Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3434735.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek:_Alternate_Original_Series_(Movies), Star_Trek_(2009)
  Relationship:
      James_T._Kirk/Spock
  Character:
      Spock, James_T._Kirk, Winona_Kirk, George_Samuel_Kirk, T'Pau_(Star_Trek),
      Christopher_Pike, Leonard_McCoy, Nyota_Uhura
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Warning:_some
      underage_shenanigans, Warning:_minor_character_death_(OC), Warning:
      blink-and-you'll-miss-it_dubcon, First_Time, warning:_plot, Teen!Jim,
      Teen!Spock
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-25 Updated: 2015-02-27 Chapters: 2/? Words: 22499
****** Aurora ******
by kianspo
Summary
     When Spock's parents die suddenly, his mom's old school friend Winona
     Kirk is appointed his legal guardian. Spock grows up in Iowa with the
     Kirks. Essentially, this is Star Trek meets Sabrina.
Notes
     The first chapters of this story were posted a few years back on LJ.
     At the time, it looked like this was all there is, but recently I had
     a chance to look it over, and when I saw how little there was left to
     finish, I felt motivated to do it and decided to post it here in
     full. I'll be putting up chapters as soon as they become available.
     Here, not on tumblr, although you're welcome to say hi... ;)
     Everything but the first chapter is unbetaed.
     Jim and Spock are both fourteen when this story starts. I made them
     the same age for plot convenience.
***** Earth *****
Aurora is the Roman goddess of dawn
--
EARTH
--
“Come on, Spock, it’s gonna be awesome!” Jim nudges him toward the house
impatiently. “Kelly’s parents are out of town; she and Gill have the house all
to themselves. Sweet, huh? Mom would never leave us alone like this.”
There’s definite wistfulness in Jim’s tone, but Spock mentally shudders.
Winona’s adamant response every time Jim asks her to surrender their house to a
bunch of 14-year-olds might be a huge disappointment to her blood-son, but
Spock is actually relieved. Not that he’s foolish enough to tell Jim that.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go, Jim,” Spock repeats yet again, eyeing the house
apprehensively. The sound of music and exuberant voices is incredibly loud even
at a distance, and Spock is preemptively out of breath thinking about what
might greet him inside.
“Spock, don’t start.”
“But I wasn’t even invited.”
“It’s a school party! No one gets invited – people just turn up. Come on, don’t
be like that. You’re with me, remember?”
Indeed, it’s hard to forget when Jim’s hand is clenched around Spock’s wrist in
an iron grip, tugging him forward. Stomping on his own misgivings, Spock
surrenders to the inevitable.
It’s mostly his own fault anyway. When Jim mentioned another party and asked if
Spock wasn’t even the tiniest bit curios about them, Spock made the mistake of
saying yes. He was immediately roped into going, and all his protests about not
being part of Jim’s circle were swept out of the way like they were nothing.
Jim didn’t really understand about circles because he was welcome everywhere.
Spock tried to find an ally in Winona, but she just looked at him critically
and sided with Jim for once, saying that it might do Spock some good to get out
of the house. Spock grumbled, but finally conceded.
A decision he is regretting more and more the closer they get to the source of
all the commotion, the silhouettes of their classmates hanging out on the porch
inducing Spock with a dim sense of unease. He protests most fervently when Jim
teases him for developing human intuition, but he can’t deny the growing
trepidation he feels.
“Hi, Kells!” Jim waves cheerfully at the girl standing by the steps, sipping
dark liquid from a tall glass. “Looks like full house, huh?”
She turns to look at him, and her face lights up. “Jimmy! I was afraid you
forgot!”
Jim laughs. “How could I have forgotten, beautiful?”
Kelly beams at him and stands on her toes to kiss his cheek when she catches
sight of Spock. She pulls away from Jim with a frown. “What’s he doing here?”
Without looking, Jim reaches back to grab Spock’s hand again. “Spock decided to
finally join the land of the living. Isn’t it great?”
“Fantastic,” Kelly drawls in a tone that suggests anything but. “Jim, can I
talk to you for a second?”
She pulls him aside, and, because Jim’s hand is still holding Spock’s, Spock
gets dragged along with them, despite his attempts to free himself.
Kelly narrows an irritated glance at him. “Look, could you maybe give us some
privacy? Thanks.”
Spock jerks his hand back more forcefully this time, even as Jim scowls, and
walks away, trying to put some distance between them. The girl starts speaking
hurriedly, obviously forgetting about Vulcan hearing.
“Look, Jim, you can’t seriously bring him here. I mean, look at him. He’s like
my grandpa when he wasn’t my grandpa, you know what I mean? He wears winter
clothes, for God’s sake, and he smells funny, and his hair is godawful, and
that nose can’t appear on any of the holos. I hired Doug Stanton for tonight;
he’s gonna write in his column how this is the hottest party in town. I can’t
let him ruin it!”
Spock has actually stumbled somewhere in the middle of that speech, knowing
that his face is burning and trying very hard to control his breathing. He is
indeed wearing thick pants and a woolen turtleneck when everyone else is
sporting jeans and shorts, but he’s not shy, he’s just cold. Iowan spring is
far too freezing for his growing body that is torn between human and Vulcan
responses. Two very different genomes are waging war inside him, fighting for
dominance, and Spock understands how it could have an unfortunate effect on his
appearance.
Until tonight, though, he’s never understood exactly how unfortunate it is.
He’s Vulcan, at least in half, and he knows that his mother was one of the
smartest, brightest human minds ever to exist, so Spock understands that true
beauty has nothing to do with the physical. Strangely, the thought doesn’t make
him feel any better right now.
“Wow,” Jim says icily. “I didn’t realize you were such a stupid bitch, Kelly.”
Jim doesn’t bother lowering his voice. Unlike Kelly, he hasn’t forgotten the
range of Spock’s hearing, having been familiar with it since they were both six
years old.
“Jim!” Kelly sputters. “That was uncalled for!”
Spock can see how it can come as a surprise. Jim is usually all flirting charm
and undisguised flattery where girls are concerned.
“Was it now,” Jim drawls sarcastically. “Whatever. Go back to your stupid
party, Kelly. And don’t worry, we’re leaving. Wouldn’t want to spoil your holo
shoot.”
“But Jim!” She grasps his arm, halting him, her face registering open alarm.
“You have to stay!”
“What am I, your star or something?” Jim sneers. “Sorry. If Spock’s not
welcome, neither am I.”
“Wait!” Kelly bites her lip, smudging her glowing lipstick. Her eyes dart
between Jim and Spock, as she searches frantically for a way out. “Look, we can
maybe disguise him or something – or! Or maybe if he stays upstairs—”
“Goodnight, Kelly.” Jim walks past her, a thunderous expression on his face as
he grabs Spock by the shoulder and tugs him on.
“Jim, wait,” Spock says quietly, planting his feet solidly into the ground.
“You don’t have to leave.”
Jim scowls. “Sure I do.”
“No.” Spock leans closer, aware of Kelly and her friends watching them. He
lowers his voice even more. “What about Pauline? You were supposed to meet her
inside, weren’t you?”
Jim blinks, he obviously has forgotten, but Spock didn’t. Jim has been talking
about the girl for two weeks non-stop, and while this is hardly his first
crush, Spock had yet to see him quite so invested.
“She is here,” Spock tells him. “I saw her through the window.”
Which is true. Spock saw Pauline in the middle of the living room. She wore the
shortest skirt Spock has seen to date and a glimmering tank top that seemed two
sizes too small. Spock has seen the way Jim reacts to Pauline at school and he
is certain that Jim would not want to miss this.
But Jim shakes his head. “I’ll hook up with her some other time.”
He starts walking again, but Spock holds him back.
“Jim,” he says meeting his eyes. “You don’t have to leave on my account. I will
have no difficulty finding a means of transportation—”
Jim rolls his eyes impatiently. “Spock, this isn’t about fucking
transportation, okay?”
Spock holds his gaze determinedly. “I will not take offense, Jim. I did not
wish to go in the first place.”
“Yeah, you did,” Jim says bitterly. “But those idiots...” He kicks a stray
stone with his foot angrily.
“Jim—”
“No, Spock.” Jim’s jaw clenches, forming a stubborn line, signaling that he
won’t be moved. He grips Spock’s shoulders and shakes him slightly. “You’re
awesome, okay? I’d much rather spend the evening with you than with those
imbeciles.” He glares at the house. “And I’m not setting foot into another one
of those stupid parties till they beg you to come on their knees!”
Spock blinks. Despite everything, his lips twitch with amusement at the
ferocity of Jim’s declaration.
“That might be a long time, Jim,” he says carefully, as if talking to someone
slow.
Jim senses his mood at once and snorts. “Their loss.” He presses his forehead
hard against Spock’s for a moment. “You’re my brother, and I won’t let anyone
give you shit, okay? And for the record, your hair is awesome.”
He pulls back and ruffles it, grinning. Spock ducks out of reach, fighting back
a smile; the familiarity of their usual antics is soothing.
They walk back toward the road, Spock trying to maintain his distance and Jim
closing it again, brushing their shoulders or elbows or plain simply bumping
into Spock. Spock knows it for what it is – Jim’s clumsy attempt to show
comfort and solidarity – and doesn’t put a stop to it like he usually would.
Jim is mounting his bike, when a group of his friends arrive – Brian, John, and
Parker, and some other boys one year Jim’s senior, all of whom nevertheless
consider him cool enough to be associated with. They all yell some kind of
greeting at him, and Jim merely nods. When someone shouts that they have beer,
Jim yells back, “Good for you!” and waves them off.
“Jim,” Spock starts again hesitantly, not taking the helmet Jim is pushing at
him. “Maybe you—”
Jim swivels around and glares at him, hard enough for Spock to swallow further
protests.
Spock notices they aren’t going toward the farm halfway into it, but Jim
ignores his shouted questions. By the time Jim pulls over at the mall, though,
the answer becomes self evident.
“I thought we were going home?” Spock asks, sliding off the bike and securing
the helmet.
“Nah.” Jim grins. “We’re supposed to spend the night out, so we’re damn well
spending it out. Come on, didn’t you want to see Legends of Creation?”
“I did, but Jim, didn’t you want to invite Pauline? I could go another time by
myself—”
Jim actually growls and backs Spock up against the bike, hands trapping Spock’s
hips on either side, blue eyes close and blazing.
“You – won’t have – to do anything – by yourself – while I’m breathing,” Jim
grits out vehemently. “Got it?”
Spock blinks and nods carefully, transfixed by Jim’s burning stare. The tension
between them is palpable, making it hard to draw a breath.
It occurs to Spock suddenly that Jim is taking the whole situation much closer
to heart than Spock himself. Certainly, Kelly’s remarks and her refusal to let
him in hurt him, but the sting didn’t make him ring with fury the way Jim is
now. Spock doesn’t understand this, wants to explain to Jim that while he
didn’t enjoy it, it doesn’t actually bother him so much, that he has other
interests and pursuits and is quite happy with the way things are. Something
tells him though that now is a bad time to attempt this conversation.
Jim is too close, and, used as Spock is to his proximity, there’s something
different about it now. His heart racing, Spock can feel something shift at the
back of his mind, almost like a physical sensation, and he’s suddenly afraid to
breathe out, or swallow, or even blink. Always a multitasker, a part of his
mind is trying even now to calculate the exact amount of time he can spend
without oxygen, but the result doesn’t make sense, seems impossible...
Abruptly, Jim steps back, eyes averted, lips pressed into a stubborn line. He’s
flushed, probably with anger, and Spock knows that his own face is burning,
too. They don’t say a word to each other as they make their way into the
theater.
Halfway through the movie, though, they become sufficiently distracted by
what’s happening in the holochamber before them to begin their usual exchange
of comments and jokes. Spock’s snide remarks would make Jim laugh, they always
do, and Spock tries just a little harder this time, lays a little heavier on
the sarcasm, because he feels that Jim needs it. They both need to feel like
themselves again.
Jim’s mood has improved spectacularly after the movie, and he drags Spock into
the shooting range, laughing and challenging him for best score. Standing back-
to-back in their pod, they methodically eliminate gold and blue spots floating
in the chamber around them and get so involved in one-upping one another that
miss when they set a new record. The proprietor presents them with
complimentary chips to the nearest ice cream parlor, and Jim laughs when
Spock’s politeness earns them an extra helping of everything from the ice cream
lady.
“I’d ask how we are even related,” Jim manages, his eyes dancing, “but then I’d
remember we actually aren’t.”
Spock gives him an indulgent smile. “I console myself with that notion every
day, Jim.”
Jim smirks and leans over to steal a bite from Spock’s cone. Spock lifts an
eyebrow. “Very mature.”
Jim grins. “You bet.”
By the time they get home, they are both tired, but buzzing with contentment.
Well, Jim is buzzing; Spock is sort of humming. They say goodnight at the top
of the stairs, as always, and Spock turns to go, but Jim suddenly grabs at him,
pulling him into the most ferocious hug Spock has ever received.
“Jim, I cannot breathe,” he complains after a moment.
“Sorry,” Jim says, clenching his arms a little tighter before letting go.
“Just, um... Goodnight.” He stomps away, leaving Spock standing alone in the
corridor.
A note pinned above Spock’s bed reminds him that ‘Meditation is not optional.’
Spock smiles and obediently goes for his mat. Breathing, centering his mind,
Spock skims through the events of the day, sorting his emotions as a Vulcan
healer taught him so many years ago. For a moment, he even lets himself
remember the early lessons in mental disciplines, the ones he received back on
Vulcan, when his parents were still alive. He wonders, as he almost never does,
what it would have been like to grow up on Vulcan, the planet he barely
remembers by now, having consciously distanced himself from the past that seems
vague and uncertain.
It’s rare that Spock allows himself to dwell on such things. Earth has been his
reality for too long, and Jim and Winona, even Sam, are his family, and he is
grateful for them every day of his life. But sometimes, like tonight, something
would happen to remind him that he is not truly part of this world. He doesn’t
belong here, like Jim does, and maybe, deep down inside, Jim can feel it, too.
Spock goes to bed with a strange sense of longing mixed with satisfaction, and
although the nature of it isn’t clear at all, he feels like he understands.
 
