Fic: How does your light shine? [1/2]
Haight!verse. Safe for work. Spock and Len get to know each other better.
Len walked up the three flights of stairs, as he did many times a day, not knowing if he hoped to find anyone up there or not. Grunting, he stopped to adjust the strap on his shoulder; Jim'd brought some more books by, traded from one hippie to another in a huge, untraceable exchange until they reached their destination. This time, Len had Yeats to give away and had asked for some Emerson. He'd ignored poetry all together until Jim had forced Beat poetry on him, promising him any medical text he wanted so long as he give Ginsberg a try. The latest edition of Gray's Anatomy in his room had lines from various poems scribbled in the margins.
A week passed since he'd received the slim collection of poetry (featuring many poems by Emerson), but today as he climbed the stairs he knew he'd earned a break. Between a woman with the worst case of lice he'd ever seen and a group of kids who needed two hours to be talked down, clinic work had taken it out of him. The job downstairs, as four of them started saying on their few times away. It made Len feel like they were disrespecting the work, but Chris assured him that none of them really felt like that. Their respect for the clinic and what it stood for equaled his in every way.
Chris had a way with empathy, and she looked at them sometimes like a mother loving all her children equally. She’d’ve made an amazing nurse, Len thought not for the first time. She might not have attended classes, but downstairs she was their breath of fresh air, their rejuvenation. And maybe it was because she knew how they felt, saw them at their weakest. Chris saw some of their most vulnerable moments and knew what they needed most-- so she would whisper a few encouraging words in Len’s ear, or silently bring Spock a bowl of soup, or offer to brush Mama’s hair. Of course, today of all days she'd been given a ride into the town proper to pick up supplies. Len needed her reassurances today, but in her absence he'd sought out Nyota.
And if Chris was their breath, Mama was their earth. Mama quickly became their resident shrink, or so Len liked to tease. So many sought her out to speak, to confess, to praise-whatever was weighing them down, they’d go into the kitchen and sit at the big wood table and she’d would listen quietly, holding their hands or maybe making them tea. She never said much; never had to. She was safe and good as the ground warmed by the summer sun. But she was also tough as goddamn nails, and wouldn’t take lip from anyone (especially Jim). Len was a little in awe of her, her slightly overwhelming will.
Which was why he was so damn confused why she and Spock liked each other so much. Mama N was stubborn and Spock was unmovable. By all rights, they should've butted heads as often as Len and Spock. Instead, they would (more and more frequently) seek each other out for conversation. Len didn’t know why they wouldn’t want to talk to him. Especially Nyota: talking to Spock was like shouting at the edge of a dock into the wide sea. To him, Spock was the ocean: vast and deep and unknowable. Go too far in and you’ll drown-that’s what Len thought spitefully whenever he’d walk upstairs and find them together in the room with the record player, twisted into all sorts of positions.
At the top of the stairs, he saw them in there, Mamas and the Papas playing softly and them on all fours pushing their stomachs upwards towards the sky.
“The hell is that?” he barked.
“It is called Sethu Bandhasa, Leonard.”
“Setu wh--?!”
“Len, it’s yoga,” Mama interrupted. “Haven’t you heard of it?”
“Yoga? Sounds like another one of those things I probably don’t wanna know. Jim probably knows what it is-is it one of those things?”
“No, Len,” Mama said; very evenly, Len thought, for someone who looked incredibly uncomfortable. “It’s an Indian tradition. It’s actually very medical.” Len snorted, but didn’t say anything. If it was Indian, it was Spock’s, and for some reason he didn’t feel like fighting right now.
“Medical?”
Spock unbended himself and moved into sitting position.
“Yes, Leonard. They are considered therapeutic and relaxing, helping relieve tension in the body. But beyond that, they are considered a way to center the body with the soul. Only by tempering the body with the fire of yoga will a man no longer experience sickness, old age, or suffering .”
“Ignoring the flowery hyperbole, it sounds like they’re saying ‘make sure to exercise at least thirty minutes a day.’ Nothing special.”
