Beauty of the Unbeastly Part 1
Title: Beauty of the Unbeastly Part 1
Rating: T
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Summary: Written for prompt here. Beauty and the Beast meets Star Trek XI.
Disclaimer: disclaimed.
Jim waited patiently. His stepfather wasn’t the greatest man in the world, but he did what needed to be done. It’d been a week since Frank had left for the city, trying to get a loan to settle the debt the farm had created - so far there had been no luck. The banks turned him down. Every single one.
There was a stretch of wild earth between the vast plains of the local farms and the city. Frank had taken the carriage and one horse, one of the few they had left. There was a herd that passed through some of their land but those horses were left alone. Jim and Sam had named them, and watched them daily as they crossed from the rolling hills into the thick forests.
It was almost Sunset, the time the horses passed, and beyond the time Frank had promised to be back. He’d gone with hope, had promised them all something. A rose for his mother, a plow or a saddle for Sam, and Jim… had wanted nothing except for his safe return. There’d been rumors about that forest, and even if Frank and Jim fought too often to be called close, his mother still loved the man, and Jim loved Winona. He wanted nothing more than her happiness.
Sam sat beside Jim on the small bench their father had made before he’d died, wiping the dirty sweat from his brow with his shoulder as he took off his work gloves, glancing a smile at his little brother. Beneath their feet, they could feel the vibrations of the herd.
“Smoky,” Sam began, as the biggest, blackest stallion lead his group across the plain in front of them.
“Raisin,” Jim said of the brown mare behind Smoky, and then of the small paint and the speckled foal beside her, “Brownie and Chops.”
“Jimmy and Sam-Sam,” they said together of the two stallions in the middle, one roan and the other a tawny-gold.
“Winnie” was a beautiful white mare, heavy with foal. She was a little slower than normal, Jim noted, then spotted Tippy and Twister bringing up the back. Both were spotted grey and silver, older then the rest. Jim thought of them as the grandma and grandpa of the group.
They didn’t slow down as they neared the forest, didn’t stop as they entered, which made Jim worry a little less. The rumors were nothing good, to be sure, but Frank could take on anything that came at him, right? Sam kept trying to reassure him that everything would be fine, but Jim could feel something in the pit of his gut.
Frank’s carriage appeared in the distance, dust stirring up behind it. It hadn’t rained at all the past month, and it wasn’t helping the vegetables or grain.
They met him at the barn and helped put away the horse. She was old, and weak, but refused to give up. Jim admired her, refilling her water bucket while Sam talked with Frank outside, unloading the feed from the carriage. There was a saddle, new and embellished with symbols that meant nothing to Jim. It was a good sign and meant that perhaps their luck had changed for the better. Finally.
But Frank still had that drawn look. And, despite the saddle, Sam still didn’t look pleased.
In the house, Winona had dinner ready, the table set, and as she wiped her hands on her apron, she kissed each of her boys on the cheek. Men, she amended, because they were all old enough, even if they didn’t all the time act like it.
As they ate, they talked. It was as Jim had feared: there was no good news.
“But you came back with Sam’s saddle! And Mom’s rose!” Jim pleaded, slamming his glass of milk against the table. “How can you bring back meaningless things if you can’t save the farm?” He let his anger through, stood so that his chair hit the floor. Sam and Winona were quiet.
Frank sighed, rubbed his tired eyes with a bandaged hand. “The banks knew we wouldn’t be able to pay them back. All the farms around us have sold and we can’t compete.” His face seemed too lax, too sad, and Jim felt fear grip him. “The saddle and the rose, I’m afraid, have come at a price entirely too large to pay. By the time I realized, it was too late to return them.”
“What do you mean?” Winona whispered as she unwrapped her husband’s hand. She gasped at the infectious wounds that were sluggishly bleeding. He didn’t look at her though, but kept looking at Jim with that sad face, eyes sorrowful.
“The rumors are true,” Frank says quietly. “There is a beast, in a castle. He seemed friendly, at first - well, as friendly as a beast can be. But it was nothing but trickery. He had roses, lots and lots of them. I thought that taking one couldn’t hurt. He went crazy, though. A man was there, and he saved me, calmed the beast down enough so that I could explain myself.
“I told them we were losing our farm, and I thought to offer at least some sort of comfort to my wife if I could not offer comfort to her sons, and I told them what I had promised each of you. He let me live, the beast did, and he gave me that saddle, said that he couldn’t ride anymore. Imagine that - a beast riding a beast!”
No one laughed as they watched Frank retell his story. Winona cleaned the wounds, rewrapped them, and Jim sat back down, but pushed his plate away. He felt the panic creeping along his spine.
“He made me promise to return, and bring something special, something like none other. And then he asked why, if I had three to return to, I only needed two items. But I didn’t know what would happen, if I did, I’d never had said anything, honestly Jimmy.”
“Frank?” Winona whispered, backing away, eyes wide. “What happened? What’d he want?”
Frank still didn’t look at her, couldn’t even look at Jim. “He wants Jim, in exchange for the rose and the saddle. In exchange for my life, and the rest of you.”