--
Spock is usually the first one out of bed in the morning, but the next day, Jim
and Winona are already up when he walks into the kitchen.
“Good morning?” Spock says, glancing from one to the other.
Jim grins at him, but looks away almost instantly, blushing slightly.
“Good morning, honey.” Winona walks up to him and pulls him close, planting an
affectionate kiss on his forehead. She has to bend his head down to do that.
This is definitely not routine. While his adoptive family touches him way more
often than Spock imagines Vulcan parents would, the Kirks are not that tactile,
especially not toward him, and certainly not out of the blue.
Spock puts two and two together and frowns at Jim.
“Hey, she tortured me!” Jim throws his hands in the air.
“Lies,” Winona says dryly, pouring herself more coffee. “He woke me up to tell
me.”
Spock goes to retrieve his breakfast, ignoring both of them. He settles at the
counter, busying himself with pouring jam over his multigrain toast.
Jim makes a show of chasing a piece of bacon around his plate. Winona tries to
appear engrossed in the morning paper. The silence is becoming oppressive.
Spock sighs, looking up. “You do not need to concern yourselves,” he tells
them. “I am fine.”
“They’re all assholes anyway,” Jim blurts out readily. “If Kelly wasn’t a girl,
I would have kicked her ass.”
“Now, Jimmy, that’s just sexist,” Winona notes.
Spock surveys Jim’s face for a moment and decides that Jim deserves it.
“Indeed,” he says. “And besides, the last time you attempted to do any such
thing, your ‘ass’ was ‘handed’ to you. If I recall correctly, in quite a
spectacular fashion.”
Jim’s jaw drops as he stares at Spock, shocked at this betrayal. Winona,
predictably, drops her paper.
“Did you get into another fight at school, James?” she asks, her eyes narrowed.
“Thanks a lot, Spock,” Jim grumbles, glaring at him.
Spock is unrepentant. “I could say the same to you.”
He picks up his plate and walks out of the kitchen to finish his toast out on
the terrace, tuning out the argument he has witnessed numerous times before.
The day promises to be beautiful, and Spock takes a deep breath, the moist air
long familiar to his lungs if not exactly comfortable. Spock looks at the
endless lines of grassland stretching on toward the far horizon, shimmering
slightly in the morning breeze, and tries to imagine another terrain in its
place, dry and reddish, emanating delicious heat and hard as desert wind. He
can still remember the way it felt to step out there early in the morning,
walking between night-frozen rocks and glimmering dunes.
A door flips open and closed behind him.
“You okay?” Jim asks. “Ready to go?”
Spock turns to look at him. All of a sudden, Jim seems older somehow. More
serious. He’s standing there, holding Spock’s backpack as well as his own, and
waiting for something – something more than just Spock’s reply.
For the first time since they met, Spock cannot read him, neither his human nor
his Vulcan senses coming to his aid. Standing in direct sunlight, Spock is
suddenly cold, because the young man in front of him is closer to him than
anyone in the universe and yet, at the same time, a complete stranger, someone
Spock can’t begin to comprehend.
Jim shakes his head suddenly and smiles. “You’re thinking too loud,” he
mumbles, nudging Spock’s shoulder with his own. “Come on. We’re gonna be late.”
The spell is broken. Spock takes his bag from Jim and follows him down the
steps.
“By the way,” Jim says cheerfully. “After what you just did? No way you’re
driving.”
Spock’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t argue, giving in for once without a fight.
 
--
A thick lump of dough slides through Spock’s fingers and lands on the working
table, sending a small cloud of flour up in his face. Spock crinkles his nose,
but with both hands occupied, he can’t scratch it. He casts a wary glance at
the stove to check if the oil is ‘emitting a thin veil of smoke,’ and decides
that maybe he could up the temperature.
Done with the dough, he washes his hands and opens the fridge to fetch olives
and spinach, when he hears the front door open.
“Whoever’s home, I’m home!” comes Winona’s voice. She sounds vaguely tense, and
Spock goes to investigate.
“Hey, honey.” Winona gives him a quick smile, trying to keep her armful of
PADDs and cases from falling. “Could you give me a hand?”
Spock swiftly extracts as much as he can from her hold and transfers it safely
to the living room sofa.
“Thanks.” Winona drops her load next to his and sighs deeply. “Whew. I should
have made two trips.”
“You never do.”
She chuckles. “You’re right, I don’t.”
She presses her cheek against his for a moment, and Spock closes his eyes
briefly, receiving a momentary imprint of her mood. Winona’s tired, happy to be
home, irritated at one of her colleagues, and impatient to get back to work.
It’s a tangled, fleeting impression, and Spock accepts it calmly before pulling
away.
Ten years ago, when he had first set foot on Earth at a tender age of six, his
telepathy hardly felt as comfortable. He can still remember the absolute horror
of waking up in the middle of the night, his parents’ telepathic death scream
raking through his mind over and over again, forcing him to relive the terrible
moment. Every time someone touched him or even stood too close, his shields
buckled; he had constant headaches, intense enough to make him throw up and
almost wish to kill himself, because the pain was unbearable.
Winona had found a healer. Vulcans don’t express emotions freely, but Healer
Tokan was almost openly horrified at the state he discovered Spock in. It took
two weeks of constant melding and induced trances to rectify the damage, and
then the lessons started. Biweekly, then weekly, then once a month – up until
Spock adapted enough to be certain of his continuous mental wellbeing.
Spock looks at the woman standing in front of him in a wrinkled jumpsuit, with
her hair refusing to stay in any kind of order, laugh lines hiding at the
corners of her eyes, and feels a sudden upsurge of pure tenderness.
“Are you hungry, mother?”
Winona smiles at him, her eyes lighting up the way they always do when Spock
calls her that. He doesn’t know how he can not.
Spock recalls his own frantic fear that he was too much trouble to anyone, much
less people who didn’t know him and had no reason to want him. Scared, hurt, he
expected to be tossed out at any moment, and the thought filled him with
absolute dread. But feeling himself an imposition was worse.
Winona loves telling the story of how Spock came to her and told her he would
leave as soon as he got a little better.
‘You were standing there’ – she laughs – ‘all of six, pale as a sheet, and
proud as hell, trembling and asking me if I could recommend a ‘place to stay
for minors with your level of income.’ You even had your bag packed, and you
were doing your stubborn face. I had to explain to you that I would go to jail
if you leave, and I think you checked with the database first, before you
desisted.’
She didn’t fall in love with him at once. Jim’s reaction was instantaneous; he
was all over Spock from the instant he saw him, bringing him wet towels for his
headaches and sitting by his bed, telling stories to distract him. The towels
were dripping water all over the sheets, and a constant flood of words made
Spock feel nauseated, but the sentiment was there.
From the moment Jim had first set eyes on him, Spock was his, accepted and
included. Something that surprised Winona, as Jim didn’t get on so well with
his elder brother. Seeing him push his own dessert plate toward Spock was quite
a revelation.
It took Winona much longer. It was clear from the way she looked at Spock that
she had no idea what to do with him. She had not even heard from Amanda Grayson
in years, didn’t know she had a son, didn’t know Amanda died, up until a
vehicle from the Vulcan embassy pulled up in her driveway and left a deeply
troubled little boy on her doorstep.
Winona was a natural problem solver, and she treated Spock at first as just
another task list. To see that he’s fed, watered, took his vitamins and
immunity boosters, meditated, has clean clothes, and emits no signs of
distress.
‘I didn’t know much about raising children,’ she told him, when they were
celebrating his fifteenth birthday. ‘Despite having two of my own. And you were
in pain, and so damn tiny, and aVulcan! I didn’t know squat about Vulcans. I
was scared to death I’d break you if I breathe wrong or something.’
It took almost a year and a half before the two of them stopped being wary
around each other. But it wasn’t until a teacher made a somewhat careless
comment about Spock that made Winona get in his face and growl: ‘That’s my kid
you’re talking about, so show some respect or shut the fuck up!’ that the shoe
had finally dropped. She had to buy a huge pizza to wipe the smug smirk off
Jim’s face because ‘Mom said the f-word in public.’ Standing there, watching
the boys eat, watching a slow, shy smile tugging at Spock’s lips at Jim’s
antics, Winona felt it finally sinking in.
Spock was hers now, and anyone who’d want to take him away would regret it
every bit as much as if he dared to touch Jim.
Bringing Spock’s thoughts back to the present, Winona says, “No, sweetheart,
I’m fine.” Then, no doubt spotting the relief on his face, she narrows his
eyes. “You cooking something?”
Before Spock can stop her, she darts into the kitchen. “Hot damn.”
“I’ll clean everything later, I promise,” Spock says quickly.
“No kidding.” She turns to look at him, eyes wide from the surrounding chaos.
“What the hell happened here? Did something explode?”
Spock blushes, glancing away. “The recipe I found proved to be more…
complicated than I assumed.”
“Well.” Winona chuckles. “It smells good in here, I can tell you that much.”
She coaxes a cup of coffee from the replicator, eyeing the pot boiling on the
stove warily. “Let me know when you’re done, okay? Whatever it is, I want a
bite.”
“I’ve always intended to share, mother,” Spock assures her.
“Cool. I’ll be upstairs working.” She picks her cup, but pauses in the doorway.
“Jim out again?”
“I didn’t see him after school, but it would appear that way.”
“With that Rina girl? Or Jenny?”
Spock shrugs carefully. “I don’t know.”
In point of fact, he’s pretty sure that Jim is out with Brian, but that’s not a
conversation Spock would want to have with Winona in Jim’s stead.
Except, Winona narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “It’s Brian, isn’t it? Jim
finally had the balls to ask him out?”
Spock blinks and stares. Winona snorts. “Spock, relax. I’m not gonna flip, and
I’m not gonna grill you. Jim might get what he deserves later... But hey, at
least I won’t have to worry about him getting anyone pregnant.” She notices the
expression on Spock’s face and laughs out loud. “I’m sorry, honey, am I
shocking you?”
“No,” Spock sighs. “That’s the problem.”
Giggling, she plants a soft kiss on his cheek and sweeps out of the kitchen.
Spock smiles and shakes his head before returning to his cooking.
The truth is, most days he sees more of Jim at school than he does at home.
After Spock’s ill-fated attempt to socialize with his classmates the way Jim
does two years ago, Spock realized with progressing certainty that he and Jim
would no longer be able to do everything together as they had when they were
kids.
Spock is quite happy to be left alone with his books, PADDs and computers.
Science fascinates him, and he’s always working on numerous projects, some
shared, most alone, but all captivating. He reads when he doesn’t feel like
working, and recently has added rather awkward attempts at cooking to his list
of hobbies. Both Winona and Jim are hopeless in the kitchen, but both of them
like non-replicated food, and Spock isn’t half-bad, if inexperienced. Still not
a fan of crowds, Spock is most comfortable within the small circle of people he
knows, and doesn’t strive to make it any larger.
Jim, on the other hand, can’t live without people. Winona once called him a
party animal, and the description seemed incredibly apt. Not even so much about
parties, but Jim needs people around him to feel vibrant and alive. He’s
‘extra-social,’ constantly needing to be at the center of attention, waking up
every morning with a smile, ready to meet new people and win them over. Staying
at home for more than half a day usually makes him climb the walls.
The status-quo is familiar now, but it took some major effort to convince Jim
that it was all right in the first place. Spock had spent hours at a time,
explaining to Jim that he was neither intimidated by his classmates, nor scared
of them, and that Kelly’s words served only to prove his own point that to each
his own. It took even longer to make Jim accept that Spock wouldn’t be offended
by Jim going out and enjoying himself, while Spock stayed behind. Still, Spock
was persistent, and, gradually, Jim stopped looking infinitely guilty every
time he went out.
Their lifestyles drifting apart, they lost none of the closeness they’ve always
shared. Whenever he isn’t going out, Jim would camp in Spock’s room, listening
to Spock talking about his projects (Jim has the mind of a scientist, if not
the patience), poking at things, and generally being as much of a geek as Spock
is.
Or he would wake Spock up at two in the morning, crashing on his bed in his
clothes that still smell of wherever he’d been. Spock would grumble, then
insist Jim took off his boots, and then Jim would be telling him all about the
party, sharing his victories and pranks. Having no wish to join Jim’s world of
glamour, Spock is still insatiably curious about it, and listens avidly. He’s
usually in turns amused by the faux pas Jim makes, and awed by Jim’s daring,
and generally just proud of him.
They still don’t have any secrets from each other, and so when Spock wakes up
once to discover Jim taking a shower at five in the morning, he only has to
take one look at Jim’s blushing, glowing face to know exactly how far his date
the night before had progressed. For a moment, Spock is at a loss of how to
react, because, while Jim is beaming like he won the World Cup, the word
‘congratulations’ seems insensitive at best, considering the subject.
Jim solves his problem for him, grabbing Spock’s arms and squeezing them,
dancing where he stands and babbling almost incoherently, ‘She was wonderful,
wonderful, didn’t know it’d be that easy!’
Spock smiles and lets Jim shake him exuberantly, till he’s got some of his
excitement out of his system. But when Spock returns to his room, and Jim’s
happiness is no longer blinding him to his own reactions, he feels a strange
pang of some as of yet unknown emotion. It’s sharp and biting and Spock tries
to hush it down without looking at it. He’s suddenly afraid of what he might
find.
A doorbell pulls him out of his musings, and Spock quirks an eyebrow, wondering
who it could possibly be.
“Spock!” Winona calls from upstairs. “Honey, would you get that?”
Spock dusts his hands with a napkin and, sparing one last glance at the stove,
walks out of the kitchen. He opens the door without thinking and blinks.
There’s a teenage boy, probably Spock’s age, standing on the porch. He’s tall
and athletic, linen-blond hair shining in the blazing sunlight, green eyes
darting around with curiosity. He smiles as Spock opens the door.
“Hi.”
Spock opens his mouth to return the greeting, probably followed by a polite
‘Can I help you?’ What comes out instead is, “I’m sorry, Jim isn’t home.”
The boy blinks. “Who’s Jim?”
Spock stares. Given the visitor’s appearance, it hasn’t occurred to Spock that
he might be anyone else but one of Jim’s friends and/or admirers.
“Are you from the shipyard?” he asks uncertainly. Perhaps Winona has forgotten
something, and they sent a messenger after her?
“No,” the boy says, his grin returning.
“Then...” Spock frowns, then looks along the empty road. “Are you lost? You had
to take the left at the intersection, if you are headed for town.”
The boy actually laughs. “Okay, let’s do it this way. My name is Jason, and I’m
here to see Spock. Which is an unusual name, and I thought that Ms. Taub just
said that to get rid of me, but it looks like I was wrong, huh?” His eyes dart
quickly to Spock’s ears. “If you’re Spock, that is?”
“Yes,” Spock confirms, confused. Ms. Taub is his sciences teacher, but that in
itself doesn’t explain anything. “But I don’t understand why—”
“I just got transferred here,” Jason explains. “I know, really bad time to
switch schools, but it wasn’t my doing. Anyway, my sciences grade is kind of
sensitive, since I’m trying to qualify for the Pendaga scholarship.”
Spock is impressed, despite himself. The scholarship is granted to the precious
few every year and allows them entrance into any Federation university without
additional examination and free of charge.
“Where did you go to school before?”
“Mars.” Jason grimaces lightly. “So you see how it can be a problem.”
Spock nods. “They use different programs—”
“Exactly. I asked Ms. Taub if there was any way I can catch up faster, and she
said you could help.”
“I see.” Spock intones, uncharacteristically slow on the uptake. Suddenly it
occurs to him that he’s keeping a guest in the doorway. “Please, come in.” He
steps aside hurriedly. “I apologize. I am unaccustomed to having visitors of my
own.”
Jason gives him a frank once-over and smirks, once he meets Spock’s eyes again.
“I find that hard to believe.”
Spock blinks. Is he being flirted with? The concept is so alien that he—
“Also, you have something on your chin. And on your cheek. I think it’s flour?”
Spock blushes, running a hand over his face hastily. Jason chuckles. Spock
refuses to meet his eyes, gesturing in the direction of the living room.
“Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Halfway
into the kitchen, he remembers. “Would you like anything to drink?”
“No, thanks, I’m good,” Jason says. His eyes are laughing.
Spock didn’t know it was possible to feel that much embarrassment at once. His
face burning, he mutters another excuse, and dives into the sanctuary of the
kitchen.
He takes a few measured breaths to restore his equilibrium. Automatically, he
reaches to switch the stove off. The terraletta is ready, but he’s suddenly
oblivious to the delicious smell or even to the fact that it looks exactly like
it’s supposed to.
Jason has been sent here by a teacher. How is he to take Spock seriously, after
Spock has made such a fool of himself? It’s like he’s six again, not sixteen,
and everybody’s laughing at everything he does, because he’s an alien in their
cozy little world and doesn’t have a clue. The only consolation is that it
probably can’t get much worse.
When Spock returns to the living room, Jason grins, but doesn’t make any
comments, as if taking pity on him. Spock frowns, but doesn’t allow the thought
to linger. Instead, he pulls out a PADD, immediately proceeds to question Jason
on the material he’s covered.
Gradually, Spock relaxes. Jason seems to be quite knowledgeable, and Spock
likes the questions he asks. Much like Jim, Jason is incapable not to make some
kind of joke every few minutes, but it’s not annoying, and, in fact, Spock is
pleasantly surprised by how smart the humor is. Half an hour into their
discussion, they discover their mutual fascination with cultural anthropology,
among other things, and Spock finds himself talking freely, and enjoying the
conversation.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to—” Jason starts, peering at Spock curiously, half-
turning toward him on the sofa so that their knees brush. “I’m really sorry,
but are you wearing cologne?”
“Cologne?” Spock blinks.
“Or maybe it’s your shampoo... Oh my God, I’m sorry, this is awkward.” Jason
shrugs, looking mildly embarrassed. “I’m honestly not normally this creepy.
Just – you know how you can have a tune in your head and can’t place it and
it’s killing you?”
“Not really,” Spock intones pensively. “I have eidetic memory.”
Jason lets out a laugh. “Of course. Well, anyway, I don’t, so...” He chances an
apologetic glance up at Spock. “It’s that scent. I can’t identify it, but it’s
so nice, like cinnamon, only different – and I can’t – it’s driving me nuts,
man.”
Spock feels color rising in his cheeks again, but forces himself to remain
seated.
“I am not wearing cologne,” he says quietly.
“Oh.” Jason nods. “Right, I’m just... Ignore me, I’m an idiot.”
Spock’s lips quirk. “Hardly.” He pauses. “Does it bother you?”
“No!” Jason looks up at him, startled. “It’s completely the other way around! I
was just—”
“Spock?”
Both boys turn to find Winona standing in the doorway. She smiles, as Jason
jumps to his feet.
“I was going to say that the kitchen still doesn’t look spotless, but I can see
you’ve been deterred.”
Something in her smile is distinctly disturbing, Spock decides. He delays
investigation, though, in favor of introductions.
Spock isn’t the tiniest bit surprised when Winona makes Jason stay for dinner,
even though Spock feels mostly mortified by the idea. He isn’t the world’s
greatest expert on making friends, but he’s pretty certain that letting your
mother intimidate potential candidates isn’t the best course of action. Not
that he’s exactly dying to have a friend. He has Jim, and when he doesn’t, it’s
not exactly a Greek tragedy.
Despite Spock’s misgivings, though, Jason seems completely at ease, chatting
with Winona about his life on Mars and his father’s work.
Spock mostly sticks to listening, feeling small somehow and missing Jim. He
would have been completely in his element, Spock thinks wistfully, barely
nodding when Winona compliments his cooking.
Jason just stares at him. “You made this?”
Spock mentally sighs and wishes they did open that spring wine Winona
mentioned.
 
