Half a Dream Away | STXI | PG-13 | Part 6/?
Title: Half a Dream Away VI
Beta: rainbowstrlght ; special thanks to verizonhorizon
Series: STXI Academy AU
Rating: PG-13 [Eventual NC-17]
Length: ~3,100
Warnings: Enough fluff to stuff a mattress, with a pillow of H/C.
Summary: For lallyloo ’s prompt of lyrics: You know I dreamed about you / For twenty-nine years / Before I saw you / You know I dreamed about you / I missed you for twenty-nine years.
A/N: I wish I’d beta’ed this over twice, but I’m already behind on the posting schedule I’d wanted to keep up - so here it is, rushed to your door. We all know Jim doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios, so here he comes again!
A/N 2: Sorry about any outstanding grammatical errors or whatever - I’m always fiddling with my fics after the edit >_<
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
chapter I chapter II chapter III chapter IV chapter V
Jim can totally do slow - totally.
Okay, no - tantric sex probably doesn’t count. And on the very few times Frank had taken him on hunting trips, Jim always ended up growing anxious of sitting around, and ended up shooting at - like, a falling leaf and stuff. Or, you know, his stepdad’s foot. That had gone over well.
James Kirk does not live slowly, or safely - or, hell, smartly - much of the time. But there’s always room for improvement. Even for a man as bad-ass as Jim.
This is why Jim knocks on Spock’s office door.
“Enter.”
Jim steps forward and triggers the door sensors. All too soon he is presented with the impressive visage of Spock sitting behind a compulsively organised desk. Afternoon light streams through the expansive window behind the Vulcan’s squared shoulders, and Spock is all haloed and beautifully alien, and just - ah.
Spock’s hands are folded neatly on the desktop, and his face is carefully schooled in the expression of I-don’t-give-a-fuck-because-I’m-awesome. Jim loves that face; it’s adorable. It’s probably not the same experience for most people - this expression is designed to make you feel like the nasty dregs of warm beer at the bottom of the bottle - but Jim is not most people.
He’s climbed trees with Spock - made love by the sea with him - looked over his shoulder as the Vulcan secretly read Keats instead of appropriate, non-fiction. Kissed the young Spock’s split lip when no one else would or could.
And maybe some of this was simply imagination - perhaps none of those incidents happened at all in Spock’s past; but that didn’t change the fact that Jim felt entwined with Spock like no one else.
Spock making a scary face doesn’t intimidate Jim in the slightest.
“Mr. Kirk.”
Jim nods, with a faint smile. “Spock.” He crosses the threshold and flops himself into a chair across from the Vulcan; acting as if he hasn’t been missing in action for the past week. Jim thought Spock probably needed some time to cool his heels after their last encounter - hell, Jim had needed some time, too. Things had escalated rapidly - then promptly bombed - and Jim needed to formulate a new plan of attack.
“Didja hear I aced that report? It’s gonna get published in some mechanics magazine that I don’t remember the name of.” Mostly because magazine-whose-name-was-forgotten was boring; and Jim didn’t waste his time recalling mundane shit.
“That is promising. I believe it is customary to offer congratulations.”
Jim waves a hand in negation. “Not necessary.” He lurches forward in his seat, and picks up a thin book sitting on Spock’s desk. He realises immediately that it’s written in Vulcan - The Acknowledgement and Ascendency of Dreams - so he turns the book upside down for good measure, and frowns at it.
“That symbol kinda looks like a sperm, you know.”
“Your imagination is impressive, as always.”
Jim shrugs and chucks the book on the desk. Spock raises an eyebrow - first sign of human life, thus far - and neatly places the book in exactly the same spot as before.
“Is there something you require, Cadet Kirk? Our terms of agreement have expired. Why are you here?”
Running his tongue over his teeth, Jim scoots forward in his seat; perched on the edge. “Yeah, um, I’m just gonna come right out and say it - beating around the bush isn’t exactly my thing.”
“Of that, we are in agreement. I, too, am unable to comprehend the purpose of... flagellating the circumference of foliage.”
Jim rolls his eyes. “Ha. Okay - listen.”
“I am.”
