Celebrate the Earth and Sky (11/20)
Soar with the Wind VI
After landing on the outskirts of Edinburgh and making their way into the city in a series of convoys designed to look not at all suspicious, Jim found himself standing in front of a store on Clark Street, wondering just when Uhura had decided to go insane.
“This is a clothing store,” he said, sneaking a glance at Spock. The Vulcan was unabashedly entranced by a collection of wind-up toys in the display window.
“Charity shop,” said Uhura. She pushed her hair out of her face. “Believe me, this is the place.”
“It’s closed,” Jim pointed out. “Also, it’s midnight. And I think those drug dealers over there are giving us looks.”
“Goddammit Jim, just knock on the stupid door,” McCoy said. He hugged himself, shivering. “It’s getting cold out here.”
“I’ve got a hat you can wear,” said Jim.
Uhura stepped up next to him and banged briskly on the door. Nothing happened. She banged again.
“Well, I think I saw a nice little hotel on our way in here,” Jim began, but his words died off as a light clicked on. The door swung open and a man stood there for a moment, blinking at them. Then a wide smile split his face.
“Nyota, my dear!” he exclaimed, reaching to take her in a hug. Jim reeled at the thickness of his accent. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“A few months,” Uhura agreed, hugging him back. After a few seconds they separated and she turned towards the rest of the party. “You know most of these guys, but we’ve got a few new faces. This is Jim Kirk. Kirk, this is Montgomery Scott.”
“A Kirk!” said Scott, taking Jim’s hand with enthusiasm. “I would bet you’ve got a few distant relatives puttering about here, eh?”
“Uh,” said Jim, taken aback. “I- maybe?” He put on a strained smile. “Is Kirk a Scottish name?” he hissed frantically at McCoy, who shrugged.
“And this,” Uhura motioned toward Spock, “Is Spock.”
Spock nodded politely, hands clasped behind his back. Scott’s eyes lit up. “Oh, so you’re our special case. I’ve heard all about you from Ms. Nyota. I must say Mr. Spock, I’m that eager to discuss some things with you. Always been interested in space travel, glad to meet a man who’s actually gone and done the thing.”
Spock bobbed his head again, inching the slightest bit towards Jim. “I shall answer as many questions as I am able,” he said.
Scott nodded. “Wouldn’t expect any less from a spacefaring sort. I suppose you’ve got all manner of non-interference laws for visiting strange planets, am I right?”
“Indeed,” said Spock, a new measure of respect entering his tone.
“Well, that would only make sense, wouldn’t it?” He nodded to McCoy and Sulu, and beamed another grin at Chekov. “Pavel, my lad! We’ve missed you around these parts.”
“I would not miss returning for the world, Mr. Scott,” said Chekov, making his way towards the entrance. “If only to once again prove the superiority of vodka over scotch!”
“Fighting words for a man in scotch country,” countered Scott, waggling his finger. Uhura cleared her throat, and Scott suddenly seemed to realize that he had half a dozen strangers standing at the doorstep of his shop after midnight. He glanced out at the mostly empty street, and motioned them inside. “Well, come in, come in. Don’t mind the messiness of the shop, the real place is downstairs, as you know.” His gaze passed over Jim and Spock, and he amended, “Well, as most of you know, anyway.”
The shop was filled with racks of mismatched, used clothing, haphazardly organized; and stacks of old toys, dishes and knickknacks piled on the shelves built into the wall. Spock itched to get his hands on some of the old Earth technology, but betrayed nothing of this in his countenance, except perhaps for a lingering gaze at a broken down vidset.
They trooped down the stairs into a room that was basically a continuation of the first. This time though, Scott led to them to a curtained off area toward the back. With a wink at Nyota, he pulled the curtain, stepped inside the small changing room, and then twisted the clothes hook nailed into the wall. Both of Spock’s eyebrows shot up as the entire back of the changing room swung outward to reveal a hallway.
Jim whirled around to face Uhura. “You said he wasn’t a secret agent,” he accused her. “Seriously? What the hell is this?”
“Fascinating,” said Spock.
Scott laughed. “A what?” he said. “‘Course not. I’m an engineer.”
“And you have a secret tunnel under your used clothes store,” Jim said, enunciating every word. “I’m sorry, but that’s weird.”
Scott shrugged. “Well, I had to have a spot for my lab, didn’t I? Can’t trust leaving anything at the University- they’re always being watched, down there. Although it took me a few good months to figure out the bastards were messing with my calculations. So-” he spread his hands to indicate the hallway, which was surprisingly well lit with small lamps posted on the sides of the walls. “Here we have my real laboratory. Not the mockup at the Uni with all the dodgy equipment.”
“University?” inquired Spock. He was the last to step into the hall, and Scott pulled on another coat hanger, the door clanging shut.
“Of Edinburgh,” Scotty said over his shoulder, leading them down the passage. It was short and soon branched off into two. “George Square is about a ten minute walk from here, I should say. Although my business is all in the Kings Buildings, which are a wee bit further down.”
“You are a professor?”
“Of a sort,” Scott said. “That way’s the lab.” He indicated the left side branch. “And this side is where I keep all my unexpected guests.”
“Not exactly unexpected,” Uhura said, voice dry. “If I recall right, you’re the one who contacted us.”
Scott shrugged. “Well, I couldn't think about anyone else who’d care about the government messing with my calculations. I figured if they were going to be bastards about me trying to get us all out of the bloody Neolithic, then I’d be one right back at them.”
Spock stopped walking, Scott’s words catching up with him. He furrowed his brow. “Calculations?” he said, voice carefully modulated. “May I inquire as to the nature of these calculations, Mr. Scott?”
“Oh, aye,” said Scott. He grinned. “You want to see them?”
“I would indeed,” Spock said, surprising even himself with the level of interest in his voice.
Uhura cleared her throat. Scott jumped, and looked at her a bit guiltily. “I’d be glad to show you,” he assured Spock, “Just as soon as I get you all settled.”
Spock nodded and placed his hands behind his back as Scott resumed the tour.
“My place is well nigh impossible to find, what with all the jamming signals I’ve put into the walls. You can be sure I made sure of that before I ever invited any of you lot over,” Scott continued, ushering them all into the set of rooms on the right. “I heat the whole building day and night to thwart any thermal-searchers. Worked like a charm for the past few years.”
“It’s the best Headquarters we’ve ever had,” Uhura confirmed. “I don’t know what we’d do without Montgomery.”
Scott’s ears turned red. “I built this place for a lab first, then added on,” he continued. “There’s bunks for twelve, as some of you know already, a small kitchen, two showers and three toilets. Sorry if they’re a bit manky, I haven’t got in to clean them just yet. Ladies and gents will have to share.”
“Nice,” Jim whistled, sitting on one of the bunks and lightly bouncing up and down on it. “Can you access the ‘net from here?”
Scott wrinkled his nose. “On good days,” he said. “When the wind is blowing just right and I’ve made all the proper goat sacrifices, that is.”
Jim’s face fell.
“You can access it from the shop however,” Scott said. “Although even that’s a bit off. But the jamming signals down here make it well nigh impossible for anything to get in or out. Sorry.”
Jim gave a halfhearted smile. “No worries,” he said, hopping off the bed. His eye caught something, and he strode over to the far side of the room where two armchairs sat next to a table, a stack of board games underneath. “I think I’ve found some entertainment.” He dug through the boxes until pulling out one in particular. “Chess, Spock?” he queried, holding it out for Spock’s inspection. “Hmm, looks like the set-up for the 3D version is in here too. That’s only been around for a couple of years.”
Spock came closer. “You may find my abilities somewhat improved from our last game,” he warned, taking the box from Jim and examining it with a critical eye.
“Is that a challenge, Mr. Spock?”
“Perhaps,” Spock allowed.
Scott coughed. “So here you all are, anyway. Were you wanting to see my calculations, Mr. Spock? I can show them to you now, if you’re so inclined.”
Spock straightened, still holding the boxed chess set. “I do not wish to impose,” he said.
Scott shook his head, “No, no, not at all,” he said. “To tell the truth, no one except for me and Pavel over there ever seem interested at all. Or the folks down at the Uni, but I can’t show them the real thing, can I? Next thing I know it’ll all have disappeared and I’d be on my way to a post in Siberia. It’d be a treat to have someone else look in on it. Especially someone such as yourself.”
“Very well,” said Spock. He cast a half-apologetic glance at Jim. “It appears that our chess game will have to wait.”
Jim lowered his hand from covering a yawn. “Actually,” he said, taking the box from Spock and setting it on the chair. “Is it all right if I come too? I’d like to see.”
“Would you?” said Scott, and now he was positively gleeful.
Jim shrugged, “I mean, I’m not an engineer, but I’d still just like to have a look.”
“Fair enough!” agreed Scott. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on Chekov, who had stretched out across a top bunk, still dressed, and was clearly fast asleep. “Well, I was going to ask Pavel to join us, but it looks like he’s out for the count.”
A wry smile tugged at the corner of Jim’s mouth. “Looks like. Bones, you coming?”
“Do I look like an engineer?” McCoy said, in the midst of wrestling off a boot. “I’m a doctor. The only machines I get are the biological ones.”
“Could be cool,” Jim wheedled.
McCoy threw his sock at him. Jim batted it away. “Go on,” he said, although there was no real bite to it. “Maybe I’ll be able to get some sleep without you in here sounding like a herd of elephants.”
Jim clasped a hand to his chest. “Are you implying that I snore?” he said indignantly.
“No, I’m definitely telling you,” said McCoy.
“Asshole,” said Jim.
