A/N: So I'm fully in love with Star Trek, and I can't stop writing fics. In this one I decided to take on the ten random songs/ten drabbles challenge. And here is your result! The pairings are very, very minor potential Spock/Kirk (not really intended though) and much bigger Bones/Kirk (because that seems to be my favorite pairing to write). All errors are my own! The rating is higher simply because of language. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: *sigh* It's still not mine.

Puzzle Pieces

Noise and Kisses—The Used

The roaring in his ears is getting worse. It was just a simple ringing, probably from hitting his head too hard. Yeah, that's it. Nothing to worry about. Something to mention to Bones later, when everything is over, but not important right now. It can wait.

But the roaring gets louder, until that's almost all he can hear.

He shakes his head and winces at the pain, pressing fingers to his temples. Spock cuts off what he's saying—he's been talking for a few minutes, but damned if Jim knows what the hell he's been saying—and looks at him in concern.

Spock's lips form round vowels and Jim stares at those lips, trying to tell what they form, what they say. But he can't really concentrate. The roaring is too much, too loud. And there's darkness creeping in at the corners of his eyes. He knows that's not good. It never is.

Spock moves forward, which is a good thing, because it's at that moment that he slumps forward, falling into unconscious. He doesn't feel the arms that catch him, nor does he feel the pressure against his mouth.

And Spock will never tell him of the accidental brush of their lips. Never.

Wherever You Will Go

It's raining.

It's pouring, actually, a river falling from the sky. He half wonders if someone sucked up the ocean and is dropping it all on his head, because the water is salty. Or, perhaps, those are just tears, mixing in as they drip down his cheeks.

It's cold too. He shakes his head, staring blindly out at the darkness. Bone is going to kill him.

"Jim." Speak of the devil. A handsome devil, dark haired and coming out of the darkness beside him. He feels numb as he looks at his friend, and his lips quirk in a parody of a grin.

"Hey Bones."

The man touches his arm. "Come home, Jim. It's okay. Just come home."

He lets himself be pulled out of the rain.


If God Smokes Cheap Cigars—Envy on the Coast

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Interesting how quickly things seem to deteriorate around him. Interesting how many times he ends up running for his life on what should have been a routine mission. Funny how often he finds himself bleeding from more than one part of the body.

He looks around, hands clutching his phaser. He's damn lucky to have held onto his weapon this time. He looks to see if he can find Spock or Bones—they were both part of the party, and they're both out of sight. His heart thumps.

They're fine, his mind whispers. Don't even think that they might not be.

But what if they're hurt?

The panicked thoughts cost him, and he finds himself staring down the point of a gun. Shit.

He gets control of himself and points his own phaser. They're at a stalemate now. The soldier clutching the gun looks perfectly calm and in control, but Jim tries to get him off balance.

"C'mon. You don't want to do this," he says. It's not pleading, just calm negotiation.

"Orders," the man says shortly. His finger twitches on the trigger and Jim's own finger reacts automatically.

Luckily, his phaser isn't the only one firing at the solider. Spock comes sailing into view, communicator in hand.

"What the hell took you so long?" Jim asks. Spock raises that eyebrow of his smoothly and walks over.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Captain." He raises the communicator. "Spock to Enterprise. I have located the Captain. Two to beam up."

All I Have to Give—Backstreet Boys

He paces, completely oblivious to the path he's wearing into the rug beneath his feet.

Flowers? Well fuck, he's not a girl. And screw all the symbology shit behind flowers. A flower is a flower. Pretty, smells nice, and means absolutely shit when it comes down to it. Unless you're a woman and then they somehow magically change into…well, God knows what but it works.

Candles and a romantic dinner? It's plausible…but no! It's just not right, he frets. It's not them.

He throws his hands up in despair. Fuck. He's got nothing. He shakes his head and then a thought strikes him. A tiny smile spreads across his face.



Bones traipses in from a long, hard day to find him in the middle of the room, pacing.

"What'd you do?" He asks, right away.