“How long?” Winona asked furiously. “How long until he has to leave?”
Frank swallowed. “He has to be at the castle by the end of the week.”
“Five days!” And then Winona was throwing herself at her youngest, weeping and holding him close. Jim did not react, could not, so he threw himself into work until it was time to go, part of him hoping that if he looked detestable enough, the beast wouldn’t want him.
He only had one bag to pack, which he did with hesitancy, moving slow until there was nothing left to bring. Sam had the carriage ready, and Frank was already there, at the reins and still not looking happy. Winona was inside, crying, and busying herself with menial tasks so that she wouldn’t try to hunt the beast down.
They rode for an hour before they met up with a man on a horse. Frank stopped the carriage, nodded slowly. It was that fear again, and Jim didn’t want to go. The farm needed all the help it could get.
The man introduced himself in a thick, southern drawl as Leonard McCoy, stating that he’d take the boy from here. Jim huffed.
“I’m not a boy,” he grumbled, but grabbed his bag and walked away from Frank.
“I’m sorry this had to happen, Jimmy,” Frank said.
Jim shrugged it off, faked a smile. “Just remember to take Mom out to see the herd every now and then, and keep an eye on Winnie for me, okay?” He felt like crying but he couldn’t, because then he would be weak, and he didn’t want to be weak in front of a stranger or Frank.
He climbed up behind McCoy, who gave him a hand up, and then they were gone. He didn’t face forward until he couldn’t see the carriage behind them anymore.
It was dark by the time they reached the castle, which only served to make it look more ominous, and the door creaked as McCoy pushed it open - a large, wooden, unwelcoming door with a knocker that looked less than pleasant with gnarly features and sharp teeth.
Beyond, there was a massive hall with polished marble floors and flaming torches lining the wall to light the way. There were two ornate stair cases that Jim presumed led to the same place above them. All the walls were lined with doors, most of which led to bedrooms.
Jim was shown to his, allowed to set his bag down but not to settle in, and left with enough time to see that he had a bed and a wardrobe before he was shoved out the door by an impatient McCoy. They went back downstairs, between the two staircases, and entered into a dining room with a table fit for a king and all his relatives, set with a feast to match.
McCoy sat across from Jim and waited until the clock chimed before he started to spoon things onto his plate. Jim followed suit, confused and unsure.
It took a few minutes before he could ask. “You’re the beast?” Or accuse, rather.
McCoy laughed and almost choked on his fork. “I’m just the doctor, kid. You won’t be seeing the beast for a while. Might hear him from time to time, but it’s unlikely you’ll be seeing him.”
Jim chewed thoughtfully. “Then why am I here?”
“Thought your dad explained that to you.”
Jim shook his head. “Frank’s not my dad, and he only told me that you… that the beast wanted my life in exchange for a flower.”
“A rose,” McCoy amended tersely. “Prize rose that his mother planted when he was a kid. Bastard basically is a kid, the way he acts sometimes, but he gets lonely here by himself - needs himself a companion.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Jim asked before he could stop himself. He would probably be getting into deep trouble, but his mouth opened anyway. “How can he be lonely if you’re here?”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “He knows I’m here, but we don’t get on real well, so we barely see each other. Bastard has issues, let me tell you!”
“So you want me to be… a companion? What exactly does that entail?” By now, Jim’s plate is cold and forgotten, so he shoves it away, watching McCoy fidget in his seat.
“Just… I don’t know! Be a friend?”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Jim pushed away from the table. “I’ll go to bed, unless there’s something else you need to keep from me?” Jim left, remembered the turns that he needed to make and got better acquainted with his room.
-
He’d been there a week, and still no sign of the so-called beast. Jim had breakfast, lunch and dinner with the doctor, and they saw each other often enough that Jim thought maybe he could understand why the beast kept his distance. Seeing someone too much in one day was rather annoying, so he tried to find things to keep him busy.
Seeing how he’d used to help his mother with the dishes, he did that after every meal, and then he’d go out to the gardens, where he got to know the difference between weed and plant. There were a few fruit trees, surrounded by lush vegetables and bright flowers that made Jim feel slightly nostalgic for the farm.
He’d discovered the library too, full of books from languages he’d never heard of, of cultures he never knew. Quite a few had symbols on them similar to the one on the saddle. Sam’s saddle, now, he reminded himself.
When he found himself with nothing to do, he read beneath the apple tree until it was dark or until McCoy dragged him back inside.
“What’ve you been reading?” McCoy asked one night over dinner, watching as Jim frowned at one page before flipping to the next. His head kept tilting to the side, too, like he was looking at pictures.
Jim shrugged, mouth half-full as he answered. “Don’t know. Something from India, I think, or thereabouts.”
“You read Indian?” McCoy sounded skeptical.
“Sanskrit,” Jim corrected, and held up the book. “And no. But it does have interesting pictures.”
Leonard thought he might die as he choked on his water. “What the hell is that?”
