Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans | STXI | PG-13 | 6/?
Title: Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans (6/?)
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~9,000
Warnings: Of Samara and science and spiders.
Summary: A 21st Century AU; In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But, dammit, this is real life - not an episode of The X-Files!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N 1: Okay, I take it back. I have a feeling the remainder of my chapters are going to be this long. There’s just so much to say, I guess!
A/N 2: Both orgy_of_death and momo_girlie have depicted our darling Spock in his Hello Kitty hat! Check out their lolarious art HERE and HERE, respectively.
Chapters: I, II, III, IV, V
“Spock, are you... scared of Samara?”
Jim bit back a smile as he assessed Spock’s profile. At the question Spock sat up straighter, with his spine going rigid as he stared blankly at the television. Previously he’d been almost protectively curling around the flowered cushion he grasped on his lap, his attention riveted on the creepy girl from The Ring on screen.
“Vulcans do not experience fear, Jim,” Spock replied, as if Jim had asked something ludicrous like if Vulcans gave birth to Smurfs.
Jim hummed in amused agreement and shifted on the couch. He pressed his back against the arm of the sofa and slunk down, his feet scooting forward to wedge beneath Spock’s warm thigh. Spock flinched and shot him a look of admonishment, to which Jim merely smiled and wiggled his toes in reply.
Both of them became absorbed into the movie once more - okay, Jim less so, because Spock was really deliciously warm, like a hot water bottle that he wanted to fu -
“I do not understand. Surely someone must be able to provide her with a hair elastic.”
Jim surveyed the scene in which Samara sat in the middle of a padded cell, mumbling devilry from behind her thick curtain of mangy hair.
“You have a point, actually.”
“Of course I do. I would not speak if I did not have a purpose. Such a paradigm of thought must be novel to you.”
“How did I ever survive without your wit to keep me company?” Jim muttered, but smiled at the television.
”You don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“But I do, and I’m sorry. It won’t stop.”
Spock bristled. “She utilises useless, ambiguous statements as an explanation for her actions. I do not experience surprise that she has been institutionalised.”
“Uh huh.” Jim swept a glance over to Spock as his lips curved softly. “Why are you hugging the pillow?”
Said cushion was wordlessly tossed onto Jim’s lap. Jim muffled a laugh into the cushion, but became rather distracted by the faint scent that clung to it. Woodsmoke and snow; Christmas. Jim shut his eyes and took a deep, quiet breath.
Congratulations, Jim - you’ve officially bordered on creeper!
Jim grimaced and reluctantly squashed the pillow onto his lap. He looked up to see Spock sitting indian-style, pressed back into the cushions as if he genuinely feared Samara would come through the TV and capture his soul.
It was then that Jim realised Spock actually possessed a rather morbid curiosity. Despite the Vulcan’s protests, he was blatantly perturbed by Samara’s undeniable creepiness - and yet, he couldn’t seem to look away either.
Oh, Spock would love The Nightmare Before Christmas. It would suit his not-so-secret film tastes to a tee.
Jim didn’t realise he was smiling like some cartoon character with goddamn hearts in his eyes until Spock angled his chin and slid a look his way.
“Do you wish to speak your mind?”
Jim’s boggled at Spock and shook his head, immediately extracting his toes out from beneath Spock’s leg.
“Ah, no.” He chuckled nervously and turned to stare blindly at the movie.
Wow. This was just awesome. When the hell had Jim become a swooning, inarticulate teenager? He was not Bella Swan!
He’d never exactly been the biggest lady’s man - too much ego, a propensity for flouting his intelligence at unnecessary times, way too immature, as well as being deaf, dumb and blind in relationships. But his looks and easy-going demeanour gave him enough experience in the romance department to make him confident in his abilities to nab a lucky guy or girl from time to time.
Yeah - about that.
With Spock, Jim was a bumbling mess. All Spock had to do was aim one of those cool, shockingly intelligent stares at Jim, and whatever logic was lurking in the dusty corners of Jim’s mind was thrown out the window. Perhaps it was simply because Spock was unique - mysterious and exciting.
That was a part of it. Jim didn’t like to be bored, and Spock was never monotonous. There was so much to learn about him - so many questions to ask and answers to demand. All of which would probably be promptly ignored, but that only drew Jim closer.
There was Spock’s brain, too. Oh god, that mind - that vocabulary paired with that porn star librarian voice was like a constant over-stimulus to Jim’s senses.
Of course there was also Spock’s appearance. That went without saying - although who would have thought Jim had an elf kink? Okay, well, the rolled-up Legolas poster at the back of Jim’s closet would say otherwise, but that was beside the point.
“Jim?”
Jim snapped back to reality and zeroed in on Spock’s wary gaze. Something in the Vulcan’s eyes had Jim tensing.
“Um?”
Articulate as ever, Jimmy. It’s a wonder you ever get laid.
Spock swallowed. “Are you...” He looked pointedly at the cushion clenched in Jim’s white-knuckled grasp.
Jim sucked in a breath when the punch of realisation hit. Heat crept steadily up his chest and neck. “Wait, are you - are you doing your mutant power thing right now?”
Spock replied in clipped tones, “I am not purposely employing any of my innate skills,” and that adorable little wrinkle appeared between his brows. “It is you who are...”
To Jim’s knowledge, Spock had never failed to finish two sentences in a row. A bold flame flickered in Jim’s gut, warming him straight to his fingertips and leaving him feeling just a little high on Spock’s apparent confusion. Oh, he should think increasingly porny thoughts more often.
“I am what?” Jim inquired innocently. “Am I doing that thing where I exist with excess force?”
Jim’s feet began to slide toward Spock’s thigh again, and his grip loosened on the cushion.
Spock’s jaw visibly clenched. “Your existence does not, as you say, annoy me. Your emotions are merely projecting rather,” he hesitated for a split second, “exceptionally.”
Jim couldn’t help the smile that lit his face any more than he could slow the flutter of his pulse. “Yeah, what emotion is it? Do you know?”
Okay, now he was just needling Spock - but Jim couldn’t pass up an opportunity to niggle his way beneath Spock’s skin. Especially when Spock’s eyes were turning all shades of perturbed and perplexed.
“I,” Spock frowned, his head cocking almost imperceptibly. “I am unable to categorise the emotion. It remains foreign to me.”
Oh. Oh.
Lust wasn’t something Spock had overtly experienced before. Jim could only take that to mean... his heart did a little jig, and this time Jim did restrain his smile.
No wonder Spock came off like he had the sexual experience of a Disney heroine - except for Megara, because Jim always thought she was a saucy minx.
Anyway, meandering down that general line of thought: How did Vulcans do the dirty in the first place? Jim had seen enough of Spock - everything, oh yes - to know they were essentially the same all over. But did they have, like, specific mating habits or something?
Jim could only guess that sex was encased in a vault of regulations. For all he knew, Vulcans still wore chastity belts.
Shaking off his ever-running inner commentary, Jim licked his lips and brought his foot forward, until his socked big toe pressed firmly against Spock’s leg. “I’d be willing to give you a lesson in, y’know, human emotion.”
He steadily met Spock’s eyes as his voice dropped an octave. “If you want it.”
No one had ever accused Jim of being subtle. That would be dull.
Spock’s hands curled into loose fists upon his knees as he considered Jim with intentional blandness. “No thank you, Jim,” he replied placidly, as if totally unaffected by the request.
Jim bit back a huff and settled on a cheeky grin. His toes brushed the side of Spock’s thigh and languidly travelled towards his hand.
“Are you sure? A little research never hurt anyone. It’s very - ” Jim paused to wet his lips, and caught Spock staring for a second. “Logical, yeah?”
Spock stiffened. “I have no wish to explore my huma -”
A knock at the door sounded and Jim nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes were wide on Spock’s equally - if not muted - horrified expression.
Jim hissed, “Your human side, Spock? That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? What the f -”
Another knock, and then dimly a voice announced, “Package for JT Kirk!”
Jim considered ignoring it, as he pondered pushing Spock to the floor, straddling his hips and demanding answers. Okay, Spock would probably go all Bruce Lee on his ass and destroy him, but it would have been the thought that counted.
Spock had apparently collected himself in record time, because his face portrayed about as much expression as a refrigerator door. He stood in one swift motion, muttered something without meeting Jim’s eyes, and not-ran - he totally ran - from the room.
Jim clenched his jaw and switched off the television, with his mind a maelstrom of coalescing facts and theories. His head was often past the clouds and all the way up in space, but he wasn’t an idiot.
He’d stood on the precipice of something important two days ago in the chilly parking lot. Today, he clung to the crumbling edge, unsure of where the fall would bring him.
Jim stalked to the front door where Gumby gleefully awaited him. Nudging the dog aside with his thigh, Jim yanked open the door and put on a small smile that hurt his face. He barely registered the Aberdeen return address on the package as he signed for it and murmured his thanks.
Leaning back against the door, Jim aimed a narrow look up the stairs where Spock was no doubt hiding. The guy preached a load of bull about the noble, fearless race of Vulcans and yet he reminded Jim of... of a coward.
Or something.
Maybe that was a bit harsh, but Jim was pissed. Impatient with this unending waiting game, aggravated with being left in the dark, frustrated with Spock for giving him nothing when Jim was putting his ass on the line for his protection. Jim hadn’t expected a fucking medal for his actions, but a little light shed on the shadows would make this situation a lot less disorienting.
But what confounded Jim the most was the fact that he cared in the first place. He gave more than a flying fuck. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, Jim gave a lot of fucks - and not just because Spock was some gorgeous specimen of extraterrestrialism.
Spock was cutting and clever and curious and complex. And yet, at the heart of him, Jim sensed this simple, naïve softness to his soul that he only encountered with children or the most altruistic people.
So why the hell did Spock have to be such an emotionally crippled hard-ass ninety percent of the time? It wasn’t like Jim was suggesting they braid each other’s hair and share their deepest darkest secrets. He just wanted a clue.
”I have spoken Standard English for the same length of time as Vulcan.”
”Your mother... she is more dissimilar to mine than I had anticipated.”
“I have no wish to explore my huma - “
Jim supposed he’d received some, in a way.
So humans were closer to Spock than he’d initially let on, and all signs pointed to his mom. It felt like a stretch to think that Spock was partially human. But then again, Jim would have thought it was more than a stretch had someone informed him he’d be crushing on and sulking over an alien like a 90210 character.
But if Jim’s theory was accurate and Spock’s mother was human, that just brought forth an avalanche of unanswered questions.
When Jim looked down and realised Gumby had been gnawing and slobbering the corner of the box in Jim’s hands, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He held the package out of the dog’s reach and grinned.
“Come on, man! What did I tell you about eating cardboard? There’s a reason why I dish out for those fancy rawhide bones, you know.”
Smiling weakly to himself to keep from screaming in frustration, Jim ambled down the hall and entered the one room he’d been ignoring the past week - his office.
It wasn’t that he’d wanted to ignore it. He loved his hobby, his sort-of job - but things had been crazy up until now. And, to be begrudgingly honest, Jim hadn’t wanted to tear himself away from Spock for long.