“I want to date you,” Jim blurts out. His eyes are fixed on Spock’s face, but there is not a twitch of facial expression. “I like you - that’s not really a secret at this point. You’re frighteningly intelligent. I think you’re funny, in a really dorky way - because, let’s face it, you’re kind of awkward like that, but it’s really endearing. And you’re hotter than, like, a thousand Vulcan suns - and no, I don’t mean that literally. And on top of that -”
Jim shrugs. “I think you like me, too. Just a little. I mean, everybody pretty much likes me, but I think you... do. Especially.” Jim chews his bottom lip. “Maybe. Yes - no? Tick one box only.”
Spock blinks. Jim clenches his jaw. Feeling increasingly like a fool, Jim snaps into his default mode. He slouches in the chair, a smirk curling his lips. “Y’know, there are people who’d do all sorts of nefarious shit to get a date with me.”
“Truly?” the Vulcan murmurs.
“I thought Vulcans didn’t ask rhetorical questions,” Jim quips, even as his throat begins to constrict. This is bad, isn’t it? He is taking this conversation to hell in a hand-basket.
There is a renewed authority to Spock’s voice. “Cadet Kirk.”
“What?”
“Are you cognisant of the gravity in which Vulcans pursue romantic relationships?”
“Uh, sure. Why?”
“Then you are aware that Vulcans do not, as a rule, date.”
Jim’s fingertips thrum on the armrest. “Okay, but you’re like, half-Vulcan. You’re a free agent, man. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
Spock’s gaze falls to the book on his desk. “Regardless, I have chosen the path of Surak. I cannot engage in a frivolous relationship with a Human, simply because you wish it so, or because you seek a challenge.”
“Who says I’m not taking this seriously?” Jim snaps reflexively.
Jim leaps up from the chair, with his palms immediately slapping on the desktop. He looms over Spock, with his mouth a sober line. His eyes dare the Vulcan to argue. “Are you cognisant of the gravity in which I pursue romantic relationships? Because I don’t think you are. Let me clue you in, Spock.”
The Vulcan swallows quietly, and Jim realises that the Spock’s interlaced fingers are white at the knuckles.
Fuck - and Jim can’t not bare his soul to this man. “You’re the first person I’ve ever asked on a date before.” That took a lot more courage to say than Jim had anticipated. He musters up a smile. “If you say no, it’ll ruin my currently flawless track record - so you should definitely say yes.”
Spock’s eyes have widened slightly, the apples of his cheeks all flushed and kissable.
“I see.”
Jim raises his eyebrows with exaggerated lewdness. “I could come over there and convince you, if you want.”
“That will not be necessary. I would debilitate you before you reached your destination.”
“See, that doesn’t put me off in the slightest.”
A single corner of Spock’s lips twitch. “That is somehow unsurprising.” He leans back in his chair slightly, his lashes lowered in a sure sign of silent deliberation. “One date.”
Jim beams victoriously at Spock, and proclaims, “For now.”
Spock flicks a brow and doesn’t comment.
“I’m gonna come kiss you now.”
“No, you are not.”
“Are you sure? You’ll like it.”
“I am positive, Jim. Remain on your side of the desk.”
“Fine,” Jim huffs.
***
Jim smooshes his forehead and palms against the glass, and squints into the darkness. “Let’s go in!”
“No.”
“Well, why the hell not?” Jim flips around and leans against the display window. He grins up at Spock, and tugs the soft hem of the Vulcan’s midnight blue cardigan; refusing to release his hold even when Spock attempts to bat his hands away.
“Are you aware of what this establishment is called?”
“Uh - duh. What, do you have a problem with Madame -“ Jim looks over his shoulder, squints up at the writing. “er, Kryxt’s Mystical Mastery?”
“I was under the false impression that the name is evidence enough.”
Jim pops the top button of Spock’s cardigan, simply because he can. Actually, he doesn’t know if he’s allowed or not, but one never knows until they try.
“Evidence of what?”
Jim feels dizzy; wonderfully drunk when Spock ignores the freed button. The Vulcan is preoccupied with giving the most darkly disdainful look in the history of non-expressions.
“Evidence that the sale of occult practices in mainstream society is asinine, fallacious, and baseless on any practical application of science.”
“Tell us how you really feel.”
“I have.”
Jim utters a ‘psh’ noise and slinks away from his spot between a Vulcan and a hard place. Same difference.
“Come on - it’ll be a blast. She can predict something totally heinous and you can fist her with your superior Vulcan logic.”