Jim's smile lights up his face, but there's a tell-tale tremble to his hands, the sign of nervousness.

"I love you."

He's completely flummoxed. He walks right past Jim and sits—dammit, now he's the one trembling!—in one of the chairs. Then he stares up at Jim, whose smile is a little more tremulous now.

"I—what—where—I?" He stutters. Jim runs a hand through his hair and gives him that smile.

"I was trying to think of what I could do to show you. But—," he spreads his hands wide and shrugs. "This is all I've got to give, Bones. I love you," he says again.

Bones stands, and smiles, and reaches out to grab his lover by the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him close. "I love you," he says, moments before he smashes their lips together.

Be Yourself—Audioslave

It's time for him to stop running from who he is.

Funny, that it would be now the thought runs through his mind, when he's driving all over the freakin' state, trying to figure out what to do. And Pike's words just keep running through his mind—"I dare you to do better"—an endless litany of dare and better.

He could do better. Maybe. If he wanted to. But that's the thing. He doesn't want to. He's perfectly content where he is.

…Yeah. Complete and total bullshit right there. He's always been good at lying to himself—and everyone else, mind you—but this is pushing things just a little too far. He's miserable where he is in life right now. There's moments where it's okay. He likes the drinking. He likes sleeping around. Hell, he even likes fighting—it's those moments when his adrenaline pumps that he really feels alive.

But it all gets a little…empty. No one sticks around. He's had a hundred mornings of waking in a strange bed, rumpled sheets around him; he's climbed out of windows, he's broken bones. And none of it means a damn thing. Not really.

Maybe it's time that it did.

"I dare you to do better."

Maybe he should stop running from what he's meant to be.

He turns the motorcycle around and pushes the accelerator. He has somewhere to be and he can't be late.

Both Sides Now—Joni Mitchell

He lies beneath the tree in the field, staring up at the bright sky that he glimpses through the leaves, at the sky that stretches out into the horizon. It's bright and blue and there are clouds, fluffy and white and just like out of a picture book.

He can't help but grin.

Clouds are just vapor. He knows that. He's seen them melt around the shuttle, wisps of air and fog and crystallized water.

But up beyond the clouds, up where the sky isn't blue but black, absolutely dark and fathomless, up there is where he belongs. Up there is his world.

He fingers the stripes on his uniform, the bars that spell out the rank Captain. And he grins even wider.

Sometimes dreams come true.

The grin takes a touch of darkness. He knows the price of what his dreams cost. A planet destroyed. Hundreds of people dead. His entire class virtually wiped out. He knows the price well, in the faces of those who will never open their eyes again. In the faces that are missing from his graduating class.

He closes his eyes and lets the sun shine down on him.

The cost is painful, but the dream is out there. Just like a wisp of cloud in a perfect sky, that slips through your fingers. He's holding on for all it's worth.

As the Footsteps Die Out Forever—Catch 22

The footsteps are heavy as they approach. They also happen to be the first sign of life he's heard since he was thrown into this dank cell. He lifts his head, putting that Jim Kirk shit-eating smirk onto his face. He's not going to let them know how close he is to breaking. Besides, he can last a lot more than this.

Or, he could, if only he knew….

It's the not knowing that's killing him.

The woman appears. It's only the second time he's seen her. The first time was in a drug-induced daze, but he remembers some of their encounter.

"Are you ready to cooperate, Captain Kirk?"

"Never, darling." He drawls.

"Pity. Your crew will continue to suffer, then. Your first officer, I'm afraid he's already dead." His hand curls into a fist and he grits his jaw. He won't believe that, not unless he see's proof with his own two eyes. Spock is stronger, too strong. "Your pilot and your navigator…it kills them to see the other hurt. You know of their relationship, don't you? Imagine what it's like to watch your lover be tortured." His short nails dig into his skin but he doesn't flinch. She watches him, cold, waiting for the reaction, waiting for the break. "And your CMO…he calls your name. Do you know that? He calls your name, pleading. He's dying."