“Kama Shastra,” Jim replied sagely. “They thought of sex as a science, evidently, and it was really philosophical. It even has positions, and teaches how to hug and kiss someone. Oh! How to prepare a girl…”
“Enough!” McCoy coughed, laughing and shaking his head. “I don’t even want to know where you found that.”
“In the library,” Jim replied earnestly. “There’s a lot there. And no, not all of them are about sex.”
McCoy snorted. “I should hope not.” He rubbed his temple, downed his glass of water, which Jim was beginning to suspect was not so much water as something alcoholic. “Why that bastard even has that is beyond me.”
“It’s sex, Len,” Jim remarked, like it wasn’t obvious.
He spent the rest of the night in the library, next to the glass chess set that seemed to be looking more and more inviting the more he tried to ignore it. Jim had only moved a few pieces, but by the time he fell asleep, he’d played half a game against
himself.
Jim awoke to the darkness, stretched in the chair and yawned widely before he heard the chink of glass on glass. He turned wide eyes to the man in the chair opposite him, on the other side of the chess set. It wasn’t the doctor though, Jim realized a moment later, as he took in the dark hair and darker eyes.
“Right, so… Beast? Do you have a name or do I have to make one up?”
There was silence for several minutes before the beast spoke. “Spock.” And then he was back to his single player game.
“I’m Jim,” Jim smiled, stuck a hand out to shake. It wasn’t returned, however, just looked at in disgust. “White wins in three.” Jim stretched again, and went back to sleep.
-
It was another week before Jim saw Spock again.
It was at dinner, with McCoy grumbling at him about the damn sex books again when he’d stopped mid-tirade to stare behind him and curse.
“Bout time you showed your damn face, bastard!”
Jim turned, smiled at the pale man. “Spock! Care for a seat?” He patted the seat beside him in invitation. “Anything I can help you with?”
McCoy cursed again. “Of course you’ve met! Why not?”
Spock ignored him. “Your comment the other night - I do not see it’s possibility. It is impossible for white to win in three as you said. I have tried numerous plays and it is not possible.”
“Sure it is, if you play it right.”
Spock looked at him for a moment. “There is but one way to play chess.”
Jim smirked and returned to his dinner. “Only if you play by the rules.”
Spock turned and left as silently as he’d come, evidently having found the answer he was searching for. Or maybe not, and just giving up on Jim’s logic - or the possible lack there of.
“What the hell was that about?” McCoy grunted around his glass. Was that bourbon?
Jim chose not to comment, turning the current book around instead to face McCoy, and laughed as the good doctor spluttered and cursed for the rest of dinner, slightly flushed. Jim was pleased with himself.
-
Spock, it seemed, only tended the garden at night, when Jim and McCoy were supposed to be asleep. Supposed to be because that didn’t seem to be the case, as Jim hung upside down in front of him, knees wrapped firmly around a thick branch, arms crossed and trying to keep his shirt from slipping off.
It was slightly too big for him, Spock noticed, wondering why this wild farm boy was not scared of him like so many before him, like the many that would come after. Even the doctor had been scared of him, and still was, if slightly less.
Jim just laughed and swung lightly, eyes dark and mysterious and sleepless. It only took a moment for him to loose his balance, and by instinct built up over the years and hardwired into his genetics, Spock caught the kid, whose fingers were latched deep into the skin that still occasionally made him uncomfortable.
Jim muttered something unintelligible that Spock strained to hear, perhaps something about ponies or puppies, before he realized that a human was unconscious in his arms. He didn’t know what to do, so before he knew what was happening, he was knocking at the doctor’s door, patiently if slightly worried.
It was a few moments before McCoy managed to get up and present himself at least partly decent, but immediately cursed when he saw who it was - really, though, who else could it have been?
“What the hell happened this time?”
But Spock did not get a chance to respond, as McCoy transformed before his eyes from an uncouth but gentle southern man into a doctor who knew what he was doing. Jim was on the doctor’s bed with an ear pressed against his chest, fingers on his wrist, and-
Jim snored lightly and twisted the blankets around his legs, almost kicking McCoy in the head as he turned over.
“Damn it, Spock,” McCoy growled. “The kid’s just asleep.” He sighed tiredly, ran his hand down his face and grinned at Spock. “It’s sweet how you worry, though.”
Spock straightened immediately, any sign of emotion gone from his face. “Worry is a human emotion, doctor. I cannot feel it.”
“You just keep tellin’ yourself that, Spock.” McCoy nodded towards the boy in his bed. “So, uh, what happened with him?”
Spock answered calmly, simply. “He fell from a tree. I caught him.”
The doctor’s eyes widened fractionally. “Fell from a tree? What the hell was he doin’ in a damn tree?”
Spock blinked. “I presume he was doing what you would call… hanging around?”
McCoy snorted, opened his mouth to retort something smart and slightly scathing, but there was another voice.
“Oh, you’re learning! But… he’s in the wrong bed, you know.”
Behind Spock, there was a woman, green-skinned and in a skimpy outfit that left little to the imagination, with red bouncing curls almost as red as her lips. She smiled and jutted her hip, crossed her arms. “Really now, Spock. It’s supposed to be true love for you, not play mate for the doctor.”