--
Despite their somewhat awkward first meeting, Jason proves to be less easily
scared off than Spock had assumed. They meet after classes a couple of times a
week, studying together, mostly at the library and sometimes at either of their
homes. It’s an easy relationship of collaboration that Spock understands, and,
away from flour smudges and mothers of any kind, he feels more like himself,
confident in his knowledge and competence. Jason is an intelligent and pleasant
study partner, and Spock slowly comes to incorporate him into his social star
system, adjust the balance within it, and continue as if there were no
disturbance.
Except for the part where he doesn’t tell Jim.
If anyone could back Spock up into a corner and ask him why he has neglected to
introduce the two, or even mention Jason in Jim’s presence, he most likely
wouldn’t have an answer. But since no one was asking any such thing, it’s easy
enough for Spock to continue to believe that there is, in fact, no reason or
even intent. It’s merely that Jim is never home, and Spock hasn’t had the
chance, that’s all.
At the very back of his mind, Spock acknowledges – even though he doesn’t
exactly understand why – that the situation has a great potential to explode in
his face. But that’s the part of his mind that he tries not to explore too
closely. Most of the time, he manages to successfully lull himself into a sense
of security that he has no reason to consider false.
It’s a rare occurrence one Saturday afternoon that both Jim and Winona are
home. Spock walks into the kitchen to have a glass of water for the road,
trying not to cringe too much at the weird things Jim’s doing to an apple,
torturing it with a knife before sending it to meet its fate in his mouth.
“Hey, you’re all dressed up,” Jim remarks, grinning around a bite of fruit.
“Yes,” Spock replies a little stiffly. “I’m going out.”
“With Jason?” Winona asks, not looking up from her PADD.
“Yes.” Spock pauses. “I might be back late.”
“Okay, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it.” Jim swallows a large piece with an effort
and stares at Spock. “Who the hell is Jason?”
Spock opens his mouth, but Winona beats him to it.
“Oh, just a nice boy Spock has been dating.” She glances at him above her PADD,
smile every bit as sweet as it is treacherous.
“WHAT?” Jim gapes, the remains of the apple crashing into the kitchen counter
with a thud.
“We are not dating!” Spock protests, heat rising in his face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Winona says mildly. “It’s hard to tell, you know, with
the way he stares at you, and all those little touches he thinks nobody sees.
And, well, now you’re going out, so—”
“The hell?” Jim jumps to his feet.
“Mother, he is my study partner.” Spock can feel himself turning green. “And
this is not a date. We’re going to a museum.”
Winona raises her eyebrows. “He invited you, didn’t he?”
“Yes. No! He just – told me that there would be a new exhibition and that he
was planning to go, and if I wished to accompany him—”
Winona snorts. “Yeah, that’s really different.”
“It’s not like that! It’s a museum – anyone could go to a museum. We are just
two visitors who come at the same time and happen to know each other.”
“Then I can come, too, right?” Jim interjects suddenly.
Spock forces himself to look at him. Jim’s expression is thunderous and
extremely stubborn.
“You have no interest in archeology.”
“I just acquired one. What’s the matter, Spock? If it’s not a date, then anyone
can come with, right? I want to go.”
Spock can hear Winona laugh, but he can’t afford a distraction. “Jim, I thought
you had plans?”
“Yes, Jim,” Winona drawls, highly amused. “Weren’t you going out with Carol
again?”
Jim glares at her, but Spock stills. “So you are dating Carol? You said—”
Jim’s head snaps back in Spock’s direction, but he suddenly can’t meet Spock’s
eyes. “I... Yes.”
“I see.”
“Oh, dear God.” Winona stares at the ceiling in exasperation. “It’s such a
shame I can’t rhyme for shit. I would have made Shakespeare fucking green with
envy.”
Both boys speak at the same time:
“Mom/Mother, language.”
“Sorry.” She grins. “Your own fault, really.” She slides down from the stool
and walks toward the replicator for more coffee. “Spock, sweetheart, if you
don’t want to be late for your non-date, go now, before Jim has a seizure.”
“Mom!”
“And Jim, darling, sometimes it’s good to pay attention, you know what I’m
saying?” She sweeps the cup off the replicator pad and waltzes out of the
kitchen. “Don’t break anything and don’t yell too loud, ‘kay?”
The ensuing silence is anything but pleasant.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jim asks quietly.
Spock stares at the counter top unseeingly. “I’m not dating Jason, Jim. Mother
had it wrong.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “There was nothing to tell.”
Jim nods, pursing his lips. “Fine. If that’s how you want it to be.”
He walks out and marches up the stairs, two steps at a time. Spock doesn’t
follow.
 
--
Jason buys the tickets and quickly changes the subject when Spock tries to pay
his share. He walks Spock through the exposition like a tour guide, his
familiarity with the exhibited objects clearly showing that he either had
researched the subject thoroughly or had been here before. He talks Spock into
sharing a meal afterwards and pays for it, waving off Spock’s protests with a
vague notion that ‘You can do it next time.’
It’s not hard to do the virtual math after that, Winona’s words still fresh and
clear in Spock’s ears, so Spock isn’t surprised when Jason offers to drive him
back home.
Or when his hand slides lightly over Spock’s as they say goodbye.
 
--
Spock wakes up late the next day, feeling mildly disoriented. The world that
once used to be so clear and balanced has turned into a mad carousel overnight,
breaking familiar patterns and leaving glaring chaos in its wake. Things don’t
make sense anymore, and Spock is Vulcan enough to freak out about it.
Jim isn’t home, and Spock feels dimly relieved. He finds Winona in the garden,
cutting down branches of the lilac bush in an attempt to create some elaborate
shape.
She grins at him. “Late night?”
Spock looks at her blankly, too stunted to react to teasing.
Winona lowers her pruner. “So. I guess it was a date after all, huh?”
Spock sighs. “I truly hadn’t known. How did you—?”
“Well” – she shrugs – “he was kind of obvious from the start. There were
signs.”
“I did not see them.”
She huffs out a laugh. “You’re generally bad with the signs, Spock. You just go
on ignoring them when they’re staring you in the face.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiles mysteriously, shaking her head. Spock purses his lips, glancing
away.
“So,” Winona says, resuming her cutting. “Now that you know, are you going to
see him again?”
Spock wishes he could answer that at least. “I haven’t decided.” He pauses.
“Jason is intelligent and attractive. But I don’t – feel any different when I’m
with him. I don’t know, if I... I don’t know.”
Winona peers at him for a moment, then sets her basket and pruner on the ground
and loops an arm through Spock’s. “Come here.”
Spock lets her pull him over into the shadow of the big oak and settles down
beside her on the grass.
“Spock,” Winona starts, looking unusually serious. “Jason is a very bright kid.
Not because he knows about physics, but because he was smart enough to see you
for who you are. I know that you aren’t as outgoing as Jim is and that you
think that what happened at that party is the norm for you. But the thing is” –
she reaches to gently squeeze his forearms – “there’s something I see right now
and you don’t. In a few years, you’re gonna have to be carrying a stick. A big,
thick, possibly barbed stick. You’re gonna need it, because people will be
lining up for a moment of your time.”
Spock jerks involuntarily within her grasp, and Winona chuckles, but doesn’t
let go.
“I know you think I’m crazy, but I guarantee you, you’ll remember this
conversation many times.” She sighs. “My point is, don’t go out with Jason, if
you’re only doing it, because you think you won’t get another chance. If you
like him, if you really enjoy spending time with him, go for it. You’re
sixteen, for God’s sake. That’s what being a teenager is for. But if you don’t
like him that way and only consider him because he likes you, or because
everyone else is doing it, then, trust me, it’s a shitty reason to date
someone. There’ll be no fun in it for either of you.”
Spock nods pensively, contemplating her words. Her expression is so intense
that Spock can’t withstand the temptation. “That was almost deep, mother.”
She laughs and punches his arm. “Screw you.”
“Language,” Spock says mildly. After a while, he adds, “Jim is angry with me.”
“Yeah.” Winona shrugs. “He’ll get over it.” She rolls up onto her feet,
brushing off her knees. “I’m not taking sides on that one – I want to smack you
both silly too much.” Thoughtfully, she adds, “And then I’d go to jail.”
Spock shakes his head, smiling, and leaves her to the mercy of the overgrown
lilac bush.
 
