than an unwilling partner forced through antiquated ownership rites," Spock says, and then looks sort of shocked at himself while Jane just laughs and laughs and laughs against his neck. "You neglected to mention your esper abilities," he mutters.

"Some people think my charm is more empathic abilities," she shrugs, grinning up at him. "I think that they're just blinded by how amazing I am and that's easier than admitting that I really am just that good."

*

She really is that good, and it's possible she's an empath or that Bones laced those condoms and the lube with something because it's hot and hard and he just can't get any respite, but it's nothing she can't handle.

And when she realizes she just napped through that last bit? Not as disturbed as you might think.

*

"So she challenged and he didn't accept and now you're married on Vulcan," Uhura summarizes

"Yes, yes, and no."

"No."

"Well, there's no official documentation, and since nobody speaks of it it never happened," Jane shrugs. She did have to let Bones do a full work-up, and there had been a Plan B pill on top of her normal birth control and the condoms because...well. She's fucking captain of a starship, and she can't be pregnant.

"Jane," Uhura says, sighing. "Does Spock think you're married?"

Jane eyes her, because wow, that's an absolutely terrifying possibility Jane hadn't contemplated. "I need to..."

"Yeah."

Jane doesn't quite run, but it's a really brisk walk, and she doesn't bother to ask for entry, just punches in her override and blurts out, "Do you think we're married?"

"No," Spock replies, which is such a fucking relief she has to cross the room and sit down on the bed. He sighs and unfolds himself from his mediation corner with that obnoxious grace and says, "First, asking you to commit to an emotional relationship causes you to break out in hives."

"Vicious lie," Jane says immediately, even though it kind of isn't. When Gaila had said she loved her Jane'd gotten this awful rash on her arms, and Gaila hadn't even been asking for monogamy. It's not like Jane's fucking anyone else: it's hard when you're the captain, and technically she shouldn't even be fucking Spock, but it's worth a court martial.

"Second, if we were to marry for a reason other than diplomatic expediency or life-saving measures, I would like to ask you and hear you say yes. I would like to do so secure in the knowledge you say 'yes' for no other reason than that you desire to be married to me."

Jane's throat's gone dry and she's pretty sure that's fight-or-flight kicking in there. Spock, that asshole, smiles a little and kisses her palm. Jane just barely resists snatching it back.

"Until that time," he edifies, "I am content to wait."

Jane fucks him just to make him stop saying such horrifying things. It's pure self-defense.

Chapter Text

decimation 6/?

 

When Jane was young, she thought Frank Hallie was her father. He was the guy who was always around and he was married to her mom, so it was a logical assumption.

Turned out to be a stupid assumption, because Frank was married to Winona, but he sure as fuck wasn't anyone's father. The night Sam came home from a party (the one party of the year she'd gone to because she didn't have to study and school was out) staggering and bleeding sluggishly, Frank had barely looked up from the game and his beer and muttered something about dressing like that, what did she expect?

Sam had sobbed quietly into Jane's neck and Jane had been twelve and angry, so angry, and so perfectly calm with it, stroking Sam's tangle of brown hair and murmuring softly the way people did on television.

It was Jane who had explained to the doctors and nurses who got Sam into a private room with soft light and windows in the door and in the wall that you could draw curtains over. A female doctor came in and asked Sam a series of questions that Jane tried really hard not to listen to (and failed, failed so hard).

Jane was the one who called Winona home from San Francisco, a Winona who was incandescently beautiful when she was this furious, coming into the hospital room like an avenging angel and letting Sam sob against her all over again.

Sam got blood drawn and made police statements, pale and fierce with her hazel eyes determined as she gave the names and addresses of her attackers: boys she'd gone to school with. Her fingernails cut half-moons into Jane's hand as she spoke, and Jane knew how Sam fought when she was backed into a corner and knew that every single one of those guys was going to have claw marks on them.

Sam pressed charges on all eight of them, and Jane testified and went to all the girls who'd gone to that party and guilted them all into testifying. Described in cruel, excruciating detail how wrecked Sam had been and asked them if they'd heard her screaming upstairs: if any of them had come to get her; had tried to help. Winona had looked up when Jane came home after and said, simple and quiet because Sam was sleeping upstairs, "Done?"

"Done," Jane had agreed, and Winona slid her a cup of coffee and roundly ignored Frank in the other room. Jane never managed to tell her mother that Frank had said that Sam deserved it because she was wearing a short skirt and heels. She tried, she did. She just- never could. Frank's mellowed over the years, and these days Jane doesn't have to see him, but still. Jane's not great at forgiving.

