We Are Gonna Be Friends: Year Three
2239 late summer
The first time Jim sees his friend again is the Saturday before school starts up for the fall. He's hiding in the long grass at the end of the meadow, just like he has every day this summer, and ignoring his mother's calls to come in. He's chewing intently on a stem of wild onion and absently scratching a chigger when he sees that head of dark straight hair floating toward him through the rolling sea of prairie stems, like a buoy on a bay. It takes a second to register fully, but as soon as it does Jim is off like a shot, bare feet stampeding beneath him.
“Spock!!” Jim flings himself full on at the older boy, trusting the Vulcan's superior strength to keep them upright. He wraps himself around Spock's shoulders gleefully, pressing himself tightly against his friend. Spock's arms grip around him instinctively, steadying both of them against the rush of momentum, but Jim can feel an instant later how the older boy pulls back, tensing and beginning to push some space between them. At first he clutches tighter, but a moment later he releases, and steps back in confusion.
“Spock! Why didn't you tell me you were back?” Jim looks down, shuffles a bare toe in the dirt. “I... missed you.” A flush runs up his sunburned neck, settling in the tops of his small round ears.
Spock is taller, and even paler than when he left. Jim can see the traces of green twisting beneath the skin of his neck, his temple, as he pulls himself infinitesimally more ramrod straight.
“Greetings, Jim. You appear to be in good health.” His tone is crisp and clear. “It would have been illogical to inform you of my very recent return, as I would no doubt encounter you on Monday at our mutual school.” His round dark eyes blink owlishly at Jim, his pointed eyebrows drawing infinitesimally closer to the bridge of his nose.
“But…” Jimmy can feel his face fall. He takes a step back, and clutches his hands together behind his back. “But… didn’t you want to see me? You’ve been gone for months…”
“It is more logical, upon returning from a prolonged absence, to apply oneself to such necessary tasks as unpacking, and setting one’s living space in order.” Spock’s voice is firm, steady. “Particularly since I knew that I would see you at our mutual school in two days, it would have been illogical to expend time upon seeking you out and engaging you in small talk, when I should instead be preparing for the imminent beginning of the school year.”
Jimmy sits down with a thump in the long grass. From this angle Spock looks impossibly tall and alien, looming over him like a pale statue. His brown eyes, so human in their expressions, are clear and unmoved. Jimmy examines his filthy shoelaces instead, winding them around his fingers.
“So how come you’re out here, then?” His voice is just this side of pouty, but he decides he doesn’t care. The knot in his laces is covered in burrs, which he picks off one by one.
“Mother suggested that it would be socially beneficial to attempt to make at least a cursory contact with you.” There is the slightest of frowns in Spock’s voice, the smallest hint of confusion. “However, I believe I shall now return to the house, and continue my structured review of last years subject matter.” He nods briefly, sharply. “I shall see you Monday morning.”
He turns and walks away, black robes parting the prairie longstems in a slicing wave. Jimmy watches him go.
He sits in the grass until it is dark, then picks himself up and goes home.
Sunday morning dawns bright and hot, the thermometer outside the kitchen window cresting past 80 degrees by 8 am. Jimmy’s mom has already set herself up on the porch with a cooler of ice, some leftover tonic water, and a bottle of gin. The holovid is showing a marathon of her favorite show today, and she has declared her intention to be undisturbed today, I mean it boys. Sam has turned twelve and taken to sleeping in as long as possible, which Jimmy just finds dumb.
Jimmy is bored.
He’d gone to bed early last night, and had lain awake replaying the conversation with Spock over and over again. Spock couldn’t have really meant it. Could he? Did he not want to see Jimmy? Why wouldn’t he want to see Jimmy? Did he still like Jimmy? Did he do something wrong?
No, he had finally decided, after tossing and turning for some time, it must just be because of being on Vulcan for so long. He’d been Vulcanized, Jimmy thought, and giggled to himself. Surely he’d be fine in the morning, and everything would be back just like it was before Spock had left.
This morning the whole thing seemed far away and silly; of course Spock would be glad to see him. They were best friends, weren’t they? He whistled through the gaps of his missing teeth as he fetched himself breakfast, managing to pour the last of the milk onto his cereal without spilling. He’d even gotten two purple spaceship marshmallows in his bowl today- surely it was a good sign.
He finished eating, abandoning the comics holo to the rest of the mess on the table before changing his shirt, brushing his teeth, and heading out the door. It was early, but he was just sure Spock would be up and excited to see him.