McCoy smiled, showing teeth. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
Jim scowled at him. “Come on, Spock,” he said, ignoring the doctor. “We know when we’re not wanted.”
They left the room, Scotty directing them back down the hall and off to the other side, into another room, this one filled with tables and various bits of machinery, some of it lit up, some of it in scattered pieces. A desk in the far corner was covered in three computer monitors, scraps of paper, and pencil nubs.
“This is your laboratory, Mr. Scott?”
“Sure is, Mr. Spock.”
Spock lightly touched a piece of wiring sticking out of what may have at one point been a remote control. “You have . . . many projects,” he said, diplomatically.
“Wow, how do you find anything?” Jim asked. “Hey, is that a- whatsit, uh, one of those VDV player things?”
“DVD player,” Scott replied, turning on his computer. “Completely obsolete now, of course. But these are just for tinkering. My real work is all in here.” He indicated the monitors, which now had a string of letters and numbers scrawled across them. “You- can, read English, Mr. Spock?” he added belatedly.
“Of course,” Spock said, letting go of the knob he had been fiddling with as Jim jabbed him in the side with his elbow.
Jim bent over the desk to take in the equations. “Huh,” he said. “Looks like something to do with energy and space, but it’s a bit beyond me. What do you think?”
Spock leaned around him to look. His eyes widened. “Fascinating,” he murmured, leaning in for a closer view before once more standing upright. Both eyebrows raised, he turned to regard Scott, who had crossed his arms.
“Now I know,” Scott said, “You’re probably not allowed to give me any clues or some such. But,” and here his face suddenly grew a little vulnerable. “Do you think you could tell me if, well, if I’m on the right track and all? Shame to waste this much time on something that wouldnae even work.”
Spock’s expression grew still. Without replying, he took another glance at Scott’s work, his eyes wandering up and down the lines of equations. He turned back to Scott, who bit his lip and locked gazes with him.
Scott’s own eyes widened as Spock gave the very smallest of nods. His body slumped in relief, then he broke out into another one of his broad smiles. “Well I’ll be,” he said, giving a slight laugh. “Thank you for your input, Mr. Spock. You are quite a useful man. Most helpful. Most-bloody-helpful indeed.”
“I don’t get it,” said Jim, looking between the two, then back at the calculations on the screen.
“It is unimportant,” Spock said. “With your permission, Mr. Scott, might I explore your laboratory further at a more convenient time? I believe my companion has grown fatigued.
“Hey!” Jim protested. “You’ve been up just as long as I have.”
“Vulcans require less sleep than humans,” said Spock. “You have not achieved the optimum amount of sleep for a human in three days.”
Jim narrowed his eyes at him. “And you know that, how?”
“Three days ago you slept for only five hours at night, in addition to a two hour nap at midday,” started Spock. “Two days ago you were only able to achieve-”
“Okay, you could have just stopped at that last sentence,” Jim said.
Spock tilted his head to one side. “You did ask, Jim.”
“And I will remember never to do so ever again,” Jim muttered, covering his face with his palm.
“Back to the room then,” Scott said, shooing them out. “I’m going to give these another lookover, but I expect you fellows can find your own way?”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “Thanks for showing us. Spock’ll probably be in here tinkering by tomorrow morning. You might want to lock up your more important projects.”
Spock gave him an affronted look.
Jim smirked at him. “Teasing, teasing, of course. You’re too easy.”
Spock turned his back on him. “With your permission, I would indeed appreciate the opportunity to further explore your laboratory,” he said to Scott.
“Always,” said Scott. “As long as I’m around, I don’t mind at all.”
“I understand,” said Spock. His eyes traveled to Jim, who was now leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, foot tapping. “You are an impatient being,” he said.
Jim held his hands out as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ Spock gave him another steady stare, and Jim lightly shoved him out the door in front of him.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Scott,” he called back.
“Mmhmm, ‘morrow” Scott replied, obviously distracted, his pale face eerily lit by the glow of the monitors in front of him.
Back in the main room, most of their fellow occupants had already fallen asleep. The exception to this was Sulu, who gave them a brief nod from one of the armchairs, before turning back to his data pad.
There was one bunk bed left. Jim eyed it. “Top or bottom?” he asked Spock.
“Bottom,” said Spock flatly. He might not fear heights, but he had no desire to sleep so far from the ground, on a platform of dubious quality. Humans shared a common ancestor with tree dwelling primates, did they not? Let Jim take the top.
“I guess that’s fair enough,” Jim said. He had already halfway taken his shirt off, and his pants soon followed suit. Wearing only a pair of boxers, he crawled into a ratty looking T-shirt, and bent over his bag, producing what Spock recognized as teeth cleaning implements. Spock had been given some of his own, but the human toothpaste tasted strange in his mouth and he had asked instead for a supply of sodium bicarbonate. To his surprise, it had been easily obtained aboard the ship.
He watched as Jim disappeared into the bathroom, noting how very interesting it was that Jim’s physiology so mirrored his own.
His thoughts were becoming increasingly illogical. Spock shook his head and began to disrobe as well. He had finished removing his coat and shirt, clad only in his trousers, when he noticed that Jim had emerged from the bathroom, and was staring at him. Feeling self-conscious, Spock quickly pulled on his own, much warmer nightclothes.
“Yes?” he queried.
Jim blinked. “Nothing,” he said, averting his eyes. “I just- it’s just so weird that you’re from another planet and we look so- so alike, you know?”
Spock nodded. “I was contemplating a similar prospect only minutes ago. There are many bipedal, mammalian species scattered throughout the galaxy. The study as to why, is an ever ongoing one.”
“Yeah? What have they come up with?” Jim asked, scrambling with ease up the ladder to the top bunk. He lay on his side and propped his cheek in his hand.
“There are two main theories. One is the Preserver’s Theory, which postulates that a species of beings unknown to us, for reasons also unknown, modified and scattered humanoid-like forms throughout the galaxy.” He sat down on his bunk. “The other is the theory of Parallel Evolution, which assumes that for some reason, the bipedal mammalian form is among the most efficient for achieving sentience.”
“Huh,” Jim said, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “Which one do you think is right?”
Spock was quiet for a moment. “I am unsure,” he said at last. “Although I find myself illogically leaning toward the Preserver’s Theory. There is something aesthetically pleasing about the thought that though we are beings from different worlds, we are not truly so different from one another. That we share a common root.” He looked contrite as he stood and prepared to head into the bathroom. “As I said, it is an illogical preference.”
“No, no,” Jim smiled. “I agree with you. I like that one better. Like we’re all- brothers from another mother, you know?”
Spock cocked his head. “I believe I understand the meaning behind the colloquialism,” he said, after a moment. His voice turned dry. “Though the colloquialism itself leaves much to be desired. Good night, Jim.”
“Night, Spock.”
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After three days of hiding underneath Scott’s shop, Spock was relatively certain that if they did not find Jim an outlet for his energy, they were all in serious danger of suffering some sort of mental break.
“We will go outside,” he stated, standing next to their bunk, hands linked behind his back, face severe. “You will wear a hat and spectacles. I too, will wear a hat.” He produced the aforementioned items, and shoved them at Jim. “There will be no more discussion on this.”
“Whaaa?” Jim yawned. Still clad only in his boxers and t-shirt, he scratched at his stomach and caught the multicolored rubber ball he had been bouncing off the wall, in one hand. He threw it at the wall again. “What are you talking about?”
Spock’s eye twitched. “We are going outside,” he said again, snatching the ball from the air before Jim could reclaim it. “Now.”
“Pushy, pushy,” Jim muttered, sitting up. He glowered down at Spock’s head and held out his hand. “Give me back my ball.”
“No,” said Spock. He picked Jim’s jeans up off the floor, and handed them to him instead. “Put on your clothes. We’re going.”
“What, like, forever? Are you kidnapping me? Am I to be your virgin bride? Am I- hey, where are you going?”
“I will wait for you in Mr. Scott’s shop,” Spock said, already halfway out the door. He turned back the slightest bit, just to make sure that Jim was actually following his orders. “Do not take more then five Earth minutes.”
“Like I know any other kind of minute!” Jim hollered at his retreating form. He slumped back against the pillow. “Man, give the alien an inch and he takes a mile.”
“Five minutes, Jim,” Spock called back as his footsteps receded down the tunnel.
Jim took six minutes before he joined Spock in browsing the hideous collection of printed shirts.
“I think you would look good in this one,” Jim said, pointing at the brightest, yellowiest of the bunch.
“I do not believe it would flatter my skin tone,” Spock replied. He tugged at Jim’s wrist. “Let us go.”
“How’d you manage to get the okay for this?” Jim wondered as they waved goodbye to Scott’s assistant and walked out, the door jingling shut behind them. “Didn’t Uhura say something about staying on the down low?”
“She was forced to come to an agreement with me when I pointed out that your levels of unspent energy and the well being of the property and people around you, appeared to follow an inverse relationship.”
“She wanted us out of her hair,” Jim translated.
“Actually, I believe it was at Mr. Scott’s request. Apparently the noise of this,” Spock produced the rubber ball, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Jim made a grab for it, but missed as Spock tucked it back into his pocket, “bouncing off the wall opposite his lab, was proving a distraction.”
“They could have said something,” Jim said, as they turned left toward Holyrood Park.
“They did.”
Jim pulled his hat a little further down on his head, then stuck his hands in his back pockets. “So, where are we going?”
“On Mr. Scott’s recommendation, we are going to a place he called ‘Arthur’s Seat,’ which is the remnant of an ancient volcano.”
“Like, as in King Arthur?”
Spock gave him a sidelong glance. “I am unsure,” he said. “Mr. Scott himself appeared to be uncertain of the origins of the name.”