“He’s a goddamn kid,” McCoy snarked. He kept his eyes on her face, because he was polite and gentlemanly and refused to admit that he wanted to ogle her girl parts.
She rolled her eyes, flipped her hair over her shoulder. “He’s old enough to drink, and to have sex.” Here she gave that look like she knew what she was talking about, gazing wistfully at the restlessly sleeping Jim. “And he’s old enough to worry about what happens back home at the farm.”
She would have said more - she always had more to say - but there was another voice, a female voice that she knew very well. “Nyota!” She threw her arms into the air and turned around, embracing the beautiful ebony-skinned woman.
“Gaila,” she greeted happily, returning the hug, and then glared at the two standing males behind her green-skinned friend.
“That’s the last time I go to the market for you two! Get your own groceries - who’s the kid?”
Gaila huffed. “He’s not a kid! He’s a man.” She paused and gave a feral grin. “I should know. And don’t worry,” she waved at the doctor, “he’s just dreaming. He hasn’t been sleeping very well, so he might be out for a while.”
She turned to Spock, a sad smile on her pretty face. “I’m sorry I got the spell wrong, but at the time I didn’t care. You did turn me down, after all, and that’s not something I take lightly. But this… you’re running out of time, Spock.” And with that, she was gone with a shimmer of green and gold, bells chiming in the air where she had been.
Nyota rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.” She walked closer to the bed, stared down at the man in the doctor’s bed. “What happened while I was gone?” she asked quietly.
“Spock here got himself a new love interest,” McCoy remarked gruffly. “Don’t think it’s gonna work, though. Boys too smart - sits all day reading.” He turned fully to the woman. “You believe Spock actually came down to dinner the other night to see him?”
Nyota’s dark eyes widened dramatically and her mouth fell open. “He might be the one.” Her voice was breathless and slightly amused.
In his own defense, Spock only had one thing to say before he left the room. “His strategies at chess are at best unorthodox and leave much to be desired. And the theory that there is one true love is…most illogical.”
-
There was a man, but Jim couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him. There were fingers though, around his wrist, around his own fingers, and it sparked something in him that made his entire body shiver. It was a pleasant feeling, but he wanted to see the face that belonged to those hands, the body that belonged to those feelings.
Trust spread through him, and an intense feeling of being accepted and loved made him want to crawl into feverish arms and never let go.
It happened every night, and yet, Jim always awoke alone and cold. It wasn’t real, he told himself, just some stupid dream - probably due to spending too much time with the beast. Jim didn’t understand why he was called that, as Spock looked human enough to him.
Granted, he was always dressed in heavy, dark clothes, and that ominous cape made him look sallow and too pale. He didn’t smile either, Jim realized, didn’t show much emotion at all.
He thought as he stared at the chess pieces separating the host and his forced guest, mind half on what position his next pawn should take and half on what kind of beast this guy really was.
Two months together, one worth of seeing him every night for a ritual game of chess, and Jim was none the wiser of any beastly qualities Spock might display, save for the occasional flare of temper.
Suddenly, as Spock leaned forward to overtake the pawn with his knight, Jim leaned backwards in a gasp of breath and stared wide-eyed. Spock could not turn away, because even in the low light of the library, Jim’s eyes were too blue to be human, and too scared if slightly suspicious
“James?” Spock questioned softly.
Jim’s breath hitched, pointing a shaking finger at the man across from him. “I know what you are! But I don’t taste good, really! I taste like garlic - and I’m not sweet, like a virgin! Because, you know, I’m not a virgin and…and…”
If anything, Spock looked amused. “I can assure you, James, that I most definitely do not want to ingest any part of you, sweet or not.”
Jim was crestfallen. “But, you’re a vampire, right? The whole pale thing with the black cape and the not eating and the no sun… are you sure?”
“It is my understanding that vampires…drink blood,” Spock said distastefully, lip curling up a fraction. “I am a vegetarian.”
“So…vegetarian vampire?” Jim tried halfheartedly, eyeing the opposing rook in a threatening manner.
The chess board shook, fingernails curving into the wood grains as the pieces lost their spaces and toppled to the floor.
Spock looked green, grimacing and holding his stomach.
“Spock?” Jim was at his side in a minute, but was flung away with a strength foreign to humans. He hit his head, but that wasn’t what concerned him as he tried to move back to the struggling man.
“Leave!” Spock bellowed, but Jim didn’t move. “Get out!” He raised his hands again, ready to throttle the human for disobeying his orders, but he didn’t have to. Jim was at the door, already leaving, but his eyes…
Blue eyes stared at him from the doorway, slightly teary and fully worried, but not fearful. The implications stung Spock and as the door closed, he screamed as Gaila’s faulty magic wrapped around him and took his unnatural form away to replace it with another.
It had almost been a hundred years… and yet neither form he took felt familiar or completely foreign.
His hearing capability greater, he listened as Jim slowly made his way to the room he had been given, feet dragging and bed creaking. If he strained his ears, he could hear sobbing, but he refused to acknowledge that.
He had a doctor to talk to, and plans that needed preparation.