“Fist... her -“
“Don’t ask,” Jim says with a laugh. “I like you innocent.”
And Jim is walking through the door - oh God yes, there are beaded curtains - and Spock follows him, which only further flushes Jim’s happy face. Jim wonders where Spock’s limits lie - and if Jim can find it and poke it.
Which is why Jim has a map of scars across the topography of his body. He can’t stop picking the scabs.
“Greetings.” A throaty, heavily accented voice brings Jim’s attention to the centre of the small, ornately decorated room. A middle-aged woman, striking with dark hair and eyes, is smiling pleasantly at them.
Not a creepy in-a-horror-movie kind of fortune teller smile, but like Mary Poppins style, or something. Jim is immediately at ease.
“Hey there. You’re Madame Kryxt?”
“I am she.” The woman extends her hand, gesturing to the chairs opposite her petite, circular table. “Please, sit.”
Jim sends a gleeful sidelong glance Spock’s way, which immediately morphs into a narrowed look. “Your face is gonna get stuck like that.”
“My face is my face,” Spock says, still making said face.
“No. It’s like a scrunchy pig-face of disdain. Lucky I think you’re hot.”
Jim returns his attention to the fortune teller, and plops in the offered seat. Spock remains silent, standing to his right; with his hands clasped behind his back.
“So,” Jim begins, crossing his legs. “You gonna read my palm or something? Tell me the future?”
Madame Kryxt’s eyes lag on Spock, and her smile doesn’t falter. “I do not think your Vulcan would appreciate my reading your palm - and you are less interested in your future as you are the present. You are a being of the Now.”
“I belong to no one,” Spock corrects swiftly.
“I see that, now.”
“It is fortuitous that you should realise it after I have voiced the fact.”
The woman’s liquid black eyes find Jim and grab him. Black eyes, Jim realises, and chews the inside of his cheek. She could be a Betazoid - in fact, it was pretty likely. Some of them crossed the lines of telepathy and empathy, and into the realm of the near-impossible. A perfect profession for a person like her looking to make some bucks.
“Will you pay in advance, sir?” And there it was.
Jim is already reaching for his card, when Spock’s voice cut through the thick incense of the room. “One should not pay for services rendered, before they have been rendered.”
Madame Kryxt inclines her head. “Some do not appreciate what they hear.”
“It’s not a problem. My friend here is just a doubting Thomas. And before he says anything - no, his name’s not Thomas.”
His card is scanned quickly, and the painful part is over. Jim grins. “So? Is Spock gonna save the world one day? Or will he be rich and famous and I can be his pool-boy for the rest of my days?
“Jim,” the Betazoid implores, and Jim doesn’t recall having given her his name. “You are more complicated than your Vulcan friend, are you not?”
“Uh, what - no - that’s not -“
“His world is black and white and a sea of grey. Yours is a kaleidoscope of colour. Nothing is simple, or perfect, or reliable, or impossible.”
Jim blanches, “I don’t think -“
“You trust no one, and yet you throw yourself into the paths of other beings’ lives.” She cocks her head slightly; her eyes boring holes into the floundering Jim. “Do you do this to affirm your belief that no one will catch you, or because you genuinely wish to be caught?”
“Hey,” Jim snaps, eyes narrowing. “Back off, lady. If I wanted a lecture I’d call my Mama.”
“Your mother never listened,” Madame Kryxt says quietly. “She did not notice you. Nor did she notice your peculiar...” The Betazoid appears perplexed, and Jim feels nauseous. “Sleeping habits? Yes. Your past is overwhelmed by a very physical darkness.”
Jim jolts in his seat. “Let’s get outta here, Spock. This broad is nuts.”
“And such dreams you have, Jim.” She frowns, and Jim feels his chest begin to cave. “It saddens me to experience the pain they leave behind, when you wake. Such sorrow entangled in your heart. Why is that, I wonder? Do you fear that the dreams are all you have? Or do you fear the rejection that you might receive should you -“
Jim’s chair clatters to the floor, and the silence is humid and suffocating - and fuck, Jim needs to breathe. He doesn’t know how, but he’s outside in the glaring, angry daylight. Relentless, accusatory sun.