The first thing a person would notice about Jim’s ‘office’ was that aside from the desk and the computer and the chair shoved in the corner, it really didn’t look like much of a classic workspace.
A table took up the centre of the room - okay, it wasn’t actually an honest to goodness table, but a green ping-pong table with the net still on it. Whatever, it did the job. It was littered with Jim’s notes and old magazines opened to pertinent articles, and junk food wrappers that would have his mother cringing.
In one corner laid a pile of scrap metal and a blow torch that Jim certainly wasn’t officially trained to use. Then again, Jim wasn’t particularly legal in anything he did.
Posters and a large tack board adorned one wall. The images mostly revolved around modern windmills gracing the vast emerald hills of Scotland, and some of Iron Man, and another of the periodic table with several of the elements crossed out with big Sharpie-drawn frowny faces.
Something that looked like a car engine was strewn in pieces in another corner. The vague shape of a couch was hidden beneath cardboard boxes filled with mechanical bits and bobs - and that one other box that was Christmas lights Jim had forgotten to put away last year.
There were brown and black scorch marks on some of the walls, and the room smelled akin to a automobile repair shop doused in Febreze.
Jim fucking loved this room. It helped him think like no other place.
The door shut behind him and Jim plopped the box onto the table, atop his notes. He grinned broadly, already knowing what to expect from Scotty. When he ripped past the infernal packing tape and set aside a folded bunch of what looked like blueprints, Jim finally unearthed a small, roughly constructed spherical contraption.
His fusion reactor.
Jim had been fascinated with renewable energy since they did a segment on it in high school. Even the teacher had appeared vaguely disinterested in the notion; claiming that although the premise was genius, it would take years upon years to fully integrate something so complex into everyday society.
Well, Jim kind of took that as a challenge.
And hell, thinking of ways to save the world than to get completely shit-faced and party like a rock star. Okay, Jim actually did both, but his side project had helped to distract him from his more destructive adolescent tendencies.
But in all truth, Jim’s parents had made a difference in the world. They’d both served in the Army for a number of years. What could Jim offer, but for his brain?
He had some crappy online degree from a university he didn’t give a shit about, but the most important things he’d learned had been on his own time. He was not a technically qualified mechanical engineer, but damn if he wasn’t more talented than most of the engineers he came across.
Well, except for Scotty. And that was why Jim had snatched him up from the online community, and they’d been corresponding and collaborating for the last three years.
Turns out they had both been interested in the future of the future of renewable energy. Fusion was, in theory, the cleanest form of energy and totally inspired, but undeniably complex.
Jim and Scotty loved puzzles.
So intent was Jim on Scotty’s blueprints that he was hardly cognisant of the tentative knock on the door. He didn’t even register it as he hunched over the table, pouring over the minute changes Scotty had made in the design of the reactor. This construction was the stuff of dreams; they just needed to calculate how to forge a material that would withstand the DT reaction.
Essentially, they needed to find or create an alloy that would effectively harness the power of the sun.
“I have never entered this room before.”
Jim startled, but covered his reaction by standing straight and stretching his arms lazily in the air. His spine crackled at the base and his shoulders protested the altered position, as Jim eyed Spock in the doorway.
Spock was nervous. He only stated the blatantly obvious when he was emotionally compromised on some level. Also, the way Spock’s eyes lingered everywhere but on Jim told him something too.
Jim didn’t have it in him to be cruel, but he wasn’t going to make this easy either.
“This is my secret laboratory where I perform heinous experiments and bring the dead to life,” Jim replied flatly.
Spock’s gaze flicked through the cluttered room, obviously sorting through Jim’s comment. “You are employing sarcasm.”
“Yahtzee!” Jim’s lips curled to a smirk. “As long as we’re playing the state the obvious game, I have a few things to say.”
Jim wandered towards Spock, pausing halfway. He steadily met Spock’s eyes and refused to back down against the steel wall he came up against. Jim Kirk didn’t respect such obstacles in his path - he vaulted them.
“Your mom is human.”
Spock blinked twice, the only indication that he’d processed Jim’s words. He remained frustratingly mute.
So this was the game they would play, huh? Jim would make a guesstimate and unless Spock refuted his claim it was... true? Maybe. Or perhaps Spock was simply attempting to offer nothing to the conversation.
Jim took a step forward and wet his lips. “You’re hiding this not because you’re ashamed of her - or, if you are, that would be monumentally stupid because being some kind of hybrid makes you all kinds of special and unique in the universe and - shit, where was I? Oh, right. You’re hiding this because having a human as your mother somehow ties in to all of,” Jim waved a hand between them, “this.”
Spock’s fingers curled at his thighs. Jim moved closer, intent on gauging Spock’s stony silence. Something was there, just out of Jim’s reach. He needed to be in that secret space, somehow.
“Because, because,” Jim furrowed his brow, his mouth unable to properly connect with the speed of his brain, “By admitting she’s your mother, you’re also conceding that you, well, your father - no, I mean Vulcans - through some turn of events, became deeply involved with a civilisation - a planet - that doesn’t belong to you.
“I don’t exactly know why you guys are here, but I’m so beyond done with running hypotheses regarding your... your schemes. For all I know, you’ve been sent here to knock up as many human chicks as possible to implant your Vulcan seed into the Earth’s gene pool or something.”
Spock frowned and opened his mouth, but Jim held up a hand and snapped, “But I do know one thing, Spock.”
Jim closed the distance between them, and noted Spock’s shoulders pulling back to bring his posture straight. Jim wasn’t going to plead or demand answers - he was above begging. But Spock was going to give in - he was going to give something in this relationship, dammit.
“You’re gonna tell me what’s going on, because you’ve been wanting to for some time now - no, don’t even try to argue the point with me, man. From all the shit you’ve told me about your species, Vulcan’s don’t just slip up from time to time. Not like you have, at least. Unless you’re, like, monumentally distracted by my presence, I think you could have held back all those little bread crumbs you dropped for me.”
Jim cocked his head and wet his lips, his gaze latching onto Spock’s impenetrable one.
“But you wanted me to figure this out, didn’t you? Maybe it wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. You weren’t like ‘I’m totally gonna rat out my Vulcan buddies and tell this silly human all of our trade secrets’, but on some level, you - well,” Jim shifted too close to Spock, his gaze wide and imploring. “You don’t want to leave me in the dark, do you? I mean, we’re like... friends or something.”
Such a cheap move on Jim’s part, but people - and Vulcans - really should be more careful around him. The youngest sibling in the family is always the most manipulative.
Spock’s eyes raked over Jim’s face, his irises too dark and intent. He wasn’t even breathing. Jim could see the stillness of Spock’s chest from their intimate proximity.
Jim banked the brief desire to place his palm on Spock’s chest and soothingly request that he just breathe and relax, and that it was going to be okay, no matter what he was going to say. But there was something overwhelming to the gesture other than its inherent affection. It was also something Jim’s mother would have done; an action committed out of love and concern.
Instead, Jim raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”
Spock looked to the table in the centre of the room. His attention fell on the miniature fusion reactor. “You are interested in fusion energy.”
“Okay, that was the worst deflection I have ever come across, and I babysit a four-year-old who wants me to ignore the fact that she likes to eat glue.”
“Jim.” Spock’s expression was keen and insistent when he aimed it on him. “Listen.”
Oh. Oh. They were still playing the game. Right, okay.
“I thought Vulcans were above speaking in riddles and shit? Isn’t that kind of illogical?”
Spock exhaled a soft sigh, and it was the most human thing he’d done since he’d stepped into the room. Jim worried his bottom lip with his teeth and shrugged. “I mean, yeah. This is kind of my thing, I guess. Renewable energy and all that - the future of a better world.”
“Your aspirations are admirable in comparison to the rampant consumerism of the average human.”
“I’m a regular Captain Planet,” Jim replied dryly. “Hey, you could help. With our powers combined -”
“You would accept the aid of another in this venture?” Spock asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Well, I mean, I’ve got a partner. Scotty - he’s a mechanical engineer in Scotland. Guy is innovative and terrifying as all hell, but no one with any real pull across the Atlantic will hire him. All because of that one little explosion,” Jim trailed off, and idly scratched his chin.
“But, whatever. I mean, he sends me these prototypes,” Jim gestured to the fusion reactor. “And I destroy them and tell him what he did wrong and how he needs to fix it. We’ve got a good system.”
Spock nodded. He rounded the table, and left Jim with a cold void of air where there was once a warm body. “And he is not perturbed that you destroy his work?”
Jim pursed his lips and picked up the reactor; his fingers fondly tracing the smooth, shiny metal and the seams that held it together. “Oh, well, he probably stabs an IV of Glenfiddich to his arm in mourning, but he knows we each play a part in this.”
“And your part involves destruction.”
“Kinda.”
“Explain.”
Jim released a hefty sigh and tossed the reactor to Spock, who caught it deftly. “Well, you can’t just blow up a fusion reactor, right? I mean, people are always confusing fission and fusion. Fission is like, y’know, detonating a bomb and slowing the reaction. Harnessing the domino effect of released energy.
“Fusion reactions - well, we can start ‘em, but we can’t sustain them. There’s no energy there to explode. Except,” Jim’s eyes lit up, “Except I managed it, Spock.”
Spock carefully set down the reactor. “You elicited a combustion using incombustible materials?”
“Damn fuckin’ right I did!”
Jim was practically quivering with excitement. He never got to talk about this stuff with anyone. Nyota and Bones didn’t care, his mother would scold him for blowing shit up in the house - Jim had always had a tendency towards that as a child - and he couldn’t share this discovery with the online science community until he’d gotten to the bottom of everything. Only he and Scotty - and Spock - knew.
“I was fucking around with some metal combos and I got - well, after the smoke cleared and I pulled the shrapnel out of my chin, there was just this charred clump of metal left. And it wasn’t - ” Jim stammered over his words only because he could still hardly believe it himself. He placed his hands on the tabletop and leaned conspiratorially forward. He couldn’t help but grin.
“Spock, it wasn’t a metal that I recognised. I mean, everyone’s been going about this the wrong way! We’ve been utilising metals that we know and trust - but I think... well, I think I’ve invented one.”
Spock nodded. “And now the difficulty lies in reproducing the conditions to recreate the alloy. At that point, you will still be unable to mass-produce the material for a legitimate test in its reaction sustaining abilities.”
Jim grimaced. “Hit the nail on the head. If we could only just,” Jim paused and glared. “Look, don’t think that I’m getting sidetracked here, because as scatterbrained as I might seem -”
Spock looked up from a dog-eared issue of New Scientist magazine with his brows slightly lowered. His voice was warm and almost gruff. “I would never consider you unintelligent, Jim.”
“Oh.” Most people did. “Well, obviously. Anyway, can we please get back to your, y’know, Vulcan stuff? Because this conversation is probably hella boring for you. I mean, I’m sure you guys have already harnessed fusion energy - or, hell, passed it right by, I don’t know.”
Spock murmured, “Yes, I carry the knowledge to solve your conundrum.”’
Jim raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Anyway - your mother was human. Tell me how that happened. Well, not biological aspect of it, if you know what I mean - no graphic details, please.”