He did remember to knock politely at the back door before pushing it open, but it hardly mattered- Amanda swept him into a massive hug as soon as he got a toe over the doorframe, swinging him around as he squealed before depositing him back on the tile and pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. Her eyes danced as she stepped back and looked him over.
“Jimmy! You’re huge! Look at you!” She grinned, her teeth glinting white in the morning sun. Jimmy grinned back, bouncing on his toes with glee. She turns him around and points him toward the stairs, giving him a playful swat on the backside as he passes. “Go find Spock- he’s upstairs being impossible.” She laughs and turns back to the sink, her voice muted as Jimmy begins to climb.
Spock looks up when he enters the room, and at the serious look on his face Jimmy can feel his smile shrink a notch or two.
“Hey Spock.” He waits cautiously in the doorway. “Whatcha doin?”
Spock regards him silently for a moment, before closing his book and facing him.
“I am currently engaged in running fuel conversion calculations between Andorrian and Federation standard specifications.” He blinks, and pushes his dark framed glasses up his nose. “Was there something about which you wished to see me?”
Jimmy swallows, unsure quite how to address this newly formal version of his friend.
“Umm… I thought maybe we could go play? Jump out of the hayloft? Swim in the pond?” He forces himself to stand up straight, and pulls out his extra big smile with the teeth that usually gets him what he wants.
Spock’s gaze is stern, and Jimmy quails inwardly.
“Jim. It has been brought to my attention that I am too old for such childish pursuits. It is more fitting that I apply myself to more appropriate scholastic and recreational activities at this time.”
Jimmy feels his stomach drop to his knees. He was right the first time- this stranger wants nothing to do with him. He nods once, not trusting his voice. The doorknob is cool under his hand as he turns to go.
“Jim. Wait…”
The look on Spock’s face is almost repentant when Jimmy turns to look.
“I have recently been given the gift of a game more appropriate to my age and abilities.” There is a hopeful light in Spock’s eyes, and Jimmy lets his hand fall from the knob.
“Perhaps, if you are willing…” Spock sounds almost unsure, but then he meets Jimmy’s eyes, and the corners of his mouth quirk just the tiniest bit. “Perhaps I could teach you to play chess?”
2239 fall
It’s nearly eight o’clock, and Jim is starting to get impatient. The spandex of his costume itches, and though it’s already more than worth it, if the reaction he got from Spock’s mom is any indication, he’s starting to get impatient. Who knew sequins could be so hot?
“Spock! Hurry up! All the good candy is going to be gonnnneee!!”
He can hear a rustling at the top of the stairs, and begins to bounce in place. Spock refused to tell him what his costume was, but it’s Spock, so whatever it is, Jim is sure it’s flawlessly executed. Amanda is hovering, camera pad in hand. Spock hasn’t told her, either, Jim can tell. Jim looks down to scratch beneath the white glove on his hand, and when he looks up, Spock is coming down the stairs. Or, at least, he assumes that it must be Spock underneath the frock coat and white cottonball wig.
The figure has reached the bottom of the stairs, and Jim can feel his mouth hanging open. Spock looks like he walked out of a painting, but Jim’s not clear on which one- something from his history textbook, he thinks, in one of the extra-boring sections. His eyes lock with Amanda’s, her expression displaying a similar level of befuddlement. She takes a breath, then chimes in brightly.
“Spock, honey, that’s an absolutely incredible costume, but, sweetie…” There is a slight pause, “who exactly are you supposed to be?”
Spock straightens himself, wig twitching with the gesture. His lips are red, not their usual pistachio, and Jim thinks he must have powdered his face, too. Spock raises his hand, which Jim now can see is clutching some sort of antiquated metal measuring device. He raises an eyebrow, seemingly surprised that it is not immediately obvious.
“Gallileo, Mother.”
Amanda makes a noise that is awfully close to a snort, covering her mouth quickly with her hand, her eyes seeking Jim’s in desperation. Jim can’t help himself, and begins to snicker. He feels bad immediately, because Spock is making that unhappy look he gets sometimes when he knows there’s a joke happening that he doesn’t get, or when he can see his mother and his best friend being human together without him.
“Is it not the purpose of this holiday to dress in costume in order to request sugary handouts from neighbors?”
Amanda controls herself remarkably quickly, coming over to Spock and straightening a lapel of the brocade jacket.