*Part Two*
*Part Three*
Rating: T
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Summary: Written for prompt here. Beauty and the Beast meets Star Trek XI.
Disclaimer: disclaimed.
Jim waited patiently. His stepfather wasn’t the greatest man in the world, but he did what needed to be done. It’d been a week since Frank had left for the city, trying to get a loan to settle the debt the farm had created - so far there had been no luck. The banks turned him down. Every single one.
There was a stretch of wild earth between the vast plains of the local farms and the city. Frank had taken the carriage and one horse, one of the few they had left. There was a herd that passed through some of their land but those horses were left alone. Jim and Sam had named them, and watched them daily as they crossed from the rolling hills into the thick forests.
It was almost Sunset, the time the horses passed, and beyond the time Frank had promised to be back. He’d gone with hope, had promised them all something. A rose for his mother, a plow or a saddle for Sam, and Jim… had wanted nothing except for his safe return. There’d been rumors about that forest, and even if Frank and Jim fought too often to be called close, his mother still loved the man, and Jim loved Winona. He wanted nothing more than her happiness.
Sam sat beside Jim on the small bench their father had made before he’d died, wiping the dirty sweat from his brow with his shoulder as he took off his work gloves, glancing a smile at his little brother. Beneath their feet, they could feel the vibrations of the herd.
“Smoky,” Sam began, as the biggest, blackest stallion lead his group across the plain in front of them.
“Raisin,” Jim said of the brown mare behind Smoky, and then of the small paint and the speckled foal beside her, “Brownie and Chops.”
“Jimmy and Sam-Sam,” they said together of the two stallions in the middle, one roan and the other a tawny-gold.
“Winnie” was a beautiful white mare, heavy with foal. She was a little slower than normal, Jim noted, then spotted Tippy and Twister bringing up the back. Both were spotted grey and silver, older then the rest. Jim thought of them as the grandma and grandpa of the group.
They didn’t slow down as they neared the forest, didn’t stop as they entered, which made Jim worry a little less. The rumors were nothing good, to be sure, but Frank could take on anything that came at him, right? Sam kept trying to reassure him that everything would be fine, but Jim could feel something in the pit of his gut.
Frank’s carriage appeared in the distance, dust stirring up behind it. It hadn’t rained at all the past month, and it wasn’t helping the vegetables or grain.
They met him at the barn and helped put away the horse. She was old, and weak, but refused to give up. Jim admired her, refilling her water bucket while Sam talked with Frank outside, unloading the feed from the carriage. There was a saddle, new and embellished with symbols that meant nothing to Jim. It was a good sign and meant that perhaps their luck had changed for the better. Finally.
But Frank still had that drawn look. And, despite the saddle, Sam still didn’t look pleased.
In the house, Winona had dinner ready, the table set, and as she wiped her hands on her apron, she kissed each of her boys on the cheek. Men, she amended, because they were all old enough, even if they didn’t all the time act like it.
As they ate, they talked. It was as Jim had feared: there was no good news.
“But you came back with Sam’s saddle! And Mom’s rose!” Jim pleaded, slamming his glass of milk against the table. “How can you bring back meaningless things if you can’t save the farm?” He let his anger through, stood so that his chair hit the floor. Sam and Winona were quiet.
Frank sighed, rubbed his tired eyes with a bandaged hand. “The banks knew we wouldn’t be able to pay them back. All the farms around us have sold and we can’t compete.” His face seemed too lax, too sad, and Jim felt fear grip him. “The saddle and the rose, I’m afraid, have come at a price entirely too large to pay. By the time I realized, it was too late to return them.”
“What do you mean?” Winona whispered as she unwrapped her husband’s hand. She gasped at the infectious wounds that were sluggishly bleeding. He didn’t look at her though, but kept looking at Jim with that sad face, eyes sorrowful.
“The rumors are true,” Frank says quietly. “There is a beast, in a castle. He seemed friendly, at first - well, as friendly as a beast can be. But it was nothing but trickery. He had roses, lots and lots of them. I thought that taking one couldn’t hurt. He went crazy, though. A man was there, and he saved me, calmed the beast down enough so that I could explain myself.
“I told them we were losing our farm, and I thought to offer at least some sort of comfort to my wife if I could not offer comfort to her sons, and I told them what I had promised each of you. He let me live, the beast did, and he gave me that saddle, said that he couldn’t ride anymore. Imagine that - a beast riding a beast!”
No one laughed as they watched Frank retell his story. Winona cleaned the wounds, rewrapped them, and Jim sat back down, but pushed his plate away. He felt the panic creeping along his spine.
“He made me promise to return, and bring something special, something like none other. And then he asked why, if I had three to return to, I only needed two items. But I didn’t know what would happen, if I did, I’d never had said anything, honestly Jimmy.”
“Frank?” Winona whispered, backing away, eyes wide. “What happened? What’d he want?”
Frank still didn’t look at her, couldn’t even look at Jim. “He wants Jim, in exchange for the rose and the saddle. In exchange for my life, and the rest of you.”