--
A week passes, and the virtual dust has settled down a little bit. Jason is
away on a trip with his father, and Spock welcomes the time-out. He keeps
analyzing his feelings, not really being able to reach any kind of conclusion.
But when Jason comes back on Friday and asks if Spock would like to go see a
movie, Spock, unexpectedly for himself, says yes. It has less date-like quality
than the first occasion, and Spock feels his concerns dissipate.
He comes home late, and the house is dark. There was some kind of emergency at
the shipyards, and Winona has commed earlier to say that she’d spend the night
there. Spock doesn’t want to speculate where Jim is. Jim has been icily polite
with him all week, only talking to Spock when absolutely necessary and leaving
the school car completely in Spock’s possession. With Jim getting home
incredibly late every night, Spock only saw him at breakfast and in the few
classes they shared.
Not bothering to turn the lights downstairs, Spock goes straight up. He takes a
long shower, trying to extinguish the residual tension from the evening. His
own room is wrapped in darkness when Spock walks into it and changes for bed.
He turns to close the door and freezes, coming face to face with—
“Jim!” Spock’s heart jump-starts in surprise, and he takes a deep breath,
trying to calm it. “You – how long have you been standing here? I didn’t see
you.”
Jim stretches languidly in the doorway, a lean black silhouette, carved in
darkness.
“It’s amazing how love makes us blind,” he drawls sarcastically. “Or is it
lust? How was the movie anyway?”
“It was... good,” Spock says slowly, stepping back as Jim steps forward.
“Second date, huh?” Jim mocks, advancing still. “He kissed you yet?”
“Jim,” Spock admonishes, as they take another step in eerie sync.
“What?” Jim’s tone is full of scorn. “That’s what dates are all about, Spock.
Sex. Or did you think Jason was different?”
“I—” Spock’s back hits the wall, and he stops. “He – it is not like that.”
Jim laughs out loud; it’s an evil sound. “Oh, isn’t it? I spoke with Professor
Taub. She didn’t send him to you. He’d been here for two weeks before he ‘just’
transferred. Watching you till he found an excuse to get near you.”
Spock’s eyes widen, and he wants to ask what on Earth makes Jim think he’s
entitled to check up on Spock’s friends. What he says instead is, “Is that so
bad?”
Jim is standing at point blank range now, feet planted on either side of
Spock’s trapping him, breath ghosting over Spock’s face when Jim speaks. “Bad?
It depends, I guess. Do you know what happens when someone wants you that much?
Think you’re ready?”
“I don’t... Jim, step back.”
“Why?”
“Please, I—”
“He won’t step back,” Jim parries, leaning closer. “Won’t respect your precious
space.” His voice is low now. Dangerous. “He seems like the type to do his
homework, so he’ll probably do this.” Jim takes Spock’s hand, palm to palm,
gliding his index and middle fingers over Spock’s with intent.
Spock gasps, startled by the sensation. It shoots like a shock wave from the
tips of his fingers through his arm straight to his chest, sinking lower in
quivering aftershocks.
“Jim,” Spock whimpers.
He can see Jim’s smirk in the darkness, as Jim presses his fingers tighter
against his, rubbing them together knowingly, expertly, circling, scratching,
sending wave after wave through Spock’s body, astounding, knee-buckling
pleasure the likes of which Spock has never known before. He tries to take a
normal breath, but he can’t, losing control rapidly, as Jim moves closer, his
thighs over Spock’s hips, until—
“Stop,” Spock breathes.
“Aw, but you wouldn’t want him to stop,” Jim murmurs, almost tenderly. “Not
after he’d do this.”
Before Spock can form another protest, Jim lifts his hand and takes two of his
fingers into his mouth.
Spock jolts, his back arching off the wall, his head falling back as his groin
collides with Jim’s roughly, both of them undeniably hard. Spock feels like his
whole skin is on fire, and he writhes desperately, unconsciously, not knowing
if he wants it to cease or continue.
“God,” Jim mutters and grazes the tips of Spock’s fingers with his teeth.
Spock makes a sound between a wail and a whine, and jerks his hand back and
away, overwhelmed and panicking. He moves as if to escape, but Jim presses him
hard against the wall, burying his face in the crook of Spock’s neck, kissing
and nipping up along his throat. Spock’s body shakes and bucks against him
brokenly, thoughtlessly, like a trapped butterfly, no consciousness, all shock
and instinct.
“So responsive,” Jim whispers breathlessly, arms bracing both of them, as he
rolls his hips, rutting against Spock’s. “Always thought you’d be, but—”
Spock lets out a whimper at a particularly hard thrust, and Jim’s hands are
suddenly soft, cradling his face gently.
“Shh,” Jim breathes out and kisses him.
Spock scrapes enough presence of mind to try and resist, but he can’t, not when
his body has betrayed him already. He yields to the warm pressure, breathing
out a moan that Jim swallows, deepening the kiss, and Spock has never known it
could feel so good. He can’t feel his body, he’s falling or floating, and the
only thing that anchors him is the intoxicating sensation of Jim’s lips on his,
of Jim’s tongue, teasing, caressing, coaxing Spock to respond, until he does.
Jim makes a desperate, muffled sound then, pressing even closer, and the kiss
becomes frantic, as both of them lose control completely and just cling to each
other, as if trying to get under each other’s skin.
Jim starts to pull away, and Spock follows him blindly, but there’s a hand on
his shoulder, pushing him back. He hits the wall, eyes flying open, disoriented
and shaken, heart beating madly in his throat, his cock aching.
“Jim?” Spock breathes, trying to find some measure of sense in the world of
overwhelming insanity.
“And that,” Jim pants, stepping back, “is how good girls get pregnant. And guys
like you get screwed.”
If a bucket of ice water was poured over Spock’s head at this moment, it would
not have had the same effect as Jim’s words.
“What?” Spock blurts out weakly. “You did this to – you—” He swallows with
difficulty, trying to work the words past his constricting throat. “Get out.”
A quiver runs over Jim’s frame in the darkness, rippling his self-righteous
stance. “Spock,” he says in a low, mildly terrified voice. “Oh God. Look, I’m—”
“Don’t touch me,” Spock hisses, recoiling from Jim’s outstretched hand. “You’ve
made your point, Jim. Now, get out.”
“Spock—”
“Get out.”
And when Jim still doesn’t move, seemingly frozen in place, Spock growls in
frustration and hurt, grabs him by the shoulders and tosses him out of the
room, not bothering to hold his strength in check, not caring for the first
time ever if he hurts Jim.
He slams the door in Jim’s face and locks it, leaning heavily against it on the
other side.
 
--
Spock doesn’t even try to sleep. He knows that meditation would be an ideal
cure at this point, but he can’t bring himself to it. Reliving his utter
humiliation again so soon seems unbearable. But the emotion is omnipresent, and
Spock can’t fight it, wishing he could just forget if only for a moment.
Finally, exhausted and unable to escape into unconsciousness, he pulls out his
PADD and attacks a stack of math problems, forcing his concentration away from
the remains of his dignity.
Around four in the morning, he gets dressed and crawls downstairs. Leaving a
note for Winona that he intends to work late in the school labs, Spock makes
his way outside, only daring to take a deep breath once he left the house
behind the turn of the road.
He walks. Ten point four miles through the silent pre-dawn fields; the cool air
is a relief for once, soothing Spock’s nerves, clearing his mind. Spock asks
himself again and again how he could possibly have been so naïve to let such a
thing happen to him. He, who guards his privacy so hard, he, who accepts and
admires Jim and Winona’s easy attitude, but has always known that it’s not for
him – how could he, of all people, let that happen?
Jim, Spock thinks bitterly. Because it was Jim. Because Spock trusts him more
than anyone, more than himself perhaps. He has no defense against Jim because
he never needed one. Jim has always been protective of him, just as he was last
night.
Spock should never have forgotten that. Never should have thought for a moment
that it was something – anything else.
It’s all so clear now. He admires Jim’s social skills and is proud of him?
Please. Spock can no longer pretend to be so naïve. If that was all there is,
last night never would have happened. Winona is right, Spock thinks. He is
incredibly bad at seeing what’s staring him in the face.
And now, Jim knows it, too; knows that Spock would abandon all pretence of
pride and dignity in the blink of an eye, should Jim’s whim demand it. Jim
truly only wanted to warn him of the dangers that Spock’s somewhat secluded
existence had concealed from him. Jim probably had no idea how badly Spock is—
in love with him.
Spock stumbles, letting the thought unfold for the first time.
He’s in love with Jim, and that – that is unfortunate. He doesn’t know any
other person who’s further from Jim’s type than Spock is.
There’s nothing to be done to reverse the damage, Spock muses philosophically,
climbing up the hill without breaking a sweat. Certainly nothing to make him
stop feeling what he has been feeling for so long – he can’t tell now when it
started. He doesn’t need prolonged meditation sessions to tell him that.
Kaidith, Spock’s father used to say. What is, is. Spock didn’t understand it
back then, but he seems to be on the way to it now. Who knew that, in the end,
Vulcan philosophy would be his salvation – a guide that he so desperately needs
right now? The thought is strangely soothing, if not without its irony.
Spock gets through the day engrossed in his project work and rereading extracts
from Surak’s teachings. It used to be his favorite book till the age of twelve,
and Spock feels both nostalgic and slightly guilty as his eyes follow the
familiar lines, greeting him back like a neglected but forgiving friend.
Winona comms him about lunch time to check up on him, and Spock answers her
questions quickly to end the conversation faster. Jason comms, too, but Spock
ignores his call. He has no idea what to say to Jason at this point, and
decides that it could wait another day.
It’s dark outside when Spock finally turns off the power and leaves the lab
building, smiling faintly as he reflects on the correlations between Surak and,
surprisingly, Sun Tzu, with maybe a twist of Omar Khayyam in the mix.
Spock steps out without looking and almost trips over Jim sitting on the ground
with his back against the wall. He jumps to his feet at the sight of Spock.
“Hey.”
Spock is suddenly immensely, unbelievably tired. “What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like? Waiting for you.” Jim nods at the car parked by the
road. He looks nervous, shifting from foot to foot.
“I am capable of getting home on my own. You needn’t trouble yourself.”
“Spock, please,” Jim says, closing his eyes for a moment, before reaching to
squeeze Spock’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
Spock stills, the familiarity of the touch reminding him of his own blindness.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.
Jim nods, like he has expected this, but his eyes are strangely pleading. “I
just – I need you to know that I didn’t do it to make a point.”
“Then why did you do it, Jim?” Spock asks quietly.
“I can’t,” Jim starts, then bites his lip, glancing away. “I don’t know, I just
– I didn’t think. I just thought how he’d do it, and I couldn’t – what if he
messed it up? I wanted your first kiss to be perfect.”
Spock’s eyebrow climbs up of its own volition. “Your unbelievable level of
presumption over my personal matters aside, did you honestly consider yourself
the only person capable of ensuring that?”
Jim’s gaze snaps back to him. “Why? Does Jason do it better?”
Spock stares, then presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Jim groans, stepping back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with
me! It’s like there’s this other person inside of me suddenly, and I can’t
control half the shit he’s saying or doing.”
Spock doesn’t feel like laughing it off, so he doesn’t comment.
“Tell me you’re not mad at me,” Jim asks, trying to catch Spock’s eye. “Tell me
we can forget what an incredible dick I was to you and move on? Spock? I’d do
anything.”
Spock looks at him, really looks at him, taking in the dark circles under Jim’s
eyes, bloodshot and painfully dry. It occurs to him that he wasn’t the only one
to have spent last night sleepless. Jim looks wrecked.
“I’m not mad at you,” Spock says finally, holding eye contact long enough to be
convincing, then starts to walk toward the car.
They drive in silence. Spock spends the ride staring out the window, content to
let Jim handle the controls. Neither of them shows any haste in leaving the
vehicle once the short drive is over, all the things unsaid weighing heavily on
them both.
“You still going to Vulcan for the summer?” Jim breaks the pregnant silence at
last.
Spock peers at him in the soft light of the control panel. “You know I have
little choice in the matter. My circumstances haven’t changed.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jim nods. “I just... Maybe it’s a good thing that we’d spend
two months away from each other.”
Spock flinches, because it hurts. “Do you believe in that?” he asks quietly,
too tired and too sad to care that it shows.
Jim bites his lip again, looking away. “Yeah,” he says after a while. “Yeah, I
do.”
He pushes the door determinedly, throwing himself out of the car and all but
running toward the house.
Spock watches him go, but it’s a long time until he follows.
***** Vulcan *****
Chapter Notes
     Back into the fray! I wanted to thank you all for the feedback and
     lovely notes you've been leaving. I really appreciate it. ♥
     I just wanted to say in regards to certain comments, you guys noticed
     how I said it was a Sabrina AU, right? I mean, if you were expecting
     anything profound after that kind of warning, well, there's really
     not much I can do for you. :D
--
VULCAN
--
The blazing heat of the courtyard is suffocating and blinding. His entire body
drenched in sweat that stings like oil on a frying pan, Spock holds the zia
stubbornly, even as he fights for every dry breath. This one is not
particularly hard, with his feet spread wide, bare feet curving, hips striving
to split open, knees pushing the thighs up closed in counteraction, arms
splayed to the sides. The zia is elementary but Master Semnar had made them
hold weight, giving Spock twice the general load.
Spock’s arms are shaking after thirty minutes of maintaining the same position,
the muscles of his stomach drawn up taut, painfully tense, his shoulders
screaming. Like everyone else, he’s stripped from the waist up, and the sun is
a scolding torture on his skin.
“Kroykah,” Master Semnar finally commands, and nineteen young Vulcans lower the
weights with various degrees of haste and dignity. “Spock, T’Vea, Towar, zia
gihsan. The rest of you may return to the quaterna.”
Spock closes his eyes briefly, his arms aching as he prepares for another zia.
He’s long used to being left behind; in the two months of his being in the
compound, Master Semnar has ordered him to continue doing zias after general
practice every day without fail. He rarely has company, though, and, as he
catches T’Vea’s gaze, he knows immediately she’s been ordered to stay for
failure to contain emotion, because she looks almost openly desperate.
Carefully, but not daring to procrastinate, Spock presses his hands against the
scorching hot stone of the floor and stretches his body upside down, hoping
beyond hope he won’t overbalance. It’s pure torture, with blood rushing to his
head in a heavy, deafening flood, and his arms threatening to give way and let
him fall.
He catches the strained expression on Towar’s face, flicks his eyes to where
T’Vea is shaking with effort, and asks himself again how he came to be in this
hell when only three months ago his biggest concern was the upcoming test in
multiphysics.
 