Bones. He bites his cheek so hard he draws blood. His eyes narrow.

"I'll kill you," he whispers.

"You could make this all end, Captain. If you just cooperate."

He closes his eyes. He knows what he can and cannot do, and this he cannot. He opens his eyes to stare at her and his lips open.


She shrugs, cruel smile dancing. "Pity," she says again. "He'll die with your name on his lips." She turns, not pressing any further.

The sound of footsteps dies away and he tilts his head back, letting the tears run.

"I'm sorry."

Hey Girl—Dashboard Confessional

Boozing and women. Two of the things he loves most.

He takes a swig of his beer and scans the bar, searching for his next conquest. There's a pretty blonde at the bar. Alone, with some fruity drink sitting in front of her, she seems completely at ease with her surroundings. And damn, does she have legs that go for miles. He pats Bones on the shoulder—the man rolls his eyes and nurses his bourbon—and heads across the bar.

He slides into the seat next to the woman and her eyes lift.

"Hey girl," he says. "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

She rolls her eyes, giving a huffy sigh. "Has that line ever worked on any woman?" He gives her an easy, charming smile.

"It's not meant to. It's meant to get a laugh, a start the conversation."

She runs her fingers around the rim of her glass. "Why, so you can charm me and woo me and then we go off to your room to fuck like bunnies?"

His eyebrows lift and he whistles. She's got bite. He likes that.

"If that's what you've got on your mind…," he says in a slow suggestive way.

When he slinks back across the bar, his cheek bright red and vaguely bearing the imprint of fingers, Bones just laughs uncontrollably.

Do You Know? (The Ping Pong Song)—Enrique Iglesias

He's an idiot.

He leans his head against the wall, gripping to the side in order to keep himself from just falling over. He wants to cry, but he can't. He's too numb for that. He's too numb for everything.

How did it get so bad? How did it get so far off track?

He's such a freakin' idiot that he wants to shoot himself. He tries to pull himself together, aware that he's in the hallway where everyone can see him. Not that anyone is around, but they could come out of nowhere.

He raps his knuckles on the door again. He's going to keep doing it until the door opens. Until he's forgiven.

"Please," he whispers. "Please open the door."

It's only after his knuckles are bloody and there's a print on the door that it finally slides open. Bones looks at him and looks at his knuckles and shakes his head.

"Dammit Jim." And then the man is pulling him inside, and he smiles.

Everything will be okay.

Where We Went Wrong—The Hush Sound

He taps his fingers against the black arm of his command chair. It's the only sound on the whole bridge, ringing in the silence, and it's ominous.

Every single eye is upon him, although the gazes often switch to Sulu, who is bright red from his neck to the tip of his head. Sulu's lips are pressed into a grimace.

Jim Kirk's expression, on the other hand, is much more difficult to read. This is odd, because normally he's not difficult to read at all. Normally he's an open book. But right now no one's sure if he's upset or about to blow a gasket or if there is—possibly—a trace of amusement. His lips are set in a straight line, quirking neither up nor down, and his eyes are just still. He stares right out at the field of black before them.

When he finally opens his mouth everyone on the bridge takes a breath, and Sulu cringes, waiting for the shoe to drop.

"Mr. Sulu," he says, and his voice is as unreadable as the rest of him. "Can you explain this to me?"

Sulu doesn't to ask what this is.

"Er…the course seems to have been set wrong, sir."

"Mr. Chekov?"

Now it's the navigator's turn to frown and grimace and cringe. "Ez a computer error, Keptin. I believe anyvey."

Jim's gaze runs over both of them, and then his lips bend upwards into a grin and his teeth flash and it's as though everyone can breathe again. He snorts in amusement, barely holding back a hearty laugh. "Set the course correct, Chekov, and then move to Warp six, Sulu." His grin invites everyone else to relax. "We just won't mention to anyone that the flagship of Starfleet ended up lost on a mission. It's bad for business."

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