“How long?” Winona asked furiously. “How long until he has to leave?”
Frank swallowed. “He has to be at the castle by the end of the week.”
“Five days!” And then Winona was throwing herself at her youngest, weeping and holding him close. Jim did not react, could not, so he threw himself into work until it was time to go, part of him hoping that if he looked detestable enough, the beast wouldn’t want him.
He only had one bag to pack, which he did with hesitancy, moving slow until there was nothing left to bring. Sam had the carriage ready, and Frank was already there, at the reins and still not looking happy. Winona was inside, crying, and busying herself with menial tasks so that she wouldn’t try to hunt the beast down.
They rode for an hour before they met up with a man on a horse. Frank stopped the carriage, nodded slowly. It was that fear again, and Jim didn’t want to go. The farm needed all the help it could get.
The man introduced himself in a thick, southern drawl as Leonard McCoy, stating that he’d take the boy from here. Jim huffed.
“I’m not a boy,” he grumbled, but grabbed his bag and walked away from Frank.
“I’m sorry this had to happen, Jimmy,” Frank said.
Jim shrugged it off, faked a smile. “Just remember to take Mom out to see the herd every now and then, and keep an eye on Winnie for me, okay?” He felt like crying but he couldn’t, because then he would be weak, and he didn’t want to be weak in front of a stranger or Frank.
He climbed up behind McCoy, who gave him a hand up, and then they were gone. He didn’t face forward until he couldn’t see the carriage behind them anymore.
It was dark by the time they reached the castle, which only served to make it look more ominous, and the door creaked as McCoy pushed it open - a large, wooden, unwelcoming door with a knocker that looked less than pleasant with gnarly features and sharp teeth.
Beyond, there was a massive hall with polished marble floors and flaming torches lining the wall to light the way. There were two ornate stair cases that Jim presumed led to the same place above them. All the walls were lined with doors, most of which led to bedrooms.
Jim was shown to his, allowed to set his bag down but not to settle in, and left with enough time to see that he had a bed and a wardrobe before he was shoved out the door by an impatient McCoy. They went back downstairs, between the two staircases, and entered into a dining room with a table fit for a king and all his relatives, set with a feast to match.
McCoy sat across from Jim and waited until the clock chimed before he started to spoon things onto his plate. Jim followed suit, confused and unsure.
It took a few minutes before he could ask. “You’re the beast?” Or accuse, rather.
McCoy laughed and almost choked on his fork. “I’m just the doctor, kid. You won’t be seeing the beast for a while. Might hear him from time to time, but it’s unlikely you’ll be seeing him.”
Jim chewed thoughtfully. “Then why am I here?”
“Thought your dad explained that to you.”
Jim shook his head. “Frank’s not my dad, and he only told me that you… that the beast wanted my life in exchange for a flower.”
“A rose,” McCoy amended tersely. “Prize rose that his mother planted when he was a kid. Bastard basically is a kid, the way he acts sometimes, but he gets lonely here by himself - needs himself a companion.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Jim asked before he could stop himself. He would probably be getting into deep trouble, but his mouth opened anyway. “How can he be lonely if you’re here?”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “He knows I’m here, but we don’t get on real well, so we barely see each other. Bastard has issues, let me tell you!”
“So you want me to be… a companion? What exactly does that entail?” By now, Jim’s plate is cold and forgotten, so he shoves it away, watching McCoy fidget in his seat.
“Just… I don’t know! Be a friend?”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Jim pushed away from the table. “I’ll go to bed, unless there’s something else you need to keep from me?” Jim left, remembered the turns that he needed to make and got better acquainted with his room.
-
He’d been there a week, and still no sign of the so-called beast. Jim had breakfast, lunch and dinner with the doctor, and they saw each other often enough that Jim thought maybe he could understand why the beast kept his distance. Seeing someone too much in one day was rather annoying, so he tried to find things to keep him busy.
Seeing how he’d used to help his mother with the dishes, he did that after every meal, and then he’d go out to the gardens, where he got to know the difference between weed and plant. There were a few fruit trees, surrounded by lush vegetables and bright flowers that made Jim feel slightly nostalgic for the farm.
He’d discovered the library too, full of books from languages he’d never heard of, of cultures he never knew. Quite a few had symbols on them similar to the one on the saddle. Sam’s saddle, now, he reminded himself.
When he found himself with nothing to do, he read beneath the apple tree until it was dark or until McCoy dragged him back inside.
“What’ve you been reading?” McCoy asked one night over dinner, watching as Jim frowned at one page before flipping to the next. His head kept tilting to the side, too, like he was looking at pictures.
Jim shrugged, mouth half-full as he answered. “Don’t know. Something from India, I think, or thereabouts.”
“You read Indian?” McCoy sounded skeptical.
“Sanskrit,” Jim corrected, and held up the book. “And no. But it does have interesting pictures.”
Leonard thought he might die as he choked on his water. “What the hell is that?”
“Kama Shastra,” Jim replied sagely. “They thought of sex as a science, evidently, and it was really philosophical. It even has positions, and teaches how to hug and kiss someone. Oh! How to prepare a girl…”
“Enough!” McCoy coughed, laughing and shaking his head. “I don’t even want to know where you found that.”