“Huh, interesting. So, why are we going there?”
Spock stopped and pointed. Jim followed his finger and saw, now free of the encumbering roofs of the street, a cragged, dome-like hill. The lower levels were covered in long grasses with gentle slopes, until about two third of the way up, at which point the hill rose steeply, covered only in bare, igneous rock.
“To climb it,” Spock said.
“Whoah,” said Jim. “There has got to be an awesome view from up there. I bet- Spock, what are you doing?”
“Taking samples,” Spock replied, bent over and picking through the rocks on the ground. He selected two, and placed them in his pocket next to Jim’s rubber ball.
“You are such a nerd,” sighed Jim. He pulled on Spock’s elbow, and they continued onward towards the park.
The climb was fairly short, as such things go, barely more than half an hour. Yet, it was still with great satisfaction that Spock and Jim emerged at the top, clambering up the final series of boulders to emerge onto the very peak. Jim stretched out his arms and turned in a full circle, admiring the city sprawled out below them.
“Look, Spock! There’s the castle! We should go there.”
“I believe they check for identification at the entrance,” Spock said.
Jim waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever. I think Uhura’s pretty much got us covered on that front.” He placed his hands on his hips. “But look at that view. Pretty awesome, huh?”
“Indeed,” said Spock, who was more focused on chipping off a piece of rock to add to his growing collection of pebbles. Jim rolled his eyes and grabbed at Spock’s shoulders, turning him to face outward.
“If you’re going to travel all the way here, might as well take in the view,” he said. “Come on.”
Spock was quiet for a moment. “It is very aesthetically pleasing,” he admitted after a moment. Jim beamed, the heavy wind making his cheeks ruddy. He turned the opposite direction.
“That must be the ocean,” he said. He looked down. “I didn’t realize this park was so big,” he said. “Looks like there are some trails down there. We could go take a look if you want.”
Spock looked as well. The north slope of Arthur’s Seat dropped down far more steeply than the south, into a series of hills. He recalled that a sign they had passed on their way up indicated the presence of some ruins. “I would not be averse to such a course of action,” he said.
“Great,” enthused Jim. He began to step down, then hesitated. “Although, I’ve got to admit, I’m not quite sure the best way to get down from this direction.”
Spock moved beside him. “That way, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” Jim said. “Be sure to grab me if it all goes south.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Technically, that direction is northeast.”
“You’re hilarious,” Jim told him, as he scrabbled down the rock face.
They spent the majority of the day exploring the further reaches of Holyrood Park. As evening descended and a fog came in, the entirety of the city’s noise became muffled from sound and from sight, leaving Jim and Spock to argue over which direction they had to go to actually exit the park. Spock won, and they headed north down a ravine, eventually emerging onto a road near the edge of the Royal Mile.
“Whew,” Jim said, as the city lights became clearer. “That fog was really something. Like being in another world. I was kind of expecting for the Ghost of Scotland Past to pop up.”
Spock looked sideways at him. “For a technologically dependent species, humans are oddly superstitious.” A pause. “Unless you are employing another human cultural reference.”
“Got it in one,” Jim said. “Dickens.”
“Pardon me?” said Spock, affronted.
Jim huffed out a breath. “Charles Dickens, a famous author,” he said. “From his book, A Christmas Carol.” He shook his head. “Which of course, you’ve never read. Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not . . .” he trailed off into an uncomfortable silence, the word human remaining unspoken between them.
“Is it well written?” Spock ventured, when the quiet began to grow oppressive.
“Oh, yeah,” Jim said, caught off guard. He scratched his head. “I’ll find it for you,” he promised. “My copy’s, well- probably burnt to a crisp at this point, but it’s very famous. It’s not even banned, like some of his other ones, so we could probably find it pretty easily.” He hesitated. “If you want, that is.”
“If it is not too much trouble,” Spock said. “I would indeed appreciate the opportunity.”
“Really?” Jim blurted out. Then he covered his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just, why are you so interested in Earth’s culture? We’re kind of galactic nobodies, right?”
Spock tilted his head to one side. “Perhaps so that I might better understand my human companions.” His expression turned wry, “As well as their obscure literary references.”
Jim grinned a little self-consciously. “Sorry about that.” Then his face lit up. “But you know, if we’re just talking about ghosts in general, they did once find bodies in the Salisbury crags, kind of close to Arthur’s Seat. I read it on a sign back there.”
“Yes,” said Spock, wrinkling his nose. “I was aware.”
“I’m just saying,” Jim said as they passed a fudge shop. “Could be a lot of angry spirits hanging out there after dark.”
Spock did not dignify that with an answer.
As they walked down the Royal Mile, they passed storefronts ranging from tourist traps to legitimate tattoo parlors, and many small alleyways in-between. They turned left at Spock’s bidding, to make their way across the bridge and back towards Clerk Street, where Scott’s hideout was located.
“I’m kind of hungry,” Jim said suddenly, as they passed by a pub and the smell booze and fried food wafted out.
Spock stopped. “Do you require nourishment at this time?”
“Uh,” Jim said, nearly running into him before stopping as well. “Well I don’t require it, but it’d be nice.” He shrugged, stepping around Spock and continuing to walk. “But I can always wait until we get back to the shop. There’s stuff there I can eat. It’s probably not the best idea to go into a pub now, anyway. People might notice something’s off.” He nodded at Spock’s headgear.
“If you are certain,” Spock said, also beginning to walk again.
Jim laughed as they passed a bank. “And you know what? I realized that I don’t even have any money. That’d really get us noticed.”
“I do,” said Spock.
Jim paused and turned back toward him. “You have money?” he said, voice skeptical. “And where did you get that, Mister?”
“From Mr. Scott,” Spock said, as though this should be obvious. He delved into the pocket of his coat and held out a wad of notes and a handful of coins for Jim’s inspection. “Would this be sufficient to pay for a meal?”
“With his permission, I hope,” Jim muttered, peeling through the cash.
“Of course,” said Spock, drawing himself upright in indignation and ignoring the urge to remove Jim’s hand. “Mr. Scott recommended we stop at a . . .” his forehead furrowed. “A chippy?” he said. “He said there was one only a few streets from his shop. He said that they sell a wide selection of chips, which I assumed to be obvious, although I am still not sure what, exactly, constitutes a chip.” His arm was beginning to grow tired. He nudged the currency towards Jim. “Jim, perhaps you should take charge of this.”
“Oh,” said Jim. He smiled, taking some of the money and pocketing it. “Well, in that case. If Mr. Scott said so . . .”
“Indeed,” Spock said, tone grave. He dropped his arm.
“Then we should definitely go,” Jim finished. He looked concerned for a moment. “Would you eat chips? They’re basically potato - which is a tuber-”
“I am aware of what a potato is, Jim.”
“Right. Anyway, it’s chopped up and fried. Sometimes in animal fat, sometimes in vegetable oil. I can ask which one they use.”
“That would be agreeable,” Spock said, meanwhile making a resolution to visit a healer and check the state of his cardiovascular system upon his return to Vulcan. While interesting, he had noticed that in general, traditional Earth foodstuffs did not appear to be all that beneficial to a significant portion of the body, aside from the stomach. Or perhaps those were just the foods Jim had introduced him to? He should probably ask McCoy.
After a short period of continued wandering down the foggy street, they did indeed find a fish and chips shop and, after ensuring that the chips were fried in vegetable oil (My niece is a vegetarian,” grunted the man behind the counter), Jim settled quite happily with a plate of chips smothered in gravy, while Spock went for the more simplistic, chips and vinegar.
“Well?” asked Jim, licking salt and gravy from his fingertips.
Spock closed his eyes. One of these days, he and Jim were going to have to sit down and have a serious discussion regarding Vulcan cultural obscenities.
“Spock, are you okay?”
Spock opened his eyes. “While I have doubts about their nutritional value, I find them sufficient for my needs at this time,” he said quickly, to cover for his lapse. He wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin and tried to ignore the show Jim was unwittingly putting on. It was . . . distracting.
“I think that’s how most everybody feels,” Jim said. He hopped off the stool, brushing crumbs from his front. “Well, time to get back?”
“We have been absent for nearly ten hours,” Spock agreed. “I trust you have spent a significant amount of your excess energy at this point?”
Jim winked at him. “I always have excess energy,” he said as they headed out the door and into the night.
“I have noticed this oddity,” Spock said.
“I thought I noticed you noticing,” said Jim. “I-”
All of a sudden, he skidded to a halt. His smile dropped into a frown. “Did you hear that?”
Spock coked his head. “I do not hear anything.”
Jim shook his head. “Wait. Stop.”
After a few seconds, the sound came again. A high wail, muffled through the, now very thick, fog.
Jim’s eyes went flat. “That sounds like a scream,” he bit out, all traces of his amusement gone.
“What?” said Spock still trying to process the instantaneous change in Jim’s demeanor.
“That sounded like a child’s scream,” Jim continued, now looking this way and that. He faced a new direction as the sound came again.
“What?” Spock repeated.
But Jim wasn’t in the mood for questions. He paced a little, while Spock watched, unaccountably nervous. Jim’s expression was now almost Vulcan-like in its blankness. He tilted his head from side to side, as if listening as hard as he could.
“That way,” he said. He pointed to their left, down the street.
Spock strained his ears. He heard it now, a faint noise, but it could have been anything - an animal, the screech of machinery, the-
Jim grabbed at Spock’s wrist. “Come on!” he demanded, whirling in the direction of the scream. “Don’t just stand there, come on!” He broke into a run.
“Jim!” Spock protested as he was dragged along for the ride. “Wait, where are we going? What will you do?”