When Jim was thirteen, he went through a phase that his doctor had diagnosed as depression. For young Jimmy, it had surpassed something so easily labelled. Jim slept and slept, and forgot the sun - became slim and pale like the moon itself. Curled up inside himself like a fragile crescent, and shut out the world.
All he had treasured was sleep, and midnight, and the dreams to keep him company. Nothing in the dusty, deserted reality of his life had ever come close to what he’d felt with Spock, before he’d known it was Spock.
Jim has gotten over that; triumphed against the weakness that had lurked within him. He’s learned to appreciate the dreams, cherish them for what they are - something distant and unattainable and breath-taking. Like taking in the exquisite terror of a tornado in the distance; this had been Spock.
His feet carry him away on auto-pilot, and Jim weaves through the crowd. He’s furious with himself for walking into that place - thinking he could discern what was going on in Spock’s head, like it was a joke. Jim doesn’t need to know the mechanics of his own mind - that wasn’t the fucking point of all this. Sure, he could date Spock in ad infinitum, but what the hell did amount to if his dreams were conjecture, or destiny’s joke of accidentally crossing wires, or -
“Jim. Jim.”
Strong hands are on his shoulders - spinning him, guiding him to a familiar face. All angles and startling symmetry and sharp knowingness. Oh, but those eyes are so kind and naive in a way only Spock can be. Jim wants to kiss his eyelids.
“Jim, are you listening to me?”
Spock looks concerned. That’s really very nice of him. People don’t get how nice he is - and yeah, he’s kind of a douche sometimes, and he assumes he knows better than everyone else because he’s got green blood - but it suits him and Jim lov -
“Explain the rationale of your actions.”
Jim’s palms find Spock’s chest - he’s going to push him away, he really is - and instead Jim’s bunching his fingers in that soft material; clinging with hands and soul and begging eyes. The fact that they’re on the sidewalk, standing amongst the milling public, is a fleck of lint that Jim flicks off his thoughts.
“You’re a smart guy, Spock,” Jim rasps. And yeah, he’s abruptly angry. Upset that he’s been forced into a corner; that the hand he’s kept so close to his chest has been revealed far too soon. Spock would fold, and Jim would be fucked. “I’m sure you’ve connected the dots.”
“I am unaware of any spherical specks that I should feel compelled to conjoin.”
“Whatever.” Jim’s jaw is screwed painfully tight. “You’re gonna make me say it?”
“I find myself unable to formulate the reply you desire,” Spock replied stiffly, even as his eyes scoured Jim’s face for clues.
Jim released a ragged breath. “Fine. Let’s just - let’s just forget it, okay? Your case has been proven - fortune tellers suck.”
And Jim doesn’t care that Spock’s skin shouldn’t be touched. His fingertips are nestled beneath the hard line of Spock’s jaw and behind his ears; with Jim’s thumbs caressing delicate cheekbones. And Spock doesn’t seem like he cares that his privacy is being invaded, anyway; because for a brief moment he’s frowning and leaning into one of Jim’s hands.
“But it is apparent you are not in optimal condition.”
“Dickhead. When I’m with you, it doesn’t matter,” Jim murmurs, feeling his face burn under the intense Vulcan scrutiny. Jim knows he’s supposed to be charming right now and that he’s an awful date; but he’d make that up somehow, at some point.
“That is an illogical statement. I am not a doctor or a certified healer. I cannot cure you of your ailment.”
Jim just smiles crookedly and drops his hands; and Spock’s frown deepens. There is a thin line across his forehead that Jim refrains from tracing with his thumb.
Spock’s voice lowers beneath the din of so many passer-bys. “If you are in distress, it would be prudent to accept aid.”
Jim throws his hands up in defeat. “Okay, number one, damsels get in distress. I’m just annoyed by Miss Cleo over there. Second, I just don’t think my running into your arms at the slightest ordeal is the proper way to promote, like, the slow and steady dating discussion we had earli -“
“My apartment is in this vicinity. Accompany me. You appear fatigued and under mental duress.” Spock looks about as lenient as a drill sergeant at this point, and Jim finds himself smiling tiredly.
“Yeah, okay - your place. But no funny business. I know it’ll be hard to restrain yourself, but I’m trying this thing where I don’t alienate - aka sexually harass - the people I care about.”
“I assure you that no ‘funny business’ will ensue,” Spock replies soberly, looking very trust-worthy and adorable, indeed.