When the lawyers had said that they had twelve witnesses whose stories matched, Sam stared at Jane and pulled her aside to ask, urgent, "What did you do, Janie?"

"I made them see reason. I didn't hurt them," Jane had said, except that it wasn't true, not that she could have realized that before. Not that at twelve and so full of herself she was more obnoxious than a reality show star she could have realized that knowing what had happened could hurt someone else that badly.

Meg Price committed suicide after the trial: her boyfriend had been the ringleader, and she'd watched them guide a very drugged Sam up the stairs and lock the door behind them in Meg's own house.

Sam packed up and left, left the planet, and Jane stood in the middle of the disaster radius and got shipped off to Tarsus.

So really, it kind of stands to reason that Spock meets her family while Deneva is under attack and Aurie is sobbing around Peter, telling Jane that Sam is still out there somewhere and Jane has to leave Spock, who's fucking crumpled on the ground like someone cut all his strings and go find her stupid fucking sister.

"Hey, baby," Winona says when Jane finally finds Sam (and by extension their mother).

"Mom, are you okayed to be in this area?"

"Fuck if I know," Winona says with a shrug and Jane takes Sam from her and they head back to where Bones has set up camp.

"Oh, Miss Georgiana," Bones sighs, stroking Sam's hair from her face and then setting about yelling at M'Benga and T'Pon and Christine to work harder, faster, be better than human and save everyone. It's like if he yells loud enough, he can make it so.

Ninety percent of the time it works, so Jane's not questioning it.

"How is he?" she asks M'Benga, who's taking a reading on Spock.

"We'll see? They're neural parasites and he's a pretty--well, no, he's a really ucking talented touch-telepath. He shouldn't have beamed down."

"Yes, thank you, Doctor."

M'Benga gives her a strained smile. "No one's blaming you, Captain. Might blame him, but not you."

"Is he--"

"We're on 'light'," M'Benga shrugs, looking over at McCoy. "Ultraviolet is the next one on the roster, but he wants to try it on Spock because of the inner eyelid."

"Inner…" Jane shakes her head. "Right, okay. Why not. Winona!"

Winona looked up. "What happened to 'Mom'?"

"You never respond to that," Jane replies blithely. "Scotty, Keenser, with me, now."

"Jane, what are you--" Bones starts, frowning at her as she grabs Christine's PADD.

"Ultraviolet?"

"Seems so, but I don't--"

"How do you wipe out an infestation?"

"Is this a fucking riddle? Are you playing games in the middle of--"

"Satellites, Bones," she says, and his expression clears.

"Ultraviolet satellites?" Winona demands wryly. "Right, where's the power station, let's get this fuckery on."

Scotty gazes rapturously at her, and Jane points at him with her stylus as she sketches out the plan. "Don't even think about it."

"But--"

"That's an order, Scotty. No."

The thing about being Winona Kirk's daughter is that Jane actually is fucking good at engineering. It's one of the reasons Scotty decided to stay with her: when he technobabbles, Jane can follow. Jane is also a scary motherfucker and the only reason Scotty stays in line so often is that Jane would actually put him on the wrongside of an airlock if he tried any of that shit with her.

"Can you do this?" she demands, and Winona and Scotty and Keenser peer at it and then nod. "Then do it."

"You're not going with them?" Bones asks.

"Someone has to stay with S--am," she says, and Bones looks at Aurelan significantly.

"Shut up," Jane commands hopelessly, looking around.

"Might help him to see a friendly face when he wakes up. In a strictly professional sense of 'friendly' of course," Bones continues blithely.

"I could shoot you," Jane reminds him.

He just snorts and goes back to rigging up the ultraviolet baths, and the parasites are shriveling up and dying, but then sedatives need to be pumped in because the aftershocks are rough and Jane flinches when she hears Sam's scream wrench across the med tent.

"You are sitting by my bed side."

"It's like being told to sit in the corner," Jane says immediately. "Bones put me in time out. Your bed happened to be here."

He gives her a long look. "I have been grievously injured."

"You're fine now," she says, a little sharper than she meant to and goddamnit.

"Yes," he agrees, softening. "I am."

"Good."

"How did--"

"Ultraviolet rays, apparently? I've got Scotty and Keenser and Mom rigging satellites to put into orbit around the planet to clear the rest of the infestation."

"Your mother is here?"

"Well, Sam lives here so Mom came to see how she was--" Jane breaks off. "No. No. No."

"Winona Kirk is a well-known officer," he says earnestly. "It would be rude of me not to pay my respects."

"Pay your respects my ass. No. I'm beaming you up to the ship and Bones is going to run tests and--"

"Jane," he sighs, and that bastard he looks drawn and tired and pained and still fucking stoic and she wants to brain him for this really obvious manipulation, and then herself because it's fucking working. "I just want to meet the woman."