--
His journey to Vulcan was uneventful. The very trip itself had been prearranged
years back, and while initially excited and anxious, Spock has long grown
complacent about it.
It was T’Pau’s only condition, under which she agreed not to contest Amanda
Grayson’s will in regards to Spock – that at the age of sixteen the boy would
come to Vulcan ‘for a brief period to settle family matters.’ Over the years,
T’Pau has never contacted Spock, and he eventually came to think of the
upcoming visit as just another formality he’d have to fulfill as part of coming
of age. On the shuttle, his mind was preoccupied to a much greater degree by
what he’d left behind, rather than by what awaited him on the planet of his
birth.
He and Jim were ostensibly talking, but it was no good. Every conversation was
strained, they didn’t meet each other’s eyes if they could help it, and mostly
they tried to avoid each other. Spock was ashamed of what Jim now knew about
him, and Jim was probably ashamed for him – the consideration that added to
Spock’s turmoil. Winona couldn’t miss, of course, that something wasn’t right,
but, after a few careful questions, she stopped, leaving it to the two of them
to sort it out. Jim wasn’t even home the day that Spock left, and Spock didn’t
know if he was more hurt or relieved by it.
He was still thinking about it when Vulcan greeted him with a gust of cool,
air-conditioned breeze in the magnificent palace that was Vulcan Space Central,
and the sounds of the planet and Vulcan language surrounded him the way they
haven’t for ten years. Spock wasn’t allowed to reminisce, though. T’Pau’s
driver took him directly to her residence, and there, for the first time, Spock
finally felt pangs of trepidation creeping up on him.
Standing in the midst of T’Pau’s court – Spock couldn’t find any other name for
it – surrounded by stone-faced guards, and elegant, strict-looking assistants,
he felt pathetically underdressed in his jeans and battered footwear, and just
generally inadequate. Spock was highly aware of their assessing gazes, could
almost feel them physically – cool, vaguely disgusted or wary touches crawling
up his skin. No one was talking to him, and he felt incredibly edgy and alone,
standing there on display in the middle of the room, trying not to show his
discomfort.
Finally, T’Pau arrived. Spock has not seen his great grandmother since he was a
little boy, and what memories he had of her seemed vastly helpless to capture
the true scale of her intimidating presence.
“Spokh,” she greeted him in a heavy, low voice that reverberated against the
quiet. “Welcome home.”
Spock straightened up, straining to school his features in a way that hasn’t
been demanded of him for ten years. He bowed his head respectfully, hoping his
Vulcan didn’t sound too inadequate after a decade of disuse.
“You honor me.”
T’Pau’s gaze softened marginally for a fraction of a second. “You have not
forgotten the ways of our people completely. I approve.”
Spock felt his eyebrow lift on its own accord. T’Pau obviously believed that
the whole universe existed waiting for her approval. The ironic thought died a
quick death, though, as Spock remembered that she did, in fact, have every
reason for such a conviction.
“I have monitored your academic progress,” T’Pau said, surprising Spock
greatly. “Your test scores were compared to those of the students at the Vulcan
Science Academy. The results were favorable to you. A notable achievement,
considering your environment.”
Spock could only bow again, stunned to discover this sudden – or perhaps not
sudden at all – interest.
“I am aware that you intend to apply to Starfleet,” T’Pau went on. “That is a
logical choice, albeit not a preferable one. Nevertheless, the choice is
yours.”
‘Thank you’ Spock almost blurted out, before remembering to check his response.
Not only was sarcasm a wrong choice for this venue, but expressions of
gratitude were illogical in themselves, and the last thing Spock wanted was to
antagonize his only remaining blood relative. His father had been a notorious
diplomat. Spock had to try and prove to be worthy of at least some of his
legacy.
Spock chose his words carefully, knowing that it was a test – everything here
was a test – and he never failed those. He was determined not to slip. They all
expected him to be some kind of barbarian, a wild, uncultured thing, raised by
wolves.
Spock squared his shoulders stubbornly, holding T’Pau’s gaze. “Pleased as I am
to have your approval,” he said, taming the tremor in his voice to the best of
his ability, “might I respectfully inquire as to the purpose of my being here?”
T’Pau regarded him coolly. “You are your father’s biological son,” she stated,
skipping any possible preamble. “You are not, however, his heir as you have
completed none of the appropriate rituals and rites.”
Spock narrowed his eyes, trying to understand where she was going with this.
“Okay?”
“Your father was in possession of lands, estates, and property that has
belonged to our clan for generations. Your father was of Vulcan. If he did not
produce an heir that would be also of Vulcan, everything he owned, everything
of what he was keeper would be taken away by the High Council.”
“And that would not be – preferable?”
“In Council, Sarek had many rivals. They would see his heritage disassembled.”
“Would that not be illogical?”
T’Pau narrowed her eyes dangerously. “You know nothing of Vulcan politics, boy.
You would do well to remember that logic is a weapon that could be used by wise
and unwise alike. Not everything is governed by logic, and not everything
should be. Surak was a great man, but he alone was not Vulcan.”
“Right,” Spock muttered.
T’Pau studied him for a moment. “Your father’s lands to the north of Shi’Khar
are some of the very few of the fertile lands left on this planet. Ferru’zhia
farmers and their families have been living there for generations. Did you not
know that it is your father’s cellars that produce 70 % of the Vulcan port
exported off Vulcan?”
Spock shook his head, bewildered.
“Taren, who would most likely be appointed to deal with land possessions, would
have those farms shut down. Seven thousand people would lose their hereditary
occupation since before Surak. Hundreds of years of bonds and traditions would
be lost. Taren had always believed that your father should be more
‘progressive.’” T’Pau’s lips curve in distaste. “Now, he would have his wish.”
Spock swallowed reflexively. All the eyes in the room were on him, staring him
down, accusing, assessing, judging. The magnitude of what T’Pau was telling him
was making Spock’s head spin. He couldn’t be responsible for seven thousand
people losing their jobs and homes… could he?
Logic, he reminded himself desperately. Used by wise and unwise alike, surely
he, too, can use it?
“You brought me here now for a reason,” he addressed T’Pau, trying to ignore
everyone else. “I assume there must be something I can do.”
T’Pau lifted her eyebrows slightly; no emotions registered on her face, yet the
impression was unmistakably one of a smirk. “You assume correctly. There is a
ritual for those Vulcans who did not pass their kahs-wan or empur’rha, those
who failed, and those who wish to prove themselves. It is tenzeh-rha, the
ultimate test of body, mind, and spirit. Those who pass it are accepted by all.
They are of Vulcan.”
“All right.” Spock nodded slowly. “Then I shall pass it and—”
“You will fail,” T’Pau decreed flatly. “The ritual will test your physical
endurance, combat skills, mental powers, and knowledge of disciplines – none of
which you possess in nearly sufficient measure.”
“Then why did you bring me here? To point out what a failure I am?”
Whispers broke out under the tall arches of the high ceiling. Spock realized
abruptly he was breathing heavily, anger and frustration choking him. He glared
around, meeting nothing but impassive attention. Suddenly, he felt ashamed. He
had never lost control like that before.
“I ask forgiveness,” he said in a low voice, bowing his head.
“Illogical. You are untrained. One could not expect the same standards of
behavior from one of your upbringing.”
Spock felt his face heat up with anger, but managed to steel himself this time.
T’Pau observed him calmly.
“To answer your question, I brought you here early enough for you to be
properly prepared for the ritual, should you decide to defend your right.”
Spock looked up at her. “There is an establishment that could assist you in
your preparation. Tohn used to be a military academy two thousand years ago.
Now, it exists as a school for the likes of you – outcasts, those without
families, those seeking high positions or acceptance. If you agree to undergo
the ritual, you will go there, and in two years—”
“Two years?”
“Is your hearing impaired?” T’Pau asked dryly. “In two years, you will be ready
to stand your trial. If you succeed, you will be free to choose your own path
while your father’s legacy will be preserved.”
Stunned, Spock was looking at her, trying to assimilate what was happening. It
hit him suddenly how greatly he had underestimated the importance of this visit
home.
T’Pau was peering at him with an enigmatic expression on her face. “This is not
a decision to be made lightly,” she said. “If you agree, for two years, you
will be trained, schooled, and conditioned in a manner the likes of which you
have never known before. Even on Vulcan, it is considered intense, even
extreme. You cannot quit. You cannot refuse to obey a command. You will have no
contact with the outside world. All your time and energy will be consumed by
your training. For two years, for the rest of the universe, you will cease to
exist. And there is no guarantee of success.”
Spock pondered that. He had never sought to subject himself to anything like
that. Striking down two years of his life seemed unthinkable. And yet—
‘The good of the many outweighs the good of the few or the one.’
Surak’s first axiom, Sarek’s favorite quote. Spock closed his eyes for a
moment.
Seven thousand people would have their whole lives rearranged. He never knew
them, but already they were a heavy weight on his conscience. The people his
family had been responsible for. His father’s work in the hands of hostile
strangers – the work he would probably have wanted Spock to continue, had he
lived.
True, Spock never planned on staying on Vulcan, but what waited for him back on
Earth? He was the geek, the strange kid, the funny weirdo Vulcan. No one would
miss him, except for Winona. But Winona would understand duty and obligation,
she was a Starfleet officer. And as for Jim...
Spock clenched his teeth, battling away the shame.
Jim, his not quite brother, his best friend, his only friend, who had done his
best to avoid Spock ever since he caught a glimpse of Spock’s feelings for him…
Jim wanted them to stay away from each other. He would only be happy to know
Spock wouldn’t be bothering him for a while.
Spock lifted his chin and met T’Pau’s gaze intrepidly.
“I agree,” he said, his voice echoing loud and clear in the magnificent ancient
hall.
 
--
And so it went. Before Spock knew it, he was transported into an ancient
fortress concealed from the world by means of natural defenses and cutting-edge
contemporary security. He wasn’t even allowed to call Winona.
The inside of Tohn was as ascetic and severe as the outside. The fortress was
completely self-sufficient, with a deep underground well supplying it with
water. Two thousand and two steps led toward it, and every day two students
were assigned to bring up water for everyone. With only nineteen young Vulcans
training at Tohn at the moment, it meant water duty for Spock every ten days or
more often, if there were transgressions. It was all he could see for the first
several weeks whenever he closed his eyes – the endless stone steps carved in
black rock.
The atmosphere in the compound was as different from human school as one could
only imagine. Every morning started with meditation, followed by physical
exercises that would have passed for severe survival training on Earth. After
that, came combat training, in which the instructors were free to use as much
force as they deemed necessary. More meditation, and then the studying –
sciences, languages, literature, and philosophy. A light meal, and then deep
meditation demanding as much concentration as possible. A few hours of sleep
and then a new day began.
The lightest transgression – being slow at following a command, an emotional
slip of any kind, talking during classes – was punished by additional workout,
water duty, or standing on teehms – small, dried beans, tough enough to make
standing on them pure torture.
The students didn’t talk much, not with the amount of stress and strain they
were under, but even when they did, they tended to exclude Spock from their
conversations. Was it because he arrived the last, or because he was half-
human, Spock didn’t know. At first, he had no energy left by the end of the day
to notice or care.
Doing the zias was hard enough, but during combat training he invariably got
beaten, either by the instructors or his fellow students. Being raised on
Earth, he had no knowledge of martial arts whatsoever, and, while he was faster
and had better reaction than his peers, he was also noticeably weaker than
them.
Never having received systematical instruction before, he was finding
meditation more difficult than he had expected. The only respite he managed to
snatch was during the studying sessions. He noticed after a while that he often
completed his tasks faster than the others, but even so, they required all his
concentration and analytical abilities. Those were the only moments during the
day when he didn’t feel like a complete failure.
The quaterna in which all students slept was nothing but a square room cut in
stone with no furniture of any kind and no means for privacy. Twenty bedrolls
were spread on the floor, and it struck Spock as odd at first that they were
huddled so close to each other. Physical contact with strangers was still a
foreign concept to him, and he didn’t understand why the others would crave it.
The realization happened the very first night he spent at the compound. The
blazing heat of the day subsided instantly as the sun set, and the night
brought freezing cold, as harsh in the dry mountain air as the heat of the
desert was. A thin blanket could not keep it away, and the stone of the floor
cooled down in what seemed like moments.
Exhausted as he was, Spock woke up an hour in, his teeth chattering loudly. In
the harsh white light of T’Kuht falling from a narrow window, he saw the others
huddled close together, preserving the warmth.
Spock felt lost for a moment. They didn’t exactly welcome him, and a few openly
emotional gazes told him they didn’t like him. They looked like a complete
formation, too, with no room for anyone else.
But the cold was oppressive. As Spock sat there, trying to stifle his shivers,
he realized that the choice between shyness or pride and survival was not a
choice at all. Slowly, clumsily, he moved his bedroll toward the nearest side
of the sleeping group and carefully laid himself in, just barely but still
within reach of the heat the Vulcan boy lying there was emanating. The boy woke
up at the motion, blinked at Spock, then turned his face away, but otherwise
didn’t move, and fell back asleep in seconds.
Spock decided it had to be good enough.
 