“That is an inaccurate summary of the yogic practice; you were aware of this but still stated it as though it were fact. Don’t you find taunting a little childish, Leonard? Not to say illogical. And you said it to… what? Hurt my feelings?” Spock straightened his back, retying his hair into a tight bun.
“What feelings?” Len retorted, smirking. It was a familiar taunt. Spock merely blinked.
“Despite your acerbic nature, you are an otherwise intelligent individual. Surely you wouldn’t refuse knowledge of a legitimate medical practice if it could some day help someone?”
That wasn’t to taunt Len’s intelligence, and as they stared at each other from across the room, both of them knew it. Len didn’t like talking about the fact he was a doctor-having never finished med school, he couldn’t claim the title. Spock was calling his heart into question, not his mind; wanting to help people wasn’t something he learned in a classroom. It was a need, a calling. It made him a whole person. To not take the opportunity to even potentially learn something that could lessen someone’s suffering later-that would be like committing a crime. Spock knew all this about Len, too; it was no big secret. But somehow, Spock acknowledging, even while taking advantage of, his bleeding heart made it feel stronger. Like maybe he would’ve felt all the time if he’d gotten a diploma.
“I think you just volunteered yourself, Spock.” Mama’s voice broke the silence, and two pairs of eyes flickered away from each other.
“W-what?” Len asked.
“Well, if it’s important for you to learn, Spock has to teach you. If it is as important as you say, Spock.” And somehow, with a few words, she’d trapped them both. Len couldn’t help but smile at her. Amused, she smiled back. Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Nyota, I do not think that is wise. Perhaps you can show him-”
“No, Spock, I can’t teach him with the depth you could. I’m just the student here.”
“Oh, c’mon Spock,” Len chimed in, warming a little to the idea of spending time with Spock. “It might be fun. You can show me how ignorant I am. Besides, now you’ve got me intrigued.”
“If you promise you’ll take the endeavor seriously.” Spock’s tone would’ve frozen his veins to ice, had Len been susceptible to that sort of thing.
“Tomorrow, then.” Spock nodded his agreement, and Len knew well enough when to walk away.
Len walked up the three flights of stairs, as he did many times a day, not knowing if he hoped to find anyone up there or not. Grunting, he stopped to adjust the strap on his shoulder; Jim'd brought some more books by, traded from one hippie to another in a huge, untraceable exchange until they reached their destination. This time, Len had Yeats to give away and had asked for some Emerson. He'd ignored poetry all together until Jim had forced Beat poetry on him, promising him any medical text he wanted so long as he give Ginsberg a try. The latest edition of Gray's Anatomy in his room had lines from various poems scribbled in the margins.
A week passed since he'd received the slim collection of poetry (featuring many poems by Emerson), but today as he climbed the stairs he knew he'd earned a break. Between a woman with the worst case of lice he'd ever seen and a group of kids who needed two hours to be talked down, clinic work had taken it out of him. The job downstairs, as four of them started saying on their few times away. It made Len feel like they were disrespecting the work, but Chris assured him that none of them really felt like that. Their respect for the clinic and what it stood for equaled his in every way.
Chris had a way with empathy, and she looked at them sometimes like a mother loving all her children equally. She’d’ve made an amazing nurse, Len thought not for the first time. She might not have attended classes, but downstairs she was their breath of fresh air, their rejuvenation. And maybe it was because she knew how they felt, saw them at their weakest. Chris saw some of their most vulnerable moments and knew what they needed most-- so she would whisper a few encouraging words in Len’s ear, or silently bring Spock a bowl of soup, or offer to brush Mama’s hair. Of course, today of all days she'd been given a ride into the town proper to pick up supplies. Len needed her reassurances today, but in her absence he'd sought out Nyota.
And if Chris was their breath, Mama was their earth. Mama quickly became their resident shrink, or so Len liked to tease. So many sought her out to speak, to confess, to praise-whatever was weighing them down, they’d go into the kitchen and sit at the big wood table and she’d would listen quietly, holding their hands or maybe making them tea. She never said much; never had to. She was safe and good as the ground warmed by the summer sun. But she was also tough as goddamn nails, and wouldn’t take lip from anyone (especially Jim). Len was a little in awe of her, her slightly overwhelming will.