It's just Jane's fucking luck that Spock and Winona get along like a house on fire.

"If it makes you feel better she doesn't like Aurie at all," Sam offers as Jane drinks Bones' store of Romulan Ale sullenly in the guest quarters Sam and Aurie and baby Peter have appropriated.

"First of all, please stop equating your wife to my first officer with benefits, it makes me uncomfortable," Jane says severely, and Sam rolls her eyes. "And second of all no , that doesn't make me feel better because now he thinks--well, who the fuck knows what he thinks."

"That man is in love with you, Jane. The hell are you running from?" Sam demands in exasperation, and Jane shake her head and goes to find Sulu.

"People keep talking commitment at me," she says, holding up the Ale. "Want to get drunk?"

"Fuck. Yes," he says, letting her in, because he is a true fucking friend. "It's awful when people try to get you to commit to your husband."

She stares at him. "Traitor."

"I have a lot of money riding on this, Kirk," he informs her severely.

"You've got everyone convinced we're married," she informs Spock, punching in her lock code. He lifts an eyebrow and puts a book back into his bookshelf.

"We are, on seven planets including mine," he points out.

She groans, and then grabs him and kisses him, angry at him and at herself for being this stupid for this long, and Spock kisses back just as hard, biting at her lips and coaxing them open and it's messily out of control and feels dangerously like capitulation, like something she's already lost and she fists one hand in the short hair at the nape of his neck and holds on as his hands bite into her hips, pressing her back against the wall.

"You are the most stubborn--" he growls against her mouth.

"Shut up," she snarls, bringing their mouths back together, teeth and tongues and no room for air or any give anywhere until she yanks on his hair, abrupt enough that his throat is bared and she licks up it, feels him shudder and then bites, hard, feeling the sharp jolt that has his hips knocking into hers, dick already pressing hard against her thigh.

And then he's ripping at her shirt, fabric tearing and Jane thinks she fucking doesn't have enough uniforms for them to endure this kind of treatment and slides her hands up under his shirt at the back, scratching long lines into him and rolling her hips up and into him.

He makes a low noise, and then he's hoisting her up, rucking her skirt aroun her hips and thumbing aside her panties, shifting to undo his pants and her shirt is hanging off her shoulders in a tattered wreck, the wall cool against her shoulder blades and her ass and fuck she is wet for him.

"Fuck," she manages, low as she wraps her legs around his hips, his hands pressing bruises into the curve of her ass, mouth on her neck, teeth scraping and so she presses against him, getting the front of his pants wet and he thrusts forward, knocking her back hard before they're kissing again and he's using one hand to hold her up, the other undoing his pants and then he's just in, one brutal thrust up inside her until he's balls-deep, pulling out to push back in and not holding back anywhere and she can feel it in the back of her fucking throat every time he slides home.

She scratching her nails down his back trying to get purchase, leverage, something but she can't. Just has to take it and she can feel orgasm circling, building and that bastard, he's going to make her come on his cock and then she is, biting his shoulder and jerking through it and then he's lost his rhythm and coming, hot inside her, pressing her to the wall until there's no more air in her lungs and she's gasping.

"See?" she manages when he drops them onto the bed. "Can't be married, married people don't have sex like that."

"Shut up," he murmurs stretching over her and sliding her skirt off, stripping before coming back to bed and sliding his fingers into her cunt and crooking them, coming out slick with jizz and and sliding them into her mouth. She grins and licks and then he settles on the bed between her legs and begins to eat out the mess and she arches, pushing it out for him and god, fine, whatever he wants to call it just keep doing that

Chapter Text

She gives Uhura the number for the disposable comm she buys.

"Are you about to do something stupid?" Uhura asks flatly. Jane zips up her boots to her thighs and shrugs.

"Probably."

"Kirk."

"Uhura."

"...He's in love with you. It was four months of dating before he kissed me, and then it was me kissin ghim and it was another three before we slept together and then--" she breaks off, because Jane knows the rest of that story. Vulcan had been destroyed and Spock had lost his footing entirely and somehow Jane ended up his touchstone because she was the only person who was stupid enough to drop by and tell him to get the fuck up, emo kid, they were going out. Jane thinks Spock figured they didn't owe each other anything, and that made a difference.

She thinks she couldn't have kept a relationship with anyone, not even Uhura, if Earth had been the planet that had been destroyed and she'd been forced to watch it happen: had known it was done because of her, albeit an alternate version of her.