“Yes, dear, that is the purpose.”
“Then why are you so amused?” Spock stares at them both balefully.
“Well, dear,” Amanda is moving behind Spock, arranging the wig over his shoulders, and Jim is sure it’s so Spock can’t see the look on her face, “generally, the idea is to dress up as something… scary, or exciting, or unusual. A zombie, or a robot, or princess, or something like that. But Gallileo” and here Jim can’t help himself, and begins to snicker again, “Gallileo is an excellent choice”.
Spock sniffs, and rakes Jim with his eyes. He is mollified, but only slightly, and the continuing guffaws from his jumpsuit-clad friend are not improving the situation.
“If you could clarify, Mother,” he raises an eyebrow, “in what situation dressing up as Gallileo is to be considered less appropriate than appearing in public costumed as Michael Jackson?”
2239 winter
It’s well past midnight, and Jim can feel his eyelids drooping in spite of himself. He hauls himself determinedly upright in his chair, pulling the fleece blanket more closely around his shoulders, and consoling himself with the fact that Spock’s nose is nearly in his mug of hot chocolate on account of how far down his head has nodded. Jim’s mother bustles in and appraises the situation, deftly removing the mug from Spock’s hands and setting it on the table.
“Bed.” She points up the stairs.
Jim gives the obligatory groan and eyeroll, but gives in easily, spilling off the chair and heading for the staircase, blanket trailing behind him. The feet of his pajamas shuffle quietly on the wood floors, and he can hear Spock’s light tread following behind.
It is when they are tucked into his bed upstairs, quilts pulled up against the chill while frost stars pattern themselves across the window pane that Jim realizes he can’t sleep. He’s tired, his body lax and heavy between the sheets. Spock is asleep next to him, flat on his back with his arms crossed, just like always. The light from outside is bright; the moon is just past full, and it gleams off the two accumulated feet of snow like sun on water, casting a silvery pall over Spock’s still features. Jim flops over onto his stomach, burrowing into the pocket of heat his friend creates. In this light Spock’s face looks especially alien, and Jim finds himself caught in the gentle blankness of his forehead, the delicate upward flex of ink-black brows. Jim’s lip catches between his teeth, and he reaches out gingerly with one stubby finger, tip of the pad hovering millimeters above hybrid skin as he traces without touch the lines of his friend’s face.
The light had been different, Jim recalls, earlier that evening, and the soft glow of the candles had gleamed in Spock’s eyes, illuminating the warm brown and making him appear more human than Jim had ever seen before. Spock had been rapt with attention- Jim’s own family was not at all devout, dragging into church only for the standard Christmas Eve and Easter services, but Spock had never been in a chuch at all. Jim should have figured he would be a sucker for it- after all, it was humans at their most ritualistic, executing exacting behaviors in a decisively logical fashion, all for a completely scientifically illogical end. Spock loved humanity in paradox, and the celebration of the Christmas Mass was perhaps the height of human inconsistency. Hope through death, birth through virginity, light shining from the darkness.
Spock had nearly smiled.
When all the lights had been extinguished, the priest lit a small taper from the lone candle on the altar, the unextinguished light of Christ, and, leaning his taper to the altar girl’s wick, allowed the flame to leap from taper to taper, two lights from one, spreading through the crowd as flame passed from person to person to person. When Spock turned to him, his small candle flickering in his grasp, Jim had touched his own unlit wick to Spock’s flame, body resonating with all the unexpected joy radiating from Spock’s human eyes.
Jim let his head fall to the pillow, hooking an arm over Spock’s chest, and shoving his nose into his shoulder. Spock shifted quietly, one hand drifting down to hold where Jim’s hand tucked under his side, murmured something in Vulcan. In a few hours they would get up. Jim would give Spock the brand new circuit soldering iron he’d saved up all his allowance for and wrapped in star-covered tissue paper. They would eat pancakes. But for now, he would sleep.
2240 early spring
It is cold; Jim is puffing breath clouds into the morning air while Spock does his very best not to expose any more skin to the sharp wind than is absolutely necessary. If he could, Jim thinks, Spock would never leave the house from October to May, and if he had to go out, he would use those special thermal suits that let you work in the vacuum of space without turning into a popsicle. In this case, a spock-sicle, Jim thinks, and giggles. Actually, that would be kind of great, Jim muses as he steals a glance at Spock from the corner of his eye. Spock would totally look like a ninja in one of those suits.