Which was why he was so damn confused why she and Spock liked each other so much. Mama N was stubborn and Spock was unmovable. By all rights, they should've butted heads as often as Len and Spock. Instead, they would (more and more frequently) seek each other out for conversation. Len didn’t know why they wouldn’t want to talk to him. Especially Nyota: talking to Spock was like shouting at the edge of a dock into the wide sea. To him, Spock was the ocean: vast and deep and unknowable. Go too far in and you’ll drown-that’s what Len thought spitefully whenever he’d walk upstairs and find them together in the room with the record player, twisted into all sorts of positions.
At the top of the stairs, he saw them in there, Mamas and the Papas playing softly and them on all fours pushing their stomachs upwards towards the sky.
“The hell is that?” he barked.
“It is called Sethu Bandhasa, Leonard.”
“Setu wh--?!”
“Len, it’s yoga,” Mama interrupted. “Haven’t you heard of it?”
“Yoga? Sounds like another one of those things I probably don’t wanna know. Jim probably knows what it is-is it one of those things?”
“No, Len,” Mama said; very evenly, Len thought, for someone who looked incredibly uncomfortable. “It’s an Indian tradition. It’s actually very medical.” Len snorted, but didn’t say anything. If it was Indian, it was Spock’s, and for some reason he didn’t feel like fighting right now.
“Medical?”
Spock unbended himself and moved into sitting position.
“Yes, Leonard. They are considered therapeutic and relaxing, helping relieve tension in the body. But beyond that, they are considered a way to center the body with the soul. Only by tempering the body with the fire of yoga will a man no longer experience sickness, old age, or suffering .”
“Ignoring the flowery hyperbole, it sounds like they’re saying ‘make sure to exercise at least thirty minutes a day.’ Nothing special.”
“That is an inaccurate summary of the yogic practice; you were aware of this but still stated it as though it were fact. Don’t you find taunting a little childish, Leonard? Not to say illogical. And you said it to… what? Hurt my feelings?” Spock straightened his back, retying his hair into a tight bun.
“What feelings?” Len retorted, smirking. It was a familiar taunt. Spock merely blinked.
“Despite your acerbic nature, you are an otherwise intelligent individual. Surely you wouldn’t refuse knowledge of a legitimate medical practice if it could some day help someone?”
That wasn’t to taunt Len’s intelligence, and as they stared at each other from across the room, both of them knew it. Len didn’t like talking about the fact he was a doctor-having never finished med school, he couldn’t claim the title. Spock was calling his heart into question, not his mind; wanting to help people wasn’t something he learned in a classroom. It was a need, a calling. It made him a whole person. To not take the opportunity to even potentially learn something that could lessen someone’s suffering later-that would be like committing a crime. Spock knew all this about Len, too; it was no big secret. But somehow, Spock acknowledging, even while taking advantage of, his bleeding heart made it feel stronger. Like maybe he would’ve felt all the time if he’d gotten a diploma.
“I think you just volunteered yourself, Spock.” Mama’s voice broke the silence, and two pairs of eyes flickered away from each other.
“W-what?” Len asked.
“Well, if it’s important for you to learn, Spock has to teach you. If it is as important as you say, Spock.” And somehow, with a few words, she’d trapped them both. Len couldn’t help but smile at her. Amused, she smiled back. Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Nyota, I do not think that is wise. Perhaps you can show him-”
“No, Spock, I can’t teach him with the depth you could. I’m just the student here.”
“Oh, c’mon Spock,” Len chimed in, warming a little to the idea of spending time with Spock. “It might be fun. You can show me how ignorant I am. Besides, now you’ve got me intrigued.”
“If you promise you’ll take the endeavor seriously.” Spock’s tone would’ve frozen his veins to ice, had Len been susceptible to that sort of thing.
“Tomorrow, then.” Spock nodded his agreement, and Len knew well enough when to walk away.