“In the library,” Jim replied earnestly. “There’s a lot there. And no, not all of them are about sex.”
McCoy snorted. “I should hope not.” He rubbed his temple, downed his glass of water, which Jim was beginning to suspect was not so much water as something alcoholic. “Why that bastard even has that is beyond me.”
“It’s sex, Len,” Jim remarked, like it wasn’t obvious.
He spent the rest of the night in the library, next to the glass chess set that seemed to be looking more and more inviting the more he tried to ignore it. Jim had only moved a few pieces, but by the time he fell asleep, he’d played half a game against
himself.
Jim awoke to the darkness, stretched in the chair and yawned widely before he heard the chink of glass on glass. He turned wide eyes to the man in the chair opposite him, on the other side of the chess set. It wasn’t the doctor though, Jim realized a moment later, as he took in the dark hair and darker eyes.
“Right, so… Beast? Do you have a name or do I have to make one up?”
There was silence for several minutes before the beast spoke. “Spock.” And then he was back to his single player game.
“I’m Jim,” Jim smiled, stuck a hand out to shake. It wasn’t returned, however, just looked at in disgust. “White wins in three.” Jim stretched again, and went back to sleep.
-
It was another week before Jim saw Spock again.
It was at dinner, with McCoy grumbling at him about the damn sex books again when he’d stopped mid-tirade to stare behind him and curse.
“Bout time you showed your damn face, bastard!”
Jim turned, smiled at the pale man. “Spock! Care for a seat?” He patted the seat beside him in invitation. “Anything I can help you with?”
McCoy cursed again. “Of course you’ve met! Why not?”
Spock ignored him. “Your comment the other night - I do not see it’s possibility. It is impossible for white to win in three as you said. I have tried numerous plays and it is not possible.”
“Sure it is, if you play it right.”
Spock looked at him for a moment. “There is but one way to play chess.”
Jim smirked and returned to his dinner. “Only if you play by the rules.”
Spock turned and left as silently as he’d come, evidently having found the answer he was searching for. Or maybe not, and just giving up on Jim’s logic - or the possible lack there of.
“What the hell was that about?” McCoy grunted around his glass. Was that bourbon?
Jim chose not to comment, turning the current book around instead to face McCoy, and laughed as the good doctor spluttered and cursed for the rest of dinner, slightly flushed. Jim was pleased with himself.
-
Spock, it seemed, only tended the garden at night, when Jim and McCoy were supposed to be asleep. Supposed to be because that didn’t seem to be the case, as Jim hung upside down in front of him, knees wrapped firmly around a thick branch, arms crossed and trying to keep his shirt from slipping off.
It was slightly too big for him, Spock noticed, wondering why this wild farm boy was not scared of him like so many before him, like the many that would come after. Even the doctor had been scared of him, and still was, if slightly less.
Jim just laughed and swung lightly, eyes dark and mysterious and sleepless. It only took a moment for him to loose his balance, and by instinct built up over the years and hardwired into his genetics, Spock caught the kid, whose fingers were latched deep into the skin that still occasionally made him uncomfortable.
Jim muttered something unintelligible that Spock strained to hear, perhaps something about ponies or puppies, before he realized that a human was unconscious in his arms. He didn’t know what to do, so before he knew what was happening, he was knocking at the doctor’s door, patiently if slightly worried.
It was a few moments before McCoy managed to get up and present himself at least partly decent, but immediately cursed when he saw who it was - really, though, who else could it have been?
“What the hell happened this time?”
But Spock did not get a chance to respond, as McCoy transformed before his eyes from an uncouth but gentle southern man into a doctor who knew what he was doing. Jim was on the doctor’s bed with an ear pressed against his chest, fingers on his wrist, and-
Jim snored lightly and twisted the blankets around his legs, almost kicking McCoy in the head as he turned over.
“Damn it, Spock,” McCoy growled. “The kid’s just asleep.” He sighed tiredly, ran his hand down his face and grinned at Spock. “It’s sweet how you worry, though.”
Spock straightened immediately, any sign of emotion gone from his face. “Worry is a human emotion, doctor. I cannot feel it.”
“You just keep tellin’ yourself that, Spock.” McCoy nodded towards the boy in his bed. “So, uh, what happened with him?”
Spock answered calmly, simply. “He fell from a tree. I caught him.”
The doctor’s eyes widened fractionally. “Fell from a tree? What the hell was he doin’ in a damn tree?”
Spock blinked. “I presume he was doing what you would call… hanging around?”
McCoy snorted, opened his mouth to retort something smart and slightly scathing, but there was another voice.
“Oh, you’re learning! But… he’s in the wrong bed, you know.”
Behind Spock, there was a woman, green-skinned and in a skimpy outfit that left little to the imagination, with red bouncing curls almost as red as her lips. She smiled and jutted her hip, crossed her arms. “Really now, Spock. It’s supposed to be true love for you, not play mate for the doctor.”