--
A water cup enters Spock’s field of vision and he realizes that the last stage
of the daily zias torture has begun – when temptation is added to the strain.
His arms are filled to the brim with fatigue and tension, but it’s been weeks
since he collapsed before the command was given. He will not provide Master
Semnar with the satisfaction now. Spock might have been the worst student of
the group, but he will not give up until he has to.
A hastily swallowed sound makes his gaze flicker toward T’Vea’s face. She’s
biting her lip furiously, trying to hold on, but Spock can see that her posture
is wavering. On the other side of him Towar’s left arm begins to shake under
him, nails digging into the unforgiving stone of the floor, trying to retain
the balance.
It is that exact moment that Spock realizes two things. He can outstand them
both and get as much water as he likes back at the quaterna – and – T’Vea is on
the verge of tears, and she will not forgive herself for such a slip.
Spock mentally rolls his eyes at himself, knowing he is going to regret it.
Then he bends his arms carefully, tucks his head in and rolls forward, to
unfold sitting on his knees in front of the cup. He catches Master Semnar’s
gaze as he lifts it to his lips, expecting the usual reprimand.
But Master Semnar merely peers at him for a long, stretched-out moment, saying
nothing. Then he claps his hands once, signaling the end of the exercise. To
Spock’s right, T’Vea’s forward roll is definitely outside the designated
trajectory. To his left, Towar collapses ungracefully back, incapable of
finishing the zia properly.
“Quaterna,” Master Semnar orders, pointing at T’Vea and Towar. “Spock, the
teehms. Finish your water first. It is all you will have today.”
Spock gives a curt bow of acknowledgement to the instructor’s back. His cup is
already empty. He doesn’t look back at the other two as they head back into the
blessed shade.
The only thing worse than standing on teehms is standing on them out in the
open sun. Spock knows that if he were any more proficient in meditation, he
could have induced a light trance to tune out the pain and discomfort. As it
is, he still tries, aiming for one thing at a time.
He is released from the teehms when the martial arts training begins, then has
to go back to them in between of every class. He can barely walk by the time
the night falls, and he is allowed to return back to the quaterna.
To his surprise, T’Vea is waiting for him at the entrance. The moment Spock
walks in, she tugs at his wrist, motioning for him to sit. He is too exhausted
and hurting to argue. His eyes are drooping; his tongue feels too big for his
mouth.
A cool, moist rim is pressed suddenly against his lips, and Spock’s eyes snap
wide open.
“What are you—”
“Shh, I saved you some water,” T’Vea whispers, holding up the cup and glancing
around warily, as if expecting an instructor to come in at any time. “Drink.”
Even if Spock was inclined to argue, the physical reality is that he cannot.
Used as he is to feeling thirsty by now, it never stops being a torture.
He drinks greedily, T’Vea’s fingers holding the cup up, for which Spock is
grateful. He would have probably spilled most of it.
“I know what you did today,” T’Vea says quietly. “Why did you do it?”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Spock mutters, licking his lips.
“You ended your zia first, even though you could outlast us. It should have
been me standing on the teehms today.”
Spock glances at her warily and shrugs, the motion awakening pain in the tired
muscles. “I stand on them every other day anyway.”
T’Vea stares at him, her eyes wide and glinting softly in the darkness. “What
kind of logic is that?”
There is no trace of humor or irony in her voice. She asks the question in full
seriousness; she genuinely wants to know. Spock nearly laughs for the first
time since he came to Tohn. He gives her a rueful smile instead.
T’Vea observes his expression curiously. “This is not the first time,” she says
suddenly. “You were on water duty with Vamir four nights ago. You let him rest
instead of assisting you because his leg was still healing, even though you had
to face Master Sovan in combat that day.”
Spock looks away. “I am abysmal in his class at all times. I am certain he did
not notice the difference.”
“But you did not have to do that. Or to give the right answer to T’Min in
history yesterday.”
Spock bows his head. “If she scored any lower, she would have been punished.”
“And instead you were – for talking.”
Spock glances up at her wearily. “What is it you want, T’Vea? If you wish to
report me, you are free to do so.”
She lifts her chin up stubbornly. “I wish to understand.”
Spock pulls himself up to his feet, trying and failing not to cringe at the
scream of his abused body. “As a friend of mine used to say, good luck with
that.”
“Luck is—”
“Illogical, I am aware. Did you know that there was a goddess of fortune in the
ancient Vulcan pantheon? Her name was Shiara. She had golden hair and rode a
le’matya. She brought fortune to warriors, small children, and women in love.”
T’Vea is staring at him, eyes wide. “Women in—”
“The word ‘shint’ara’ does not, in fact, mean ‘safe journey.’ It is distorted
‘Shiara an tarr’ – an ancient blessing, means ‘May Shiara be on your side.’ The
end of that saying is rather graphic, but I presume you do not wish to know
that.”
“I do not understand. Do you believe in—”
“No,” Spock says, smiling softly at this unexpected recap of an old argument
with Jim. “I am merely saying that logic may not be everything.”
T’Vea looks startled, and Spock curses mentally. He must be more tired than he
realized, if he went for such a blatant blasphemy in the heart of what so
closely resembles the Vulcan version of the Inquisition.
“We should both be sleeping,” he says abruptly. “Thank you for the water.”
He moves toward his bedroll instead, only to discover it isn’t there. Spock
blinks in alarm and bewilderment. Pranks aren’t exactly Vulcan style. His ears
catch a quiet sigh behind him.
“Over here,” T’Vea whispers.
She takes his wrist again, and leads him to where she usually sleeps in the
very middle of the group. Only now does Spock notice that there is space left
for two. Alarmed, he glances back at her. “You don’t have to—”
“Shut up and go to sleep,” she orders briskly, before settling down.
Slightly dazed, Spock follows her in a moment. He is warm at night for the
first time in three months, and it feels glorious.
 
--
Four months into his training, Spock realizes suddenly that he has adapted to
some degree. It dawns on him the first time he doesn’t fall asleep immediately
after the permission is given, spending half an hour instead thinking about
home.
Several days later, he wakes up to the sound of vague muttering. Cautious as
not to disturb the others, Spock rolls onto his knees silently, looking around.
Skor is sitting by the bright square of moonlight falling from the window,
drawing something on the floor with a stick. They aren’t allowed any kind of
recording devices, not even notepads, as a way to stimulate memory and
recollection.
Spock crouches closer, curious. Skor is the most adamant adherent of
discipline. To see him awake after curfew...
“Why are you spying on me?”
Spock winces. He wasn’t aware he’s been caught.
“You woke me up,” he says simply.
Skor peers at him for a moment, then turns back toward his writing.
“Is that Dirac delta function?” Spock asks quietly, looking over Skor’s
shoulder.
Skor stiffens, but reluctantly admits, “I don’t understand it. How can the
integral from –∞ to ∞ equal one when x=0? This is illogical. You cannot divide
by zero.”
Spock studies him for a moment silently. Mathematics has always been one of his
favorite subjects, but Skor is one of the best students here, his fighting
skills far superior to Spock’s and most of the others. For a Vulcan, Skor is
almost arrogant, and Spock isn’t certain he would accept assistance.
He asks anyway. “May I?”
Skor surrenders the stick he’s been scribbling with after only a short
hesitation.
Spock starts explaining in a soft, low voice, pausing every time he feels he’s
losing Skor. Half an hour later, Skor seems much less desperate regarding the
upcoming test. Spock makes him go through the proof on his own to be sure,
before moving back toward his bedroll. He’s been on Vulcan long enough not to
expect an expression of gratitude.
He’s startled when Skor touches his arm.
“The Warriors’ Circle, the first sequence,” Skor mutters, staring resolutely at
the floor. “You lean to the right too much. Use your left arm for balance. When
you can’t extend it, think about extending it. It will help.”
With that, Skor proceeds toward his own bedroll and settles in, not glancing
back once.
Slowly, soundlessly, Spock tries the sequence in soft quarter-speed,
implementing Skor’s suggestion. He goes to sleep with a smile on his face.
Master Sovan is too well-trained to show surprise the next day when Spock
doesn’t overbalance and fall at the push, but his lasting scrutiny is proof
enough of the accomplishment.
 
--
Eight months into the training, the atmosphere at Tohn has undergone a subtle
yet noticeable change. The students have adapted to the rigorous regimen, their
bodies reshaped by it at the crucial stage of their development.
Spock can feel himself becoming leaner, stronger. He’s no longer surprised by
the shift of muscles under his skin; he’s come to rely on them, to trust his
body and its abilities the way he hadn’t before. He almost has to stop himself
from looking for ways to test his newfound strength and speed. He can spot the
same desire in others.
The students are also less subdued and silent now. After dark conversations are
common enough for them to develop a roster of people to take the brunt of the
reprimand when it comes. Spock is surprised to find their curiosity about Earth
to be genuine. He, in turn, listens avidly to his peers’ tales of their
childhoods on Vulcan.
“I failed my kahs-wan,” Vamir says one night, as they are discussing how they
ended up at Tohn. “My mother does not find the custom logical. She did not wish
for me to participate, but my father insisted. She obeyed him, but gave me a
distress beacon so that I could call for help. My control had not yet been
adequate. When I encountered a sehlat, I used the beacon. I was rescued before
it attacked. It had not been yet four days into the test. My bondmate’s family
is important. They said they would not allow the bonding, if I did not prove
myself.”
The others listen in respectful silence, demonstrating their new control over
emotional judgment or quietly sympathizing – Spock doesn’t know. He himself
listens with an odd sense of longing. Had his parents not died, this would have
been his life as well – the kahs-wan, the bonding, all of it. His childhood
memories mix with reality, creating an illogical yearning for something he
could never recapture.
“I survived my kahs-wan,” Skor says, a hint of pride in his tone. “But I was
last in my class in academic achievement. My instructors said that my body
rules over my mind, my physical impulses made it difficult for me to attain the
necessary concentration.” He shifts in place restlessly. “To my bondmate, it
does not matter. But my father expects me to succeed him as head of the city
council one day. He sent me here.”
It goes on like this for a while – expectations, disappointments, parents,
bondmates… Spock becomes so engrossed in picturing that different, strange, yet
alluring life, that the question catches him by surprise.
“What about you, Spock? Do you have a bondmate?”
“No,” he answers, startled to realize that everyone is waiting for his
response. “I do not.”
“But—” T’Min sounds openly alarmed. “What will you do when your Time comes?”
Stunned, Spock realizes that he has no answer.
He’s not unaware of what his Time will entail. The healer Winona had found had
explained it to him early on in clinical detail. But the concept had seemed so
far away and so alien to someone living in a human world that Spock’s mind had
never truly dwelled on it. He tried to discuss it with Winona once, but she
wasn’t at all worried, as though it wasn’t even an issue. Spock had
unconsciously adopted her certainty and had let the matter slip from his mind.
“I had not given the matter much thought,” he admits slowly, having nothing but
honesty to offer.
It might be that his telepathy is indeed just as active as Master T’Lah says,
because he can feel their shocked disbelief like icy rain on the surface of his
skin.
“How is that of consequence?” T’Vea asks suddenly, breaking the heavy silence.
“I am unbonded as well. My sister died during her kahs-wan when I was seven.
Her bondmate’s parents tried to transfer the bond to me, but I did not wish it.
My parents attempted to insist. They thought I would not have another suitor. I
did not find it logical. There are more males on Vulcan than females. When I am
out of Tohn, I will have as many suitors as I wish.”
Spock doesn’t doubt that. He doesn’t need to fully understand the complicated
marital system of his erstwhile home to know that T’Vea possesses many
attractive and desirable qualities. From the looks the other males occasionally
give her, they do not disagree.
“But it is so… unpredictable,” T’Min intones, doubt clear in her voice. “Your
parents would surely know better.”
“Have you no head on your shoulders?” T’Vea speaks scathingly. “Are your
faculties somehow impaired? Why should anyone choose for you in a matter as
important as this? I will choose my own bondmate when the time is right, and so
will Spock.”
Spock really doesn’t need Skor’s very unsubtle elbow in his ribs at that moment
to speak up. “Indeed. It is only logical.”
Apparently satisfied with his agreement, T’Vea doesn’t speak again, and the
entire quaterna drifts off to sleep in fascinated contemplation.
 
--
A month later, a routine morning practice is interrupted by the arrival of a
guest. In itself, it is not an unheard of occurrence, albeit a rare one.
Dignitaries or graduates visit Tohn sometimes to consult with the masters.
This time, however, the visitor is human, which is indeed unprecedented. Most
of the students, being from traditional families, have never seen an off-
worlder before and are understandably curious. Feeling uneasy for some reason,
Spock alone continues the zias as though there has been no interruption,
maintaining his stance even as he feels the man’s eyes tracking his progress.
Master Semnar wastes no time reinstating order. By the time their lirpa
training starts, Spock has almost managed to put the visitor out of his mind.
He focuses on handling the deadly weapon in his hands – they have recently
progressed to training with real blades – when Master Sovan calls him aside.
“Master Sidon wishes to see you,” he tells Spock in his usual inflectionless
tone, taking the weapon away. “Now.”
Spock fights to hide his surprise, succeeding for the most part. The emotion is
justified in any case. Although, officially, Tohn is governed collectively by
the order of masters, Master Sidon is effectively in charge of the facility.
Spock and his peers had only seen him once so far – he had addressed the
students on their first day at Tohn.
There is no room for argument, though, so Spock bows respectfully and races up
the high steps leading to the upper halls. Once at the top, he steels himself,
and pushes at the tall doors carved of black stone.
After the blazing heat of the courtyard, the gallery feels almost uncomfortably
cool. Spock wonders vaguely if he should have stopped to change or at least don
a tunic. His body having adapted, he’s no longer drenched in sweat even in the
middle of the exercise, but he’s still bare from the waist up, and it suddenly
feels inappropriate to appear in front of Master Sidon as he is. But Master
Sovan said ‘Now,’ and Spock had little choice in the matter.
He walks on through the gallery, cut into the body of the mountain itself, into
the masters’ communal hall – a long, oval-shaped room, lit through the tall
windows. A Vulcan and a human stand at the far side of it, turning to face him
as they hear his approach.
Spock stops a respectful ten feet away and bows. “Master Sidon.”
“Spokh.” The master speaks with the same guttural cadence as T’Pau, more
suitable for reading ceremonial texts then for the ever-impatient modern world,
let alone Standard. “Approach.”
Spock does. His curiosity piqued, he allows himself a glance at the master’s
guest.
It’s a human male in his late forties, with sandy-brown hair, turning grey at
the temples, piercing green eyes, and an open smile. He wears a Starfleet
uniform, the stripes on his sleeves identifying his rank as captain. He grins
wider when he catches Spock’s eye.
Spock lifts an eyebrow and turns to Master Sidon.
“Spokh, this is Captain Pike from Starfleet,” Master Sidon says in a tone that,
if it didn’t belong to a Vulcan, could have read as deep disapproval. “He
wishes to speak with you. It is highly irregular, for, as you know, our adepts
are sheltered from the world for the duration of their training. However, in
the best interests of diplomatic relations with Earth” – the master purses his
lips –“I have decided to grant his request.”
Both Spock’s eyebrows shoot up at the news. Diplomatic relations?
“You have one of your hours, Captain,” Master Sidon concludes, and leaves them,
the swishing of his robes fading into the sunlit stone.
Bewildered and intensely curious, Spock turns his full attention to the man who
is apparently there for him.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?” he asks in Standard, speaking it
for the first time since his arrival to Vulcan.
Pike smiles, watching him. “Funny. That’s exactly what your mother wanted me to
ask you.”
Spock blinks. “My mother – Winona Kirk sent you?”
“The one and only.” Pike grins. “Do you know how hard it is to get into this
place? She’s been trying ever since T’Pau had sent her that vague note, telling
her not to expect you for two years. She also forbade her to try and contact
you – or even find you, and being T’Pau, if she means it, she means it. Your
mother, being, well, herself—”
“Would have tried anyway,” Spock realizes, a smile tugging at the corner of his
mouth. The sensation feels almost alien.
Pike frowns. “Don’t tell me you didn’t expect her to. The woman raised you. You
have to know how determined she can get.”
“I do,” Spock says, feeling mildly discomfited. “But T’Pau said she would
explain everything.”
Pike rolls his eyes in a highly immature manner, and suddenly Spock has no
trouble at all accepting him as Winona’s associate.
“She explained nothing at all, just cited family obligations, and told Winona
to stay out of Vulcan business. Your mother took that about as well as could be
expected, and hopped on the next flight to Vulcan, but couldn’t find you. She
started snooping around and a month later finally found out where you’d been
shipped off to. She tried to get to Tohn then, but at that point they kicked
her off the planet.”
Spock listens with growing concern. Somehow, in the months past, Earth has
become a faraway, otherworldly concept at the back of his mind.
“Surely she did not think I went against my will,” he manages cautiously.
Pike looks him up and down and sighs. “She’s very protective of you, Spock, and
you’re sixteen. T’Pau is closing on two hundred, from what I heard, and we both
know that for Vulcans age is so much more than a number.”
Spock nods slowly, unsure. “So after Mother failed—”
“She raised holy hell first in Starfleet, and then in the Diplomatic Corps,
until finally, after months of negotiations, the Vulcans allowed a Starfleet
representative – though not your mother, mind – to talk to you for an hour and
make sure you’re not mistreated.”
“I see.”
“So are you?” Pike steps closer to him. “Are you really all right?”
“I am,” Spock replies almost absently. His eyes narrow. “You are Christopher
Pike – George Kirk’s friend.”
The captain pulls back. “That’s right, glad we established that. And I’ve just
delayed a pretty important mission so that I could come here and talk to you,
so why don’t you start from the beginning, son? Because – just so you know? If
you need me to beam you out of here right now, that’s certainly an option.”
Spock’s eyebrow crawls up. “This installation is protected from most forms of
radiation, Captain. Including transcending.”
“I’ll find a way, kid. Start talking.”
The corner of Spock’s mouth twitches, and he turns to conceal it, reaching for
the pitcher to offer the captain water. “Very well.”
 