“Well now, that just makes me want to fuck shit up.”
***
chapter vii.
Beta: rainbowstrlght ; special thanks to verizonhorizon
Series: STXI Academy AU
Rating: PG-13 [Eventual NC-17]
Length: ~3,100
Warnings: Enough fluff to stuff a mattress, with a pillow of H/C.
Summary: For lallyloo ’s prompt of lyrics: You know I dreamed about you / For twenty-nine years / Before I saw you / You know I dreamed about you / I missed you for twenty-nine years.
A/N: I wish I’d beta’ed this over twice, but I’m already behind on the posting schedule I’d wanted to keep up - so here it is, rushed to your door. We all know Jim doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios, so here he comes again!
A/N 2: Sorry about any outstanding grammatical errors or whatever - I’m always fiddling with my fics after the edit >_<
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
chapter I chapter II chapter III chapter IV chapter V
Jim can totally do slow - totally.
Okay, no - tantric sex probably doesn’t count. And on the very few times Frank had taken him on hunting trips, Jim always ended up growing anxious of sitting around, and ended up shooting at - like, a falling leaf and stuff. Or, you know, his stepdad’s foot. That had gone over well.
James Kirk does not live slowly, or safely - or, hell, smartly - much of the time. But there’s always room for improvement. Even for a man as bad-ass as Jim.
This is why Jim knocks on Spock’s office door.
“Enter.”
Jim steps forward and triggers the door sensors. All too soon he is presented with the impressive visage of Spock sitting behind a compulsively organised desk. Afternoon light streams through the expansive window behind the Vulcan’s squared shoulders, and Spock is all haloed and beautifully alien, and just - ah.
Spock’s hands are folded neatly on the desktop, and his face is carefully schooled in the expression of I-don’t-give-a-fuck-because-I’m-awesome. Jim loves that face; it’s adorable. It’s probably not the same experience for most people - this expression is designed to make you feel like the nasty dregs of warm beer at the bottom of the bottle - but Jim is not most people.
He’s climbed trees with Spock - made love by the sea with him - looked over his shoulder as the Vulcan secretly read Keats instead of appropriate, non-fiction. Kissed the young Spock’s split lip when no one else would or could.
And maybe some of this was simply imagination - perhaps none of those incidents happened at all in Spock’s past; but that didn’t change the fact that Jim felt entwined with Spock like no one else.
Spock making a scary face doesn’t intimidate Jim in the slightest.
“Mr. Kirk.”
Jim nods, with a faint smile. “Spock.” He crosses the threshold and flops himself into a chair across from the Vulcan; acting as if he hasn’t been missing in action for the past week. Jim thought Spock probably needed some time to cool his heels after their last encounter - hell, Jim had needed some time, too. Things had escalated rapidly - then promptly bombed - and Jim needed to formulate a new plan of attack.
“Didja hear I aced that report? It’s gonna get published in some mechanics magazine that I don’t remember the name of.” Mostly because magazine-whose-name-was-forgotten was boring; and Jim didn’t waste his time recalling mundane shit.
“That is promising. I believe it is customary to offer congratulations.”
Jim waves a hand in negation. “Not necessary.” He lurches forward in his seat, and picks up a thin book sitting on Spock’s desk. He realises immediately that it’s written in Vulcan - The Acknowledgement and Ascendency of Dreams - so he turns the book upside down for good measure, and frowns at it.
“That symbol kinda looks like a sperm, you know.”
“Your imagination is impressive, as always.”
Jim shrugs and chucks the book on the desk. Spock raises an eyebrow - first sign of human life, thus far - and neatly places the book in exactly the same spot as before.
“Is there something you require, Cadet Kirk? Our terms of agreement have expired. Why are you here?”
Running his tongue over his teeth, Jim scoots forward in his seat; perched on the edge. “Yeah, um, I’m just gonna come right out and say it - beating around the bush isn’t exactly my thing.”
“Of that, we are in agreement. I, too, am unable to comprehend the purpose of... flagellating the circumference of foliage.”
Jim rolls his eyes. “Ha. Okay - listen.”
“I am.”