But Jim shook his head, rushing headlong down the street, heedless of any physical barriers, dodging waste receptacles and street lamps with equal indifference.
Spock, his wrist now freed, ran a few paces behind. The fog so muted the pounding of his footsteps that even as he pivoted and sprinted down an alley (another scream, much louder than the first, echoed off the brick), the three shadowed figures grappling with something unseen against a wall were utterly unprepared for Jim to slam into them from behind.
Spock slowed to a stop as Jim sent the three figures stumbling away from the wall. His jaw nearly dropped as Jim went immediately into a crouch, avoiding a return swing from the foremost figure. Spock’s mind worked furiously, calculating possibilities, trajectories, he was not to interfere.
Jim grunted as a strike caught him in the side. Spock caught sight of his expression- he wasn’t even looking at Spock. He was looking at the child. The girl child, back flat-up against the filthy side of the brick building- Jim smashed the back of his fist into an assailant’s nose and wriggled free of another’s grip. Before he even realized it, Spock was moving.
His suss-mahn had improved to commendable levels since those uncomfortable days of his childhood. All it took was one efficient squeeze at the juncture between the neck and shoulder. Three men dropped in quick succession.
The sudden silence was deafening.
“What- Spock?” Jim wheezed, clutching at his abdomen. He looked at the men on the ground. “Did I know you could do that?”
“You are a very foolish human,” Spock said, not sure what kind of emotions he was experiencing, but sure that they were strong enough to make controlling them very difficult.
“I just-” his eyes widened in remembrance. “The kid!”
Spock turned. The girl was eyeing them, but seemed unable to move any further than a slight edging along the wall. He towered over her. His arms felt useless at his sides.
Jim pushed him out of the way, crouching down so that he and the girl were at eye level. “Hey,” he said, voice suddenly very soft. “Hey, are you hurt?”
She shook her head emphatically, dirty blond curls fluttering.
“Jim, perhaps we should notify the local authorities,” Spock muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
Jim glanced up at him. “Spock, I don’t think we’re the best people to go talk to the cops- oh shit, there she goes.”
And indeed the child, taking advantage of their momentary distraction, had finally managed to coerce her limbs into cooperating and had bolted down the ally, back towards the main street. Jim straightened and moved toward Spock as they watched her recede from sight, her book bag banging against her back as she ran.
“Shit,” he said again.
“This could prove troublesome,” Spock agreed.
Jim nudged the three fallen men with the tip of his boot. He spat on the ground next to them. “Gold dirt druggies,” he said.
Spock bent down. “How do you know?”
Jim pointed. “Their skin,” he said. “Look, it’s all scratched up. The Dirt gets you high as fuck, but when you come down it’s supposed to make your skin really itchy. See?” He indicated the closest man’s face, which had deep, half-healed gouges in it. “Some people nearly scratch their faces off.”
“Is this drug common?”
“Common enough,” Jim said. He knelt and began to rummage through their pockets.
“Jim!” Spock protested, shifting his weight uneasily. He wanted to ask Jim how he had known what was happening. How he had known what to do. But this vulnerable place did not seem the ideal spot. He filed the question away for a time when Jim might be more amenable. For a time when the hardness had faded from his eyes. “Jim, I do not think you should take their property.”
“What?” Jim looked up at him. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”
“They are not,” Spock said emphatically. “Merely unconscious.”
Jim looked back down at them. “Oh,” he said. “Oh well. What you did was still pretty cool.”
Spock rubbed at his temples. “We should leave,” he said. “The girl might raise an alarm.”
“I know,” Jim said. He tossed a bag full of dark brown powder at Spock, who caught it on reflex and then looked as though he wished he hadn’t. “Got something for you.”
“Jim, I do not want this.”
“You’re not even the tiniest bit curious? You’re going to have to have something to do until the next time they let us out again. Which - judging by what happened here - might be a bit of a wait.”
Spock was unsure whether to be appalled or stunned. “You suggest I,” he searched for the vocabulary, “abuse stolen narcotics to assuage my boredom?” he said, his voice growing louder with each successive word.
Jim shushed him, looking taken aback. “What? No! Of course not. Are you insane? I thought you could analyze it or something.”
Spock’s indignation dropped off a bit, though his level of skepticism remained the same. “Analyze it?”
“Well, it’s not like they really need it, right?” Jim and Spock both glanced down at the three unconscious men.
“Fair enough,” Spock conceded.
“So, might as well give you some entertainment. We can go bury it somewhere, later.”
Spock remained doubtful. “I do not think this is a good idea. Surely its chemical makeup has already been documented?”
Jim placed his hands on his hips. “Look Spock, we don’t really have time to argue, so just-”
“Someone is approaching!” Spock hissed, grabbing at Jim’s shoulders and pushing him away from the unconscious bodies and towards the other end of the ally. Without thinking, he shoved the bag of gold dirt into the pocket of his coat as they made a dash for the main street, looking back to make sure they were not being followed. Behind them, they could hear the beginning of surprised shouts as someone apparently caught sight of the three bodies.
“Scott’s shop is only a few blocks away,” Jim panted, jerking his chin in the direction they had to go.
“We cannot run all the way there, that would draw too much attention,” Spock said, slowing as he spoke.
Jim nodded. “You’re right. Walk quickly then.”
Spock gave him a look that seemed to convey no shit as they half walked, half jogged up the street.
“Slow,” Jim said under his breath as he caught sight of two men in uniform headed their way. “Damn, they’re looking at us. Must have sent a call out for two men. Spock, give me your hand.”
“Pardon?” said Spock, tensing as one of the uniformed figures began to head their way.
“Your hand!” Jim snapped.
“But-”
Jim grabbed it, entwining their fingers. Spock struggled to maintain a blank face at the cacophony of emotions bleeding through their contact. “Just keep walking. Just keep walking,” he muttered. “Ignore us two little lovebirds . . . okay, never mind. Look at us like we’re suspicious. Fuck. Um, Spock?”
“What?” Spock said, half focused on the approaching threat, half focused on quelling the effect of Jim’s emotions.
“Please don’t do that pinch thing to me, okay?”
Spock shook his head. “Why would I-mmph!” his voice was choked off as Jim yanked at his collar, manhandled him against a storefront with an efficient application of leverage and touched his mouth to Spock’s own with a surprising amount of force.
While Spock’s instinctive reaction would have been to push Jim away, the unexpected strength of the human’s thoughts was sufficient to keep Spock in a daze, long enough for Jim to continue the kiss (kiss? Yes, this was a human kiss. His mother had described such behavior, though Spock had not expected to be on the receiving end of it) before breaking it off of his own accord.
Jim stepped back, face flaming red, but not before ascertaining that the police that had been heading their way had ambled off in another direction. Spock touched his fingers to his mouth wordlessly, blinking up at Jim.
“Sorry,” Jim said very quickly. “I know, I probably just made you really uncomfortable but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. If we’d run, they would’ve come after us.” He squirmed a little at Spock’s somewhat slack jawed expression.
“A distraction,” Spock finally managed. “I see. How . . .” he looked around. “How very efficient.” He realized belatedly that he was still slumped against the wall, and pushed himself off it. The stone felt rough beneath his fingertips. Like the stubble on Jim’s chin. Spock shivered the thought away.
“Let’s just get back to the shop and never mention this again,” Jim said, avoiding Spock’s gaze.
Spock felt a slight stirring of resentment in his stomach. Had intimate contact with him really been such a chore? It was not as though he had initiated it!
“I did not realize that you found contact with me so repulsive,” Spock said stiffly. “I will take measures to ensure it does not happen again.”
Jim’s body jerked “What? No I didn’t!”
“You are exhibiting behaviors of discomfort at having done so,” Spock pointed out. He began to walk.
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable then you were already,” he said.
“Vulcans do not get uncomfortable,” said Spock, picking up speed.
“Okay, now I know you’re lying. Spock-”
“It is to be expected. I am, after all, alien.”
“Hey!” Jim objected. “This has nothing at all to do with that. I just thought- would you slow down a second? Jesus Christ.” He reached for Spock’s elbow, but Spock tugged out of his grip with relative ease.
“There is Mr. Scott’s shop,” said Spock.
Jim sighed. “Fine,” he said, dropping his arm. “I know you’re not listening, but I just didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable. It had nothing to do with the actual act of kissing you. That wasn’t,” he cleared his throat. “Unpleasant.”
Spock halted at the front of the door. He turned around. “Not unpleasant,” he repeated, voice dry. “How charitable.”
Jim made a noise of aggravation deep in his throat. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion.”
“You are the one who initiated the kiss and then declared it repulsive,” Spock said.
“Hey, I didn’t use that word. You used that word.”
“You said we should never speak of it again.”
“Because I didn’t want to embarrass you any more!”
Spock made as if to push the door open. “Vulcans do not get embarrassed.”
“Maybe not, but clearly they get pissy,” Jim shot back.
“If you are attempting to elicit an emotional response, you will not be successful.”
“I don’t need to elicit one, I’ve already got one!”
“You do not.”
“Oh my god you are actually impossible.” Jim threw his hands up in the air. “Okay, you know what? I kissed you and I didn’t expect to be anything but embarrassed but I kind of liked it instead. There. Now you can get into a huff about something that’s true, instead of making shit up that I didn’t say. Happy? Oh wait, I forgot. You’re never happy.” He elbowed past Spock and opened the door himself, disappearing past the racks of clothing and down the stairs without waiting for Spock’s reply.
Spock stood in the doorway for a full sixty seconds, processing and re-processing what he had just heard. Realizing he was letting in a draft, he exhaled, stepped inside, and slowly made his way across the floor after Jim.