The bus comes, brakes squealing as the driver steers the bus into a calculated slide on the packed snow, spraying the fresh powder onto the piled drifts. Jim and Spock climb up the stairs and take their customary seats at the back of the bus on the bench above the heater. The one day that a new girl had unthinkingly taken Spock’s spot last November, Spock had glared so ferociously that she had immediately burst into tears, running to the front of the bus and refusing to look Spock in the eye for months.
Spock huddles in the corner, cupping his hands between his knees to capture the warm air drifting up and venturing to poke his emerald nose out from beneath his scarf. Jim stares, fascinated by the color. If it wouldn’t hurt Spock, he’d cut him just to see if his blood was really as green as it seemed under the translucent surface of his skin.
Jim shifts on the bench, adjusting his Rocketboy backpack so that it lays flat across his skinny legs. He smiles to himself, thinking of the precious cargo within- 27 mini cupcakes, individually iced and sprinkled in shades of pink and red. He knew they weren’t required to give a valentine present to everyone in their class, but he just couldn’t think of anyone he wouldn’t want to give a cupcake to, and really, even if he could, it seemed just a little too mean. He might not like all the kids in his class equally, but denying someone a cupcake is serious business.
He thinks too of the separate cupcake, in its own round Tupperware container- it is a work of art, he feels, dark chocolate surrounding a butterscotch pudding center, iced in green, with a red plastic heart decal stuck in the top. He had worried that the red and green together would make it too Christmasy, but had decided that the red was preferable to the pink, so oh well. He swung his feet, heels banging into the heater, and tried not to squirm with anticipation. This was gonna be so good.
Jim tries to make it through till recess without squirming, honestly he does, and it kind of works, because he only gets in trouble twice for making too much noise. Then it’s ten minutes till break, and the teacher is telling them to put their books away, that’s it’s time (finally, Jim thinks) to pass out their valentines. Each student rummages in their desk, bringing out a shoebox decorated with hearts and cupids and their names, made in art class two weeks ago in between black construction paper profiles of Martin Luther King Jr and glitter hearts to stick in the school windows. Jim is proud of his- he was particularly careful with the glue this time, and didn’t stick anything to his box that he didn’t mean to. Now, as they get ready to go out to the playground, they are allowed to deposit their valentines in each others boxes, slowly, says the teacher, walk, don’t run. In a flurry of pink glittered chaos the girls trade their valentines, shrieking in delight- the boys are more sedate, trading robot cards and perforated edged papers with prints of comic book characters. Occasionally a braver boy or a more intrepid girl will pull away from the gendered packs and shove a valentine into the box of a swing-set sweetheart before walking as swiftly away as possible.
Jim pulls his rectangle of plastic out, and distributes his little cupcakes one by one onto his classmates’ desks. Humming with anticipation, he waits for the rest of the class to exit, then removes the other package from his bag, checking it carefully for any damage incurred in transit. It seems to have held up, so he fluffs the paper surrounding it, and meanders over to place it on Spock’s desk. He sets it in the middle, where the sun through the window will catch the gold stars he’d stamped on the tissue paper the night before. He’s proud of this, feels for once like he’s hit upon a way to show his friend that Jim likes him best, better than anybody else, better than anybody else likes him. He hopes it will always be like this, like Rocketboy and Starkid, like Batman and Robin, like Jim and Spock.
He admires his work one last time, and scurries off to find Spock for a round of tag.
When they come in after recess, the surprise on Spock’s face is obvious, and a small group of kids gathers around to ooh and aah at the cupcake left for him. Jim fairly glows with pride, though he feels suddenly shy, and doesn’t admit to being the one who left it. He’s sure Spock knows, and that’s what’s important.
His anticipation grows and grows as he waits for Spock to open it, to eat it, to turn to him and tell him that he’s the best friend ever for giving him this most magnificent of cupcakes. But Spock’s face is blank, and he carefully sets the package on the floor beside his desk, where he proceeds to ignore it for the rest of the day.
Jimmy gets in trouble over and over again during the rest of the afternoon because he can’t sit still and leave Spock alone. Finally he’s sent to the principal’s office, where he sits morosely on a chair and bangs his feet against the wall until the end of the day. He can’t figure out what’s wrong- all he wanted was to make Spock happy, but the look on Spock’s face had been more aghast than appreciative. Who looks aghast at a cupcake?