“I want to date you,” Jim blurts out. His eyes are fixed on Spock’s face, but there is not a twitch of facial expression. “I like you - that’s not really a secret at this point. You’re frighteningly intelligent. I think you’re funny, in a really dorky way - because, let’s face it, you’re kind of awkward like that, but it’s really endearing. And you’re hotter than, like, a thousand Vulcan suns - and no, I don’t mean that literally. And on top of that -”
Jim shrugs. “I think you like me, too. Just a little. I mean, everybody pretty much likes me, but I think you... do. Especially.” Jim chews his bottom lip. “Maybe. Yes - no? Tick one box only.”
Spock blinks. Jim clenches his jaw. Feeling increasingly like a fool, Jim snaps into his default mode. He slouches in the chair, a smirk curling his lips. “Y’know, there are people who’d do all sorts of nefarious shit to get a date with me.”
“Truly?” the Vulcan murmurs.
“I thought Vulcans didn’t ask rhetorical questions,” Jim quips, even as his throat begins to constrict. This is bad, isn’t it? He is taking this conversation to hell in a hand-basket.
There is a renewed authority to Spock’s voice. “Cadet Kirk.”
“What?”
“Are you cognisant of the gravity in which Vulcans pursue romantic relationships?”
“Uh, sure. Why?”
“Then you are aware that Vulcans do not, as a rule, date.”
Jim’s fingertips thrum on the armrest. “Okay, but you’re like, half-Vulcan. You’re a free agent, man. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
Spock’s gaze falls to the book on his desk. “Regardless, I have chosen the path of Surak. I cannot engage in a frivolous relationship with a Human, simply because you wish it so, or because you seek a challenge.”
“Who says I’m not taking this seriously?” Jim snaps reflexively.
Jim leaps up from the chair, with his palms immediately slapping on the desktop. He looms over Spock, with his mouth a sober line. His eyes dare the Vulcan to argue. “Are you cognisant of the gravity in which I pursue romantic relationships? Because I don’t think you are. Let me clue you in, Spock.”
The Vulcan swallows quietly, and Jim realises that the Spock’s interlaced fingers are white at the knuckles.
Fuck - and Jim can’t not bare his soul to this man. “You’re the first person I’ve ever asked on a date before.” That took a lot more courage to say than Jim had anticipated. He musters up a smile. “If you say no, it’ll ruin my currently flawless track record - so you should definitely say yes.”
Spock’s eyes have widened slightly, the apples of his cheeks all flushed and kissable.
“I see.”
Jim raises his eyebrows with exaggerated lewdness. “I could come over there and convince you, if you want.”
“That will not be necessary. I would debilitate you before you reached your destination.”
“See, that doesn’t put me off in the slightest.”
A single corner of Spock’s lips twitch. “That is somehow unsurprising.” He leans back in his chair slightly, his lashes lowered in a sure sign of silent deliberation. “One date.”
Jim beams victoriously at Spock, and proclaims, “For now.”
Spock flicks a brow and doesn’t comment.
“I’m gonna come kiss you now.”
“No, you are not.”
“Are you sure? You’ll like it.”
“I am positive, Jim. Remain on your side of the desk.”
“Fine,” Jim huffs.
***
Jim smooshes his forehead and palms against the glass, and squints into the darkness. “Let’s go in!”
“No.”
“Well, why the hell not?” Jim flips around and leans against the display window. He grins up at Spock, and tugs the soft hem of the Vulcan’s midnight blue cardigan; refusing to release his hold even when Spock attempts to bat his hands away.
“Are you aware of what this establishment is called?”
“Uh - duh. What, do you have a problem with Madame -“ Jim looks over his shoulder, squints up at the writing. “er, Kryxt’s Mystical Mastery?”
“I was under the false impression that the name is evidence enough.”
Jim pops the top button of Spock’s cardigan, simply because he can. Actually, he doesn’t know if he’s allowed or not, but one never knows until they try.
“Evidence of what?”
Jim feels dizzy; wonderfully drunk when Spock ignores the freed button. The Vulcan is preoccupied with giving the most darkly disdainful look in the history of non-expressions.
“Evidence that the sale of occult practices in mainstream society is asinine, fallacious, and baseless on any practical application of science.”
“Tell us how you really feel.”
“I have.”
Jim utters a ‘psh’ noise and slinks away from his spot between a Vulcan and a hard place. Same difference.
“Come on - it’ll be a blast. She can predict something totally heinous and you can fist her with your superior Vulcan logic.”