Confusion flitted over Spock’s severe expression. “Are you not interested in hearing my solution to your problem?”
“Sure I am, in a way.” Jim shrugged. “But I’d rather figure it out on my own.”
“Curious. I was under the impression that humans would seek out knowledge by whatever means possible.”
“Yeah, well, I know I’m not exactly the type to play by the rules, but asking you for help would kind of go beyond cheating, wouldn’t it?” Jim gestured to the room in general - the notes tacked to the wall, and the charred ceiling that had yet to be painted over from the last explosion.
“Everything I’ve worked for would mean nothing if you just handed me the answer. This kind of stuff,” Jim laughed. “It drives me insane, but it keeps me sane at the same time. D’you know what I mean?”
Spock’s voice was unusually hushed, his gaze downcast. “This work gives you purpose.”
“I - well - yeah.” Jim tugged a hand through his hair. “Basically. Why? You weren’t just going to give me the solution to a life-altering equation, were you? Wouldn’t that be, like, tampering with our civilisation?”
“I merely stated that I had the choice to share the information with you, not that I would do so,” Spock replied and quickly added, “I believe you were concerned with my lineage.”
Jim nodded carefully, his eyes trained on Spock. They were ricocheting between topics faster than an Olympic game of table tennis.
“Let’s move into the kitchen. This is more of a one-man room.”
Spock didn’t argue. Several tense minutes later and they were sitting across from each other at the table, each with a mug of tea before them.
Jim slouched back in his seat and cupped the scalding ceramic in his hands. “So,” he began, deciding he might as well just jump right in as long as Spock was staring at him so patiently. “You’re half human. What’s it feel like?”
Spock quirked a brow, as if that was not the question he had anticipated. “Conflicted.”
“I’d imagine so. That explains a lot, though.”
“I will not sit here and allow myself to be insulted,” Spock replied, in a way that insinuated he wasn’t at all.
Jim’s lips curved. “Such a delicate flower. First the ordeal over one little buckshot wound and now this. I should just encase you in bubble wrap.”
“Jim,” Spock merely said in a perfect imitation of a parent admonishing a child.
“Right, sorry,” Jim replied, his grin utterly unapologetic. He cleared his throat and sobered up enough to seriously inquire, “So your mom, huh? How’d she get stuck with a Vulcan? And before you say it - I’d prefer the unabridged version.”
Spock brought his mug to his lips and sipped before he murmured with a tinge of humour, “I do not believe that Vulcans approach any explanation in an abridged fashion.”
“Yeah, well seeing as you’re only half, you’re obnoxiously talented at it.”
Spock’s lips twitched, but the expression was restrained as quickly as it had come. He leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes sharp and imploring.
“Before I continue on you must understand that the specific details of my mission are confidential, and that I have no intention of sharing them with you. Regardless of the fact that my assignment has come to an apparent halt due to my stranded position, I cannot divulge the original objective of my visitation to Earth.”
Jim bit down on a smile and lurched forward in his chair, his eyes bright as he propped his chin upon his fisted hands. “But you make it sound so tempting!”
“Jim.” There was that damn tone again.
Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. “All right, all right. Just, can we move the fuck on from all the hazards and warning labels? Because I’m bored.”
Spock closed his eyes for longer than necessary, as if he were willing patience. When he opened them again, it appeared as though he’d unearthed some previously unknown reserve that had been specifically created just for people like Jim Kirk. “As you wish. My mother became first acquainted with my father when he came to this planet and made himself known to her.”
“Like you did with me?”
“Your conclusion is inaccurate in the extreme. My father did not crash. He was specifically sent to engage in a relationship with my mother.”
Jim’s eyes widened. “Woah. Like, a kinky re -”
“And intellectual relationship,” Spock cut in, looking at Jim as if he were one fry short of a Happy Meal.
Jim frowned. “An intellectual relationship. Yeah, okay, in case you haven’t noticed, that’s still not normal. On any level. I mean, in the first place, why -”
“Will you allow me to finish my narrative, or would you like to do as you often prefer? Creating your own brand of truth with the misinformation you seemingly pull from oxygen itself.”
Jim made a face into the mug that he brought to his lips. “I don’t do that. Keep going.”
“You do.” Spock took a sip of tea. “As I was saying, my father’s mission was simple. Make tentative contact with the female Amanda Grayson and offer her knowledge.”
Jim blinked and waited for clarification. When none came, his expression grew dubious.
“Knowledge? What do you mean - you just hand it to her or something? And how was she not totally fucking freaked out by some pointy-eared alien strolling through her back door like, ‘Yo Amanda, we come in peace! Up for a study date’?”
Spock aimed a narrow look Jim’s way. “You oversimplify.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“I have no idea what you are referring to and I have no desire to know,” Spock snapped. “And may I point out that you were not as alarmed by me as you should have been when we first made contact.”
“Yeah, well you were hot and I’m a gay - er, guy. A guy,” Jim retorted with a scowl.
Women, you also like women. Don’t forget about the tits.
“Whatever, that is so not the point. What I’m boggled by are the glaringly apparently plot holes in the beginning of this story. I mean, how did the Vulcan powers-that-be decide this Amanda chick was someone they wanted to contact? How did you know she wouldn’t run to the nearest gossip mag and sell her story for big bucks?”
Spock was staring into his cooling mug of tea with a blank look, but his voice carried strong and clear.
“Previous to initial contact, we perform extensive research and analysis on the human in question. There must be a ninety percent assurance rate that the candidate will react positively to our presence. They must be of an open mind and above-average intelligence. Amanda Grayson is one such human.”
“And on the off chance that they go ballistic instead?”
Spock inclined his chin and met Jim’s eyes. “We have methods of eradicating the unpleasant memory of our existence from their consciousness.”
Jim repressed a shiver, and curled his fingers tightly around the dwindling heat of his mostly untouched tea. “Like, MIB flashy pens?”
“I am at a loss at how to reply to such a statement.”
“I mean, how do you...” Jim gestured with a hand, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was motioning in the first place, and so let his palm drop to the tabletop. “How do you make them forget?”
Spock may have sighed. “My reply would lead to further queries that deviate from the topic under scrutiny. We will continue with our previous thread of conversation.”
“Bleh. Fine.” Jim slumped back into his chair again and looked up at Spock with a sulky face. “So how does Daddy Spock meet Mommy Amanda?”
Spock actually did wince this time. “Please do not speak in such a disturbing manner. And I am afraid I am unable to reveal the manner in which he initially contacted her. The pertinent information I can reveal is that my mother reacted positively to my father’s existence, and after a time also became curious about the knowledge my father claimed he was willing to impart on her.”
“What kind of knowledge?”
“I am unable to disclose that information.”
“It was advanced technology stuff, though.”
“In part.”
Jim’s jaw clenched. “Okay, let’s pause and rewind for a second. There’s something I’m not getting. Or maybe I am and I just don’t want to believe that this is your intention.”
Leaning in, Jim matched Spock’s unwavering gaze. Jim was beginning to regret drinking the tea that now roiled in the pit of his stomach.
“I get the whole ‘come in peace’ deal you’ve got going. And I get that you guys are trying to impart your superior knowledge on this inferior race of humans. What I don’t get is the why. Why bother with us? Why go through all the trouble? What are you getting out of this?”
Spock blinked. “Each of your inquiries would take a considerable amount of time to discuss. Can you not simply agree that we understand what is best for your culture to advance and thrive?”
Jim stiffened in his seat. “Not really. I feel like I’ve been thrown into a shitty sci-fi remake of Pocahontas. This is where you say, ‘we’ve improved the lives of savages all over the world’ and then I say something about painting with the colours of the wind - I don’t know, whatever. All I’m getting out of this is a bunch of nosy aliens butting in where they’re not welcome.”
Spock actually had the nerve to look down his nose at Jim. “If that is your opinion on the matter, then I believe we have nothing more to discuss.”
He stood and turned, but Jim was already out of his seat and instinctively grabbed Spock’s wrist. “Hold the fucking phone, Spock - we’re not near done here. Finish your damn story.”
Spock whirled on Jim with a dangerous light in his eyes; and the threat in them had Jim reacting the only way he knew how.
Jim gave his best disarming smile. “I want to know if they live happily ever after.”
For a moment they remained completely still. Jim’s fingers encircling Spock’s wrist, the rapid pitter-patter of the Vulcan’s pulse thrumming pleasantly against his skin.
Spock’s expression relaxed minutely, and the kind of hilarious twitch in his left eye had dispersed. “They are content together, I assure you,” Spock replied hoarsely.
Jim hummed in agreement and released Spock. “That’s nice to hear, except we’ve skipped out on the middle. And as much as I like appetisers and dessert, I’m a main course kind of guy. Love me some steak.”
“What does -“
“Tell me, Spock,” Jim began, leaning back casually against the kitchen table. “Let’s say a person agrees to this information download. How exactly do you do it? I mean, you just hand them a USB stick or a pile of textbooks or what?”
Spock shifted and brought his hands to the small of his back. His gaze flicked somewhere over Jim’s shoulder. “We have an efficient way to transfer information.”
Jim waited, his eyebrows raised. “And that is?”
“In Standard English, one would call it a mind meld... Jim? Jim, are you -”
Jim swayed and clenched the edge of the table. “Sorry, um, wow. I could have sworn you just implied that you, like, do shit to a person’s mind in order to force our race through a technological revolution that we might not be prepared for.”
Spock frowned faintly. “A mind meld is perfectly safe when one is merely transferring data.”
“Merely?” Jim choked out. He felt a hysterical laugh scrape up his throat. “What - I mean what exactly is a mind meld? What do you do?”
“The act itself is difficult to explain without performing an example.”
This time Jim did laugh, if one could call it that. He held up his hands defensively. “Yeah, you’re not going near my head.”
From what Jim could gather, this mind meld jazz wasn’t right. There was too much in his head - too much dark. Jim was no tortured artist type, but everyone had their secrets and insecurities and pain. No one wanted that kind of shit shoved under a microscope.
Spock raised an eyebrow and replied in clipped tones, “I had no intention of doing so. I am rather assured that if your mind is as volatile as your emotions, I would be mentally accosted in a manner which may be permanently scarring.”
Unsure of whether or not that was a joke, Jim eyed Spock critically. “And your mom - she had no problem with this?”
“No overt issue that I have been made aware of.”
“And your dad just copy-pasted some info into your mom - and then what?” Jim’s questions were growing at an exponential rate; he was actually feeling kind of dizzy with the fury of their reproduction. He was so distracted that he even failed to slip in a ‘your mom’ joke.
“Then,” Spock noticeably paused, as if he were working through something. “While my father was immersed in my mother’s mind, they found each other.”
Again, there was that weird silence that implied Jim was supposed to understand what the fuck Spock was talking about. They’d have to discuss that later.
Jim made an impatient gesture, “And? What the hell does that mean, they found each other?”
Spock looked as if he would shrug. “Their minds were immediately discovered to be superbly compatible. They recognised each other as a mate. When they surfaced from the meld, they were already partially bonded.”