--
By the time Spock finishes a succinct retelling of his time on Vulcan, stopping
most notably on his agreement with T’Pau, Captain Pike seems considerably less
on edge.
“Well that’s all well and good,” he says when Spock is done, “as long as you
get that you’ve been pretty heavily manipulated back there. You do realize
that, right?”
Spock purses his lips. “I am not entirely without sense, Captain. Regardless of
what my mother might have told you.”
Pike laughs. “I never thought that, and she’s just worried, Spock.”
“I understand,” Spock concedes. “But she doesn’t need to be.”
“Why did you stay, then? Certainly, T’Pau can be intimidating—”
“That is not it.” Spock takes a few steps closer to the glassless window,
feeling the scalding Vulcan sun touch his skin. “I have spent sufficient time
on Earth. I have not spent any time on Vulcan since I lost my parents ten point
eight years ago. But I am Vulcan. And this” – he steps fully into the light
–“is my home, too. To be given the chance, to be offered to serve this world –
is not something I have believed possible for a very long time. It is important
to me.”
“I see,” Pike says slowly, a note of respect in his voice. “That sounds…
logical.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“So this has nothing to do with Jim?”
Spock’s breath catches – but the training, the ever-present training he hated
so much at first, kicks in, pushing down his reaction, smoothing his
expression, not allowing him so much as a blink. He looks up at Pike calmly,
silently swearing to never underestimate this particular human again.
“Jim?” he repeats with polite inquiry. “Nothing that I can think of. Why? Has
something happened to him?”
This is not something he doesn’t want to show, so he allows concern to slip
into his voice. He wants an answer.
“No, no.” Pike lifts his hand quickly. “He’s fine, he’s doing great. He’s
getting an early admission to Starfleet this year.”
“I see,” Spock says, looking away.
It was something he and Jim had always said they would do together. It’s not
logical, of course, for Jim to wait for him now. But the knowledge still
stings.
“Winona said you maybe were upset with him before you left.” Pike’s tone is
almost apologetic now. “She thought maybe you didn’t want to come home because
of whatever had happened.”
Spock clasps his hands behind his back, staring resolutely out at the distant
horizon. “Once again, Captain, regardless of what my mother may have told you,
not everything in my life revolves around Jim.” He looks back, locking eyes
with Pike. “Please inform Winona, Captain, that I apologize for the amount of
trouble my departure had caused. But I am staying here of my own free will; I
am well; and I intend to remain here until the conclusion of my duties.”
Pike lifts his eyebrows. “Which will be what – another survival test? Fine,
I’ll tell her. Don’t expect her to be happy about it.”
“I assure you, I possess sufficient knowledge of her character to hold no such
expectations.”
The captain grins and lifts up his hands. “Touché. Well, since you are so
certain that this is what you want, it looks like my work here is done. Walk me
out? I’m sure your Master Sidon wouldn’t object.”
Spock bows softly and precedes him toward the stairs.
“What are your plans for when this is over?” Pike asks as they unhurriedly
descend the narrow stone steps. “I know you were considering applying to
Starfleet as well at one time. Is that still something you want?”
Spock moves one shoulder in a non-committal shrug. “I am considering all
options available to me.”
“Of course.” Pike sighs. “That’s only logical, isn’t it? And here I thought I
heard Wi swear you weren’t—”
He’s interrupted by the sound of mild commotion from the courtyard. Instead of
continuing on their way, Spock is forced to join him at the parapet. From his
position, while concealed himself, he can see quite clearly the training ground
below, where Master Sovan appears to have some difficulty controlling his
charges.
Spock’s eyebrows arch of their own volition. That has never happened in all his
time at Tohn.
“What is the meaning of this?” Master Sovan demands, his tone even, but the
steel of command ringing in the air. “Return to your assigned sequences.”
“I mean no disrespect, Master,” Skor says, stepping forward. “But we wish to
know for which transgression Spock is being expelled.”
While Master Sovan stares at Skor in a mute, but nevertheless impressive
attempt to incinerate him, Master Semnar joins the broken circle. If Spock
didn’t know better, he’d say that Master Semnar looks almost amused.
“And why would you wish to know that, child?” he addresses Skor softly, somehow
making his towering student seem smaller.
“We wish to speak in his defense.” The answer comes not from Skor, but T’Vea.
“Whatever he has done, his contribution into our progress should be taken into
account.”
“Your progress?” Master Sovan looks about as livid as a Vulcan can, which to
say even more impassive than usual. “Insolent girl, you have still not mastered
even the basic—”
Master Semnar raises a hand, interrupting him. He glances over the assembled
teenagers – still teenagers, despite their appearance.
“You all feel very strongly about it, do you not? Strongly enough to interrupt
your training even if that means the teehms for a week?”
Surprisingly, it is T’Min who speaks up, overcoming her natural reserve, strong
even by Vulcan standards. “Spock has taken the teehms for all of us on numerous
occasions, Master. If we must do it for him, we are prepared.”
“Also,” Skor inputs, probably earning himself a week of water duty, “I find his
instruction in advanced mathematics more effective than Master Tovac’s.”
There is a moment of menacing silence as Masters Semnar and Sovan exchange
looks.
“Spock is not being expelled,” Master Semnar says finally. “He will rejoin you
for the afternoon classes.”
“No, he will not,” Master Sovan promises darkly, taking in their poorly
concealed relief. “He will join you in performing zia gihsan on the teehms. You
may start now. The first person to break the zia will be on water duty every
day this month. Go.”
Spock pulls back from the scene to find Pike watching him.
“If you are quite done, Captain?” Spock mutters in a dry tone, starting down
again.
“Certainly.” Pike nods, clearly amused. After a while, he says softly, “I heard
Vulcans are a tough crowd. Especially, to newcomers. Especially, when those
Vulcans have something to prove.”
“Your point being, Captain?” Spock replies snappishly, his control slipping.
It’ll take considerable time for him to sort through every emotion he’s
currently experiencing in his later meditation, but embarrassment definitely
tops the list. “No student has ever been pulled out of training for any reason,
so their assumption was logical.”
“Never said it wasn’t, though it’s interesting that your first impulse is to
jump to their defense.”
“I did not purposefully incite a revolt, if that is what you are implying.”
“And yet your classmates have almost started one all the same in your name. I
heard around here that kind of thing never happens.”
Spock stops at the gate, separating Tohn from the wilderness outside, and turns
to look at Pike, not bothering to keep his tone civil. “I find this
conversation to serve no purpose.”
Pike grins at him, wide and sincere. “When you’re done with whatever it is you
feel you have to do here, you’re applying to Starfleet. If you don’t, so help
me, I’ll hunt you down and make you apply. Got that?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow, looking as unimpressed as he knows how. “Good day,
Captain Pike.”
The gate, recognizing his palm, pushes the side door open.
Not deterred in the slightest, Pike claps him on the shoulder. “See you in a
couple of years, son.”
Spock does not dignify that with a response.
 
--
Water duty that month turns to be twice the normal load, but it doesn’t occur
to him to complain.
 
--
In the months following Captain Pike’s visit, the routine at Tohn changes
dramatically. Master Sovan logically concludes that his students have too much
time on their hands and too much energy left at the end of each day, if
avoiding water duty and the teehms no longer serves as incentive. Their
physical workload triples in a matter of weeks, and there are days when all
Spock knows about himself is pain.
Every muscle is straining, and there is no position in which he’s comfortable.
Mastering deeper meditation and the Healing Trance becomes not only a priority,
but a survival imperative. The most communication he has with his classmates
these days are an exchange of exhausted glances and a light mental touch here
and there as a mute expression of solidarity.
Winter at Tohn means that every inhabitant must consciously regulate their body
heat at all times or risk contracting hypothermia. For the first time, Spock
feels that his time on Terra has given him an edge in something, but the effort
required is so enormous that it hardly even registers.
Thermal springs under the fortress seem to be a gift from some higher power at
first, but the lessons conducted here, while less strenuous, are no less
demanding. The instruction in Vulcan neuropressure alone, beneficial as it
proves to be in ensuring their restful sleep, is by no means a soft discipline.
Master Sovan makes them run obstacle courses in the snow right before Master
T’Vel challenges them to debate Vulcan philosophy. Icy water of the basin by
the well, green blood spilled on the snow when Tuhon slips on the steps and
breaks his leg, a long string of curses serving as traditional Tellarite
greeting echoing in the cave, a fourteen-day-long fast leading up to their
first deep meld…
On a gloriously warm morning at the far end of spring, Spock finds himself
standing on the outer wall of the fortress, looking into the endless terrain
below. He finds himself at liberty to enjoy a moment of peaceful contemplation.
They have survived the winter. He has spent a year and a half at Tohn. He
cannot pinpoint a moment when he’d stopped thinking of it as a prison and begun
to find its rigorous schedule and restrictions a welcome comfort.
They receive individual training now from the masters who had selected them.
Spock is surprised to be chosen by Sovan. The martial arts master is
notoriously reticent in choosing personal students, and Spock had never noticed
him to be particularly approving of him before. Nevertheless, Sovan it is for
him, as well as T’Vea, T’Min, and Skor, which serves to bring them closer
together.
As though in response to his thoughts, T’Min and T’Vea climb up to join him on
the windy stone ridge. T’Vea stops beside him, while T’Min proceeds to walk on
further, picking the most open spot on the corner. She tucks her long dark hair
tighter in, stretches, and without a moment’s hesitation pulls herself up,
standing on her arms in zia gihsan.
Spock’s gaze is momentarily arrested by the image of her taut, slender body
stretched up so closely to the edge of the wall – a gust of wind might send her
into an almost two-thousand meter fall…
But of course, that is the challenge. They have all done it – Sovan seemed to
find the fear of heights specifically to be the most insulting to logic. The
way Spock and T’Vea are standing now is not precisely safe, either, but he
doesn’t seem to even notice anymore. The only reason he’s still watching T’Min
is to admire an aesthetically pleasing image.
Beside him, T’Vea shifts, her shoulder bumping softly into his. Spock looks at
her. She’s peering upward, into the sky still full of paling stars.
“Where is Terra?” she asks, and Spock can’t bring himself to follow her gaze.
“Far away,” he says, tucking a strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear.
“Beneath the horizon.”
She doesn’t call him on the illogical touch or the imprecise answer.
 