“Fist... her -“
“Don’t ask,” Jim says with a laugh. “I like you innocent.”
And Jim is walking through the door - oh God yes, there are beaded curtains - and Spock follows him, which only further flushes Jim’s happy face. Jim wonders where Spock’s limits lie - and if Jim can find it and poke it.
Which is why Jim has a map of scars across the topography of his body. He can’t stop picking the scabs.
“Greetings.” A throaty, heavily accented voice brings Jim’s attention to the centre of the small, ornately decorated room. A middle-aged woman, striking with dark hair and eyes, is smiling pleasantly at them.
Not a creepy in-a-horror-movie kind of fortune teller smile, but like Mary Poppins style, or something. Jim is immediately at ease.
“Hey there. You’re Madame Kryxt?”
“I am she.” The woman extends her hand, gesturing to the chairs opposite her petite, circular table. “Please, sit.”
Jim sends a gleeful sidelong glance Spock’s way, which immediately morphs into a narrowed look. “Your face is gonna get stuck like that.”
“My face is my face,” Spock says, still making said face.
“No. It’s like a scrunchy pig-face of disdain. Lucky I think you’re hot.”
Jim returns his attention to the fortune teller, and plops in the offered seat. Spock remains silent, standing to his right; with his hands clasped behind his back.
“So,” Jim begins, crossing his legs. “You gonna read my palm or something? Tell me the future?”
Madame Kryxt’s eyes lag on Spock, and her smile doesn’t falter. “I do not think your Vulcan would appreciate my reading your palm - and you are less interested in your future as you are the present. You are a being of the Now.”
“I belong to no one,” Spock corrects swiftly.
“I see that, now.”
“It is fortuitous that you should realise it after I have voiced the fact.”
The woman’s liquid black eyes find Jim and grab him. Black eyes, Jim realises, and chews the inside of his cheek. She could be a Betazoid - in fact, it was pretty likely. Some of them crossed the lines of telepathy and empathy, and into the realm of the near-impossible. A perfect profession for a person like her looking to make some bucks.
“Will you pay in advance, sir?” And there it was.
Jim is already reaching for his card, when Spock’s voice cut through the thick incense of the room. “One should not pay for services rendered, before they have been rendered.”
Madame Kryxt inclines her head. “Some do not appreciate what they hear.”
“It’s not a problem. My friend here is just a doubting Thomas. And before he says anything - no, his name’s not Thomas.”
His card is scanned quickly, and the painful part is over. Jim grins. “So? Is Spock gonna save the world one day? Or will he be rich and famous and I can be his pool-boy for the rest of my days?
“Jim,” the Betazoid implores, and Jim doesn’t recall having given her his name. “You are more complicated than your Vulcan friend, are you not?”
“Uh, what - no - that’s not -“
“His world is black and white and a sea of grey. Yours is a kaleidoscope of colour. Nothing is simple, or perfect, or reliable, or impossible.”
Jim blanches, “I don’t think -“
“You trust no one, and yet you throw yourself into the paths of other beings’ lives.” She cocks her head slightly; her eyes boring holes into the floundering Jim. “Do you do this to affirm your belief that no one will catch you, or because you genuinely wish to be caught?”
“Hey,” Jim snaps, eyes narrowing. “Back off, lady. If I wanted a lecture I’d call my Mama.”
“Your mother never listened,” Madame Kryxt says quietly. “She did not notice you. Nor did she notice your peculiar...” The Betazoid appears perplexed, and Jim feels nauseous. “Sleeping habits? Yes. Your past is overwhelmed by a very physical darkness.”
Jim jolts in his seat. “Let’s get outta here, Spock. This broad is nuts.”
“And such dreams you have, Jim.” She frowns, and Jim feels his chest begin to cave. “It saddens me to experience the pain they leave behind, when you wake. Such sorrow entangled in your heart. Why is that, I wonder? Do you fear that the dreams are all you have? Or do you fear the rejection that you might receive should you -“
Jim’s chair clatters to the floor, and the silence is humid and suffocating - and fuck, Jim needs to breathe. He doesn’t know how, but he’s outside in the glaring, angry daylight. Relentless, accusatory sun.
When Jim was thirteen, he went through a phase that his doctor had diagnosed as depression. For young Jimmy, it had surpassed something so easily labelled. Jim slept and slept, and forgot the sun - became slim and pale like the moon itself. Curled up inside himself like a fragile crescent, and shut out the world.