The bell shrieks shrilly over his head, and he grabs his pack before flinging himself into the mass of students careening down the hallway. The mob eases, and he makes it outside, scanning the crowd furiously for the tell-tale cap of black hair. He’s just in time to see Spock slam shut the passenger door of his mother’s car as she pulls out into traffic- Wednesdays, piano lessons. Jimmy groans aloud, clutching his jacket as he begins to shiver.
He rides the bus home alone.
He’s lying on his stomach on his bed when he hears the knock at his door. He pauses, then ignores it and continues to fly his model rocket over the landscape of his pillow.
“Houston, come in. Houston, calling Houston, we have a problem.”
The rocket nears his pillow, shaking with atmospheric forces. The knock sounds again, louder this time.
“Mayday, Houston, Mayday! We’re in a dive and we can’t pull out! Landing gear inoperable! Thrusters jammed! We’re going downaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!”
The rocket crashes into his pillow, bounces, rolls, and falls to rest on the floor. He regards it for a moment, catching his breath, then turns to see Spock standing in his doorway, watching him with his serious dark eyes.
“Go away.” Jim rolls onto his side, presenting his back to the door. He’s feeling sore about Spock, and he’s annoyed that he even cares. Sam would think he’s a bloody pansy for baking another boy a cupcake, and he’s starting to think he might agree. What does he care about Spock, anyway?
The bed shifts as Spock comes around and settles at his feet.
“I said go ‘way” Jim mumbles, hiding his face in his pillow.
There is a silence that stretches long and uncomfortable. Jim refuses to break it. If Spock is bothered, he can just leave.
“Jim…” Spock’s voice is soft. “I feel like I need to apologize.”
Jim pricks his ear, but keeps his face firmly planted in the cloth.
“After some discussion with my mother, I have come to realize that I have overreacted to your gesture.” He shifts on the foot of the bed. “I did not like being the center of public attention.”
Jim lay silent.
Spock sighs. “On Vulcan, it is not appropriate to single another person out because of emotional regard. It shows a lack of control, an inappropriate attachment. I understand that this is very nearly the opposite of the purpose of Valentine’s day…” he pauses for a moment, “…but I had not expected to be picked out for any attention. I was caught off guard, and responded badly. I am sorry for any upset I may have caused to you as a result of my actions.” He slides over until his hip is pressed against Jim’s ankles. Jim can feel the heat of his friend’s body against his skin. “Jim, I know what my mother says your intentions were. But it is illogical to accept speculation in place of actual truth.” His voice is quiet. “What was your intent?”
There a moment, then Jim sits up, leaning forward to sit side by side with Spock, tangling his hands together between his knees.
“I just… I just…” He thinks for a second. “I just wanted to show that you’re my friend.” He hangs his head. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just… like you best.” He shrugs helplessly. He can’t think of any other way to explain the way he feels about Spock, the way he gets excited to see him, the way he can’t wait to tell him anything that happens to him, the way he can’t help but smile any time he catches sight of Spock from across the room. “I just wanted to show we’re friends.”
Spock is frowning seriously. Jim can nearly hear the gears spinning in his head.
“Jim. We are friends.” He looks perplexed. “How could anyone think otherwise? We work together, we study together, we spend nearly all our time together. How does giving me a cupcake say anything about us that is not already clear?” He turns to look Jim in the eye, his forehead wrinkled.
“Jim. We are friends.”
Jim smiles and leans against him.
“Yeah…”
“Jim?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for the cupcake.”
Though I Hear You Calling...
Though I hear you calling, I will not answer
Though I hear you calling, I will not answer
And the sun may shine right through your tooth, dear
And the wind may blow right through my ear
Though I hear you calling, I will not answer
Oh, I hear you calling, no I will not answer
I broke your code
And I broke your code
Come on hit me
Yeah, yeah
I will not answer, yeah
Though I hear you calling, no I will not answer
The sun may shine out to your mouth, dear
And the wind may blow right through my ear
Though I hear you calling, oh, I will not answer
Though I hear you calling, but I will not answer
Calling and I broke your code
I will not answer
Though I hear you calling, I will not answer (echoing)
Though I hear you calling, but I will not answer (echoing)
And I will not answer and I broke your code
Uhmmm Broke your code
Yeah uhmmm
Though I hear you calling... And the sun is shining
I will not answer ...Right through your tooth, dear.