Jane knows that Uhura and Spock's story ended the second Jane and Spock's story started, and she also knows that that was the minute that she and Uhura managed not to butt heads quite so hard.

"Don't break his heart, blah blah blah," Jane agrees, and Uhura grabs her chin and forces her to look at her.

"I'm fucking serious, Kirk," Uhura says lowly. "Don't."

"Only call me if it's an emergency," Jane tells her, stepping out of the grip and grabbing her coat, popping the collar.

She sets the coordinates and remote-energizes to the other side of the planet, the skeevier side she'd explicitly told her crew to stay the fuck away from, she means it, Sulu.

She doesn't know what she's looking for or not looking for, what she wants out of this, exactly. She just wants to be fucking alone for a while, get a hotel room and go to clubs and--

The hotel is nice, in that way that they can be when you know where to look. Set above the city, she smiles and leans over the counter and gets a corner suite, lays in the huge bed and sleeps (and when she wakes up she absolutely does not grope on her left side to see where Spock is, no, fuck you, she doesn't).

She showers and gets dressed up and goes out, slides between anonymous thrumming bodies and arches and grinds and laughs, drinks too much and makes new friends and drifts from club to club, kisses boys and girls and trans and inter and genders that don't have names in Standard (which is fucking exclusionary, she's going to write a strongly-worded letter as soon as she finishes this drink).

The next morning (afternoon, two o'clock goddamnit) she wakes up with a migraine and prays for death and realizes she didn't take anyone back to her room: didn't want to.

"Fuck my life," she groans.

She does it again, and (one time doesn't mean anything, two data point don't prove shit, but by the third one she's got a trend and a serious sulk on. Fucking fatshirts. Really, this is Starfleet's fault, and she's going to tell them that when they try to protest her marriage, motherfuckers).

Around one in the morning on the third night she takes a shuttle to the other side of the planet, smiles at the hotel clerk, and hacks into his room.

"That was locked," he mutters when she slides into bed with him, just in bra and panties. He slides a hand down her side, testing and she lets him.

"Tense is important," she agrees. "When did I get this old?"

He shifts, huffs tiredly and then props himself up to look at her. "It is four in the morning."

"Yes."

"Jane."

She sighs, and leans in to kiss him, which he returns like he's braced for her to break him or shatter him and it's shocking, a little, to remember that she could do that.

"My mom says that I'm not allowed to put you on an escape shuttle while I drive into an insurmountable enemy," she says abruptly. "And Sam wants you to come visit them in Mumbai. Bones keeps saying that I'm not allowed to knock you up, and Uhura says I'm not allowe dto break your heart and you're significantly less charming but somehow the whole crew is on your side."

"Jane."

"Yes."

He looks at her, and then, slowly, tentatively, "Yes."

"Yeah. What the hell, apparently we did while I wasn't looking anyway--"

"The remarkable thing is that all of them were at your insistence or provocation," he interrupts, pulling her in. "You instigated each one of those marriages, as well as our sexual relationship--"

"I couldn't let you marry Bones," she points out. "Or Chekov. That would be pedophilia. And sex is just--"

"He is twenty-two."

"He looks twelve, it's cognitive dissonance," she says severely. "Although now he's a hound and it hurts my soul a lot."

"Stop talking about Ensign Chekov," he says, pressing a soft kiss to her lower lip and Jane huffs a laugh as he presses another into her palm. "Jane...you need to mean this," he says, running his thumb over the heel of her palm. "I do not think I--am equipped to--"

"I mean it," she interrupts. "I do."


"Fatshirts" get retired from the Starfleet Captain Uniform Wardrobe the next two years. Captain Kirk and Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise have their marriage challenged by Starfleet. Coming to their defense most notably are Commander Winona Kirk of the Starfleet Engineering Corp, Admiral Christopher Pike and Captain Una Pike (who had served as captain and XO on the USS Antares for more than a decade without incident), and Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.

On their own behalf, Captain Kirk will submit a volume of 23,234,794 pages (40% of which will be footnotes, and 95% of it is filler, but as no one ever reads these things it won't be noticed for another 300 years) detailing all the occurrences of Starfleet officers finding themselves in situations in which being married was advantageous, illuminating her own "marriages" to 45% of her male crew and 22% of her female crew.

Commander Spock will simply and without comment submit a photo gallery in his defense.

It will immediately be classified.

"I told you you looked like a hooker," Dr. Leonard McCoy will be heard to mutter to Captain Kirk in the stands. The Captain will simply smirk and reply that if that was the case, she looked like a regulation hooker.

"Fatshirts" will be immediately recalled and hemlines will drop six inches. Captain and Mr. Kirk will keep a few for recreational use, but that won't really shock anyone .