Previous Next
After landing on the outskirts of Edinburgh and making their way into the city in a series of convoys designed to look not at all suspicious, Jim found himself standing in front of a store on Clark Street, wondering just when Uhura had decided to go insane.
“This is a clothing store,” he said, sneaking a glance at Spock. The Vulcan was unabashedly entranced by a collection of wind-up toys in the display window.
“Charity shop,” said Uhura. She pushed her hair out of her face. “Believe me, this is the place.”
“It’s closed,” Jim pointed out. “Also, it’s midnight. And I think those drug dealers over there are giving us looks.”
“Goddammit Jim, just knock on the stupid door,” McCoy said. He hugged himself, shivering. “It’s getting cold out here.”
“I’ve got a hat you can wear,” said Jim.
Uhura stepped up next to him and banged briskly on the door. Nothing happened. She banged again.
“Well, I think I saw a nice little hotel on our way in here,” Jim began, but his words died off as a light clicked on. The door swung open and a man stood there for a moment, blinking at them. Then a wide smile split his face.
“Nyota, my dear!” he exclaimed, reaching to take her in a hug. Jim reeled at the thickness of his accent. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“A few months,” Uhura agreed, hugging him back. After a few seconds they separated and she turned towards the rest of the party. “You know most of these guys, but we’ve got a few new faces. This is Jim Kirk. Kirk, this is Montgomery Scott.”
“A Kirk!” said Scott, taking Jim’s hand with enthusiasm. “I would bet you’ve got a few distant relatives puttering about here, eh?”
“Uh,” said Jim, taken aback. “I- maybe?” He put on a strained smile. “Is Kirk a Scottish name?” he hissed frantically at McCoy, who shrugged.
“And this,” Uhura motioned toward Spock, “Is Spock.”
Spock nodded politely, hands clasped behind his back. Scott’s eyes lit up. “Oh, so you’re our special case. I’ve heard all about you from Ms. Nyota. I must say Mr. Spock, I’m that eager to discuss some things with you. Always been interested in space travel, glad to meet a man who’s actually gone and done the thing.”
Spock bobbed his head again, inching the slightest bit towards Jim. “I shall answer as many questions as I am able,” he said.
Scott nodded. “Wouldn’t expect any less from a spacefaring sort. I suppose you’ve got all manner of non-interference laws for visiting strange planets, am I right?”
“Indeed,” said Spock, a new measure of respect entering his tone.
“Well, that would only make sense, wouldn’t it?” He nodded to McCoy and Sulu, and beamed another grin at Chekov. “Pavel, my lad! We’ve missed you around these parts.”
“I would not miss returning for the world, Mr. Scott,” said Chekov, making his way towards the entrance. “If only to once again prove the superiority of vodka over scotch!”
“Fighting words for a man in scotch country,” countered Scott, waggling his finger. Uhura cleared her throat, and Scott suddenly seemed to realize that he had half a dozen strangers standing at the doorstep of his shop after midnight. He glanced out at the mostly empty street, and motioned them inside. “Well, come in, come in. Don’t mind the messiness of the shop, the real place is downstairs, as you know.” His gaze passed over Jim and Spock, and he amended, “Well, as most of you know, anyway.”
The shop was filled with racks of mismatched, used clothing, haphazardly organized; and stacks of old toys, dishes and knickknacks piled on the shelves built into the wall. Spock itched to get his hands on some of the old Earth technology, but betrayed nothing of this in his countenance, except perhaps for a lingering gaze at a broken down vidset.
They trooped down the stairs into a room that was basically a continuation of the first. This time though, Scott led to them to a curtained off area toward the back. With a wink at Nyota, he pulled the curtain, stepped inside the small changing room, and then twisted the clothes hook nailed into the wall. Both of Spock’s eyebrows shot up as the entire back of the changing room swung outward to reveal a hallway.
Jim whirled around to face Uhura. “You said he wasn’t a secret agent,” he accused her. “Seriously? What the hell is this?”
“Fascinating,” said Spock.
Scott laughed. “A what?” he said. “‘Course not. I’m an engineer.”
“And you have a secret tunnel under your used clothes store,” Jim said, enunciating every word. “I’m sorry, but that’s weird.”
Scott shrugged. “Well, I had to have a spot for my lab, didn’t I? Can’t trust leaving anything at the University- they’re always being watched, down there. Although it took me a few good months to figure out the bastards were messing with my calculations. So-” he spread his hands to indicate the hallway, which was surprisingly well lit with small lamps posted on the sides of the walls. “Here we have my real laboratory. Not the mockup at the Uni with all the dodgy equipment.”
“University?” inquired Spock. He was the last to step into the hall, and Scott pulled on another coat hanger, the door clanging shut.
“Of Edinburgh,” Scotty said over his shoulder, leading them down the passage. It was short and soon branched off into two. “George Square is about a ten minute walk from here, I should say. Although my business is all in the Kings Buildings, which are a wee bit further down.”
“You are a professor?”
“Of a sort,” Scott said. “That way’s the lab.” He indicated the left side branch. “And this side is where I keep all my unexpected guests.”
“Not exactly unexpected,” Uhura said, voice dry. “If I recall right, you’re the one who contacted us.”
Scott shrugged. “Well, I couldn't think about anyone else who’d care about the government messing with my calculations. I figured if they were going to be bastards about me trying to get us all out of the bloody Neolithic, then I’d be one right back at them.”
Spock stopped walking, Scott’s words catching up with him. He furrowed his brow. “Calculations?” he said, voice carefully modulated. “May I inquire as to the nature of these calculations, Mr. Scott?”
“Oh, aye,” said Scott. He grinned. “You want to see them?”
“I would indeed,” Spock said, surprising even himself with the level of interest in his voice.
Uhura cleared her throat. Scott jumped, and looked at her a bit guiltily. “I’d be glad to show you,” he assured Spock, “Just as soon as I get you all settled.”
Spock nodded and placed his hands behind his back as Scott resumed the tour.
“My place is well nigh impossible to find, what with all the jamming signals I’ve put into the walls. You can be sure I made sure of that before I ever invited any of you lot over,” Scott continued, ushering them all into the set of rooms on the right. “I heat the whole building day and night to thwart any thermal-searchers. Worked like a charm for the past few years.”
“It’s the best Headquarters we’ve ever had,” Uhura confirmed. “I don’t know what we’d do without Montgomery.”
Scott’s ears turned red. “I built this place for a lab first, then added on,” he continued. “There’s bunks for twelve, as some of you know already, a small kitchen, two showers and three toilets. Sorry if they’re a bit manky, I haven’t got in to clean them just yet. Ladies and gents will have to share.”
“Nice,” Jim whistled, sitting on one of the bunks and lightly bouncing up and down on it. “Can you access the ‘net from here?”
Scott wrinkled his nose. “On good days,” he said. “When the wind is blowing just right and I’ve made all the proper goat sacrifices, that is.”
Jim’s face fell.
“You can access it from the shop however,” Scott said. “Although even that’s a bit off. But the jamming signals down here make it well nigh impossible for anything to get in or out. Sorry.”
Jim gave a halfhearted smile. “No worries,” he said, hopping off the bed. His eye caught something, and he strode over to the far side of the room where two armchairs sat next to a table, a stack of board games underneath. “I think I’ve found some entertainment.” He dug through the boxes until pulling out one in particular. “Chess, Spock?” he queried, holding it out for Spock’s inspection. “Hmm, looks like the set-up for the 3D version is in here too. That’s only been around for a couple of years.”
Spock came closer. “You may find my abilities somewhat improved from our last game,” he warned, taking the box from Jim and examining it with a critical eye.
“Is that a challenge, Mr. Spock?”
“Perhaps,” Spock allowed.
Scott coughed. “So here you all are, anyway. Were you wanting to see my calculations, Mr. Spock? I can show them to you now, if you’re so inclined.”
Spock straightened, still holding the boxed chess set. “I do not wish to impose,” he said.
Scott shook his head, “No, no, not at all,” he said. “To tell the truth, no one except for me and Pavel over there ever seem interested at all. Or the folks down at the Uni, but I can’t show them the real thing, can I? Next thing I know it’ll all have disappeared and I’d be on my way to a post in Siberia. It’d be a treat to have someone else look in on it. Especially someone such as yourself.”
“Very well,” said Spock. He cast a half-apologetic glance at Jim. “It appears that our chess game will have to wait.”
Jim lowered his hand from covering a yawn. “Actually,” he said, taking the box from Spock and setting it on the chair. “Is it all right if I come too? I’d like to see.”
“Would you?” said Scott, and now he was positively gleeful.
Jim shrugged, “I mean, I’m not an engineer, but I’d still just like to have a look.”
“Fair enough!” agreed Scott. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on Chekov, who had stretched out across a top bunk, still dressed, and was clearly fast asleep. “Well, I was going to ask Pavel to join us, but it looks like he’s out for the count.”
A wry smile tugged at the corner of Jim’s mouth. “Looks like. Bones, you coming?”
“Do I look like an engineer?” McCoy said, in the midst of wrestling off a boot. “I’m a doctor. The only machines I get are the biological ones.”
“Could be cool,” Jim wheedled.
McCoy threw his sock at him. Jim batted it away. “Go on,” he said, although there was no real bite to it. “Maybe I’ll be able to get some sleep without you in here sounding like a herd of elephants.”
Jim clasped a hand to his chest. “Are you implying that I snore?” he said indignantly.
“No, I’m definitely telling you,” said McCoy.
“Asshole,” said Jim.
McCoy smiled, showing teeth. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
Jim scowled at him. “Come on, Spock,” he said, ignoring the doctor. “We know when we’re not wanted.”