Jim wanted to ask about this bonding crap, but refrained. There was only so much he could take in before he burnt out. But, still... still there were things that demanded clarification.
“And your mom is where now?”
“She lives on Vulcan with my father.”
Jim refused to express his surprise. He’d already looked ridiculous enough for one day, even for him. “Vulcan is habitable for humans.”
“Indeed.”
“And she decided to live there.”
“Yes.”
Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. “And did she do anything with that info-dump your dad gave her?”
Spock pursed his lips slightly and glanced to the side. “She did not. She became rather adamant that she return home with my father and begin a new life with him. My mother was unhappy with her familial circumstances on Earth.”
“More criteria of an ideal candidate?” Jim asked with a wan smile.
Spock quirked a brow. “Affirmative.”
This was all a little much, a little soon. Jim only felt lucky that he’d been in more overwhelming situations than this and had handled them with his usual tactless self-assurance. That could be his only crutch right now.
Jim put on his most unimpressed face. “So what you’re saying is that you basically stalk a person from space, find out their life story, then come down and bait them with promises of a better future, download some shit into their head , and - what - ride off into the sunset?”
Spock looked mildly irked, like Jim was a stain he didn’t know how to remove. “I do not believe you have properly grasped our intentions.”
“Yeah, well it’s not like you’ve been the most linear narrator of all time today.”
Jim pushed off the table and used his momentum to get up in Spock’s personal space. Spock didn’t take a step back and Jim only narrowed his eyes. “So, what happens if the person doesn’t want what you have to offer? What then?”
“There exists different protocol for specific situations and individuals.”
“That was a not-answer. You’re good at those.” Jim licked his lower lip and jutted his chin out. “Let’s say you’ve got this total genius whose windows you’ve been peering through for God knows how long. You finally get around to making your contact and he flips out. But you really need him. You think he’s going to make all the difference in the world. What then, Spock?”
Spock hardly even paused before he said, “We would utilise a mind meld to input the data, and afterward, we would erase his memory of us, leaving only the pertinent information in his subconscious for him to discover in his own time.”
Jim’s chest felt tight and his face grew hot. “Are you fucking serious?” he rasped. Without warning he placed his hands on Spock’s chest and pushed. “You would just violate a person’s brain like that without any guilt?”
Spock’s eyes went cold and hard as marbles. “As I have iterated, the procedure is harmless.”
“And wrong. Not even like gray-area wrong, but totally fucking creepy,” Jim snarled. “It’s one thing to get permission for this sort of alien shit, but to just waltz in to the only privacy a person has left in life is sick, man.”
Jim’s pitch and speed of speech was quickening and he could do nothing to slow it as he shoved his face into Spock’s.
“And this is why you’re here, right - to potentially mind-rape someone? Who is it? Me? Because you’re such as fuck not going near my brain, Sylar.”
Spock’s nostrils flared. “Due to the unfortunate instance of my arrival on the planet, my assigned human is unavailable to me. The mission has gone awry and I have aborted it. As for your brain, Mr. Kirk, I have already expressed my disinterest for what it might hold for me.”
So, that was everything. This was not nearly as entertaining as the movies.
Jim laughed hollowly. “You’re an asshole.” He swept past Spock, sure to bump his iron shoulder as he marched from the room.
Refusing to give Spock the satisfaction of hearing Jim’s office door slam, he shut it quietly, and turned towards the plethora of notes and research spread across the room and table and desk. With a single word, Spock could have given him the answer to everything Jim desired.
He could have patented the design, sold the mysterious alloy for exorbitant amounts of money, paid off his family’s debts, and finally enrolled in MIT or something.
But that wasn’t for Jim. Not only was Spock never planning on telling him - the only reason he’d mentioned it was to catch Jim’s attention - but Jim didn’t want it.
He was a Kirk. Being a Kirk meant you worked hard, earned your keep, and were proud of yourself even when others weren’t. You did what you had to do, and as long as you were happy with yourself at the end of the day that was what mattered.
With that in mind, Jim shoved Spock from his mind and anchored himself in his work. The thing that kept him sane when certain things and people were driving him insane.
When he re-emerged from the room it was sometime past midnight and Jim had a crick in his neck that would mean a painful, stiff night of sleep. If Jim was going to be able to sleep at all.
Jim didn’t feel guilty for what he’d said or how he’d reacted - okay, maybe he’d been a bit dramatic, but he was a Kirk, after all. But he did feel drained and kind of... sad that he couldn’t just bust into Spock’s bedroom, and lay at the foot of the bed until he passed out to the sounds of Spock breathing. He didn’t do it every night by any means, but it had been nice to know that he could. Sometimes it was just comforting to be with someone.
With a numb mind and body, Jim trudged up the stairs, nearly tripping over Gumby on the top landing. Gumby scrambled to his feet and looked at him with that little high-pitched whine that told Jim even the dog knew something was amiss - and Gumby was about as intelligent as a goldfish.
“It’s okay, boy,” Jim murmured soothingly, his eyes already half-shut. He ruffled Gumby’s ears on the way to the guest bedroom he was occupying. “Mommy and Daddy still love you very much, even if they’re getting a divorce.”
It was meant as a joke - for whom? The dog? But when Jim realised that Spock could definitely hear into the hall, Jim uttered a choking noise and dashed to his own room, slamming the door behind him.
With a few muttered self-deprecating remarks, Jim yanked off his t-shirt and tossed it to the floor. He was tugging on his flannel pyjama bottoms in front of the window when he spotted something on the glass and froze.
Jim whimpered - he legitimately made a girl’s noise when he saw the large, imposing spider idly chilling on the glass. Inside Jim’s fucking house.
Ignoring the goosebumps that had graced nearly every inch of his skin, Jim took a step back, muttering to himself, “Kill it kill it, oh my god kill it.”
Of course Jim couldn’t, because he was too busy slowly backing away in hopes that he didn’t alarm the spider.
And then the unthinkable happened.
It jumped on him. Fucking hopped on his chest like the very devil himself, if he were a jumping spider.
Jim didn’t scream - not really - it was more the high-pitched keen that only Flipper and Lassie could hear as he slapped as his torso, and swept the eight-legged hell-beast off of himself and onto the bedspread.
He was looking around the room for, like, a broom - something that would involve killing the spider but not actually going near it - when Spock burst through the door with his eyes wide.
“Jim, are you well?”
“What?” Jim stared dumbly at Spock, who was wearing one of Jim’s shirts with a large Pi printed on the front and Budweiser flannel pyjamas bottoms that Jim never thought Spock would actually wear.
Jim swallowed, his eyes darting from Spock to the bedspread. “Yeah Spock, I’m - uh - I’m all right.”
For fuck’s sake, don’t mention that you’re scared of spiders.
Spock took a tentative step towards Jim. “You do not appear so. I heard you utter a rather inhuman noise.”
“Oh, that.” Jim giggled out of pure nerves. “It’s nothing - just a little surprise. A spider, that’s all.”
Spock raised his brow. “An arachnid?”
“Yes, well, it was a jumping spider, Spock.” Jim realised he was currently topless and although that was really no big thing, he promptly folded his arms across his chest.
Spock appeared unperturbed by the nudity. He actually looked more concerned than anything. Jim must have looked really pathetic. “Where is it, Jim?”
Jim gestured with his head. He didn’t even want to look. “The bedspread.”
“I will capture it and set it free outside,” Spock replied with a finality that surprised Jim.
“Can’t you just kill it?” Jim asked, probably a bit too plaintively.
Spock sent Jim an admonishing look, and they almost felt normal together. “No. I would not harm another being unless it was completely necessary.”
“Oh.” Jim watched as Spock took an errant sheet of junk mail and brought it over to coax the spider on to.
Jim leaned forward to peer at the progress when the spider fucking jumped on him again. Jim yelped and stumbled backwards in his attempt to swat the spider free with whatever dignity he had left. The little beast was flung to the floor, and before Jim could even run to the other side of the room and jump out the window or something Spock had picked up a shoe and crushed it in one loud smack.
For a weirdly extended span of time they were silent - yeah, another one of those quiet moments that Jim was starting to think meant more than he had first assumed - and it was Jim who spoke first.
“Uh, I thought you wanted to keep it alive. Released into the wild and stuff.”
Spock swallowed and straightened his posture, concentrating more on Jim’s forehead than anything. The apples of his cheeks coloured faintly. “The arachnid was posing a threat and you were in distress. I would not allow that to continue.”
“Ah...” Jim used all of his willpower not to smile - which he realised was actually kind of difficult even when he was meant to be upset with Spock.
“Well, thanks anyway for abandoning your bug-murdering morals for me. I’m kind of irrationally weird about it because of this one time I was in Boy Scouts, and a jumping spider leapt onto my face and tried to scurry into my nose. I was never the same after that, let me tell you.”
Wow Jimmy, cool story - tell another one, you charming prince.
Spock was pressing his lips together tightly, his gaze darting between Jim’s face and the door. He couldn’t have been clearer that he wanted to leave right now. Jim couldn’t blame him, after today. It was now obvious why Spock had been reluctant to share anything of his mission with Jim.
Thinking on it, the entire situation was a lot greyer than Jim had previously imagined. Not that he agreed with it any more than he did before - just, he forgot what kind of culture Spock came from. Their morals wouldn’t be similar to Jim’s, or to anyone on this planet’s, really.
Jim couldn’t just yell and expect Spock and his pals to get the message. Who knew how long they had been operating like this. They’d obviously had time to think it through and decide on this particularly course of action, no matter how shady Jim considered it to be.
Of course Jim wasn’t going to just leave it this way. He had a chance to make some kind of difference here. Maybe change Spock’s outlook and start the ball rolling with whatever Vulcans would be willing to hear Spock out.
Jim had his own mission now. He could change things. He was nothing if not obnoxiously tenacious.
Spock uttered a short huff of breath that caught his attention, just in time for him to note Spock’s gaze tracing Jim’s bare shoulders. Spock’s voice was unusually rough. “You may... you may take refuge in my room until I have disposed of the remains. If you are amenable to the suggestion,” the last words rushed out like Spock was expecting Jim to shut a door in his face.
This time Jim couldn’t hold back his sunny smile. “Yeah? Okay, thanks! I’ll just - wait no, I need my Snuggie,” Jim mumbled as he snatched up his hideous fleece blanket and hurried by Spock.
As Jim brushed by he thought he heard Spock hum a small noise at the back of his throat, but Jim was already out in the hall and barging into the master bedroom before he could analyse it.
Jim flopped on to the large bed with a sigh, with his head on the pillow and his body and face haphazardly covered by his Snuggie. Before he could start fussing and fretting over the drama of the day, Jim promptly passed out into oblivion.
Seconds - minutes - some time later, Jim’s slumber was infringed by the lurching of a weight upon the mattress, as someone leaned in towards him.
Weaving in and out of that hazy fog of exhaustion, Jim only caught, “- upset with me.”
Jim scrunched up his face in displeasure, and his heavy lips managed to form a short shush. He flung out a hand and ended up dropping it none-too-gently on what felt like Spock’s slightly stubbly cheek.
“Slup.” Jim ordered Spock to sleep, and went under before he could hear a reply.