--
The morning when the tenzeh-rha, the Final Test, begins is chilly and dim. The
students aren’t allowed to talk as they are blindfolded and transported out of
Tohn to an unfamiliar terrain higher up. From there, they will start their
thirty-day-long journey through the mountains and the desert until they reach
Tohn-nah-Irham and face their final challenge. Not that they wish to converse
at that point.
Still, as they are being pushed off the transport platform one by one, someone
rests a hand briefly on Spock’s shoulder. The touch is easy to recognize now.
Skor. Spock gets a quick impression of nervousness and excitement, and yes,
this is very much it.
His landing is rough, and, by the time he stops his rotation, sticks and gravel
biting at the bare skin of his back, and pulls his blindfold off, the transport
has disappeared, and he’s alone amidst unfamiliar mountains.
Spock quickly determines that he has to find his way out of what appears to be
a natural well a hundred meters in diameter first. There are no caves, no
pathways, and no way to go around. He’ll have to climb.
The rock is old and not as smooth beneath his fingers, giving him something to
hold on to, but the wall itself is almost exactly perpendicular to the surface,
leaning over it, on fact, closer to the top. Spock estimates he will have to
climb up two point four kilometers before he reaches the top. With no rope and
no means of securing himself, it’ll be between him and the rock and the wind.
He climbs. The task demands his complete concentration, but does not prove
untenable. Very briefly, Spock’s mind flickers to Master Sovan making them do
zias, meditate, and sleep on the wall.
Nobody wants you to fail.
About halfway through the climb, Spock stops abruptly, fingers digging into the
rock instinctively, as he reaches a narrow natural shelf, hosting a small,
desperately curved tree and a smudge of dust. The dust holds an imprint of a
le’matya’s paw.
Spock controls the rush of adrenaline flooding his system, and examines the
imprint. It appears old – four, maybe five days. The possibility of the
predator still being in the immediate vicinity is unlikely. Spock steps
carefully clear of the dust as he moves forward.
He reaches the top by sunset. The temperature has been steadily declining the
higher he got, and at the top it’s freezing; thick emerald ice is covering the
red surface of the rock, and there is snow everywhere. Spock doesn’t mind the
snow; snow is his friend; snow is water. He will miss the snow once he’s in the
desert. For now, though, he must quickly find shelter.
It takes him four days to make his way to the bottom of the mountains. It’s
uneventful, but for a brief, if violent, encounter with a sehlat who does not
appreciate intruders in its territory. In the aftermath, Spock has to extract a
four-inch fang from his shoulder, and the giant bear-like creature will in all
probability be very confused once it wakes up, but it could have been worse.
The desert means scorching heat, no shelter, no water, predators, quick sand,
and no way to tell direction.
The stars become his compass, the fire – his defense at night, the predators –
his guides to concealed springs. It is a slow circuitous crossing. Spock
meditates, but doesn’t sleep. Faces come out of the dark to greet him. His
father – ever stern, ever distant. His mother – accepting and understanding.
Winona – amused and caring. Sam. Jason. T’Vea. T’Min. Skor.
Jim.
Spock stares up at the stars, feeling impossibly far from everyone he’s ever
known. Lights in the sky, they seem unreal even when he knows for certain they
exist. He is alone, but strangely it is not a bad feeling. This here and now is
between him, the desert, and the universe. He’d almost feel annoyed were anyone
to intrude.
At the end of the twenty-seventh day, he reaches the base of the mountains. He
recognizes the north entrance to the Tohn valley, and knows he’s in the right
place. He spends two days in deep meditation, preparing for what T’Pau had
called the ultimate test of body, mind, and spirit – the Labyrinth of Tohn.
As their final challenge the graduates of the ancient war academy had to fight
their way through an underground gallery, filled with intricate wooden
mannequins, animated and programmed to decimate. It was said that, in order to
leave the Labyrinth alive, one must possess the prescience of a kal-toh player,
the aptitude of a scholar, the strength and speed of a wild le’matya, and the
mind of a priest.
At dawn on the final morning, Spock gazes at the entrance of the Labyrinth with
a strange sense of calm settled over him. Mathematics, physical endurance,
perseverance, and above all – the mastery of emotion, most notably fear. There
is no reason for him to fail if he is indeed Vulcan enough.
He steps inside, and immediately his world dims, the air filling with the sound
of wood creaking – an ominous sound if one were to succumb to fear, a welcome
forewarning otherwise.
Spock ducks under the first blow, a person-sized hammer seeking to flatten him
against the wall. He jumps on a rotating beam, turning and spinning to avoid
sharp wooden spears shooting from the walls. Balance, counter-balance, twist
and turn, bending back to land on his hands, contract his body in midair, and
push forward, deflecting blows.
The rhythm is predictable, but mercilessly fast, five sequences working at
counterpoints to unbalance, strike, push, stun, and pierce. A split-second
distraction will mean his life. An emotional response he isn’t fast enough to
suppress very nearly costs him that when he spots green blood smudged richly
over one of the speared wheels – someone preceded him here today, someone who
never made it…
He lets out a cry as a barbed wire smashes him over his back, sharp pain
clearing his focus. He ducks and turns and kicks and twists, fighting with
opponents who feel no pain, experience no anger, and serve only one purpose.
It’s a mistake to try and block every blow, losing sight of the bigger
mechanism operating on pure logic. Spock lets the blows rain on his back,
pelter his arms and legs if it means staying on the spinning gear wheel long
enough to be able to jump forward, between the crisscrossing blades and into
the final spiral.
Hot coals under his feet, he ducks, and blocks, and strikes, and moves.
Treacherous light at the end of the corridor – the temptation of a close relief
for those who allow hope to lead them to their doom.
Ignoring it, Spock suddenly finds himself struck by a sense of absolute
clarity. As though the entire thirty-day ordeal has led him specifically to
this moment, in which he can exist indefinitely, in which he understands, and
it is – beautiful.
He almost wishes he could turn around and move back into the Labyrinth, stay
within its mathematical perfection, studying it in endless admiration, being an
integral part of it, because it only comes alive when he’s inside…
He blinks, momentarily disoriented by the bright midday light, hitting him in
the face, washing over his body. Every cut and bruise comes to life with a new
awareness, but he’s largely uninjured, and – alive.
Alive.
Spock lifts up his head and looks over a long stretch of barren ground to where
the masters of Tohn are standing barefoot on the cold grey sand, forming a
half-circle.
Behind them, higher up on the fortress wall, stands a fully assembled Council
of Elders. His father would have been among them once. Now, even from the
distance, there is no mistaking T’Pau’s presiding stance.
Spock puts them out of his mind. They have done nothing to merit his
consideration.
Slowly, he starts forward, keeping an even, measure pace, walking over toward
the masters, who had taught him, and trained him, made him challenge his own
limits, made him face and accept the man he has become.
He kneels in front of Sovan standing front and center. The master reaches out
and rests his fingers against Spock’s temple.
You have exceeded their expectations, boy. You have not exceeded mine.
Startled, Spock looks up, and meets the master’s eyes. Sovan deliberately lets
the emotion linger. Pride, Spock learns, burns bright and sharp like ember in
the darkest of nights.
“Arise, Spock of Vulcan.”
For the first time in thirty days, Spock fears his legs might not support him.
But they do, almost beyond his will, Sovan’s hand lingering for a moment on his
shoulder.
 
--
The rest of the day is spent in wary anticipation. Spock’s injuries are seen
to; he takes a cleansing bath, and breaks his fast with a light meal. Dressed
in a new pair of pants and tunic of traditional design someone had left for
him, Spock finds a spot to the side of the clearing, and waits beside Sopar,
who had finished the rite first.
One by one, as the day progresses, the young Vulcans emerge from the Labyrinth.
Some sorely beaten, some relatively unscathed. Skor is among those most badly
injured, but he completes the ceremony under his own power. T’Vea steps out
just as the sun begins to set, looking battered but victorious, the proud tilt
of her chin unmistakable in the distance.
One by one they go through the same motions as Spock had, and join the others
in the sidelines. There is no conversation, no congratulations are exchanged,
but a light touch here and there, subtle, unseen, conveys all they want to
express.
Towar is the last one to step out of the Labyrinth. He’s limping badly, blood
streaming from a gaping cut on the side of his head. He collapses in a heap at
Master Sovan’s feet and does not get up. As the healers take him away, all can
hear the masters’ verdict. Should Towar survive, his tenzeh-rha will be
considered complete.
Of the nineteen young Vulcans dropped in the mountain wilderness thirty days
ago, seventeen complete the test. Telkar’s body is discovered at the very
beginning of the route – he had fallen off a cliff.
The other casualty is T’Min, who perished crossing the desert.
Spock sits in numb shock at the announcement. His mind, only just so clear and
compliant, cannot comprehend it. He looks at Skor and meets an equally troubled
gaze. Sitting to his right, T’Vea lets out a soft exhalation.
It is logical, Spock knows, to expect failure as a possible outcome for any
test with such demanding conditions of succeeding. Seventeen survivors out of
nineteen is not a discouraging result at all. There has never been a year
without someone failing their tenzeh-rha, and very few with such a small
percentage.
It should be comforting.
It isn’t.
While shy and quiet, T’Min’s mind rivaled those of their instructors. She could
have become a galaxy-renowned scientist, had she lived. An electrical storm at
the desert, a stray lightning – a random variation of chance wiping her clear
out of existence – where is the logic, where is the fairness in that?
They had all known what they were facing. Nobody had lied to them, and they had
all accepted the terms. But somehow, having acknowledged the possibility of his
own death, Spock had never stopped to consider someone else’s.
“Kaidith,” Skor mutters softly, but his hands are balled into fists, belying
the ancient formula for acceptance.
Spock doesn’t know how to say anything.
Skor grips his shoulder, and Spock reaches out blindly for T’Vea’s arm. They
remain locked together long after the others have moved on.
 
--
The Elders leave the moment the ceremonies are concluded, and the masters
retreat back into Tohn, leaving their former students to rest and recuperate at
the foothill facility.
Celebrations are illogical, but they share a fire and a meal, sitting for the
last time together. The circle breaks at some point, with some wandering off
into the dark for some solitude, others picking a room to settle for the night,
as they are no longer required to share space.
Spock roams the empty enfilades of rooms of the installation that had once
hosted hundreds of warriors at a time. He can’t get T’Min out of his mind.
Mind over body, over matter, over doubt. Logic over emotion. Control over
everything.
“It is unwise to be alone right now,” T’Vea says from the doorway of the
chamber he selected.
Spock doesn’t turn around. “I would not wish to inflict my company on anyone at
the moment.”
“Logic dictates that what you wish should not take precedence over what you
require.”
Spock does turn to look at her then. “And what is it, you believe, I require?”
She steps further into the room, setting the torch she brought in on the wall.
In the reddish glow, her features are sharp and angular, her eyes dark and
quiet.
“Comfort,” she says, reaching to undo the clasp in her hair. “An outlet.” The
light tunic she’s been wearing pools softly at her feet on the floor. “And most
of all – touch.”
Spock feigns neither surprise nor indifference. The first would be an insult to
them both. The second – a blatant lie.
“Are you certain?” he asks, taking a step toward her, and she nods.
“I am unbonded, free to do as I choose. So are you. Unless someone is waiting
for you back on Terra?”
“No,” Spock replies, and it doesn’t come out bitter. “There’s no one there who
needs me.”
Slowly, the motion unconsciously sensual, T’Vea pulls up on her toes and
presses her lips firmly against his. “I need you now.”
There is no more hesitation.
Even as his clothes hit the floor, Spock spares a hysterical thought at the
back of his mind for the boy he used to be, the one so easily shocked with
revelations of his own body when Jim had ambushed him, back on Terra, such a
long time ago. A shadow of the past, ridiculous and incredible – could that
truly ever have been him?
His body holds no mystery to him anymore – and neither does hers, not after the
way they have been living for so long, not after everything they’ve been
through.
They are, both of them, innocent, but neither is ignorant, and the inevitable
discoveries become afterthoughts in the wake of the glorious joint exploration.
T’Vea pushes, and Spock lets himself be pushed, a hard cot by the wall their
only luxury. His fingers skim over her skin, unreserved, determined, seeking
out every sensitive spot, pressing the reactions out. She leans up, offering
her mouth, her nails dig deep into his shoulders, and a quiet, surprised moan
falls from her lips as she lowers herself slowly onto him, her body taut and
strong and powerful around him.
His telepathy proves redundant, when he can feel how much she needs to do it
this way, exactly this way, with every cell of his body. Sensations build up,
overwhelming, and he meets her halfway, eliciting a soft cry out of her. She
grins, ferocious and untamed, allowing instinct to take over, taking him under
with her, as she rolls her hips at a wild pace, pressing her body tight against
his.
He takes it for as long as he can, but as she squeezes tight, something snaps
within him. He pushes her flat on her back, driving in hard and fast, as she
arches up beneath him, and that’s – yes, she’s laughing, not out loud, but the
sound is there, in his mind, and all he knows is to share it.
Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, they egg each other on, unable to stop,
swept by the intensity of sensations – and life, and fight, and death, and this
– until finally falling over the edge, ungraceful, explosive, and beautiful.
 
--
They sleep, and Spock dreams.
He’s back in the desert – just him, his fire, and the stars. Suddenly, there’s
an eagle perched on a dried up tree above him – a huge Terran sky predator that
had once so surprised one little Vulcan boy as he’d looked up to see the clear
blue of Terra’s sky for the very first time. Sharp amber eyes turn blue, turn
green, turn amber again.
Home, child. Come home. Come home.
The vision blurs, shattering into a thousand pieces.
 
--
It takes two more weeks to conclude his business on Vulcan.
T’Vea follows him to Shi’Kahr, much to T’Pau’s displeasure. Spock suspects it
has more to do with T’Vea’s unwillingness to face her own family just yet, than
with enjoying his company, although the first certainly doesn’t preclude the
second. T’Pau’s opinion does nothing to deter him, though Spock draws the line
at doing something for the single purpose of aggravating her.
He meets with the family solicitor to finalize the terms of his inheritance,
reading and signing documents for almost an entire day. He interviews
candidates and eventually hires a manager to look after the ferru’zhia
farmlands in his family’s possession. He takes the time to meet with some of
the farmers, ensuring they will contact him directly in case of any grievances.
Two years ago, it would have been a daunting task for someone completely unused
to exercising authority, but now Spock experiences neither difficulty nor
hesitation. It is amazing what facing off with death so many times would do to
a person.
“I don’t think that’s it,” T’Vea says, when Spock shares that observation with
her somewhat ruefully. “The experience could not have given you something you
hadn’t already possessed. It is like forging steel. If the ore was of poor
quality, it would not have withstood the tempering.”
There is also the matter of Sarek’s place in the Vulcan High Council – a career
path T’Pau desperately wants Spock to devote himself to.
“Your father had served in the military before becoming a diplomat,” T’Pau
tells him archly. “For you, though, the Vulcan Science Academy would be a good
start. They have reviewed your academic record and are willing to offer you a
place, despite your Terran background. In fact, they are keenly interested.”
“I am honored by their consideration,” Spock says, not bothering to hold the
sarcasm. “But I must respectfully decline.”
The ever-present frowning expression on T’Pau’s face becomes more pronounced.
“I see little respect in your attitude, boy.”
“Then I ask forgiveness.” Spock bows, indeed repentant. “But I have done what
was necessary. I must now return to the path I have chosen myself.”
Long goodbyes and sentiments are illogical, but T’Vea shows up at the spaceport
to see him off. To Spock’s surprise, so does Skor.
“Live long and prosper,” T’Vea says, resting her palm against Spock’s chest,
mindless of passers by. In a quieter tone, she adds, “When your Time comes, if
you find yourself in need, look me up. If I am still unattached, I will share
it with you.”
He inclines his head. “You as well.”
She nods and leaves, not looking back once.
Skor approaches from a few feet away, where he was waiting to give them some
privacy. “She is perhaps the most perceptive of us all,” he tells Spock
pensively. “She knew you for who you truly were from the start. I did not.”
Spock looks at him, touched, slightly amused. “I think we had all been
harboring any number of preconceptions about each other.”
Skor nods somberly. “There is a word in Terran – ironic? My father is now
willing to accept me as his heir, but I find that I do not wish to follow in
his footsteps. Do you believe – had your father been alive that you would still
be leaving?”
Spock pauses to consider him. Speculation about something that can never be is
highly illogical, and they had been literally beaten into knowing better. Yet
here Skor is, asking the question.
“I do not know,” Spock confesses. “Perhaps. I had encountered less prejudice
against my nature in my two years at Tohn, than I have in two weeks in
Shi’Kahr.”
Skor looks at him thoughtfully. “Master Sovan said you were – a throwback, an
offshoot of our ancient blood. He said you have the heart of a warrior.”
Spock drops his eyes for a moment, fighting a blush. “The master honors me.
Though I doubt very much that my mother – either of them – would approve.” He
looks up. “But what is it that you wish to do now, Skor?”
There’s uncharacteristic hesitancy in Skor’s expression, but when he looks at
Spock his eyes are clear. “I know I have to study more. But when I am done –
would you tell me more about Starfleet?”
Spock can’t help it. Training, and logic, and discipline aside, standing in the
middle of Vulcan Space Central, he smiles.
--
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