All he had treasured was sleep, and midnight, and the dreams to keep him company. Nothing in the dusty, deserted reality of his life had ever come close to what he’d felt with Spock, before he’d known it was Spock.
Jim has gotten over that; triumphed against the weakness that had lurked within him. He’s learned to appreciate the dreams, cherish them for what they are - something distant and unattainable and breath-taking. Like taking in the exquisite terror of a tornado in the distance; this had been Spock.
His feet carry him away on auto-pilot, and Jim weaves through the crowd. He’s furious with himself for walking into that place - thinking he could discern what was going on in Spock’s head, like it was a joke. Jim doesn’t need to know the mechanics of his own mind - that wasn’t the fucking point of all this. Sure, he could date Spock in ad infinitum, but what the hell did amount to if his dreams were conjecture, or destiny’s joke of accidentally crossing wires, or -
“Jim. Jim.”
Strong hands are on his shoulders - spinning him, guiding him to a familiar face. All angles and startling symmetry and sharp knowingness. Oh, but those eyes are so kind and naive in a way only Spock can be. Jim wants to kiss his eyelids.
“Jim, are you listening to me?”
Spock looks concerned. That’s really very nice of him. People don’t get how nice he is - and yeah, he’s kind of a douche sometimes, and he assumes he knows better than everyone else because he’s got green blood - but it suits him and Jim lov -
“Explain the rationale of your actions.”
Jim’s palms find Spock’s chest - he’s going to push him away, he really is - and instead Jim’s bunching his fingers in that soft material; clinging with hands and soul and begging eyes. The fact that they’re on the sidewalk, standing amongst the milling public, is a fleck of lint that Jim flicks off his thoughts.
“You’re a smart guy, Spock,” Jim rasps. And yeah, he’s abruptly angry. Upset that he’s been forced into a corner; that the hand he’s kept so close to his chest has been revealed far too soon. Spock would fold, and Jim would be fucked. “I’m sure you’ve connected the dots.”
“I am unaware of any spherical specks that I should feel compelled to conjoin.”
“Whatever.” Jim’s jaw is screwed painfully tight. “You’re gonna make me say it?”
“I find myself unable to formulate the reply you desire,” Spock replied stiffly, even as his eyes scoured Jim’s face for clues.
Jim released a ragged breath. “Fine. Let’s just - let’s just forget it, okay? Your case has been proven - fortune tellers suck.”
And Jim doesn’t care that Spock’s skin shouldn’t be touched. His fingertips are nestled beneath the hard line of Spock’s jaw and behind his ears; with Jim’s thumbs caressing delicate cheekbones. And Spock doesn’t seem like he cares that his privacy is being invaded, anyway; because for a brief moment he’s frowning and leaning into one of Jim’s hands.
“But it is apparent you are not in optimal condition.”
“Dickhead. When I’m with you, it doesn’t matter,” Jim murmurs, feeling his face burn under the intense Vulcan scrutiny. Jim knows he’s supposed to be charming right now and that he’s an awful date; but he’d make that up somehow, at some point.
“That is an illogical statement. I am not a doctor or a certified healer. I cannot cure you of your ailment.”
Jim just smiles crookedly and drops his hands; and Spock’s frown deepens. There is a thin line across his forehead that Jim refrains from tracing with his thumb.
Spock’s voice lowers beneath the din of so many passer-bys. “If you are in distress, it would be prudent to accept aid.”
Jim throws his hands up in defeat. “Okay, number one, damsels get in distress. I’m just annoyed by Miss Cleo over there. Second, I just don’t think my running into your arms at the slightest ordeal is the proper way to promote, like, the slow and steady dating discussion we had earli -“
“My apartment is in this vicinity. Accompany me. You appear fatigued and under mental duress.” Spock looks about as lenient as a drill sergeant at this point, and Jim finds himself smiling tiredly.
“Yeah, okay - your place. But no funny business. I know it’ll be hard to restrain yourself, but I’m trying this thing where I don’t alienate - aka sexually harass - the people I care about.”
“I assure you that no ‘funny business’ will ensue,” Spock replies soberly, looking very trust-worthy and adorable, indeed.
“Well now, that just makes me want to fuck shit up.”
***
chapter vii.