Chapter Seven
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~9,000
Warnings: Of Samara and science and spiders.
Summary: A 21st Century AU; In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But, dammit, this is real life - not an episode of The X-Files!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N 1: Okay, I take it back. I have a feeling the remainder of my chapters are going to be this long. There’s just so much to say, I guess!
A/N 2: Both orgy_of_death and momo_girlie have depicted our darling Spock in his Hello Kitty hat! Check out their lolarious art HERE and HERE, respectively.
Chapters: I, II, III, IV, V
“Spock, are you... scared of Samara?”
Jim bit back a smile as he assessed Spock’s profile. At the question Spock sat up straighter, with his spine going rigid as he stared blankly at the television. Previously he’d been almost protectively curling around the flowered cushion he grasped on his lap, his attention riveted on the creepy girl from The Ring on screen.
“Vulcans do not experience fear, Jim,” Spock replied, as if Jim had asked something ludicrous like if Vulcans gave birth to Smurfs.
Jim hummed in amused agreement and shifted on the couch. He pressed his back against the arm of the sofa and slunk down, his feet scooting forward to wedge beneath Spock’s warm thigh. Spock flinched and shot him a look of admonishment, to which Jim merely smiled and wiggled his toes in reply.
Both of them became absorbed into the movie once more - okay, Jim less so, because Spock was really deliciously warm, like a hot water bottle that he wanted to fu -
“I do not understand. Surely someone must be able to provide her with a hair elastic.”
Jim surveyed the scene in which Samara sat in the middle of a padded cell, mumbling devilry from behind her thick curtain of mangy hair.
“You have a point, actually.”
“Of course I do. I would not speak if I did not have a purpose. Such a paradigm of thought must be novel to you.”
“How did I ever survive without your wit to keep me company?” Jim muttered, but smiled at the television.
”You don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“But I do, and I’m sorry. It won’t stop.”
Spock bristled. “She utilises useless, ambiguous statements as an explanation for her actions. I do not experience surprise that she has been institutionalised.”
“Uh huh.” Jim swept a glance over to Spock as his lips curved softly. “Why are you hugging the pillow?”
Said cushion was wordlessly tossed onto Jim’s lap. Jim muffled a laugh into the cushion, but became rather distracted by the faint scent that clung to it. Woodsmoke and snow; Christmas. Jim shut his eyes and took a deep, quiet breath.
Congratulations, Jim - you’ve officially bordered on creeper!
Jim grimaced and reluctantly squashed the pillow onto his lap. He looked up to see Spock sitting indian-style, pressed back into the cushions as if he genuinely feared Samara would come through the TV and capture his soul.
It was then that Jim realised Spock actually possessed a rather morbid curiosity. Despite the Vulcan’s protests, he was blatantly perturbed by Samara’s undeniable creepiness - and yet, he couldn’t seem to look away either.
Oh, Spock would love The Nightmare Before Christmas. It would suit his not-so-secret film tastes to a tee.
Jim didn’t realise he was smiling like some cartoon character with goddamn hearts in his eyes until Spock angled his chin and slid a look his way.
“Do you wish to speak your mind?”
Jim’s boggled at Spock and shook his head, immediately extracting his toes out from beneath Spock’s leg.
“Ah, no.” He chuckled nervously and turned to stare blindly at the movie.
Wow. This was just awesome. When the hell had Jim become a swooning, inarticulate teenager? He was not Bella Swan!
He’d never exactly been the biggest lady’s man - too much ego, a propensity for flouting his intelligence at unnecessary times, way too immature, as well as being deaf, dumb and blind in relationships. But his looks and easy-going demeanour gave him enough experience in the romance department to make him confident in his abilities to nab a lucky guy or girl from time to time.
Yeah - about that.
With Spock, Jim was a bumbling mess. All Spock had to do was aim one of those cool, shockingly intelligent stares at Jim, and whatever logic was lurking in the dusty corners of Jim’s mind was thrown out the window. Perhaps it was simply because Spock was unique - mysterious and exciting.
That was a part of it. Jim didn’t like to be bored, and Spock was never monotonous. There was so much to learn about him - so many questions to ask and answers to demand. All of which would probably be promptly ignored, but that only drew Jim closer.
There was Spock’s brain, too. Oh god, that mind - that vocabulary paired with that porn star librarian voice was like a constant over-stimulus to Jim’s senses.
Of course there was also Spock’s appearance. That went without saying - although who would have thought Jim had an elf kink? Okay, well, the rolled-up Legolas poster at the back of Jim’s closet would say otherwise, but that was beside the point.
“Jim?”
Jim snapped back to reality and zeroed in on Spock’s wary gaze. Something in the Vulcan’s eyes had Jim tensing.
“Um?”
Articulate as ever, Jimmy. It’s a wonder you ever get laid.
Spock swallowed. “Are you...” He looked pointedly at the cushion clenched in Jim’s white-knuckled grasp.
Jim sucked in a breath when the punch of realisation hit. Heat crept steadily up his chest and neck. “Wait, are you - are you doing your mutant power thing right now?”
Spock replied in clipped tones, “I am not purposely employing any of my innate skills,” and that adorable little wrinkle appeared between his brows. “It is you who are...”
To Jim’s knowledge, Spock had never failed to finish two sentences in a row. A bold flame flickered in Jim’s gut, warming him straight to his fingertips and leaving him feeling just a little high on Spock’s apparent confusion. Oh, he should think increasingly porny thoughts more often.
“I am what?” Jim inquired innocently. “Am I doing that thing where I exist with excess force?”
Jim’s feet began to slide toward Spock’s thigh again, and his grip loosened on the cushion.
Spock’s jaw visibly clenched. “Your existence does not, as you say, annoy me. Your emotions are merely projecting rather,” he hesitated for a split second, “exceptionally.”
Jim couldn’t help the smile that lit his face any more than he could slow the flutter of his pulse. “Yeah, what emotion is it? Do you know?”
Okay, now he was just needling Spock - but Jim couldn’t pass up an opportunity to niggle his way beneath Spock’s skin. Especially when Spock’s eyes were turning all shades of perturbed and perplexed.
“I,” Spock frowned, his head cocking almost imperceptibly. “I am unable to categorise the emotion. It remains foreign to me.”
Oh. Oh.
Lust wasn’t something Spock had overtly experienced before. Jim could only take that to mean... his heart did a little jig, and this time Jim did restrain his smile.
No wonder Spock came off like he had the sexual experience of a Disney heroine - except for Megara, because Jim always thought she was a saucy minx.
Anyway, meandering down that general line of thought: How did Vulcans do the dirty in the first place? Jim had seen enough of Spock - everything, oh yes - to know they were essentially the same all over. But did they have, like, specific mating habits or something?
Jim could only guess that sex was encased in a vault of regulations. For all he knew, Vulcans still wore chastity belts.
Shaking off his ever-running inner commentary, Jim licked his lips and brought his foot forward, until his socked big toe pressed firmly against Spock’s leg. “I’d be willing to give you a lesson in, y’know, human emotion.”
He steadily met Spock’s eyes as his voice dropped an octave. “If you want it.”
No one had ever accused Jim of being subtle. That would be dull.
Spock’s hands curled into loose fists upon his knees as he considered Jim with intentional blandness. “No thank you, Jim,” he replied placidly, as if totally unaffected by the request.
Jim bit back a huff and settled on a cheeky grin. His toes brushed the side of Spock’s thigh and languidly travelled towards his hand.
“Are you sure? A little research never hurt anyone. It’s very - ” Jim paused to wet his lips, and caught Spock staring for a second. “Logical, yeah?”
Spock stiffened. “I have no wish to explore my huma -”
A knock at the door sounded and Jim nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes were wide on Spock’s equally - if not muted - horrified expression.
Jim hissed, “Your human side, Spock? That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? What the f -”
Another knock, and then dimly a voice announced, “Package for JT Kirk!”
Jim considered ignoring it, as he pondered pushing Spock to the floor, straddling his hips and demanding answers. Okay, Spock would probably go all Bruce Lee on his ass and destroy him, but it would have been the thought that counted.
Spock had apparently collected himself in record time, because his face portrayed about as much expression as a refrigerator door. He stood in one swift motion, muttered something without meeting Jim’s eyes, and not-ran - he totally ran - from the room.
Jim clenched his jaw and switched off the television, with his mind a maelstrom of coalescing facts and theories. His head was often past the clouds and all the way up in space, but he wasn’t an idiot.
He’d stood on the precipice of something important two days ago in the chilly parking lot. Today, he clung to the crumbling edge, unsure of where the fall would bring him.
Jim stalked to the front door where Gumby gleefully awaited him. Nudging the dog aside with his thigh, Jim yanked open the door and put on a small smile that hurt his face. He barely registered the Aberdeen return address on the package as he signed for it and murmured his thanks.
Leaning back against the door, Jim aimed a narrow look up the stairs where Spock was no doubt hiding. The guy preached a load of bull about the noble, fearless race of Vulcans and yet he reminded Jim of... of a coward.
Or something.
Maybe that was a bit harsh, but Jim was pissed. Impatient with this unending waiting game, aggravated with being left in the dark, frustrated with Spock for giving him nothing when Jim was putting his ass on the line for his protection. Jim hadn’t expected a fucking medal for his actions, but a little light shed on the shadows would make this situation a lot less disorienting.
But what confounded Jim the most was the fact that he cared in the first place. He gave more than a flying fuck. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, Jim gave a lot of fucks - and not just because Spock was some gorgeous specimen of extraterrestrialism.
Spock was cutting and clever and curious and complex. And yet, at the heart of him, Jim sensed this simple, naïve softness to his soul that he only encountered with children or the most altruistic people.
So why the hell did Spock have to be such an emotionally crippled hard-ass ninety percent of the time? It wasn’t like Jim was suggesting they braid each other’s hair and share their deepest darkest secrets. He just wanted a clue.
”I have spoken Standard English for the same length of time as Vulcan.”
”Your mother... she is more dissimilar to mine than I had anticipated.”
“I have no wish to explore my huma - “
Jim supposed he’d received some, in a way.
So humans were closer to Spock than he’d initially let on, and all signs pointed to his mom. It felt like a stretch to think that Spock was partially human. But then again, Jim would have thought it was more than a stretch had someone informed him he’d be crushing on and sulking over an alien like a 90210 character.
But if Jim’s theory was accurate and Spock’s mother was human, that just brought forth an avalanche of unanswered questions.
When Jim looked down and realised Gumby had been gnawing and slobbering the corner of the box in Jim’s hands, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He held the package out of the dog’s reach and grinned.
“Come on, man! What did I tell you about eating cardboard? There’s a reason why I dish out for those fancy rawhide bones, you know.”
Smiling weakly to himself to keep from screaming in frustration, Jim ambled down the hall and entered the one room he’d been ignoring the past week - his office.
It wasn’t that he’d wanted to ignore it. He loved his hobby, his sort-of job - but things had been crazy up until now. And, to be begrudgingly honest, Jim hadn’t wanted to tear himself away from Spock for long.