“He’s a goddamn kid,” McCoy snarked. He kept his eyes on her face, because he was polite and gentlemanly and refused to admit that he wanted to ogle her girl parts.
She rolled her eyes, flipped her hair over her shoulder. “He’s old enough to drink, and to have sex.” Here she gave that look like she knew what she was talking about, gazing wistfully at the restlessly sleeping Jim. “And he’s old enough to worry about what happens back home at the farm.”
She would have said more - she always had more to say - but there was another voice, a female voice that she knew very well. “Nyota!” She threw her arms into the air and turned around, embracing the beautiful ebony-skinned woman.
“Gaila,” she greeted happily, returning the hug, and then glared at the two standing males behind her green-skinned friend.
“That’s the last time I go to the market for you two! Get your own groceries - who’s the kid?”
Gaila huffed. “He’s not a kid! He’s a man.” She paused and gave a feral grin. “I should know. And don’t worry,” she waved at the doctor, “he’s just dreaming. He hasn’t been sleeping very well, so he might be out for a while.”
She turned to Spock, a sad smile on her pretty face. “I’m sorry I got the spell wrong, but at the time I didn’t care. You did turn me down, after all, and that’s not something I take lightly. But this… you’re running out of time, Spock.” And with that, she was gone with a shimmer of green and gold, bells chiming in the air where she had been.
Nyota rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.” She walked closer to the bed, stared down at the man in the doctor’s bed. “What happened while I was gone?” she asked quietly.
“Spock here got himself a new love interest,” McCoy remarked gruffly. “Don’t think it’s gonna work, though. Boys too smart - sits all day reading.” He turned fully to the woman. “You believe Spock actually came down to dinner the other night to see him?”
Nyota’s dark eyes widened dramatically and her mouth fell open. “He might be the one.” Her voice was breathless and slightly amused.
In his own defense, Spock only had one thing to say before he left the room. “His strategies at chess are at best unorthodox and leave much to be desired. And the theory that there is one true love is…most illogical.”
-
There was a man, but Jim couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him. There were fingers though, around his wrist, around his own fingers, and it sparked something in him that made his entire body shiver. It was a pleasant feeling, but he wanted to see the face that belonged to those hands, the body that belonged to those feelings.
Trust spread through him, and an intense feeling of being accepted and loved made him want to crawl into feverish arms and never let go.
It happened every night, and yet, Jim always awoke alone and cold. It wasn’t real, he told himself, just some stupid dream - probably due to spending too much time with the beast. Jim didn’t understand why he was called that, as Spock looked human enough to him.
Granted, he was always dressed in heavy, dark clothes, and that ominous cape made him look sallow and too pale. He didn’t smile either, Jim realized, didn’t show much emotion at all.
He thought as he stared at the chess pieces separating the host and his forced guest, mind half on what position his next pawn should take and half on what kind of beast this guy really was.
Two months together, one worth of seeing him every night for a ritual game of chess, and Jim was none the wiser of any beastly qualities Spock might display, save for the occasional flare of temper.
Suddenly, as Spock leaned forward to overtake the pawn with his knight, Jim leaned backwards in a gasp of breath and stared wide-eyed. Spock could not turn away, because even in the low light of the library, Jim’s eyes were too blue to be human, and too scared if slightly suspicious
“James?” Spock questioned softly.
Jim’s breath hitched, pointing a shaking finger at the man across from him. “I know what you are! But I don’t taste good, really! I taste like garlic - and I’m not sweet, like a virgin! Because, you know, I’m not a virgin and…and…”
If anything, Spock looked amused. “I can assure you, James, that I most definitely do not want to ingest any part of you, sweet or not.”
Jim was crestfallen. “But, you’re a vampire, right? The whole pale thing with the black cape and the not eating and the no sun… are you sure?”
“It is my understanding that vampires…drink blood,” Spock said distastefully, lip curling up a fraction. “I am a vegetarian.”
“So…vegetarian vampire?” Jim tried halfheartedly, eyeing the opposing rook in a threatening manner.
The chess board shook, fingernails curving into the wood grains as the pieces lost their spaces and toppled to the floor.
Spock looked green, grimacing and holding his stomach.
“Spock?” Jim was at his side in a minute, but was flung away with a strength foreign to humans. He hit his head, but that wasn’t what concerned him as he tried to move back to the struggling man.
“Leave!” Spock bellowed, but Jim didn’t move. “Get out!” He raised his hands again, ready to throttle the human for disobeying his orders, but he didn’t have to. Jim was at the door, already leaving, but his eyes…
Blue eyes stared at him from the doorway, slightly teary and fully worried, but not fearful. The implications stung Spock and as the door closed, he screamed as Gaila’s faulty magic wrapped around him and took his unnatural form away to replace it with another.
It had almost been a hundred years… and yet neither form he took felt familiar or completely foreign.
His hearing capability greater, he listened as Jim slowly made his way to the room he had been given, feet dragging and bed creaking. If he strained his ears, he could hear sobbing, but he refused to acknowledge that.
He had a doctor to talk to, and plans that needed preparation.
*Part Two*
*Part Three*