They left the room, Scotty directing them back down the hall and off to the other side, into another room, this one filled with tables and various bits of machinery, some of it lit up, some of it in scattered pieces. A desk in the far corner was covered in three computer monitors, scraps of paper, and pencil nubs.
“This is your laboratory, Mr. Scott?”
“Sure is, Mr. Spock.”
Spock lightly touched a piece of wiring sticking out of what may have at one point been a remote control. “You have . . . many projects,” he said, diplomatically.
“Wow, how do you find anything?” Jim asked. “Hey, is that a- whatsit, uh, one of those VDV player things?”
“DVD player,” Scott replied, turning on his computer. “Completely obsolete now, of course. But these are just for tinkering. My real work is all in here.” He indicated the monitors, which now had a string of letters and numbers scrawled across them. “You- can, read English, Mr. Spock?” he added belatedly.
“Of course,” Spock said, letting go of the knob he had been fiddling with as Jim jabbed him in the side with his elbow.
Jim bent over the desk to take in the equations. “Huh,” he said. “Looks like something to do with energy and space, but it’s a bit beyond me. What do you think?”
Spock leaned around him to look. His eyes widened. “Fascinating,” he murmured, leaning in for a closer view before once more standing upright. Both eyebrows raised, he turned to regard Scott, who had crossed his arms.
“Now I know,” Scott said, “You’re probably not allowed to give me any clues or some such. But,” and here his face suddenly grew a little vulnerable. “Do you think you could tell me if, well, if I’m on the right track and all? Shame to waste this much time on something that wouldnae even work.”
Spock’s expression grew still. Without replying, he took another glance at Scott’s work, his eyes wandering up and down the lines of equations. He turned back to Scott, who bit his lip and locked gazes with him.
Scott’s own eyes widened as Spock gave the very smallest of nods. His body slumped in relief, then he broke out into another one of his broad smiles. “Well I’ll be,” he said, giving a slight laugh. “Thank you for your input, Mr. Spock. You are quite a useful man. Most helpful. Most-bloody-helpful indeed.”
“I don’t get it,” said Jim, looking between the two, then back at the calculations on the screen.
“It is unimportant,” Spock said. “With your permission, Mr. Scott, might I explore your laboratory further at a more convenient time? I believe my companion has grown fatigued.
“Hey!” Jim protested. “You’ve been up just as long as I have.”
“Vulcans require less sleep than humans,” said Spock. “You have not achieved the optimum amount of sleep for a human in three days.”
Jim narrowed his eyes at him. “And you know that, how?”
“Three days ago you slept for only five hours at night, in addition to a two hour nap at midday,” started Spock. “Two days ago you were only able to achieve-”
“Okay, you could have just stopped at that last sentence,” Jim said.
Spock tilted his head to one side. “You did ask, Jim.”
“And I will remember never to do so ever again,” Jim muttered, covering his face with his palm.
“Back to the room then,” Scott said, shooing them out. “I’m going to give these another lookover, but I expect you fellows can find your own way?”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “Thanks for showing us. Spock’ll probably be in here tinkering by tomorrow morning. You might want to lock up your more important projects.”
Spock gave him an affronted look.
Jim smirked at him. “Teasing, teasing, of course. You’re too easy.”
Spock turned his back on him. “With your permission, I would indeed appreciate the opportunity to further explore your laboratory,” he said to Scott.
“Always,” said Scott. “As long as I’m around, I don’t mind at all.”
“I understand,” said Spock. His eyes traveled to Jim, who was now leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, foot tapping. “You are an impatient being,” he said.
Jim held his hands out as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ Spock gave him another steady stare, and Jim lightly shoved him out the door in front of him.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Scott,” he called back.
“Mmhmm, ‘morrow” Scott replied, obviously distracted, his pale face eerily lit by the glow of the monitors in front of him.
Back in the main room, most of their fellow occupants had already fallen asleep. The exception to this was Sulu, who gave them a brief nod from one of the armchairs, before turning back to his data pad.
There was one bunk bed left. Jim eyed it. “Top or bottom?” he asked Spock.
“Bottom,” said Spock flatly. He might not fear heights, but he had no desire to sleep so far from the ground, on a platform of dubious quality. Humans shared a common ancestor with tree dwelling primates, did they not? Let Jim take the top.
“I guess that’s fair enough,” Jim said. He had already halfway taken his shirt off, and his pants soon followed suit. Wearing only a pair of boxers, he crawled into a ratty looking T-shirt, and bent over his bag, producing what Spock recognized as teeth cleaning implements. Spock had been given some of his own, but the human toothpaste tasted strange in his mouth and he had asked instead for a supply of sodium bicarbonate. To his surprise, it had been easily obtained aboard the ship.
He watched as Jim disappeared into the bathroom, noting how very interesting it was that Jim’s physiology so mirrored his own.
His thoughts were becoming increasingly illogical. Spock shook his head and began to disrobe as well. He had finished removing his coat and shirt, clad only in his trousers, when he noticed that Jim had emerged from the bathroom, and was staring at him. Feeling self-conscious, Spock quickly pulled on his own, much warmer nightclothes.
“Yes?” he queried.
Jim blinked. “Nothing,” he said, averting his eyes. “I just- it’s just so weird that you’re from another planet and we look so- so alike, you know?”
Spock nodded. “I was contemplating a similar prospect only minutes ago. There are many bipedal, mammalian species scattered throughout the galaxy. The study as to why, is an ever ongoing one.”
“Yeah? What have they come up with?” Jim asked, scrambling with ease up the ladder to the top bunk. He lay on his side and propped his cheek in his hand.
“There are two main theories. One is the Preserver’s Theory, which postulates that a species of beings unknown to us, for reasons also unknown, modified and scattered humanoid-like forms throughout the galaxy.” He sat down on his bunk. “The other is the theory of Parallel Evolution, which assumes that for some reason, the bipedal mammalian form is among the most efficient for achieving sentience.”
“Huh,” Jim said, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “Which one do you think is right?”
Spock was quiet for a moment. “I am unsure,” he said at last. “Although I find myself illogically leaning toward the Preserver’s Theory. There is something aesthetically pleasing about the thought that though we are beings from different worlds, we are not truly so different from one another. That we share a common root.” He looked contrite as he stood and prepared to head into the bathroom. “As I said, it is an illogical preference.”
“No, no,” Jim smiled. “I agree with you. I like that one better. Like we’re all- brothers from another mother, you know?”
Spock cocked his head. “I believe I understand the meaning behind the colloquialism,” he said, after a moment. His voice turned dry. “Though the colloquialism itself leaves much to be desired. Good night, Jim.”
“Night, Spock.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After three days of hiding underneath Scott’s shop, Spock was relatively certain that if they did not find Jim an outlet for his energy, they were all in serious danger of suffering some sort of mental break.
“We will go outside,” he stated, standing next to their bunk, hands linked behind his back, face severe. “You will wear a hat and spectacles. I too, will wear a hat.” He produced the aforementioned items, and shoved them at Jim. “There will be no more discussion on this.”
“Whaaa?” Jim yawned. Still clad only in his boxers and t-shirt, he scratched at his stomach and caught the multicolored rubber ball he had been bouncing off the wall, in one hand. He threw it at the wall again. “What are you talking about?”
Spock’s eye twitched. “We are going outside,” he said again, snatching the ball from the air before Jim could reclaim it. “Now.”
“Pushy, pushy,” Jim muttered, sitting up. He glowered down at Spock’s head and held out his hand. “Give me back my ball.”
“No,” said Spock. He picked Jim’s jeans up off the floor, and handed them to him instead. “Put on your clothes. We’re going.”
“What, like, forever? Are you kidnapping me? Am I to be your virgin bride? Am I- hey, where are you going?”
“I will wait for you in Mr. Scott’s shop,” Spock said, already halfway out the door. He turned back the slightest bit, just to make sure that Jim was actually following his orders. “Do not take more then five Earth minutes.”
“Like I know any other kind of minute!” Jim hollered at his retreating form. He slumped back against the pillow. “Man, give the alien an inch and he takes a mile.”
“Five minutes, Jim,” Spock called back as his footsteps receded down the tunnel.
Jim took six minutes before he joined Spock in browsing the hideous collection of printed shirts.
“I think you would look good in this one,” Jim said, pointing at the brightest, yellowiest of the bunch.
“I do not believe it would flatter my skin tone,” Spock replied. He tugged at Jim’s wrist. “Let us go.”
“How’d you manage to get the okay for this?” Jim wondered as they waved goodbye to Scott’s assistant and walked out, the door jingling shut behind them. “Didn’t Uhura say something about staying on the down low?”
“She was forced to come to an agreement with me when I pointed out that your levels of unspent energy and the well being of the property and people around you, appeared to follow an inverse relationship.”
“She wanted us out of her hair,” Jim translated.
“Actually, I believe it was at Mr. Scott’s request. Apparently the noise of this,” Spock produced the rubber ball, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Jim made a grab for it, but missed as Spock tucked it back into his pocket, “bouncing off the wall opposite his lab, was proving a distraction.”
“They could have said something,” Jim said, as they turned left toward Holyrood Park.
“They did.”
Jim pulled his hat a little further down on his head, then stuck his hands in his back pockets. “So, where are we going?”
“On Mr. Scott’s recommendation, we are going to a place he called ‘Arthur’s Seat,’ which is the remnant of an ancient volcano.”
“Like, as in King Arthur?”
Spock gave him a sidelong glance. “I am unsure,” he said. “Mr. Scott himself appeared to be uncertain of the origins of the name.”