The first thing a person would notice about Jim’s ‘office’ was that aside from the desk and the computer and the chair shoved in the corner, it really didn’t look like much of a classic workspace.
A table took up the centre of the room - okay, it wasn’t actually an honest to goodness table, but a green ping-pong table with the net still on it. Whatever, it did the job. It was littered with Jim’s notes and old magazines opened to pertinent articles, and junk food wrappers that would have his mother cringing.
In one corner laid a pile of scrap metal and a blow torch that Jim certainly wasn’t officially trained to use. Then again, Jim wasn’t particularly legal in anything he did.
Posters and a large tack board adorned one wall. The images mostly revolved around modern windmills gracing the vast emerald hills of Scotland, and some of Iron Man, and another of the periodic table with several of the elements crossed out with big Sharpie-drawn frowny faces.
Something that looked like a car engine was strewn in pieces in another corner. The vague shape of a couch was hidden beneath cardboard boxes filled with mechanical bits and bobs - and that one other box that was Christmas lights Jim had forgotten to put away last year.
There were brown and black scorch marks on some of the walls, and the room smelled akin to a automobile repair shop doused in Febreze.
Jim fucking loved this room. It helped him think like no other place.
The door shut behind him and Jim plopped the box onto the table, atop his notes. He grinned broadly, already knowing what to expect from Scotty. When he ripped past the infernal packing tape and set aside a folded bunch of what looked like blueprints, Jim finally unearthed a small, roughly constructed spherical contraption.
His fusion reactor.
Jim had been fascinated with renewable energy since they did a segment on it in high school. Even the teacher had appeared vaguely disinterested in the notion; claiming that although the premise was genius, it would take years upon years to fully integrate something so complex into everyday society.
Well, Jim kind of took that as a challenge.
And hell, thinking of ways to save the world than to get completely shit-faced and party like a rock star. Okay, Jim actually did both, but his side project had helped to distract him from his more destructive adolescent tendencies.
But in all truth, Jim’s parents had made a difference in the world. They’d both served in the Army for a number of years. What could Jim offer, but for his brain?
He had some crappy online degree from a university he didn’t give a shit about, but the most important things he’d learned had been on his own time. He was not a technically qualified mechanical engineer, but damn if he wasn’t more talented than most of the engineers he came across.
Well, except for Scotty. And that was why Jim had snatched him up from the online community, and they’d been corresponding and collaborating for the last three years.
Turns out they had both been interested in the future of the future of renewable energy. Fusion was, in theory, the cleanest form of energy and totally inspired, but undeniably complex.
Jim and Scotty loved puzzles.
So intent was Jim on Scotty’s blueprints that he was hardly cognisant of the tentative knock on the door. He didn’t even register it as he hunched over the table, pouring over the minute changes Scotty had made in the design of the reactor. This construction was the stuff of dreams; they just needed to calculate how to forge a material that would withstand the DT reaction.
Essentially, they needed to find or create an alloy that would effectively harness the power of the sun.
“I have never entered this room before.”
Jim startled, but covered his reaction by standing straight and stretching his arms lazily in the air. His spine crackled at the base and his shoulders protested the altered position, as Jim eyed Spock in the doorway.
Spock was nervous. He only stated the blatantly obvious when he was emotionally compromised on some level. Also, the way Spock’s eyes lingered everywhere but on Jim told him something too.
Jim didn’t have it in him to be cruel, but he wasn’t going to make this easy either.
“This is my secret laboratory where I perform heinous experiments and bring the dead to life,” Jim replied flatly.
Spock’s gaze flicked through the cluttered room, obviously sorting through Jim’s comment. “You are employing sarcasm.”
“Yahtzee!” Jim’s lips curled to a smirk. “As long as we’re playing the state the obvious game, I have a few things to say.”
Jim wandered towards Spock, pausing halfway. He steadily met Spock’s eyes and refused to back down against the steel wall he came up against. Jim Kirk didn’t respect such obstacles in his path - he vaulted them.
“Your mom is human.”
Spock blinked twice, the only indication that he’d processed Jim’s words. He remained frustratingly mute.
So this was the game they would play, huh? Jim would make a guesstimate and unless Spock refuted his claim it was... true? Maybe. Or perhaps Spock was simply attempting to offer nothing to the conversation.
Jim took a step forward and wet his lips. “You’re hiding this not because you’re ashamed of her - or, if you are, that would be monumentally stupid because being some kind of hybrid makes you all kinds of special and unique in the universe and - shit, where was I? Oh, right. You’re hiding this because having a human as your mother somehow ties in to all of,” Jim waved a hand between them, “this.”
Spock’s fingers curled at his thighs. Jim moved closer, intent on gauging Spock’s stony silence. Something was there, just out of Jim’s reach. He needed to be in that secret space, somehow.
“Because, because,” Jim furrowed his brow, his mouth unable to properly connect with the speed of his brain, “By admitting she’s your mother, you’re also conceding that you, well, your father - no, I mean Vulcans - through some turn of events, became deeply involved with a civilisation - a planet - that doesn’t belong to you.
“I don’t exactly know why you guys are here, but I’m so beyond done with running hypotheses regarding your... your schemes. For all I know, you’ve been sent here to knock up as many human chicks as possible to implant your Vulcan seed into the Earth’s gene pool or something.”
Spock frowned and opened his mouth, but Jim held up a hand and snapped, “But I do know one thing, Spock.”
Jim closed the distance between them, and noted Spock’s shoulders pulling back to bring his posture straight. Jim wasn’t going to plead or demand answers - he was above begging. But Spock was going to give in - he was going to give something in this relationship, dammit.
“You’re gonna tell me what’s going on, because you’ve been wanting to for some time now - no, don’t even try to argue the point with me, man. From all the shit you’ve told me about your species, Vulcan’s don’t just slip up from time to time. Not like you have, at least. Unless you’re, like, monumentally distracted by my presence, I think you could have held back all those little bread crumbs you dropped for me.”
Jim cocked his head and wet his lips, his gaze latching onto Spock’s impenetrable one.
“But you wanted me to figure this out, didn’t you? Maybe it wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. You weren’t like ‘I’m totally gonna rat out my Vulcan buddies and tell this silly human all of our trade secrets’, but on some level, you - well,” Jim shifted too close to Spock, his gaze wide and imploring. “You don’t want to leave me in the dark, do you? I mean, we’re like... friends or something.”
Such a cheap move on Jim’s part, but people - and Vulcans - really should be more careful around him. The youngest sibling in the family is always the most manipulative.
Spock’s eyes raked over Jim’s face, his irises too dark and intent. He wasn’t even breathing. Jim could see the stillness of Spock’s chest from their intimate proximity.
Jim banked the brief desire to place his palm on Spock’s chest and soothingly request that he just breathe and relax, and that it was going to be okay, no matter what he was going to say. But there was something overwhelming to the gesture other than its inherent affection. It was also something Jim’s mother would have done; an action committed out of love and concern.
Instead, Jim raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”
Spock looked to the table in the centre of the room. His attention fell on the miniature fusion reactor. “You are interested in fusion energy.”
“Okay, that was the worst deflection I have ever come across, and I babysit a four-year-old who wants me to ignore the fact that she likes to eat glue.”
“Jim.” Spock’s expression was keen and insistent when he aimed it on him. “Listen.”
Oh. Oh. They were still playing the game. Right, okay.
“I thought Vulcans were above speaking in riddles and shit? Isn’t that kind of illogical?”
Spock exhaled a soft sigh, and it was the most human thing he’d done since he’d stepped into the room. Jim worried his bottom lip with his teeth and shrugged. “I mean, yeah. This is kind of my thing, I guess. Renewable energy and all that - the future of a better world.”
“Your aspirations are admirable in comparison to the rampant consumerism of the average human.”
“I’m a regular Captain Planet,” Jim replied dryly. “Hey, you could help. With our powers combined -”
“You would accept the aid of another in this venture?” Spock asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Well, I mean, I’ve got a partner. Scotty - he’s a mechanical engineer in Scotland. Guy is innovative and terrifying as all hell, but no one with any real pull across the Atlantic will hire him. All because of that one little explosion,” Jim trailed off, and idly scratched his chin.
“But, whatever. I mean, he sends me these prototypes,” Jim gestured to the fusion reactor. “And I destroy them and tell him what he did wrong and how he needs to fix it. We’ve got a good system.”
Spock nodded. He rounded the table, and left Jim with a cold void of air where there was once a warm body. “And he is not perturbed that you destroy his work?”
Jim pursed his lips and picked up the reactor; his fingers fondly tracing the smooth, shiny metal and the seams that held it together. “Oh, well, he probably stabs an IV of Glenfiddich to his arm in mourning, but he knows we each play a part in this.”
“And your part involves destruction.”
“Kinda.”
“Explain.”
Jim released a hefty sigh and tossed the reactor to Spock, who caught it deftly. “Well, you can’t just blow up a fusion reactor, right? I mean, people are always confusing fission and fusion. Fission is like, y’know, detonating a bomb and slowing the reaction. Harnessing the domino effect of released energy.
“Fusion reactions - well, we can start ‘em, but we can’t sustain them. There’s no energy there to explode. Except,” Jim’s eyes lit up, “Except I managed it, Spock.”
Spock carefully set down the reactor. “You elicited a combustion using incombustible materials?”
“Damn fuckin’ right I did!”
Jim was practically quivering with excitement. He never got to talk about this stuff with anyone. Nyota and Bones didn’t care, his mother would scold him for blowing shit up in the house - Jim had always had a tendency towards that as a child - and he couldn’t share this discovery with the online science community until he’d gotten to the bottom of everything. Only he and Scotty - and Spock - knew.
“I was fucking around with some metal combos and I got - well, after the smoke cleared and I pulled the shrapnel out of my chin, there was just this charred clump of metal left. And it wasn’t - ” Jim stammered over his words only because he could still hardly believe it himself. He placed his hands on the tabletop and leaned conspiratorially forward. He couldn’t help but grin.
“Spock, it wasn’t a metal that I recognised. I mean, everyone’s been going about this the wrong way! We’ve been utilising metals that we know and trust - but I think... well, I think I’ve invented one.”
Spock nodded. “And now the difficulty lies in reproducing the conditions to recreate the alloy. At that point, you will still be unable to mass-produce the material for a legitimate test in its reaction sustaining abilities.”
Jim grimaced. “Hit the nail on the head. If we could only just,” Jim paused and glared. “Look, don’t think that I’m getting sidetracked here, because as scatterbrained as I might seem -”
Spock looked up from a dog-eared issue of New Scientist magazine with his brows slightly lowered. His voice was warm and almost gruff. “I would never consider you unintelligent, Jim.”
“Oh.” Most people did. “Well, obviously. Anyway, can we please get back to your, y’know, Vulcan stuff? Because this conversation is probably hella boring for you. I mean, I’m sure you guys have already harnessed fusion energy - or, hell, passed it right by, I don’t know.”
Spock murmured, “Yes, I carry the knowledge to solve your conundrum.”’
Jim raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Anyway - your mother was human. Tell me how that happened. Well, not biological aspect of it, if you know what I mean - no graphic details, please.”