“Huh, interesting. So, why are we going there?”
Spock stopped and pointed. Jim followed his finger and saw, now free of the encumbering roofs of the street, a cragged, dome-like hill. The lower levels were covered in long grasses with gentle slopes, until about two third of the way up, at which point the hill rose steeply, covered only in bare, igneous rock.
“To climb it,” Spock said.
“Whoah,” said Jim. “There has got to be an awesome view from up there. I bet- Spock, what are you doing?”
“Taking samples,” Spock replied, bent over and picking through the rocks on the ground. He selected two, and placed them in his pocket next to Jim’s rubber ball.
“You are such a nerd,” sighed Jim. He pulled on Spock’s elbow, and they continued onward towards the park.
The climb was fairly short, as such things go, barely more than half an hour. Yet, it was still with great satisfaction that Spock and Jim emerged at the top, clambering up the final series of boulders to emerge onto the very peak. Jim stretched out his arms and turned in a full circle, admiring the city sprawled out below them.
“Look, Spock! There’s the castle! We should go there.”
“I believe they check for identification at the entrance,” Spock said.
Jim waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever. I think Uhura’s pretty much got us covered on that front.” He placed his hands on his hips. “But look at that view. Pretty awesome, huh?”
“Indeed,” said Spock, who was more focused on chipping off a piece of rock to add to his growing collection of pebbles. Jim rolled his eyes and grabbed at Spock’s shoulders, turning him to face outward.
“If you’re going to travel all the way here, might as well take in the view,” he said. “Come on.”
Spock was quiet for a moment. “It is very aesthetically pleasing,” he admitted after a moment. Jim beamed, the heavy wind making his cheeks ruddy. He turned the opposite direction.
“That must be the ocean,” he said. He looked down. “I didn’t realize this park was so big,” he said. “Looks like there are some trails down there. We could go take a look if you want.”
Spock looked as well. The north slope of Arthur’s Seat dropped down far more steeply than the south, into a series of hills. He recalled that a sign they had passed on their way up indicated the presence of some ruins. “I would not be averse to such a course of action,” he said.
“Great,” enthused Jim. He began to step down, then hesitated. “Although, I’ve got to admit, I’m not quite sure the best way to get down from this direction.”
Spock moved beside him. “That way, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” Jim said. “Be sure to grab me if it all goes south.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Technically, that direction is northeast.”
“You’re hilarious,” Jim told him, as he scrabbled down the rock face.
They spent the majority of the day exploring the further reaches of Holyrood Park. As evening descended and a fog came in, the entirety of the city’s noise became muffled from sound and from sight, leaving Jim and Spock to argue over which direction they had to go to actually exit the park. Spock won, and they headed north down a ravine, eventually emerging onto a road near the edge of the Royal Mile.
“Whew,” Jim said, as the city lights became clearer. “That fog was really something. Like being in another world. I was kind of expecting for the Ghost of Scotland Past to pop up.”
Spock looked sideways at him. “For a technologically dependent species, humans are oddly superstitious.” A pause. “Unless you are employing another human cultural reference.”
“Got it in one,” Jim said. “Dickens.”
“Pardon me?” said Spock, affronted.
Jim huffed out a breath. “Charles Dickens, a famous author,” he said. “From his book, A Christmas Carol.” He shook his head. “Which of course, you’ve never read. Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not . . .” he trailed off into an uncomfortable silence, the word human remaining unspoken between them.
“Is it well written?” Spock ventured, when the quiet began to grow oppressive.
“Oh, yeah,” Jim said, caught off guard. He scratched his head. “I’ll find it for you,” he promised. “My copy’s, well- probably burnt to a crisp at this point, but it’s very famous. It’s not even banned, like some of his other ones, so we could probably find it pretty easily.” He hesitated. “If you want, that is.”
“If it is not too much trouble,” Spock said. “I would indeed appreciate the opportunity.”
“Really?” Jim blurted out. Then he covered his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just, why are you so interested in Earth’s culture? We’re kind of galactic nobodies, right?”
Spock tilted his head to one side. “Perhaps so that I might better understand my human companions.” His expression turned wry, “As well as their obscure literary references.”
Jim grinned a little self-consciously. “Sorry about that.” Then his face lit up. “But you know, if we’re just talking about ghosts in general, they did once find bodies in the Salisbury crags, kind of close to Arthur’s Seat. I read it on a sign back there.”
“Yes,” said Spock, wrinkling his nose. “I was aware.”
“I’m just saying,” Jim said as they passed a fudge shop. “Could be a lot of angry spirits hanging out there after dark.”
Spock did not dignify that with an answer.
As they walked down the Royal Mile, they passed storefronts ranging from tourist traps to legitimate tattoo parlors, and many small alleyways in-between. They turned left at Spock’s bidding, to make their way across the bridge and back towards Clerk Street, where Scott’s hideout was located.
“I’m kind of hungry,” Jim said suddenly, as they passed by a pub and the smell booze and fried food wafted out.
Spock stopped. “Do you require nourishment at this time?”
“Uh,” Jim said, nearly running into him before stopping as well. “Well I don’t require it, but it’d be nice.” He shrugged, stepping around Spock and continuing to walk. “But I can always wait until we get back to the shop. There’s stuff there I can eat. It’s probably not the best idea to go into a pub now, anyway. People might notice something’s off.” He nodded at Spock’s headgear.
“If you are certain,” Spock said, also beginning to walk again.
Jim laughed as they passed a bank. “And you know what? I realized that I don’t even have any money. That’d really get us noticed.”
“I do,” said Spock.
Jim paused and turned back toward him. “You have money?” he said, voice skeptical. “And where did you get that, Mister?”
“From Mr. Scott,” Spock said, as though this should be obvious. He delved into the pocket of his coat and held out a wad of notes and a handful of coins for Jim’s inspection. “Would this be sufficient to pay for a meal?”
“With his permission, I hope,” Jim muttered, peeling through the cash.
“Of course,” said Spock, drawing himself upright in indignation and ignoring the urge to remove Jim’s hand. “Mr. Scott recommended we stop at a . . .” his forehead furrowed. “A chippy?” he said. “He said there was one only a few streets from his shop. He said that they sell a wide selection of chips, which I assumed to be obvious, although I am still not sure what, exactly, constitutes a chip.” His arm was beginning to grow tired. He nudged the currency towards Jim. “Jim, perhaps you should take charge of this.”
“Oh,” said Jim. He smiled, taking some of the money and pocketing it. “Well, in that case. If Mr. Scott said so . . .”
“Indeed,” Spock said, tone grave. He dropped his arm.
“Then we should definitely go,” Jim finished. He looked concerned for a moment. “Would you eat chips? They’re basically potato - which is a tuber-”
“I am aware of what a potato is, Jim.”
“Right. Anyway, it’s chopped up and fried. Sometimes in animal fat, sometimes in vegetable oil. I can ask which one they use.”
“That would be agreeable,” Spock said, meanwhile making a resolution to visit a healer and check the state of his cardiovascular system upon his return to Vulcan. While interesting, he had noticed that in general, traditional Earth foodstuffs did not appear to be all that beneficial to a significant portion of the body, aside from the stomach. Or perhaps those were just the foods Jim had introduced him to? He should probably ask McCoy.
After a short period of continued wandering down the foggy street, they did indeed find a fish and chips shop and, after ensuring that the chips were fried in vegetable oil (My niece is a vegetarian,” grunted the man behind the counter), Jim settled quite happily with a plate of chips smothered in gravy, while Spock went for the more simplistic, chips and vinegar.
“Well?” asked Jim, licking salt and gravy from his fingertips.
Spock closed his eyes. One of these days, he and Jim were going to have to sit down and have a serious discussion regarding Vulcan cultural obscenities.
“Spock, are you okay?”
Spock opened his eyes. “While I have doubts about their nutritional value, I find them sufficient for my needs at this time,” he said quickly, to cover for his lapse. He wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin and tried to ignore the show Jim was unwittingly putting on. It was . . . distracting.
“I think that’s how most everybody feels,” Jim said. He hopped off the stool, brushing crumbs from his front. “Well, time to get back?”
“We have been absent for nearly ten hours,” Spock agreed. “I trust you have spent a significant amount of your excess energy at this point?”
Jim winked at him. “I always have excess energy,” he said as they headed out the door and into the night.
“I have noticed this oddity,” Spock said.
“I thought I noticed you noticing,” said Jim. “I-”
All of a sudden, he skidded to a halt. His smile dropped into a frown. “Did you hear that?”
Spock coked his head. “I do not hear anything.”
Jim shook his head. “Wait. Stop.”
After a few seconds, the sound came again. A high wail, muffled through the, now very thick, fog.
Jim’s eyes went flat. “That sounds like a scream,” he bit out, all traces of his amusement gone.
“What?” said Spock still trying to process the instantaneous change in Jim’s demeanor.
“That sounded like a child’s scream,” Jim continued, now looking this way and that. He faced a new direction as the sound came again.
“What?” Spock repeated.
But Jim wasn’t in the mood for questions. He paced a little, while Spock watched, unaccountably nervous. Jim’s expression was now almost Vulcan-like in its blankness. He tilted his head from side to side, as if listening as hard as he could.
“That way,” he said. He pointed to their left, down the street.
Spock strained his ears. He heard it now, a faint noise, but it could have been anything - an animal, the screech of machinery, the-
Jim grabbed at Spock’s wrist. “Come on!” he demanded, whirling in the direction of the scream. “Don’t just stand there, come on!” He broke into a run.
“Jim!” Spock protested as he was dragged along for the ride. “Wait, where are we going? What will you do?”
But Jim shook his head, rushing headlong down the street, heedless of any physical barriers, dodging waste receptacles and street lamps with equal indifference.
Spock, his wrist now freed, ran a few paces behind. The fog so muted the pounding of his footsteps that even as he pivoted and sprinted down an alley (another scream, much louder than the first, echoed off the brick), the three shadowed figures grappling with something unseen against a wall were utterly unprepared for Jim to slam into them from behind.
Spock slowed to a stop as Jim sent the three figures stumbling away from the wall. His jaw nearly dropped as Jim went immediately into a crouch, avoiding a return swing from the foremost figure. Spock’s mind worked furiously, calculating possibilities, trajectories, he was not to interfere.
Jim grunted as a strike caught him in the side. Spock caught sight of his expression- he wasn’t even looking at Spock. He was looking at the child. The girl child, back flat-up against the filthy side of the brick building- Jim smashed the back of his fist into an assailant’s nose and wriggled free of another’s grip. Before he even realized it, Spock was moving.
His suss-mahn had improved to commendable levels since those uncomfortable days of his childhood. All it took was one efficient squeeze at the juncture between the neck and shoulder. Three men dropped in quick succession.
The sudden silence was deafening.
“What- Spock?” Jim wheezed, clutching at his abdomen. He looked at the men on the ground. “Did I know you could do that?”
“You are a very foolish human,” Spock said, not sure what kind of emotions he was experiencing, but sure that they were strong enough to make controlling them very difficult.
“I just-” his eyes widened in remembrance. “The kid!”
Spock turned. The girl was eyeing them, but seemed unable to move any further than a slight edging along the wall. He towered over her. His arms felt useless at his sides.
Jim pushed him out of the way, crouching down so that he and the girl were at eye level. “Hey,” he said, voice suddenly very soft. “Hey, are you hurt?”
She shook her head emphatically, dirty blond curls fluttering.
“Jim, perhaps we should notify the local authorities,” Spock muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
Jim glanced up at him. “Spock, I don’t think we’re the best people to go talk to the cops- oh shit, there she goes.”
And indeed the child, taking advantage of their momentary distraction, had finally managed to coerce her limbs into cooperating and had bolted down the ally, back towards the main street. Jim straightened and moved toward Spock as they watched her recede from sight, her book bag banging against her back as she ran.
“Shit,” he said again.
“This could prove troublesome,” Spock agreed.
Jim nudged the three fallen men with the tip of his boot. He spat on the ground next to them. “Gold dirt druggies,” he said.
Spock bent down. “How do you know?”
Jim pointed. “Their skin,” he said. “Look, it’s all scratched up. The Dirt gets you high as fuck, but when you come down it’s supposed to make your skin really itchy. See?” He indicated the closest man’s face, which had deep, half-healed gouges in it. “Some people nearly scratch their faces off.”
“Is this drug common?”
“Common enough,” Jim said. He knelt and began to rummage through their pockets.
“Jim!” Spock protested, shifting his weight uneasily. He wanted to ask Jim how he had known what was happening. How he had known what to do. But this vulnerable place did not seem the ideal spot. He filed the question away for a time when Jim might be more amenable. For a time when the hardness had faded from his eyes. “Jim, I do not think you should take their property.”
“What?” Jim looked up at him. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”
“They are not,” Spock said emphatically. “Merely unconscious.”
Jim looked back down at them. “Oh,” he said. “Oh well. What you did was still pretty cool.”
Spock rubbed at his temples. “We should leave,” he said. “The girl might raise an alarm.”
“I know,” Jim said. He tossed a bag full of dark brown powder at Spock, who caught it on reflex and then looked as though he wished he hadn’t. “Got something for you.”
“Jim, I do not want this.”
“You’re not even the tiniest bit curious? You’re going to have to have something to do until the next time they let us out again. Which - judging by what happened here - might be a bit of a wait.”
Spock was unsure whether to be appalled or stunned. “You suggest I,” he searched for the vocabulary, “abuse stolen narcotics to assuage my boredom?” he said, his voice growing louder with each successive word.
Jim shushed him, looking taken aback. “What? No! Of course not. Are you insane? I thought you could analyze it or something.”
Spock’s indignation dropped off a bit, though his level of skepticism remained the same. “Analyze it?”
“Well, it’s not like they really need it, right?” Jim and Spock both glanced down at the three unconscious men.
“Fair enough,” Spock conceded.
“So, might as well give you some entertainment. We can go bury it somewhere, later.”
Spock remained doubtful. “I do not think this is a good idea. Surely its chemical makeup has already been documented?”
Jim placed his hands on his hips. “Look Spock, we don’t really have time to argue, so just-”
“Someone is approaching!” Spock hissed, grabbing at Jim’s shoulders and pushing him away from the unconscious bodies and towards the other end of the ally. Without thinking, he shoved the bag of gold dirt into the pocket of his coat as they made a dash for the main street, looking back to make sure they were not being followed. Behind them, they could hear the beginning of surprised shouts as someone apparently caught sight of the three bodies.
“Scott’s shop is only a few blocks away,” Jim panted, jerking his chin in the direction they had to go.
“We cannot run all the way there, that would draw too much attention,” Spock said, slowing as he spoke.
Jim nodded. “You’re right. Walk quickly then.”
Spock gave him a look that seemed to convey no shit as they half walked, half jogged up the street.
“Slow,” Jim said under his breath as he caught sight of two men in uniform headed their way. “Damn, they’re looking at us. Must have sent a call out for two men. Spock, give me your hand.”
“Pardon?” said Spock, tensing as one of the uniformed figures began to head their way.
“Your hand!” Jim snapped.
“But-”
Jim grabbed it, entwining their fingers. Spock struggled to maintain a blank face at the cacophony of emotions bleeding through their contact. “Just keep walking. Just keep walking,” he muttered. “Ignore us two little lovebirds . . . okay, never mind. Look at us like we’re suspicious. Fuck. Um, Spock?”
“What?” Spock said, half focused on the approaching threat, half focused on quelling the effect of Jim’s emotions.
“Please don’t do that pinch thing to me, okay?”
Spock shook his head. “Why would I-mmph!” his voice was choked off as Jim yanked at his collar, manhandled him against a storefront with an efficient application of leverage and touched his mouth to Spock’s own with a surprising amount of force.
While Spock’s instinctive reaction would have been to push Jim away, the unexpected strength of the human’s thoughts was sufficient to keep Spock in a daze, long enough for Jim to continue the kiss (kiss? Yes, this was a human kiss. His mother had described such behavior, though Spock had not expected to be on the receiving end of it) before breaking it off of his own accord.
Jim stepped back, face flaming red, but not before ascertaining that the police that had been heading their way had ambled off in another direction. Spock touched his fingers to his mouth wordlessly, blinking up at Jim.
“Sorry,” Jim said very quickly. “I know, I probably just made you really uncomfortable but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. If we’d run, they would’ve come after us.” He squirmed a little at Spock’s somewhat slack jawed expression.
“A distraction,” Spock finally managed. “I see. How . . .” he looked around. “How very efficient.” He realized belatedly that he was still slumped against the wall, and pushed himself off it. The stone felt rough beneath his fingertips. Like the stubble on Jim’s chin. Spock shivered the thought away.
“Let’s just get back to the shop and never mention this again,” Jim said, avoiding Spock’s gaze.
Spock felt a slight stirring of resentment in his stomach. Had intimate contact with him really been such a chore? It was not as though he had initiated it!
“I did not realize that you found contact with me so repulsive,” Spock said stiffly. “I will take measures to ensure it does not happen again.”
Jim’s body jerked “What? No I didn’t!”
“You are exhibiting behaviors of discomfort at having done so,” Spock pointed out. He began to walk.
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable then you were already,” he said.
“Vulcans do not get uncomfortable,” said Spock, picking up speed.
“Okay, now I know you’re lying. Spock-”
“It is to be expected. I am, after all, alien.”
“Hey!” Jim objected. “This has nothing at all to do with that. I just thought- would you slow down a second? Jesus Christ.” He reached for Spock’s elbow, but Spock tugged out of his grip with relative ease.
“There is Mr. Scott’s shop,” said Spock.
Jim sighed. “Fine,” he said, dropping his arm. “I know you’re not listening, but I just didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable. It had nothing to do with the actual act of kissing you. That wasn’t,” he cleared his throat. “Unpleasant.”
Spock halted at the front of the door. He turned around. “Not unpleasant,” he repeated, voice dry. “How charitable.”
Jim made a noise of aggravation deep in his throat. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion.”
“You are the one who initiated the kiss and then declared it repulsive,” Spock said.
“Hey, I didn’t use that word. You used that word.”
“You said we should never speak of it again.”
“Because I didn’t want to embarrass you any more!”
Spock made as if to push the door open. “Vulcans do not get embarrassed.”
“Maybe not, but clearly they get pissy,” Jim shot back.
“If you are attempting to elicit an emotional response, you will not be successful.”
“I don’t need to elicit one, I’ve already got one!”
“You do not.”
“Oh my god you are actually impossible.” Jim threw his hands up in the air. “Okay, you know what? I kissed you and I didn’t expect to be anything but embarrassed but I kind of liked it instead. There. Now you can get into a huff about something that’s true, instead of making shit up that I didn’t say. Happy? Oh wait, I forgot. You’re never happy.” He elbowed past Spock and opened the door himself, disappearing past the racks of clothing and down the stairs without waiting for Spock’s reply.
Spock stood in the doorway for a full sixty seconds, processing and re-processing what he had just heard. Realizing he was letting in a draft, he exhaled, stepped inside, and slowly made his way across the floor after Jim.
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