Confusion flitted over Spock’s severe expression. “Are you not interested in hearing my solution to your problem?”
“Sure I am, in a way.” Jim shrugged. “But I’d rather figure it out on my own.”
“Curious. I was under the impression that humans would seek out knowledge by whatever means possible.”
“Yeah, well, I know I’m not exactly the type to play by the rules, but asking you for help would kind of go beyond cheating, wouldn’t it?” Jim gestured to the room in general - the notes tacked to the wall, and the charred ceiling that had yet to be painted over from the last explosion.
“Everything I’ve worked for would mean nothing if you just handed me the answer. This kind of stuff,” Jim laughed. “It drives me insane, but it keeps me sane at the same time. D’you know what I mean?”
Spock’s voice was unusually hushed, his gaze downcast. “This work gives you purpose.”
“I - well - yeah.” Jim tugged a hand through his hair. “Basically. Why? You weren’t just going to give me the solution to a life-altering equation, were you? Wouldn’t that be, like, tampering with our civilisation?”
“I merely stated that I had the choice to share the information with you, not that I would do so,” Spock replied and quickly added, “I believe you were concerned with my lineage.”
Jim nodded carefully, his eyes trained on Spock. They were ricocheting between topics faster than an Olympic game of table tennis.
“Let’s move into the kitchen. This is more of a one-man room.”
Spock didn’t argue. Several tense minutes later and they were sitting across from each other at the table, each with a mug of tea before them.
Jim slouched back in his seat and cupped the scalding ceramic in his hands. “So,” he began, deciding he might as well just jump right in as long as Spock was staring at him so patiently. “You’re half human. What’s it feel like?”
Spock quirked a brow, as if that was not the question he had anticipated. “Conflicted.”
“I’d imagine so. That explains a lot, though.”
“I will not sit here and allow myself to be insulted,” Spock replied, in a way that insinuated he wasn’t at all.
Jim’s lips curved. “Such a delicate flower. First the ordeal over one little buckshot wound and now this. I should just encase you in bubble wrap.”
“Jim,” Spock merely said in a perfect imitation of a parent admonishing a child.
“Right, sorry,” Jim replied, his grin utterly unapologetic. He cleared his throat and sobered up enough to seriously inquire, “So your mom, huh? How’d she get stuck with a Vulcan? And before you say it - I’d prefer the unabridged version.”
Spock brought his mug to his lips and sipped before he murmured with a tinge of humour, “I do not believe that Vulcans approach any explanation in an abridged fashion.”
“Yeah, well seeing as you’re only half, you’re obnoxiously talented at it.”
Spock’s lips twitched, but the expression was restrained as quickly as it had come. He leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes sharp and imploring.
“Before I continue on you must understand that the specific details of my mission are confidential, and that I have no intention of sharing them with you. Regardless of the fact that my assignment has come to an apparent halt due to my stranded position, I cannot divulge the original objective of my visitation to Earth.”
Jim bit down on a smile and lurched forward in his chair, his eyes bright as he propped his chin upon his fisted hands. “But you make it sound so tempting!”
“Jim.” There was that damn tone again.
Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. “All right, all right. Just, can we move the fuck on from all the hazards and warning labels? Because I’m bored.”
Spock closed his eyes for longer than necessary, as if he were willing patience. When he opened them again, it appeared as though he’d unearthed some previously unknown reserve that had been specifically created just for people like Jim Kirk. “As you wish. My mother became first acquainted with my father when he came to this planet and made himself known to her.”
“Like you did with me?”
“Your conclusion is inaccurate in the extreme. My father did not crash. He was specifically sent to engage in a relationship with my mother.”
Jim’s eyes widened. “Woah. Like, a kinky re -”
“And intellectual relationship,” Spock cut in, looking at Jim as if he were one fry short of a Happy Meal.
Jim frowned. “An intellectual relationship. Yeah, okay, in case you haven’t noticed, that’s still not normal. On any level. I mean, in the first place, why -”
“Will you allow me to finish my narrative, or would you like to do as you often prefer? Creating your own brand of truth with the misinformation you seemingly pull from oxygen itself.”
Jim made a face into the mug that he brought to his lips. “I don’t do that. Keep going.”
“You do.” Spock took a sip of tea. “As I was saying, my father’s mission was simple. Make tentative contact with the female Amanda Grayson and offer her knowledge.”
Jim blinked and waited for clarification. When none came, his expression grew dubious.
“Knowledge? What do you mean - you just hand it to her or something? And how was she not totally fucking freaked out by some pointy-eared alien strolling through her back door like, ‘Yo Amanda, we come in peace! Up for a study date’?”
Spock aimed a narrow look Jim’s way. “You oversimplify.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“I have no idea what you are referring to and I have no desire to know,” Spock snapped. “And may I point out that you were not as alarmed by me as you should have been when we first made contact.”
“Yeah, well you were hot and I’m a gay - er, guy. A guy,” Jim retorted with a scowl.
Women, you also like women. Don’t forget about the tits.
“Whatever, that is so not the point. What I’m boggled by are the glaringly apparently plot holes in the beginning of this story. I mean, how did the Vulcan powers-that-be decide this Amanda chick was someone they wanted to contact? How did you know she wouldn’t run to the nearest gossip mag and sell her story for big bucks?”
Spock was staring into his cooling mug of tea with a blank look, but his voice carried strong and clear.
“Previous to initial contact, we perform extensive research and analysis on the human in question. There must be a ninety percent assurance rate that the candidate will react positively to our presence. They must be of an open mind and above-average intelligence. Amanda Grayson is one such human.”
“And on the off chance that they go ballistic instead?”
Spock inclined his chin and met Jim’s eyes. “We have methods of eradicating the unpleasant memory of our existence from their consciousness.”
Jim repressed a shiver, and curled his fingers tightly around the dwindling heat of his mostly untouched tea. “Like, MIB flashy pens?”
“I am at a loss at how to reply to such a statement.”
“I mean, how do you...” Jim gestured with a hand, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was motioning in the first place, and so let his palm drop to the tabletop. “How do you make them forget?”
Spock may have sighed. “My reply would lead to further queries that deviate from the topic under scrutiny. We will continue with our previous thread of conversation.”
“Bleh. Fine.” Jim slumped back into his chair again and looked up at Spock with a sulky face. “So how does Daddy Spock meet Mommy Amanda?”
Spock actually did wince this time. “Please do not speak in such a disturbing manner. And I am afraid I am unable to reveal the manner in which he initially contacted her. The pertinent information I can reveal is that my mother reacted positively to my father’s existence, and after a time also became curious about the knowledge my father claimed he was willing to impart on her.”
“What kind of knowledge?”
“I am unable to disclose that information.”
“It was advanced technology stuff, though.”
“In part.”
Jim’s jaw clenched. “Okay, let’s pause and rewind for a second. There’s something I’m not getting. Or maybe I am and I just don’t want to believe that this is your intention.”
Leaning in, Jim matched Spock’s unwavering gaze. Jim was beginning to regret drinking the tea that now roiled in the pit of his stomach.
“I get the whole ‘come in peace’ deal you’ve got going. And I get that you guys are trying to impart your superior knowledge on this inferior race of humans. What I don’t get is the why. Why bother with us? Why go through all the trouble? What are you getting out of this?”
Spock blinked. “Each of your inquiries would take a considerable amount of time to discuss. Can you not simply agree that we understand what is best for your culture to advance and thrive?”
Jim stiffened in his seat. “Not really. I feel like I’ve been thrown into a shitty sci-fi remake of Pocahontas. This is where you say, ‘we’ve improved the lives of savages all over the world’ and then I say something about painting with the colours of the wind - I don’t know, whatever. All I’m getting out of this is a bunch of nosy aliens butting in where they’re not welcome.”
Spock actually had the nerve to look down his nose at Jim. “If that is your opinion on the matter, then I believe we have nothing more to discuss.”
He stood and turned, but Jim was already out of his seat and instinctively grabbed Spock’s wrist. “Hold the fucking phone, Spock - we’re not near done here. Finish your damn story.”
Spock whirled on Jim with a dangerous light in his eyes; and the threat in them had Jim reacting the only way he knew how.
Jim gave his best disarming smile. “I want to know if they live happily ever after.”
For a moment they remained completely still. Jim’s fingers encircling Spock’s wrist, the rapid pitter-patter of the Vulcan’s pulse thrumming pleasantly against his skin.
Spock’s expression relaxed minutely, and the kind of hilarious twitch in his left eye had dispersed. “They are content together, I assure you,” Spock replied hoarsely.
Jim hummed in agreement and released Spock. “That’s nice to hear, except we’ve skipped out on the middle. And as much as I like appetisers and dessert, I’m a main course kind of guy. Love me some steak.”
“What does -“
“Tell me, Spock,” Jim began, leaning back casually against the kitchen table. “Let’s say a person agrees to this information download. How exactly do you do it? I mean, you just hand them a USB stick or a pile of textbooks or what?”
Spock shifted and brought his hands to the small of his back. His gaze flicked somewhere over Jim’s shoulder. “We have an efficient way to transfer information.”
Jim waited, his eyebrows raised. “And that is?”
“In Standard English, one would call it a mind meld... Jim? Jim, are you -”
Jim swayed and clenched the edge of the table. “Sorry, um, wow. I could have sworn you just implied that you, like, do shit to a person’s mind in order to force our race through a technological revolution that we might not be prepared for.”
Spock frowned faintly. “A mind meld is perfectly safe when one is merely transferring data.”
“Merely?” Jim choked out. He felt a hysterical laugh scrape up his throat. “What - I mean what exactly is a mind meld? What do you do?”
“The act itself is difficult to explain without performing an example.”
This time Jim did laugh, if one could call it that. He held up his hands defensively. “Yeah, you’re not going near my head.”
From what Jim could gather, this mind meld jazz wasn’t right. There was too much in his head - too much dark. Jim was no tortured artist type, but everyone had their secrets and insecurities and pain. No one wanted that kind of shit shoved under a microscope.
Spock raised an eyebrow and replied in clipped tones, “I had no intention of doing so. I am rather assured that if your mind is as volatile as your emotions, I would be mentally accosted in a manner which may be permanently scarring.”
Unsure of whether or not that was a joke, Jim eyed Spock critically. “And your mom - she had no problem with this?”
“No overt issue that I have been made aware of.”
“And your dad just copy-pasted some info into your mom - and then what?” Jim’s questions were growing at an exponential rate; he was actually feeling kind of dizzy with the fury of their reproduction. He was so distracted that he even failed to slip in a ‘your mom’ joke.
“Then,” Spock noticeably paused, as if he were working through something. “While my father was immersed in my mother’s mind, they found each other.”
Again, there was that weird silence that implied Jim was supposed to understand what the fuck Spock was talking about. They’d have to discuss that later.
Jim made an impatient gesture, “And? What the hell does that mean, they found each other?”
Spock looked as if he would shrug. “Their minds were immediately discovered to be superbly compatible. They recognised each other as a mate. When they surfaced from the meld, they were already partially bonded.”
Jim wanted to ask about this bonding crap, but refrained. There was only so much he could take in before he burnt out. But, still... still there were things that demanded clarification.
“And your mom is where now?”
“She lives on Vulcan with my father.”
Jim refused to express his surprise. He’d already looked ridiculous enough for one day, even for him. “Vulcan is habitable for humans.”
“Indeed.”
“And she decided to live there.”
“Yes.”
Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. “And did she do anything with that info-dump your dad gave her?”
Spock pursed his lips slightly and glanced to the side. “She did not. She became rather adamant that she return home with my father and begin a new life with him. My mother was unhappy with her familial circumstances on Earth.”
“More criteria of an ideal candidate?” Jim asked with a wan smile.
Spock quirked a brow. “Affirmative.”
This was all a little much, a little soon. Jim only felt lucky that he’d been in more overwhelming situations than this and had handled them with his usual tactless self-assurance. That could be his only crutch right now.
Jim put on his most unimpressed face. “So what you’re saying is that you basically stalk a person from space, find out their life story, then come down and bait them with promises of a better future, download some shit into their head , and - what - ride off into the sunset?”
Spock looked mildly irked, like Jim was a stain he didn’t know how to remove. “I do not believe you have properly grasped our intentions.”
“Yeah, well it’s not like you’ve been the most linear narrator of all time today.”
Jim pushed off the table and used his momentum to get up in Spock’s personal space. Spock didn’t take a step back and Jim only narrowed his eyes. “So, what happens if the person doesn’t want what you have to offer? What then?”
“There exists different protocol for specific situations and individuals.”
“That was a not-answer. You’re good at those.” Jim licked his lower lip and jutted his chin out. “Let’s say you’ve got this total genius whose windows you’ve been peering through for God knows how long. You finally get around to making your contact and he flips out. But you really need him. You think he’s going to make all the difference in the world. What then, Spock?”
Spock hardly even paused before he said, “We would utilise a mind meld to input the data, and afterward, we would erase his memory of us, leaving only the pertinent information in his subconscious for him to discover in his own time.”
Jim’s chest felt tight and his face grew hot. “Are you fucking serious?” he rasped. Without warning he placed his hands on Spock’s chest and pushed. “You would just violate a person’s brain like that without any guilt?”
Spock’s eyes went cold and hard as marbles. “As I have iterated, the procedure is harmless.”
“And wrong. Not even like gray-area wrong, but totally fucking creepy,” Jim snarled. “It’s one thing to get permission for this sort of alien shit, but to just waltz in to the only privacy a person has left in life is sick, man.”
Jim’s pitch and speed of speech was quickening and he could do nothing to slow it as he shoved his face into Spock’s.
“And this is why you’re here, right - to potentially mind-rape someone? Who is it? Me? Because you’re such as fuck not going near my brain, Sylar.”
Spock’s nostrils flared. “Due to the unfortunate instance of my arrival on the planet, my assigned human is unavailable to me. The mission has gone awry and I have aborted it. As for your brain, Mr. Kirk, I have already expressed my disinterest for what it might hold for me.”
So, that was everything. This was not nearly as entertaining as the movies.
Jim laughed hollowly. “You’re an asshole.” He swept past Spock, sure to bump his iron shoulder as he marched from the room.
Refusing to give Spock the satisfaction of hearing Jim’s office door slam, he shut it quietly, and turned towards the plethora of notes and research spread across the room and table and desk. With a single word, Spock could have given him the answer to everything Jim desired.
He could have patented the design, sold the mysterious alloy for exorbitant amounts of money, paid off his family’s debts, and finally enrolled in MIT or something.
But that wasn’t for Jim. Not only was Spock never planning on telling him - the only reason he’d mentioned it was to catch Jim’s attention - but Jim didn’t want it.
He was a Kirk. Being a Kirk meant you worked hard, earned your keep, and were proud of yourself even when others weren’t. You did what you had to do, and as long as you were happy with yourself at the end of the day that was what mattered.
With that in mind, Jim shoved Spock from his mind and anchored himself in his work. The thing that kept him sane when certain things and people were driving him insane.
When he re-emerged from the room it was sometime past midnight and Jim had a crick in his neck that would mean a painful, stiff night of sleep. If Jim was going to be able to sleep at all.
Jim didn’t feel guilty for what he’d said or how he’d reacted - okay, maybe he’d been a bit dramatic, but he was a Kirk, after all. But he did feel drained and kind of... sad that he couldn’t just bust into Spock’s bedroom, and lay at the foot of the bed until he passed out to the sounds of Spock breathing. He didn’t do it every night by any means, but it had been nice to know that he could. Sometimes it was just comforting to be with someone.
With a numb mind and body, Jim trudged up the stairs, nearly tripping over Gumby on the top landing. Gumby scrambled to his feet and looked at him with that little high-pitched whine that told Jim even the dog knew something was amiss - and Gumby was about as intelligent as a goldfish.
“It’s okay, boy,” Jim murmured soothingly, his eyes already half-shut. He ruffled Gumby’s ears on the way to the guest bedroom he was occupying. “Mommy and Daddy still love you very much, even if they’re getting a divorce.”
It was meant as a joke - for whom? The dog? But when Jim realised that Spock could definitely hear into the hall, Jim uttered a choking noise and dashed to his own room, slamming the door behind him.
With a few muttered self-deprecating remarks, Jim yanked off his t-shirt and tossed it to the floor. He was tugging on his flannel pyjama bottoms in front of the window when he spotted something on the glass and froze.
Jim whimpered - he legitimately made a girl’s noise when he saw the large, imposing spider idly chilling on the glass. Inside Jim’s fucking house.
Ignoring the goosebumps that had graced nearly every inch of his skin, Jim took a step back, muttering to himself, “Kill it kill it, oh my god kill it.”
Of course Jim couldn’t, because he was too busy slowly backing away in hopes that he didn’t alarm the spider.
And then the unthinkable happened.
It jumped on him. Fucking hopped on his chest like the very devil himself, if he were a jumping spider.
Jim didn’t scream - not really - it was more the high-pitched keen that only Flipper and Lassie could hear as he slapped as his torso, and swept the eight-legged hell-beast off of himself and onto the bedspread.
He was looking around the room for, like, a broom - something that would involve killing the spider but not actually going near it - when Spock burst through the door with his eyes wide.
“Jim, are you well?”
“What?” Jim stared dumbly at Spock, who was wearing one of Jim’s shirts with a large Pi printed on the front and Budweiser flannel pyjamas bottoms that Jim never thought Spock would actually wear.
Jim swallowed, his eyes darting from Spock to the bedspread. “Yeah Spock, I’m - uh - I’m all right.”
For fuck’s sake, don’t mention that you’re scared of spiders.
Spock took a tentative step towards Jim. “You do not appear so. I heard you utter a rather inhuman noise.”
“Oh, that.” Jim giggled out of pure nerves. “It’s nothing - just a little surprise. A spider, that’s all.”
Spock raised his brow. “An arachnid?”
“Yes, well, it was a jumping spider, Spock.” Jim realised he was currently topless and although that was really no big thing, he promptly folded his arms across his chest.
Spock appeared unperturbed by the nudity. He actually looked more concerned than anything. Jim must have looked really pathetic. “Where is it, Jim?”
Jim gestured with his head. He didn’t even want to look. “The bedspread.”
“I will capture it and set it free outside,” Spock replied with a finality that surprised Jim.
“Can’t you just kill it?” Jim asked, probably a bit too plaintively.
Spock sent Jim an admonishing look, and they almost felt normal together. “No. I would not harm another being unless it was completely necessary.”
“Oh.” Jim watched as Spock took an errant sheet of junk mail and brought it over to coax the spider on to.
Jim leaned forward to peer at the progress when the spider fucking jumped on him again. Jim yelped and stumbled backwards in his attempt to swat the spider free with whatever dignity he had left. The little beast was flung to the floor, and before Jim could even run to the other side of the room and jump out the window or something Spock had picked up a shoe and crushed it in one loud smack.
For a weirdly extended span of time they were silent - yeah, another one of those quiet moments that Jim was starting to think meant more than he had first assumed - and it was Jim who spoke first.
“Uh, I thought you wanted to keep it alive. Released into the wild and stuff.”
Spock swallowed and straightened his posture, concentrating more on Jim’s forehead than anything. The apples of his cheeks coloured faintly. “The arachnid was posing a threat and you were in distress. I would not allow that to continue.”
“Ah...” Jim used all of his willpower not to smile - which he realised was actually kind of difficult even when he was meant to be upset with Spock.
“Well, thanks anyway for abandoning your bug-murdering morals for me. I’m kind of irrationally weird about it because of this one time I was in Boy Scouts, and a jumping spider leapt onto my face and tried to scurry into my nose. I was never the same after that, let me tell you.”
Wow Jimmy, cool story - tell another one, you charming prince.
Spock was pressing his lips together tightly, his gaze darting between Jim’s face and the door. He couldn’t have been clearer that he wanted to leave right now. Jim couldn’t blame him, after today. It was now obvious why Spock had been reluctant to share anything of his mission with Jim.
Thinking on it, the entire situation was a lot greyer than Jim had previously imagined. Not that he agreed with it any more than he did before - just, he forgot what kind of culture Spock came from. Their morals wouldn’t be similar to Jim’s, or to anyone on this planet’s, really.
Jim couldn’t just yell and expect Spock and his pals to get the message. Who knew how long they had been operating like this. They’d obviously had time to think it through and decide on this particularly course of action, no matter how shady Jim considered it to be.
Of course Jim wasn’t going to just leave it this way. He had a chance to make some kind of difference here. Maybe change Spock’s outlook and start the ball rolling with whatever Vulcans would be willing to hear Spock out.
Jim had his own mission now. He could change things. He was nothing if not obnoxiously tenacious.
Spock uttered a short huff of breath that caught his attention, just in time for him to note Spock’s gaze tracing Jim’s bare shoulders. Spock’s voice was unusually rough. “You may... you may take refuge in my room until I have disposed of the remains. If you are amenable to the suggestion,” the last words rushed out like Spock was expecting Jim to shut a door in his face.
This time Jim couldn’t hold back his sunny smile. “Yeah? Okay, thanks! I’ll just - wait no, I need my Snuggie,” Jim mumbled as he snatched up his hideous fleece blanket and hurried by Spock.
As Jim brushed by he thought he heard Spock hum a small noise at the back of his throat, but Jim was already out in the hall and barging into the master bedroom before he could analyse it.
Jim flopped on to the large bed with a sigh, with his head on the pillow and his body and face haphazardly covered by his Snuggie. Before he could start fussing and fretting over the drama of the day, Jim promptly passed out into oblivion.
Seconds - minutes - some time later, Jim’s slumber was infringed by the lurching of a weight upon the mattress, as someone leaned in towards him.
Weaving in and out of that hazy fog of exhaustion, Jim only caught, “- upset with me.”
Jim scrunched up his face in displeasure, and his heavy lips managed to form a short shush. He flung out a hand and ended up dropping it none-too-gently on what felt like Spock’s slightly stubbly cheek.
“Slup.” Jim ordered Spock to sleep, and went under before he could hear a reply.
Chapter Seven